#i just found the series in the language that i know so ill be watching it these days✌🏼
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of beskar and kyber {chapter 17}
Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)
Summary: Din Djarin is not a remorseful man. Everything he's done, he's done for a reason. But he finds himself in an internal struggle as he tears through the galaxy for traces of you.
Word Count: 10.3k
Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical fighting, use of narcotics, use of drugs, reader gets drugged, reader gets kidnapped, reader gets tied up, kidnapping, controlling parent, toxic parent / child relationship, toxic parent / child dynamic, din has a lot of feelings, din reflects on his time spent with reader, death, minor character death, infectious thoughts, negative feelings, feelings of inadequacy, issues with intimacy, religious guilt, feelings of religious obligation, religious contemplation, so much guilt for our tin man, violence, derogative language, insinuations of sexual favors, a few instances of shouting, din loses his hold on reality (1) time, references to past instances of self-harm, references to past instances of suicidal ideations, let me know if i missed anything please!
A/N: an all din pov chapter, baby! who's ready for ten thousand words on how this man feels? this was a fun different way to approach the story and i rather liked it even if i am afraid to post it. there are so many different interpretations of din that are all so great, and while this is my personal one for the character in my fic, i'm still worried about how it'll be received
ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi
“Mother, please.” You begged, voice absolutely wrecked. Desperation settled in your gut, making you dizzy and nauseous. The illness of it was debilitating even through the hum of drugs waning in your system. Sobs were wracking your body, exploding from your ribcage in painful bursts. You struggled against the cuffs on your wrists, the cuffs around your ankles, rotating them in hopes of finding weakness but they were strong. But they were made of beskar, strong and programmed to shock you should you jostle them too much. Using the culture of the very people who had meant salvation now for damnation. She had made sure they would hold you this time.
She just sat there, watching you from the chair by the door. Long hair pulled up into a knot atop her head, blue tunic and black trousers flowing and clean. Her hands clasped in front of her, resting her chin against them as her eyes took in the slump of your form across the small room. You were on the ground, legs numb from the hard, unforgiving stone underneath you. Boots removed and down to nothing but your simple clothing. She had taken the pendant from you, the one Din had gifted you in the wake of your confession to losing the one from Akiz. It glinted over her own chest, visible where she allowed it to drape over the front of her collar.
“Please. I don’t want to be here. I want to go back to the ship. I want to go home.”
“Oh no, my darling, you won’t be going anywhere near that disgusting ship again. That Mandalorian has caused enough damage, stealing you away after taking your fob. I still had to pay the Guild fee for your bounty. Credits you know we didn’t have in the first place.” She paused, her hands clasped together, elbows on her knees, and she leaned forward to rest her hand atop them. A wicked smile overtook her as she eyed you across the room.
“Luckily, I found someone who was willing to cover the cost and offer to take you as their wife. They’ve put a lot of energy and credits into helping locate you. They will be here in two days’ time to collect you.”
She looked almost mournful at the idea of you leaving so soon after reuniting. Of sharing you with another after claiming to do everything she had ever done to you out of protection.
“But he swore to protect you from any threats, from the Mandalorians that seem to be obsessed with owning you, harnessing your power to help them crawl from the cracks of the universe they ran to hide in when their planet was destroyed. This man, he’s from a very important royal line that is deeply rooted in the New Republic.”
“The New Republic is a joke, they can’t even keep their own soldiers happy, let alone protect anyone.”
“Hush now, darling.” She got up and the black tin she kept in her pocket flashed in her hand. You began thrashing even more so, tears cascading down your cheeks as she approached you. The click of the tin opening sent you back to every other time you had heard that sound in your life, eyes going wide and your breath left you as if you had been hit square in the chest. “The time will fly by with this dose and then we’ll be off to our new home.”
He’d been searching the city for days.
Despite the thrumming of pain through his head, his vision blurring, and the helmet resting too heavy on the now soft, new skin that was his injury. Tender fingers carefully spraying bacta and skin itching as the tissue tried to heal with its aid. He wished for your smaller hands to be the one caring for him, but he was alone. Alone with a fussing child that was beginning to use his powers to get his feelings across since he was still learning how to talk and use his little voice.
Not taking any time to rest, instincts telling him something was wrong, that something had happened. You wouldn’t just run off, even with what had occurred. At least…not for this long. He hoped. He…hoped.
Stalking through the various casinos and cantina’s, searching for any traces of you to be found. Even in the hectic atmospheres of the racetracks and brothels, of seedier bars and establishments you may have ducked into or been taken to by the force of whoever had stolen you away. Snatched you from whatever you had sought out to calm yourself.
He sat in front of the tracking fob given to him when he first took the job to return you to your mother for hours. Set it atop the control panels in the cockpit, helmet removed and head in his hands as he contemplated turning the device back on. He had scoured the hotels and seedier hostels with it in his grip, to no avail.
It was as if you had simply vanished.
Your smiles and laughter, soft sighs and teasing quips a figment of his imagination.
Made up in the loneliness that accompanied the type of life he led. Missions, jobs, hunting, tracking, trading in criminals and runaways for next to nothing, refueling the ship and hitting the ground running again, taking to the air and space again. And again, and again. He didn’t realize how tired and monotonous it had all become, despite the thrill of his skills proofing to be elite time and time again. He didn’t realize how much he had been missing out on until you threw it all off track. Deliver the goods and credits to the covert, ensure they were safe and protected, collect another job, hunt, track, kill, injure, collect. Broke the routine he had been so accustomed to with an utterance of his dying language. Rolling off your tongue with precision.
It had been striking. You had been striking and he had torn you down in a way he never wanted to, unintentionally with a fumbling lack of words. It was maddening, to search for days to find no trace of you anywhere.
There was no indication you ever existed aside from those left behind on his ship. The mug of caf sweetened with sugar and powdered milk at the table, the pack of your cigarras you always insisted on smoking outside while it was docked, the crate with your tools and materials used to make armor, the neat and organized labels you had applied to everything within the panels. The room he had set up for you….though you often split your time between his own and the hammock still hung up in the hold space.
He had left it all untouched, too afraid to erase the pieces of evidence that you were real. That you had been aboard his ship. That you had been trying to connect with him and he stumbled over his words so badly he made you feel unwanted on such a level that made you run.
Like the acts between you two had just been him seeking out pleasure with no real intent other than that behind them. The thought that you must’ve felt like he was just like every other person who had ever used you made his stomach turn and bile burn in his throat. Only his ploys had been steeped in honey and saccharine promises. He had frozen, the words he wanted to whisper to you lost in the panic of the moment, of wanting exactly what you were asking for. It had all been so overwhelming. It had been so real, felt so real, and it had been a jarring realization.
That he had wanted to remove his helmet and give into your request.
Despite the Creed he swore his life to. Despite the commitment he had made to you that would allow for him to do so in time.
But now it was too little too late.
After the third day, he was beginning to think you weren’t merely taking some time to yourself…
Maybe he was foolish to think he hadn’t messed up so monumentally that you had found a way off world and run even further from him. But he knew you weren’t the type of person to do that. To him, to ad’ika.
Burc’ya. Friend.
Ner kar’ta. My heart.
Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. I love you.
Vencuyot riduur. Future husband.
You wouldn’t have run from him to that degree, loyal and devoted. Loving and caring, kind hearted at the very core of who you were. Even despite the tragedies and ill-natured things you had been subjected to in your life. Good. Too good, for someone like him.
He was beginning to think something had happened.
But without the aid of your communication, vambraces still set atop the makeshift table along with your main bag and armor, he had no way of knowing for sure. Just the niggling feeling in his gut that was burrowing deeper by the second.
He sent a transmission to Karga, asking if there was any news of your arrest before deeming the planet a lost cause and raising the ramp. He took the Crest up up up and into the air, helmet scouring the shrinking planet all the while, feeling an ache in his heart that he didn’t think he would ever get used to.
He had to push through, he had to focus. You needed someone to help you, wherever you had gone or been taken. You needed him to find you. He needed to find you.
Ad’ika had been in a constant flux from eerily silent to wailing as loud as his little lungs would allow, wide eyes brimming with tears the longer you were gone. Din had taken to wrapping the child up in the cloak he had bought you, securing it with the metallic flower latches and laying him down in the cot alongside him. Never sleeping, only laying down intermittently to pass the time. Rest evading him as his mind began to think of the things that could’ve happened to you.
Tatooine was his first stop, no response from Karga when he docked and secured the ship in Pelli’s hangar. Much to his disappointment, the travel through hyperspace hadn’t been too long, so a response was wishful thinking on his part. Spurred on by the endless possibilities of what happened consuming him.
He was silent as he handed her the credits from your bag, loathing that he needed to use them as he lacked his own. Even now, gone from him and hurt, you were still offering him help. Providing for him the way he should be for you, the way that he wanted to. The reality of having asked you to travel with him weighing heavily on his mind. Once ad’ika is settled with those who could train him, Din would need to take up working with the Guild full time again to provide for the covert. A life steeped in danger and endless threats, a life you already had far too much experience with. Perhaps…perhaps he could secure a tract of land somewhere, a place to return to after jobs. A nice cabin surrounded by trees and an endless supply of anything you may need. Or perhaps a shop front on Nevarro, for you to sell you wares. He would take extra jobs to provide that for you, work his hands to the bone and until he could barely move for how exhausted he was.
Because you deserved it. You deserved to be happy and he was beginning to think that may not be with him. Not if he was constantly away or you were left on the ship for days, weeks, months at a time while he tracked down his quarries. Constantly traveling through space and left to handle the ship alone.
Would…would you even want that type of life?
Wouldn’t it be another type of imprisonment, no reward but a tired and aching man in the bed beside you only a handful of nights? Half of him given to you, half devoted to his Creed.
I’d rather be dead than be someone’s captive again. Even if it’s as one to you, jatne vod.
Thoughts consuming him, there was no argument from him as he left ad’ika with her to look through the city.
The lack of your figure emerging from the ship didn’t prompt any questions from her, though he could sense them on the tip of her tongue and the front of her mind.
He set out, looking for the woman who you made friends with the last time he had landed the Crest on the sandy planet.
He found her, in the middle of a scuffle in the marketplace over a stolen loaf of bread. A child whose stomach was caved in and bruises over their arms visible when the sleeves of their tunic rose up. The vendor wanted the child to be taken in, punished for the attempted theft. But he could see how conflicted Sioban was with following that heated demand.
Diffusing the situation, seeing the form he had first encountered you in mirrored in the small child, he stepped forward and offered a handful of credits to the vendor.
“To cover the bread for the child, two loaves and that chunk of cured meat.”
“Sir, this has nothing to do with you. You don’t need to put yourself out for that ungrateful litte-“
“Take it.” Din’s head throbbed, exhausted and anxious, just trying to do something good. Something you would do. They were your credits, and he wanted to do this. At the fixed stare of his visor, the vendor released the child from her tight grip, nearly throwing the small frame to the ground as she did. Roughly, she gathered the loaf that had started the whole ordeal, a second one, and the wrapped meat. Holding it out for him to take.
Sioban ushered everyone who had stopped in their tracks to go about their business. Once the small crowd cleared and attention was diverted, Din turned to the child and crouched down.
“Here, for you.” He kept his voice a hush, not wanting the modulator to manipulate his voice into a threatening or menacing tone it tended to do, taking the emotion from his words more often than not.
“T-thank you, sir.”
“Now go and stay out of trouble.”
An enthusiastic nod and they were running off, disappearing down the street.
“Well, well, well. Mando is a softie afterall.” Sioban’s voice lightly teased. “Where’s Sarad and the baby? Or is this a solo trip this time around?”
“I would like to speak with you, if you have the time.”
“Something happened.” The woman’s features hardened, a slant to her brow as her eyes looked him over before settling on the visor. She didn’t look or feel like a threat, something proven further by your willingness to share a table with the woman. But Din was fighting his instincts, the ones telling him to chase chase chase, even with no actual leads as to where you had gone. And this woman might hold some clues or at least be able to offer Din a higher chance if he had someone on the ground of the planet you had run to once already.
“Yes.”
The conversation with Sioban hadn’t yielded any answers. If anything, it solidified that Din had absolutely no idea what to do. With no other leads, he fell back on his tracking tactics, searching for your last place of known residence.
Once back to the ship, he silently takes ad’ika from Pelli. Not responding to the looks or faint questioning he knew was on the woman’s mind. A nod, a formal shaking of the woman’s hand and he was guiding the Crest back into the air to comb over the planet as best he could. You had said you thought you were here when he took you from that compound, a home you had hidden away on this world after running from your mother years ago.
It took him nearly a week’s worth of days of flying low to the land before he caught sight of a structure.
Mind working overdrive as he strained his eyes through the visor with aided mechanics for any sign of life amid the vast stretch of the desert landscape. Sectors outlined and crossed out when they didn’t yield anything. Errant skeletons of a bantha, the Jawa’s traveling across the land, and Tusken settlements the only markers of time passing and the ship moving moderately along.
And then, suddenly.
There were two tall spires beside a moderate looking abode. Moisture farming equipment, the same you had told him about replacing shortly before your capture. Was all he had to go off of, a small conversation that you hadn’t expanded on in your time with him.
The structure was like most far out into the desert, mostly underground with a rounded and smooth stone roof, a door with a protected entrance to prevent sand from building up right up against it. It was modest, big enough for one person to have plenty of room. Abandoned, by his guess, the stone of the building chipped in places from sand and the spare storm weathering it down.
It had to be yours, it had to be, please let it be yours were his thoughts as he broke the lock still activated, ensuring the structure was protected even out in the middle of nowhere. Mos Eisley was an entire day’s travel away. Even more so in any other direction to another of the planets handful of moderate settlements. A good place to hide. Visibility on your side. A lonely place to hide.
I’ve always loved the forest.
The memory how your tired and injured features had lit up at the sight of Sorgan visible through the glass of the cockpit, the breathy gasp that had fallen from your lips sprung to his mind. You had been so calm, despite the precarious circumstances, stealing away moments to brush your bare fingers along the leaves reaching out from low branches.
You must’ve been miserable here. The land so dry and empty, the closest mountain ridges barely visible on the horizon. Even those were spotty with tangled roots that held little to no greenery. Sentencing yourself to the wasteland to live out your life in fear and comfortability, hoping the environment you weren’t fond of would throw those searching for you off your trail.
Glancing behind him, Din watched as ad’ika slowly made his way down the ramp. Little sounds falling from his lips as he took in the sight of his guardian in front of a new place he didn’t recognize. Raising his hands as he got to the bottom of it, Din retreated to it and lifted up the small child, holding him tight in the crook of his elbow as he descended down the few steps and through the open door.
It was dark inside, no lights on or power source even charged, no doubt. But definitely abandoned. Sparingly decorated, though he could feel that it was once your space. The kitchen equipped with a fancy caf maker, ample kitchen wares, potted plants and herbs that had long died and dried in the sunlight coming in through the windows. There was an impressively organized wall of shelving right above a desk in the large main room, presumably where you would work on crafting armor. The only way to support yourself in such an environment. Most likely making trips into town in order to sell or trade.
There were three interior doors at the back of the structure. A heavy duty one off to the side of the kitchen. That one contained a greenhouse set up, or as close to one as you could imitate underground and on so hot a planet. There was a large panel of controls beside the door on the inside, telling Din of the way you controlled the pressure and moisture of the room One to a storage room, more evidence of your time spent here. Full of large bins and crates, evidence of grains and dried food. Of the pieces of armor you lovingly and intricately crafted.
One to a fresher, the last to what was once your bedroom.
Underneath the bed is where he found it, with the aid of his helmet. The massive rug that took up most of the bedroom floor hiding it in plain sight. The trap door exposed when he moved the bed and folded the rug up.
It wasn’t secured with anything that he could see, even with the aid of his helmet. It looked just like score marks dug into the stone ground. And he recalled the way you could effortlessly wield the Force, the power you shared with the child. Perhaps you hadn’t wanted a way for anyone else to access what lay hidden beneath, using it to manipulate the hideaway you felt you needed even this deep in the desert alone. Forever paranoid and fearful of being tracked down and found out.
Sighing, Din tried to think of a way to break the barrier, knowing he needed to search the entire home.
“Ad’ika,” He called, turning to see the child had situated himself on the couch in the main room. Eyes wide as he toyed with a broken collar. He wondered if it had belonged to a creature you had cared for, run away or long since passed now. “Ad’ika, can you help me?”
Leaning down to pick up the occupied child, Din pointed a gloved finger to the marks in the stone ground.
“Ad’ika, see these lines?” A gurgle of acknowledgement, the tilting of his head. “There’s a door here, that leads underground. Mesh’la put it there, do you think you can open it?”
Din set him down in front of it, crouching down to hold his hand out in front of them both and mimic the way you would twist your hand in concentration to harness your powers.
“Just like Mesh’la, like how you take the handle from the lever in the control room?”
Wide eyes looked up at him, curiosity in them at the man’s words.
If this didn’t work…he could always resort to using the charges fastened to his belt. Force a way through the entrance, but he didn’t want to damage the space or the room below.
But the crackling of stone was sharp as it sounded in the air. The child’s small face scrunched up in concentration, his eyes clenched shut as he harnessed his powers. Quiet grunts falling from his mouth as he struggled to move the stone.
But it was working. It was opening, the telltale sounds of stone grinding on stone as the thick slab that acted as an entrance was pried open.
“Good job, ad’ika! It’s working!” He couldn’t contain the pride in his voice nor the rapid beating of his heart. Positive that any answers he was in search of would dwell below. He moved forward to help lift the heavy slab, shoving it along the floor and revealing a dark space into the lower level of the house.
Turning on the flashlight of his helmet, Din descended into the bowels of your hideaway. Dust enveloped him as he waved at ad’ika to stay put on the higher level until he cleared the space.
It was a large room, the same size as the whole top floor of the structure. Though it was only two rooms, a living room and a bedroom with a second fresher. The living room held floor to ceiling bookcases, filled to the brim with physical books. A holo net in front of the couch, signs that you spent just as much time down here as you did in the rest of the structure if not more. He hated the realization that you felt the need to hide away even this far out in the desert, this far out in the galaxy. Forever paranoid and holding the fear that you would be tracked down. And he had been a part of that fear, he had been one of the many who had sought you out.
The crate in the bedroom caught his eye, beckoning him forward. Not only because of the hefty locks sealing it shut but because there was energy around it that made the tips of his fingers tingle. Much like his blood when he felt your body pressed up to his own, the sacrament of your trust in him personified.
Walking toward it, the small baby curls of his recently trimmed hair prickled on the back of his neck.
Snapping the thick locks, he kneeled on the ground in front of it and slowly lifted the lid.
His breath left him as the visor set into a midnight blue, almost black Mandalorian helmet peered back up at him. It was in pristine condition, as if it had merely been taken off for the man who he suspected wore it to partake in a quick meal and not the reality that it had been stored here for who knows how many years untouched. He hadn’t asked if you had kept it, after the man’s death, but he was felt the question bubble on his tongue more than once. But the answer was sitting obvious and blaring right in front of him.
Lifting it revealed the very same pendant he had gifted to you, attached to a thinly crafted beskar chain.
The one you had said you intended to show him in order to garner his help, to let him know of your connection to his way of life. Lost in the scuffle of being taken off guard and whisked away, but it was here, awaiting your return. He wondered why you hadn’t worn it that day, the day that set your paths up to cross. With slow movements, he began to remove the cowl about his neck, laying it down beside him.
With a held breath, he reached for the pendant and fastened it around his neck, tucking it beneath his shirt and layers of protective ware fronted by his cuirass. The cowl going back in place.
Beside the helmet…beside it was a neatly arranged line of metal hilts similar to the one you carried with you at all times. Similar to the one you had tried to buy your freedom from him with when first meeting.
Similar but not identical.
There were four of them. Lightsabers, you had told him they were called. That he now knew were an integral part of the creed you had been trained in. But the fact remained that he didn’t know the why of how many you had in your possession.
You had said each person similar in skill and training crafted their own, each unique and personal to an individual much like the helmets and armor Mandalorian’s adorned. Carefully picking one up, tingling traveling further up his arms and settling down his back, he tilted it to see that it did indeed house a crystal like your own. Each one had a different hue.
He decided to stay in the place that you once called home that night, locking up the ship after checking to see if he had received word from Karga. But when there were transmissions waiting to be heard, he secured the ship. His head hurting and his mind overwhelmed at finding pieces of you, proof that you existed outside of his memories.
Settling into the bed, he knew it was a lost cause as he tried to feel close to you. Reality reminding him you hadn’t slept in either of the cots aboard the ship in nearly two weeks now, years for the bed he now lay atop, cover bunched underneath his arms as he curled on his side and regarded the journal you left behind in your haste to run. Ad’ika resting atop the pillow beside his own, wrapped in your cloak as if it was the softest blanket in the universe. The child trying to feel close to you as well, missing you and growing more concerned each day.
Sleep evaded him, your voice loud in his head, the way you had sounded so devoid of emotion when he had failed to communicate with you. Tipping into different memories, the most prominent of the events back on Nevarro.
It rang in his ears, over and over, layering itself until it was a buzz he couldn’t rid himself of.
Ner kar’ta.
The desperation in your voice, the tears in your eyes, the way your hands shook as they reached out for him, how gentle they were when they cradled his helmet. The soft press of your forehead to his chest, to his helmet, to his hands grasped in your own as he lay bloodied and injured, barely conscious and so tired. So ready for death after a life that had only allowed him a glimpse of you. To ensure you could escape and continue to live, to be safe.
You had told him, as well as you could, what you meant to him.
Had shown him, with trusting him to press his skin to yours, body tangled with his own. Nervous giggles sounding into the air and seizing his heart as he wanted for more of them. Of the breathy sighs and sounds that fell from your lips as you let him caress your skin, the soft give of your chest, the plush give of your thighs, the velvet smooth apex between them.
Trusted him with the most intimate parts of you, parts of human connection. Even in the face of all that you had endured.
And then you has whispered it, half asleep and safe underneath him.
I love you. Future husband.
And he shattered it. With a foolish blunder of words he hadn’t been able to reign in, to explain himself and his own desires in a more coherent way. That he wanted you just as you wanted him.
Jatne vod.
Contradicted with the emotion bleeding from your expressive eyes, the firm line of your lips as you closed your mouth, resigned to a notion that you gathered from his stupid, ill thought-out words. From his lack of words. The way your hands shook for an entirely different reason, the way you shrunk into yourself, away from him.
And then you had been gone.
And it hurt.
He left ad’ika in the room, fast asleep atop the pillows.
Removing his helmet and hanging his head in his hands, he settled on the couch. For the first time in a long time, the Mandalorian known for being so ruthless, for being so focused and emotionless behind his helmet, cried.
“Mando, I’ve received word. But it is best relayed in person. I will be awaiting your arrival.”
Ad’ika was not having a good day, he didn’t want to leave the house he could feel your presence in. He had already wailed and shook his tiny fists as Din tried to pick up him. Causing the migraine addled man to lose his grip at the sharp pierce of his cries to his head. That had only resulted in the thump of ad’ika’s bottom on the stone floor and more crying.
Din already felt bad enough, but he felt like the worst guardian in the galaxy for dropping his foundling, for not being able to manage his own pain and discomfort to care for another’s. A pang of fear floods him, igniting his instincts in a way it rarely did. And he froze in his crouched position, having been about to scoop ad’ika up.
The child must’ve shared in his foreboding, a shriek sprouting from him and causing Din to cradle his head as best he could with the helmet, knees kissing the floor harshly as he fell to them.
Something was wrong. Low in his gut, unease bubbled and stuck to his insides.
He felt like he was going to be sick, his head throbbing, pain prickling from the healing scar at the back.
And then his body felt numb, like all sense of command was not his to control and his vision blacked out.
Nevarro loomed in the distance, approaching fast. The ship rattled at the harsh landing, Din’s steps hard and fast as he disembarked, the ramp closing behind him as he crossed the new archway that had been erected in the time he had been away. Months had gone by, one with you and one without. Having to spend another week resting in the place you once called home. He had fallen ill, though of what he didn’t have an answer. Only that his head felt like he had been electrocuted and his limbs had been hard to control. Adi’ka too, had been lethargic, crying out long into the night every time the suns had set and darkness took over the planet. The search for you stretching far too long, anxiety thrumming over his skin.
Karga was in the reconstructed city hall, reading over something laid out on the table when the door boomed open, revealing the determined figure of Din, a secretary behind him frantically trying to warn the man in charge of his arrival.
“Where?”
“Sir, please, you need to check in-“
“It’s alright, he’s got clearance.” With a nod the woman was closing the door behind her, knowing it was serious if all protocol was being ignored.
Din repeated his question, forgoing a formal greeting.
“Well, I wish these were better circumstances.” The man stood up, coming around the table and leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest as he took in the still form of Din across the room. The wide eyes of the child peeking out from the bag at his hip, small hands allowing him to climb from within it and jump from the moderate height. He cooed, walking the distance to Karga and lifting his hands toward the man.
“I’m still trying to get intel on that. But I do know that it was her mother, who struck a deal with someone of the Guild. He…was here still when we took back the city. He had taken the transaction separate from the Guild, not wanting word of it to get back to me. To you.” He relayed the information as he bent down to pick up the small being.
“I’ve got him locked up, but he’s not speaking.”
“He will.”
“Mando-“
He was gone in a blink, stalking out the door and toward the prison cells kept on the lowest floor of the building.
The stone steps opened up to a line of cells on both sides of the long room, Din stopped in front of the only occupied one. Body buzzing with anger that the inhabitant had not only hunted you down and captured you but did so on the orders of someone who’s voice triggered you through a transmission. He couldn’t begin to imagine the visceral reaction you’d have upon seeing her for the first time in years, having entertained the thought of killing yourself in order to not have to deal with her again.
And he feared, heat catching in his throat as he felt the prickle of tears.
I’d rather be dead than be shackled for one more second of my life!
You…you wouldn’t, right? Now that you had him to return to, someone to rescue you from being stolen away from the life you had carved out for yourself. It had been so long since you had been taken, days, weeks, and entire month. And he still had no clue as to where you had been crated off to. It would be more days, more weeks, maybe another month before he could figure it out. Did you already seize an unknown opportunity, try to escape? Or had you given up, too loaded up with whatever drugs your mother and intended pumped into your system to make you compliant? Would you have taken the endless out of harming yourself, seeing it as the only option as he failed to come to your aid thus far?
Would you be able to sense the desperation and endless efforts he was putting forth to find you? That he was trying, despite the way he was still healing, despite the sense of dread that he would be too late?
Would you be able to sense his worry and fear over you having to deal with something you never wished for? A forced reunion with your mother, back in her clutches and control. A forced marriage to a man you didn’t know, the obligations that came along with that notion…the very same acts that had caused you to turn to self-harm in the past, the scars of which were displayed on the skin of your thighs, the same ones that he had run his fingers over not too long ago…
A man bound in cuffs was slumped against the floor, back leaning on the wall behind him. He appeared to be alive, though if his answers didn’t aid Din in his search for you he wouldn’t be for long. Giving into the urge to startle the unaware man, Din banged a fist on the bars of the cell. Jerking awake, the man’s eyes flew open and his chest heaved.
The second he recognized the armor, his eyes narrowed and he frowned.
“It was just a job, nothing personal, Mando.”
“Is that why you went out of your way to hide it from the Guild records?”
“You’re too self-righteous, knew you’d come after me for hunting the girl.”
The snapping of metal was loud, sickening as Din’s shoulders forced the control panel to bend and spark.
The whine of the door swinging open deafening as the man pressed himself back into the wall, trying to get up on his feet. But he was too slow, Din’s hands hauling the man up by the front of his jumpsuit and slamming him into the wall. A crack sounded as the back of the man’s head connected with the stone of the wall. A wail punched from his chest as he lost the air in his lungs.
“It’s too late, her mother married her off to some high lord. She’s probably already knocked up with his heir by now. Living a cush life in some nice palace far away from here.” He spoke unprompted by a direct question. Knowing that it was useless to try and lie to the Mandalorian.
The mere thought of someone touching you had anger swirling in his chest and stomach, igniting him in a dangerous way. You didn’t like people touching you, you didn’t like anyone who wasn’t him touching you in any way let alone intimately. His voice was low when he breathed out his next question, an edge to it that commanded the truth.
“Where?”
“Don’t know, I told her mother you were probably going to find out, track me down and kill me for the information. Don’t know why.” The man flipped the stray hairs flopping over his forehead away, teeth clenching as he recalled the way you had slammed him harshly into the side of the alley. “The bitch has a pretty face, sure, but she was a handful. Took a lot to take her out, but once I did, she begged so sweet for me to let her go.”
“Drugging someone isn’t something to boast about, it’s a last-ditch effort for those who don’t have the skill for the job.” Din’s words were a guttural sound, echoing across the floor. Blood dripped from the man’s nose, a vambrace knocked into it the longer the man talked. He didn’t know anything, but that wouldn’t stop Din from beating what he could out of the man.
“So what? It took her down and that’s what mattered. I saw her take down those Storm Troopers that overran the city, there was no way I was going to be able to without the hint from her mother. You’ll find another body to warm your bed. No need to fret over-“
Din’s hand was around the man’s throat in a flash, knuckles popping with the force. An ugly gurgle deep in his chest, body desperate for air, but he would never take another breath again. Windpipe crushing under his palm, Din took some comfort in the final, choked sound the man made before his body went limp.
Before it could even crumple to the ground, Din was walking out of the room and going straight toward the stairs.
“Mando, I sent communication to Cara, she’s-“
“I’ve got what I need.” Din was careful as he lifted the child from atop the desk where Karga had set him with a snack. Exchanging adoring coos with the tired little being. Making sure to offer the rest of the pack of dried fruit to the claws reaching out for it, a whine falling from his mouth at the idea of leaving it behind.
“Not so fast-“
“I don’t have time. I need to find her.” Din snapped, fists clenching and ad’ika ducking down into the bag at the boom of his voice. “She’s been sold like a slave by her mother.”
“I’m going with you,” Cara was firm in her decision, not wanting to take any chances of your distance becoming permanent. Of it leading to the demise of the person who you had begun to develop into that she had glimpsed.
“No, I have to handle this myself. I was the one who failed to protect her.” He moved to continue through the room, toward the door. But Cara was suddenly in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest and her lips a firm line.
“Mando, you’re gonna need help. And she’s important to me too.”
It was a quiet trek back to the entrance of the city, more ships having landed around his own. He was about to engage the ramp when two of the attending guards approached him. But they spoke with Cara at the sharp gaze of the visor on them. Another ship was offered for them to use, curtesy of the city and of Karga. Something a little smaller, a little faster, nondescript and wouldn’t give away the presence of an enraged and desperate Mandalorian searching for his partner.
When the argument for a different ship didn’t take, Karga approached through the archway.
Cara was hesitant to point out that the ship was as obvious as Din’s armor. A sign to tip off those keeping an eye out for threats. She had been quiet, sitting in the office with the magistrate and the child while the body of the now deceased Guild member who had hunted you down was taken care of. Waiting for Din to emerge from the containment level. But now she stood beside him, urging him to see the benefits to changing ships, just for the time being.
“Do we risk docking the ship in a hangar?”
“Yes, we lie about the model.” Din insisted, not wanting to leave the Crest behind.
“What if someone knows?”
“It’s an old ship, pre-Empire, no one will know.”
“They’ll run it through the system.” Karga spoke up, wanting to be a voice of reason for his friend determined to rush, to not take a beat and think things through. “Mando, you owe it to her to be as stealthy as possible. If they know you’re coming, once you track down where, they may hurt her. Take it out on her.”
Din closed his eyes, hand coming to the front of his helmet and over the visor. He didn’t want to part ways with his ship, even temporarily. It would mean he wasn’t surrounded by the things you left behind, the proof that you were real, had been with him, shared in a life with him even for a moment.
With his words more of a grunt than anything, he conceded, knowing the two beside him were just trying to help.
“What did you do Mando?” She asked quietly, the book from your crate in her hands and pages flipping as she looked through it. Hoping to find some light on how to connect with you. Din had gathered supplies from the Crest, things you may want once he managed to find you and rescue you.Your armor and more of your clothing, the first things he packed into your bag. An insistence for you to never leave the ship without the pauldrons again that he would plead with you until you conceded. People would be less likely to confront you with the tell-tale signet of a clan and the Mandalorian armor. But then again, he never planned to stray far from you outside of the ship. He knew you were capable, more than capable, but he…he wouldn’t be able to handle loosing you again if he was able to get you back.
When he got you back, he argued against the self-depreciating and negative thoughts that were attempting to consume him.
The ship was in hyperspace, a three-day trip ahead of them to make it to the mid rim coordinates of your home world. Neither had been there but knew of the inhabitants being an uneven mix of humans and a reptilian race. Oceans and sprawling fields of tall grass making up most of the environment. It was a moderately size planet, had seen bases for both the Resistance and the Empire in it’s time. Though the more recent had been the former. Most likely spurred on by your suspected return to what you knew in the wake of the Temple’s attack. An event in your life that you had yet to open up completely about, allowing him small glimpses before it became to much to talk about. But it was easy to connect the fall of Mandalore and the fall of your Temple being equally devastating, an attempt to take out entire cultures.
“I…I made a mistake.”
“…how big of a mistake?” Cara didn’t look up from the journal in her hands, not wanting to make the armored man feel cornered. Allowing him the privacy and space to turn away from the question should he want to, feel the need to.
“She fled the ship, to get some space. She must’ve been distracted, too worked up to keep her head up and on alert. It…I’m the reason she was taken.”
“Mando, you know that’s not true.” Cara tried to placate him, knowing he carried a lot of guilt over what had happened, whatever it had been to cause all of this. “She didn’t have her saber?”
“She does- did. She.. they drugged her. Like you said, it’s the only way to take her down.”
“Wait, this looks like Basic. They’re the only characters written differently…”
Din was hovering, making out the words on his own.
“Betrothed.”
He recalled the same words falling from your lips, the reason that prompted you to make an escape. You hadn’t wanted to be someone’s wife, someone’s property. The name was in Basic as well, something you didn’t want to forget lest they come after you themselves. A shadow of your past hovering over you and hidden in the back of your mind as you set out on your own, determined to hide yourself away to prevent anyone from having power over you. Of belonging to someone, anyone ever again.
And yet…you had so readily agreed in his commitment to you, knowing that was the only way Din would be able to share in your affections and wants. Mandalorian religion and culture strictly forbade the removal of one’s helmet unless it was with family, with a spouse, with children of the same clan. To do so outside of those conditions would result in the label of an apostate. Striped of their involvement in the lifestyle and Creed. It was a serious thing you should hold reservations about, with your past.
And while he hadn’t pushed the parameters of it….he had wanted to. For you, for himself, to share himself with you in the way that you had felt safe enough to voice. The realization that you had agreed to such an all-encompassing thing, being with him made him reflect. Why were you willing to do so with him, for him? He was just a bounty hunter, one who had actively sought you out and intended to turn you into the very person who had stolen you away. Sold you like an object to someone for their wants and needs, to fill a space in their life whichever way they commanded it. He had been of the same mind when first encountering you, seeking you out for a trade of currency.
Din was not a good man, though he tried to be for his people. But being a good man to his people, being the sole provider for his covert allowed him to be fast and loose with what it meant to be good in order to do so. What did it matter if the person whose puck he had was truly guilty of the accusations calling for their surrender if it allowed him to delivery credits and supplies to his people? What did it matter if the job warranted for the person he was tracking to be delivered dead or alive and he chose to kill them based on the simple notion of them running and it allowed him to bring a ration of meals to his people?
What had he ever done to deserve someone such as yourself willing to let down your walls and allow him entrance? He had been at internal war, whether or not to turn you in the second you spoke Mando’a to him, healed him, saved him from that second raging Mudhorn even when you had to reason to do so. You easily could’ve let the cut on his arm fester, let the rampaging creature take out his already spent form.
But…it wouldn’t have been easy, he knows now. How you cared for those around you: from friendly vendors to women you seemed to see yourself in, to children who are simply hungry and have no choice but to steal, to ad’ika in bounds and waves, to him. The constant swivel of your head while out in crowds and among people, sousing out threats and people who may be on the lookout for you. The swiftness with which you turn into a fighter when threatened and your freedom is at stake.
The thoughts swirled around and around in Din’s mind as the ship traveled toward your home world. The last known location of your mother and potentially holding clues as to who she struck a deal with. The now dead bounty hunter not having gotten a name, only concerned with the exchange of credits for your capture. No questions, no concerns. The quarry’s capture the only thing that mattered. The man had taken the job and completed it. Had died as a result of it.
Din had been like that too, not that long ago.
Could have easily been the one being imprisoned while someone who cared about a quarry sought answers and revenge. But he was the one realizing how fragile things where, had been since taking two fobs from Karga and altering the very meaning of his life.
Something about the wide, beseeching eyes of the child had activated his heart. Opened it up and made room for the small being to fit into. The uncertainty he had sensed from the child once its eyes had looked into his own, spurring a sense of concern from the armored man over its life well beyond the need to deliver it to the client healthy and alive.
“She asked for something, for a…kiss.”
“But…your helmet.” Cara weakly argued, knowing how strongly he adhered to his Creed. Not even removing it in the face of grave injury and offered aid. Not even removing it in the threat of death.
“I know,” His words were carried on a heavy sigh. He sat heavily in the seat beside her, the hull holding a small set up for longer travels. Ad’ika crawled from her lap and over the table, situating himself in Din’s arms, claws reaching for the helmet to try and sooth the man. “She- she called me ‘jatne vod’ before she fled from the ship.”
The cracking of his voice was not lost through the modulator.
“She must’ve felt so rejected, so unwanted. And I- I just stumbled over my words so badly she ran.”
“She knows you care about her, Din.”
The sound of his name from her lips, so different from when you spoke it, whispered it, breathed it, was too much for him.
“I really messed up, Cara.” He admitted with shaky words.
“We’ll fix it, I’ll help you fix it.”
K’ath was a beautiful planet. All endlessly sprawling ocean, sandy beaches, and small clustered villages.
Simple. Life here was simple. Crops being tended to, the oceans being fished in, no signs of the war other than an abandoned base on the edge of the largest cluster.
Din hadn’t ever wanted to enter the planet’s atmosphere, to step foot on the sandy land. It was a place that held painful memories for you, the crumbling of a life you had been hopeful to return to in the wake of losing everything that ever meant anything to you. A hopeful refuge after a life of hardships, but it had only provided you with more. The stripping of your freedom and the control over your own body.
It was simple enough to find your home, your mother’s home. Asking after the armorer, claiming he was in need of repairs. A Kath woman had been kind enough to try and use her broken Basic to tell them where he could find the store front, but that no one had been tended to it for some time now. That the woman who was known to run it could be approached at her personal residence. That she was kind and could be persuaded to help even though she’d long retired from working.
It was empty, signs of disuse obvious from the outside. Tall reeds of grass sprouting up at the foundation, the windows thick with grime. It was humble, despite the ways in which Din had seen you return from a shop front, a bag heavy with credits in your possession. A skill that you learned from your mother lending you a way to support yourself and indulge in all the things you had to go without for so long.
There was only one transmission on the communication radio set up in the corner that Cara had rushed to once the door had creaked open. Sand was collected in the corners, another sign that no one had occupied the residence for some time now.
“She’s on Maldovan.” Cara shuffled into the bedroom from the main one, aware that the man was focused on something she couldn’t see. He was as still as a statue, peering into the darkness of the doorway in front of him.
The visor allowing him to take in the room you had been held captive in. There was bedding on the ground, no frame for it to sit upon. A chair on the opposite side, close to the door. No windows, no other entrance or exit. A small room that was bathed in darkness lest someone bring a lantern into the room with them.
“I don’t know that planet.” Din admitted, shifting from where he was standing at the doorway of what had been the locked room hidden behind a large wardrobe to look over his shoulder at her. The shifting of it had popped a drawer open, revealing needles and syringes, vials that had been long emptied. All signs that this was truly the home you had been kept in.
“Is that-?”
“Where San was kept locked up, yeah.” He was surging forward, hands reaching for the chains secured to the walls above the bedding and he pulled. Using all the strength he had to rip them from where they were bolted, the wall cracking and splintering as he did so. The heavy chains fell to the floor with a clang, metal that sounded eerily familiar as it collapsed on itself. Kneeling down, Din reached for one of them, the cuff in his hand heavy and he sucked in a breath as he realized why such a simple contraption had been able to hold you: the chains were made of pure beskar.
Far too heavy for your drug addled body to fight against.
Programmed to shock you should you move too much, the sensors lining the inside of the cuffs telling him as much. With a shout he tore the second, lower set of chains from the wall, throwing them across the room in his rage.
The image of you shackled to the wall of this dark room, consumed with thoughts of ending your life kept him on his knees, forced his arms to support him as he crumpled to the ground completely. His modulator crackling with the heavy breaths.
Surging up, he activated bright flames to flow from his vambrace. Intent on tearing down the entire house to the last stud and beam. Cara was quick to retreat back outside, letting the man do what he felt was necessary. She stood behind him as he made his way outside, the structure entirely lit up and beginning to collapse in on itself.
Dark smoke whipped around in the breeze coming off of the nearby shoreline, doing nothing to quell the licking flames. Cara was doing her best to sooth an equally agitated child in the bad slung across her shoulders. Though she knew it would take time for them both to come back from seeing the evidence of your heavy past.
They watched as it turned from burning wood, the outer stone walls crumbling from the heat that had been trapped inside, to a pile of rubble and ash.
He knew it was against the Creed, that it was a sin to leave behind something of his people. But the beskar that had contained you glowed hot amongst the ash, left behind as he walked away from the plot of land and back to the ship.
“The holonet has little information on Maldovan. Citing that it’s a desert planet with white sands, crystalline oceans that bring in a lot of visitors.” Din announced as he exited the control room, the ship constructed of only that and one other room off the hold space. One level, but enough for them to be comfortable traveling. Cara had tried to get Din to retire to the room once they returned to the ship and left K’ath behind, but he had insisted he was fine. Though the door to the cockpit had been closed and locked for hours now, well into the trip since the ship had been jumped into hyperspace.
“And their walled city.” Cara added, as she brought up a hologram of the planet to life from her cuff. She had reached out to Karga, asking him for any aid he had to provide them on the place they were traveling to.
“Yes… and if her mother knows about you then it will be hard to make a plan. Your armor isn’t exactly common and I’m sure she’s told the royal guard to keep an eye out for you.”
“Haran.” He cursed, knowing Cara’s words were true.
Shit.
It was entirely possible, and he wouldn’t put it past the woman he personally knew nothing about, going off of the words of her that you had shared with him. But surely the only city on the planet wouldn’t go out of their way to screen the many tourists that sought out the picturesque world.
Time seemed to be moving slowly and far too fast all at the same time. Thoughts continued to consume Din, all the possibilities of what could occur, what had already occurred making him feel like he was a child once again who knew nothing of the world or how it worked. The ship’s system beeping before it shifted smoothly from traveling through hyperspace and back to sublight settings.
The planet in view was covered in vast expanses of white sand and bright blue. An ocean planet as much as a desert one. It was small, a moon to a larger planet visible in the sky even within the atmosphere as the ship descended. The only city was surrounded by a large wall, protection from the two outcroppings that looked to be a racetrack and the well-established tourist destination on either side.
Maldovan was known as a resort destination, an entire smaller sector off set from the main city. The sector looked to be abundant with hotels, spas, shopping, anything and everything to keep individuals occupied and a steady supply of credits flowing into the local economy.
Cara had suggested she be the one to guide the ship through the planet’s atmosphere, handle the communication with the intake group, and land the smaller ship into the hangar. She suggested he stay behind on the ship while she registered the ship, paying the station fee for several days. And when she returned, there was a frown on her face and a worried furrow to her brow.
The woman was frustrated, that much was obvious. Din merely watched her as she closed the ramp, turning to him and explaining what information she had gathered during the short interaction.
There were two glaringly obvious problems:
Everyone wore light, flowing coverings and outfits in order to gain access into the main part of the city.
And there were wanted posters depicting Din’s armored form.
previous chapter || next chapter
dividers: by the lovely @cafekitsune
taglist: @clevergirl74 @strawberri-blonde @js-favnanadoongi @littlemisspascal @moonknight-s-cumdump @bookloverkat @golden-mando @beskarandblasters @feral-ferrule @bearsbeetsbeskar @76bookworm76 @anoverwhelmingdin @sarap-77 @picassopedro @sawymredfox @jessthebaker @genetics4life @mosssbawls
#dev writes#fic: of beskar and kyber#the mandalorian#the mandalorian fanfiction#din djarin#din djarin series#din djarin fanfic#din djarin fic#din djarin pov#din djarin character study#din djarin x reader#din djarin x you#din djarin fanfiction#din djarin smut#star wars#star wars fanfiction#cara dune#greef karga#din and grogu#grogu#angst#bounty hunter din djarin#ao3#ao3 fic#ao3 link#archive of our own#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fandom
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Triple Frontier Masterlist
A masterlist for all Triple Frontier fics
Tumblr messed up u links so im slowly trying to fix them! anything in bold SHOULD be goo to go. if i miss anything, let me know! If you really wanna readsomething and cant find it searching, send and ask and ill try to find it for you
Santiago "Pope" Garcia
Leather and Lace (Completed): While on a mission, Pope, Fish, Benny and Will find a girl tied up in the basement of a drug lord, a victim of trafficking. She won't hardly talk or look at them. Will she learn to trust Santi? Will he be able to help her? ♥️🖤🌶
Match Made in Heaven: Benny and Will play matchmaker with you and Santi. It works.
Full: At a fundraiser, you are all dressed up and Santi can't help himself.
Santi with a Reader on her Period: You wake up with your period unexpectedly. So unexpected, that you have bled all over your boyfriend and his bed, and freak out. Santi tries to make it better.
Gross Reality: A sorta sequel to the last period fic with Santi but this time with the gross gory details of the reality of periods.
Hello Sunshine, Won’t You Stay?: A song fic to a Bruce Springsteen song for @astroboots fantastic series, Homecoming
Honest Mistake (Co written with the wonderful @missdictatorme) : Santi accidentally forgets your birthday, bringing the delta force on one last mission to not let you find out.
If You Wanna Be Wild ft. Javier Peña: Javi and his new partner, a young Santiago Garcia straight out the military, begin to take down Lorea with the help of Candy, a charming and beautiful prostitute.
Please Don't Go?: You are going through an extreme depressive episode, and Santiago is afraid of leaving you alone.
Benjamin "Benny" Miller
Just to be Your Man: You go to a bar with the express intent of hooking up with someone; something you never do. Will Benny Miller be that man?
Puzzle Pieces: You’re Toms girlfriend and honestly, he’s a dick. All the guys know it, all the guys tell him to be better, but Benny always finds a way to make it better himself.
Part one; You try to show off your finished puzzle
Part Two: Tom won’t look at your tomato’s
William "Ironhead" Miller
Temptation: Redfly’s estranged daughter comes back into his life, and this makes things difficult on Will Miller
Lucky: You are having a tough time, but Will is there for you.
He Didn't Have to Be: You and Will hit it off immediately, but being a single mom but a past, you didn't think that he'd be interested in you. You were wrong, and Will asks you on the sweetest date you could imagine.
For the Longest Time (series): Lorelei is suspicious of everyone around her, especially men. She’s jaded, but keeps running into this man and excepts something to be wrong about him… but he only ever treats her with kindness. When she really needs him, he’s there… but that leads to an unexpected turn in her life. Can she learn to trust him and the kind, loving found family he has?
Francisco "Catfish" Morales
Take Your Time (series): Taking place after Leather and Lace (but not necessary to read Leather and Lace before this), Frankie is struggling with his sobriety, and needs his friends and family to rally around him.
Partner in Crime: you have trouble orgasming, but Frankie is there to help you
Two or More
Awakening Series Masterlist: You find you and Santiago share a mutual fantasy; being shared with his friends
End of the Innocence: Not really a Triple Fontier fic but a fic based off a Triple Frontier fic, do what you must with that. A song Fic for Watch Your Step🖤
Benny Miller X Frankie Morales
Boys of Summer: Told over the series of summers, we follow Benny and Frankie as they meet, fall in love, fall apart, and come back together again.
I Won’t Be Afraid Anymore: A sequel to Boys Of Summer. Benny and Frankie figure things out as promised.
Take Care of You: Frankie wraps Ben’s hands before his fight.
Headcanons
TF Boys with a Reader with an ED
Love Langauges: Acts of Service
Love Languages: Physical Touch
Love Languages: Words of Affirmation
Love Languages: Quality Time
Love Languages: Gift Giving
#Triple frontier#triple frontier fanfiction#santiago Garcia#Santiago Garcia reader#frankie morales#frankie morales reader#will miller#will miller reader#benjamin miller#benjamin miller reader
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Call It What You Want: Prologue - my reputation’s never been worse
Pairing: Frankies Morales x female reader ( Tom Davis’ half sister, no physical descriptors),
Summary: Tom Davis’ younger half-sister never expected to move back to Florida, but eight months after her brother’s untimely death and in the wake of her, in hindsight, ill-advised marriage ending, here she is.
Frankie Morales is trying to get it together after his relapse on returning to Florida led to the breakdown of his relationship. His priorities now are finding his own place so he doesn’t need to sleep on Pope’s couch, maintaining sobriety, spending more time with his daughter and getting his pilot’s licence back.
So when the two of them end up sharing an apartment, it seems like the ideal solution. However, things are never that simple, are they?
Chapter Warnings: Minors DNI (18+), language, discussions of drug abuse and addiction including a non-detailed reference to an overdose, allusions to emotional abuse, discussions of death, PTSD, canon typical violence, do I need to warn for mentions of Tom (it’s post-movie though!)
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Frankie
Pope’s couch is uncomfortable at best, agonising at worst. Frankie pulls himself up, grabbing his phone and scrolling through the various missed notifications.
For the last six months, Pope was in Australia and so when Frankie had started crashing at his, he could at least pretend he was an almost functional adult as he housesat for him. Pope recently came home though and now Frankie is back to being a glorified couch surfer.
It’s been eight months since he and his friends - no, not friends, they are more than that, brothers - returned from South America with nothing but a dead body and a shitload of bad memories to unpack.
Frankie thought his life was a mess before then, he’d been so fucking stupid.
Rock bottom, it turned out, wasn’t his licence being suspended, wasn’t crashing into the Andes, or every damned moment of that trip. The way to rock bottom was found in a plastic bag, was the way that left him wondering if it would genuinely better if he’d been the one coming back in a body bag. The way to rock bottom was bloody noses, lost licences and ruined relationships. It was his friends having to stay up with him through withdrawals and rages and being so fucking pathetic. That wasn’t the moment though.
It turned out rock bottom was the exact moment where after ODing on his bathroom floor at 2am, his ex told him she wasn’t sure he should see his daughter until he could show her he was sober, that their kid deserved better. It tore a hole in him worse than any bullet could.
That was then though.
Now Frankie has a six month chip in his wallet, if nothing else. He is sure he knows what his friends really think about him - Frankie is the friend they have to worry about, the one who is couch surfing and working shitty jobs until his suspension ends and he can reapply for his pilot licence. He sees it in the way Will watches him wordlessly at a bar, like he is being scrutinised with each drink, just in case. Drink isn’t his problem though. Never has been.
He is different now. He just needs a fresh start.
Frankie’s daughter, his pilot’s licence, these were things he keeps working for. To keep his ghosts at bay. He could do it for her surely. He is getting better, he hasn’t touched that stuff in months, he earned that chip, he can do this.
Pope walks into the kitchen and nods at him. “Morning.”
“Hey man,” Frankie says, yawning as he stands up. “You heading to work?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Nope. I’m seeing Gabby later and then I have work in the afternoon.”
“Say hi to the kiddo for me. How’s she doing?”
“She’s great.”
“Damn,” Santiago says, a smile on his face.
“I’m looking at an apartment this morning too. Then I can get out your hair-”
“You can stay as long as you like. I mean that.”
”Pope, I appreciate it, you know I do. But I can’t fucking live on that couch much longer.” He doesn’t say it, but he’s pretty sure his back can’t take too many nights of this.
“Okay,” Pope puts his hands up in mock defeat. Frankie knows it’s only partly genuine, his best friend surely must be sick of him living in his home as a constant third wheel. In fairness, it’s not stopped Pope, he’s out of the apartment most weekends now anyway. He’s never talked about how things ended with Yovanna but that tells Frankie all he needs to know.
“How’s the hunt going then?” Pope asks conversationally.
Frankie sighs. “The place I saw yesterday was the best, but it’s - I’d need a roommate and that - that’s a whole other mess.”
Pope hummed thoughtfully.
“I’ll figure it out, it’s my mess. See you at Benny’s fight later?”
“Absolutely. Coffee’s in the pot!”
Benny’s fight nights are still a fixed date in Frankie’s weeks. To be fair, his whole schedule now is more fluid than ever, the only unmovable things being his limited time with his daughter and the regular check-ins with his sponsor.
The fight itself ends fairly quickly; Benny wins, which Frankie expected, since they got back from South America, Benny has thrown himself into his training. The group move to a nearby bar to celebrate the win - Will says it’s because it’s easier to talk there and catch up, but Frankie’s pretty sure it’s because it’s closer to his girlfriend’s house. That’s another change over recent months; while Frankie’s relationship fell apart, Will reconnected with his former fiancé, Cora. It seems different this time though and Frankie notices the way Will’s cautiously looking over at the bar where she’s getting her drink.
Benny’s cheek is swollen but he grins through it. Normally he’d want to talk about the fight, but between him and Pope somehow the conversation has moved on to Frankie’s apartment hunt and the disastrous one he toured today.
“It can’t have been that bad. We’ve had worse digs on the job, surely.”
“No, that place would have been right up there,” Frankie says, shaking his head. The apartment had met his budget, but it hardly met the definition of apartment. There was no way he could have Gabby there.
“What about that place you viewed yesterday, Fish?” Benny asks cheerfully, one arm leaning against the booth and the other clutching a beer. “You said it looked good, why don’t you go for that one?.”
“No, it was great. It’s just I’d need a roommate to make the rent work,” he says flatly. “And I need a place of my own so I can start having Gabby over more, Melissa doesn’t want me to have her stay over until I have my own place and I don’t know, but I can’t just have some random person with that, so I don’t know what the hell to do.”
“Fuck,” Benny says suddenly, a smile on his face. “I do.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We all know someone who is looking to get out of their current place and you know them, and it - it’d be perfect for you both. I am a fucking genius!”
Frankie can’t think of anybody who would meet that criteria but Benny looks so pleased with himself that for a desperate second, he wants to believe there is a solution. He needs to get off Pope’s couch.
“Who?” he asks slowly.
Benny just points. Will’s girlfriend, Cora, is walking over to them with a familiar face in her shadow.
“Tom’s sister?” Will exclaims in a low voice. “I don’t know about that, Benny”
It’s Will’s comment that does it. The unspoken assumption that Frankie can’t handle having a roommate, let alone Tom’s little sister being his roommate which definitely sounds like a bad idea. Frankie is barely over South America anyway, why have his home haunted by Tom’s ghosts? Besides, he doesn’t really know her. All he knows that she is -was?- younger than Tom, his half-sister from their father’s second or third marriage and she was married to some surgeon up in New York before she moved back.
“Is she looking for a place then?” Frankie asks, as though this is a serious option he is considering
Benny nods in response and calls her name so she joins them. Frankie notices that Will and Pope are looking at the three of them with unreadable expressions, Frankie swears there is a slight smile on Pope’s face though.
“So you know how you told me you were looking for your own place -” Benny began cheerfully.
“Which I can’t afford right now, which sucks because I think Molly is really sick of me. She’s been nice, but it’s getting very awkward.” Tom’s sister has been back in town for a few months; she’d turned up with Will and Benny when they returned from a fight in New York. Frankie doesn’t know the full story, just that Will had dropped her off at Molly’s and since then both the Millers have made of an effort to bring her to events and check in on her.
“Exactly,” Benny says, “I’m an actual genius. You see, Frankie found a place, right, and it’s great but he needs a roommate and you said to me and Will yesterday that you needed to not be living in Molly’s place ‘like yesterday’ so this, this sounds like a plan, right?“
“I don’t know,” she says, looking at Frankie apologetically, “I mean - I can’t live on your couch.”
“She’d get her own room and everything, right, Fish? It’s all legit. Neither of you want to go on Craigslist or whatever website you’d use for that now, but both of you at least know each other.”
“Vaguely, “ they both say.
“She’s Tom’s sister, Fish, c’mon. It’s the perfect solution for you both!” Benny exclaims. Idiot had probably got hit in the head one too many times in tonight’s fight.
Frankie nods slowly. Maybe Benny is on to something; Melissa would definitely be more likely to let Gabby around if his roommate is someone she vaguely knows and isn’t some stranger from the internet.
“I don’t want to be an inconvenience. You guys have been so nice since I moved back. I’m sure you’ve got people lined up for it already.”
“I don’t.”
“Oh. Well, what does it look like?”
What is happening? Is Frankie actually going to do this? He is barely in control of his actions as he opens the listing on his phone and shows it to her, immediately conscious of his cracked screen protector and chipped phone case. The case said online it was indestructible, but Frankie isn’t so sure about that anymore - it might not be Frankie proof anyway.
“Can you send me this? I - I - I’ll think about it.”
Frankie nods, knowing this was a polite refusal. That was fine, he’d find a place. He is getting it together. He’ll find a way.
You
The coffee shop is in that perfect lull before lunch and after the morning rush where you could finally catch your breath. You take a sip of your flat white and sigh.
The past few months have passed in a whirlwind. One moment you were living in New York with Nate, working to build an academic career and now - now you are in Florida, working in a coffee shop and bookstore, while living in your dead brother’s ex-wife’s spare room. If that doesn’t make you feel strange enough, earlier today you realised that your third most contacted person on your phone is now your divorce lawyer.
It isn’t all bad. You know you made the right decision to leave when you did. You know the trajectory you were on was unhealthy. Besides, ever since you’d come back to Florida, Will and Benny have been there for you and have tried to invite you into their lives. You get the sense it was as much as an attempt to honour your brother as it was about you. You don’t mind though. You don’t exactly have a thriving social life - you’ve been lucky that a former friend, Danny, had helped you out. He worked at the music studio across from this store and had told you about the vacancy, had even spoken to the owner for you. Former friend wasn’t quite the right word - you were best friends when you were younger, had even gone to the same college together but then you met Nate and you lost Danny along the way - trying to keep him in your life was too hard with Nate’s insecurities.
In the end you lost all your friends over the years.
In the wake of leaving Nate, you had no idea what to do or where to go. The Millers and Molly had helped you in those initial weeks when you kept wondering if you had overreacted, if you should take his calls and try and work it out. It wasn’t that bad after all, was it? It wasn’t like he’d hit you. Not really.
If you’re honest, Will and Benny Miller have been truer brothers to you in the past three months than your own brother had been in years.
You don’t blame Tom for the distance between you; you’re been raised apart and then you’d both been such different people. When you found out he was dead, you had looked at his contact on your mobile phone and realised it had been months since either of you texted each other. Your last phone calls were stilted, awkward. You didn’t know him and he didn’t know you.
You still can’t quite believe he’s gone. Maybe because he wasn’t such a big part of your daily life, it doesn’t seem unreasonable to expect that one day in the future you’ll bump into him again, have an awkward family dinner or something. It doesn’t help that you get the sense that his friends, that Molly even, are not telling you everything.
Your phone sounds and you pull it out of your jeans’ pocket.
Frankie - Hi, don’t worry about what Benny said last night. There’s no pressure either way.
That’s unexpected. Benny’s suggestion last night had been unexpected too, but whether it was the extra beers you drank at the fight or the overriding sense you need to get out of Molly’s spare room, it hadn’t sounded too crazy. Maybe Frankie doesn’t want to live with his old army buddy’s baby sister though, you can’t blame him for that. You quickly type out a response.
You - Same to you.
Your colleague, Ella, walks over from the children’s book section. Ella’s younger than you but you get on well, she’s become one of your only friends in Florida, along with Danny. She’s better at latte art than you too which is frustrating, but hey, your book knowledge is better. It should be with your past jobs, the career path you had thought you wanted.
Ella pours herself a coffee and raises her cup to you. “Lunch is going to be crazy with all this rain, I think.”
“Really?”
“Maybe.” You look back down at your phone, thinking over the previous evening.
“New guy?” Ella asks excitedly, “Are you on the apps at last?”
“No, no. You know I mentioned my brother’s friends who I’ve been hanging out with more?”
“No, sweetie, you can’t hook up with one of them. You need an uncomplicated rebound. No, I forbid it!”
”Ella!”
“It’s not your fault, you’ve been out of the game for a while. I get it, your only other friends are like Molly’s divorced friends and they’re all like middle-aged but -”
“Ella, it’s not that. One of them, he’s looking for a roommate and I can’t stay at Molly’s forever. She made a very subtle comment about how late I got in last night and that it woke her up. I feel like a teenager sneaking in every time I walk in the house. I’m too old for this.e”
“I - I agree you need to move out, but like, who is this guy?”
“His name’s Frankie, he served with my brother.”You look at the online listing for the apartment again. It looks surprisingly well proportioned, bland but clean. Its location is closer to your work than Molly’s too. The price doesn’t look that unreasonable if you’re sharing. Maybe it isn’t a crazy idea. It might be better than chancing things with a random online listing.
”You haven’t mentioned him before. Do you know his surname? I’m looking him up.” Ella has her phone out immediately.
“I don’t remember.” You don’t even know your brother and his friends why call him Catfish, or Fish. You’re not actually sure you want to know that one.
“Don’t worry. Is he friends with your hot friend, the MMA dude? I’ll look on his profile for any Frankies,” Ella says cheerfully. You smirk at the description of Benny - he came in to get a cup of coffee once and Ella’s found ways to bring him up numerous times since then.
“Uh, I can’t find him. That’s not good. Who’s not on Instagram?”
“Some people don’t like social media,” you say.
“But why? He could be a killer. He could be one of those crazy people who, I don’t know, dissolves human bodies in the bathtub.”
“How many people do you know of who - never mind, you need to stop watching true crime documentaries.”
“It’s a self-preservation tactic.”
“If you’re serious about this idea you should probably know his surname and whether he’s a serial killer, or I don’t know, if he microwaves fish.”
Before you can reply, a customer walks in and the two of you stop your conversation. Ella takes over the coffee order, to your delight, and you think about her advice.
Ella’s right. You probably need a better sense of who Frankie is first, even if this does feel like a plan, and he was one of your brother’s friends so that has to mean he’s not that bad, right? There’s a part of you that just wants to jump. You are pretty desperate now to move out of Molly’s.
You quickly type out another message.
You - I am interested in the apartment if it’s still available. Can we talk it through in person first?
Your phone beeps minutes later
Frankie - Sure. When are you thinking?
You can’t help smiling.
#frankie morales#frankie morales x female reader#frankie morales x reader#triple frontier#frankie morales fanfiction#*call it what you want
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Choices that shape the future
Paring: Bruce Wayne x f!reader, Batman x f!reader
Genre: Thriller, mystery, with elements of slow-burn romance
Warnings: rating T+/M, strong language, themes of depression, depictions of mental illness
Summary: You tried to conceal your excitement, but your heart was pounding in your chest like crazy, for you found yourself in a movie-like scenario that frightened you more than anything you had received from Gotham so far. Close encounters with death, the nightly escapades through the city, the chases, the gun to your head, the nightmares, and everything that happened yesterday seemed like nothing, a complete triviality compared to the situation you were currently in. Suddenly snapping at a masked vigilante seemed much easier than having a polite conversation with a gentleman like Bruce.
Word count: 11k
Note: Gifs are not mine, credit to the authors. Pictures made by me.
Series masterlist
***
"Where are we going?" you asked, quickening your step to catch up with Batman. He did not look at you. He walked half a step ahead of you with his head raised high and eyes focused on the distance. As you followed him, you couldn't help but wonder, is he doing this to protect you from a potential threat, or is he seeing things that you don't see? It didn't seem to you that he was especially observant of his surroundings, and yet your instincts told you that he didn't have to, that he just knew. "Batman?" you tried again to get his attention.
"I have to show you something," he replied shortly yet the coolness of his voice took on a different tone. There was something gentle in it, something strangely familiar.
"You've already said that, but I'd appreciate it if you weren't so mysterious! Can you do it?"
"No," came the dry reply, and again something else crept into his tone, a barely audible shadow of amusement.
"You really like this freaking word, don't ya?" you sighed frustrated, "your friends aren't coming with us?"
"No."
"And are we going far?" you continued with questions," come on man, give me something!"
He did not answer. He only kept walking with a steady, heavy pace while his cape brushed the ground beneath his feet with each step. You watched him, this mysterious figure covered in black, with his face hidden under a cowl, in an armored suit, with a long cape ensuring additional cover in the midst of the night. "Like a figure from myths, and yet so real," you thought.
Batman led you to the exit of the district, through the stone arches topped at its peak by the iron Amusement Mile, outside toward a black car hidden in the shadows of the night. For the first time, you could get a close look at the beast you tried to escape from not so long ago, and you realized that the attempt was pointless. The beautiful car, shining in metallic black, was vaguely similar to a sports car, but definitely much more modified. You had never seen such wide exhaust pipes, such a low profile, such thick tires mounted on a sports car, such shiny rims, such black paint, such bright lights, and such black windows. Wide vents rose on the front hood, providing air flow, to what you could only assume was a powerful engine.
"Damn…" you stopped in awe, "how long did you look for a mechanic who would take on such a job?"
"I didn't," Batman answered but seeing your surprised face he added, "I did it myself."
You were speechless. A million thoughts and questions popped into your head in an instant but they all merged into one. "Who is he? Who is the man who hides his face under the mask?" The passenger door opened and Batman was suddenly right behind you.
"Get in," he ordered.
"Hey, you don't expect me to jump into your car without even knowing where we're going! Mom said you shouldn't get in the car with strangers!" you threw in his face.
"Your mom probably also said that you shouldn't get into trouble, and here you are," you got the impression that he was amused by this banter, "I won't repeat myself."
"You want me to just trust you? That's rather unreasonable…"
"Are you afraid?" he asked, getting dangerously close to you.
"No…" you replied confidently and to your surprise, there was no fear in you.
"Then don't make me force you…"
You didn't want to push his limits. You got into the car and he closed the door behind you, then walked around the car and sat in the driver's side. You tried not to stare at either him or the interior of the car, but it was mind-blowing. The latest technology, countless indicators, and displays that probably showed things other than the speed and revs of the engine. An onboard computer that seemed more suited for a government jet than a modified sports car. Leather black upholstery, leather seats, and that smell, of leather and wood and musk, a smell that strangely seemed familiar to you.
"Fasten your seat belt," he commanded in a stern tone then started the engine, its growl resonated within you.
The force of acceleration crushed your stomach into the back of your seat as the car sped up to a hundred in a split second. The city behind the window seemed to dissolve into one colorful blur passing by in a flash as the Batmobile sped through the streets. Despite his immense speed, Batman remained completely calm and in absolute control. With one hand loosely resting on the armrest, he drove the car effortlessly. Buildings, lights, people appeared and disappeared before you could catch a glimpse of them, leaving you unable to figure out the direction of travel. You gave up. Resigned, you looked at him, and your eyes met. He kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, only to focus his gaze back on the road.
"You're watching me," you stated, "if you want to ask me something, just ask."
"Usually people are more anxious in my presence…" he pointed out while his watchful eyes glared at you once again, "you seem completely calm."
"Does it bother you that I'm not afraid of you?"
He remained silent.
"I have no reason to be afraid of you," you continue, trying to avoid another awkward silence, "I haven't done anything wrong!"
"Wrong? No…" his low gruff tone seemed to reach deep into your core, "stupid? Yes."
"Was that stupid that I wanted to help a friend after you refused me?"
"It was stupid that you decided to go alone into the depths of the Amusement Mile. You were lucky the Joker wasn't there."
"I'm not afraid of him!" you quipped feistily, "besides if it weren't for your friends, the situation wouldn't have escalated! They were the ones who attacked her!"
"Are you trying to say that Dr. Quinzel was only defending herself?"
"No…" you replied quietly, "she pulled a gun on one of them. The one in red suit," you admitted reluctantly, "but if they hadn't appeared none of this would have happened!!!"
"If they hadn't shown up, there's no telling what would have happened to you now."
"Why do you even care?"
Batman once again did not answer. He couldn't. Because how could he tell you that your safety had become very important to him. How could he tell you that he didn't want to see you get hurt, that it annoyed him that you were getting yourself into dangerous situations. How could he confess something he didn't want to admit even to himself, that he liked your company, that for the first time in a very long time he began to catch his thoughts involuntarily running in your direction when he wasn't watching them. To your smile, to your sincerity, to the ease with which he found himself talking to you, to the sparkle in your eye when you presented your project to him, to the ferocity in your voice when you tried to defy him, to the smell of your perfume that wafted through the office every time you arrived at work. Batman couldn't confess what he didn't want to admit to himself, that he had made this case personal.
The buildings, streets and streetlights disappeared outside the window giving way to a vast blackness. Gotham Bay appeared as quickly as it disappeared only to be replaced by countless trees appearing one after another in the fading brightness of the headlights. Before you had time to figure out the destination, the car slowed down, in front of the iron gate of Arkham Asylum. As if on command, the gate opened and you for the first time found yourself on the grounds of the asylum. Batman steered the car between the buildings of the Medical Facility, Penitentiary, and Visitor Center, which, up close, seemed even eerier than you remembered, only to stop the car in front of the Intensive Treatment building.
"Pull that hood on, and do not pull it down under any circumstances," he commanded, "whatever happens, follow my lead."
You didn't feel like defying him. His stern look and the seriousness of his voice were enough to freeze the blood in your veins. You pulled your hood over your head, nodded silently, got out of the car and without a word followed him straight toward Intensive Treatment.
You wanted to look around, your natural curiosity trying to take over you as Batman opened the door to the building and stepped inside, holding the door behind him and letting you enter. He didn't look around. Once again, it seemed to you that he didn't have to. With your head bowed you glanced stealthily at your surroundings from under your hood, wary of exposing your face. The gray floor, the gray-greenish walls, the blinking pale light, the bars everywhere, you tried covertly to capture your surroundings but what you saw made a cold shiver run down your spine.
"Stay close," you heard a quiet command and you quickened your step, matching his.
"Why did you bring me here?" you asked in a whisper.
"You'll see…" he replied quietly then turned towards the massive metal door separating the admission area from the true asylum. The door creaked quietly under his pressure but before he could pass through it a man jumped out of the security guards' room, a gun he held in his hands was pointed towards the floor but he had his finger placed on the trigger. "He doesn't look like a hospital guard…"
"Batman?" he asked surprised and from under the hood you saw as the tense muscles in his hand loosen.
"Cash," Batman didn't even look at him. You were beginning to think that this was in his habit.
"Batman you know the rules," the guard took two steps forward, "no civilians in the Intensive Treatment Center," from under the hood you could see he was looking at you.
"She is with me," were the only words he said. Without waiting for his further reaction, let alone permission, he opened the door and let you in.
Gray and green once again surrounded you on all sides making the black, masked figure walking half a step in front of you seem strangely comforting. The sound of his heavy boots echoed off the worn tiles with a rhythmic thud, interrupted time and again by noises you'd rather not hear. Somewhere from the distance the echo brought a scream, from another direction came deranged laughter followed by a growl and a hollow thump. The creaking metal made you turn sharply back, but there was nothing there. Someone screamed again, a piercing maniacal shriek of pain and despair that broke off as suddenly as it began. Another door opened with a creak and, just like before, Batman held it to let you in. The atmosphere around you seemed to grow darker and darker, with only the green-yellow light continuing to flicker inexorably. The darkness in front of you seemed safe, and yet you kept looking back time and again as if expecting a bright light in the distance. That warm, bright, welcoming light, like from your nightmare, the one that could burn you alive.
The screech once again shattered the silence so suddenly that you ran up closer to Batman almost crashing into him.
"I thought you weren't afraid…" he looked at you warily.
"I'm not afraid, but this place is fucking creepy…" you whispered, "why did that guard there had a gun?"
"Guards working in this wing have to carry guns," he replied, "the most dangerous criminals are kept in here. The weapons are for their protection should someone try to escape."
"Has anyone ever escaped?"
"Joker did," your eyes met again when Batman stopped in half step and turned towards you, "Joker was held right here, now as you well know, he is on the loose."
"You brought me here to show me where Harleen should be?"
"No," he replied and added after a pause, "I brought you here to show you where she was working."
"Why?" you asked almost silently. Batman merely moved close enough to you to block out all the light and surround you in complete darkness.
"Because you keep putting yourself in danger…" he looked deep into your eyes and from under the cover of the darkness of his mask you could see the barely visible blue of his eyes, "because you need to understand, really understand, what you're getting yourself into and my words don't seem to be enough."
"He has blue eyes…"
A scream shattered the silence unexpectedly making you involuntarily flinch.
"Don't be afraid…" the husky voice drew your attention again, "you are safe with me."
"I'm not afraid…"
Batman merely turned around and with a quiet "mhm" continued down the hall. You were sure that he was about to open another door and in a moment you would see cells full of prisoners, the most dangerous criminals in Gotham, but instead, he turned into a side corridor leading towards the freight elevator. Without a word, he sent the elevator upward then fired his grappling gun and hooked it to the elevator floor.
"Come on," he extended his hand toward you, "I won't lead you through Holding Cells," with one hand stretched upward, the other held out toward you, he waited.
"Are we going down?" you asked while placing your hand in his armored glove.
"Just a bit, we have to go down to the lower level," he pulled you close to him and put his arm around your waist tightly.
"You're not going to drop me?" you hesitated, placing your hand on his chest, and to your surprise, Batman smiled. A gentle smirk appeared under the cowl and you immediately knew that you would not forget this sight any time soon.
"I won't…" he muttered quietly then tightened his grip firmly on your waist and slowly lowered you to a deeper level.
The dampness immediately hit your body and nose. An earthy, murky, rotten dampness as if suddenly you were below the surface of the earth. But this was no damp cave, just an old dusty, unused corridor, the same as the ones above only more decayed. Batman stood you on the ground and waited to move his hand away until he was sure you were standing firmly.
"You can remove your hood, there's no one here."
You did as he instructed. Your hair, hidden under the hood, spilled loosely over your black leather jacket, and you couldn't help but notice that his eyes lingered on you.
"I know, I know," you stuck an unruly strand behind your ear, "they wave when it's humid."
"It's not far now…" he again assumed a statuesque posture then made his way towards the depths of the corridor.
You walked in complete silence for several long minutes. The Dark Knight in front of you, as always by half a step, and you behind him. Now free of the hood, not forced to hide your face, you could look at him, watch him in fact. In the small narrow corridor, he seemed even more imposing than when you saw him on the bridge. He was tall, taller than you by over a head, and the pointed ends of his cowl only added to the illusion of height. Powerful and broad in the shoulders, like two average men combined, he seemed to fill the entire space, and his armored suit and black cape only added to his magnitude. Yet despite his size, he moved gracefully, without the heaviness you would expect from such a towering man. Aside from the heaviness of his boots, his entire silhouette seemed to be slender but strong, muscular but graceful, strong but gentle at the same time. "And he's got blue eyes."
"You're staring…" you heard a quiet amusement.
"I am not!" you denied but did not hide the amusement in your own voice, "hey, mister dark and brooding! Have you seen yourself in the mirror! You should be used to it by now!"
"We are here…" as with a snap of the fingers the amusement disappeared replaced by cold seriousness. This time Batman didn't walk inside first, instead he stood at the entrance to a small room and looked at you meaningfully, "see for yourself."
A breach in the wall. The breach in the wall was the first thing that caught your eye. A huge hole starting in the middle of the wall, going upward all the way to the upper level.
"Explosion…" you whispered and Batman merely nodded.
You entered the room uncertainly. Blood. Splattered in a wide trail on the wall had already blackened from the passage of time and yet it was impossible to mistake it for anything else. The image of Harleen taking a wide sweep and delivering a blow to the guard immediately appeared in your mind.
"Baseball bat…" you looked at him looking for confirmation.
"I didn't know what tool she used, until today."
You turned around slowly and looked at the opposite wall. The gray-green tiles were riddled with bullet holes. The pattern started at head height only to slowly make its way downward. You imagined, clearly and in detail, a guard shooting at the attacking Harleen, then falling to the floor knocked down by the blow, firing a few more rounds.
"He tried to stop her…" your gaze wandered in his direction again.
"He's in a coma."
You sighed heavily. You wanted so badly to believe that it was all just Joker's manipulation. You wanted so badly to believe that Harleen was just a victim, that he had forced her, taken advantage of her. You wanted so badly to help her. You walked over to the desk which, by the level of clutter, looked like it had been used for months.
"Do you have a flashlight?" you asked Batman even though some part of you didn't want to look at the pictures hanging on the wall. Batman walked over to you, stood behind your back and illuminated the room.
"My god…" you sighed, losing the remnants of your delusion. Photos, newspaper clippings, articles, printouts, all of them about Joker, all adorned with hearts painted in red lipstick. "Harl what have you done…"
"She needs help…" a low, husky voice just behind you brought a shiver onto your skin, "she needs help but not the kind of help you are able to offer her."
You turned to him and your eyes met again. There was no coldness or contempt in him, only a quiet voiceless hope, a quiet voiceless plea for understanding and trust.
"I will help her…" he continued, "trust me. I will do what is in my power to help her but I will do it my way."
"You refused…"
"I didn't refuse because I didn't want to help her. I refused because I didn't want to help you," he spoke calmly and softly while his eyes seemed to look straight into your soul, "I didn't want to put you in harm's way."
"That I did myself," you smirked.
"Can you trust me?" he asked with complete seriousness.
"And do you trust me that I only had good intentions?"
"I do," you smiled upon hearing his answer, not quite understanding why you cared so much.
"Then I trust you too," you replied gazing straight into his eyes, "I trust that you know what to do."
It seemed to you that for a moment the blue of his eyes shone through the blackness of his mask once again. That for a moment the mask seemed to disappear revealing the man hidden underneath, the man who was relieved to hear your words, the man who for some reason cared about your safety. You wanted to ask why. You wanted to ask why he cared so much, why was he concerned, why did he send medics to your home, why did you keep meeting. There was so much you wanted to ask him.
A rustling and the sound of approaching footsteps pulled Batman out of his thoughts moments before you could register what was happening.
"Hide behind the desk and whatever happens stay out of sight," he ordered in a hushed voice.
Without looking back you slipped behind the desk, pulled your hood over your head and curled up in the corner between the desk and the wall, trying to blend in as much as possible and thanking yourself in your mind that you usually wore black. The black that concealed his figure so well in the darkness, hid him so well in the shadows, leaving only the metallic gleaming bat symbol visible on his chest.
The footsteps were approaching. Not rushed. Light. It seemed to take an eternity. Curled up against the wall, you counted the passing seconds with each heartbeat pumping adrenaline through your veins. A beat, two steps, a beat, another two steps, someone was coming in your direction. Before the flashlight filled the room blinding you completely you took one last look at Batman hidden in the darkness and a strange sense of safety calmed your pounding heart. But it wasn't pounding from fear. You were exhilarated. In the darkness, not even Batman could see the smile of excitement painted on your hooded face.
Light filled the darkness blinding you completely for a moment only to dim revealing a figure standing in the shadows.
"Jonathan…"
Professor Crane looked around the room focusing his attention on the desk. He didn't notice the shape hidden in the shadows against the opposite wall, didn't notice the glare of watchful eyes following his every move. He took a few steps toward the desk, but before he could raise the flashlight toward the top and illuminate the space where you were hiding Batman spoke.
"Are you looking for something?" he asked with a growly voice, and although the question wasn't directed at you, you trembled.
Yet Jonathan did not look surprised. From hiding, you could clearly see the frown of anger and frustration on his face.
"I've been delegated to clean up Dr. Quinzel's personal belongings and patient files," he replied in his usual calm tone, so different from the emotion on his face, "But that's nothing I should confess to you," he added before turning to face Batman. "Batman. You realize that your presence in the Asylum aggravates the patients staying here."
"Do you see any here?" the icy tone froze the blood in your veins again, "You are a man hard to find Professor Crane."
"Busy schedule," Crane replied coldly, "if you need my expertise I would suggest you make an appointment through my assistant at Eliot Memorial. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to continue with what I came here for."
"Why is the head of Eliot Memorial's psychiatric ward delegated to Arkahm? You have no jurisdiction here."
"Arkham is short staffed but you probably know that."
"Just as you know, Professor, that this is still an active crime scene and nothing can be taken from here."
"If you have any objections you should raise them with Warden Quincy Sharp. Although I'm sure the Warden doesn't know you're here." Crane remained professional yet you clearly heard a distortion in his voice, something strange, something different, something you've never heard before, "you say this is an active crime scene, and yet I don't think you're wearing a badge."
Batman came out of the shadows and took a few steps toward him, which from your concealment looked as if he was approaching without moving. He stood in front of Jonathan and growled quietly.
"You don't want to get on my bad side," he said but Jonathan remained unfazed, "leave or you'll be explaining yourself to the police."
"I have nothing to hide, I told you why I came here," he persisted.
"You have nothing to hide…" even though you couldn't see you were sure that the barely discernible smile appeared on Batman's face once again, "tell me about Marc Phillips. He was your patient wasn't he?"
"Show me your badge," Crane refused to be intimidated, "I don't have to tell you anything. And if the police are investigating his death they know where to find me."
"They do know. They're waiting for you upstairs. I think they'll have some questions for you."
Crane answered nothing, only fixed his glasses and angrily walked away.
Batman watched him disappear into the depths of the corridor for a while, and only after he heard the metal clang of the closing door and made sure Crane was out of sight and hearing range did he return to you and allow you to come out of hiding.
"We have to leave, now," his tone left no room for discussion, "we can't leave the same way we came."
"The cops are really up there?" you couldn't hold back the question.
"Yes," he confirmed, "there is another exit from here. It leads through the sewers."
"Why didn't we come through it? We would have avoided the guard."
"I chose a safer way in," he explained after which, without delaying any longer, he made his way deeper into the corridor.
Although your mind told you that you should sense fear, there was none in you. The corridor led downward and with each step became darker and tighter, so much so that you stopped seeing Batman who was walking just a few steps ahead of you. Gone were the flickering lights, gone were the rotten doors leading to unknown rooms, gone were even the creepy creaking bars, all that was left was the endless murk and the smell of decay. Trying to make out the way you traced your fingers along the morose walls, and although your mind wondered if it was water or blood, you weren't afraid. When a quietly squeaking creature scuttled across your feet you didn't flinch in fear, when a cobweb coated your face you felt only disgust. When a menacing growl and subsequent mewling sound came from the distance your mind only wondered what it was, but your heart remained calm.
"Watch your head," Batman warned illuminating the lowering ceiling with a frail light, "are you okay?"
"I'm fine," you whispered as if afraid that your voice would summon something from the darkness, "do you know where we're going?"
"Yes."
"I'm guessing that wasn't your plan."
"No," Batman stopped and illuminated the path under your feet, "there's about to be a rift in the ground. Be careful, it's a deep drop down," he warned again.
"What's the deal with this professor? Why do the cops want to interrogate him?" curiosity won, you had to know.
"Why do you ask?"
"No reason," you lied, "curiosity, that's it. You seemed hostile and he didn't particularly enjoy your presence either."
"Professor Crane is connected to another investigation that doesn't involve Quinzel," he replied dismissively, "keep your curiosity out of it," he concluded then stopped abruptly, " breach down. Wait here," he ordered then jumped down and disappeared from your sight.
For a moment you stood like that, hunched over avoiding hitting your head on the vault and only the faint light piercing the floor indicated to you where the rift was. Batman disappeared and in complete silence your thoughts seemed to scream. "What is he doing here? Why was Batman so suspicious? Why was Jonathan so aggressive? What the fuck am I even doing here?" questions followed one after another, "why am I so calm? What's wrong with me?"
"Y/N…" came from down below, "you'll have to jump."
"Did you lose your goddamn mind?!" you snapped towards the two bright dots against the darkness below, "I can't see shit!"
"But I can," Batman replied, "Trust me."
"Fuck no! I'm gonna break a leg!"
"You don't have a choice. You're not planning on staying there, are you?" you didn't have to see his face to hear the infuriating grin.
"Are you having fun?!" you snarled furiously.
"A little…"
"Fuck you! I'm going back upstairs!"
"How?" the question did not require an answer, "You have to trust me. I'll catch you."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Cursing under your breath, you sat down on the edge of the rift in the floor and hesitated. It was not fear. Rather, it was pure, cool logic telling you that you don't know how deep the hole goes, how far to the ground, how high above it you are and what awaits you below.
"I swear if I break my leg I'll kill you," you growled one last time then pushed off with your hands and slid down. Before you could even feel the rush of air Batman's strong arms wrapped around you and stopped you in mid-air before your feet could touch the ground.
"It wasn't so terrible was it?" a husky voice sounded right next to your ear.
"You are asking way too much of me," you replied as you opened your eyes, "I tend not to trust people."
"Why?" still holding you in his arms, with one hand under your knees and the other wrapped around your waist he observed you closely.
"As you've probably noticed by now, I don't have a very good sense when it comes to people," remarkable how delicate he seemed compared to the strength he displayed, "I usually don't trust at all, or if I do, I trust entirely and then…well you already know."
"You couldn't have known…"
"It's not just about Harleen," anxiety crept in, anxiety you couldn't hide while being so close to him, "people…. did me wrong more times than I could count."
"That's what usually happens when someone has a good compassionate heart," the blue broke through beneath the darkness of his mask again, and something new emerged in his deep husky voice. Sympathy.
"How can you know? You don't know me…" you tried to shrug it off.
"I have a good sense of people," he murmured quietly then released his hand from under your knees and, further belaying your back, allowed your feet to make contact with the ground. "Let's go. We're almost outside."
You tore your eyes away from him and finally looked around at your surroundings. The dark corridor disappeared giving way to wide, expansive sewers. Greenish brown water flowed in a lazy stream down the middle of the sewer, bringing with it a stench stronger than the one you smelled in the corridors above. Mold, rot, mildew, shimmered in all shades of green against the reds and browns you preferred not to name.
"Damn…" you cursed quietly, "I'm going to stink like a sewer all day tomorrow…" you muttered, "Fuck! I'm going to reek of sewers all day tomorrow!!!" the dread finally came to mind, " Fuck fuck fuck!"
"You will survive…"
"You don't understand anything! Tomorrow is Saturday!"
"And?"
"I have a super fucking important date tomorrow!"
"You'll reschedule…"
"No fucking way!" you denied immediately, "No way in hell I'm gonna reschedule that! There are some meetings you simply do not reschedule!"
Walking half a step behind Batman, trying to avoid the stinking water at all costs, you could not see the smile on his face. For Batman was smiling. With a sincere wide smile, at the sight of which even those who knew him would have been surprised. You couldn't have known that the thought suddenly dawned in his mind, that he too would have to make sure he didn't reek of sewers. As he climbed the old, rusty staircase you couldn't hear his thoughts that were planning a long hot shower, a sauna and his favorite perfume for tomorrow. As he opened the heavy metal door you couldn't have known how he planned that tomorrow he would tell everyone that dinner was strictly for investigation and observation purposes. When he emerged to the surface you couldn't see the expression on his face and the spark in his eyes that said he too was looking forward to tomorrow's dinner.
***
There was a time in the past, a few years ago that now seemed distant as if it belonged to another life, when Bruce thought for a moment that he could have it all. When he thought he could have a social life, a successful career, that he could sacrifice his body and mind for a mission and combine it all with a love life. It was a brief moment, a brief delusion that disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Her name was Andrea, and Bruce loved her so much that for a brief naive moment he even thought he could leave his mission for her, that he could stop being Batman. When everything fell apart Bruce painfully realized that there was no room for love in the life he had chosen for himself, at least not romantic love. He never regretted that moment for it taught him a lot. It taught him that even though he considered himself a loner who didn't trust anyone, the right partner could open him up, could make him open the heart he had closed to the world when he was just a young boy, could make him dare to love. He also taught him that despite the abilities he had, he was only human, and like any human being, he couldn't have it all. He could have been Bruce Wayne, a billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and CEO of Wayne Enterprises. He could have been Batman, the Dark Knight, one of the three founders of the Justice League, and protector of Gotham. But he could not be Bruce, the loving boyfriend, devoted husband, and father. He couldn't have it all.
Over the years, women passed through his life. Some came and went so quickly that he didn't remember their names or faces. Others stayed for longer, like Selena, who was more or less always a part of his life. And there was Y/N. She appeared suddenly, accidentally, completely out of nowhere, but Bruce had a strange feeling that she wouldn't disappear from his life any time soon. And for the first time in a very long time, he had to admit to himself that he didn't want that at all. A random conversation, a random meeting, one smile, one look, a few bad decisions she had made, that was all it took for him to want more. For with her, Bruce for some reason was simply himself. He wasn't the Bruce Wayne the tabloids wrote about. He wasn't the Bruce Wayne they bowed to in the corridors of Wayne Tower, whom everyone wanted to shake hands with at lavish events, whose face was lit up by hundreds of flashes everywhere he went, with her he was simply Bruce. Just Bruce.
Choosing a suit for the evening, Bruce could not help but wonder if he was making the right decision. In the privacy of his dressing room, away from prying eyes, he replayed his encounters with Y/N over and over again in his mind, trying to understand his own actions. The dinner invitation was an impulse that he immediately tried to explain to himself, as a need for observation and investigation. However, he quickly rebuked himself knowing full well that his intention was quite different. There was something about her that would not let him simply move on, and she did not make it easy for him either, both when he met her as Bruce and as Batman. She was so effortless when she talked to him, so unpretentious, so natural, brave, stubborn, passionate, so real. He didn't intimidate her as Bruce, he didn't scare her as Batman, and it fascinated him immensely. Yet despite this, the years of experience which in the blackness of his hair slowly began to shine with single silver strands, placed their burden on him. A burden that reminded him... "you will ruin her life."
A knock on his bedroom door pulled him out of his thoughts.
"Come in," he threw towards the door as he took a classic black suit off the hanger.
"Hey, Bruce," Dick entered his bedroom carrying in his hands freshly ironed shirts, "Alfred asked me to drop these off for you," he explained placing the shirts perfectly flat on the bed, "Are you going out?"
"I have a meeting," Bruce replied evasively. He knew his boys, knew what to expect, and preferred to avoid it.
"Steel gray," Dick pointed a finger at an elgan suit hanging in the depths of the closet, "steel gray and a black shirt. You're going on a date not a business meeting."
"It's not a date," he really didn't want to continue the subject, "Y/N continues to be part of the investigation, and a link to Quinzel and by extension to the Joker. We don't know what kind of…"
"Yes yes, whatever," Dick interrupted him with a smile of amusement, "still, a gray suit and a black shirt."
"It's not a date."
"Is that why you used Parfums de Marly instead of the typical Armani Code?"
"The sewers under Arkham tend to leave an unpleasant stench…"
"Bruce! Come on!" Dick threw him an amused look, "you took a civilian on a tour through Arkham and now you're going on a date with her and trying to bullshit me that it's strictly business."
"We know nothing about her except that she's unreasonable, she's friends with Harleen, and she's a brilliant engineer."
"You looked her up," Dick stated.
"As much as you needed to…" controlling his voice and facial expression came naturally to him. Just as naturally came to Dick deciphering his behavior. No one but Alfred knew him as well as he did.
"No way…" astonishment appeared on Dick's face, "you didn't look her up! You, Batman, didn't check her out! You must really like her."
"She's my employee," Bruce stated firmly, "to conduct a full investigation into her and her past based only on a string of random events would be highly unethical."
"You've done more for far lesser reasons," Dick noted.
"Are you implying something?"
"I'm not implying anything! I'm stating facts!" Dick smiled broadly, and although Bruce was irritated by the tone of the conversation, he couldn't be angry with him. With the same kind smile Dick walked up to him and while placing his hand on Bruce's shoulder he said, "it's okay to want to try, to want to be happy."
"Dick I know you have good intentions but…"
"You know she covered Tim when Harley pointed the gun at him?" Dick interrupted him, "without a moment's hesitation she jumped between him and the pointed gun."
"Jason told me," Bruce nodded, "Tim was mad at himself for dropping his guard off."
"That's really all you got out of it! She doesn't even know him and when in danger she jumped right into the line of fire! Who does that?"
"Someone who doesn't understand the danger they're in."
"Or someone who is brave enough to stand up for a stranger…" Dick looked at him meaningfully, "Isn't that what we do? Isn't that what you've been training us to do for all our lives?"
"Your point?"
"All I'm saying is that she's cool! And I'm glad you going on a date with her!" he grinned, "don't fuck this up."
"It's not a date," Bruce reiterated with stubbornness.
"I'll tell Alfred not to wait up for you!" Dick threw in with a broad smile and before leaving the bedroom he added, "steel gray and black shirt! Trust me!"
*
"It's not a date…" you repeated in your mind stubbornly dumping out the contents of your closet in a desperate attempt to find something suitable for the occasion. "It's Bruce freaking Wayne! He dates models and actresses not freaking nerdy engineers!" you explained to yourself while shuffling black clothes from one pile to another. "It's not a date, right? Why would he invite me to dinner?" you wondered discarding your jeans and black shirt, "fuck! why did I agree to this!"
You overslept. After an evening and a night full of excitement, you overslept. Going to bed at three o'clock in the morning you planned to fall asleep quickly and get up at ten o'clock at the most, but your awakened mind had other plans. You couldn't sleep. Every time you closed your eyes Batman appeared in his intimidating demeanor, with his deep husky voice saying "trust me" assuring you "I will catch you," looking you deep in the eyes and saying "you are safe with me." You tossed from side to side while his intense presence returned repeatedly. "Promise me that you will stay out of trouble," he asked on the way back from Arkahm, "Harleen or the Joker may appear. If that happens if you feel in danger, call me. I'll come," he assured as he handed you a small bat-shaped transmitter before you left his car. How you were supposed to fall asleep when adrenaline burned in your veins relentlessly.
For a moment you thought of calling Jonathan. Calling him and asking if he would come over, or at least talk to him for a while. Talking to him was slowly becoming the only solace you were finding. Something you had feared not so long ago was now becoming a pleasant daily routine. But you quickly decided against it. You merely swallowed the pills he gave you and, while watching the moon slowly setting in the brightening sky, you finally fell asleep. But it was not the good regenerative sleep your body and mind were desperate for. It was a sleep filled with nightmares and fear, feelings of despair and helplessness, pain and suffering, and when you finally woke up from it, you regretted that you had decided to go to sleep at all.
Six o'clock in the afternoon was approaching mercilessly and you were slowly beginning to panic. "It's not a date! It's a casual meeting!" you explained to yourself while trying to find something appropriate for the occasion. The pants didn't seem classy enough, the jeans didn't work at all, the shirt seemed too businesslike, and the cashmere sweater although elegant remained a sweater. "I don't have anything to wear!" you let frustrations out loud, "after everything that's happened lately, all I need is to stress over a dinner with the most desirable guy in Gotham!"
Yet for you, Bruce was not at all the man that the tabloids wrote about. He wasn't the playboy who appeared in public each time with a different woman, he wasn't the guy who got the Russian Ballet's performance canceled after he spontaneously took the prima ballerina and the entire cast on a yacht cruise, he wasn't one of the most influential people in the world, to you Bruce was just Bruce. That charming man who one evening decided to walk you home when you had not yet realized the dangers that lurked in Gotham. Who smiled warmly when you marveled at the city's architecture, who listened to your babbling when you outright insulted him to his face and only responded with a warm look and a kind smile because he did not "want to spoil this delightful evening," who never for a moment made you feel like you were inferior. Yes, he was the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, but even in that role he always made sure you felt comfortable around him. It was the little things that counted. A kind smile, a sincere interest, the fact that he didn't close the door behind him when you were alone in your office, encouragement, approval, understanding. And that infuriating smirk. In the frantic turmoil of the past week's events, you didn't even have time to think about it for long, but now, as you put on your elegant knee-length black dress and styled your hair loosely pinned up, you had to admit to yourself, you liked him, and the idea of having dinner together was only becoming more exciting with each passing minute.
You took care of every detail. Natural but classy makeup, silver jewelry for you hated gold, a clutch purse, a dress elegant but paired with a casual suede jacket; after all, it wasn't a date. You never wore stilettos, and although you felt they would have been appropriate for the occasion you decided to opt for mid-calf heeled boots. And you topped it all off with your favorite perfume, praying in your mind that a far too long shower killed the odor of the sewers.
"Classy but without overdoing it," you assessed approvingly while looking at your reflection in the mirror, "maybe it's a good thing I overslept. At least I didn't have time to think about what the hell I am doing!"
You grabbed your favorite bracelets from the dresser and a watch that indicated 5:50 p.m. "At the last minute, as always! I'm a disaster! I could have slept longer! Oversleep to meeting with the Bruce Wayne! Pathetic!"
You took one last look at yourself in the mirror and were already reaching for your lipstick when the soft, deep growl of the engine sounded quietly outside the window. You paused with your hand halfway to your lips. Lured by the unexpected sound, you walked to the window, pushed back the curtain, and froze. Your heart stopped for a moment as the warmth of a blush came over your face. "Holy shit…"
Four stories below, a silver-gray Lamborghini Murciélago parked on the side of the street, while you slowly began to realize that both the car and its owner were waiting for you. For a moment you watched as Bruce got out of the car, walked around it so that he was standing on the passenger side, leaned nonchalantly against the car and glanced toward your window. The suit so similar in color to the car's paint contrasted with the black shirt and tie making you suddenly feel underdressed. He smiled when your eyes met and your heart skipped a beat, waved discreetly and you understood what the tabloids meant when they wrote about "the most desirable man in Gotham." You smiled, waved to him, and with a pounding heart headed for the door, at the last minute swallowing the two pills Crane had given you.
*
Bruce knew he would never forget the sight of Y/N when he saw her in the glow of the evening lights. The sincere smile she gave him, the sparkle in her eyes as she walked towards him, the scent of jasmine that approached him with her every step. Black dress but no stilettos, elegant jacket but hair loosely pinned up as if she didn't want to do it at all, so normal, so real, so effortless. Over the years he had got used to the fact that the women around him were always trying too hard, straining too much, trying to impress him. The newest fashion trends, the most expensive designer clothes, nails for hundreds of dollars, hair for thousands, fake breasts, fake lips, fake personality. Their every move, every word, every gesture was coldly calculated, carefully balanced, aimed at seducing him or using him for his influence. But not her, she was real, and she didn't care one bit about it all.
"Are you trying to impress me Mister Wayne?" she smiled playfully closing the distance between them.
"Perhaps I am. How am I doing so far?" he returned the smile, leaned over and gently kissed her cheek. She stiffened a little surprised by his gesture only to return the kiss a second later.
"You look dashing in a gray suit," she replied coquettishly, "I should have asked beforehand where we were going. I have a feeling I'm dressed totally inappropriately for the occasion."
"Not possible," even though his mind suggested that he should keep his distance the flirtation came naturally, "you look lovely."
She smiled sweetly as a gentle blush covered her cheek. He didn't want to make her feel embarrassed but he couldn't hold back the compliment.
"Shall we?" he asked, opening the passenger door and offering her his hand as courtesy demanded. With a sparkle in her eye, she took his hand, and although he could clearly see that she had never gotten into a sports car, she maintained complete grace.
The scent of jasmine filled the entire car as he took his own seat behind the wheel and started the engine. He looked at her, at her smiling face, at her sparkling eyes, at her hands folded elegantly on her lap, at the dress that ended just before the knee, and he couldn't help but think how different she looked just a few hours ago. Gone was the fierceness on her face, gone was the mixture of fascination and fear of the unknown in her eyes, gone was the sarcasm and frustration. Despite yesterday's unusual circumstances he truly enjoyed her company, but at the same time he knew he would enjoy it even more today.
*
You tried to conceal your excitement, but your heart was pounding in your chest like crazy, for you found yourself in a movie-like scenario that frightened you more than anything you had received from Gotham so far. Close encounters with death, the nightly escapades through the city, the chases, the gun to your head, the nightmares, and everything that happened yesterday seemed like nothing, a complete triviality compared to the situation you were currently in. Suddenly snapping at a masked vigilante seemed much easier than having a polite conversation with a gentleman like Bruce. For he was a true gentleman in every little gesture he made. His kiss on the cheek was brief and polite, his glances did not linger on you, there was no hubris in his attitude when he gave you a compliment nor pretend in his gestures when he offered you a hand to make it easier for you to get in and out of his sports car. It seemed that everything he did came effortlessly to him, but you paid attention to every single gesture, to every single glance. To the fact that on your way to the restaurant he positioned himself on your left closer to the street, to the fact that when opening the door he stepped inside first only to hold the door for you, to the way he kindly helped you take off your jacket when you got to your table only to get your chair before he himself sat down next to you.
You felt strange when everyone bowed at the sight of him as if everyone knew who he was except you. Valet, bowed at the waist taking the keys from him and a far too large tip. The host greeted him with a polite "Mister Wayne! It's an honor to have you and your lovely companion with us tonight," and the wine was brought to your table by the restaurant owner himself, who bowed low to him and kissed your hand to Bruce's evident displeasure.
"It's beautiful here," you remarked, as you looked around at your surroundings. The restaurant may not have been the most expensive in town but it had an elegance and simplicity about it that gave the interior a warm and cozy aura.
"I'm glad you like it," he replied sincerely, "the best tagliatelle with white truffles in town. I know the head chef, he's incredibly talented," there was no hubris in his words and yet you couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed. You looked around the room, at the restaurant staff who fled shyly away from your gaze, at the other guests who whispered in hushed voices casting not-so-subtle glances in the direction of your table. Everyone without exception was interested in you.
"Ignore them," a soft low voice drew your attention. While you were observing your surroundings, Bruce was observing you. He smiled apologetically and added, "They're always talking, always staring. Forgive me, I should book the whole restaurant."
"No, don't apologize! That would only be weird! It's just…" your gaze shot toward the blonde woman in the red dress who was clearly talking down about you, "it doesn't bother you does it? You're used to it."
"I've lived my whole life under the watchful gaze of Gotham's elite, it doesn't affect me anymore," he admitted.
"Gotham seems to have opinions about you," you stated while taking a small sip of your wine, "billionaire, playboy, most desirable bachelor…" you listed the headlines with a playful smile.
"Well well, someone discovered the internet," he smirked.
"Hey, don't mock me, mister!"
"I'm not," he denied but the smirk didn't disappear from his face.
"Just because I made one stupid mistake doesn't mean I am completely ignorant!"
"I have not thought like that," he turned serious, "besides, it was one adorable mistake."
"You'll never gonna forget that aren't you?"
"I don't think so," he smirked again.
"It's so infuriating!" you sighed with amusement.
"What is?"
"This!" you pointed discreetly at his face, "this! All of this! It's infuriating!"
"My apologies," the smile disappeared from your face but remained in his eyes, "should I play serious? Should I play billionaire playboy? "
"No…" you whispered, "don't play. Just be yourself."
For a moment he answered nothing. Only his blue eyes shone as if some thought had emerged and he was considering whether he should say it out loud.
"I am…" he finally replied, "believe me, it's been a long time since…" he hesitated.
"I get it," you looked at him with understanding, "each of us plays a certain role in our lives, each of us puts on a mask and presents ourselves to the world in one way and not another. I can only imagine what that might have looked like in your case. Always in the public eye, always watched. I understand that such situations demand that you wear a mask."
"You have no idea…" something dark crept into his soft voice.
"Don't worry, I didn't believe half the stuff I read, and the other half I completely ignored," you added with a smile.
"Why?" he asked surprised.
"It's just…" this time you hesitated, not knowing what to say to make it sound appropriate.
"Just say it, don't overthink it," he insisted.
"Half the things I read didn't fit with the description to the man who walked me home," you smiled sweetly, "I would like to get to know you as you would like me to get to know you, not as the newspapers describe you," the certainty in your voice and the directness surprised you yourself. You should feel intimidated by this powerful man and yet you felt damn confident.
Bruce only smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. Eyes that hid something you couldn't name. Something hidden deep beneath the surface, under the mask of perfectly styled hair, a shiny Rolex and a perfectly fitted suit. A mystery.
You were silent, suspended in each other's eyes, suspended in gentle smiles, between soft music and aggressive glances, as if you were both planning your next move, as if there was no one else, as if you were both studying each other without saying a word. Your directness surprised him, as much as it surprised you. You saw the puzzlement that briefly appeared in his eyes. And something else. Curiosity.
The waiter appeared interrupting your wordless flirtation to take your orders. Despite the recommendation of a fantastic tagliatelle you declared, to Bruce's amusement, that you were a simple girl and ordered the gnocchi with spinach and parmesan, while Bruce ordered the Fiorentina steak.
"You don't like your wine?" Bruce asked, noting the nearly full glass.
"You're not drinking either," you pointed out, "I don't drink alcohol. Very very occasionally."
"How come?"
"It doesn't work with me," you replied honestly, "there is a lot, in here…" you tapped your finger onto your forehead, "I like to keep it under control, and alcohol has its way of letting it all loose."
"Now you just trying to get me interested," the smirk returned.
"Hey I know that dating in our thirties has its own rules but we won't talk about past traumas, ex-relationships, issues, and galloping inflation," you sneered.
"I am way past my thirties," he quipped, "but I'm glad to hear you think it's a date," the choice of your words didn't pass Bruce's notice but you didn't let him catch you in the trap of words.
"What's your excuse?"
"Surprisingly similar to yours," he replied just as honestly, "but as you said, we won't talk about past traumas and issues."
"I suppose you're tired of being seen through the lenses of past events," you began, as Bruce gestured to the waiter and asked to swap wine for sparkling water, "so tell me, who is Bruce Wayne?" the question was simple and sincere, dressed in a warm tone, inviting openness.
"Who is Bruce Wayne…" he looked at you as if weighing the words in his mind, "he is a compulsively obsessive workaholic who likes to ride his motorcycle, listens to jazz, blues, metal, and classical music, enjoys good books and freshly brewed coffee, and wishes to find a time to visit the Tibetan mountains again."
"Oh now, you just trying to impress me," you joked, "what's a good book for you?"
"King, Koontz, Abercrombie, Erikson," Bruce listed, "but I also like classical literature and philosophical works. Immanuel Kant, Aristotle, Friedrich Nietzsche, Ralph Waldo Emerson…"
"I knew you were an intellectual," you smiled cockily.
"And I dream of going to the movies," he continued, "it's been ages since I was in a movie theater!"
"We gonna have to change that," you smirked, "but you just told me what you like, not who you are. Don't think I'm not paying attention."
"The answer to that is much more complicated."
"Life is complicated Bruce," you smiled and leaned over to look at him closer, "who are you?"
"Well…" he didn't break eye contact but behind the stormy blue eyes you saw a struggle going on, "I'm a father."
This was not the answer you expected. How did this information slip away under a flurry of gossip headlines? You leaned back in your chair and looked at him with undisguised surprise and genuine curiosity.
"Well sort of…" he continued, "it's a difficult and quite strange relationship we've got. Something between father and older brother. At least with most of my boys."
"Most of?"
"Yeah," he chuckled awkwardly, "there are five of us in total, well six if you include Alfred. Dick is the oldest, he's in his late twenties. I adopted him when he was just a young boy after his parents…" he paused as if recalling a memory, "I witnessed his parents death when I was in my twenties. They were circus acrobats. The circus owner didn't want to give the mafia extortion money, and the mafia responded by cutting the acrobats' safety ropes to make it look like an accident," he visibly saddened but didn't avoid your eyes. On the contrary, he looked at you intently. Little did you know that there was a battle going on inside him, with one side wanting to talk and the other trying to stifle that urge.
"This is heartbreaking…" you whispered, feeling tears run into your eyes.
"Then there is Jason," Bruce continued, "Jason was a street kid, Gotham raised him. Our paths crossed when he tried to steal from me. That didn't work out," he smiled wryly, "Instead of an easy loot I offered him something completely different."
"Not many people would do that…"
"The next in terms of age is Tim. Tim will be seventeen this year and he came to us quite differently. A brilliant boy. His genius was sometimes a problem at school and even now as he's in college, it often gets him into trouble. I try to help him nudge his genius and talent in the right direction."
"Perhaps one day he'll be the next CEO at Wayne Enterprises," you smiled.
"Perhaps," Bruce also smiled, "the youngest of them is Damian, my biological son…" he hesitated again for a moment, "Damian is troubled. Angry, frustrated, full of resentment, just as I was when I was his age."
"How old is he?"
"Thirteen…" Bruce replied without hesitation, "For years he grew up with a mother and grandfather who, let's just say, didn't care for him as they should have. Especially his mother. Damian came to me barely three years ago, and since then it has been a continuous learning process for us."
"Where is she now?" you asked uncertainly, "his mother."
"She's not in the picture," he replied shortly, "how do you do that?" the blue of his eyes suddenly brightened and lit up with intense brightness.
"Do what?" you asked innocently.
"Making me talk," he replied and furrowed his brows as if trying to decipher something, "I don't do that. That's not how it works."
"You don't talk about yourself?" amusement mixed with surprise tinted the tone of your voice.
"No…" he replied quietly, "No, I don't. Besides, no one usually cares to ask."
"Let me guess. Women in your world are only interested in your Lamborghini, privet yacht, fancy parties, and your wallet," you snarled.
"Pretty much."
"That's sad…." your reply again brought a surprise to his face, "Bruce Wayne is such a fascinating man. Kind, compassionate, caring…"
"You must be talking about someone else…" he scoffed.
"I mean it. How many twenty-something guys would adopt a teenager who lost his parents or a street kid who tried to steal from them? I'll tell you. Not many."
"They needed a place to belong to and I could give that to them. Besides, I could relate to and understand their pain."
"Compassion…" you emphasized, "I must say, you surprised me, Mister Wayne. Tell me about Alfred, you've mentioned his name," you wanted him to continue.
"No no no, enough about me. You know now who Bruce Wayne is. Now tell me who is Y/N Y/L/N," the blue eyes stared at you intensely.
"She's definitely curious," you smirked paraphrasing his own words.
"You told me how you feel, not who you are," he too was good at this word game.
"The answer to that question is much more complicated," you replied quietly and for the first time, you lowered your gaze. You saw sincere interest in his eyes and wanted to satisfy it but how could you when you were looking for the answer to that question yourself. There were gaps in your memory, torn-out fragments, missing pieces you couldn't put together. And there was also trauma. A trauma you hadn't talked about with anyone, not even your psychiatrist. "Who am I?" the thought ran through your mind and for the first time you regretted that in your confidence you had brought up the subject. You should have anticipated this turn of events.
"Forgive me. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable," you could see the sincere worry on his face. And how could he not be worried when he was well aware of things you were not telling him about. At least that's what he thought.
"You didn't," you denied, "I'm sorry. It's just… you gave me such a sincere answer, you shared something important to you, and here I am struggling to even begin to answer this question."
"You don't have to if you don't want to…"
"I feel like I owe you and," this time you hesitated, "and I really want to. It's just…"
"No pressure," he interrupted you and all you could see in his eyes was understanding, "there will be other opportunities," he assured you.
"There will?"
"I kinda wanted…damn that's gonna sound weird right now but…" he combed his fingers through his hair in embarrassment, "please don't take this the wrong way."
"I won't."
"There is this Tech Expose in Metropolis next week and I've been thinking, given your project which frankly is really great, that it would be very beneficial for you to be there," a moment ago so confident now he had something of the insecure embarrassed boy in him, which in your eyes was incredibly cute, "TechX, all the important companies in the market will be there. S.T.A.R. Labs, LexCorp, Stagg Industries, Queen Industries, and Wayne Enterprises. It's a big event. I would like you to go with me."
"And why would I take it the wrong way?"
"I don't want you to feel like I'm taking advantage of you…" he replied, "and given that I'd like to meet you again, privately, the proposal to travel to Metropolis together might be perceived as inappropriate."
"And do they have movie theaters in Metropolis?" you smirked.
"I'm sure they do," his eyes shone.
"As long as you won't fire me I'm gonna gladly mix professional and private life," you replied in a hushed voice, "cos as much as I like working at Wayne Tech I kinda want to get to know my boss a little bit closer," you added confidently.
"Good. Cos he sure wants to get to know you."
***
Chapter eight: Fears
~~***~~
Author note: As I started writing this chapter I thought to myself it's gonna be a breeze to write. I knew exactly what I wanted to contain in it, what plot points needed to happen, I new how, more of less it would look like. Let me tell you guys, It wasn't. Turned out that writing Batman is much more difficult than I originally thought! It's like writing at least six different characters! Cos he is different depending on with whom he interacts. And I really wanted to convey that difference. I thought that writing two big scenes one with Bats, and another with Bruce is a brilliant idea! And I hope it turned out to be. But writing four different versions of him in one chapter was a hell of a task. I do hope it worked out as I intended. And I do hope you liked it :) I'm grateful to you all who are reading this story. I hope it's bringing you as much joy in reading as it brings me while I'm writing it, despite the struggles which I created myself. Till the next one!
At the end, as always Dear Reader, I thank you for reading.
~~***~~
Tag list:@clown-princesa @theclassicvinyldragon @blondwhowrites @batgirlspain @hangmanscoming
#batman x reader#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne imagine#jonathan crane x reader#scarecrow x reader#batman x y/n#scarecrow#jonathan crane#batman imagine#batman fanfiction#batfam#nightwing#robin#batfamily#dick grayson#batman x you#bruce wayne x fem!reader#tim drake#batman x fem!reader#batman#bruce wayne#dc comics#bruce wayne fanfiction#gotham
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u know what, i'm gonna be a basic b and ask for the ever iconic it's way too cold outside so lets cuddle naked and pretend that we're not aroused trope for castlevania's alucard. gotta love some of that sweet sexual tension
Some classics are made to last and be retold, never worry! I wanted to practice some writing but was also tired so uh, took an alternate ending to a scene from an older Alucard x OFC fic that used the 'beauty and the beast' trope, changed a few things, and included your prompt. … I wouldn’t exactly call it cuddling, but gave it a dose of UST. A lot of setup, though, even some action before that. Hope you like it.
This is the continuation of Schemes (warning, major angstfest there). Schemes doesn't need to be read in order to get this one, but it sure would enhance the last scene here.
The title is part of the proverb Still waters run deep. It was just there.
Still waters
Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)
Relationship: Alucard x fem!reader
Characters: Alucard, Reader, Original Characters
Count: 4k
Rating: M (🔞)
Tags/CW: scholar!reader, brief depiction of illness, abuse, verbal abuse, violence, attempted murder, unresolved sexual tension, Alucard is Not nice in this, Though he still means well, OK he's *kind of nice*, explicit language, post Castlevania season III, POV Reader Character, Second Person POV, references to past emotional conflict, protectiveness
Summary: He frightened you that night... but you’d been so foolish. Taking a moment of weakness for something else, pushing when you shouldn’t have. Now here you are: alone, worn, having traveled along the first dusty path you found away from the woods, aiming to be as far from that castle as possible. You have but few belongings, save a valuable manuscript he’d once gifted you.
"And where would I go?" you asked with a newfound, raking sort of hurt pride, a wayward look of disbelief in your eyes.
"That is your concern, not mine," Alucard retorted tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Adrian—" you tried again, only to be cut off by a scalding look.
"You will regret ever setting foot here otherwise," he snapped at you, his words chopped and shaking.
Trembling like a leaf, you bit down the crippling misery that piled up your throat. "I already do," you spewed before turning on your heel and dashing out of his sight, sparing no glance back.
You shook your head wearily at the wretched, aching memory of that last encounter, and peered beyond the heavy wooden gates of the village you’d discovered in your path. You hoped someone was awake on the other side, waited for a few minutes. Nothing. You were about to knock again when a bell began its chiming chant, in reckoning of dawn. After the bell died your knuckles struck the wooden gate again.
"A’ight, ai’ght," a disgruntled elderly voice began from the other side. "Got a bad leg y'know," the voice went on, and the trap door opened level with your face. Suspicious old eyes found yours. "Your name and your business," the watchman demanded.
You gave him your name in your most steady voice, though it came harsh with disuse. "I am no more than a traveler, fatigued and in search of lodgings."
The distrustful air held, and the trap door was closed. A moment later the gate opened either way, as was the custom in some areas once daybreak hit.
"Traveling alone are ye?" the somewhat raggedy old man placed his hands on his hips, shamelessly eyeing you striding past. " ... I'd watch meself if I were you—" the watchman added, but the end of his sentence was lost on you, now too preoccupied with taking in the new view before you. It was a rather large settlement, not quite a town but far from being a hamlet. Wood and thicket houses lined the uncobbled streets, and tall wooden gates spread unevenly delimited different homesteads from one another. You noticed folk were already up and about, most garbed in similar thick linens and furs. There was a bustle of men and women of various ages heading into different directions to pursue the labors of the day.
"Pardon me," you swiftly asked one passing woman. "What is this place called?"
"Why ye find yerself in Bran," she replied hastily, rushing off before you had a chance to ask whether you could expect to find room and board of any kind. Bran. You had no notion of this place. Sleeping under the naked sky was not something you shied away from, and there was little doubt you’d resort to such again throughout your journey. But for now, well, now you needed a good long rest and a warm meal. And a batch of new memories, if possible.
You walked along the main street, eyes searching for anything which may have constituted an inn. Mud and dirt clung to your boots and the hem of your cloak, gathered along the wet road drenched in nightly rains. You sighed, shouldering the satchel containing your few belongings.
Morning, midday and afternoon passed with little commotion and no success in finding a place to stay. You felt all the more despondent, though the reason had little to do with your uncertain options for the night.
You felt empty and a little lost, in more ways than one. Something was missing, and it was not unlike an invisible string puppeteering your thoughts; they ever returned to him. You wanted to forget, but no doubt that would take time. You wanted his callous words to stop striking dents into your mind. What was causing the most distress was the way his merciless distrust had slammed into you, and during moments you could not erase from your mind however much you tried.
You regarded the bleak day, strewn with impending grey clouds looming in the distance, wondering whether he was well, whether he was at all regretful for how it all spiralled down between you. After all, he did have a human side, supposedly. You may have taken a wrong step, and as time wore on, the stronger this conviction became. But your head had been full, of both wine and him and a ruthless desire you could not rein. No use regretting it now.
Soon, there was commotion around you as you reached the village marketplace. There were various merchants selling leathers, metalwork and wooden carvings among others and there was even a stand laden with smoked meats. There was plenty of mud here as well, giving the gathering a rather splattered appearance. You also saw chickens, goats and pigs put up for sale.
You waded through the crowd, considering spending coin on whatever nourishment you could find, when a wail was heard from without. The sounds were inhuman to your ears, closer to screeches than anything.
You approached the curious crowd that had gathered, and craning your neck to see better, you noticed a young girl, writhing on the ground. Her body was contorting in strange positions. She looked to be in her early youth, and was a sorry state. Her eyes were rolled over so the bare whites were visible, and she was uttering sounds that would have caused a night creature to flee. An older woman was on her knees and attempting to keep her flailing arms at bay.
"Witchery..." you heard the word whispered by more than one. "The devil has her, she is under its spell again," another was saying.
You sighed in annoyance, shouldering your way between them. That is no spell.
You’d seen this condition before, during your studies. It was an affliction of the mind and body, leaving one too weakened and unable to perform tasks as others would. The older woman was desperately trying to soothe the girl, now foaming at the mouth, even as you came before them and lowered yourself beside them. "Hold her jaw," you said. "I am a... healer," you offered by way of greeting, at which point the woman's eyes widened. She did as was asked.
"She must not bite her tongue," you told the frantic woman, moving the girl before pressing two fingers to a specific spot along the side of her neck. The struggling soon ceased, and her arms and legs became slack, her eyes closed.
You caught the gaze of the older woman.
"It usually takes me much longer to still her," she said, her eyes full of worry and gratitude. "I have never seen anyone achieve what you have done."
"Your child has an ailment, one she will bear if properly tended," you leaned in closer. "And it has nothing to do with God or the Devil," you whispered, looking to the somewhat wary crowd. People had begun to disperse and go about their business.
"Well, whatever it is, I am in your debt." She lowered her head.
"Let there be no debt, I do not do this for recompense."
"I am Rafilae, and this is my daughter, Maria," the woman looked to the girl now nestled in her arms. "I have a cottage at the other end of our village, and though we have no wealth to speak of, I would still wish to repay you, somehow. Come, I think we have enough food to share for tonight, and you look to be in need of rest yourself."
You could do little to deny that. You were tired, you were hungry. "If that would not be too much trouble..." you said, with little conviction.
"Bah, no trouble at all. I'll explain all to my man. Now come," Rafilae urged, and having nothing else to do nor indeed anywhere to go, you heeded.
A cloaked figure watched you depart but did not follow, instead fading amid the crowd of the bustling market.
Evening found you seated on the ground at a wooden table in a small thatched roof hut, a steaming dish of root vegetable broth set before you. You were joined by your new acquaintances and hosts, both of whom seemed wholesome, hardworking people. Rafilae's husband Rufus had been an amenable man, and all the happier when he heard of the aid you provided. Maria lay on a bed of hay not too far away, joined by her brothers and sisters, having regained herself in the meantime.
They asked of your purpose in Wallachia, of your own lands. They were curious people, but you were at a point where you craved and welcomed the openness of human contact. You kept most of your trials to yourself, placing forward the idea that you were a traveling healer. You then instructed the couple on a few techniques to help their daughter and spoke of the condition she bore. These simple folk were looking rather incredulously at you, still somewhat unable to believe their child was not possessed by any forces of evil. It was during this conversation that a vicious knock sounded at the door of the hut.
"Rather late for visitors," Rufus said with narrowed eyes.
All conversation ceased, and the man rose, taking a heavy pitchfork in hand. You rose as well and peered outside to catch glimpse of the intruder. Your eyes widened at the sight.
Six figures, all armed and dressed in robes of black and gold were planted before the homestead.
One of them pointed a long, dirty finger at you. "That one."
Rufus went to stand as a shield before you and his wife, grasping the pitchfork firmly in his hand.
"The Lord's Horde," Rafilae placed her hand to her mouth, while you were suddenly looking about them for any possible ways of escape. Yes, you remembered their kind. You recalled the etchings of their garb and the ruthless dogmatism which drove them to blind murder. It was their kind who chased you that rainy day, whom you barely escaped; who led you to...
"Are you certain?" one of the robed men asked.
"As I live and breathe," came the confirmation. "That’s the witch Denes and the others caught in Rusi. When I saw her in the market today in the commotion I could not believe my eyes. She drew out the devil from one, so there's further proof." His voice dripped loathing. "I never thought she would dare show her face around these parts after what she did."
"What is the meaning of this?" Rufus demanded.
The second man who’d spoken neared. He clasped his hands together in his faded robe, his air one of distinction. He had a long dark beard and wore a faded black prior's cap on his short cropped hair. "You host a witch in your midst."
You scoffed, though inside you quaked. Not again, not again.
The man continued his case. "She is responsible for the deaths of men in our brotherhood who tried to capture her near Rusi. We never saw them again."
"I am no witch!" You seethed, looking pleadingly to Rufus and his wife.
Rufus did not seem convinced either. "Do you have proof of this?" he looked back to the prior.
The prior frowned, his cold eyes gaining a mad glimmer. "You know our cause. You know we will fight for the Lord with all that we are, and against anyone who stands in the way of His justice," he looked pointedly at Rufus. "I would entreat you not to interfere with God's work, lest you are prepared to face the consequences."
The man briefly took in the various sharp weapons the others wielded. Their gazes were cold and there was the same spark of maddened devotion in their eyes.
The children had appeared at the entrance, curious and wide-eyed. You sighed upon seeing them, lowering your head.
"No," you placed a hand on the man's shoulder, then regarded the prior icily. "I will go freely." You looked to Rafilae, who was wringing her hands. "Thank you for your aid." Then swiftly you retrieved your satchel, and hands were on your shoulders, and you were dragged away before the startled eyes of the family who'd shown you kindness. It is true, everything does go in cycles the thought crossed your mind.
"What will you do to me?" you dared ask as one of the men pulled your hands to bind them. You struggled in vain, but the man forcibly revealed your wrist, still bearing marks from the incubus attack weeks ago.
"Further proof, prior Horvath," and all gasped when they saw the reddened scars as he forcibly brought your wrist upward. "Cavorting with vampires also, no doubt."
The one called Horvath sneered, his dark eyes set on your livid expression. "We take her to the river," then his smile turned vicious. "You do what you will with her." The others grinned, looking at each other. "Throw her body in when done."
"No, please," you tried reason, struggling as the bonds were tightened. "I bear nothing but knowledge, and have no skill nor anything to do with the dark arts!"
"Silence!" the prior boomed, features contorting. He thrust his face close to yours, taking a fistful of your hair and pulling so harshly you screeched in pain. "Where are our brethren then, hmm? There is nothing you can say or do to make me believe you, wench, save for their safe return. And even then," he gripped harder, causing your eyes to water. "You are still a filthy servant of the Enemy." He released you, and bid them march ahead with you dragged in tow.
As you left the village behind, you were trying to come to terms with the fact that life was apparently not on your side. None dared intervene and there were few people out and about since evening had fallen. All feared the darkness and what lurked beyond it, and rightfully so. The tall woods soon swallowed the group, and two captors lit torches.
When you heard the murmur of water nearby, you swallowed. They must have neared the river. You looked left and right, seeing nothing but gloom. They’d taken your satchel away, reverently saying its contents were destined to be burned.
Then you were being dragged by two of them, struggling and panting, towards the steep edge where the river thrashed below. Your legs flailed, and a powerful strike ended your wailing. You saw stars.
"Pin her down," one said, and they were about to do just that, when something hissed past them.
You saw nothing in the dark, save for the torch fallen to the forest bed. You heard groans and muffled cries as bodies fell to the ground.
You rose swiftly to your knees, trying to rip the bonds with your teeth to no avail, fumbling onto the ground, looking for the satchel. You stared about yourself, for whatever was happening lit by the weak light of the fallen torches.
A tall figure faced the prior.
It all happened too fast. You were being dragged by the hair, caught in an armlock that had you choking. The prior stood alone, and spilled blood rose warm in the air. He was ever pacing back towards the cliff, and the river below, with you struggling in his grip.
"Stay back!" he cried, brandishing a long knife even as his opponent stepped ever closer.
"Release your captive," the presence commanded, aiming his weapon at the prior's chest.
The voice. That voice.
"What?!"
"Release your captive, then jump," the voice repeated calmly as the blade swished through the air, glinting eerily. "And you may survive the river. I will count to three, at which point your heart will be pierced by my blade. Your decision," he offered as the prior kept looking back towards the gaping nothingness, then to the catlike gaze of the stranger.
True to his word, he began his count.
"Are you mad?! Your witch will perish too, you fucking beast, because if I go, she goes with me."
If you didn’t know better, you thought you’d heard a growl.
"Here, if you want her so badly, she’s all yours—”
You gasped as you were forcefully flung into darkness, deafened by your own startled cry, by another short, agonized gurgle.
And then, pins and needles, and the cold numbed all.
Pain. Everywhere and nowhere; too hot, but then too cold. You opened your eyes to what seemed like pale daylight sifting through a window, closed them again.
Am I alive?
The capture, the darkness, the river, all came crashing down in waves of memories, and a violent quiver shook your frame. You were strewn on something softer than a forest bed. You opened your eyes anew, saw nary a movement, and felt something warm pressed to your forehead. A palm. You shivered, shivered, shivered, before losing consciousness again.
Must it be so cold everywhere? Everything hurt. As you stared blearily along your arm, you felt the bruises forming there. And then, a change: warmth at your back, much needed heat enveloping you. Pleasant and alive, and before you understood—or cared—what it was, you pressed closer. Something locked around your waist.
"You fidget," and despite the ache, the warm breath against your neck sent a different shiver down your body.
This was not actually happening. You were caught in some feverish dream, dying on the stony banks of the river.
"...where… you…"
"Don’t try to speak. Rest."
"...came for me? But how…"
An exasperated sigh. "My senses. I know your scent."
At any other time, those words might have had your heart soaring and mind reeling, but now you were too numb for even the infatuation which, even in delirium, apparently wouldn’t loosen its hold.
"You struck the waters before I reached you," Adrian went on in that soft voice, though its tone was rather clinical.
Yes, you struggled to remember. He did arrive, it had been him. Right before…
It was then you noticed something mortifying—you were bare under the covers, and the warmth against your back was skin.
As if reading your thoughts, Adrian spoke again. "You were in shock when I retrieved you from the water. The medicine supplies here were mostly destroyed during the siege on the castle," he said, and you realized that what was closed around you was his arm; his bare arm, and your back was pressed to his chest. You were too tired to move, too gutted to speak. Last time you attempted closeness, he all but cast you out of the castle and now, now…
If only you had the strength to be angry.
"The heating system no longer works since then, and I had no firewood, and your condition was fastly worsening. I had no choice," he spoke again.
And the way he said the last words was killing you; like you were a chore, and a disturbance.
Still, he… he was there.
"...I see…" you managed, feeling him warm but stiff as you lay unmoving on your side. You wished you could scream, demand an apology for his denial and his distrustful, unjust words during that last encounter but then—he saved your life.
"Why?" you croaked, staring out the window, where clouds darkened the sky above the forest.
"I told you not to speak."
"Why did you do it?" you asked stubbornly, feeling the arm tighten around your waist in an uncontrolled jerk of movement. "Why did you go through the trouble of dragging me from their clutches when you demanded I left in the first place."
"I demanded you left, but never wanted you to come to harm."
You closed your eyes. "You called me a liar." He could be so goddamn infuriating. Never a straight answer, but his warmth seeping into you felt so good it made you drowsy, and the most primal side of you felt it seeping within, lacing pleasure to pain.
Silence. You wondered if you’d finally reached him, or if it was the guilt at his past conduct that drove him to this. You could not help remembering the way he held you then, the desperate longing in his kiss, the heat rising between you as he crushed you closer—a heat not unlike the one burning you now; you no longer shivered from the cold, but were loath to tell him.
Damn you. Damn him.
His chest rose in a sigh against your naked back. "There are things you do not know. About me. I…"
You couldn’t be more bewildered if you saw a pig on white wings flying towards the sun. Adrian, being honest and straightforward? Still, you did not hedge him. Let him struggle, the petty side of you urged, the other melting with desperation and love.
"My trust was broken before," he finally said, and you waited, but Adrian added nothing else.
Still. "I did not know," you said, staring out the window.
"I realized that. After," and for the first time, you sensed a sliver of remorse in his tone. Not an apology, but, for now, all else considered, it would do. This was not the way things went in your lustful dreams of him from before; aching all over, unable to move.
"How do you feel?"
You swallowed. "Warm."
A pause. You’d half expected him to rise and leave, but nothing happened.
"Good," he said. He felt warmer, or maybe it was a slight of the imagination. And then, "I do not think you a liar."
You still felt resent at the memory, but on impulse, your hand reached, pressed over his own that was splayed over your abdomen. Your fingers slipped between his; he did not withdraw.
"Please," you heard then, and the whisper held something ragged in it, and you became aware of a hardness against you, just like… like that first time you threw yourself at him like a fool with your head full of wine and body thrumming with desire.
You said nothing else, become aware of the risen heartbeat against your spine. And suddenly you wondered, and suddenly you understood.
"Did you bring me back to cast me away again once I’m better? Will you reprise that humiliation?" You could not help it, though his words on trust haunted you already, as many of his past actions gained a new, horrible sense.
"No." It sounded pained on its own; you let it be.
You lay in silence, aware you could not even move if you tried to turn and face him, to see his eyes, to feel him closer, to tell him. "I will wait for you, Adrian," you said either way, and never heard his answer as exhausted sleep claimed you.
MASTERLIST: CASTLEVANIA SERIES x READER
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Caught in the Crosshairs: Chapter 59: The Kids Aren't Alright- Fallout Boy
Series warnings: Smut, mind control, canon typical violence, childhood trauma, language, chronic illness
Chapter warning: Violence, imprisonment, medical experimentation
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Six months was a long time in a cell. Miria had run out of ways to spend the time, reflecting on her life from earliest memory to the day she'd surrendered to Hemlock. She couldn't meditate into the Force with the cuff in, but she could disassociate into her memory. It didn’t ease the pain of losing so many, though it did help her reflect on all the good the Jedi had done despite their flaws. Still, every time she found herself coming back to reality she tasted blood and was slick with sweat. Everything she’d endured since Order 66 felt like it was in the cell with her, a physical and oppressive presence she couldn’t escape.
She was in the middle of such reflection over her tray of tasteless breakfast when she heard Hemlock’s footsteps. “You usually let me finish breakfast before you begin the harassment.” She said mildly, looking up.
“Show some decorum, Master Halcyon.” Hemlock had Nala Se with him, and a figure in a black cowl. Miria had seen more than enough news holos during her brief stint as a Coruscanti serial killer to know who she was looking at.
“Palpatine.” The revulsion Miria felt was visceral.
“Master Miria Halcyon.” The shrouded figure of the Emperor smiled around damaged teeth. Miria could only hope the disfigurement came from a fight with a Jedi. One of the people she loved and lost deserved to have the honor.
“I'd been hoping you'd passed away, Emperor. Your appearance suggests I got my wish, but you're still speaking…”
“Insolent woman.” He chuckled. “Yet you remain in a cell, while I am free and ruling the galaxy. My apprentice believed you dead after the destruction of Tipoca City. I find this a more fitting end to you.”
“This is far from my end.” She raised her chin, staring sternly down her nose.
Palpatine chuckled. “How bold you still are. That fire will be a great asset to the Empire… Broken Light.”
Miria smiled darkly. “Still shining. But not for you.”
Palpatine just chuckled again and looked at Hemlock. “A very amusing exhibit. But let us continue.”
Hemlock nodded. “Of course. This way, sir.”
Miria watched them go before sinking back to her cot slowly and cradling her head in her hands. What the hell had Palpatine meant about her being an asset to the Empire? Madmen never said things they didn't mean as a threat…
“Lady Halcyon.” A quiet voice caught her attention.
Miria looked up, facing Nala Se. Hemlock and Palpatine hadn't realized she wasn't right behind them yet, and the look in her wide gray eyes was terrified. She needed to tell Miria something, and quickly before her absence was noticed. “I'm listening.”
“Omega is going to attempt to escape. She is in great danger. She will not leave without you or CT-9904. When you are freed, there is a wet lab on this detention block. The access code is manual, 3763. You must retrieve what is in it.”
“Why?” Miria frowned.
“There is no time, but Hemlock must lose access.” The Kaminoan turned and quickly walked away.
Miria bit the inside of her lip until she tasted blood, then flipped her sleeve inside out. 3-7-6-3.
She hadn't liked Kaminoans much, given what they'd done to the clones. Still sometimes one desperate woman recognized another, and if Nala Se was willing to defy the Emperor to save Omega… so was Miria. If they had nothing in common but love for that little girl, that was enough.
“Miri. Psst.” Omega was at the cell bars, voice faint with nerves. “It's time to go.”
Miria smiled. “I'm ready.”
“I need you to distract the guards while I get this cell open. That's the only part I've got planned.” The girl said sheepishly. “We're winging this.”
“It's what we do best. Get hidden, I'll distract them.” Miria’s eyes were hard and determined. This was it, her chance she’d been holding out hope for since the day she’d arrived. This was the path that lead to freedom. To family. To Crosshair.
Omega ducked out of sight, and Miria dropped to the floor and clutched her stomach, letting out a gut wrenching scream. “Help! Please, help!”
The two guards jogged over to her writhing on the floor. “What the hell did you do?”
“It hurts!” Miria gasped. Truth be told it did, but they wouldn't really care. If she needed it to look theatrical, she'd be willing to tear out a stitch or two for a little blood.
“Quit screaming, you crazy witch-”
The cell door opened and Miria sprang to her feet, striking the first TK trooper with a vicious uppercut. “Done.” She snatched his blaster and stunned the second one before he could even get his out of the holster, then shot the first as he tried to get off the floor. “Excellent work, Omega.”
They dragged the two soldiers into the cell and Omega locked them in, Miria with their blasters in hand. “I’ve got Nala Se’s data pad. She told me I had to escape or I was in danger.”
Miria nodded. “She told me the same thing. And to find a wet lab on this block. Do you know where it is?”
Omega nodded. “One hall over.”
They crept as carefully as possible into the next hall, ducking the thick guard presence in an alcove. “So many of them.” Miria whispered sourly.
“Hemlock said there was a guest here.” Omega nodded.
“Oh yes. We've already met. Here's the lab door.” Miria crouched, flipping her sleeve inside out to review the code.
“Is that blood?” Omega paled.
“I wasn't allowed a stylus.” Miria shrugged, and the door opened. “Stay in the door, in case I need a warning.”
Omega nodded, posting up with her blaster like the Bad Batcher she was. Miria was both proud of her and heartbroken at the loss of so much innocence, but she didn't have time to dwell on it.
Instead, she found herself facing a grotesque system of growth tubes, not unlike the ones of Kamino but far less refined. Inside most of them were twisted fetal corpses, malformed infant creatures who never drew breath and had been left to rot in their jars. They'd clearly been spliced with different sentient races to no avail. But the very last canister had a green heartbeat monitor and spiking brainwaves.
Miria leaned in, examining the tiny figure inside the green synthetic amniotic fluid. It was human, and female. Wispy pale hair fluttered around the top of a round copper face. If her recollection of her mission as padawan at a maternity ward served her correctly, the baby looked close to term as well.
There was a datapad next to the canister, and she quickly scanned it.
Test subject H… eggs, fertilized by DNA from subject… multiple failures with different DNA sources… egg rejected… spontaneous failure…
She quickly grabbed a mobile battery pack and rerouted the power to the canister, before moving it and the datapad into an empty gear bag. She understood now what Nala Se meant, and what Hemlock had been doing if not the purpose… but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. She had to go.
She tapped Omega's shoulder. “Let's go, little love.”
“What's in the bag?”
“I'll tell you when we're out of here. I promise. Let's get Crosshair.” Miria’s voice was clipped, and Omega knew that tone. Move now, question later. The general was present.
They slipped through the halls carefully. “We're going to need another distraction. Let me tell Crosshair.” Omega whispered. “If he sees you, he might startle and accidentally alert the guards too soon.”
Miria nodded, gritting her teeth. Omega was right, of course. But it had been over six months since she'd seen Crosshair in person and only for a moment then. “Alright. I'll wait here, and shoot when you open the cell.”
Omega darted off while Miria pressed herself to the wall. After a moment, she heard Crosshair call out. “Guards!”
She peeked around the corner to see what stunning banthashit her beloved sniper could pull off, and had to fight the urge to laugh. No theatrics, no ploy, he just ordered them to open the cell.
Force, she loved him so much.
“And I'll take you blaster too.” The bravado and snark in Crosshair’s voice was the version of him she remembered best, the prideful black ops trooper who had no problem choke-slamming a 501st medic on Anaxes.
“How are you going to do that?” The guard taunted.
“You'll see.”
When the cell door opened, Crosshair didn't waste a second rushing the guard, grabbing his blaster and using him as a human shield against the second one. It took Miria a moment to realize the person screaming like a feral lurca wasn't the TK trooper, but Crosshair.
When the first trooper went down to his partner's stun round, Crosshair dropped him. He fired as another round hit the second trooper from behind, and the following unceremonious collapse revealed a woman in a sniper’s crouch who'd also shot him.
She lifted her head and looked at him, lavender eyes wide, and every nerve in his body fired at once to propel him to her.
Miria had rehearsed her reunion with Crosshair more times than she could count. She'd thought of a million beautiful, sweet things to say that would never convey how much she had missed him. But when he bolted straight for her she forgot every one of those words. Nothing mattered as much as scrambling to her feet and nearly catching him as he threw his arms around her. She buried her face against the rough fabric of his shirt and hugged him back as tightly as she could. There was only one word that mattered, the only word in any language that she could say like a prayer and be answered. “Crosshair.”
“Miria. I'm so-”
She looked up, squeezing him once more to stop the breakdown he so desperately needed to have. “I know, darling. We'll talk, but not here.”
Crosshair nodded, taking a steadying breath. They broke apart, dragging the troopers into the cell and locking them in. “Why this now? What changed?” He looked at them.
Miria looked at Omega, who looked at the datapad in her hands. “Nala Se told me to use her datapad and steal a shuttle. We just need to get to a hangar.”
Miria groaned. “Every shuttle is going to be grounded for the Emperor's visit.”
“The Emperor is here?” Crosshair looked incredulous.
“Don't look at me, I didn't know.” Omega grumbled, trying to find them a shuttle.
“This was not the day to wing an escape.” He groaned.
“We're well past that, love.” Miria sighed, looking over Omega’s shoulder. “No shuttles.”
“Except the Emperor's. We could steal it.” Omega looked up at her.
Crosshair shook his head. “Impossible. It'll be too heavily guarded, even for the three of us.” He was clutching one of the guards guns, and Miria's eyes locked onto his right hand as it trembled on the stock.
Is he hurt, or is it the trauma of this place?
“I know another shuttle we can use. One crashed just outside the perimeter right after we arrived, Miri.” Omega tugged her sleeve to get her attention back.
“How does a crashed shuttle help us?” Crosshair raised an eyebrow.
“If the comm is working, we can call Hunter and Wrecker for help.” The expression on Omega’s face almost made Miria laugh and sob at the same time. All she could hear was Tech’s voice. I thought it was obvious.
Crosshair seemed to accept that answer and nodded. “How do we get outside?”
Miria adjusted the strap of the bag on her back. “You told me about the lurca hounds. Don’t their kennels lead outside?”
Omega nodded. “We can use Batcher’s empty kennel. There’s a timed ray shield though, we’ll have to be fast.”
Crosshair just nodded, following Omega as she led the way. It was a far cry from the grief he’d given the Batch on Kamino about “letting a kid call the shots”. They made it without much incident into the kennels, and Omega started working on the datapad to get it open for them. Miria grabbed a set of wire cutters left on a tool bench and slipped them into a side pocket on her bag, freezing when she heard footsteps and looked up.
“Omega.” Emerie Karr was staring at them. “What are you doing?”
“You’re a clone, like us Emerie. Help us.” Omega’s hope was palpable, but it didn’t stop Miria or Crosshair from drawing their blasters. “No, wait!” She held her hands up to stop them shooting her on sight. There was something eerie and definite about the way Crosshair flicked the stun/kill lever on the side of his with deft ease, effortless skill that Miria had always admired when he’d been teaching her to shoot.
“There is no escape, Omega. Come back to your room.” Emerie sighed. Miria watched her face, and behind her red-tinted glasses there was not a shred of hope in her eyes. Emerie had given up on any dream of freedom, totally resigned to her fate. Miria almost pitied her… almost. It didn’t make her lower her blaster, or take her finger off the trigger. The cargo she carried and the people she stood with were far too precious.
“You mean her cell.” Crosshair said sharply, echoing her thoughts.
“You’re not thinking clearly. None of you.” Emerie shook her head. “I’ll take you back. No one has to know about this.”
“I spent my whole life confined on Kamino. I won’t do it again here.” Omega snapped back defiantly.
“This is for your own good, Omeg-” Emerie held up a comm device, but before she could finish the girl’s name, Crosshair stunned her. She slumped to the floor, the beeping comm flashing.
“We have to go.” Crosshair muttered. “Hurry.”
Miria stomped the comm sharply, shattering it under her heel. “It was nice of you to stun her.” She said as she ducked into the kennel with Crosshair and Omega.
“The kid didn’t want me to kill her.” He said quietly as Omega led the way. “So I switched to stun.”
“I didn’t.” Miria gave him a smile he didn’t recognize, sharper than a blade to the ribs. He’d always known her to be soft and sweet…
“You don’t kill things, Miria.”
“You’d be surprised what I’d do for my family.” They started down the kennel chute, close together. It was a tall chute at least, so Crosshair didn’t have to crouch too much. It was just starting to feel like hope again when the sound of a ray shield activating went off behind them.
“It’s not supposed to come on this fast.” Omega paled.
“They know we’re here. Run.” Crosshair hissed.
They took off at high speed, trying desperately to outrun the closing series of ray shields. Miria shoved Omega ahead of her and the three of them went sliding out and into the mud under the shoot. Crosshair and Omega landed on their asses, Miria twisting to land on her stomach and protect the backpack. For a moment there was silence, except for the squish of the mud underneath them.
“Where’s that ship, Omega?” Crosshair finally said, getting up. He tucked his blaster in the curve of his elbow and pulled both her and Miria up from the mud.
“I’m not sure. Sorry.” Omega wiped mud from her face.
Crosshair sighed and looked up at a shuttle leaving the base. “We’ll follow the flight path.”
Miria wrinkled her nose with displeasure. “Must be the Emperor’s ship. Pity I’ve still got this blasted Force cuff on. I’d snatch that shuttle right down into the jungle and let whatever Hemlock was threatening me with here eat him.”
“You really have changed.” Crosshair shook his head, he and Miria bracketing Omega to track the flight path and follow.
“Only some things.” She murmured, free hand reaching behind Omega to lightly touch his arm. She wanted to reassure him that nothing about her feelings for him had changed, but before she could find the words the sound of howling lurcas started up from behind.
“Ah, the killer hounds.” Crosshair sighed.
“You didn’t happen to befriend more than one, did you Omega?” Miria ushered them forward, mind racing. If they got to the crashed shuttle, they might be able to call for help. But if the hounds followed them, they’d be cornered. Locking themselves in the wreck could protect them from the hounds, but that was hedging their bets that it even had power or was able to be secured. And the hounds had tracker collars, they’d lead the Empire right to them even if they weren’t ripped to shreds. In the unlikely scenario that the three of them could hold off a full company of heavily armed TK troopers determined to drag them back or kill them, any rescue attempt by the Havoc Marauder would put Hunter and Wrecker at risk.
Crosshair put an arm in front of her. “Something is hunting is. Other than the hound. It’s almost silent, but I saw something move in the trees.”
Omega swallowed hard. “Like that nexu from Salucemi?”
Miria paled. “Shit.”
“What?” Crosshair frowned, moving so they were in a circle and watching each other’s backs.
“There’s blood in my sleeve. That’s probably what attracted-” Miria trailed off when a massive, muscular feline reared up on two legs, barely a leap away. “Dryax!”
All three of them started shooting, trying to deter it, but it dropped back into a crouch and started stalking them, ready to pounce. Miria was about to hand the backpack to Omega and tell Crosshair to get her out of there when a pack of screaming lurcas attacked the predator.
“Never been so glad to see a hound.” Crosshair huffed with a tinge of his old sarcasm before they took off again. The dryax could keep the hounds busy for a while, and hopefully they’d be able to get away.
They hit a slick patch of mud and root, Omega going flying one direction with her datapad going the other. Miria managed to stay upright, and smiled when Crosshair picked up both datapad and little girl and got her back on her feet. There he was, her shining star. If they made it out of this alive, she was going to have to tell him how attractive his parental side really was.
It didn’t take them too long to find the crash site once Crosshair picked out the hole in tree cover left by its descent. Omega climbed inside while the adults stood guard, trying to get the comm up enough for a distress signal. While she worked, Crosshair glanced at her. “You said there’s blood in your sleeve.” He wanted to grab her arms and inspect them, but was almost terrified of what he’d find.
“I bit my lip, love. That’s all.” She smiled faintly. “Nala Se told me to memorize a code, and I didn’t have a stylus. We make do.”
His tiny huff of breath was a sigh of relief. “... good.”
“You were worried.” In the midst of all her worrying and anger, there was the eye of the storm. He still cared. The peace that came with that knowledge was more serene than any amount of meditation in the Jedi temple… the attachment she’d been so warned about was her strength and salvation. She hoped other survivors would figure that out, because the only way anyone survived Order 66 and the aftermath was to have someone to love and a family to watch out for them.
“You surprised?” He hoped he didn’t look as anxious as he felt about it. If she didn’t know he-
“Not really. Ni kartayl su.” She chuckled.
I know you. I love you.
“The comm is dead.” Omega sounded like she was about ready to cry. “I can’t get anything out.”
“We’ll think of something else, Omega.” Miria reached out a hand to her, everyone stiffening when they heard a shuttle engine approaching.
They darted out of the shuttle and pressed up against the side, peeking up as the Imperial’s moved in on them. Omega squeezed Miria’s hand, looking at Crosshair entirely heartbroken. “I’m sorry. I thought this would work.”
“You got us this far. And we’re not done yet.” Crosshair gave her a surprisingly patient look. “Did they teach you plan 72?”
“Tech made me memorize all of the plans.” She nodded, rallying herself. There was no time to cry when there was on a mission.
The tiniest of a fond smile inched across Crosshair’s lips before he turned his head. “Of course he did. Any objections?”
Miria smiled over the girl’s head at the back of Crosshair’s. “None at all.”
They scattered three different directions, hiding themselves in the undergrowth and waiting for the Imperials to discover the wreck and get out of their shuttle to investigate. Almost on cue, the bottom of the transport opened and the TK troopers came rappelling out. Miria and Crosshair started taking shots, drawing them out to give Omega an opening. They were back in sight line of each other when he took aim… and completely missed.
Miria’s neck almost snapped when her head spun around. Crosshair didn’t miss. Crosshair never missed! Her eyes locked onto his shaking hand again, and her jaw tightened even before he swore under his breath. What had those bastards done to him?
He looked horrified, eyes wide, and the TK trooper had tracked the shot back the way it came and spotted him. Before they could react, the trooper shot back and then everyone knew where Crosshair was.
Miria blew her own cover and started shooting, covering him as they tried to get their backs against the wreck. Her blood boiled when she spotted a trooper with his hands around Crosshair’s neck, and she shot him in the head. Above them, the shuttle lurched when Omega stunned the gunner and shoved him out of the way. She started firing the ships guns, clearing for them to make a break for it. “Go. I’ll cover.” Miria nudged him, planting her feet as he took off and climbed his way into the ship. Omega was coming down the internal lift as he went up.
Omega planted herself on the ramp. “Miri!”
Miria turned tail and ran, throwing her blaster ahead of herself and using both hands to claw her way into the shuttle. Behind her, Crosshair threw the limp gunner out of the top hatch and he landed in a heap on top of another trooper.
“So much for you stunning him.” Miria smirked, hitting the hatch closure. “Get to the controls.”
Omega dove up the lift again and into the pilot’s seat, shooting them upwards as fast as possible. Crosshair was doing all he could to shoot down the Imperial air support that was coming after them, while Omega pulled evasive maneuvers and Miria hung on in the hold for dear life.
“We’re hit! Systems are failing and I can’t shake them!” Omega yelled.
Miria started yanking on an access hatch. “Make the jump before they shoot us down!”
They lurched into hyperspace just as the Imperials pulled back, the scream of sublight turbulence and blaster fire going silent.
Omega let out a whoop, and Miria sat down hard and pulled the backpack around to hug it to her chest. A quick moment later she pulled her stolen wire cutters and dug them between her wrist and the Force cuff, using every bit of strength she had to shear it off her.
She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to settle the rush of adrenaline and the rush of the Force returning to her senses. Before she had found her center, a warm and wet tongue ran over the side of her face and she squeaked. A happy looking lurca hound was sitting in front of her, panting and wagging its non-existent tail. Miria blinked, head cocking to the side. “... Omega, dear?”
“Yes Miri?”
“Do we have a pet now?”
“Her name is Batcher!”
Above her, Miria thought she heard Crosshair snort.
#explict#original character#clone force 99#the bad batch#crosshair#star wars#fanfic#caught in the crosshairs
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Day One - a Malevolent fic
Time to process grief and shock? There is no time.
Everyone has plans, worries, schemes. Parker, Sunny, Larson. John, Arthur, Faroe.
Hastur doesn't care. He has six years to protect his family. It doesn't matter if they hate him at the end. What matters is they survive.
Part of the Surrogate Series. Written with @sepiabandensis
AO3
------------
Sun warmed the room, golden and sweet. Outside, birds—with no idea what day it was, or why it mattered—chirped happily, singing in the morning.
Hastur lay and looked at his family.
Arthur was pale as all hell. He slept with one arm around Faroe, his mouth open, deeply out.
Faroe looked… flushed. Hastur checked; she was slightly feverish, but it didn’t seem to be an illness. She was stressed. Nibbles had settled down in the shadows, watching—her ears flicked forward with every soft breath.
Patience, he told himself. He would fix this.
What are you going to do now? said John, the first thing he’d said in hours.
What, indeed. Hastur had a plan—one he’d added to all night, like a quilt—but it would not work unless he restored their faith in him.
He had to be perfect from now on; he had to be competent, and worthy of trust. There would be no more chances. “Triage, first,” murmured Hastur. “I must deal with our guests.”
Without knowing what the fuck you’re walking into?
“Do you wish to tell me?” said Hastur.
John hesitated. It’s really Arthur’s to tell.
“He worried me last night,” Hastur said. “I’m not sure he should be the one to speak right now.”
John’s left hand rose and stroked Arthur’s hair. I can at least give you parts. Larson is some asshole cultist leader. This was when we were separated. I don’t know a lot more than that because Arthur was too upset to tell me.
That tracked. Arthur probably would still be too upset. Whatever Larson had done in the day and a half they’d known each other had left a scar. The villain, indeed. “And the other?”
Parker… that’s his partner. That’s the man I killed.
“The one who lived with him.”
Worked with him.
“Bought him a piano.”
Yeah.
John and Arthur would have to work that out between them; but if there was one thing he was certain of, those two idiots would work it out. With a lot of yelling. Foul language. Oaths. “And Yellow?”
A piece of you Arthur screwed over. Yellow and Larson were just after the pits. After you snapped his fucking legs and threw him to Earth. He was a mess.
Hastur noted that John skipped over and he cut his own throat. An interesting omission. “Go on.”
Kayne promised him he’d give me back.
Hastur grunted. “What? Kayne did? Why?”
I don’t know. It was never a really… clear retelling. Somehow, he got Arthur to flip this coin, and say he wanted me back, with the deal that I kept his eyes.
Fuck. They really were never going to lose the attention of that being… and Arthur really would be staying blind. All right. The plan already compensated for that part. “That doesn’t sound like much of a deal.”
Take it up with fucking Kayne. But instead of me, he gave Arthur that guy. John hesitated. Arthur didn’t… treat him well. Yellow didn’t get to learn like I did. He didn’t have a good example, but the worst possible version of Arthur. John’s voice dropped. When I found Arthur… when I got back to him… Hastur, he was insane. He was crazy. He murdered a guy and got eye goo under his thumbnails. I almost lost him.
Hastur was beginning to see the silhouette of what had happened. Regret; shame; guilt; betrayal—every negative emotion a human could have was wrapped up in this mess, which had lasted all of a couple of days, but managed to hit all of Arthur’s weak points.
It was masterfully done. Some tiny part of him was grudgingly amazed. “I see Kayne has found a way to continue his little drama.”
Well, you got boring, so he had to do something.
He had six years to fix this. He couldn’t kill them. He couldn’t send them away. Fuck. “Yes, thank you. Is there anything else?”
John huffed. Damn you, fucking fight back. Um. I don’t know. Like I said, he never really talked about it beyond these details. I… I stitched him, though. When Larson’s monster in the mine gutted him.
“So that’s when that happened.”
It just… from behind, it just… The memory was unbalancing.
“You saved his life,” said Hastur, pulling his focus back.
I did . John calmed. I did.
By stitching Arthur’s stomach… when he’d been pierced from behind .
The scar on Arthur’s back was large and strange, like a starburst. How had he not died? It pierced his intestines; at the least , infection should have killed him.
More questions to answer. Hastur added it to the what the fuck is he part of the plan. “I will go and hear their side now.”
Why?
“Because I need to know what they think is happening so I can predict their actions. John… I have a request.”
Join’s golden form twisted, coiling like smoke in spiral. What?
“Will you watch them for me?”
John paused. Huh?
“Watch these two. I choose you to care for my precious family.” So casually said, as if it were a given.
John sputtered. What? Wh… what are you… your FAMILY? You fucking son of a bitch… after what just happened to your fucking son —
“Yes. Please watch them until I return.” Hastur rose from the bed, aching. Bleeding where it could not be seen.
More sputtering. Get back here!
Nibbles moved into the space Hastur left, lying next to Faroe, cradling the girl against her great body. She watched Hastur with a half-dozen eyes, tired and concerned, but made no noise of complaint.
“John. I trust you.”
John went dead silent.
Hastur could feel him staring holes in his yellow-clad back the whole way out the door.
#
Larson slept better than he had in months.
The Dreamlands had its perks, but the rooms the mighty King in Yellow had placed him in were luxurious, more than anywhere he had ever been.
For this to have been granted him so quickly could only mean that either even the basest of Carcosa’s citizenry lived in the lap of luxury, or that he had made one hell of a splash.
He was so close to his goal now. So close to ascension. There were problems, of course: issues he needed to iron out. He needed to speak with the King soon, if he was going to get ahead of whatever horseshit Yellow was likely to spew. And the thief… that thought alone made him furious, but surely the King would know to disregard someone so lowly.
And then there was the conundrum of Arthur Lester. What the hell had happened there? The man wasn’t sane , that at least was clear; but he looked pretty good, in spite of that, and the way the god had held him…
That was weird. That required study. Was that what the King in Yellow did to vessels who’d held pieces of him?
Would He do that to the thief?
Would He do that to Larson?
Oh, that thought made him sick. He had to get in front of it, somehow, and that meant discrediting Yellow as soon as poss—
The door opened and a creature stepped through, carrying fabric. He’d seen her (it?) last night as well, tall and willowy and golden, utterly inhuman. She was made of wisps of yellow silk and sharpness and fluid movement. She moved like a dancer.
“Hello,” Larson said softly, watching her with rapt attention. “You must be one’a his attendants, then. I am honored.”
She said nothing, pivoting on one needle-sharp foot and fluttering through the door.
Did all guests get attended to by one of the King’s own? This could only be a good sign. He fondled the clothes he’d been given. Fine, fine material; the embroidery was unreal, intricate, far superior to anything humans could do. The suit almost seemed to be catching the light in dimensions Larson couldn’t quite see.
He had set it aside and was washing his face when he felt it: the change in pressure.
Like when a ritual had gone right.
Like the incredible moment before Yellow had started bellowing in his head, on the night Arthur Lester dashed his peaceful life to the ground.
He dried his face as quickly as possible, straightening his pajamas (finer than any French silk). He wasn’t dressed yet. What to say? How to play this?
The King in Yellow knocked on his door.
Well, that was unexpected.
It was an honor. Respect offered, and Larson would take it for all it was worth. He flung open the door and damn near blinded himself with His Radiance. [“My Lord, you honor me with your presence!”] he said, backing away, genuflecting, and knelt.
He hadn’t backed up far enough. Hastur flowed into the room like light itself, pushing him further back, filling more space than he filled. Power distorted the air around him.
Arrogance was impossible in this presence. The god looked down at Larson, unreadable, tentacles slowly undulating as though he swam in a secret ocean. “You are Wallace Larson,” he said in English, and the floor beneath Larson rumbled.
To hear his name in the voice of a true god was…
Larson had spoken to their shades, their projections; he’d met with the shadows of gods, or their representative voices. He had never truly been in one’s presence.
This was everything he’d hoped it would be and nothing like he’d expected. All he’d sacrificed was worth it. It all led to this moment, and he would not blow this chance. Larson looked up, eyes wide and reverent. “Yes, my Lord, oh Prince of the Great Old Ones, the Lurker Who Slept Beneath. I am Wallace Larson.”
The voice was massive, echoing somehow before and after itself. Every breath was a universe of meaning, power, as if the very air currents belonged to this being. “My time, Wallace Larson, is not to be wasted on small matters. I give you this chance, here and now, to tell me who you are and why you are here.”
Well, that was a problem, as he had no earthly clue how he’d gotten here or why. The King himself hadn’t done it? Then Larson didn’t know.
Like hell was he going to admit that. “My Lord, Feaster From Afar,” said Larson. “I have been brought here… to serve you.”
“Oh, have you, now?”
Larson couldn’t read the tone. “I know many things; I come with connections, with earned powers. With the will to do anything you ask of me, even shedding my own blood.”
“Indeed?”
The god sounded unimpressed. Larson pushed harder. “I believe I was chosen because I proved myself worthy. For nearly ten years, I have carried a fragment of your power within myself—a part of your holy magnificence, damaged by his first host and in need of aid. I have protected him, sought to elevate him, to grow his power and my own, with the plan of returning him here to you in Carcosa someday.” Might as well hit two birds with one stone.
“A noble goal.” Still unreadable. “How did you happen to capture a fragment of my power?”
Capture. That word was a test, or he was an idiot. “He came to me by makin’ his escape from a wicked man—a man you now hold as prisoner.” His own test-word.
Hastur gave him nothing. “Go on.”
Damn it. He couldn’t tell if he were succeeding or not. He had to make this work. “Ten years ago, nearly, Arthur Lester came to my precious town of Addison, which I founded with my own blood, sweat, and tears, and named after my own daughter. He tore through my home, harassing my people, causing one hell of a ruckus. When I at last captured him, I could tell he was a sick man: talkin’ to himself, twitchy, half-insane. Threatened to kill me. It looked like the reason he went mad was he couldn’t handle the presence of that piece of you.”
“Oh?”
“He was bonkers. I tried to contain him until I could figure out what to do, and imprisoned him with one of my servants in the mines beneath my house.” He took a breath. “In that moment of imprisonment, this fragment of you appeared in my head, Lord, having made his harrowed escape. Yellow is his name. He’d been trapped in Arthur; he told me of the crimes Arthur Lester had committed, and was pleased as punch to be outta him.”
“No doubt,” said the King in Yellow.
No, no, it wasn’t enough; Larson had to do better. “Yellow amazed me, my lord. Such wisdom; such grace! I’d never known anything, or anyone, so worthy of worship. Together we decided somethin’ must be done about Arthur Lester, but by the time we’d made up our minds, that man murdered my son, my Lord. My Jack.” Larson let his voice break; he summoned some tears. “He murdered my son and fled my home. I’ve been lookin’ for him since, even while endeavorin’ to get your fragment back to you.”
The King in Yellow shifted, tentacles gracefully sliding through the air; oh, the power . Larson could taste it, like pennies, like gold. “He was quite insane, yes,” said Hastur. “He came to you broken. By me.”
Oh, boy. Oh, boy. “Yellow told me you’d punished him, but not enough.”
“Arthur Lester did indeed commit crimes; and as is my wont, I drove him mad for them.”
Yes, yes, yes… Larson licked his lips, tasting that statement. “I had no idea how filthy he was, or I never would’ve let him leave my sight alive,” he said carefully. “Yellow did tell me Arthur Lester was the one who ripped him away from you, and was the cause of all of this. I operated under the knowledge your fragment told me.” Time for some damage control: “Yellow admitted to me many times that his knowledge was… incomplete. That his memory can’t be trusted. He said it was like his memory was leaking, spilling out of him. Even now, he doesn’t remember things correctly, which is why he’s with that man . He doesn’t recall what happened; don’t blame him, your Lordship, for choosing such a lesser being as his host right now. He can’t help it.”
“A tragedy.” The god sounded so unmoved for that piece of himself, as if it were beneath notice. “A matter of note: Arthur Lester is mine now. He belongs to me; I have claimed him. Any justice done to him is mine to pursue, and mine alone. Do you understand, Wallace Larson?”
Larson licked his lips. This was a relationship he didn’t understand; and until he did, he couldn’t manipulate it. “Of course, my Lord,” he said with the utmost reverence. “I trust you shall ensure his penitence for his transgressions against myself and your fragment. Though if there is anything I may do to assist you in such matters, I beg you to inform me. I live to serve.”
“A lover of justice, I see.” Flat. “I assure you—his desire for death has been denied.”
Well, that sounded pretty damn good.
Larson decided to push it. “That other man is a thief, my lord. He took your fragment from me right as we were on the crux of giving Yellow the power he needed to return home to you.”
“If so, I will deal with him.”
If so. Nope, no good. Larson had to nail this. “My lord. I live to serve you. I will give you anything, absolutely anything you wish.” He prostrated himself, forehead to the floor.
The King in Yellow… sighed. “I confess I do not welcome this intrusion, Wallace Larson. Many of my works are at a delicate stage; I do not have time to… babysit.”
That had to be another trigger word, a test.
What was he being tested for? A position of power? Authority? He had to up his game. “I will never cause you trouble!” Larson surged to his feet, glowing with eagerness. “On the contrary, my Lord! If you but bid me to do so, I could be of great use to you. All my wealth, my people, lives—I have that in spades, oh Great One. Do you wish to bring more people into your fold, to marvel at your city, to die for your cause? I can provide!”
“You wish to serve me? With such a position comes responsibility. With a position comes my gaze. I am not forgiving of error. Are you sure that’s what you want?”
Arthur, still being tortured after years . Clearly driven mad. Clinging to the god who denied him death . A terrifying fate.
But what if Larson got to be the one doing the torture? What if he got to do it to the thief? Oh! “I will do as you ask, my Lord,” Larson vowed. “Anything you wish, I will do for you.” He went back to his knees, arms raised. “Iä!”
And with just the tip of one tentacle, Hastur touched under Larson’s chin to raise his face higher. “And in return, what do you expect from me?”
The god was touching him!
Larson couldn’t stop shaking. The thrill, through his entire body, illicit, terrifying, marvelous—“I wish for power, my Lord,” he said, voice thick with need. “On Earth, I… I brokered a deal with another great power for prosperity for my little town, and youth for myself to ensure it was taken care of for all of its days. The rituals I conducted were to grow my strength so I may better protect my people and guide them into prosperity. If I was granted even a fraction of the power you wield… I could do great things in your name, my Lord.”
“Power is something I am capable of granting. Let us see, then, if you truly deserve it. Remain for now. I shall return soon.”
“As you will, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord. Iä!” And Larson bowed, his face to the ground as the god swept away.
And, face down, he smiled. He had absolutely nailed this audition.
#
Yow , that guy. Yikes.
Hastur had seen this kind before. Desperate. Slimy. Intelligent. Obsequious. He’d used this kind before, too. This was the kind who could be bought.
The kind his son had purged from his court. The kind Gokar’luh had targeted, back when…
Hastur stopped moving, briefly hunched as though speared through with obsidian. Quickly, he turned to the window, as though merely seized with a desire to enjoy the view.
His tears fell. He caught them, magically evaporated them, before they could be seen.
There had been a time when Hastur would have used the hell out of that man—taking advantage of his purported loyalty, his determined yet expendable mind. Now, he… would not do that. What he would do, he wasn’t sure, but he would not give Larson an ounce of power.
Hastur shuddered, holding himself together by will alone, keeping it in; no one could see him vulnerable. No one could see him in grief . He could not risk weakness now. He wove a few more spells to hide his sorrow, to prevent tears from being seen.
It was not even a question that he’d take Arthur’s word over that man’s, whatever Arthur was able to share. Now, however, it was time for visit number two.
He knocked on Parker’s door.
#
Parker could fall asleep anywhere—even in the palace of a potential enemy that had fucked up his former partner and sure as hell hurt his new one.
Good morning, Sunny said. His voice was still soft, but he didn’t sound wobbly, which was a good sign. A Dancer brought in clothes for you about twenty minutes ago: they hung it right inside the door. You seemed peaceful, so I didn’t want to wake you.
Parker grunted. “So I didn’t dream all of this.” He sat up. Sheets silkier than he’d ever known slid off his body like oil. “Damn,” he said, staring at them.
A pause. I don’t… quite remember what they’ll do for breakfast, but I hope there’s fruit. Parker, I think I would like to eat a fruit.
“Okay. A fruit.” He hopped out of bed and began stretching. “I think we can swing a fruit.” The view out the balcony was just as lovely during the day, and he was amazed at the life he could see in the city.
There were no engine noises, nothing like that, but he caught motion; this city clearly thrived. It gleamed, polished in the sun. From here, he couldn’t spot where the slums were.
All cities had slums. “Hey, where’s the—”
There came a knock at the door.
It’s him, Sunny gasped, already starting to breathe too fast. Parker, I… I don’t know what to do. To say. What should I say?
Shit. They’d had no time to process, no time to anchor themselves. Parker was naked. He grabbed the pajamas left him last night (fine, fine silk, very weird, he couldn’t process wearing them to bed) and pulled on the pants, hopping toward the door. “I’m more interested in what he’s got to say. I’ll do the talking, buddy. Okay?”
Okay… okay. I’ll follow your lead, partner.
Parker steeled himself and opened up.
He was nearly blinded.
The King bled into the room, power warping the air, so brilliant he made the sunlight seem dim, and then, he loomed. Stood there, looking down at them, limbs gently curling; it was impossible to read his masked face.
Gods were hard to think around, it turned out. Parker would manage. Step one was learning to read this thing.
He’s seen this being at least annoyed last night, if not angry. This wasn’t that. This seemed… neutral, somehow.
For now, Parker mirrored as best he could, trying not to provoke. “Good morning.”
“Greetings. Did you sleep well?”
That voice would take time getting used to; it sounded somehow in more dimensions than Parker knew existed, rattling in his skull. “Better than the ground or a prison cell,” Parker said. “It’s like the Ritz in here.”
“The Ritz? Ah… a human inn. I certainly hope it surpasses that. I am here, Parker Yang, to ask you some questions. To ascertain some truths. To determine your worthiness to carry what you carry… and to remain in my presence at all.”
Well. That could be a whole ass-load of threat. Or it could be genuine curiosity. Or it could be something else entirely—Parker had never learned to read squid . “Fair enough. Ask away.”
“Why are you here, Parker Yang?”
“Not a damn clue,” he said without hesitation. “Not concretely, anyway. The thing that dropped us here sounded like it wanted to hurt Arthur, though.” He paused. “Is he okay?”
The squid-god’s uncountable tentacles undulated, ends flipping; Parker wondered if he’d surprised him. “No. But he will be. He is mine now, and I will see to his recovery.”
Marked. Claimed. What the actual fuck. “All right. So. I don’t suppose you know why all of this is happening.” Parker set his jaw, crossing his arms over his bare chest, and chanced looking up at the King. Direct contact made his eyes hurt, but he would adjust, damn it. “Neither of us can figure it out. Don’t even really have a theory.”
“You are bold.” The King said that almost to himself. “Or at least, choosing your moment to be. Are you not afraid, Parker Yang?”
“I already died once,” Parker quipped. “Figure if you’re gonna kill me, you’d have done it by now.”
Parker, be careful, Sunny whispered.
“I got this, Sunny. We’re okay.”
“So John was correct: he did kill you.” Neutral, like it meant nothing. “You have been to the Dark World.”
What was this guy after? “Yeah. Don’t remember much about it.” Parker shrugged. “Sunny said it was the same for him.”
“Sunny. You have given that name to a piece of the God in Yellow?” Absolutely unreadable tone.
Parker suspected he knew this technique. It was a good one; by not revealing emotion, the interviewer guaranteed the interviewee would try to fill the vacuum themselves, giving shit away. It was comfortingly familiar. “I’ll have you know Sunny named himself.”
The King tilted his head. “Good.”
Parker thought he meant it. “Why’s that matter to you?”
“Because he should have the choice. Know this, Parker Yang: I do not have time for intrusions right now. All of this is inconvenient, as much as it is unavoidable. There are forces at work creating this situation.”
“That Outer God.”
“Yes. Because of him, you may not leave. Because of him, you may not change your circumstances. Because of him, I must mitigate the damage you do to my own with your presence. Do you understand?”
Holy shit, that was a lot. “Your own? Damage? To what, Arthur?“ Parker said. “You want mitigation? You might need a plan for if that slimy fuck Larson tries something. He had us imprisoned before that Outer God tossed us in your lap, and he ain’t the type to forgive and forget.”
“Imprisoned,” the King said slowly. “Hear me: from here on out, you will likely not have my ear alone. From here on out, you will be faced with others, and their opinions on events. This is your chance to tell me the truth without interruption—or fear of reprisal. Tell me what you believe happened.”
No pressure.
“Wow,” Parker said. “All right. I guess it’s storytime. Whatcha think, Sunny?”
There was a weighty pause. Great One, I… Parker is a good man. Do you truly mean no… no repercussions, for us sharing this story?
“None.”
I think… Sunny said, voice so soft it was as though he spoke from a distance. You can tell him, Parker.
“You’re sure?”
I’ll be fine. This is important.
Sunny was not okay. Parker did what he could to draw attention back to himself. “Might want to grab a chair, sir. It’s a long story, but a damn good one.”
“Continue,” said the King.
Parker adopted his best convince-the-jury tone. “Well, it all started when I woke up in the middle of some fucked-up ritual that I think was supposed to do something to Sunny. I was in some basement, surrounded by chanting guys and dead animals, in the suit I got buried in—not that I knew I’d been dead yet.”
“This sounds like quite a surprise,” said the god.
“You ain’t kidding! Larson had the cult guys saying, ‘c' ymg' uln, c' llll ah'mglw'nafh ymg'.’ They said it like a thousand times, so I remember.”
The King went absolutely stock-still, like a photograph. “Did he?”
To Parker’s surprise, Sunny spoke up. Your pronunciation is getting so much better! I’m proud of you. Before long I’ll have you singing Carcosan poetry.
“Hey, I got a good teacher,” Parker said, encouragingly.
Heh. Sunny’s voice was strained, but clear. Great One, Larson was going to broker a deal for more power. What I’d provided wasn’t enough, anymore. We’d done it before, once or twice, but this time he attracted the attention of something else. The Outer God.
“I see.” So flat. “And I presume this Outer God was the one who rehomed you, Slice.”
“Sunny,” said Parker.
“My apologies. Sunny.”
Had that been a test? Maybe. “We think so. He was in my head, boom . Larson wasn’t too happy about it.”
He threw Parker in a cell. Attempted to get information out of him, but neither of us knew what was going on. So he had some thugs beat him, and I… I…
“You’re okay, bud.”
Yes. Yes, I discovered I had partial control over Parker’s mouth when one of the thugs socked us in the jaw.
“You were beaten.”
“Not too bad,” said Parker in his patented tough-guy-detective delivery. “They were pros, and didn’t want me hemorrhaging, or nothin’. Didn’t even tie me all that good. Well. I guess the knots were fine, but the table thing they had me on was half-rotted.”
He didn’t account for Parker being impressively strong, Sunny said, caught up in their story. Or for the lockpicks in his suit jacket.
That rumble… was it… a purr? “So this challenge was not outside your experience , ” said the King in Yellow.
Parker shrugged. “I get bad guys put in jail. Yeah, I get in some situations . But that ain’t the point here. We got out, mostly ‘cause Sunny knew where to go and what to do. Knew right where that prick Larson kept his cars. So you know what we did?”
“What did you do?” rumbled the King.
“First, we fuckin’ climbed a hidden stairway behind one of those tapestry things. Then we crawled down a garbage chute—went straight outside into a dumpstah.”
“I see.”
“Then we crept through the woods, bein’ all sneaky-like.”
Parker used a branch to confuse our footprints, Sunny volunteered.
“Fuck, yeah. Then we hotwired a car and got the hell outta Dodge.” He grinned. “Pretty sure we heard Larson shrieking like a baby.”
You did steal his car, specifically.
“Hell yeah, I stole his car. It was the nicest one. Should’a pissed on the thing and set it on fire.”
“So you wished to leave Larson,” said the King mildly. “Sunny.”
Sunny went very, very quiet upon being addressed.
“It’s okay,” Parker said softly. “You can tell the truth. He said no repercussions.”
Larson had… promised to return me to Carcosa, Sunny said, very carefully.
“Did he? Curious that he told me the same thing, but his version did not include the chant your Parker just quoted.”
Shit. He’d already talked to Larson. “Yeah? Well, they were doing it,” Parker said firmly, because it was the truth.
He… He’d sworn it to me, but it had been over nine years, Great One. I couldn’t wait any longer. When I was put in Parker, I… I took a chance, and helped him escape.
No reaction. “Continue. After your escape, what did you do?”
We made it to New York City, but I… I was foolish, said Sunny. I hadn’t realized Parker was Chinese, and on Earth there is a war with some of the Eastern powers. Men who look like Parker are being put into camps, and on top of that… Larson had much influence there. His voice wavered, a bit. Dropped. It was… It was incalculably foolish of me.
“Naw,” said Parker. “It was still our best bet—and we wouldn’t’ve made it here if you hadn’t. You did good, Sunny.”
Sunny leaned into the reassurance. His men were waiting along our route into the city, and they found us almost immediately. But Parker was brilliant, and navigated like an expert.
“Wasn’t my first time playing rat-catcher,” Parker said. “Only usually, I ain’t the rat.”
He got us to the sewers, and negotiated with a ghoul to use one of their tunnels to come here, to the Dreamlands.
“Hey, you forgot our rooftop adventure.”
I did! He jumped across rooftops, running from the police, with Larson’s men shooting at us from the ground! We howled!
“We sure as fuck did howl!”
“An experienced escapist, I see.” Hastur’s tone was warm.
He was shot, but he persevered, even through the sewers. Sunny had gained momentum, voice soft and wobbly but clear. Parker had only just met me, but he kept his promise, Great One. He was offered the choice, to leave New York or go to the Dreamlands, and he chose to honor his promise to me.
“Did he?” said the King.
He did! The ghoul-tunnel led us to the Underworld, but there were stairs to the surface. Parker… Parker almost died, again, but I took a risk and was able to heal him. From there, we got lucky and met a Trader, and… Sunny paused, hesitating. And… And then we started…
“You got this,” Parker said, his voice gentle.
We… We began… Working.
Parker nodded.
The King’s tentacles undulated in a different way, and Parker thought it might be questioning. “Working?”
“Sunny wasn’t sure where we were, but before we could find Carcosa, we needed a bed and some food. So we got to work. Solved a few mysteries as we started trying to track you down. Healed some folks. Your city moves? That’s real weird. Does the lake go with it?”
“It does.” The King was silent for a long moment. “How long have you been in the Dreamlands?”
“About eight months?” Parker said. “Apparently, we got here way at the other ass-end of the place. We’ve been busy. Working, making our way here. Trying to help folks. Heh, eating, too.”
It was almost like a gasp. I—I can taste! I can taste food, Great One. I had forgotten what food was like. Parker and I would work for food, sometimes, but it also let us be close to people who talked, which is how we found work and could travel. And I taught Parker some magic—healing magic, though I also granted him a few minor spells for convenience. He’s proven to be capable and responsible.
“Flatterer,” said Parker.
The King sounded thoughtful. “You have made good use of your time.” And he touched one tentacle to the underside of Parker’s chin to lift his face.
Parker stepped back, away from that touch. “Hands off the merchandise.”
Sunny gasped. Parker!
The King didn’t seem upset by this. Had that been a test, too? “There are some rules for you here,” he rumbled.
If Parker is kept safe, I will do my best, Sunny said gravely.
“Rule one, you already know—my daughter is to be respected. Do you understand?”
“Neither of us have any interest in hurtin’ kids,” Parker said. “But yeah. Understood.”
“Good. Rule two: do not attempt revenge. If there is to be justice, I will deliver it.”
I don’t want revenge, Sunny said, very quietly. I want Larson to stay the fuck away from us. He might try to hurt Parker.
“Same, but for Sunny,” said Parker. “If Larson tries something, I can’t promise I won’t fight back.”
Parker once punched a wizard in the face to stop a spell.
“He punched…”
“I sure as fuck did,” said Parker. “That guy deserved it. Look, do we have to stay in this room?” he gestured. “It’s nice digs, but we’re not used to staying in one place for too long.”
The King seemed to settle a little, his tentacles lower as they waved, and Parker thought maybe some tension had left him. “As long as you do not leave my palace grounds, nor attempt escape, I give you permission to wander. Of course, I expect common sense. Do not steal weapons. Do not pick fights. Do not antagonize unnecessarily; I may protect you from revenge, but there can be consequences you bring upon yourself.” After a moment, lower, he said, “Larson is dangerous. I would advise you not to push him. And if he pushes… tell me. I will make it stop , no matter the confines I have been given . ”
So a vow from a god was a thing Parker could feel. It penetrated; he suspected it actually did something to him that he couldn’t see, and he shuddered. This wasn’t a lie. “Thanks. We will.”
“Now,” said the King. “You will join me for breakfast.”
Breakfast? Sunny’s voice was soft with fear. Will… Will Arthur be there? I don’t… I don’t know that I can… Parker?
“Hang in there, Sunny.”
“Arthur will be there. Arthur is mine. He is my own. Marked.” And the King suddenly came at him .
Parker startled, stepping back.
The King stopped right in front of him, creepy chipped white mask (wait… was it a mask?) right in front of Parker’s face. “I know you are aware of other relationships here. I saw the look you gave them.”
Definitely not a mask! Oh, boy! Parker swallowed hard. “We’re shooting straight? Okay. Yeah. Your kid? That’s his kid.”
“Yessss.” The tentacles undulated all around, eclipsing Parker’s vision, making the room otherworldly, frightening.
But… how? Sunny was fumbling, now, on the back foot. I know she looks—but I don’t… Parker, this is a lot.
“I know, buddy. Hold on a little longer.”
I… This is important. Yes. I’ll try—no, I will.
The King was silent for a long moment. This close, his every word rumbled through Parker like a train. “Did Arthur Lester trust you?”
Power gripped Parker like a fist. This question had to be answered true. “With his life.”
Sunny made one, very small noise, but was otherwise silent.
Finally, the King withdrew, looming again, but at a distance. “She was his daughter. She died. I brought her back.” There was absolutely no tone to this; no indication of how he expected them to feel. “She is my daughter now. And his. Yes. I brought her back to hurt him, in the beginning. Now, she heals him.”
Parker gawked at him. “What the actual fuck? ” he said.
“Is that your only question?” said the King, mildly amused.
“If you were just some guy, I’d sock you,” said Parker, low.
Parker! whispered Sunny, afraid.
“Refreshingly honest. Perhaps you wish to know why I chose to hurt him so?”
Was this happening? Was this really happening? “I think only a fucking monster would use a little kid like a weapon,” Parker said through clenched teeth.
“True, and accurate—I make no excuse.”
That was unexpected. Parker frowned, peering at him.
The King’s many limbs undulated. “He took something from me, Parker Yang. And he would not give it back. He took the one called John. You know something about this, don’t you, little one?”
Sunny did not sound good. He did not sound okay. John. The one Arthur… wanted me to be. Outside of Addison, when I was torn away from you. He made a deal to get John back, but he got me instead. His voice was very soft. He hated you, and he hated me because I am you. But you’ve marked him! Why?
“Because over the last six years, he’s proven me wrong. He’s worthy of keeping John, and worthy of keeping. I will no longer try to separate them—nor will I see him broken again. As you’ll be here for some time, you are going to witness the rebuilding of Arthur Lester. Perhaps… you might choose to be part of that. If you do not, I will not hold it against you. But I intend to repair all damage I have done to that man.”
This was not in any playbook Parker knew.
Why was Hastur telling them this? Admitting this? Confessing? Letting them in on some crazy plan? What the hell was the purpose of this? “Uh,” said Parker.
The… the damage. Like his legs. And… Sunny’s voice was very, very small. Distant. Strangely… blank. Parker?
Sunny had never sounded like that before. “Sunny? You okay?”
The King spoke low, but like when he’d gripped Parker with that power to tell only truth, he caressed Sunny with it now. “Sunny. Do you trust this man?”
With my life, Sunny said, his voice going even softer, a whisper.
What? What was happening? “Sunny?”
Parker, I… I think I… I have to… I can’t. It was like he was sinking, somehow, worse than Parker had ever heard. I really tried. I’m sorry.
Parker inhaled. He could feel it. Sunny had shut off . Sunny was gone, sunk. Parker began breathing low and sharp. Sometimes a guy got angry, even if there was nowhere for it to go.
“I see,” said the King quietly.
Parker stared at him, stared hard, telling himself that trying to hit the damned squid wouldn’t fix anything. “What the fuck was that? What did you do?”
“Tested the water.” The King seemed to be staring back, as if watching some kind of result. “Was he like this when you were given him?”
“What kind of… you listen here, you fuck! He’s doing… he’s been doing great! He’s learned. He’s grown. You just… came in here like a godsdamned brick to the head!”
“Taking advantage of the lack of consequences, I see.”
“Yeah. Fuck off! Leave him alone!”
“As you wish. Though for today, you will join us for breakfast.”
“What the hell? Like I wanna be part of any plan you got going now?”
“You don’t have the choice. Had the Outer God not pressed you into service, I would simply let you go—but my daughter’s life is threatened. I will not permit threats to her… and so you must stay.”
“ His daughter!”
“Mine. She is mine, now.”
“Like Arthur?”
“Both of them, Parker Yang, are unusual. I think you know how unusual; Arthur Lester did something to you, too, in the years you were together. Didn’t he?”
Parker clammed up. That wasn’t this god’s business. That was nobody’s business.
The King knew, anyway, and continued. “Arthur Lester won my respect. Faroe won my love. They are my family now. I am not kind, Parker Yang. I am not generous, like your earthly saints, your fairy tales, so hear me well as I say this: they are my priority. I do not know you .”
What the hell was Parker supposed to do with that?
The devil was vowing familial love. What the fuck. Parker swallowed down the growing urge to grapple with this thing. “The hell was all this for?” he said. “What, you wanted to see what happened if you pushed real hard?”
“To see if you are a threat to my people.”
Parker’s voice dropped. “I’m not. We’re not.”
“I believe you. Thus, you now have information no one else in this palace has.”
Parker went still. “What?”
“Faroe’s parentage. My admission of guilt regarding Arthur. You alone hold this.”
Why the fuck had he shared all that? This guy wasn’t fitting into any of the boxes Parker had prepared. “Okay,” he said carefully.
“You may keep Sunny. Had you been like Larson, I would have taken him from you.”
Parker inhaled, fists clenched. So it had been a test. All of it. “Okay.”
“I am not attempting to befriend you.” The King’s tone was even. “Should we gain intimacy over time, then that will be the reward of choices and proof of character. You have been dropped into this situation, Parker Yang, at the highest point of a storm which you cannot control, and cannot steer through. I have already crashed the ship; from this point, my goal is to protect the survivors.”
Parker stared at him. They were back to confusing confessions, vulnerability in the middle of threats. This felt…
Rushed. That was the word. Rushed. Like they had no time to do this with grace.
But he was a god. That couldn’t be right. “Okay,” Parker said again.
“I have no time to rest. I have no time to babysit . It is clear to me that Sunny is… damaged, and that is not his fault. I believe he will heal with you—but he cannot be my focus. My people are.”
Shit. “Arthur and his kid.”
“And my city of Carcosa. Yes. I have six years to please that Outer God, or I lose them. Do you understand the situation?”
Parker exhaled slowly and swallowed around the lump in his throat. He couldn’t be sure if the metal taste in his mouth was his anxiety or Sunny’s panic. “So. Ship’s wrecked. Pirate’s coming in six years. You’re trying to save your own Swiss Family Robinson, and suddenly you got random guys dropped in that you don’t got any connection with, were told to care for, but you won’t do it at the cost of your people. That’s what you’re saying.”
“Something like that.”
Parker’s brow knit. “You’re in emergency mode. That’s what you’re saying.”
Again, that pleased rumble. “That is what I’m saying.”
What was with this guy? “I don’t get you.”
“I hardly expect you to.”
“I don’t know if you’re the good guy or the bad guy.”
And the King laughed. It was a shocking sound—bigger than Sunny’s, but the same, wicked and dark and terrible. “Neither do I.”
What the hell? “You… you’re really giving me the chance to help with Arthur.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because his guilt and grief regarding you are in the way of his recovery.”
If the King meant what he said about fixing Arthur, then that made sense. “Practical reasons. Okay. Sure.” Parker rolled his shoulders. “And Sunny? He wants to rejoin you, though I gotta admit, I ain’t too keen on that idea anymore.”
“Understandable. Then perhaps this will please you: he will not rejoin me. Neither will John.”
Parker’s jaw dropped. Oh, that was… that was big. The shadow of something he couldn’t make the shape of, and didn’t have enough experience to identify. “Why the hell not?”
“I do not have the time required to do it, not with the constraints placed upon me. Perhaps after the six years are up, assuming Kayne—the Outer God—has moved on.”
Shit. That sort of made sense? But Parker’s gut was never, ever wrong; something in there was a lie. He just wasn’t sure what. “Sunny’s good. You’d benefit.”
“Oh, I would, without doubt—but there is no time to make it so. You will come to breakfast in an hour; dancers will guide you there. I expect it to be awkward.”
“Wait, that’s it? You’re just going?”
“You have questions?”
“I… fucking will . I need to take care of Sunny. Uh. You guys got… baked goods?”
The King’s tentacles moved in a way Parker realized was puzzled . “Would you like some?”
“Good-smelling. Chocolate, if possible. Oh—and some kind of fruit, too.”
“As you wish. It will be sent. Don’t ruin your appetite.” But that sounded humorous, not threatening.
“Nobody knows what you just told me?” said Parker to his back.
“Nobody knows. You are coming into the middle of a chapter, Parker; you are… what is the human phrase? ‘Hitting the ground at a run.’”
All because, his gut said, Arthur had trusted him with his life.
Parker chose his last words carefully. “Don’t fucking poke Sunny again. Don’t you fucking dare. He’s been through enough.”
“I won’t. No further testing will come from me—I’ve decided.” The King paused right at the door. “That chant was not what he thought it was, but it was what you thought.”
Parker’s stomach sank. “Yeah?”
The King’s back was still to him. “That chant was sacrificial. He’d planned to offer Sunny to something in exchange for power.” And with that horrifying statement, he just floated out the door.
Parker knew it. He knew it . That fuck, Larson… oh, it was a damn good thing he wasn’t in the room right now. Hit the ground running, nothing; this really was like being dropped into a storm, with forty-foot waves and just a little stick for buoyancy.
And real important: the squid had body language he could read. Parker knew he could figure him out, and wanted to analyze the hell out of this conversation, but right now, it was time to be a good partner. He began pacing and rubbing his jaw, gently stroking his lips, like trying to restore circulation to a body part that fell asleep. “Hey, buddy. Come on back to me. He’s gone. It’s okay. We got good food coming. You’re gonna be all right.”
Sunny was silent.
Dissociate. He’d seen it; that kid from that case had done it, and they’d had to learn about it for the trial. Sunny…
Sunny was there. He was . He would come back. Parker kept talking to him, rubbing his mouth, walking. He continued until the Dancer came, pushing a cart that wafted such an aroma of chocolate and hot sugar that even Parker salivated.
“Thanks,” he said to the Dancer, whatever the hell it was, and picked a sort of chocolate cup-cake looking thing. He took a hot, steaming bite, and discovered it had melted chocolate in the middle.
It was much better than an arm pinch, for damn sure.
Parker? Sunny’s voice was foggy, like he was waking from a deep sleep, and still soft. Oh, Parker. What… What is that? It’s good.
“Fuck yeah, it is. I don’t know what it’s called, but I asked for it. That King guy delivered. Man.” He was mouth breathing. “There’s more. Check it out. Drinking chocolate, too.”
There were plates of things. So many things.
Parker considered this. Don’t ruin your appetite. And then this… bounty. Was it another test? Had they somehow won points?
The god talked about repairing damage done to Arthur. If he tied that with this, it almost looked like… guilt. Because this was overdoing it. Hm. “Whatcha wanna try next? Ha, we’re salivating.”
Oh. Is this… For us? Really? Sunny was waking slowly, dragging himself up from wherever it was he’d gone. I would… I would like some drinking chocolate next, please. What… did something happen, when I was… gone?
“Yeah. He was pretty honest.” And he made an instinctual leap: one he might not do normally without more information, but it felt like throwing out a life preserver for Sunny to latch onto. “He wasn’t a real nice guy, I got the impression. But… that guy… he’s trying to make up for something. I think we’re safe from him. I really think he won’t hurt us. I got pretty sharp with him. He didn’t take it wrong. He didn’t lash out. I really think we’re gonna be okay.” He took in the scent of the drinking chocolate. “Hot damn, that’s thick.”
Don’t choke on it—maybe there’s a spoon. Or if there’s something that is more substantial than those pastries, you could dip them. Sunny very nearly sounded like himself, and the relief tasted even better than the chocolate. It is good to know he won’t hurt us, Parker. I was… I was afraid that he might, especially after… learning what happened to…
“Yeah. I understand what you mean. I’m glad too.” Another bite, building that flavor-anchor. “But we’re here at the right time: he’s not going to hurt us, I’d bank on it. I think he’s trying to fix shit. More shit than we know about. Sounds like that Outer God’s been fucking with all of them for years.”
The Outer God certainly seemed to think using you to interfere with Larson’s ritual was funny, Sunny murmured, but it was a content sound, a hum of pleasure with the bites. I… I don’t know what to think quite yet. There’s still… There’s so much yet to learn. Did he tell you any more?
“Yeah. A lot of things. Do you wanna hear ‘em now? It’s not an emergency. There’s no rush.” Another bite, getting liquid chocolate on his chin. He laughed. “Gonna need another shower.”
Hey, I need all that! Don’t go wasting it now, Sunny said. His voice was still weak, but his tone… Tentatively, Parker put him in the clear. I… I want to hear it, but maybe in an hour or two. It… It takes me a bit to… Really come back. I should have discussed this with you before, but I didn’t think…
Dissociate. “Hey, it’s okay. Water under the bridge, now. I’m just glad you’re back. I’ll always be here when you do.” Parker picked up a weird fruit he’d never seen, like some kind of shiny, golden peach.
Oh, a fruit! Parker… you remembered.
“Of course I did.” He bit.
The fruit was juicier than the lava cake, and made a mess, getting all over his chin and chest. They both laughed, utterly sticky, mouth alight; he’d never tasted anything so sweet.
Sunny was better. Parker hated to risk it, but… he had to warn his partner. “One thing you need to know. He wants us at breakfast in an hour with everybody. He knows it’ll be rough. He believes us about Larson. He believes us. But we do have to show up.”
…Fuck. Sunny was quiet for another long, horrible moment. I’m going to try not to… I’ll do my best. I’ll follow your lead. But I’m not… I don’t think I’m ready to talk to Arthur yet. I haven’t… there’s just so much, Parker.
“You don’t got to. We’re partners. That means we got each other’s backs. You don’t got to talk. Try to listen, but I understand if you can’t.” He meant that. “I got this.”
I’ll do my best, Parker. I promise. And… If… I’ll tell you, if it’s too much and I have to go again. I’ll try not to. But… I can prepare, at least. He was quiet, again. Is it strange to you, that he sent all of this when we are expected at breakfast? It feels strange to me.
“I asked for something chocolate. That asshole said he wasn’t good or kind, but I think… I think he felt bad he upset you.”
But we still have to go to breakfast. Sunny rumbled softly. I don’t know what’s going on, Parker. I feel like we just walked into a new town and people are asking us who the killer is, when we thought we were investigating someone stealing a pie off a windowsill.
“Good example.”
Sunny sighed. That chocolate is really, really good. Thank you for… for asking.
“You’re welcome, buddy.” He could get into the rest of it when Sunny was better. “I say we ruin our breakfast.”
There was a pause.
Well, if you insist, Sunny said, and Parker smiled.
#
Hastur took a moment in the hall, casting another spell over himself so no one would see him trembling.
He liked Parker Yang. He was concerned about Sunny.
What were those two to each other? Their ease of communication was… it was like they’d known each other for years. Was it happening again? It couldn’t be. It wasn’t the same vibe as Arthur and John, for certain, and besides, surely it couldn’t just happen again.
Surely. Hastur couldn’t be so pathetic that every part of him just fell stupid in love with…
He was distracting himself.
This day was far from over, and he had so much more to do. He paused to study himself in the many mirrors he’d installed for Arthur’s sake, and was shocked to realize he was damaged.
There was a visible chip in the corner of his face.
He stared. He tried to heal it; it did nothing.
The choice not to panic, right now, took everything he had. Whatever that was, it was an injury —a wound from an Outer God. Nothing would heal it.
Larson had possibly seen it. Parker, he was certain, had. No one else could. Hastur wove more spells, rooting them, ensuring that chip would stay invisible from now on, no matter what happened.
This was so hard.
It didn’t matter. He had to do this. The plan was on track. Now, he would go back to his family. Now, he would wake them, and reassure them, and gently place them upon their new path.
His heart lifted as he opened the door and saw them on the bed, and he could not even take the time to consider why.
#
rthur slept like the dead. There was such an exhaustion to it, like he just hadn’t gotten enough on their trip.
Faroe did not have that problem. She was young; she was awake, sitting up and leaning against Nibbles, watching her human father sleep.
She knew John could see her.
John peered at her from one eye, cracked just enough to see, a flash of gold beneath fluttering lashes. He didn’t know what to say. Everything had changed between them. He should fix this. He… wanted to fix this. Could he fix this?
Faroe was looking at him. There was something edging into royalty in her look, sort of imperious, the gaze of a true queen. But she was also a child. She sniffled once. “John? Are you there?”
Yes, he said, very softly, opening his eye fully. Good morning, Faroe.
“Why are you still in Arthur?”
John made a strangled noise. I—what?
“No one can hear us right now,” Faroe said, her voice hard. Furious tears welled at the corner of her eyes—she’d thought that she would feel better in the morning, after everything, but she very much did not . “You lied to me too—as much as everyone else did. Dad is hurt , and you’re—you’re still in Arthur. Why?”
John focused on her from underneath Arthur’s brow, his gaze hard—and then it flicked away as he thought. I… I understand you’re angry, he said slowly, cautiously. I’m angry too, Faroe, but—
“You said, in the Woods, that this was your fault,” she snapped. “So if you understand that, why are you still in Arthur?”
Because I don’t fucking want to leave him, John snarled. Alright?
Like that was an answer. Like that wasn’t what had gotten Kayne’s attention, six years ago, and nearly doomed the lot of them. “So you’re selfish,” Faroe said softly. “Arthur is marked by both of you. You have him. You’ll never leave. And you’ll just let dad be torn. ”
Do you have any idea what you’re asking of me? John’s voice was a growl. You’re just a fucking kid. Do you get that you’re asking me to fucking die in the hope that it’ll make things better?
She startled. “Die?”
I wouldn’t be me anymore. I’d be gone. I’d be him.
“Why is that so bad?” She knew she was being defiant, knew she was being awful, but she couldn’t help it. She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, leaning into the feeling of Nibbles’ nose pressing against her side in a halfway-hug. “Dad wants to take care of Arthur. You want to take care of Arthur, too, and you could—and dad wouldn’t be in pieces anymore!”
John sighed. I wouldn’t be me, Faroe, and Arthur still needs me. He still needs my help, and last night was proof of that. Fucking Kayne gutted him three times, if you weren’t paying attention.
“But Dad was the one who calmed him,” Faroe said, her voice carefully neutral. “So if you—”
Your Dad, John growled, tortured him. He threw us in the prison pits for three months and nearly starved Arthur to death. He—six years ago, he used you to try and get Arthur to kill himself.
Faroe really needed to learn what had happened six years ago.
Faroe was terrified of learning what happened six years ago.
Suddenly, an insane thing happened: John began to cry. Tears welled at the corner of Arthur’s eyes. You don’t get it, John said with a sob. He… He’d given up. He asked me permission to die.
Her face twisted. “What? Permission to…”
And you were just there , skipping around like you didn’t have a care in the fucking world, because Hastur had done it. He’d fucking won, and if Kayne hadn’t shown up—
What? She’d what? Faroe’s breath hitched, but she kept her mouth shut. What was he talking about?
He was ready to fucking kill you because Hastur had fucked up his show, and we’re all really fucking lucky that Arthur somehow begged for him to spare you. Do you fucking get it, now? Those golden eyes shut against the tears, which welled and trickled down Arthur’s nose—John’s hand came up, brushing them away quickly.
No, she did not get it. How could she get it? Who had been ready to kill her? Kayne? Why? What?
John kept going. I almost fucking lost him, and even at the end, when he had the gall to ask me permission, I decided I’d rather go with him to the Dark World than go back to your fucking Dad! I’m not him, anymore, and I don’t fucking want to be ever again!
Faroe swallowed thickly. “I don’t understand.”
I… I know.
Silence for a moment.
She could not figure out that night. The pieces everyone kept giving her didn’t fit together; they were like the outside puzzle pieces, but the center of the image was still missing.
She knew one thing, though, and knew it with all her heart: “You love him.”
Yeah.
“I love him, too.”
I know.
Faroe scrubbed at the corner of her eye with the bathrobe. Trying to imagine herself skipping around while Arthur was suicidal… “So this is why you hate me?”
The golden eyes snapped back open. What?
“You’re not… you’re not subtle,” she said, her own voice strained. “You always got snippy when I came to visit Arthur. I just wanted to spend time with him. I tried to tell myself you were just grouchy, but… I’m older now. I know you hate me.”
I don’t hate you, John said, voice quiet.
Faroe just looked at him.
He looked away, dropping Arthur’s gaze. I don’t, he said. I was afraid of you. Hastur had already used you once to nearly destroy Arthur. I was afraid that Arthur would get… For a long time, when I looked at you, all I could see was a weapon. A wedge that Hastur tried to use to separate Arthur and me, that he used to crack Arthur into pieces. And… and sometimes… Do you remember the nightmares you used to have? About drowning?
Oh, no. “Yes.” Oh, no.
The first time it happened, he was so depressed he didn’t get out of bed for three days, and there wasn’t anything I could do to help him, John said.
She felt herself go pale. “What?”
He fucking—he blamed himself. For what happened to you, and we both know it wasn’t his fault, right? In the tub.
Faroe shook. “Yes. I know it wasn’t. He didn’t put a toddler in running water and walk away.”
Yeah. But he blames himself, still. And gods, yes, I was fucking angry about it, but that wasn’t even anything someone had done on purpose. It was just you being around hurt him. He let out another sob. But then… then you showed up, and for you , he got out of bed, and for you , he played the piano, and it was… you could do that, but I couldn’t. It was so fucking unfair. I held all his pieces, I did everything for him… but you were healing him.
So she had hurt him by going to him for comfort?
Her heart… hurt . Such a strange feeling, physical; sharp and heavy and sour. She pressed her fist into her chest. “I… I didn’t…”
Something about her expression tipped John off. Don’t you fucking do that.
“What?”
That’s the same damn look he gets when he blames himself for you drowning. Don’t you fucking dare. Did you hear me? You’re healing him . And in the end, it doesn’t matter to me if it’s fair or not. You’re healing him. Don’t you dare pull away just because you’re finally learning what your dad did to that man.
She took a shuddering breath. “I didn’t know I was hurting him!”
How could you? You were just a fucking kid, John said. You’re still—you’re still just a kid. What the fuck am I doing? He inhaled sharply. Faroe, I’m sorry.
John did not do that without being forced. John did not apologize unless someone made him . Faroe was certain she had never heard those words, spoken freely and genuinely, from John in her entire life.
She swallowed, wiped her nose on her sleeve, wiped her eyes. “Why?” She was asking so much more than just this.
He did his best to answer. Because… He took a breath. Because Arthur needs you, too. And I’ve been a selfish asshole, and I’ve kept you away. I’m sorry I made you think I hated you, and I’m… I’m sorry. I’m sorry all this happened. I’m sorry I made you run away. You’re a good kid.
Faroe swallowed back the tears she wanted to shed, refusing to cry. She watched John’s hand brush Arthur’s cheek, gently running over the scars with the pads of his fingers.
She didn’t understand them. She didn't really understand all of this.
She remembered, again, Arthur rescuing Nibbles, getting them out, then turning back, blind, to fight gods.
She remembered, again, her father letting himself be torn into so he could reach her and heal her throat in time.
She remembered… John being the one to cut Nibbles free.
Her dad and Arthur loved her. Whatever else was happening, she knew that .
And John…
She couldn’t just let all this go. But then, he couldn’t, either.
Arthur loved John. Dad needed John, which maybe was the same thing. She didn’t know.
They all loved each other, and they were all a mess.
So this was being a grownup. It sucked. She swallowed. “John,” she said, and wasn’t sure what to follow it with.
And then with incredible timing, Hastur entered the room.
He hesitated in the doorway, surveying the scene, then swept toward them, silent.
Faroe wanted to run to him, to hide in his many arms, to cry where no one could see her. It was all too much, and she hesitated. “Good morning, Daddy,” she managed, trying to sound fine, trying to sound adult .
He knew anyway and grabbed her up at once, holding her close, hiding her against the world. “My daughter. Good morning.”
She made one tiny sound and hid her face.
Fuck, she heard quietly behind her.
“Thank you for watching, John,” said Hastur, and he sounded… gentle. So that was weird.
Yeah, sure, I did great, John said, weirdly subdued. Should put me in charge of this all the time. I can fuck everybody up on a regular basis.
“John,” said Hastur. “We have all been through terrible things in the past week. Thank you for watching them. I don’t hold you responsible for damage done by circumstances.”
Silence. Nobody knew how to respond, except for Nibbles, who stood and shook herself vigorously and then dipped into a magnificent stretch.
Hastur gently picked up Arthur next. Arthur was completely limp, boneless; the robe fell off one shoulder, revealing scars on his chest. Hastur held him close, adding another tentacle, tugging his robe back up. “Time to wake, my own.”
“Mm,” said Arthur.
“Daddy,” Faroe said quietly. “Can we go away for breakfast today?”
He stroked her curls, evening them out a little. “I’m afraid not this morning. Kayne’s guests must be faced, at least for this meal.”
“Mm?” said Arthur, who seemed to be rising from such a deep sleep that he didn’t fully recall himself. He settled against Hastur, making small, contented noises.
“Fool,” said Hastur warmly. “You could be like this all the time, you know.”
“You’re the fool,” Arthur said out of habit. “Wait. Could what?” And Arthur went stiff. He sat up. “Faroe?”
“Good morning, Arthur,” said Faroe from beneath the tangle of her father’s arms.
Hastur, maybe this isn’t such a good idea, John said, voice low and worried. We’re all fucked up. We need time. We need to talk about this beforehand. Prepare ourselves.
Hastur’s sigh was heavy. “We have a choice. Before us lies a forked path.”
“What, in a yellow wood?” blurted Arthur.
“Essentially, yes. Both roads last for six years. Both involve unpleasantries—things that must be done. Errors that must be addressed. Repairs that must be made. So: we can drag those horrible things out, make them last, linger … or we can get them fucking over with so we can move on with our lives.”
Arthur rubbed his eyes. “Um. What are we talking about?”
“I have decided we’re getting this over with. To that end, John, we have to face them. You’ve already told me what you can of the situation. Arthur… are you ready to talk about Larson and Yellow and Parker?”
Arthur went stiff as a board. “No!”
“Then we won’t wait. I know enough: these people were brought here to hurt you.”
Faroe went stiff, too, but said nothing.
John growled.
Arthur swallowed. “Me?” he said, tiny.
“Yes—and allowing that isn’t one of Kayne’s fucking rules, which means I don’t have to. So: today, we are drawing boundaries. Our guests will respect those boundaries, or they will know deep regret. Done. Then we move on with the next steps.”
Next steps? said John suspiciously.
“Wh—you can’t hurt Parker!” Arthur made a desperate noise. “And you can’t fucking trust Larson, no matter what he says. He’s a liar, and a killer, and—”
“And we are stuck ,” Hastur said with a growl. “Do you recall Kayne’s rules? Because. I. Do. And I am not going to risk any of you by flaunting those again!”
Arthur’s left hand rose with a mind of its own to touch the scars Pers had left behind.
“I will not trust Larson,” said Hastur. “I will not hurt Parker, unless provoked. But we must establish boundaries now . Then it is done, and we can move on. ” Hastur’s tentacles lashed.
Fucking hell. John made a noise of distinct unhappiness. Hastur… this is a lot.
“It can’t wait until tomorrow?” Faroe said, very tiny, hidden.
Hastur sighed heavily. Clearly, he’d have to get them on board with some honesty. “I have made mistakes.”
Arthur’s mouth hung open.
“I intend to correct those mistakes. And I intend to do it… quickly,” said Hastur.
Quickly? John said.
He cradled Faroe close. “My errors have cost us all far too much. I move now to correct them. I know it’s happening fast.” They didn’t understand yet, but they would. “Arthur, you were right: the state of Ishara is unacceptable. John, Arthur is now being paid.”
“I’m what?” said Arthur.
“Faroe, I will work with Dis to ensure you can fight even more effectively.”
“Oh,” she sighed, sounding relieved.
“Arthur, I intend to repair what I have done to your reputation.”
You what? said John.
Arthur’s brow was knit. “Okay. Sure. Wait. What?”
Hastur was moving, carrying them all out into the hall. He placed Faroe in front of her door. “I’m sorry, my daughter. This breakfast will be unpleasant. I wish for you to dress as the future queen you plan to be. We are drawing battle lines. Do you understand?”
“Yes, dad,” she said, shuffling inside, her robe dragging on the marble floor.
Hastur carried Arthur to his room.
Servants peered, doing doubletakes at the King in Yellow and the Composer in a bathrobe. Arthur just sort of hung there, face red. There wasn’t much else he could do.
Hastur, for fuck’s sake! People are seeing this!
“Good.”
“Good?”
Hastur explained again. “We are playing Kayne’s new game, must make many changes.” They were in Arthur’s room at last. Hastur put him in the bathroom and began picking through Arthur’s clothes. “The playing field has been made more difficult, but we will succeed. For Faroe’s sake.”
Arthur took care of business, frowning, washing up. “Yeah. Yeah, but—”
“Your Parker is an interesting character. I am surprised you never took him up on his offer.”
“What offer?” Arthur said, wandering over. “What the fuck, Hastur?”
“You will wear this.”
“I don’t want to wear that!”
“Arthur, you don’t even know what I’m holding.”
It… it’s fine. It’s mostly black. Just yellow piping. It’s the one you wore on that one jubilee when all those representatives came from Koranth.
“Why?” cried Arthur.
And he explained again. “Because today, we turn over a new leaf.” Hastur pressed the outfit into Arthur’s hands.
New leaf? You’re being the usual pushy ass.
“That’s because I have much to make up for. Arthur, after breakfast, you are coming to court with me.”
Arthur stared at nothing, clutching the outfit like a security blanket. “To… go on trial?”
And again . “No. To be seen. Acknowledged. Presented.”
“Presented?”
“As I should have in the beginning.” Hastur touched his face. “Do I need to dress you?”
Arthur’s expression was a journey . “John,” he said evenly. “How long was I asleep?”
Not long enough for all of this. What the fuck, Hastur?
“I am moving too fast for you,” said Hastur softly. “I apologize.” And then he just took the bathrobe away.
“For the love of—” Arthur startled, covered himself, then started pulling on the outfit.
“Today,” said Hastur, “we will first have a terrible, awkward meal. We have no choice about the inclusion of these three people. Larson is untrustworthy.”
No shit, John muttered.
“Parker is interesting. A shame I have no time to pursue him. Sunny—”
Parker is what? You what? Who the fuck is—
“Sunny—whom you knew as Yellow, but who has renamed himself—is damaged badly, thanks to Larson. You will be gentle with him.”
Gentle with him?
“After breakfast, you will come to court. John… it is time.”
Time for what? John growled.
And again. “To be seen. It’s time to correct my mistakes.” He picked them up.
Seen? John said, his voice almost small. For what in fuck?
“We’ll talk more after breakfast,” said Hastur. “We go now to meet our foes, our forced family—and get it over with.” He picked Arthur up again.
“Wait!” Arthur cried.
“There isn’t time,” said Hastur, and carried him out of the room.
#
Dancers went to Larson’s room, where they found him dressed as fancily as Carcosa allowed—which was golden and caped, embroidered and jeweled, and Larson felt more glorious than he ever had. He smiled, following them out the door.
Dancers went to Parker’s room, where they found him dressed as an ordinary citizen—not peasant rags, but just clothes, a tunic and trousers, cinched at the waist, showcasing his shoulders and shape in simple, neutral colors. He followed, too, looking grim.
They met Larson and his group halfway there. Dancers fluttered between them, a sharp, inhuman army to keep them apart.
Parker and Larson still shot glares at each other through the golden gauze. The march to the breakfast table was done in thick and terrible silence.
#
Faroe had not gone the direction Hastur expected. This was no gown; no loveliness of sparkles and pastels. She did not wear yellow. Instead, she wore what Dis had called her battle dress .
It was a sheath, fitted to her; thin leather lined it, protecting her organs, her wrists, her throat. She wore her wooden knife at her side; her bow had been destroyed, but she’d fetched another one, just some soldier’s bow, and carried it with its quiver to the table. Over her shoulder stood Nibbles, a silent sentinel of raw eldritch power that peered down the table with dozens of disinterested eyes.
Faroe had tied her hair up, and she wore her crown. She sat on Hastur’s right. back straight, smile absent. Ready for war.
“My precious one.” Hastur sounded proud, amused, warm. “It will be over soon.”
“I know. We’re drawing battle lines,” she said.
“Oh, boy,” said Arthur.
And in swept the dancers with their uninvited guests.
Hastur put Arthur in the usual spot to his left. That meant seats on both sides of him were taken, and Larson was not pleased. Lips tight, he sat next to Faroe, looking back and forth as though sizing up a game of poker.
Parker stared wildly at them all, then sat beside Arthur. He could still feel that god. He swore he could feel the god in his fucking teeth.
The Dancers flitted away with a rustle of fabric.
Awkward silence thickened, like clay.
“So this is weird,” Parker finally said. “Awkward as a shotgun wedding.”
Arthur snorted.
“You dare,” whispered Larson.
“We are here,” said Hastur, “to come to an understanding. Living beings have conducted business, made peace, and entered agreements over food as long as memory itself exists, and so we shall honor that tradition today. This will be a calm meal. We will speak, discover our roles, and lay out our boundaries. Decide on your questions. There will be time to ask them.”
The new guests stared at him.
And in came the dancers, loading the table down with incredible smelling food, savory and delicious. It was a full spread, a proper kahvalti —black and green olives, cucumbers, cured meats, spiced eggs, fresh sheep and goat cheeses, fresh tomatoes, fresh-baked bread, apricot, cherry, and apricot jams, honey, pastries, and sweet butter.
Parker’s jaw hung open. Larson gawked.
Faroe’s cold exterior melted, and she looked at Hastur. “Oh! You remembered?”
“Of course I remembered. Happy birthday, my precious one.”
Faroe beamed at him, tears shining in her eyes, and dug in.
Arthur sniffed. “It’s that favorite of hers.”
Turkish-inspired, said John.
“Uh, I don’t… I don’t know where to start,” said Parker, staring. Salivating. (Or maybe Sunny was.)
Arthur turned toward him to speak, but Sunny spoke first. There isn’t really a wrong way. I’d start with the eggs; they smell fantastic.
“Yes, he’s right,” Arthur said. There was something pleading in his expression. “However you like. I’d start with the bread, unless you’d prefer something else?”
Sunny said nothing.
Arthur sighed, his attempt abandoned, and turned away. “Sorry.”
Parker was not a fan of the new and crunchy Arthur. “Don’t be,” he said slowly. “After all…” He met Larson’s gaze. “We all gotta find a way to get along, don’t we?”
“Do we?” said Larson conversationally, wrinkling his nose at the feast before him.
“Yes,” said Hastur with a low rumble of warning, tentacles lashing briefly. “You do.”
Parker shuddered. Fuck, gods were distracting.
“My lord, oh great one, I will—” Laron began.
“Stop,” said Hastur. “ Eat. And while you’re at it, listen and learn.” He touched Faroe’s cheek, focusing on her because—as they would all understand—she was the priority. “What are your plans this day, my darling?”
“I want to talk to Dis,” said Faroe. “I want to advance my training.”
“An excellent idea. I need to speak with her, as well. We should consider several new aspects of your education, if you are willing.” One of his tentacles had picked up a bowl and was delicately filling it with several tomatoes, a spread of cheeses, olives, and topped it off with a generous drizzle of honey.
Then, inexplicably to his guests, he put it in front of the goat, who began to eat quite happily.
Faroe smiled up at Hastur, one hand straying from her silverware to pet the soft, bare spot by Nibbles’ ear. “I am willing, father.”
“I am proud of you, my daughter.”
She leaned into his touch.
Arthur was making good progress with his plate. He muttered, “What’s Parker doing?”
He’s eating. I don’t know what to tell you.
Parker snorted. “How about I tell you when I stop eating?”
“How about you remain silent as we were asked?” said Larson sweetly.
Parker looked at him. “Says the guy who didn’t eat as he was told. You’re just grouchy nobody wants to talk to you , aren’t you?”
“Parker,” said Hastur, but there was no accompanying growl. “Behave.”
Parker sighed dramatically. “Boss said behave. Sorry, everybody,” he said, stood, did an awkward bow, and sat again.
Faroe giggled, staring at him like she’d never seen a human before, cheeks flushed.
“Here is the situation,” said Hastur. “Wallace Larson, Parker Yang, Sunny Ot H'aaztre : you are here as part of an experiment of sorts, run by an Outer God. To wit, I cannot get rid of you; I cannot release you. I cannot lock you away. I cannot kill you. However…” The room rumbled threateningly, and the plates rattled. “Those are my only limitations. I can hurt you. I can set you on fire—or make you believe that you burn. I can skin you, erase your mind, force you to live in wordless agony. There are many things I can do. But I would rather not have to do them. They take time; they take energy. I do not care to spend them on you. Am I clear?”
“Crystal,” said Parker.
Yes, said Sunny, very quietly.
Larson was an eager beaver. “I understand, oh great and glorious lord! Iä!”
Faroe gave him a magnificent side-eye.
“Therefore,” said Hastur like that hadn’t happened, “what I would like to do is offer you… a chance. I’m sure you have things you want to do. Things to pursue. You probably left a life behind; I will allow, through my agents, for a graceful end to that life. You will never return there. This is now your home.”
“The Dreamlands for good?” said Parker, brightening.
“Yes,” said Hastur, “though initially, only my palace; after that, Carcosa. Then, we will see.”
“I’m so sorry,” whispered Arthur.
“You kidding? This is great!” said Parker. “Fuck, yeah.”
Faroe grinned and hid it behind her hand.
Larson was dead pale. “How long do I have to… to close out my life there?”
“How long do you believe you will need?” said Hastur in a gracious tone.
“I got lots of investments, things that ain’t made to pay out for years to come. I got people. Land. I can’t just…” He stopped, licked his lips. “I need at least a few months to contact everybody.”
“Granted.”
Larson stared. “Really?”
“Yes. I can be reasonable—though of course, all of your decisions will be made through my agents. You are not to return.”
“My lord, there are some things that need to be done in person,” said Larson.
“I will send copies of you,” said Hastur to Larson, his tentacles undulating all around like dark flame. “You will not leave here. I’m being generous to prisoners forced upon me, Wallace Larson. I wouldn’t suggest you try my patience.”
Larson swallowed. “Thank you, gracious lord,” he said, tone bitter.
“Don’t remember much about religion,” Parker muttered to Arthur. “But something about rich guys, a camel, and the eye of a needle seems to be coming to mind.”
Arthur had a choking fit.
“Geez, sorry,” Parker laughed, and smacked Arthur on the back.
Breathe! Shit!
Hastur waved one tentacle, and Arthur’s throat cleared. He was red.
Parker laughed.
Faroe’s eyes were bright as she giggled, too.
Larson went very carefully neutral. He poked at his plate as if he thought the feta might be alive.
“And you, Parker?” said Hastur.
“Been dead for ten years,” said Parker, and shrugged.”If I had anything left, it’s long been sold off, or stolen. Didn’t have anything worth keeping, anyway.”
“I’m sorry,” whispered Arthur again.
“Quit that. I would’ve chosen to stay here on my own, anyway,” said Parker.
“I will find employment for you in time,” said Hastur, “but for now, I expect to be adults and entertain yourselves. You may study in the libraries. Should you wish, you may train in the grounds below. If you wish a hobby—plantlife, or something—you are welcome to pursue it, but there will be no rituals. No gathering of followers. Nothing that in any way threatens a single being in my palace or my city, and certainly nothing that puts anyone at this table at risk.”
Larson’s eyes narrowed. “In spite of the sins these two thieves and murderers have committed?”
And Arthur… bent his fork. It was a spark of magic, flashing through, it bent, just creaked to a useless vee.
Parker jumped. “Shit!”
“Arthur?” Faroe gasped.
What did you just… said John, feeling the fork.
“You dare talk about sins?” Arthur growled.
“I do,” said Larson. “Unlike you, any deaths I have overseen were done as worship . They were for the gods who are so much greater than we are, greater than any death that could be given. You think your sacrifices really mattered? Do you? They were nothing. I know the true cost of devotion. The gods eat it up like a single grain of rice and demand more… and I will always give them more. ”
Faroe stared at him, eyes wide.
Nibbles’ great head swiveled to watch him, very carefully.
Arthur started to stand.
“No,” said Hastur.
Arthur froze. “Hastur…”
“No. Larson understands that I do not permit such sacrifices here. Don’t you, Wallace Larson?”
Larson stared for the briefest moment. “What do you wish for, my lord? I will provide it.”
“Obedience.”
Arthur was breathing through his nose like a bull, but he sat back down, obeying.
“There,” said Hastur, straightening his fork. “Was that so hard?”
What the hell did we just do? John muttered, feeling the fork.
“I don’t know,” said Arthur.
“Now,” said Hastur. “Questions.”
“Do we get to eat whenever we want? Whatever we want?” said Parker.
“Yes,” said Hastur. “You are responsible for your own health, of course.”
“Cool.”
Larson’s look clearly said waste of a question. “What opportunities are here to advance ourselves? To gain independent wealth.”
“For you?” rumbled Hastur, sounding amused. “None at the moment. You see, gentlemen, I don’t trust you yet.”
Larson stiffened.
Parker eyed the King. “You trust us enough to run around your home.”
“That, Parker Yang, is trusting me . I know my power. I know the extent of my network here. You cannot betray me.”
Larson looked aghast. “Never! I would never.”
“Let us hope you are never foolish enough to try,” said Hastur mildly. “Any more questions?”
“Yeah,” said Parker. “How long we gotta stay cooped up?”
“The palace is vast. The grounds are large. You will not feel cooped up. But… it may be a couple of years before you are given true freedom to roam.”
Parker looked sick. “Years?”
“I am unfortunately tasked with keeping you alive for now. That becomes harder the further you roam.”
Larson licked his lips. “If I find a way to serve you, may I pursue it?”
“You may ask me about it.”
And Sunny blurted, Do we have to eat together every day?
“I would prefer it,” said Hastur. “We must grow accustomed to one another. But if you choose to eat at another time, I will permit it.”
Sunny’s relief was palpable. Thank you, lord.
“You’re doing great,” said Parker softly, and bit into some flatbread spread with apricot jam.
Sunny let out a soft sigh. That’s really good. You should add a few crumbles of the goat cheese as well.
“You sure?” Parker raised an eyebrow.
Trust me.
Arthur turned his head toward them, looking puzzled.
“I will sit when you do, lord,” said Larson. “And join you. In court. In anything you do.”
“If that is what you wish to do with your time,” said Hastur.
Faroe made such a face.
Hastur stroked her hair. “We have responsibilities, dear one, whether we enjoy them or not.”
“This is our time,” she said.
“Mmm. Perhaps lunch will be ours.”
“That means you have to always be there for lunch,” Faroe said loftily.
Hastur chuckled. It was such a wicked sound, and so incredibly pleased. “Expertly negotiated, my child. Very well. I will always be there for lunch, and it will be together, alone, with our family.”
“What about… what about me?” said Arthur.
Hastur touched his face with the tip of one tentacle. “You are family.”
Arthur exhaled in relief.
Hastur turned to the others. “Gentlemen, for lunches, you three are on your own.”
Faroe smirked.
Parker chuckled softly. “Nice one, kid.”
She glanced at him sideways, cheeks red. “Thank you, Mister Yang.”
“Parker’s fine.”
“Pah…kah?”
“It’s his accent,” Arthur said quietly, and tried to elucidate. “Parrrrkerrrrr.”
John started snickering. Then he guffawed.
Arthur went red.
No, do that again! Do it with all our names! Farrrrroooooe!
“Don’t howl it!” Faroe cried, and then she, too, started giggling.
Parker laughed. Sunny made a tiny sound that might have been a laugh. Hastur laughed.
Larson stared.
“Ah,” said Hastur. “Have we covered it all?”
“Sir,” said Parker. “There are gonna be more questions. And we… we all got a lotta baggage to work through.”
“I understand this. Do no harm to one another, and work as you will.”
“What if we can’t?” whispered Arthur.
“If you ask for my help, my own, I will give it.”
Arthur turned his face toward Hastur, brow knit. “You really did change yesterday, didn’t you?”
Hastur did not answer that. He took Faroe’s hand in his human one. “Is there anything else right now?”
“Sunny?” Parker said softly.
N-no.
“Oh, great Lord,” said Larson, bowing from the waist. “It is an honor to be yours.”
“Then let’s hope someday you will be,” said Hastur, because right now, Larson was not.
Larson got it. He inhaled, held it; after a moment, he spoke again. “I shall please you,” he growled, doubling down.
Parker snorted. “Good luck with that,” he muttered.
Faroe giggled again.
“Arthur,” said Hastur. “John. It is time.”
Oh, no. Court. “I usually compose now,” said Arthur.
“You will after. Come.” Hastur stood. “Unless you would prefer to be carried.”
“I can fucking walk ,” Arthur snapped, and stood. He kept his face turned away from Parker.
Faroe stood. “Thank you, dad.”
“I haven’t forgotten. You will, of course, be given a party—but it’s all delayed. I apologize, my daughter.”
“It’s my fault our schedule is off,” said Faroe. “You don’t have to celebrate my birthday.”
“Yes, I do,” said Hastur. “Every single one is precious.” His tone was thick.
“For once, I’m with him,” said Arthur.
They loved her. She knew they did. Faroe smiled. “All right. But maybe just… something small this year.”
“Of course. When you find Dis, send her to me,” said Hastur. “We must speak at once.” And he swept away.
He’s headed to the throne room.
Arthur followed.
Parker eyed Larson. “You’re gonna be here all the meals, huh?”
“Yes,” Larson said through clenched teeth.
“Then I won’t. Solved.” Parker stood. “Nice to meet you, Faroe.”
Faroe looked disappointed in that decision. “A pleasure, Mister… Parker.”
He nodded to her and left, but not before grabbing one more piece of fruit.
Larson looked at the little girl.
She looked back; standing, she was barely taller than he, but her chin was raised so she could look down her nose.
And over her shoulder that creature , tree bark and shadow and power.
“A remarkable princess, to be sure,” said Larson, standing, and bowed to her slowly. “Truly a treasure.”
Faroe made a face. She wasn’t even sure why; something about him was just… slimy. She simply nodded, then left, Nibbles trotting at her heels.
#
Larson abandoned the horrible food and hurried after the King.
So. This wasn’t what he’d thought it would be.
You really did change yesterday, didn’t you?
Just his luck that he finally got in tight with a real, live god, and it was after something went horrifically wrong.
He’d suspected for some time that the gods might be… petty. Pathetic, even, with base desires. What they wanted was always so simple ; pain and suffering, blood and death, blah, blah, blah. Well, here was a Great Old One, a million years old, and he wasn’t even particularly esoteric.
Arthur was part of his ‘family?’ Please! The King probably just liked how the disgusting man sounded when in pain. It wouldn’t be difficult to supplant him. Between Arthur and that nonsense with a human daughter…
And Parker .
The thief wasn’t worth considering right now. He’d pay for every stupid quip. Every pinch of attitude. But not yet.
It was going to be harder than he’d thought to gain the favor of this god, but it was possible. It was clear this god could be controlled. Some Outer God, who for reasons unknown had arranged this whole thing, clearly had the King in Yellow by the shorthairs.
Larson hadn’t been able to figure out who the hell the Outer God was, and so hadn’t known how to appease it. Could this be the same Outer God who’d interrupted before? Why? Why had it chosen him?
Because it had chosen him. He was a shark, swimming among irritating goldfish.
To be given an opportunity like this was incredible.There could only be one reason: somehow, he must have pleased this god. An Outer God’s true favor. What a thing to have!
His end goal was still on track: godhood. Deification. Unlike Yellow, Hastur genuinely had power. Larson could taste it. Magnificent. Perfect. Wasted.
This Great Old One might be messed up (and Yellow’s brokenness suddenly made so much sense ), but that only made him vulnerable . Yes: vulnerable.
With so many doors to try, one of them would damn well open wide. For now, he followed, determined to learn everything he could about this true god and whatever happened yesterday, to find whatever he needed to become a god himself.
It was only a matter of time.
#malevolent#malevolent podcast#surrogate series#malevolent fic#malevolent au#arthur lester#hastur malevolent#kiy malevolent#faroe lester#wallace larson#parker yang#yellow malevolent
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Scars and Stitches, Chapter 18: Trespassers
Daryl X PlusSize!Reader (she/her)
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Series Masterlist | Daryl x Reader Masterlist
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Chapter Summary: You go on a walk with Dale. A threat encroaches on the farm.
Word Count: 2,300
Warnings: Shane Walsh being awful, language, violence, mentions of past abuse, and mentions of drug use/addiction.
This chapter also mentions suicide.
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“You know that you’ve found something amazing, and you want to hold on to it forever; and every second after…you fear the moment you might lose it.”
― Kiera Cass, The Elite
It only took three days until Daryl refused to stay in bed and recover. Your only victory was convincing him to wait a few days more before hunting again. However, he still volunteered for more than his share of watch shifts and even took to patrolling the interior fences of the farm. As much as you tried to make him take it easy, he was incorrigible.
In addition to all your chores, you'd started learning what you could from Hershel and Patricia. The depth of Hershel’s knowledge was astounding. You pestered him with questions, often describing the kind of injuries that could happen on the road or on runs. He answered them in his stern, matter-of-fact way. In doing so, you were not only learning how to treat said injuries, but also making it clear to Hershel how important his farm and his doctoring was to helping your group survive.
However, your growing unease regarding Shane intensified with each day. So, you went to seek counsel with the only one in camp who’d read more philosophy than you: Dale.
The two of you were walking along the fence line, careful to not stray too far from where Daryl, the lookout, could see you. You’d taken to always having your knife with you, and today you’d also brought your crossbow, just in case. Its strap and weight—albeit not significant—made you feel slightly braver than you used to be.
After you and Dale chatted a bit over inconsequential things, you asked, "How are things with you and Andrea?"
"We've reached a stalemate, but at least she's speaking to me again." Despite the pain in his voice, Dale kept smiling; you admired that in him.
"You saved her life. I would've done the same thing for someone I cared about."
Dale sighed, looking off into the distance. "That's a simple way of looking at the situation. What Andrea had was a choice, and I took that away from her. I had no right to do it."
"Surely someday, she'll thank you," you insisted.
Dale sighed and took a moment before speaking again. "When it comes to death, we tend to reduce it to the simplest of terms. But death—and the knowledge of it—is part of what makes us human. Most of us don't get a chance to choose when we die, but some do."
"But Dale, most suicides are caused by mental illness, which can be treated. Even though we don't have medication for it like we used to, we can't just...let it happen!"
"Why not?"
His question was absurd. "Don't we have a duty to each other? Stopping someone from killing themselves is a good thing. It's the right thing."
Dale stopped and leaned on a fence post. He looked at you with sad eyes, but you sensed resignation.
"Have you ever watched someone waste away in front of you? Ever seen them suffer more than any human ever should? Heard them beg you to end things, just to get away from the pain?”
He was talking about his wife. Unfortunately, you could relate. A little.
You said, "I've seen someone I love try to kill themselves slowly for years, with heroin and later fentanyl.”
He raised his brow. "You try to help them?"
You nodded, fists at your sides. "I did everything I could."
"What happened?"
You had to take a moment. You hadn't purposefully thought of your little brother since leaving Atlanta. God you missed him. Your heart ached. Was the loss of him your fault? If he weren't dead, he may as well be, to you, at least. You'd never see him again.
You looked at Dale, tears in your eyes. "I gave up on him."
"Or did you just realize it wasn't in your power to fix him?"
You couldn't speak. Was that true? You'd worked all this out in therapy, but that was when you could always find him, always call him, track him down if you needed to. None of that was possible anymore.
Dale said, "Maybe what we owe to each other is love and respect. And the courage to accept that some decisions aren't ours to make."
"You really think so?"
"I'm not claiming to have the right answer, or even a right answer, but I think you have to ask yourself what right you have to decide how others live. Or don't."
“My therapist kept reminding me I couldn’t fix my brother. For a long time I refused to accept that. Eventually, I did, at least I stopped trying. I still don’t know if that was the right choice.”
“’Make the most of your regrets. Never smother your sorrow but tend and cherish it ’till it comes to have a separate and integral interest. To regret deeply is to live afresh.’”
“Thoreau.”
“He was right. About a few things. Once in a while.”
“He wouldn’t have lasted long in this world, though,” you chuckled. Thoreau preached in his book about living off the land and savoring nature, but he rarely practiced what he preached. Daryl was more like Thoreau than the Henry David ever was.
Dale laughed. “You’re probably right about that.”
As your laughter died down, you at last remembered why you had brought Dale all the way out here.
“What if, hypothetically,” you began, “someone committed murder to save someone else? In this world, in this time, is that the right thing to do? Or is it just as reprehensible as before?”
Dale didn’t miss a beat. "Are you talking about Shane?"
"Y-y-you knew?" The realization floored you. You were both disappointed in yourself for not seeing what Dale and Daryl did, but also frustrated that neither of them had done anything about it.
"I put the pieces together,” Dale was saying. “He all but confirmed it the other day."
You rubbed the back of your neck, doing your best to keep your temper in check. "Daryl knew right away. He doesn't think anyone would believe him."
"He's observant for someone who keeps himself so apart from us."
You nodded. "He's had his eyes on Shane ever since..." Oh, right that was a secret.
"Ever since?"
You took a deep breath, intuitively sensing you could trust Dale. "He tried to assault Lori. I walked in on it and stopped him. He put me in a wristlock for my trouble."
"So that's how it started,” Dale nodded, as if solving some mystery. “Anytime Shane went near you, Daryl’s eyes were on him.”
“I was worried he might retaliate, so was Daryl. We wanted Lori to tell Rick, but she refused to.”
Those few days had been nerve-wracking, but you’d never felt alone through the ordeal. Daryl would always check in with you, would find ways to be with you if Shane got too close or tried to separate you from the group.
Dale watched you for a moment, as if thinking something over. Eventually he said, “You changed something in Daryl.”
"Me?"
"The day Merle walked out of camp, and you walked in, Daryl became a new man."
You shook your head. " It has nothing to do with me. This is the person Daryl has always been. But Merle tried to bully it out of him. Maybe I saw it before anyone else, but this is who Daryl has always been."
“Well, we’re lucky to have him, that’s for sure.”
God, you knew that was true. “Sure are,” you murmured.
"So what does he think we should do about Shane?"
You weren’t sure that Daryl had any plans or hopes about the situation; you just knew that he was worried and felt something needed to be done. “Honestly, I think what Daryl wants is simply for the group to be safe. I know it may seem like he only looks out for me, Carol, and Sophia, but he cares about everyone."
Daryl never said as much to you, but you knew it to be true from the way he threw himself into all of his different jobs, as if he let up for a second things would fall apart. He continuously sacrificed his well-being to make sure everyone in the group was protected and fed.
Dale said, "I think this is going to be Rick's call, but maybe the best thing would be if Shane left. He was planning to before Carl was shot."
You peered up at Dale. "Does that mean Andrea would go, too?"
"More than likely." He smiled sadly at you, corners of his eyes watery.
"Oh, Dale." You threw your arms around him, giving him a strong hug. "You know you'll always have the rest of us. Whatever the world has in store for the future, we'll all face it together."
Dale patted your back and broke the hug. "Stop all this concern over me. Don't want Daryl watching us through the binoculars and getting the wrong idea." Dale chuckled and started walking back to camp.
He was clearly cutting your conversation short, and as badly as you wanted to press him for more guidance, you would feel guilty for taking up more of his time.
You were about to follow him back to camp when, behind you and off to the side, you heard a rustling in the trees. You spun on your heels and had your crossbow out in one smooth motion. Your evenings of practice were paying off.
You crept along the fence, crossbow pressed against your shoulder and eyes scanning the woods beyond the boundary of the farm.
You heard Dale call your name, but you motioned for him to be quiet. He didn’t say anything, but he noisily walked toward you. You heard him take out his knife. Compared to Daryl, the man was as loud as a bulldozer
Dale put his hand on your shoulder, trying to pull you away, but you shrugged him off.
“I got this,” you whispered.
“I don’t think you need to—"
Dale stopped short when two walkers emerged from the forest, growling and staggering right in your direction. You tiptoed away from Dale and farther away from the fence, putting distance between you and the boundary. You knew the fence would protect you.
When the first walker slammed into the fence and struggled stupidly against it, you pressed your chin to the chin rest and looked down the sight of your crossbow.
Deep breath, exhale, shoot.
The bolt sprang free and lodged itself in the walker’s skull.
You did it. You weren’t useless; you weren’t a damsel in distress. You were a fighter. You were strong.
You forced yourself to calm down again, quickly cocked your bow, and loaded another bolt.
You’d just settled the bow against your shoulder, when heavy footsteps pounded in your direction, drawing your focus away from the second walker.
Daryl was running with his crossbow out. He didn’t even bother coming to a stop before he pulled the trigger and killed the remaining walker.
You lowered your crossbow and turned to face him, annoyed, then annoyed that you were annoyed. He was only doing what he’d always done: protecting you.
Suddenly, Daryl’s hands were cupping your cheeks, and his eyes were frantically looking you over. Sweat poured off him, and he was coiled like a spring.
His hands moved to your shoulders, smoothing down the length of your arms. Daryl took the crossbow from you and put it back around your shoulders. Then he held your hands tightly, and gazed at you for a long moment, breathing heavily and vibrating with so much tension that you almost trembled right along with him.
“You alright?” he demanded, his voice sharp and breathless.
“I’m fine,” you said, befuddled. “They never got near me. I did just what you taught me to do.”
Daryl nodded, and then he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead and let you go, turning away just as Shane, Andrea, and Rick—all of them armed—jogged up to the scene.
Daryl glanced back at them, but in the next second he was gone. You watched him hop over the fence, yank the crossbow bolts from the walkers’ skulls, and stalk into the woods.
You stared at the trees through which Daryl had vanished for half a second before giving in to your urge to follow him.
Rick shouted after you.
You turned and quickly explained yourself. “He shouldn’t be alone out there. He’s still hurt.”
That was enough to convince Rick, and he hurriedly ran up to you. With Rick’s help, you made it over the fence, and the both of you entered the tree line.
“Daryl?” you whispered loudly.
No response.
Rick sighed. “He teach you any tracking skills?”
You shook your head.
Rick took a deep breath and let out an ear-piercing whistle.
It wasn’t two seconds later before Daryl appeared right in front of you.
He squinted at Rick. “You tryin’ to bring them all down on us?”
“You find more of them?” Rick asked.
Daryl shook his head. “Best keep quiet in case we do.”
Rick nodded, not at all ruffled by Daryl’s gruff tone.
Daryl took you by the elbow, pulling you to him and stared down at you. “You stay right behind me. We get in trouble, you run. I’ll find ya.”
You nodded.
Daryl held you there a moment longer, and eventually slid his hand from your arm. He looked over your head at Rick.
“Somethin’ ain’t right about them walkers. You make sure nothin’ sneaks up on us.”
You knew Daryl well enough to see a hint of unease behind his stern glare. Not much rattled Daryl Dixon, and if he was slightly worried, then it must be really bad.
You took a moment to cock your bow, and Daryl handed you back your bolt. Then, in single file, you and Rick followed Daryl through the woods.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
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#daryl dixon#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon x you#twd#twd fanfic#plus size#plus size reader#plus size fanfic#mdop#minerva writes#dd/xm#scars and stitches#dale horvath
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The Demigod From Asgard - Steve Rogers x Reader (Part 72)
A/N: I’m just gonna apologise ahead of this whole section of the story, I tried to delay it as much as possible but we’re here now...
Summary: A simple mission and check in turns into something much worse when Steve recieves a call from Bruce
Word Count: 2.9k
Warnings: Angst! Language! Canon Typical Violence! Infinity War Plot!
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Series Masterlist / Masterlist
Chapter 72: We Don’t Trade Lives
You were just feeding JJ lunch when you heard a pounding on the door. You frown watching as Steve got up from the table walking over to the apartment door. He had barely opened the door when a very pissed-off Nat stormed into your apartment.
“Whoa, what’s wrong Nat?” Steve asks as she comes to a stop.
“Wanda missed her check-in again, a whole week late! and we’re supposed to be stopping an arms deal but now we’re a man short” Nat explains with an irritated huff.
“I’m sure she has a good reason, we’d know if she was in trouble,” you say trying to placate her.
“What about the mission? I don’t think me and Sam can handle it” Nat sighs shaking her head.
“Steve?” You ask looking over at him.
“Yeah I can help, and we can go check in on Wanda at the same time” Steve agrees nodding his head.
“Thanks, Steve I really appreciate it, it’s a simple mission really we should be home by tomorrow morning” Nat sighs appreciatively.
“give me a few minutes to get changed and we’ll head straight out” Steve nods heading off to change.
JJ then lets out an annoyed huff letting you know he wasn’t impressed by the delay in food.
“Sorry bean” you smile feeding him another mouthful.
“How is he? Steve said he was a little ill last week?” Nat asks walking over.
“he’s good now it was just the sniffles, only lasted a day” you sigh looking over at JJ, feeding him another mouthful.
“That’s good, straight back to playing” Nat smiles as Steve steps out of the bedroom now in his suit.
“I’ll go let Sam know and meet you by the jet,” Nat says as she heads out.
Steve nods as he adjusts his sleeves, as he glances over at you he catches you looking at him with a concerned look on your face. He furrows his brows as he walks over putting a hand on your shoulder.
“hey is everything okay?” he asks gently making you sigh.
“yeah just got a funny feeling that’s all, but I’m sure it's nothing to worry about,” you say waving it off.
“as long as you’re sure, I’ll be back soon,” Steve says bending down to kiss you.
“Yeah I’m sure, just stay safe out there, don’t do anything stupid,” you tell him taking his hand.
“of course, I have Sam and Nat to keep me in check” Steve smirks making you chuckle weakly.
“I mean it Steve” you sigh shaking your head.
“I will I promise, when you wake up tomorrow I’ll be home back in one piece” Steve smiles reassuringly.
“see you later bean, be a good boy for mama,” Steve says bending down to kiss the top of his head.
“Mama” JJ nods in agreement making you smile.
“see you tomorrow” Steve smiles kissing you once more.
“see you tomorrow” you smile keeping hold of his hand until he stepped away and it slipped from your grip.
A couple of hours later on the jet Steve, Nat and Sam were planning the details of the mission, looking down at the schematic of the ship they were going to intercept.
“The ship is departing Calais at 9 pm local time and due to arrive in Dover just after 10 pm, our best bet is to intercept it while it's crossing the channel, preferably on the midpoint so if there are any issues the UK and France will be too busy arguing over who should deal with it to actually deal with it,” Nat says pointing at the map.
“we’ll have to strike quickly then” Steve comments crossing his arms over his chest as he rubs his beard.
“I can swoop in and take out the guards on the top deck” Sam suggests.
“me and Nat can then work our way through the rest inside before-“ Steve says getting interrupted by a phone ringing.
Frowning he turns around to where his pack was, walking over he found the phone that was ringing realising it was the one Tony could call. He takes a deep breath glancing over at Sam and Nat before picking up.
“Tony” Steve greets as the line connects.
“um hi Steve, it’s Bruce actually,” Bruce says making Steve frown in confusion.
“Banner?” Steve asks surprised, instantly grabbing the attention on Nat.
“yeah hi, um Tony told me you guys weren’t exactly speaking and I don’t know what happened but we need you,” Bruce tells him.
“what’s happened?” Steve asks as he puts the phone on speaker so Nat and Sam could hear too.
“There’s a lot going on, I don’t think I could explain everything over the phone, but Thanos is coming and he’s gonna be looking for Vision, specifically the stone, Tony said you might know where he is” Bruce explains, Steve sighs glancing over at Nat and Sam.
“yeah we do, or we think we do,” Sam tells him.
“good, I’m gonna head to the tower, I’ll see you guys maybe,” Bruce says.
“The Avengers are based at the compound upstate now, get Tony or Happy to give you directions” Steve explains.
“oh right okay, sure thanks Steve,” Bruce says as he hangs up.
Steve sighs picking up the phone and flipping it over in his hand as he thought. His mind instantly went to you and JJ at home. The feeling you had was right, he just hoped this wasn’t as bad as he feared. The fear in Bruce’s voice told him otherwise.
“Change the coordinates, we need to go straight to Edinburgh,” Steve says looking over at Sam.
“On it,” Sam says moving over to the pilot seat.
“you okay?” Nat says gently grabbing Steve’s attention.
“hm? yeah, what about you? with Bruce reappearing and everything?” Steve asks looking over at her.
“Time is a great healer” Nat sighs quietly glancing over at Sam quickly.
“We should be there within the hour” Sam calls out from the pilot seat.
“Great, hopefully, we’ll get there quick enough to avoid a fight but prepare just in case,” Steve says moving towards his pack to prepare.
As he does so he pulls out the photo he always kept in his pack. It was a picture of you and JJ from just a couple of days after he was born. Even though you were exhausted your eyes still shined and your smile was just as bright as you looked into the camera. Steve could hear your laughter as clear as day as you told him to stop. He couldn’t help but smile as he recalled that day, he folded up the photo sliding it into his pocket to keep you and JJ close to him.
An hour later the jet was flying over Edinburgh trying to locate somewhere to land so the team could start looking for Wanda and Vision. Nat was just suggesting somewhere when the sight of Visions beam shot through the sky.
“Found them” Sam mutters.
“Looks like company beat us here” Nat sighs glancing over at Steve.
“they’re heading towards the station, get as close as you can, drop me off and then join in once you’ve landed,” Steve says walking towards the back of the jet.
“don’t do anything stupid Steve” Nat calls out as Steve opens the jet doors.
“sure” Steve calls back before jumping out of the jet.
He lands on the roof of the station, spotting Wanda and Vision inside, Wanda about to face off against two aliens. Steve slides open one of the windows before dropping down to the station platform below. As he lands a train speeds past, blaring its horn.
Once the train was gone Steve got his first good look at the two aliens, one female, one male. The female growls when she spots him, throwing her trident-like spear at him. Steve easily sides steps grabbing the spear. She looks back at him surprised, both aliens distracted enough for Sam and Nat to attack. Sam flew in to tackle the female into a nearby shop before shooting missiles at the male one. Steve spots Nat running over, throwing her the spear which she uses to trip and stab the male in the gut.
Steve runs over when he sees the female getting to her feet, recalling her spear out of Nat’s hand. Steve rolls picking up the male’s staff and using it to block the female’s attack. He pushes her spear upwards before hitting her in the side with the staff. The female twists moving to attack Nat but she dodges them easily.
Steve and Nat attack the female from both sides leaving her no room to attack back. Sam then flies in kicking the female to the floor next to her fallen counterpart. She checks over the male as the three of them block their exits.
“Get up” the female growls.
“I can’t” the male groans clutching his gut.
“We don’t wanna kill you, but we will,” Nat tells them as the female looks up at them.
“you’ll never get the chance again” the female scoffs, she hits a button her wrist suddenly being beamed up to the sky.
Steve looks up watching them go when the staff he’d used was ripped out of his hand following after the aliens. Steve frowns looking up at the sky, not impressed his new weapon was taken from him. He sighs turning to see Wanda crouching beside an injured Vision at the side of the station.
“Can you stand?” Sam asks as they walk over, bending down to help Vision up.
“thank you captain” Vision breathes, the tech within him visibly failing.
“let’s get you on the jet,” Steve says with a small nod.
Once on the jet, they set Vision down in one of the seats, Sam moving to the pilot seat firing up the jet as Nat closes the door.
“Now I thought we had a deal, stay close, check in don’t take any chances” Nat states turning around to face Wanda.
“I’m sorry, we just wanted some more time” Wanda apologises quietly as Nat storms past Steve to sit down.
“where to cap?” Sam asks.
Steve sighs deeply before glancing around the jet the remnants of Stark and Avengers Tech all around “Home”
Steve stood at the front of the jet watching as the Avengers compound came into view. There were a couple more buildings than there was last time, at the same time it also seemed quieter, almost like a ghost town. He guessed in a way it was, there were no Avengers walking the halls anymore. He felt a strange sense of relief at being home, the familiarity calming his nerves. He just wished you were beside him to experience it too. Hopefully, after all this, you’d be able to though, you could raise JJ the way you always wanted to.
Walking through the compound they found Rhodey in one of the labs talking to a hologram of Secretary Ross. As soon as Steve lay eyes on the man he felt his blood boil, it was Ross’ fault you were in the raft, his fault you got tortured. While the guard was now rotting in a Wakandan prison, that didn’t mean Steve would pass up the opportunity to punch Ross square in the face. He had to keep his cool though, he had more pressing matters to deal with. Plus, Ross was just a hologram, Steve couldn’t actually punch him, not yet anyway.
“Mr Secretary” Steve greet coldly.
“You’ve got some nerve, I’ll give you that,” Ross says as he walks closer.
“You could use some of that right now” Nat points out.
“The world’s on fire, and you think all is forgiven?” Ross asks looking over at Steve.
“I’m not looking for forgiveness, I don’t think I could give it either” Steve states glaring at Ross, noticing the hesitation.
“But I’m way past asking permission, earth just lost her best defender so we’re here to fight” Steve continues taking a step closer.
“And if you wanna stand in our way… we’ll fight you too” Steve warns, smirking slightly when he saw Ross gulp nervously.
Ross takes a large step back turning around to face Rhodey “Arrest them” he orders.
“All over it” Rhodey sighs turning off the hologram “that’s a court-martial, it’s great to see you cap” he smiles holding out his hand.
“You too Rhodey” Steve smiles stepping forward to shake his hand.
“hey,” Rhodey smiles hugging Nat “wow you guys look really look like crap, must have been a rough couple of years” he comments as he looks around at everyone.
“yeah, well the hotels weren’t exactly five-star” Sam smirks.
“I uh think you guys look great,” Bruce says grabbing everyone’s attention as he walks in “uh, yeah I’m back”
“Hi Bruce,” Nat says with a small smile.
“Nat” Bruce greets nervously.
“This is awkward” Sam mutters under his breath.
“I think it’s time to hear the whole story,” Steve says looking over at Bruce who nods his head sadly.
“sure” Bruce sighs as they walk into the common room off to the side.
“Okay, so Thanos is the big bad, he’s been the one pulling all the strings, he sent Loki to earth after the tesseract, I was with Thor and Loki escaping Asgard when he attacked our ship” Bruce begins making Steve furrow his brows in confusion, he thought Loki was dead, and why would they be fleeing Asgard?
“His plan is to collect the infinity stones, he already has the space and power stone, he sent some of his children to New York to collect the time stone” Bruce continues beginning to pace back and forth.
“He sent a couple to get the mind stone too,” Sam says as Rhodey pulls up a hologram of the aliens attacking vision.
“yes, but they didn’t succeed, so right now we know for certain that his missing at least one” Bruce nods.
“what’s his plan once he gets them all?” Steve asks resting his hands on his belt.
“wipe out half the universe, to bring order and balance to the universe” Bruce sighs, silence falls in the room as everyone lets the information sink in.
“So we gotta assume they’re coming back right?” Rhodey asks as he looks at the hologram.
“And they can clearly find us” Wanda points out running her fingers over her lips anxiously.
“We need all hands on deck, where’s Clint? And Y/N?” Bruce asks glancing around.
“Y/N’s back at base looking after a- um recruit,” Nat says glancing over at Steve “and after the whole accords situation, he and Scott took a deal, it was too tough on their families, they’re on house arrest”
“who’s Scott?” Bruce asks confused.
“Ant-man” Steve answers.
“There’s an Ant-man and a Spider-man?” Bruce asks surprised, Steve just shrugs his shoulders unable to provide a good answer.
“Okay look, Thanos has the biggest army in the universe, and he is not gonna stop until he gets… Vision’s stone” Bruce says glancing awkwardly over at Vision.
“then we have to protect it,” Nat says before Vision interrupts.
“no we have to destroy it” he sighs.
“I’ve been giving a good deal of thought to this entity in my head, about its nature, but also its composition” he continues turning to Wanda “if exposed to a sufficiently powerful energy source something similar to its own signature perhaps, its molecular integrity could fail”
“yeah and you with it,” Wanda says her voice shaking slightly “we’re not having this conversation”
“Eliminating the stone is the only way to be certain that Thanos can’t get it,” Vision tells her.
“that’s too high a price,” Wanda says shaking her head.
“Only you have the power to pay it,” Vision tells her, cupping her cheeks soothingly.
Steve watches as Wanda turns and walks away from Vision. He drops his head sadly trying to work out a different solution but he was drawing a blank. He could understand Wanda’s hesitancy, if it was you asking him to do the same he wouldn’t be able to go through with it. He’d rather fight a thousand aliens than risk losing you.
“Thanos threatens half the universe, one life shouldn’t stand in the way of defeating him” Vision presses.
“but it should” Steve sighs interrupting “we don’t trade lives Vision”
“Captain, 70 years ago you laid down your life to save how many millions of people. Tell me, why is this any different?” Vision says walking over to him.
“Because you might have a choice” Bruce interrupts “your mind is made up of a complex construct of overlays, JARVIS, Vision, Tony, me, the stone, all of them mixed together all of them learning from one another”
“you’re saying Vision isn’t just the stone?” Wanda asks.
“I’m saying that if we take out the stone, there’s still a whole lot of Vision left, perhaps the best parts” Bruce explains.
“Can we do that?” Nat questions, her brows furrowed.
“Not me, not here” Bruce sighs shaking his head.
“Well, you better find someone and somewhere fast, Ross isn’t just gonna let you have your old rooms back” Rhodey points out.
Steve sighs pulling out the photo he kept of you and JJ back in Wakanda, the one place Steve knew might have a chance of removing the stone. It came with risks though, it would bring the fight closer to you and JJ which is the last thing Steve wanted. But if he didn’t get the stone out and destroyed it wouldn’t matter where you and JJ were.
“I know somewhere” Steve sighs glancing around and looking over at Nat who nods her head.
“Great where?” Bruce sighs in relief.
“Wakanda” Steve answers.
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Series Masterlist / Masterlist
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#NiamhWrites#the demigod from asgard series#Steve Rogers#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x y/n#steve rogers x you#captainamerica#captain america x reader#captain america x y/n#captain america x you#marvel#mcu#chris evans
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Hey Three things
I love that you do older Star Wars comic dubs! I only have these comics in digital because no matter how hard I look I can’t find the paper comics. I’ve had people from three separate comic book stores say that Star Wars and marvel fans refuse to part with their comics so that’s why 😂
Dude the voice dubs you do are great! I listened to Sings dub first that’s how I found your channel the one with Torgo Tahn and the anzati school
I just watched the Quinlan Vos one with Aayla also with Volfe Karkoo! Great voice acting! From a great cast.
Now this is just me putting my opinion, I still loved what you did. However Volfe Karkko threw me off. Because knowing that anzati have spent their lives tailoring themselves for the hunt I mean they have minor shape shifting abilities to change facial features and eye color for crying out loud which is cool 😂 I’ve just always imagined Volfe with being so old that he’s tailored his voice and it being anything other than smooth, almost like the deceiving calm before the storm messed with me. I’ve always thought like Lion King original Scars voice, Loki, or Bram stokers Dracula without the accent. But like I said even with the voice throwing me off it was great, I could tell the work and dedication you and the other voice actors put in and even if Volfe’s voice didn’t line up with what I thought the voice actor still did an amazing job and I hope you all are proud of your work!😄 I hope my input wasn’t offensive and if it was I really do apologize 😓
Hello, thank you for the message! I'm so glad you enjoy the hard work of my team and I!
Depending on what language you want to read the comics in, there might be reprints availible to you. If you want them in english, most of the comics I dub can be found in the "Star Wars Legends Epic Collection" by Marvel.
The one with Aurra Sing and her days in the Anzati School is one I'm especially proud of because I did compose a whole new soundtrack for that one. I've also been hired to compose new music for a different Star Wars project recently, and I intend to reuse that one for my dubs as well.
It's alright you disagree with me on Volfe's voice, and you're entitled to your own headcanon as to what he should sound like. Nontheless, his voice is still one of my favourite parts of the dub and it might still make for an interesting discussion to explain how he ended up with the voice he has now.
As I haven't watched either the Lion King, Brian Stoker's Dracula or anything from the MCU, I am afraid I might not entirely understand your imagination for how he should sound, but if you are saying he should have a calmer and more harmless voice, I respectfully disagre. That sort of voice is what I gave the villians who make more of a secret about their evil intents, such as the Gran Protectorate, or villians who are more outwardly charismatic such as Iaco Stark (who hasn't appeared yet but all of his dialogue has been recorded already).
When it comes to villiany, Volfe Karkko does not beat around the bush, he's an ancient vampiristic alien with a lightsaber, the ability to shoot lightning and a thirst for brains. He's pure evil and I wanted him to have a voice that makes him as terrifying as he needs to be.
Now, one of my favourite voiceover jobs that I did for someone else was in 2017 when I joined the cast of the YouTube webseries known as Dragon Ball Absalon. There, I had the incredible honor of voicing alongside an actor named Roy Bunales, who performed the voice of my character's boss; Captain Horenzo, and I was immediately amazed by the deep, commanding presence his voice brought to his character. In other words, this is a voice actor I've been a fan of even before I did comic dubs.
youtube
So you can imagine my exitement when Roy did agree to join the cast of my comic dub series! Originally I wanted him to play Even Piell, but he fell ill and wasn't able to record when we went around to do Emissaries to Malastare. His audition lines can still be heard here, though:
youtube
Thankfully, he had recovered from his ailment by the time Darkness rolled around, and I thought, and still do, that he and the role of Volfe Karkko were a match made in heaven. As inspiration for Karkko's performance, I sent him this video of the Lieutenant in Fallout, originally performed by the late Tony Jay, who is another voice actor who gave the exact sort of voice I pictured Karkko having.
youtube
I don't know if any of this will change your perception of Karkko's voice in the Darkness dub, but it still was fun for me to go over, and I hope you enjoyed learning about it. Your input wasn't offensive at all, in fact, strongly I appreciate it, and I'm happy to learn about different viewpoints in such great detail.
Feel free to message me again anytime!
#star wars#voice acting#star wars: darkness#even piell#roy bunales#volfe karkko#darkness#quinlan vos#aayla secura#dragon ball absalon#captain horenzo
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unbreakable
ten: the lights
chapter summary: Will Byers is confirmed dead, and Kate meets Jonathan's mother. Kate and her father finally begin to talk to one another.
chapter warnings: language, sibling loss, parental issues, grief
word count: 3.1k
series masterlist | masterlist
KATE HAD BEEN asked to go inside with her father once they'd gotten to the Byers' home.
Even though she had only known Jonathan for a couple of hours at best, or known him well at least, she hadn't minded coming for him. She knew how awful it was to find out about something like this, your younger sibling dying. She couldn't imagine how it was for Jonathan after knowing what her experience was like. Realistically, Kate had had time to prepare herself for Sara's death. She'd been sick for over a year, barely alive for the month leading up to her passing, but Will had been healthy, full of life, and had been just as quickly taken away from them.
The car ride to the Byers' house had been quiet between Kate and her father. She didn't quite know what to say to him, and he didn't know what to say to her, either. She'd shown up at the station just to see him: Hopper couldn't think of the last time his daughter had gone to him and not someone else for comfort. He didn't know if he was supposed to ask, if he was allowed to ask, but for now, he would let her sit in silence, let her gather her thoughts before they went inside of the house.
Officers Callahan and Powell had arrived at the Byers' house before Kate and Hopper, and they had already begun searching the home for any new or relevant evidence to the Will Byers case. Whenever Kate walked inside, she couldn't help but stare at all the Christmas lights that the house currently seemed to be drowning in, the smell of drying paint on a wall where the alphabet had been painted, a corresponding Christmas light hanging above each letter.
She felt so out of place in that house. Everything had started to click into place for her: she didn't know much about the Byers, but the town's assumption of them, especially at the moment, made a lot of sense for her. The Byers, more specifically Joyce, Jonathan's mother, had always been rumored to have a few screws loose. Kate couldn't judge them for it, not in the slightest: her family was far from perfect, too.
Hopper had started to explain the situation to Joyce once he'd gotten situated. "A trooper found something in the, uh… water that's at the quarry. Our working theory right now is that Will… crashed his bike, he… made his way over the quarry and, uh… accidentally fell in. The earth must have given way…"
As Hopper went on, Joyce Byers seemed as if she could have torn at the seams.
"Joyce?" He hesitated before calling her name again. "Joyce. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"No," Joyce finally answered, her voice breathy, brittle. She visibly trembled. "Whoever you found… is not my boy. It's not Will."
"Joyce."
"No, y–you don't understand. I talked to him… a–a half-hour ago!" She sniffled as she walked over to a cupboard in the living room with even more Christmas lights sitting inside of it, these ones a solid white instead of the colored ones. "He was… He was here. He was… He was talking with these." She picked up the set of Christmas lights, showing them to Hopper.
His heart ached for her, it really did. He knew the pain of losing a child, but his loss was to illness. He hadn't been in denial like this.
Jonathan and Kate stood behind her father, watching as Hopper tried to fix things. Jonathan took a heavy breath, trying to stop himself from crying. He couldn't believe his mother was taking the thing with the lights this far even now, even after they'd found Will's body.
"Talking?"
"Uh-huh. One blink for yes, two for no." She then put those down and moved to the Christmas lights that hung on the wall with a corresponding letter underneath each light. "And… And, uh… And then I made this so he could talk to me. 'Cause he was hiding… form that… that thing."
Kate's stomach twisted into knots as she watched the woman unravel before her: she'd seen the impact of grief with her own parents, mostly her father, with losing their youngest. At least they had had some type of closure as Sara slowly spiraled—this was just all so sudden. Even through all the second-hand pain she felt for the middle-aged woman in front of her, Kate had no idea what the hell she could have possibly been talking about.
"The thing that came out of the wall? The thing that chased you?" Hopper asked, attempting to get as much clarity on the situation as possible, if he could get any. He knew she sounded absolutely insane, but he didn't blame her. He couldn't blame her. She had just found out her youngest boy was dead.
"Yeah," Joyce said, her voice breaking. Even she knew she was dangling from the edge. "Yeah."
"Mom, come on, please," Jonathan said, walking over to her. He didn't even try to fight the tears pooling in his eyes. "Please, you've got to stop this."
"No, maybe he's… It's after him!" she shouted at her oldest son. She turned to Hopper. "He's in danger. We have to find him! We—"
"What exactly is this thing? It was some kind of animal, you said?" Hopper asked her.
"Uh, no, it was… I–It was almost… human, but it wasn't. It… It had these long arms and… it didn't have a face."
Jonathan finally walked away to his room, and Kate ran after him. She knew he needed someone, quite frankly, anyone. At least, that's all she had wanted when Sara died.
He closed the door behind him, but she caught the door before it could slam into the hinges. She wouldn't let him take this alone, not when she vaguely knew what he was feeling.
"Jonathan," Kate said softly, closing the door to his room quietly.
He couldn't fight his tears any longer. "She's in denial, even after they've found his…" Instead of finishing his sentence, he exhaled shakily.
"Hey, it's gonna take some time," she said, sitting next to him on his bed as he cried into her shoulder. After this, she thought that she and Jonathan Byers were trauma-bonded. "It's okay. You're okay. He… He's home now, and at least you have some closure."
He sniffled. "I should've never taken that extra shift. I wish I could just… just switch with him, or something."
Kate looked at her newfound friend with a tight-lipped frown. "No, don't say that. You can't do that to yourself. Trust me. When Sara died, I beat myself up over everything we didn't do together, or–or stuff we never did enough of, but I've realized that you can't control everything. It sucks, and I wish it wasn't this way, but some things were just… meant to happen. You can't blame yourself for something that's completely out of your control, Jonathan."
He finally let go of her, wiping his face and turning to look at her again. "I just… I wish he was still here."
Kate still held a tight-lipped frown. "Me too."
Suddenly, pulling them back to their new reality, there was a knock at the door. When it opened, her father was revealed, standing in the doorway. "Hey, kid, we gotta go."
She stood up from his bed, looking back to Jonathan. "Call me if you need anything. Really. Even if it's three in the morning, I promise I'll answer. But please try to sleep—you need it."
Jonathan nodded once in response. He supposed if anyone were to know how to deal with something like this, it would definitely be Kate Hopper. "Thank you."
Without another word, she closed the door behind her and followed her father outside to his SUV.
The following morning, Kate had asked her father to drive her to school.
She still didn't want to talk to Steve, not after yesterday. Quite frankly, she didn't have the energy to deal with him at the moment. She had hardly slept that night, just in case Jonathan had needed her again. Even if she thought he was a tad bit quirky, no one deserved to go through something like that alone. He didn't even have his own mother to lean on: she still thought Will was alive, even after his body had been brought back home.
For most of the car ride, it had been absolutely silent. No music, no talking—only the sound of the running engine.
Hopper didn't know how to ask what he wanted to ask. He didn't know how to start the conversation that he wanted to have with her in the slightest. He wanted to ask her why she'd gone to the station for him yesterday. He wanted to ask her why Steve wasn't taking her to school that morning. He wanted to ask why she was all of a sudden hanging out with Joyce's son. He needed to know.
He finally decided Jonathan Byers would be the easiest thing to tackle first. "So, you and Joyce's kid."
Kate didn't even turn to her father as she spoke, still looking out the passenger's side window. "It's a long story."
"Well, we've got time, kid," Hopper replied.
She sighed, somewhat annoyed. "I mean, do you really care?"
Hopper hesitated to respond. "Of course I do, you're my daughter."
That was something Kate hadn't heard him say in a long time: that he cared. Even if he hadn't said it directly, it was still enough. Without any more protest, she cleared her throat, turning to face him. "Uh, Steve broke Jonathan's camera, so I skipped his basketball game and took Jonathan out to dinner to make up for it, but he heard about Will and went home. I didn't want to walk home, so I went to the station to try to catch you. I had no idea he would be…"
She trailed off, but Hopper understood what she meant. "Wait, why'd he break his camera?"
Kate's blood went cold for a second. She didn't know whether it was better to tell the truth or to try and lie about it.
"Kate."
She took a sharp breath. "When I was over at Steve's a couple nights ago, Jonathan found his backyard and took pictures of us and the other people that were there from the woods." She paused, trying to collect her thoughts. "Please don't say anything to Joyce. Steve already… He did enough to him already, and his brother just died. I mean, don't get me wrong, it was so weird, but it wasn't worth breaking his camera over. Not right now."
Hopper hesitated to ask the question that popped up in his head. "And, uh, what'd your boyfriend think about that? You ditchin' and goin' with him?"
Kate laughed once hollowly, shaking her head slowly. "Steve isn't… He's not my boyfriend, Dad. Come on, you know that."
Hopper wanted to say something along the lines of, "Well, he sure doesn't act like it," but he decided against it—he really didn't want to start a fight with Kate this early in the morning when things were going so well, even if he knew he was right.
When Hopper said that Steve reminded him of himself in high school, that also meant that he could read Steve like a book: all the dickish behavior and girls he saw him with around town would never be enough to convince him that Steve didn't care about his daughter. From time to time, he thought that maybe, just maybe Steve had a thing for her, but he tried not to think about it, mostly for her sake (also because she was with him alone all the time). She didn't seem all that interested in him anyway, especially not right now.
"I don't think he understands that I can keep my own, to be honest with you. I skipped his game after the whole thing because he was being such an asshole," she said, looking out the window again.
"Hey, watch it," he replied, mostly referring to her language. She turned back to face him before he spoke again. "But, uh… after what? Breaking the kid's camera?"
"Yeah, it was so stupid," Kate said. Bringing it up again had almost made her blood boil. "I mean, it was like something out of one of those cheesy high school movies. You had to be there to see it, it was such bullsh—ridiculous. He was being ridiculous."
Hopper nodded, almost chuckling. If she said he was being an asshole, then he was being an asshole. As they pulled up to the front of the school, Hopper turned to his daughter. "Hey."
"Yeah?" she asked, turning back to him before she jumped out of the SUV.
He hesitated. "Be careful, okay? I love you, kid."
She smiled back at her father, and it was a genuine smile. She couldn't remember the last time they'd had such a pleasant conversation. "Love you, too, Dad."
As she jumped out of the car, melting away into the mess of students, Hopper smiled—he couldn't remember the last time that Kate had told him she loved him. He started to believe that maybe, finally, things would begin to fall into place for the two of them.
As Kate walked through the halls, she played her music loudly through her headphones, not focused on her surroundings. Even though the music was loud, it seemed so much quieter than it normally was for her in the mornings, and she knew exactly the reason why: her head wasn't currently being talked off by Steve. She didn't know how long the serene tranquility would last before he came and found her, if he came and found her, that was.
Whenever she finally arrived at her locker, she had been more than surprised to find Jamie waiting for her. While they were close friends, Jamie didn't normally talk to her at school. She figured a lot of it had to do with the fact that he was senior, that and the crowd she kept. She wouldn't want to talk to her at school either.
She pulled the headphones off her ears, the music still softly thumping from them now hanging around her neck. "Hey."
"Hey," he said, smiling slightly at her.
Her mouth parted slightly, almost as if she couldn't believe she was looking at him. It was a weird sight, Jamie Schroeder at her locker, standing in front of her at school. "What are you doing?"
"Haven't seen you since Monday night, so I thought I'd swing by."
Her eyebrows furrowed together, almost displeased with his answer as she dug through her locker to find her notated copy of The Great Gatsby. "That's all? Can't handle it without me a couple days?"
"Nah, it's not that. Last night was boring without you, though, if that makes you feel any better," he said. "Speaking of which, someone came in last night asking about Jane Austin books, and I was bummed the expert wasn't there."
When she turned around, book in hand, Kate avoided eye contact with him, trying not to smile as her face flushed pink. "Don't tell people my secrets."
He laughed in response, not scared of her in the slightest. "Why? Because you're too cool for romance, right?"
"Who said that?" she asked.
He only smiled in response. Jamie had always been infatuated with Kate Hopper, ever since the day he met her.
He could still remember that day like it was yesterday. It had been late June 1981, the week after her fourteenth birthday. While he'd been about a year older than her, he had thought she must've been an upperclassman that he just hadn't seen around before. By looks alone, Kate had seemed much older than any of the other girls he'd met his own age because of the slight bags under her eyes, the tiredness in her face. With that, those things didn't make her any less pretty. In fact, those things had, in his eyes, made her all the more beautiful. As he'd gotten to know her over the years, he'd come to find Kate more beautiful than any other girl he'd ever met—her laugh, her smile, her (slight, as she liked to call it) caffeine addiction… Jamie had come to admire many things about Kate Hopper over the years.
"So, what are you doing tonight? Hangin' out with Harrington or something of the sort?" he asked, trying to stay composed.
"You wouldn't believe it, but no," she started, immediately earning an odd look from him. "Yeah, crazy, I know. I haven't talked to him since yesterday."
"No, that's good," Jamie said. He immediately corrected himself whenever he saw her face twitch for half a second. "Not good, I mean." He paused. "How bad is it?"
"Bad enough where I made my dad drive me to school today."
Jamie winced, giving an uneasy look. "That bad, huh?"
Kate shrugged, pushing a piece of hair out of her face. "You'd be surprised, but I think this morning was the first time I've had a pleasant conversation with my dad since, like, Thanksgiving."
"Whaaat?" Jamie asked, raising the pitch of his voice. "You gotta tell me about that. That and what Harrington did to deserve this much shunning."
Kate laughed, but when she opened her mouth to speak again, the bell for first period rang. "Damn."
"Hey, don't worry about it," Jamie said as he began to walk to his first class of the day. "It'll give me something to think about before lunch."
She raised her eyebrows at him, raising her voice slightly as he walked away from her. "Hey, who said I was eating lunch with you?"
Instead of answering, he gave a dopey smile and a shrug, and Kate couldn't fight the smile that she now carried on her face as she made her way to her English class, pulling her headphones back over her ears, her copy of The Great Gatsby in her hand still.
Kate had no idea, however, that Steve had been standing across the hall, waiting to speak with her until she got finished. As she walked away without noticing him, which he hoped was an accident, he frowned.
Maybe Kate had finally grown tired of him, after all.
next chapter
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GANGSTA. - ギャングスタ - PART 1
CRIME, ACTION, DRAMA
GANGSTA. by Kohske
(8 volumes, hiatus)
Mangaka Kohske-sensei is sick and works on updates when she can. There are chapters beyond volume 8 in JP that haven't been collected into a volume yet here.
Available in English here
Anime - Yes. I'll admit it's crunchy, poorly paced, and disappointing because the studio went under literally a few days after it finished airing and it shows, but it’s still fun? They did cut stuff from the manga and there's so much they didn't adapt, so I'd recommend reading it. I'm begging for a remake and a season 2 or something...
Links to my other manga posts here
~Part two of this post is here~
We've got a meaty post today, lads! Sit down, because I'm going to gush about the series that's going in my all-time favs and I've made it my whole personality lately. I'm here to push the GANGSTA. agenda!!! I’m about to be so damn annoying.
Back in 2015 I was going through college hell and wanted something to chill with during my meager downtime. And so the GANGSTA. anime answered the call. Watching TV while shoveling food into my face was my only free time.
A whopping 8 YEARS later now that I'm a freelancer and have a flexible schedule allowing me to get into manga more than ever before, among other factors, it was finally time for me to pick this up. Naturally, I forgot a lot over the years, plus having consumed the anime in my suffering college student frenzy, much of my memory is fuzzy. What I DO remember is that the setting and aesthetics were cool, I loved the characters, and I was mad crushing on Nicolas Brown.
I'm pleased to report that after rewatching the anime and reading the manga, the me of 8 years ago had excellent taste.
Fellas, I present my 34-year-old homicidal, feral, sweet-as-a-button, baby girl ❤️
***Trigger warnings for everything you can think of for this series.***
This post will be divided into: Why You Should Check GANGSTA. Out - What's It About? - Lots And Lots of Character Analysis (And Gushing)
I'm going to give an elevator pitch and spoiler-free summary on why you should check this series out since I feel like it's — dare I say — slept on. Later, I'll get into spoilers and give a heads-up when I do.
Why You Should Check GANGSTA. Out
Diverse cast- disability, race, and age.
Disabled main character- Nicolas is deaf, mainly communicates in sign language, and I personally feel like the way it's handled is awesome (more on that in the character analysis). There are also great portrayals of mental illnesses.
Primarily adult cast- our main trio are 24, 34, and 35. All different races/mixed race. Also, they look like this->
The cleavage crew. My babies are amazing, just look at them!!!
Cool setting.
AWESOME character writing- we're never spoonfed, and there's so much you can glean about the characters from bits and pieces given to us — which is what a large portion of this post will be dedicated to discussing. Tons of nuance.
FOUND FAMILY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Found family? You have me hook, line, and sinker.
You can tell it was written by a female author if you know what I mean... Hear me out, I get into this more later. Please don't roll your eyes at me. I'm going somewhere with this.
Other than GANGSTA. I'm specifically thinking of Dorohedoro right now. It's the only time I've ever laughed at a boob joke and the whole, "Oh no, I walked in on a girl naked" joke and all that. Also, the bikini top/scantly clad outfits in that series don't give me the ick. Don't ask me to explain, I can just taste it. It's the execution.
While there are characters who are in romantic/sexual relationships, there are also a lot of platonic/familial relationships as well. I like romance as much as the next person and I can get really sappy sometimes, but I also want more non-romantic relationships between men and women. Sorta tired of the whole "a man and woman are in the same vicinity so they must bang, they HAVE to pair up". Again, love me some romance, but more of the other stuff too, please! And GANGSTA. delivers wonderfully. Some of the best depictions of the dynamic I crave that I've ever seen.
Look at this banger opening:
youtube
The ED is awesome too!
And last, but certainly not least, I'd like to present my "Nicolas Brown propaganda" video of this clip from Episode 1:
Look me in the eyes and try telling me this isn't the best thing ever. My man kicked a cop car in to stand up for Alex so they could save her and take her home!!! Also, Nic is voiced by Tsuda Kenjiro, the VA behind my other fictional crush, JJK's Nanami 'Husband-Material' Kento! Fair warning, I'm not going to shut up about Nic.
I have to admit, it’s difficult for me to wholeheartedly recommend the anime because of what I mentioned at the very top of the post. The voice actors were the best part of the anime, while the animation was… meh, and the pacing is not great. But it's still enjoyable! The manga destroyed me so good, though…
BTW if you're one of those people who are hesitant to get into a series that's on hiatus like my bestie, she HATES reading stuff on hiatus, I implore you to give it a go anyways. I successfully roped bestie into committing hehehe. It managed to absolutely wreck me in 8+ volumes. It's so worth it and I was very happy with how the last currently out chapter (#56) ended.
In case you were wondering... No, I still haven't recovered from Banana Fish.
There's also a completed spin-off series, GANGSTA: CURSED (I enjoyed it. I like action but it was almost too action-heavy for me. My fav parts of the main series are the quiet moments), a light novel GANGSTA: Death of Anosmic Stray Dogs (it was okay, Nic was funny but not enough of him, tbh I’ve read better fanfics), and drama CD's. I actually ordered the drama CD's to listen to later, but I'm traveling right now, and idk when I'll be home to pick up my package, so... And I read the extra manga that came with the Japanese Blu-rays (I enjoyed it).
What's It About?
Our boys Nicolas and Worick are the local "Handymen" doing odd jobs from deliveries and construction, to prostitution and homicide. They go way back, but their relationship is much more complicated than it initially seems.
The grungy city of Ergastulum is essentially an open-air internment camp. For who? Superhumans known as "Twilights", also called "Tags" for the tags they're required to wear. Twilights are the descendants of those who took the drug, Cerebret, developed during wartime to create enhanced soldiers. Their children inherit these qualities —making them an unintended consequence — but with a catch. They are forever dependent on consistent doses of Cerebret to stay alive and keep their bodies from shutting down. At the same time, however, it slowly poisons them, significantly slashing their lifespans. They are kept under surveillance, having been herded into Ergastulum, and xenophobia between them and the "Normal" non-Twilight refugees who settled there is constantly brewing. The Cerebret they need to survive is strictly regulated, expensive, and used to keep the Twilights on a short leash. They are in many ways, second-class citizens.
If you watched until the end of the Nicolas Brown propaganda video like I'm sure you totally did, you would have seen the tags dangling around Nic's neck — meaning that Nic is a Twilight. And in order to operate, he needs to be in a contract under someone. This contract puts the holder in ownership of the Twilight. In Nic's case, his contract holder is longtime friend and fellow Handyman, Worick. I'm sure you can imagine that it puts a certain strain on their relationship... Your BFF and roommate legally owning you even if it's to protect you? Awkward.
To make matters worse, Nic is running out of time, fast. The Cerebret, like I said, shortens the lifespan of Twilights. Various factors come into play regarding lifespan, but on average, they live into their 30's. And Nic is already 34 years old. I am... stressed, to say the least. I don’t know how he's going to pull through guys, I really don't.
Genuinely concerned for Nic's well-being. I don't trust Kohske to pull her punches...
Enter Alex — a prostitute the Handymen take off the street and offer refuge to. We learn about the city, the boys, the factions at play, and more alongside Alex, who has been thrown into this world. Worick is a charming sweetheart who I think sees a lot of himself in Alex, especially since he's been working as a gigolo from a VERY young age. And Nico despite his seemingly harsh exterior, is so damn kind and soft... They all are. I love my found family of traumatized dorks *sobs*
It's not all doom and gloom, though! We have funny, silly, cute-as-hell moments, too. And the domestic scenes? The quite, tender moments? Love. Obsessed.
I like how Nic is holding his old wanted poster with his face in the first panel like he's wearing it as a mask or something. And they're in separate interrogation rooms with glass between them but they can still communicate because Nic can read lips and Worick knows sign language. Clowns, the lot of them.
I admit at first, GANGSTA. seems like a kinda lame title. Like, as a native English speaker, if someone told me to check out a series with this title, it would give me pause lol. It really has that late 2000's to early 2010's aesthetic, edgy themes, plus the whole "Twilights" term — which when combined may make you think, "Yo, this looks lame," especially if you were a teen during that time. "Twilight" just makes me think of that Twilight, but we're ignoring that. For me, my teen years were cringe, and I'm sure many of you feel the same. But you know what? Mangaka Kohske-sensei rocks this vibe! She makes it cool! And now that I'm older, it's like, whatever embrace cringe, have fun and all that, y'know? So, GANGSTA. is great and totally not cringe in any way, hush.
She loves edgy characters — and eyepatches. Gosh, she loves eyepatches. And good for her! You do you, queen! I can dig it.
Bonus Nico because he's so damn cute. Love of my life.
But listen, this manga is deceptively deep, guys. You might think at first it’s simply crime, drugs, sex, and violence... But no! There’s more to it. The crime, drugs, sex, and violence are used to great effect instead of just edgy for the sake of being edgy. The plot is great and all, but the real bread and butter for me with this series are the ✨characters✨. I don't care if you have the sickest plot on the face of the planet. If I'm not obsessed with your characters... what are we doing here then?
Seriously, if I'm not willing to cut a bitch for your characters, try again.
It’s time to segue into ->
Lots And Lots of Character Analysis (And Gushing)
Goodness, where do I even start? So many good characters and moments to over-analyze! There's a boatload of stuff I want to talk about and I'm going to try and make it make sense. I’ll gradually dig deeper and deeper into the squad’s character. I do think I'll have to primarily focus on the main trio, or else my hands are going to fall off from all the typing.
Kohske-sensei doesn't spoonfeed us and doesn't treat us like we're dumb. You know when writers don't trust their audience to get something so they beat us over the head with it? Yeah, no, none of that here. Because a lot is implied or hinted at, this is going to be my interpretation of things. If you have a different take, I'd love to hear it! I'm going to just dive into the analysis with any evidence to support my claims, so I'm assuming you already know the story (or maybe come back later after reading the manga?) because from this point...
***SPOILERS UNTIL CHAPTER 56 FROM HERE ON OUT***
This section will be broken up into: Where It All Began - Nicolas and Nina - "Nice vs. Kind" - Worick and Alex - Nicolas and Alex - Nicolas and Worick - Nicolas - The Trio and The Scene That Had Me Bawling My Eyes Out - Brief Shoutouts to Characters I Also Want to Talk About, But This Post Is Already Long Enough
I'm about to get really sappy, so uh, here goes nothing.
(Note: the manga pages/panels I included for reference are arranged from right to left reading order btw)
Where It All Began
Let's start... at the beginning! The hankie. The first chapter establishes what kind of characterization we can expect from our main cast.
When we first meet our trio, Nic and Worick are leaning on a wall overlooking the city while Alex walks below, bleeding. And then, a handkerchief lands on her head. At first, it's not clear which of the Handymen dropped it down to her, but we're led to believe it was Worick as Nic had his back to the wall.
This is the first panel of Nic that made me go, "Well, hello there, sir 👀💦" Don't judge me. And like, why are half the buttons on his shirt undone? Worick too, LMAO. Not that I'm complaining..........
However, when Alex later thanks Worick for the handkerchief, he tells her it was actually Nic's. Awww, cute...
When the Handymen are hired to take out a gang, it turns out Alex is one of the prostitutes in the gang and therefore is going to be taken out by association. But the boys aren't too keen on this, which results in us getting the glorious Nicolas Brown propaganda scene I included earlier in this post. They claim her as their spoils after taking out the gang in order to keep her safe and get her off the streets. They even throw their weight around with the police by threatening to bash their heads in to do so.
This is all to say that while we see the boys do unsavory things like gleefully murder, we can see already that they're nuanced and SO DAMN KIND. They didn't have to do any of it. They had no reason to. They don't gain anything from it, nor do they expect to (more on this later).
Confirmed: They drink respect-women-juice. King shit.
The next day, we see that Nic seems to be acting pretty coldly with Alex. Right away, I took this as he's having a hard time opening up to her despite everything he did the day before to help her at no benefit to himself including saving her from a passed-out Worick LMAO. It's like... he's scared to get close. He doesn't mind her presence, but he stays at arm's length. We later get hints it's probably because of Veronica and he's afraid of getting hurt or getting someone hurt again. But, while running deliveries, we get this scene:
Which to me is Nic announcing that Alex is now under his protection — a fearsome rank A/0 Twilight. Yeah, it's to keep Worick's clients happy, but I think it's protection for her, too. They haven't known each other for a full 24 hours yet and the boys are already like, "Yeah she's with us. Leave her alone."
Nicolas and Nina
When we meet the absolutely precious Nina, we see a lot more of Nic's overt soft side. It's obvious he loves Nina a lot and is super affectionate with her and sees her as his little sister. And she very much loves him back!
I turn into a blubbering puddle of goop every time these two interact.
He goes out of his way to buy her the drinks she likes, holds her hand whenever they walk together, teases her, plays with her, comforts and holds her, and always keeps her safe no matter what. I could scream about every single panel they have together, but I want to highlight some of my favorite moments:
Worick disposes of the guys trying to kidnap Nina while Nic walks her to the clinic, but she stops at the sound of distant gunfire. Nic eases her anxiety by making her laugh and jokingly saying, "I didn't hear a thing," because of course a deaf man wouldn't lolllll. But he knew that she did indeed hear something because he knew what Worick was up to. But, they don't let Nina know that she was being tailed and in danger so as to not scare her.
Nina sleeps holding Nic's hand while he's passed out at the clinic, and when he wakes up he puts the blanket over her, careful not to wake her.
When Nic stays over at the clinic after he's hurt, the next day he jumps around rooftops with his superhuman agility, holding Nina close, simply to entertain this child he cares for dearly.
Alex asks Nina if she's scared of Nicolas, and while she understands Alex's hesitation, she says that, no she's not scared of him. She knows him for who he is, and not just how he seems. She knows he's actually a very soft man.
After all the patients at the clinic die, Nina is having a rough time processing her grief. She's a little girl with an enormous heart and was grieving over people she didn't even know. Nic leaves all the other grown-ups to go sit with her in his lap, against his chest, comforting her. Later, he takes her hand and walks her to Bastard to hear Alex sing and hang out with Loretta for a pick-me-up.
This scene pulls at my heart... Look at how much they love each other, and how much they feel comfortable and safe with each other. You can FEEL it.
After getting shot by Monroe and having seizures from Theo's experimental drug, Nic still tries to get up and go help the gang. Alex goes to stop him, meanwhile Nina... she looks at him with an aching heart, hurting because he's hurting. Taking his sword, she unsheathes it to reveal that it's broken. This causes Nic to have a moment where he realizes he too is broken and useless right now. So he slumps to the floor, allowing Nina to hold him. She was able to convey what she wanted to tell him — that he was in no condition to go anywhere and that she was worried about him — without saying a word.
To no one's surprise, this part had me in TEARS. So much is said with no words.
Nina puts her hands on Nic's, comforting him while he continues to be out of commission. Nic agrees to let Theo have his body to study as he's accepted his ever-looming demise, and Nina is... distraught. She cries for him. She cries while Theo tucks her into his lab coat, arm around her. I think that given Nicolas' history and trauma, having someone shed tears for him and be so gentle to him is extremely important. He spent the first 12 years of his life being abused on multiple levels and made to feel like he was nothing and then lived a harsh life even after he and Worick ran away. Having someone express this kind of emotion for him, this unfiltered love and care is important. Their casual, comfortable, and trusting tenderness is important.
"Nice vs. Kind"
I do want to emphasize that Nic isn't just kind to Nina. He and Worick are kind to everyone who isn't trying to kill them/has attracted their ire, that is. This is important to note for my next point -> Lately, I've been thinking a lot about something that I'm going to refer to as "nice vs. kind". I mentioned this in my AI Art post in a bit of a different context than we’ll be getting into here. While everything I'm going to talk about can apply to anyone, I'm going to focus on "nice guys".
Earlier, I talked about how the Handymen helped Alex without gaining anything or expecting anything in return. In fact, they're letting her bum off them and crash at their place for absolutely nothing. Combined with how our boys are good to pretty much everyone who isn't trying to kill them, I feel like this makes them truly kind instead of just "nice guys". When "nice guys" complain about how women in particular don't "give them a chance" or whatever it is they complain about, I have to laugh. You're being nice just because you want something from that person (such as getting a woman to sleep with you) or because you want to appear nice to people. In short, you're doing it only because you have an ulterior motive or something to gain — and it shows sooner or later. It's being selectively "nice" to people only when you are trying to gain.
Meanwhile, the boys don't do this at all. They aren't good to people because they're trying to gain something (unless it's work-related, they gotta eat after all). They don't care much about what people think of them or worry about "looking good". The boys follow what they believe in and act on it, even if it may seem morally grey or when it leads to them having not the greatest reputation with most people. But those who know them, know. And THAT is sexy and attractive, both in a romantic and platonic sense. When my friends are truly kind to me or anyone, I'm like, "Wow, that was so hot of you bestie."
When Nic was protecting the clinic in chapter three, Alex was scared of him. He unnerved her. Having just escaped from a man who abused her to hell and back, she was already on edge. Nic looked like an aggressive man, just like the last guy. Her initial impression is similar to the impression most people have of him. But he doesn't care about "looking good" because he's focused on doing right by those he cares about. THAT'S SOME HOT BOY SHIT!!!
Theo is great. We love Theo.
But how do I know without a shred of a doubt that they aren't expecting anything from Alex? I mean, isn't Worick having her help them with the business and do stuff for them? Yes, he is having her do stuff, but it's the intention behind it. When Worick asks Alex to man the phone while he's gone because Nic can't do it, he's giving her this task for her own sake. It's to make her feel included and useful and not feel like a burden, but without asking too much of her. I come from a culture that practices what I call "aggressive hospitality". What I mean is, for example, my friends will refuse to let me help clean up after dinner — and aggressively so — because I'm the guest. But I hate this because I feel useless and I'm just awkwardly watching you do all the work when I have two perfectly good hands. Like, PLEASE give me something to do, anything. And that's what Worick is doing for Alex! His asking her to do these little things is a kindness from him to her.
Besides, if Worick and Nic wanted to use Alex, they could have so easily at any time. A woman crashing with two guys after escaping an abusive pimp and is having drug withdrawals in a city where she has no one is an INSANELY vulnerable position to be in. She's quite literally easy prey. It wouldn't be unusual for someone in that situation to expect to be assaulted, to "pay with her body" in exchange.
But the Handymen, never go anywhere near that line. In fact, they completely reject the possibility, which leads us to one of my favorite scenes.
Worick and Alex
Alex's withdrawal symptoms are making her spiral and she's terrified. She needs to be useful. She needs to be useful the only way she can think of... or else. So she throws herself at Worick — but Worick shuts that shit down immediately. He doesn't entertain the possibility for a second. He refuses to use Alex. He could have taken the opportunity to "get some" but instead, he grounds her and makes her feel safe.
One of the most attractive qualities a person can have is making you feel safe, and I don't just mean physically safe. This isn't limited to what women find attractive in men or what's romantically attractive. This applies to a lot of relationships in general. (More on romance later, or rather lack of romance, because I didn't take this scene to be romantic.)
Worick went out in the rain looking for her. He saw that she picked up a John, going back to her old ways — and he never shames her for it. He just wants to take her home and is upset at himself for taking his eyes off of her. He makes it clear she owes him nothing. He reminds her that she's safe now, he's here now. And my sweet, sweet man just starts complaining to her about his crappy day in a silly, whiny manner to cheer her up and make her laugh.
He's like, "Boohoo, Nic fucked up my fancy shirt." LOLLL But seriously, I would trust this man with my life after all this.
The last line in this scene is some of the first instances of Worick being flirty with Alex, but in a way that I believe is another example of his kindness. Yeah, I said what I said. These scenes are some of the reasons that made me go, "I would bet money that this series was written by a female author." Some people might have the kneejerk reaction that these scenes are Worick being creepy, but I would argue that it's totally not the case.
When Alex visits Worick at the clinic, we get the following scene:
Alex is being hard on herself and feels ashamed. She pours out all the anxieties plaguing her mind, completely opening up to Worick. I don't know about you guys, but admitting how I really feel to someone, especially someone I care about and who I want to like me back in such a raw way is one of the scariest things you can do. What if they reject me? Or hate me? Will they think less of me?
But Worick brushes all this away so easily, again, never judging her. And again, he gives her something to do, to look forward to, with the promise of a song. Again, he gets flirty with her, joking around to lighten her mood.
"He's inappropriately touching her, though! How can you say that's kindness?"
Worick and Alex are both sex workers and have been from a young age. They both have trauma surrounding it. They understand each other in a way others can't. If Worick was invading everyone's bubbles and getting all touchy-feely with them, then I'd say yeah, he's being a creep. But he only does this with Alex. And while Alex might playfully smack him when he does, she's never really uncomfortable. She knows that he's doing this to cheer her up (and Worick uses humor as a coping mechanism — you can't fool me, sir. I have you CLOCKED).
If it actually made her uncomfortable, Worick would stop right away. He's earned her trust and continues to do so. This is what the banter and camaraderie between them looks like. It's like when I affectionately call my friend a "bitch" and say "I hate you" because we have an understanding with one another. If I did that with everyone, I would be an asshole. Meanwhile, my friend's mom yelled at her to be nice to me before I dump her ass. I was like, "Auntie... What are you talking about? We're literally having a brunch date together right now." LMAO, that's just how our relationship is and it works for us. In the pages above, you can see them horsing around, Alex "reprimanding" Worick for being a "perv" but quickly dropping her head on his chest and snuggling up to him. SHE FEELS SAFE WITH HIM!
AND HE FEELS SAFE WITH HER!!!!!!!
I didn't take this scene as romantic either btw.
I rest my case. Good day to you.
Actual picture of me reading about these dummies.
------------------------------
~Continued in my part two post~
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The Preston and Child Books
Welcome to my corner of Tumblr, and my first-ever post. Sorry about the length!
Warning: Spoilers ahead.
I can't even remember when I first read "Relic," the first novel in what became the Pendergast series by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child. It was probably sometime in the 1990s. I do have specific memories of reading "The Cabinet of Curiosities" in the summer of 2002. My sister and I had just moved to New York City, and I was working at Barnes & Noble. You could borrow any hardcover book from B&N to read as long as you put a protective book cover on it. I spent several late nights reading it in our sublet, scared half to death and definitely entertained.
For the next six years, I was a passionate fan of these books. I even managed to snag an audiobook version of "The Book of the Dead" before its official release date (not from B&N) because I was going to be on a plane that day and wanted desperately to read it ASAP.
It's hard to believe that's been almost 15 years ago. I'm still reading the P/C books, and looking forward to them, but I've found myself increasingly disappointed in them.
I don't want to just dump on them. I write for fun but have never finished a story, and I truly applaud the imagination and dedication evident in even the books I truly dislike. (And there have been a few. I give every P/C book a second chance, but it doesn't always make me like it more. The novels I love have been read at least half a dozen times.)
The sticking point for me in the last half-dozen books or so has been the character of Constance Greene (she's so special she can't just be a Green, she has to be a Greene.) She's like a female version of Agent Pendergast, minus the empathy, charm, and any other personality trait that makes him tolerable.
Pendergast can be a pill, that's for sure. But I always manage to root for him, because he does occasionally show signs that he's human. Constance may as well be a robot ... actually, that could explain a lot. Pendergast's outrageous intellectual and physical feats can be explained to some degree by his wealth, his education, his experience in special forces, and his FBI training.
Constance, on the other hand, was picked up off the street at age six by a sociopath. He molded her into exactly what he wanted in a companion. She had more than a century to practice the harpsichord, study languages (Gaelic, really? How convenient), and read hundreds of books on esoteric subjects. She apparently never left the house during that time, which is why her physical feats really beggar belief.
As much as I like "The Book of the Dead," this crap with Constance started then. She'd been a long-term shut-in, but she somehow was able to track Diogenes all around the world, get the better of him in Florence despite his meticulous planning, and outthink him on the slopes of Stromboli.
From there, it's only gotten worse. She's become an "all-knowing ninja," to quote someone on Reddit. She can fire a machine gun after watching (with ill-concealed boredom, no doubt) a man show off the weapon for a few minutes. She can swim, even though she couldn't just a few weeks earlier. She becomes an adept at Chongg Ran after a few lessons (of course she does!).
And what makes it all worse is this gross quasi-romance that's taken up too much time in the series. Constance has convinced herself that she's in love with Pendergast, and she won't take no for an answer. (He's told her "no," with words and body language, more than once.)
If Pendergast has to have a romantic partner, doesn't he deserve better than a short-tempered, monomaniacal sociopath? This woman threatened to kill him in "Blue Labyrinth" for reminding her about her dalliance with Diogenes, then planned her own suicide as he lay dying in the hospital. She saves his life because she's obsessed with him and is dependent on him.
I haven't yet read "The Cabinet of Dr. Leng" -- given how Constance-centric it sounds, I've decided to get it from the library instead of spending my hard-earned money on it -- but I'm hoping the trilogy is a way to gracefully get rid of her. Have her fall for a man back in the 1880s and stay there. Hell, have Diogenes pilot a spaceship from Area 51 back into the 1880s and whisk her off to Mars!
She's taken up enough space in this series. Please, guys, just ditch her already ...
Favorite P/C Novels
Relic, Thunderhead, The Cabinet of Curiosities, Still Life with Crows, The Book of the Dead, Fever Dream, White Fire
Least Favorite P/C Novels
Brimstone, Cemetery Dance, Crimson Shore, Obsidian Chamber, City of Endless Night, Crooked River, Bloodless
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O Caledonia. By Elspeth Barker. Scribner, 1991.
Rating: 4/5 stars
Genre: literary fiction
Series: N/A
Summary: Janet lies murdered beneath the castle stairs, attired in her mother’s black lace wedding dress, lamented only by her pet jackdaw…
Author Elspeth Barker masterfully evokes the harsh climate of Scotland in this atmospheric gothic tale that has been compared to the works of the Brontës, Edgar Allan Poe, and Edward Gorey. Immersed in a world of isolation and loneliness, Barker’s ill-fated young heroine Janet turns to literature, nature, and her Aunt Lila, who offers brief flashes of respite in an otherwise foreboding life. People, birds, and beasts move through the background in a tale that is as rich and atmospheric as it is witty and mordant. The family’s motto—Moriens sed Invictus (Dying but Unconquered)—is a well-suited epitaph for wild and courageous Janet, whose fierce determination to remain steadfastly herself makes her one of the most unforgettable protagonists in contemporary literature.
***Full review below.***
CONTENT WARNINGS: animal death, attempted sexual assault
OVERVIEW: I saw this book on a list of "Gothic fiction," but after picking it up, I don't know if I'd describe it that way. Though it does have Gothic elements, this book is (more than anything) a story about a solitary girl, misunderstood and unloved by everyone except the natural world in the wilds of Scotland. So while I went in with certain expectations, I wasn't disappointed by what I found. Barker's lush prose and atmospheric descriptions are so masterfully worked that it's difficult not to admire the craft of this novel, so for those reasons (plus my love for the protagonist), this book gets 4 stars from me.
WRITING: As I mentioned above, Barker's prose is superb. It's lush and lyrical, well-crafted in a way that betrays a love for language, and I didn't find it to be purple or overly dense. Instead, I felt the literary mode was incredibly effective at creating atmosphere; Barker's Scotland is wild and mysterious, and there was a lot about the prose that echoed the mood of the novel as a whole.
PLOT: The plot of this book follows the life of a girl named Janet from birth until her murder at roughly 18 years old. As a result, it reads like a coming-of-age novel, though the ending is bleak and depressing.
To be clear, this novel is not a mystery. Barker is wholly uninterested in the "whodunit" of Janet's murder. Instead, this book is an in-depth exploration of Janet's psyche: her loneliness, her refusal to change in the face of opposition, her love of books and classics, the companionship she finds in animals, her love of the natural world. In that, there's something melancholy yet sympathetic about Janet's story. I felt a kinship towards her, though that may be in part due to my own weird interest in the classics and romantic books. Above all, readers may adore this story for the way Janet struggles against expectations; not only is she a disappointment to her family, but she struggles to make friends and finds no pleasure in the things that signify "adulthood" or even "womanhood."
Still, some readers may struggle with this narrative, as it moves rather slowly and isn't necessarily trying to be an action-driven novel. Personally, I found it advanced at just the right pace, and I adored all the descriptions of the world and of Janet's reactions to it. The only thing I can't quite figure out if I like or not is the ending; though we know from the very first page that Janet will die, the manner of her death feels rather abrupt, and I neither felt hollow nor satisfied by it.
CHARACTERS: Janet, our protagonist, is rather easy to like because she is rendered so complexly. From the narration, we get a very clear view of Janet's personality, her interests, her shortcomings - everything we would possibly need to know. This in-depth look at a single character was satisfying, and I liked watching how Janet changed (or stayed the same) through different phases of her life.
Supporting characters were similarly complex and oftentimes eccentric. I particularly liked Lila, Janet's father's cousin, who lives in a room alone with her cat and a collection of fungi. Lila and Janet have a bond that stems from the two of them being outcasts, and I liked watching the two interact. Janet's parents seem rather ordinary, but through Janet's eyes, they are cold and unsupportive of their daughter in all the ways that matter.
TL;DR: O Caledonia is a masterful coming-of-age novel, filled with evocative prose that details one girl's short life as a social outcast who finds solace in books and nature.
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potential
one of my niche interests is binge watching. i am almost always watching something. one point in my life i ran out of things to watch. well, not literally, obviously, but i only wanted to watch certain things i completed them. stuff i did not wanna watch very often ends up being bad and boring than not. so as my last straw i have resorted to all languages. i watch content regardless of genre, language, country, age restriction(ahem thats not to say i am not old enough). anyways, during this process kdramas stuck with me as something to watch while i go to sleep or when i dont want too much plot and worry about or even think about it. they never came across having potential to me. i know a lot of others out there would disagree with me but this is just what i feel. theyre always slow paced, very bright, when not very bright trying too hard to be too dark(and failing miserably), no plot that hooks us up. but, BUT, recently, very recently, just 2 hours ago i watched a kdrama named long time no sex. obviously started off bc of the title but god it is so good. i mean, i have only watched 2 episodes really and that is the problem. so far everything they have shown me i cannot wait another 2 days for another two episodes. basically a married couple with no kids, pretty in debit and paying off loans and interests, a couple of insurances, but live comfortably. they start blackmailing others involved in multiple relationships. now the plot might not be the most interesting one ive watched, but the way everything is portrayed bw these two main leads, is more than unique. truly there are only a handful of series or movies that show this comfortable couple dynamic interestingly and god did this drama nail it. though they were a very active couple, they just stopped having sex few months or years back unintentionally and neither of them have had a problem with it. how they never stopped loving each other even though they havent been intimate is portrayed really well. the husband is literally the greenest flag everrrr. let it be when he remembers every single detail about them from 7 years ago or when he tries hugging her and reassures her that its fine if they dont have sex, or when he talks about how having sex is not a duty for married couple and when he sees that shes actually interested he recommends trying to get in the feel by telling each other things they like about one another, every single thing he likes about her is spoken so well and it is very evident how much he loves her. whenever theres a disagreement both of them proceed to talk it out in literally less than 2 minutes. though it might not be realistic, i mean, why is it not realistic? exactly! that is what should be going on and not hours of unnecessary arguments. he is really never afraid of being "lady like" and that makes him all the more manly because he is always very thoughtful and considerate about her and deals softly. no fragile masculinity exists here. i could go on about this man but ill stop lol. i can guess what the future episodes could host but i dont want to this time. this time i just want to be intrigued by it. i cannot wait for them to start having sex again, or its ok even if they decide they are better off this way(which would be totally unexpected). ok i just said that about two characters in drama. guess whos crazy? AND, and the fucking trust they have in each other, shed trust him with her life. even though he is foolish at times she balances it out. when his car got totalled and she found out that he dint tell her she figured a way to get him money instead of getting back at him or starting a fight(not that hed let a fight sustain or theyd go on for more than a minute) bc she knew theres no point in getting upset now that the cars gone and the intention behind his lie is nothing. its almost as if they know each other and communicate. crazy right. its almost as if they love each other.
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Caught in the Crosshairs: Chapter 22 Bad Blood: Taylor Swift
Series warnings: Smut, mind control, canon typical violence, childhood trauma, language, chronic illness
Chapter warnings: reference to abortion, mild medical procedure
Previous chapter:
Next Chapter:
You busy?
Miria was sitting comfortably in the cockpit of the Maurader, taking her turn on watch. They were heading to Felucia, and the guys were all asleep. Even Crosshair, sideways in the chair beside her with his head resting on the wall behind him. Their six week rest on Coruscant had been much needed, and she'd even managed to come to terms with her frankly appalling behavior in 79s. With a few jokes from the guys, of course.
But Anakin rarely commed like this, so she pulled up the holo. "Not really. Keep your voice down, though. Cross is asleep."
"I need advice. Mom advice, not Jedi advice." Anakin looked pale, even through the blue tinge of the holo. It concerned her.
"What's the matter, dear?"
Anakin took a deep breath. "Remember when you called me drunk and crying and I found you in that alley?"
"Unfortunately. Did you just call to make fun of me?"
"No. I… I was with Padme that night, and she was really impressed with me dropping everything to go help a friend, and one thing led to another, and…."
"I hardly think your sex life is my business, Anakin."
"Miri, she's pregnant. I think that's when it happened." He blurted out in a rush.
Miria froze. "Pregnant… oh Force, Anakin…"
"Yeah. I'm super happy and so is she, but holy kriffing shit what do we do?"
Miria smiled. "The fact that you're both happy means I won't have to discuss anything as unpleasant as termination… I always thought you two would have children, but I did think it would be after the war ended."
"Yeah… not great timing on my part."
"You're hardly the only involved party. All that Senate money and no one could afford an implant?" She teased.
"She had one… I guess it expired."
"You could have gotten one."
"I don't handle doctors as well as you do."
Miria made a face. "Rude. You're lucky we're friends."
"I know. Otherwise I'd have no one to call. I can't exactly tell Obi-wan about this."
"You know I think you should. He loves you and he'd help too. Besides, he's going to find out eventually. He could pick Skywalker shenanigans out of a crowd the size of Coruscants population."
"I know, I know." He sighed. "Just… what do we do?"
"I'll come by and check on her when I return. Otherwise… get ready. This will change your life. There's talk of the Order's rules changing after the war, but if the council digs their heels in you must be prepared to leave the Jedi. Your family needs you."
He nodded resolutely. "Wait… why would they change?"
Miria chuckled. "I'm hardly the only general in bed with a trooper."
"Oooh. Oh shit, you think Obi-wan and Cody?"
"If they haven't, they want to." She smiled. "Maybe they'll get their happy ending too. And who knows? I could teach a school for children of Jedi. My own included…"
"So you'd stay if they changed everything?"
"I love the Order. I don't agree with everything they do by a bloody long shot. But… if it could be better, and I could still be with Crosshair? I'd stay and serve, to make it better. If not, though, I'm ready. My future lies with him." She smiled a little more softly. "As yours lies with your child."
He chuckled faintly. "Thanks, Miri… that means a lot. Sometimes I don't know where to go anymore. With Ahsoka gone, and all the secrets between me and Obi-wan… no one gets it like you do. Padme tries, she really does, but she's never been in the Order, or on a battlefield. She can listen, but… it's not the same."
"I'm always here for you, Anakin." Miria murmured. "As long as we both live. Order or not."
"I needed to hear that. How are you, by the way?" He said, grateful to have her there. He'd be going mad without her.
"Mostly the same. The boys have been relentless since that business in the bar. My goodness they think it's hilarious." She huffed. "I'm never drinking again."
"Aww. And here I was going to invite you over for wine." He snickered.
"Well… maybe one glass. I just can't get that kind of drunk. I'm not in control like that, and it was bothersome." She shook her head. "I really didn't recognize myself, Anakin. I've never been so angry, even in much worse situations. I shudder to think what I might have done if I'd actually gotten to that girl."
"You're only human, Miri. We all do things we're not proud of. You're privy to a few of my mistakes." He admitted.
Miria nodded. "I suppose you're right. It's good I have friends to temper those impulses. Or drag me bodily from the situation, as that case was." She chuckled. "I expect we'll see that temper in your little one, and you'll really pay for your raising "
He groaned. "Please let them turn out like Padme…"
"That might be worse. She's a politician, they'll know exactly how to play you to get what they want." She chuckled.
"Not helping."
Miria laughed softly. "By the way, have you had any luck getting that arm for Echo? Poor man's running and climbing with the best of us with one hand."
"Yeah, I'll have it ready when you get back from Felucia."
"Excellent. I can't stand to see my friends struggle."
"I'm glad you're looking out for him now. How's he doing?"
"He's finally the right color, and putting on weight correctly. I'm hoping his hair will come back, it really seems to bother him."
"Aww. I feel bad now for teasing him about it." He chuckled.
Miria smiled. "Anakin?"
"Hmm?"
"Congratulations, my friend. A new life is a miracle, and I'm grateful you shared it with me."
Miria took a deep breath as she and the batch slogged through the jungles of Felucia. "Sometimes I really cannot believe the places we end up." she finally sighed, trying to shoo away the massive army of mosquitos the size of her thumbnail trying to light on any exposed skin. "How is this not driving you all mad?"
Echo chuckled. "You need a helmet. We're covered head to toe."
She sighed. "I'm going to need a blood transfusion by the time we get through here. And Master Che is going to force me through another round of bloody oatmeal…"
"I actually have an experiment I'd like to try for you when we return to the ship, General." Tech nodded her direction. "If you'll indulge my curiosity."
She smiled. "Alright. As soon as we take care of whatever they're doing out here in this ancient Sith temple. The Separatists haven't been out here since that failed kidnapping of Jabba the Hutts son during the first year of the war…"
"Nothing we can't handle, General." Wrecker cracked his knuckles. "How'd we even get this mission?"
"Master Yoda sensed something… stirring in the Force here. Something I hardly understand myself. It could even be nothing more than a lost Force sensitive, or it could be Sith trouble afoot. So be alert."
Four hands and a scomp link saluted, and they pushed on. Miria tried to ignore the mosquitoes. They were just creatures, doing what they did to survive, and that was the will of the Force. But if the Maker had seen fit not to make these things, she'd have been perfectly happy about it. They were eating her alive!
When they finally reached the stone temple, it offered blessed respite from the insects even if it felt like harsh darkness in the Force. Mirias face and neck were blotchy with bites.
"You could have swatted them." Crosshair muttered.
"I don't kill things that are unarmed and unknowing." She said firmly. "Even if they are dreadful little vampires eating my face."
"We'll put some bacta on the bites when we get back to the ship." He sighed. Stubborn woman.
They crept carefully through the temple, the stone walls singing sorrow and fury to Miria. But when they reached the innermost sanctum, it felt almost…. Peaceful. There were two cloaked figures standing together, holding hands.
"Do you actually think it'll work, Quin?" Whispered a female voice Miria knew.
She waved for her team to stand down and took a step into the echoing room. "Ventress?"
The two figures spun around, both reaching for their belts until they recognized her. "Halcyon?" Ventress went impossibly paler.
"Easy, dear. There's no need for a fight unless you want one." Miria kept her hands up. Something was different about the other women, something she couldn't quite place. "What are you doing?"
Ventress squirmed, glancing back at the man behind her, who seemed to make a decision before pulling his hood off.
"Master Halcyon, I can explain-"
She froze. "Quinlan Voss? What are you doing here? This is a Sith temple!" Her friend Ayala's master, in a place like this?
"I know, I know. Just hear me out?" He pleaded.
She sighed. "Alright. What's going on?"
Ventress stepped in front of him, putting herself between him and Miria. Protecting him. "It's my fault he's here. I asked him to come with me."
Miria nodded. "Okay. Why?"
"I… you said, every time we've fought… that there was a way back to the light if I wanted it. Didn't you?" Ventress looked so suddenly small, looking at her feet. Nothing like the arrogant Sith Miria had come to blows with often enough to be considered her rival.
"Yes… Ventress, dear. Did you finally find it?" She asked hopefully.
"I found him." Ventress whispered, finally lowering her hood. There was a tuft of white hair where she'd been bald before, and the eyes that looked up at Miria were softer. Pleading. "Don't get him into trouble on my account. Please…"
Miria took a step forward, reaching out carefully. "I wouldn't dream of it, dear. And… your hair does look lovely. I mean that this time."
Quinlan laughed. "I told you it was a good look, Asajj."
Ventress looked up as Miria finally stopped right in front of her. "I'm trying to… fix my sabers. Trying to undo the bleeding. I thought if I could start there, I could… be better." She whispered. "I can't go into your temples, but this place is strong with the Force…"
Miria smiled and offered her hands. "Then let me help you."
"You'd do that? For me? I stabbed you." Ventress murmured.
"You're hardly the first, dear. And doubtfully the last." Miria chuckled. "Besides… what are friends for?"
"I didn't think you'd want to be my friend…"
From behind Miria, the five clones poked their heads around. "She wants to be everyone's friend!" Wrecker yelled.
"Against my better judgement. " Crosshair huffed.
Miria laughed softly. "They're right, you know. Now… may I?"
Asajj Ventress had no idea how to react to this. But Mirias eyes were sincere and kind in a way she didn't understand, so she glanced at Quinlan for guidance. He just nodded. "I told you she was a good one."
"You did." That bolstered her, and she took her twin sabers off her belt and put them in Mirias hands.
The Jedi took a moment before opening them up and taking the two red kyber crystals out, holding them in one palm. She could feel the agony and fury in them. "When you hurt someone, you apologize." Miria mused. "Here… if bleeding them is to pour your pain into them, then apologize. Ask their forgiveness." She lay the stones back in Ventress' hand.
"What if they don't give it?"
"I did." Miria smiled. "I think they'll surprise you."
Ventress nodded, sitting cross legged on the floor. Quinlan sat beside her, and Miria knelt on the other side. With one stone in each hand, Ventress closed her eyes. Miria put her hand over the stone in the former Siths palm, and Quinlan followed suit with the other side.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. Let me make this right….
There was a series of beeping as the filters in the clones helmets activated against a sudden influx of bright white light. Miria felt it burn behind her closed eyes, but she held firm and projected all she had to give.
Forgiveness. Acceptance. Peace. Love. Kindness. Compassion.
When the light receded, she felt woozy but opened her eyes.
Ventress flopped over into Quinlans lap and he fondly stroked her short hair. "Hey… you okay?"
She blinked up at him and brought her clenched fists up, opening them like it was the most difficult thing in the galaxy. Sitting in her pale hands were two glittering crystals in the most vibrant, pure white any of them had ever seen.
"I think… they forgive you." Miria smiled tiredly. "Oh Ventress, they're lovely."
"Asajj… you can call me Asajj." Ventress smiled weakly. "I think we're friends now."
"Then you can call me Miri." The Jedi smiled back, eyes bright.
The three of them helped each other up carefully.
"Are you going to tell the Order about us?" Asajj murmured as she put her sabers back together and clipped them to her hip. "Quin could get in a lot of trouble…"
Miria shook her head. "It's not my story to tell, dear. Besides, you're hardly the first person to find purpose from love."
Quinlan smirked. "You're telling me you got a boyfriend? You?"
Miria grinned. "Boyfriend? I'm engaged, Voss!"
He choked. "What?!"
Miria giggled helplessly at his absolute bafflement. "Force, I can't wait to do that to the council!"
"Are you quite done airing our secrets?" Crosshair huffed from the door.
"They won't tell on us, my darling. Don't be grumpy about it." She chuckled.
"Oh Maker, the grouchy one is soft for the sunshine one." Quinlan gasped.
"Remind you of anyone?" Asajj slipped her arm around his waist with a smile.
He booped her nose. "You were real grouchy when we met."
She made a face. Wrecker shook his head. "So that's it? We're all friends now?"
Miria nodded. "Sometimes that's all it takes."
"I still can't believe you let her hug you." Crosshair grumbled, dabbing bacta on Miria's now very swollen face. "She tried to kill you. More than once."
"I hug all my friends." She chuckled. "Ow."
"Sorry, I know it stings. But she was a Sith!"
"It's not your fault, darling. And she's not a Sith anymore!"
"Could you two pick a conversation to have? You're giving me a headache." Hunter groaned.
"Sorry, dear." Miria smiled sheepishly, eyes disappearing in her puffy cheeks in the motion. "Oh dear. It's gone dark."
"It's a histamine reaction, General. It appears you are allergic to Felucian mosquito bites." Tech shook his head disparagingly.
"Good thing I wore armor and gloves. I hate to imagine the state my hands would be in, if my face looks like I think it does." She murmured.
"The bacta should reduce the swelling soon." He patted her shoulder. "I would stay away from the fresher mirror until then. You are… you look different."
"Is it that bad, Cross?" She looked at him.
"Baby girl, I'm not answering that. Just stay away from the mirror." He planted a kiss on her ballooned cheek, grimacing at the taste of bacta.
"Oh dear…"
"Come with me, General. My little experiment might help." Tech offered, so she got up and followed him.
"So what exactly is this you've been working on?"
"Cellular replication booster. It won't work as quickly as Jedi healing, but a couple treatments will keep you on your feet. If we were ever unable to get to Coruscant, you wouldn't just die on us."
"That's a relieving thought." She chuckled.
He sat her down on a cargo crate and helped her pull off her chest plate. "Sorry, General. Can you pull your dress down?" His face was red.
She nodded, opening it up so he could access her chest. "Don't worry, dear. I've been in medical situations many times."
He nodded, affixing a little palm sized device to her chest with sticky cups. "This tattoo is quite well placed. It just goes right here, in the bullseye, and-"
Miria squeaked when a lancet shot out, sticking shallowly into her chest. He set a cuff around her wrist, another needle sinking in, and connected them both with tubes. "There. It'll take about an hour for one treatment, and we'll check in then." Tech murmured, putting a blanket over her shoulders.
"You're brilliant, but we need to work on your bedside manner. You might have warned me it was going to stab me." She chuckled, leaning against the wall.
"I'm sorry. I was… excited to try it out. It won't be a perfect cure, but I've got time to keep working."
She nodded. Time. Yes, they had time… she was never leaving them, the rest of her life. They had all the time they could give her.
#eventual smut#explict#original character#crosshair#crosshair smut#clone force 99#caught in the crosshairs
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