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dessarious · 3 years

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How the Sirens Adopted a Ladybug Pt5

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They ate mostly in silence with Ladybug refusing to look at any of them. The Kwami were all cuddled up against her obviously trying to offer emotional support. Every time she managed to calm herself down Selina would look over at the girl and her rage would build up again. She was going to have to find an outlet for it in order to stay here.

“So why haven’t you asked for help from the European Justice League?” The full body flinch she got in response gave her a target for that rage. She mumbled something that Selina couldn’t hear. “What was that?”

“I don’t think they believed anything was happening. Eventually they just told me that if I couldn’t handle butterflies I shouldn’t consider myself a hero. They had real problems to deal with.” Oh she was definitely sicking Bruce on those idiots once she figured out what was going on. “In their defense once I cast my cure there’s no visible damage so unless one of them had been here during an attack it really doesn’t seem real.” Great, now she was making excuses for heroes who absolutely should know better.

“I don’t care what they thought, that’s unacceptable behavior. You mentioned something about others that were helping you?” She flinched and curled in on herself.

“You should tell them. Plagg’s right, I think they can help.” Most of the other Kwami looked surprised at Tikki’s words. Ladybug somehow just seemed to get smaller.

“Kiddo, the three of us are the last to judge, trust me. We just want to help.” Harley’s voice was gentle and the girl peeked at her before looking back at her hands. Plagg flew up to her shoulder and was whispering in her ear. Eventually she took a deep breath and pulled her knees into her chest.

“At first it was just Chat Noir and me. It was okay for a while. He was always goofing around and flirting but he was there. But things happened and he didn’t want there to be secrets even though it was for our own safety. The Guardian chose what information we got when and he trusted me more than he did Chat, especially the more he pushed. He let me choose temporary holders and that just pissed Chat off more. He started becoming unreliable. Not showing up to fights, spending patrols trying to convince me to reveal my identity. Then he revealed himself to the other holders and got them to do the same. I refused and he convinced the others that I wasn’t trustworthy. I had to take his Miraculous. Too many people knew who he was. After that I couldn’t use any of the others even if they had been willing and I didn’t know anyone else I could trust. Then the Guardian… he got sick and turned his responsibilities over to me. So now I use whichever Miraculous I need for any given battle.”

“And what about your living situation?” She shook her head but it seemed more like an automatic reaction than an answer.

“That could compromise my identity.” Plagg and Tikki both flew in front of her face with their arms crossed.

“You need to tell them. Keeping your identity from Chat and the others was necessary and as we’ve seen showed good instincts on your part, but this is different.” Tikki’s voice sounded encouraging but strained. Their worry was obvious.

“But-”

“No buts Kit.” Plagg pointed to Selina. “She’s one of mine and there’s no malice toward you in any of them. We’re done watching you suffer alone. Not to mention you haven’t had a chance to breathe in months let alone grieve properly.” Selina shared a confused look with the other two. Plagg referring to her as theirs was odd but she was more worried about the grieving comment. Tears welled in Ladybug’s eyes and she shook her head again.

“I can’t.” The words were choked and the rest of the Kwami cuddled further into the girl while Plagg and Tikki just looked at each other.

“Will you let us tell them?” She hunched in further on herself but before she could say anything Tikki let out a string of what sounded like curses. Selina had no idea what language it was in. “There’s an Akuma.” Ladybug let out a tired breath.

“What time is it?”

“School just started. Which one do you think it is this time?” Plagg’s snark just got annoyed noises from all the Kwami. Ladybug stood and started towards the window. “Kit you’re not transformed.”

“Oh right.” Tikki disappeared and there was another flash of light around the girl.

“Why don’t we go with you? I’d like to see exactly what’s going on.” She frowned in thought.

“If you want, but I need you to stay back and not interfere. It’s bad enough trying to keep the others out of harm's way and I really don’t have the energy to look after anyone else and still defeat the Akuma.” As soon as she said it she was out the window.

“What do you think she meant by others?” Harley sounded like she had a guess at the answer, but wanted someone to give her a different one.

“I have a bad feeling that her former help are still trying to pretend they’re heroes. That or they’re actively trying to sabotage her. Or possibly both.” Given what had been said about Chat Noir, she wouldn’t be surprised.

“We should head out and find a good vantage point.” Ivy was just staring out the window but it seemed like she was looking inward.

“I just need to grab my jacket. And for now we respect her wish for no interference, unless it’s a matter of life and death for her, agreed?” Harley and Ivy both gave a nod but neither looked happy about it. Ten minutes later, as they stood on a roof watching Ladybug taking hits for a bunch of idiots who wouldn’t leave the area, Selina wasn’t either. As soon as the fight was over they moved in closer to see what the morons had to say for themselves.

“Looking a bit ragged there M’Lady. Are you ready to admit you were wrong yet? All I want is an apology and a reveal and things can go back to the way they were.” Selina had to grab Harley to stop her from lunging at the boy who spoke but Ladybug shot him a flat look.

“Go back to what exactly? You refusing to respect my boundaries and throwing tantrums during a fight, or you just not showing up at all?” The boy sputtered indignantly and she turned to leave but a different one, the one who’d been possessed started yelling at her.

“Aren’t you even going to ask what upset me so much I got Akumatized? You used to actually care about people.” Ladybug just crossed her arms and waited. “Someone I thought was my friend just moved away without telling anyone! Can you believe that?” That just brought a confused look from the hero as she scanned the others assembled. For some reason that seemed to annoy the girl more. “Marinette! She just up and left without telling anyone!”

“I’m sorry, did you all just now notice she was gone?” Disbelief was the main thing in her tone, but there was hurt there as well.

“What do you mean just now? Don’t act like it’s our fault she decided to bail on her friends.” Ladybug was just staring at all of them like they’d lost their minds.

“Some friends considering it took you six months to notice she was missing in the first place.” There was a blonde girl leaning against a nearby building that Selina would swear wasn’t there a minute about.

“She’s not missing. Her parents sold their business and the family moved.” The blonde looked like she was going to fire back but Ladybug spoke first.

“Believe what you want, you always do. This is not something I’m going to stand here and argue about. I’m sorry you feel hurt but there’s nothing I can do to help the situation.” She tried to leave again.

“Wait!” The blond practically jogged up to her. “I need to speak with you, alone.” Ladybug hesitated. “Please, it’s important.” The hero searched the girls face for a moment before giving a small nod. The others immediately started shouting at her so she grabbed the other girl and headed to a nearby roof. They followed silently and Selina watched as they both stood awkwardly.

“So what do you need to talk to me about Chloe?” There was a wariness to Ladybug's tone and stance, almost like she expected to be yelled at or attacked. The other girl just seemed nervous.

“A couple things. You knew Marinette was missing, do you know where she is?” Ladybug’s entire body tensed up at the question and Chloe saw it. “I’m not asking you to tell me I just… I just want to know if she’s okay. The police are refusing to look for her, claiming she went to live with relatives out of the country even though her passport hasn’t been used, and she hasn’t touched her back accounts since the day after…” She trailed off, obviously not wanting to finish the thought.

“How do you know she hasn’t… you’ve been using your father’s accounts to check the police progress haven’t you?” She just gave a sheepish shrug. “Why? You hated Marinette.” Chloe flinched.

“No I didn’t. We were rivals sure, and I was overall a bitch yes, but I never hated her. We were just so different and… I mean you’ve met my parents. I was taught from a young age that I was above everyone else and that they should be grateful for my notice. Mari… I couldn’t understand for the longest time why she stood up to me. I know it sounds stupid and I can’t really explain it better.” She sounded frustrated but it actually seemed to calm Ladybug down for some reason. “Look, I understand why she wouldn’t want to come back to school. Those ungrateful peasants made her life a living hell, but it’s like she completely dropped off the face of the earth. I can’t even imagine what losing both her parents in an accident like that must have done to her.”

“She’s okay. She just didn’t want to be sent out of Paris, or put into the system.” It didn’t sound like a lie but Ladybug was refusing to look the other girl in the eye for some reason. Chloe was just frowning in thought.

“If you see her again… tell her I can help if she wants. I know I’m probably the last person she wants to deal with but if she needs a place to stay no questions asked, I’m offering. Daddy has a few judges that owe him favors as well so we can probably get her emancipated so she can at least get to her money without worrying about someone tracking her and putting her somewhere she doesn’t want to be.” Ladybug nodded but from her position Selina could see her fighting back tears. “The other thing I wanted to talk about…”

“Yes?” Chloe still hesitated. She looked worried.

“That comment Adrien made, about you looking ragged… he wasn’t wrong.” Ladybug curled in on herself and Chloe panicked. “I’m not say it as a criticism! Ever since those rejects abandoned you it’s obvious things have been getting worse. I don’t know what you home situation is like but it’s kind of obvious it’s less than great.”

“If you’re going to try and convince me to give you a Miraculous-”

“No! No, it’s nothing like that. I just… here.” She pushed something into the hero’s hand and Ladybug just looked at it in confusion.

“What…” Chloe cleared her throat nervously.

“I had part of my floor renovated into a sort of efficiency apartment. That key is to get in through the balcony. The door that leads to the rest of my suite has multiple locks, including bolts that go into the floor that can only be accessed from the inside.” Ladybug blinked at her, not seeming to process what the girl said. “It’s a safe place… if you need it.” There was a long pause then Ladybug lurched forward, pulling the other girl into a hug.

“Thank you.” The words were soft, almost inaudible, but the emotion behind them was heartbreaking.

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@asrainterstellar @scorchdragon88 @arty-shadow-morningstar @toodaloo-kangaroo @solangelo252 @smolplantmum @jayjayspixiepop

#maribat #allthesalt #class salt #marinette dupain cheng #Selina Kyle #Harley Quinn #Poision Ivy #adrien agreste #chloe bourgeois #Gotham Sirens #Mom Squad

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antariies · 3 years

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Visions of the Past: The Departing

Summary: The Commander never told Braham about their first death at the hands of Balthazar. Years later, he finds out in the worst way possible.

Characters: Pact Commander, Braham, Aurene, Balthazar

Notes: Commander’s POV (2nd-person); set before Jormag Rising; fluff, angst, hurt/comfort; 5.6k words, CW: blood, gore, character death, anxiety attack; the departing is and will always be one of my favorite instances and it sucks that we never got an emotional confrontation about it between braham and the commander. hope i did it justice. enjoy!

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“Commander, can I use the Scrying Pool to view your memories?” Braham asks one day, apropos of nothing, sliding into the seat across from you.

You slam your glass of water back down onto the table with a loud smack, screwing your eyes shut and leaning forward as you choke on your drink. After a few seconds of intense coughing and waving away Braham’s apologies, you finally clear your throat enough to be able to speak.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, squinting at him in confusion, “you want to… what?”

“Uh, use the Scrying Pool to view your memories?” he repeats, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Only with your permission, of course.”

“…Ah,” you nod slowly, letting the question fully sink in. You bring the glass of water to your lips again as you search for the right words. “That’s…”

A complete and total invasion of my privacy, your mind supplies helpfully.

“...a strange request,” you mutter into the cup. The only thing stopping you from shutting him down on the spot is the fact that it’s Braham. He wouldn’t ask this of you without a damn good reason. “And you want to see them because…?”

At this, Braham lights up, squaring his shoulders. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what the lost Spirits said. About how I need to be a better leader if I’m going to beat Jormag, y’know? So I figured, since you’re the best leader I know-”

You can’t help the fond eye roll you give him.

“-if I got to experience some of your memories, then maybe I could learn from them,” he finishes, nodding once in determination.

“It’s definitely an unconventional way of learning,” you remark coolly, resting your chin on your hand as you level an even, challenging stare at him. You’ve cowed countless soldiers and politicians with this look alone, honed to terrifying perfection over the years.

Undaunted, Braham sets his jaw and meets your gaze dead on. “I know nothing can replace first-hand experience, but I think this would be a good way for me to practice without, uh,” his eyes flicker down for just a moment and he swallows hard. “Without the risk.”

You quirk an eyebrow at that, but you don’t miss the way he absently fiddles with something small and wooden in his free hand and-

Oh, you think, recognizing it and finally understanding. Oh.

It’s been months, but the memory of your first day in Bjora Marches stays fresh in your mind.

It had been freezing cold in the barracks of Jora’s Keep when you and Braham had gotten locked in, but the ice that froze in your veins when you watched him stumble upon the mangled body of his former guildmate was colder still.

“Alva,” he’d whispered, stricken with grief as he sank to his knees beside her body.

“I’m sorry, Braham.” The words sat like ash on your tongue, tasting the same as the first time you had ever offered your condolences and every time after that. You never really got used to it.

“Garm… used to rest his head in her lap.” Braham had pulled her head into his lap then, smoothing her hair out of her face with the utmost care. You turned away to give him as much privacy you could, but the dead silence in the barracks meant you heard every hitched breath and muttered prayer to the Spirits. When he returned to your side after a few minutes, he was clutching a small wooden figurine.

“It’s Wolf,” he explained softly when he caught you looking, “Alva made one for each of us, but I gave mine back when I left, I… I had no idea she’d kept it all this time…”

He carries it everywhere now: a constant, physical reminder of his failures as a leader and as a friend.

You know the feeling all too well.

Unbidden, an acrid tidal wave of bitter jealousy swells up inside you. It’s not fair. You never had the chance to practice leadership because you were thrust into your rank, your title, in the middle of a war. You had no one to guide you. Every lesson you learned was written in blood and people paid for your mistakes with their lives.

The wave reaches a roaring apex, then swiftly crashes and breaks against the rocks of your guilt and better judgement.

It’s not his fault, you tell yourself, that you were given the short end of the stick. If you had had the opportunity to practice, to learn from someone else’s mistakes without risking the lives of anyone under your command, wouldn’t you have taken it too?

Of course, you think, picturing the Pact Memorial that still stands in Caer Aval to this day, of course I would have.

“Of course,” you say, gaze and voice gentle, “I think that’s a great idea, Braham.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t expecting- wait, what? Really?” He stares at you incredulously, the beginnings of a disbelieving grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Are you sure? Because I honestly didn’t think you would say yes so-”

“Well, now that you mention it,” you start mildly, before stifling a snort and shaking your head in amusement as he scrambles to retract his words. “Yes, Braham, I’m sure. C’mon, let’s go before I actually start having second thoughts.”

As he helps you clean up the remains of your lunch, you can’t stop your mind from dredging up every embarrassing thing you’ve ever done in the past eight years. You shut your eyes in a fruitless attempt at blocking out the memories, a long-suffering sigh trapped in your lungs.

It’s okay, you reassure yourself, you’ll be in control of the memories you show him. What could go wrong?

“Hey, Aurene- oh. She’s not here.” Braham says, stopping at the entrance of Aurene’s lair.

You walk past him, a smile stretching across your face as you look around the room. It teems with plant life. Curtains of ivy hang from the tops of the room’s arches while giant Maguuma lilies and dozens of other flowers grow out of cracks in the floor, reaching toward the sunbeams that stream in from the open skylight. Clusters of Aurene’s iridescent Brand crystals cover the walls, filling in the holes left by years of neglect.

In the middle of the room, the Scrying Pool gives off a faint light of its own, its waters swirling lazily as you approach. The spot where Aurene normally sits is vacant, though, just like Braham said. Closing your eyes, you reach out to the bond you share with her. It hums at the edge of your consciousness, quiet and comfortable when you’re not actively talking to her. You give the slightest tug.

‘Just checking in. Where are you?’

A few moments later, a familiar sight flashes in your mind. A vast stormy sky, filled with blue-tinted thunderclouds and stretching as far as the eye can see. The Mists.

Then, Aurene’s voice in your head, clear as day. ‘Trying to figure out what Jormag is up to. So far… I still have no idea.’

“Are you talking to Aurene?” Braham asks. You nod. “Tell her I said hi!”

‘Braham says hi.’ you relay.

‘Hello, Braham!’

‘Alright, we’ll let you get back to it.’ You smile inwardly, a rush of affection warming your chest. ‘Be safe. I love you.’

‘Love you too, Champion.’ Aurene croons happily in your head.

“Aurene says hello,” you say, opening your eyes. “She’s keeping an eye out for Jormag in the Mists right now. I don’t think she’ll be back for a while.”

“Oh,” Braham says, slight disappointment coloring his tone, “Does that mean we can’t use the pool?”

“I’m not sure. Wouldn’t hurt to try, though,” you answer, walking over to it. Kneeling as close to the edge as you dare, you lean over to look into the waters. Your reflection wobbles with every ripple from the pool’s constant, self-sustained swirling and you study your distorted face until you catch some movement above your mirrored shoulder that doesn’t seem to be from the pool.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warn lightly, tossing a flat, unimpressed glare over your own shoulder.

Braham, to his credit, looks sorry for maybe half a second before grinning in a way that is decidedly far from it. Still, he concedes and backs away from you with his hands slightly up in surrender. “Oh, like you wouldn’t do the same?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I would never,” you lie, turning back to the pool so he doesn’t see your smile. You make a note to push him into it at the first chance you get. “I’ve used the Scrying Pool a few times now and I can tell you that it’s way easier to view your own memories rather than someone else’s. Feels different too.”

When you first used the Scrying Pool to view Ryland’s memories, it wasn’t anything like Kas’ glamour during the All-Legion Rally. You weren’t just wearing his face and spectating from inside his head, you were Ryland. You felt everything, including his thoughts and his emotions, as if they were your own. It had felt so real that after waking up, it took a few seconds for you to realize that you weren’t him. Aurene had to calm you down as you scrambled around for a flamesaw that was never yours and shouted for a warband you were never a part of.

You can only imagine the state you would have woken up in if you had overstayed your welcome in Ryland’s memories.

It was different with yours, though. Those were easier to fall into, like slipping into a dream, and you always woke up from those with complete clarity.

Speaking of your own memories…

“I think I know the perfect one to start with,” you say, dipping a hand into the pool and focusing on a memory you’ve already used it for. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to access a memory without Aurene here, never mind control it. You don’t even know if two people can go in together, or whose body Braham would end up in. So you start off easy. Something you both remember. The leather of Braham’s armor creaks as he settles down next to you and does the same. He watches on in awed silence as the water glows brighter, swirling faster and faster until a small whirlpool forms in the center and pulls at the lily pads closest to it.

A familiar darkness crowds the edge of your vision and you let yourself fall backwards into the memory.

It’s not hard to spot Braham when his blood-red hair contrasts so starkly against the bright, white snow that covers the land and comes down heavy from the sky.

That, and he’s also waving at you from where he stands outside the gates of Cragstead.

“Hey!” he greets once you’re in earshot, shouting over the wind, “Hey, thanks for coming.”

You glance around. “Just us, huh?”

Braham grimaces. “You heard what Brimstone and Whitebear said. I tried sending out notices too, but…” he shakes his head, determination hardening his features. “Nevermind that, we have to go. My friends are in there.”

Turning your eyes upwards, you catch sight of billowing plumes of dark smoke as they start to pour into the sky. A strong gust brings the stench downwind and both you and Braham wrinkle your noses in distaste at the same time.

“No time to waste,” you nod. “Let’s go.”

You tighten your grip on your weapons and follow closely behind Braham as he leads you through the driving snow to the heart of Cragstead, cutting a path through the strange alliance of Flame legion and dredge along the way.

This is an evacuation mission, first and foremost, you remind yourself. Your gaze sweeps over the empty lodges and homesteads, searching for people. It’s not so different from the evacuation missions you used to do with your order when Zhaitan was still alive and a threat, its Risen minions encroaching further and further into the homes of Tyria’s minor races.

You find the villagers soon enough, all rounded up into small groups in the center of the town and trapped inside shimmering domes of fire magic. An equal number of charr and dredge guard each dome, their mechanical weapons whirring and spitting the occasional flame.

Braham growls at the sight and hefts his mace, rolling his shoulders in anticipation.

“Wait,” you caution, throwing an arm out to stop him from charging in. “We can’t just rush in. We’re way outnumbered.”

“We took care of those other guys just fine,” he argues.

“Those were just stragglers we picked off,” you gesture at the domes scattered around. “Here? There’s a dozen of them and only two of us. We can’t take them all in an open fight-”

Braham makes a frustrated noise and you hold up your hand.

“-which is why we switch tactics,” you finish, flashing a sharp grin at him. “They haven’t noticed us yet. Here’s the plan.”

The thing is, you’re no stranger to being outnumbered. Your entire time in Orr was spent leading handfuls of people on high risk, high reward missions, after all. It was kind of your specialty.

So it’s with practiced ease and calm authority that you explain your plan now, laying out a classic divide-and-conquer strategy that’s gotten you and your small squads through countless skirmishes against all odds.

It’s a flawless ambush, all things considered.

You and Braham hit them hard and quick, fighting in tandem as you push the offensive and give them no time to react or warn their allies before you cut them down. And with the help of his protective guardian magic, you two manage to free everyone without a single casualty.

“Where are the others?” Braham asks immediately as he helps an older man to his feet.

Despite his clearly injured arm, the man pulls him into a quick hug before answering. “They were chased up the mountain, to the shrine. I wasn’t- I wasn’t fast enough…”

“It’s okay, Haslo, I’ll go. Will you be-”

“We’ll be fine, thanks to you.” Haslo claps him on the back. “You and your friend be careful!”

When Braham looks over at you, you nod. Of course I’m coming with you.

The trip up to the shrine is shorter than you expected, but you think that might have something to do with the lack of flaming charr or dredge along the way. That only puts you more on edge and you ready your weapons, wary.

You don’t hesitate for a second at the entrance of the cave, charging in to catch the massive Flame legion charr and his grunts off guard. You’ve only known Braham for a few days and fought alongside him for less, but you two fall into a steady rhythm almost instantly, barely having to exchange words. You make quick work of the goons, letting him take care of the hulking charr. Braham doesn’t even let him get a taunt out, stunning him with a shield bash before swinging his mace into the charr’s snout with a brutal, deadly uppercut, spraying blood across the cavern walls.

With the threat taken care of for the time being, you and Braham free the rest of the villagers and escort them down the mountain, dispatching any stray Flame legion or dredge who tried to escape in all the chaos. While there weren’t any casualties, fortunately, there are still plenty injured, so while he talks to some of the other villagers, you help tend to the wounded as best you can. They have a long walk to Hoelbrak ahead of them, and you don’t envy them the trip.

You’re tying off a bandage when you hear him call your name.

“There you are,” he says, stopping in front of you. “Hey, thanks for everything. Really, I mean, I don’t know if things would’ve turned out as well as they did if you hadn’t shown up.”

“Glad I could help,” you say, tilting your head at him. “What are you going to do now?”

“After we get everyone to Hoelbrak, I’m gonna find out where all these Flame legion and dredge are holed up so we can track them down.” He pauses, then rubs the back of his neck with a nervous laugh. “Uh, that is, if you still wanna come along…?”

You smile and cross your arms. “Guess I’ll see you soon, then?”

The pleased grin Braham gives you is warmer than any hearth and twice as bright.

“See you soon!”

“Oh no,” Braham mutters, the first thing you hear as you blink away the last of the memory. “Oh, Spirits, noooo.”

“Something wrong?” you ask, keeping your voice light even as you eye him up and down in concern. It was his first time using the Scrying Pool, after all. Had it affected him differently?

He shakes his head. “No, I’m fine, I just… I just can’t believe I used to wear my hair like that.”

You keep a straight face for an admirable three whole seconds before bursting into snickers. When Braham groans and buries his face in his hands, you only laugh harder.

“For what it’s worth,” you say, smiling, “I thought it suited you.”

He glowers at you. “You’re just saying that.”

You make a non-committal noise and wiggle your hand in a “so-so” gesture. He groans again, falling backwards onto the floor.

“That was really cool,” he says after a while, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. “Being in your head, I mean. I felt so… in control the whole time. Like I knew exactly what I was doing.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself.” Leaning backwards on your hands, you tip your head back and close your eyes. “You were impatient—well, you still kind of are—but you handled yourself better than some soldiers twice your age. And you’ve only gotten better since then. Give yourself a little more credit, Braham.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him flush at the praise, sitting up abruptly.

“Thanks,” he coughs into his fist, fighting a grin. “So, uh, any more memories you feel like sharing?”

You hum. “Several, actually. Ready to go again?”

You, grabbing the handles of a cannon with both hands and holding on for dear life as The Glory of Tyria lurches to the side, sending Destiny’s Edge, Pact soldiers, and Risen alike sprawling flat on the deck. When the airship finally rights itself, you waste no time, bracing your shoulder against the cannon and shoving hard until you have Zhaitan directly in its sights. The Elder Dragon is on the verge of death, pieces of its own body sloughing off itself as it clings desperately to the side of the tower. You take a deep, steadying breath and fire.

You, the only thing standing in between a crowd of fleeing civilians and a swarm of cutthroat Aetherblade pirates as they drop down from their airships. Lion’s Arch can be rebuilt, but lives can’t be replaced. You do a quick headcount, zero in on the weakest-looking one, and leap into the fray.

You, tracking down your teammates one by one as you tear through the dark, vine-twisted labyrinth under the Silverwastes, an undying behemoth of a Mordrem wolf hot on your heels. You lead them all safely through the maze, driven by the fierce desire to protect your friends. You will not lose anyone today.

You, the legendary Pact Commander, at your best.

After a few back-to-back trips down memory lane, you both decided to take a short break. For his part, Braham had opted to swing his legs over the edge of the pool, dipping his feet in. When he asked whether or not it was okay to do so, you just shrugged and told him you had already cannonballed into the water before. Multiple times.

“How are you feeling? No headaches or anything?” you ask after a few minutes of rest.

“Nope. I do feel pretty commander-y, though.”

You snort. “Commander-y?”

“Mhm. I’ve been in your head too long. Any second now, I’m gonna start spouting a bunch of your expert advice.” Braham clears his throat and puts on an exaggerated voice that you swear sounds nothing like you. “‘Remember, it doesn’t matter how long the hog’s been dead. It doesn’t matter that it’s been sitting in a toxic cloud. You can always try to eat it.’”

You roll your eyes and swipe your hand through the water, splashing him. “Okay, that’s it, I’m revoking your pool privileges. We’re done here.” You pause, expression turning thoughtful. “Actually, I think we are done here. I don’t think I have any more memories to show you. None that would help, anyway.”

“Hmm, what about your time in Elona? I wasn’t there for that.”

“Uh, you definitely were,” you say, shooting a quizzical smile at him. “Or do you not remember storming Joko’s palace with me?”

“No, no,” Braham laughs, waving dismissively, “I meant before that. I wasn’t there for… ugh, what’s his name again? Balthazar?”

For a brief, blissful moment, you only recall the part where you killed him.

Then your free hand flies to your chest on instinct, ghosting over a wound that no longer exists.

“What about him?” you ask, a little louder than necessary. You cringe inwardly, but Braham doesn’t seem to notice.

“Well, everyone told me you somehow took control of Joko’s Awakened army and got them to fight on your side,” he shakes his head, chuckling. “I didn’t believe them at first, but that sounds exactly like something only you could pull off.”

You can hardly hear yourself over the frenetic pounding of your pulse in your ears. “Did they… tell you anything else?”

“Not really,” Braham frowns, finally turning to face you. “Why, is there- woah, hey, are you alright?”

You open your mouth to answer, but nothing comes out.

“Commander?” His voice spikes with worry.

Swallowing hard past the lump in your throat, you try again. Still nothing.

You’re so preoccupied with trying to force yourself to speak that you don’t even realize your other hand is still in the pool until you feel the tug of an old memory on your consciousness.

Ripping your hand out of the glowing water in a panic, you can only stare in horror as that does nothing to stop the ancient, powerful magic from pulling you helpless back into the dark.

Everything hurts.

You wish it would stop.

It doesn’t.

You throw yourself to the side, narrowly dodging a fireball as it blazes past your head. Ducking behind a crumbling pillar, you press your back up against the stone and try to catch your breath.

You’ve bought yourself some time, at least.

This is a fight you know you can’t win, but the walls of flames surrounding the spire prevent your escape, so your only hope is to keep Balthazar distracted until reinforcements arrive.

“Any second now,” you mutter, and you don’t know if you’re trying to reassure or convince yourself.

You grit your teeth as another wave of pain wracks your body. There’s a nasty gash in your side, larger and deeper than the rest of your cuts, and it oozes sluggishly, soaking your armor in blood.

It’s bearable for now, but you can’t afford to be slowed down.

“Are you hiding, Commander?” Balthazar sneers, “How pathetic.”

Your answer to that is to dart out from behind the pillar, launching a flurry of attacks along his flank and back. When he twists around to send a volley of fireballs your way, you just tuck yourself into a neat dodge-roll, avoiding them all with ease. If you wince and stumble on the landing, you pretend not to notice and hope he didn’t either.

“Aw, you missed!” you taunt, sounding way braver than you feel, “How pathetic!”

Balthazar’s face contorts in fury. “Enough!” he shouts, and both the flames surrounding him and the spire seem to burn hotter than ever.

Before you can react, the ground beneath your feet erupts in a column of fire and you scream as your world is engulfed in a white-hot inferno. When the initial blinding agony finally passes, you find yourself sprawled out on the ground, pointed stones digging into your back and your weapons flung too far out of your reach.

Get up.

You only manage to twitch your fingers.

Get up. Now.

Your throat burns raw. When you try to speak, the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a pained whimper.

GET. UP. BEFORE BALTHAZAR-

You sense Aurene before you see her.

“Ah, the scion, finally come here to defend her champion.”

Finally…?

It clicks. Your heart stops.

Balthazar’s been toying with you this whole fucking time.

It’s impossible for you to form words, let alone make any sort of loud noise, so you try to warn Aurene through your shared bond instead, panic rising with every passing moment that she doesn’t respond.

‘GET AWAY,’ you practically roar at her, ‘TRAP. IT’S A TRAP. YOU’RE FLYING RIGHT INTO A TRAP, TURN AROUND, PLEASE-’

And Aurene roars right back at you. There are no words you can hear—you don’t think she’s old enough for that yet—but she can convey her feelings through the bond and right now she’s drowning out your desperate warnings with them. She refuses to abandon you. You are her guardian and her champion and she loves you and you promised over and over to protect her so she promised the same and weren’t you the one who taught her about loyalty in the first place?

It takes one self-sacrificing idiot to know one. You would laugh if you weren’t so fucking terrified of losing her.

Your vision swims and you only catch glimpses of Aurene’s skirmish. She’s a bright blue blur, swerving expertly in the air as she dodges fireballs and lets loose her devastating dragon breath every time Balthazar tries to swat her out of the sky. Snarling, he launches some sort of phantasmal chains at her and-

No.

No, no, no, nonono-

“Aurene!” you scream. The exertion sends you into a coughing fit, but you don’t care.

You’re crying now, too. You don’t care.

Balthazar is saying something, but you stopped listening to him ages ago. It’s a monumental effort just to crane your head towards Aurene, your vision clearing long enough to see her staring at you, eyes blown wide in fear as terror rolls off her in waves.

She tries to apologize and you rush to soothe her.

‘It’s okay, it’s alright,’ you reassure, ‘you have nothing to be sorry for, I love you so much, it’s not your fault, never your fault.’

Maybe you’re projecting a little. Whatever.

You only stop when a giant metal boot steps squarely into your line of sight, blocking her from view. You glance up.

Balthazar towers over you, his giant, flaming greatsword hovering menacingly by his side.

The fear that lances through your gut is primal.

You can’t die yet. Not here. Not now.

He notices the way your wide eyes trace his sword and bares his teeth in a humorless grin. Oh, he’s enjoying this, relishing the power he has over you.

“I thought you would put up more of a fight, given your reputation,” Balthazar remarks casually, circling you. With a lazy wave of his hand, his sword floats over and suspends itself in midair right above your chest.

Your already labored breathing dissolves into short, shallow gasps.

You can’t die. You’re not ready.

He lets the sword hover for a few more seconds before grabbing the hilt with both hands, raising it higher over your body. His face twists with hate, eyes blazing molten gold as they bore hungry and vengeful into yours.

You don’t want to die.

The edge of the blade glints orange from an indifferent sunset.

Please.

There’s a sickening crunch as he swings it down hard into your chest, punching through your armor and sternum and crushing most of your ribcage in the process. Then the blade severs your spine and you lose all feeling in your lower body.

Distantly, you think you hear someone scream, high-pitched and anguished. Was that Aurene? Or Taimi? Maybe both.

Certainly not you, although you’d tried to. What remains of your lungs are filled with more blood than air at this point, and it pours out of your mouth when you open it.

I’m sorry, you think, but you can’t remember what you’re apologizing for. Or who you’re apologizing to.

You’re so tired of blood. Tired of pain. Tired of feeling.

Everything hurts.

You wish it would stop.

It does.

The only reason you don’t wake up choking back a scream and clutching your chest like Braham does is because you’ve relived this in your nightmares far too many times for it to rip that kind of reaction out of you anymore. Still, it takes you longer than normal to push yourself into a sitting position and even longer for your pulse to even out. Fighting the urge to curl up and disappear from the world, you rush over to where Braham sits hyperventilating.

“Hey, Braham, hey, look at me, you’re okay, you’re okay. You’re here, you’re alive,” you reassure, and you’re surprised at how calm you sound. You work on getting him to match your breaths, counting out every inhale and exhale.

“Oh, Spirits,” he chokes out after his breathing steadies, his voice nearly cracking as tears prick in the corners of his eyes, “that was… how- h-how did you survive that?”

Your mouth shuts with an audible click. Biting your tongue, you look to the side, carefully avoiding eye contact.

You could lie.

Lie and tell him the airship made it just in time and the medics brought you back from the brink with a miracle. Another close call, but you pulled through like you always do. Spare him the pain, the grief. It’s been years, and there are more important things to worry about right now. It would save you both so much trouble.

“Commander?” he asks softly, earnestly.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I didn’t,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

Deafening silence, for a beat.

Two.

Three.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Braham says eventually. When you finally bring yourself to look at him again, his brows are furrowed in confusion. He stares at you in concern, scrutinizing. “You’re… definitely still alive.”

“I sure am.” Neither of you miss the tired bitterness that bleeds into your sarcasm. You wince and sigh, running a hand over your face. “I’m sorry, it’s just… It’s a long story.”

And to this day, you still haven’t told anyone all the details. You’re not sure if you ever will.

“Who knows?” Braham asks.

The question catches you off guard. “Uh, Rytlock, Canach, and Kas were there when it happened. Taimi… overheard.” You don’t know which is worse: being the one to hear you die, or finding your body after the fact.

They’re not the only ones who know, but they’re the only ones who matter. Even then, you swore them all to secrecy.

“Taimi called me around that time,” he says.

Your eyes widen. “Did she…?”

Braham shakes his head. “She was crying too hard,” he says, speaking slowly as he focuses on remembering. “She said something about you, but she couldn’t get the words out. When I tried to ask her what was wrong, she just hung up on me. Then she called me back a day later to say it was nothing and to pretend it never happened.”

“Huh,” you say, because you can’t think of anything else.

“I always wondered what she was trying to tell me,” Braham smiles sadly at you. “Guess I know now.”

You swallow hard. “You’re… taking this a lot better than I thought you would.”

“I’m not the one who died,” he shrugs, even as his hand comes up to brush across his chest absentmindedly.

But you know how it felt, you think, How I felt.

The thought hangs in the air, unspoken.

“Are you okay?” Braham asks after a while.

“Yeah,” you answer quickly, automatically, “I’m fine.”

He raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “Are you sure?” He looks pointedly down and you follow his gaze.

Your hands are shaking where they rest in your lap. Gritting your teeth, you clench them into fists. They don’t stop.

“I’m fine,” you repeat, more to yourself than anything. “I’m fine.”

The shaking travels up your arms until your shoulders are trembling as if under an invisible weight. This is so embarrassing, so humiliating. You’re pathetic. You-

You don’t resist when Braham pulls you into a warm embrace.

“It’s been years,” you mutter, blinking rapidly against the itchy heat behind your eyes. “I thought I’d be over it by now.”

“It always hits you when you least expect it,” Braham says quietly, “I’m sorry, Commander.”

The noise that comes out of you is somewhere between a laugh and a sob. You know he knows you hate pity, but this is the farthest thing from it. “When did you get so wise?” you tease.

“Learned it from you,” he says, voice tinged with pride, and now it’s your turn to flush. He squeezes you tightly once before letting you go. “Are you okay?” he asks again.

“Yeah,” you say, and this time you mean it. You breathe in deep, feeling lighter than you have in ages. “I’m okay. Thank you, Braham.”

“Glad to hear it,” he grins, and promptly shoves you right into the Scrying Pool.

His boisterous laughter echoes off the walls and drowns out your indignant spluttering. When you pull yourself out of the pool, drenched and dripping water everywhere, he scrambles to his feet and breaks into a dead sprint down the hall.

You chase after him, smiling, and leave your memories behind you.

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #gw2 fan submission #braham eirsson #pact commander #me finally posting another commander pov fic after three years: hiiii.... how yall doin....#anyway this fic has been rattling around in my noggin for eight months now. here u go take it from me #i will take a hammer and FIX the commander and braham dynamic #2k4s gc saw it firstttt #thank u pals for beta-reading ilu #if u enjoyed this fic! would u pls consider reblogging? :3c #my writing

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Stalker x Stalker, Part 1

Part 1/13, 51.3k words

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Guys, I'm a whole five layers into procrastinating right now. Procrastinating my schoolwork with Alternate Ending, Alternate Ending with Miraculous TikTok, Miraculous TikTok with house chores, and house chores with this... it's like when you do something long enough in a game and you level up at it except instead of getting really good at jumping I'm extremely productive in the worst ways

Nonetheless have some Timinette

Perma taglist: @nathleigh

When Tim learned that his favorite designer was moving to Gotham, he had been conflicted.

On one hand, she was coming to Gotham! Things he ordered wouldn’t take what felt like years to arrive! There was a chance of actually seeing her in person!

On the other hand, why would anyone even want to move to Gotham? Sure, Tim had never left despite his wealth, but only because he’d gotten Stockholm Syndrome-d into liking the place by the time he was legally able to leave. MDC had no such attachments. If she was moving to America then why not pick Metropo -- ew, actually, no, fuck Metropolis -- somewhere safe?

He tipped his head back against the couch to stare at the ceiling for a moment, mulling over his options in his mind.

He sighed and pulled his laptop to himself. He’d watch her for a bit to make sure she adjusted well to Gotham and that would be the end of it.

Marinette hummed as she fell back on her new bed.

It had been a long few months for her. She’d thought she’d be happy when Hawkmoth was finally defeated but, in the end, she’d just been bored. It turns out that adrenaline and dopamine are hard to get when your brain is wired for only using them in life-or-death situations.

And what better place to experience life-or-death situations than Gotham?

Of course, it wasn’t as consistent as Paris’ one or two akumas a day, but she could make do. One scrap of adrenaline a week was better than none at all.

So far, though, she hadn't had much of a chance to get that adrenaline. She’d spent the first seven days moving in. Obsessing over what color drapes she should use, obsessing even more about the locks she needed to put on her windows…

But now she was done with all that. And she had underestimated the time it would take to get settled in so she wasn’t going to be getting any commissions for the next week or so. Which meant the boredom was back tenfold.

Until, suddenly, it wasn’t. High-pitched screaming started up, growing in intensity until it was practically rocking the foundations.

Marinette ran to the window and her face lit up when she saw a green gas slowly rolling over the city and heading her way. “YES!”

Tikki gave her a disapproving look.

“I mean… oh nooooo those people are so scared I guess I’ll have to help them.”

She smiled ‘innocently’ at her kwami before grabbing her purse and ducking out her door. She looked around and saw all her fellow tenants looking confused.

“It’s just fear gas, right?” One of them asked.

She didn’t know why they were asking her, she was just even less likely to know what was going on than they were, but she answered nonetheless: “You’d think so, but everyone has gas masks, so… there’s probably something else going on.”

Her neighbors exchanged grim looks before disappearing into their houses.

She shrugged to herself and locked her door. They were dealing with it, probably.

She found a dark alley and did a quick glance around -- left, right, right, left -- before mumbling to transform.

(She made sure that every part of her was covered, despite not really liking the look of it, because there was no way she was just going to step into an unknown gas without making sure that it wasn’t going to hurt her.)

Marinette hesitantly walked towards the green cloud despite her instincts and the people around her yelling that it was a very, very bad idea. She couldn’t feel anything, thank the kwamis, but her suit was steaming which was decidedly not good. She stepped further inside, her skin crawling (she had to hope this was unrelated to whatever acid was in the air).

She kept her gaze up determinedly to avoid looking at all the quickly decaying bodies on the ground as she slipped through the cloud in search of the source of the gas.

She came upon Poison Ivy after an hour of searching. She was, predictably, sitting on a giant flower. Less predictably, though, smaller versions of the flower sprouted off of it and released the acidic gas into the world. She considered just trying to sneak up and cut off all the stems, but decided against it. Even if Ivy somehow missed her doing this, she would probably just be able to regrow everything.

“Hey!” Marinette chirped as she dropped from a roof.

Ivy turned to look at her and Marinette saw confusion make its way across her face. “Who’re you?”

She looked down at her suit. Her entire torso was red with black polka-dots, her arms and legs were pure black save for red fingers, her face was blacked out and almost featureless outside of white lenses over her eyes.

“I’ll give you one guess.”

“... I don’t know. Polka-Dot Man’s daughter or something?”

“No! I’m Ladybu -- wait, did you just say Polka-Dot Man? That’s a thing?”

Poison Ivy shrugged. “I mean, he’s dead, but yeah he was a thing. Anyways, are you on my side or not?”

‘No! Obviously not!’ her mind screamed, but outwardly she just shrugged and said, “Depends, why’re you doing this?”

“Humans are killing the earth, so I found a way to kill humans without killing the earth, too!”

No one could see it because of her suit, but Marinette opened and closed her mouth like a fish for a good minute before she brought her brain back enough to choke out her answer:

“Oh. Bold choice. Really interesting. Um. Consider: no?”

Poison Ivy sighed. “Listen, kid. I like ladybugs, they help my plants, so I’m going to give you one chance here: leave.”

Marinette brought her finger to her lips, tapping the fabric over her mouth repeatedly as if thinking, and then tossed her yoyo and cut the flower that Ivy was sitting on.

Ivy gasped in surprise as she fell, but Marinette’s moment of victory lasted approximately half a second before Ivy was lifted off the ground via vine.

Every single plant in the area suddenly perked up and made a beeline for her.

‘Oh. I’m fucked.’

Marinette jumped to avoid the initial attack and summoned a lucky charm. She looked down at the machete in her hand and her nose scrunched. Great.

A vine wrapped around her ankle and yanked her back to the ground and she hissed out a curse as her legs protested the harsh landing. She had bigger problems than probably broken legs, though, because there were other vines heading her way. She looked at the machete in her hand and swung it at the vine attached to her foot.

Well, at least the machete was sharp, she supposed.

She rolled away from the attacking plants and her legs screamed in protest at the fact that she was putting weight on them, but she took a few quick breaths and bit back bile and continued on like everything was a-okay.

She looked at where the flower had been. Ivy had made a throne of sorts out of flowering vines. She laid across the armrests and conducted the vines attacking Marinette with a lazy finger.

Marinette yelped in surprise when something wrapped around her waist and pulled her away from the plants. She hit ground -- or, rather, roof -- and skidded over the concrete for a few feet before she came to a stop.

Black Bat and Signal. Oh, thank the kwamis. Help had finally come.

“Thanks,” she said shortly, slipping out of the grappling wire.

The three of them made a hasty retreat, disappearing inside a place a few buildings down. An office building, she thought as she dropped herself into a desk chair.

“How do you deal with her all the time?”

“Well, usually, she doesn’t do this much,” said Signal with a half-hearted smile. “It’s been a while since she’s been on the whole ‘kill everyone on Earth’ thing.”

Marinette raised her eyebrows behind her mask but then shrugged it off and took a quick look out the window. Ivy’s plant throne was rolling around on the ground as she searched for them.

“She’s got plants releasing something airborne that apparently kills everything but plants. Best option is knocking her out somehow. You got something in your tool belts for that?”

Black Bat shook her head.

Marinette hadn’t really been expecting them to, but her shoulders still sagged a little with disappointment.

“I can distract her pretty well,” said Signal after a few moments. “You two can work at taking her down.”

She hesitated. “It’d probably be more efficient to have two people as bait. I’ll help you.”

“I don’t like the idea of putting you in danger,” said Signal.

She shrugged. “I’ve already got two broken legs... and I think a dislocated ankle but not really sure on that one.”

“You what --?!”

“You heard me. Hurts like hell. It’s fine, though.”

How did she know they were looking at her with wide eyes when she couldn’t see their eyes?

She leaned back in her chair, twirling her machete absently as Signal and Black Bat talked.

(Well, they weren’t exactly ‘talking’. Black Bat and Signal just looked at each other and made vague hand motions every once in a while. She tried to follow along, but apparently her ability to know every language did not cover bat-ese.)

Black Bat, eventually, gave Marinette two thumbs up and apparently that was all she was going to get because Signal and Black Bat were already heading out the window they’d come in through.

Marinette sighed and followed after them.

Was it easier to dodge when there were two people? Not really. Or, maybe, Ivy had somehow gotten stronger in the five-ish minutes they’d been gone.

The two of them stood back to back, slashing and hacking through as many plants as they could, but there were far too many and they were quickly getting overwhelmed. Marinette barely managed to notice the one trying to snake around their legs before it could turn them upside down. Signal had grabbed her by the shoulder once to keep her from getting clobbered by a vine carrying a bat (which, by the way, what the fuck?!).

She yelped when she felt Signal get torn away from her and turned to watch him get thrown into a car. The metal crumpled under the impact, which did not bode well for the not metal person that hit it.

She managed to weave her way over and cut him out of the vines attempting to cocoon him, then wondered how she was supposed to check his pulse when any exposed skin meant touching acid. Thankfully, though, he stirred and his mask tipped up to look at her.

“’m fine,” he slurred.

She was skeptical, but she stepped back a step.

“Three!” Said Signal suddenly, which would have been helpful if her brain was in fight mode and not ‘help partner’ mode. It wasn’t, so a vine attempted to impale her Dean Winchester style.

The vine did not succeed in its murder attempt, but she kinda wished it did when it sent her flying into a nearby telephone pole headfirst. She groaned in pain and slid to the ground, head spinning with what was probably a concussion if the way her stomach turned meant anything.

She didn’t get to throw up, though, as something came up and blocked her throat. She struggled against the vine around her neck, hands fumbling for her machete at her side. How does one close their hand again?

Nope, those are eyes. Open those again, please. Please?

And then, suddenly, she was able to breathe again. She slumped against the wall and took deep breaths to get her lungs back into working condition.

She peeled her eyes open despite the pain and looked around. Black Bat had knocked out Ivy and was now tying her up. Signal was making his way over, using an escrima stick as a kind of cane.

She shook her head as if trying to clear it and then looked at the ground until she found her machete again. She struggled for a moment to get her body to work enough to reach for it and grab it, but she got there eventually so it was fine.

“Miraculous Ladybug,” she murmured, tossing it and watching it dissolve into ladybugs.

She blinked until her brain started working again and looked up to see Signal and Black Bat both leaning over her. She couldn’t read their expressions through their armor, but she was pretty sure they were more tense than they had been since the last time she’d really looked at them. Which was wild, because the last time they’d been surrounded by acidic gas.

“You’re a meta.”

She gave a shrug. “Kinda. You’re welcome, by the way.”

He sighed. “There’s a no meta rule in Gotham.”

“Aren’t you a meta?”

Signal didn’t answer, just offered her a hand up.

She hesitantly allowed him to pull her to her feet and she stretched out her newly fixed body. Kwami, she wouldn’t take being intact for granted ever again (or, at least, not until the next fight).

Signal and Black Bat had another one of those silent conversations and eventually Black Bat went over and collected Poison Ivy.

Marinette raised her eyebrow at the hand still in hers and Signal sighed and moved his grip up to her bicep.

“Can I take you to see Batman?”

“Do I actually get a choice in this?”

Signal winced. “Not really.”

She sighed. “Thought so. Alright. Let’s go.”

Welp. She’d lasted a whole week in Gotham. It had been fun while it lasted, she supposed.

Listen, sometimes you accidentally stumble across someone’s secret identity. It wasn’t like he was trying to figure out who Ladybug was, hell there was no way he could have even known she was going to show up in Gotham at all.

But then a cloud of green gas started rolling towards them while he was… watching over her and he had paled. He didn’t know if it was Joker Gas, Fear Gas, or something of Ivy’s creation, but if there were that many people screaming it probably needed more than just the usual gas mask or respirator.

He hadn’t relaxed until Marinette had ducked out of her apartment and started running away from the gas. Good. Despite her being new, she wasn’t stupid --.

Except then she swerved into an alleyway. Tim’s eyebrows furrowed and he ran across rooftops to where he’d seen her disappear. He saw her look around anxiously, checking for something. She was panicking, he thought -- of course she was, she had no real experience with Gotham’s bullshit.

He prepared himself to drop down, to be all ‘Hello random citizen who I do not know, I’m here to take you to safety’, only for red light to envelop her. He stared in stunned silence as she shifted awkwardly in what seemed to be a knockoff Spiderman costume and then headed out.

Ah. Well, now he understood why she had picked Gotham of all places.

He didn’t get much time to mull it over, though, as the gas started getting closer. He hesitated before calling it in, just in case his family had somehow missed the giant thing slowly taking over the city.

“Hey, so… bad news, guys, there’s apparently something going on downtown. Gas. Seems to work with just skin contact.”

“Black Bat and I are on it,” said Duke.

Tim nodded despite knowing that they couldn’t see it and started working on getting civilians to safety. Most of the bats had some parts of their faces or arms uncovered for reasons to connect with victims, so it was really up to Cass and Duke this time.

He worried his lip anxiously the entire time.

And then the ladybugs washed over the world and he felt his lip tear. Ah. That wasn’t great. Bruce was going to be fucking pissed about the newest illegal meta.

‘Well, guess it’s time to learn how to be a defense attorney in the half hour it takes me to get back to the batcave’, he thought, pulling out his phone…

It took him an hour to get to the batcave, which was both really good and really bad. Good because he’d gotten twice the time to learn defense than he’d thought he would; bad because he was the last one there and Bruce looked like he was about to explode.

Marinette had pulled the top part of her suit down like a hood -- he hadn’t even realized there was a zipper over the face -- and was now sitting on a railing and sipping at a Caprisun beneath a black surgical mask.

She looked up at him briefly when he dismounted Redbird and he watched her eyes narrow just slightly before her gaze returned to the bats on the ceiling.

“Since everyone is here, I suppose we can start,” said Bruce, his voice carefully calm.

Marinette finished off her Caprisun and pushed herself up to stand on the railing. “Hi. Ladybug. French hero. Nice to meet you guys.”

Tim waved at her and she smiled enough under her mask for her eyes to crinkle.

“I know about your no meta rule, but I’m not really a meta. Got magic jewelry.” She pushed some hair behind her ears to show off her earrings. “So I really don’t count myself and you shouldn’t either.”

Bruce shook his head a little. “It doesn’t matter that you’re not a meta on your own, you’re a liability to have in the city.”

Marinette rolled her eyes and wordlessly pointed at Duke, which was a good point.

“We know we can trust him.”

“We can trust her,” Tim cut in. His entire family turned and gave him wide-eyed stares behind their masks and all he could do was shrug. “She’s been doing hero work for four years, if she was going to go bad she probably would have already done so.”

“How do we know she’s the same person?” Asked Bruce.

Tim tipped his head towards Cass.

Cass huffed a little and then looked at Marinette.

Marinette shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. “Um…?”

Cass nodded slightly and then made a motion not much unlike a referee at a baseball game. ‘Safe’.

Everyone in the room visibly relaxed. Marinette, upon seeing this, relaxed herself.

“Seriously, though, don’t you guys want someone that can reverse physical damages on the team, anyways? None of you have powers of any kind except him, it’s probably better to have me for now and risk me turning later than not having me at all.”

Bruce sighed and shook his head exasperatedly. “That’s not the point.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Oh? Can someone tell me what the death count would have been for today if I hadn’t stepped in?”

Silence stretched for a few moments.

“Exactly. I get you’re cautious or whatever, that’s your whole ‘thing’, but kwami you’ve passed cautious and gone all the way to paranoid and stubborn. Relax.” She hopped over the bats and pulled the bottom of her surgical mask up to try and take another sip of her empty Caprisun. “Right, someone get me out of here? I’m tired of being questioned.”

The bats were all quiet for a moment as they considered this.

Tim hesitantly raised his hand. “I can take you home.”

She grinned and pointed at him. “Congrats, you’ve officially won second best bat.”

“Who’s first?” Said Tim, who was not offended.

She pointed at Cass. Cass perked up a little.

Ah. He rescinded his offense -- his not offense, sorry -- because, yeah, fair enough.

Marinette smiled and turned to Duke. “I guess you’re going to blindfold me again?”

“Yeah, sorry,” said Duke, rubbing the back of his neck. “Bats orders.”

Bruce grunted, which was B for ‘Yes, but why would you call me out for it?’

Marinette smiled and rolled her eyes. She turned to Steph. “How do you put up with all these guys? You only have Black Bat and she doesn’t talk -- or, at least, I don’t think she does.”

“Oh, there’s more --.”

“Spoiler,” Bruce warned.

Steph rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Yeah, she’s not the only one but the other two are a little… uptight sometimes. Glad to have you on board.”

Marinette looked a little confused but she nodded. “Fair. I like your mask.”

“Thanks! Yours is cooler, though.”

“They’re… they’re the same…” said Duke with a confused frown.

Marinette and Steph both gave him affronted looks.

“Excuse me?” Said Marinette, and Tim was reminded that she was a fashion designer. He silently said a prayer so Duke could get into heaven. “They are completely different! Look at the stitching, hers has a --.”

Bruce strode away, fingers pressed to his temples despite his cowl being in the way, which amused Marinette enough for her to stop chewing out Duke for not noticing the all-important stitching. She shook her head slightly and turned back to Tim.

“You said you were gonna take me out?”

He nodded slightly. After Steph tied the blindfold on Tim led her to Redbird and Cass helped her get on behind him. He made sure that she was holding on tightly before sending his family a tiny two-finger salute and taking off. She buried her face in his back.

He came to a stop outside a cafe and, when he propped his bike up, she pulled her blindfold from her face. She scrunched up her face at the sudden light and he pretended to fumble with the clasp of his helmet to hide his smile.

“I can walk you the rest of the way home,” he said. “If you’d like.”

She laughed a little. “I’m a hero, too, y’know. I don’t need your protection.”

He crossed his arms. “Oh? Then why were you using me as a shield from the wind earlier?”

“Because you assholes didn’t give me a helmet!” She said, giving him a playful punch on the arm. She hesitated. Her head tipped to the side. “Thanks for coming to my defense earlier, by the way.”

He smiled. “It’s nothing, really. And don't worry about B, he’s just a bit of an ass when people first show up.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks, I was so worried about what the guy that dresses up like a bat to fight crime thought of me,” she said, but her shoulders relaxed all the same. She glanced at the cafe he had pulled up to and smiled. “Do you know if this place is any good?”

“I know it has coffee,” said Tim.

“Ah, the world’s second greatest detective strikes again.”

He grinned. “I assume you're the greatest detective?”

“Of course,” she said. She looked inside and tipped her head slightly, considering. “Everyone in there is hipsters, so it’s either really bad or really good. Either way it’s really overpriced.”

He hummed his agreement.

She sighed and pulled her wallet out of a hidden pocket. If they lived in a cartoon a fly would have flown out of it when she opened it.

“I’ll pay,” he offered.

Her eyes widened and her face lit up for half a second before she schooled it into a teasing smile. “Wow, gonna buy me a drink and I don’t even have to pretend to flirt with you? Score!”

“Do that often?”

She batted her eyelashes. “No. I’m a law abiding citizen who would never use creepy old men to give me drinks while underage because America’s drinking laws are bullshit. I’m a hero and I would never break the law. Obviously.”

For some reason, he didn’t quite believe her.

Nonetheless, he just rolled his eyes and led her inside.

#timinette #timari #shutterbug #timmari #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #tim drake #red robin #stalker x stalker #maribat

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onceupona-chaos · 3 years

Text

The Storm

Notes: So, I did something. Maybe there will be a part II, but I wanted to post this one first and now I can only hope whoever read this, might enjoy it. Also, forgive for any mistakes, English is not my first language, but I wanted to try something knew and practice a little.

Warnings: language, self-harm and slightly NSFW.

Enjoy! 😊

Elain was trying hard to pretend she wasn't picking a fight with a bush after spending the entire afternoon working in a elderly faery's garden. She didn't know how old Arya was and didn't ask either. Despite the wrinkled face that made her expression look grave at first sight, Arya was gentle enough to bring a fresh lemonade cup every few minutes. Even if Elain hadn't finished hers, it would be replaced by a full cup with two ice cubes and the right amount of sugar - and a warm smile from Arya.

So when she had sent word asking if her garden could be fixed, Elain gladly embraced the distraction, even though it didn't seem to be a particular good day for gardening, if the cloudy sky was any indication.

Kneeling on the dirt, she had been digging and pulling for hours now as she tried to get rid of the ivys surrounding the beautiful blooming roses.

Usually her gardening was a pretty distraction - her mind would focus entirely on what she was doing, her hands moving on their own accords, until every single thought that made her throat tighten was nothing but mist in the distance.

But lately something's changed.

Hateful thoughts, old anguishes, almost familiar as any part of her body, and new ones found themselves in her mind, making her remember what she longed to forget. She didn't bother to wear gloves, wanted the feeling of rough rocks and sharp thorns against her skin. Wanted to focus on the physical pain, to be as far away from her own mind as possible.

And yet it wasn't enough to keep those too many thoughts, cravings and needs at bay.

Her frustration grew with each passing second, her work getting sloppy when a thunder filled her ears.

It was definitely not a good day for gardening.

Elain couldn't decide what was worse: that her work no longer pushed her thoughts away or that she was literally fighting a stubborn rose bush, pulling a branch out with both hands and groaning a curse that would make Cassian proud.

Elain pulled and pulled, the branch slowly, Gods, so slowly giving up - and then it broke in half, leaving the part covered in thorns still buried deep in the ground. She didn't hesitate though, just wiped the sweat off of her forehead, grabbed the branch, thorns and all biting her skin, and started again.

When Arya came back once again, the lemonade cup hit the ground.

She looked at Elain, taking in the blood staining her cobalt dress, big red drops running down her hands. "It's nothing to be worried about, it's already healing."

It wasn't a lie. But Arya still insisted that Elain went home, claiming that a beautiful lady like her shouldn't remain covered in blood and sweat. A scream caught in Elain's throat that bagged for a few more minutes of distraction, just a few more. But she knew Arya was thinking about her well being, so she made a gentle smile bloom on her face and thanked her for the limonade.

"Hurry up now or you're going to get caught in the storm."

Indeed, Elain could already smell the rain, the air charged with electricity, the wind colder than usual, the promise of thunder and lighting.

Yet her steps were lingered, heavy as she walked by the vibrants streets of Velaris

When the first drops came… she tilted her head and let them pour over her, only wishing it could wash away every burden in her heart.

It didn't take long for the cold rain to soak her, making her own bones shivered. A walk back to the lake house would took long enough to make her catch a cold and since being stuck in a bed was the last thing she needed, Elain made her way to the town house. It was still empty, but at least she could warm up and wait for the rain to pass by.

Elain had just crossed the front door and immediately sighed as she felt the cozy warmth. She was freeing her hair from the braid, combing it with her fingers, taking in the sitting room of the empty house - and froze. Because that was a very, very light fireplace. She only had time to take a step back when the scent of mist and cedar hit her nose.

_______________

After a long visit to the eyes and ears under his command, one would think Azriel would take a warm bath and go for several hours of sleep to put away the feeling of the cold rain against his wings that had chased him for miles and miles.

He could have winnow into shadows. But he hoped the exhaustion of flying through the storm combined with a hot bath to relax his sore muscles would help his body to give in to some poor, few hours of sleep.

Azriel had just gone out of the bath, his hair still damp, when he heard the front door shutting. A shadow curled around his ear, registering someone's presence, and he made his steps quiet as death, aiming for the sitting room.

He hadn't seen Elain alone since Solstice and even at the few dinners on the river house he still tried to attend, Azriel could barely look her in the eyes, the memory of her pain too much for him to handle.

But there she was.

She was staring at him, wild-eyed, soaked to the bones. He allowed himself to drink the sight of her, let his eyes travel slowly through her face. Usually, in those dinners, he would hardly steal a glimpse in her direction - well aware of Rhysand's eyes almost daring him to challenge his orders. But here, alone… It was exactly this kind of situation he tried so hard to avoid, knowing it would be the death of him.

Azriel's eyes dropped to her body, the wet fabric hanging to every curve, and spotted the dark red stain on her dress. He scanned her furiously, looking for injuries, stooping at her bloody hand. There were only a few drops, the rain must have washed the blood away - but it was enough to make him want to roar at the sight of it, the predatory instincts inside him ready to kill and kill and kill whoever was responsible. Before he could say anything though, Elain blurted, "I… I thought the house was empty."

Her voice was almost a whisper above the rain, but the words hit him with the force of a thunder. Azriel swallowed hard. He knew she wasn't looking for him. Not after Solstice. But the way she'd say it...

Without even thinking, he closed the distance between them. Elain lifted her chin to keep her gaze locked with his.

Even in a filthy, soaking dress, her damp hair grabbing to her neck, her bloody hand… She was so breathtakingly beautiful, so full of light.

He took her hand in his, so delicate between his scarred fingers. The soft skin marked with small scars, no doubt from her gardening. He turned her hand, exposing her palm and saw the multiple, small bruises. His calluses brushed hers as he asked, "What happened."

She was shaking slightly, not only from the cold rain, "Usual gardening."

He couldn't take it. It was some kind of cosmic joke to be in an empty house with her, so many words hanging between them. He wanted her to know them all, but some he didn't know how to say, and others he couldn't .

Azriel almost choked on his own pain. He stared at her, letting every feeling unsaid, his own longing and despair, rise to his eyes, unable to stop it as he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Her doe eyes flickered, and Azriel knew she saw beyond those words. She knew he wasn't talking about her bruised hand still in his, the only connection between their bodies.

And when Elain squeezed his fingers, he knew she understood him. Perhaps not everything, but enough.

Azriel didn't know for how long they stood there, watching each other, their hands still intertwined, the rain pouring outside, the sound of heavy drops hitting the roof interrupted only by the rumble of thunder. Without knowing who moved first, he realized his face was inches from hers, enough to share breath. Elain inclined her head and brushed his nose with hers, the gesture so tender.

A moment later, their mouths collided at last and everything else faded away.

Her mouth was soft against him, and the scent of jasmine, honey and rain filling his nose made his eyes roll back behind his eyelids.

Such a sweet kiss as if The Mother or whoever was wanted Azriel to just have a taste of what he couldn't have. Despite every cell in his body screaming at him, Azriel made to pull away, but Elain held him in place and brushed her tongue against his bottom lip. He moaned her name and yielded himself to her.

The kiss wasn't desperate or frantic as Azriel had imagined it would be for so fucking long. No, the kiss was slow and deep, like pouring honey. Their thongs danced with each other, stroking and caressing.

And her taste… like honey and spring sunrise. He couldn't get enough. He needed more, needed her printed in his very bones, until their souls intertwined.

He was breathing hard, one of her delicate hands wandered across his chest and arms, the skin beneath her fingers burning. Elain traced every muscle, every inch of tattoo ink, as if to reaffirm he was real, that he was there. She buried her other hand into his hair, pulling slightly, and Azriel let out a sound between a moan and a purr, barely audible above the rain.

The world faded away and there was only her, only her mouth, her scent, her body. He needed her closer, wanted to merge himself with her so they would never be parted.

Everything about that kiss was so sweet and so sensuous as if it was a song sent from heaven to lure him to the deepest of hells, where every sinful idea would take form. It was his paradise and ruin, and he was utterly, thoroughly hypnotized.

He'd lovers, many throughout the centuries. But he never felt so drowned, so lost and found at the same time. Nothing had ever felt so good, nothing. Azriel could only pray to the old gods that at least one part of him would be his at the end of it.

They continued that taunting dance, touching, exploring, seducing. Their tongues met stroke for stroke until Elain parted and sucked on his bottom lip, and any sane part of him ceased to exist.

Azriel groaned and his hands moved from her waist to find that generous, gorgeous backside of hers, squeezing possessively with both hands, making her moan into his mouth. Elain ondulated her hips, pressing herself against him, and gasped when she felt exactly how much she was affecting him. How much power she had over him. A small smile curved her lips and Azriel traced it with the tip of his tongue.

More more more

Azriel could feel her shaking in anticipation, smell her arousal in the air.

He was going to devourer her inch by inch. He was going to -

Elain suddenly pulled back just enough to look at him in the eyes, and Azriel almost fell on his knees. Sheer desire was printed on her face, those pink, perfect lips swollen, making his mouth watering. A blush stained her cheeks, and he wondered what other places he could make her blush. He needed to know them all.

But all of that was nothing compared to that look on her face. The honey-brown almost entirely gone, her eyes flashing with molten desire as if those black expanded pupils were windows to her soul and his particular way through.

Both of them were breathing each other's air. Elain stared and stared and stared at him as if she was undoing every single wall and shield he'd ever raised.

Azriel let her. Didn't need them with her anyway.

He cupped her face with his hand and brushed her cheek with his thumb, making her shiver. His eyes never left hers, and he could almost see a bridge of light and dark taking form between their souls, honey-brown and hazel in each end.

When his thumb moved to trace her bottom lip, Elain cupped his hands with hers, mouth parting slightly before she kissed the tip of his finger. Azriel didn't know who he was, where he was, because there was only her, only that female accepting every part of him.

Then Elain sucked his thumb into the wet heat of her mouth. Pure desire ran through his body like a lighting straight to his groin, and he had to brace his other hand on the wall to keep himself standing, to not fall on his knees.

Elain let go of his thumb, her eyes glimmering in a way he'd only dreamed about. She inclined her head, baring her throat, and Azriel knew he was in deep shit.

He couldn't help the sound that came out from somewhere deep inside of him, his nostrils flaring at the sight of her delicate, creamy skin covering her pulse point and totally exposed to him - and only him.

Offer and permission.

A thunder rumbled outside, but all Azriel could hear was his blood singing her name as he lowered his head and brushed his nose along the side of her neck, breathing greedily and letting her scent fill his nose, his lungs. Elain arched a little, asking for more.

Azriel then kissed her neck tenderly. Wanted to savor every second of it, every taste of her. Didn't want to rush this - not with her, not when he had the chance. He prayed that the storm would never end, wanted to take his time, worship every part of her body until one stroke at the right place would be all that would take to make her come. Hard.

He kissed the spot beneath her ear and where her neck met her shoulder. Elain's hand tightened, pulling his hair in silent command. Azriel bared his teeth, brushing his canines against her pulse point. He pressed lightly - just enough to make his teeth sink into her skin, claiming her.

Elain moaned louder at the sensation and tightened her hold on his hair - and pure male smugness washed over him. Because he was the one she bared her throat to. It was his mouth on hers, his hands covering her ass. He could already smell his scent on her, mist and jasmine, cedar and honey.

And it was his name she moaned.

"Azriel."

Before Azriel could unleashed himself, he first dropped to his knees.

#elriel #elriel fic #elriel fanfic #elain x azriel #my writing

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heresathreebee · 3 years

Text

Wearing THAT

[Dewey Finn X Female Reader]

Summary: Reader teases Dewey in a Poison Ivy costume. You have a really hard time saying exactly what you want... Masterlist Next

Word count: 3.1k words (no beta)

Warning(s): 17+ | teasing, lots of teasing and boners, lap sitting, near nudity, touching

AN: only Thots here, thots about Dewey Finn also is Ned British? He's British in my head

This was some sort of test. It had to be. God was testing him through you and you were not playing fair. It’s a costume party not a competition, you pompous little sycophant. And yet he can’t help but tug at the collar of his shirt. It’s not even anywhere near his throat but why else would he feel so constricted? It’s certainly not because of you…

You walked into his shared apartment wearing that and you had no idea the effect it had on him.

Dewey watches you sling an arm around Ned and kiss Patty’s cheek in greeting. “Hi guys! Thanks for inviting me, I’ve been dying to put this on.”

“Oh you look lovely,” Patty coos. She plucks at one of the plastic leaves on your corset. “Did you make this?! It’s so intricate.”

You bark out a laugh. “Oh hell no! I have this cousin, right? And him and his fiancé own this shop where they make costumes for movies and theatre and if you pay ‘em right, ‘personal use.’ And they don’t ask questions what ain’t their business either.”

“Well, I’m sold.” Ned raises his beer for a toast and Patty clinks it with her bottle of mysterious green juice. “Prost! What’s the name of the shop? Wanna see if they’re online– you know, for... support.”

“Ned,” Patty swatted his empty hand (no need to be shy, we already know they’re freaky).

You pat your friends on their backs and take a step towards the kitchen. “Gonna get myself a beer.”

“Oh honey you don’t have to do that. Dewey!” The man in question nearly covered himself in his own drink when he heard his name. “Be a good host and get this lady her beer!”

“Yes captain,” Dewey salutes and Patty can do nothing but glare in her Star Trek yellow shirt costume. Original series, of course, nothing but the best for Patricia Di Marco.

Dewey takes a hold of the moment he has his back to you to take deep, calming breaths. He will not let this be the end of him. Your friendship means so much more to him than that and a little fancy green corset was not going to make him fuck things up with you.

He’s ready for you when he hands you your beer. Your one arm hug is appreciated because he’s sporting a bit of wood and he’d hate to find out your corset isn’t thick enough to hide it– or god forbid you feel him on your thigh. And god, your thighs… those sheer green nylon tights were doing unspeakable things to him. Maybe if he kept you close and kept your legs out of his peripherals he could make it through the night without embarrassing himself.

Or maybe not.

“Are yoooouuu a college student?,” you ask and point at his inconspicuous clothes.

“Actually– ” he opens the buttons of his shirt to reveal another shirt with a superman logo on it and buttons it back up clumsily as you laugh. “Ssshhh! Don’t tell anybody. Protect my secret.”

“Of course,” you giggle. God you feel good hanging off him– usually he loves how physical you are but he has to figure out a way to keep his distance without offending you and quickly. “You like mine?”

The way you pick up a thick swirling red lock and direct his attention to the very thing he’s trying not to look at is killing him. Of course you look even better up close. The leaves of your corset give the thing depth and texture, your gloves are fingerless and go over your elbows, and your heels are high, like make- him- feel- his- below- average- height high.

“I like these.” Dewey plucks at the ring of leaves at the top of your gloves. It’s a way to keep his mind off your everything else. “Did you dye your hair?”

“It’s a wig.” You tug on the top and then the bottom, wincing a little. “Sew in, so don’t go snatch it.”

“I would never!”

“Poison Ivy, eh? Think that’s one of Dewey’s favorites,” Ned blabs.

Dewey sends him a death glare so powerful Ned chokes on his beer but you’re looking at your Spock-dressed friend so you can’t see it.

“Oh, really?” You return your gaze to Dewey and say, “well you must be loving this, then.”

Dewey swallows. No words come to him and there is nothing to stop the awkward silence that follows. You appear unbothered by it, maintaining eye contact as you smile almost knowingly…

“We should play twister,” he says with the most unsure voice ever.

“We don’t even have twister,” Patty mumbled. “Come on, there are like twenty other games setup, let’s play!”

Dewey gives it a minute and when he’s free from you, he catches Ned by his pointy green ear and drags him into the hall. “Hey? What the fuck are you doing?”

“Whah– what are you talking about?” Ned slaps at the hand fisted in his shirt but Dewey doesn’t budge.

“You can’t just go telling people I’m into them, dude! Do you know how close you came to giving me away?!”

Ned scoffed. “Her? I hardly think she’s ignorant to your feelings, you’re not like that Steven from Austin fellow.”

“– Are you talking about stone cold Steve Austin?"Dewey buries his face in his hands- "It’s his last name, not his birthplace–”

“And besides…” Ned peeks around the corner to see you in the middle of some sort of posing game. Everybody's trying to take the form of some sort of vehicle, and you've got Chloe in a headlock and Vance's leg in the other hand. Ned never got to finish his thought because someone dropped a huge bowl of popcorn and that too became a game of ‘how many can you eat off the floor before Patty cleans it up.’ Ned’s got to help and he’s got to help now.

Dewey finds himself on the couch with his fifth beer of the evening. Vance, Jeremiah, and Chloe are talking baseball stats when suddenly Dewey’s vision is filled with green and red just before you sit down. Right between his legs. He unconsciously scoots up to make room for you and before he catches on to your game, you nestle into his space by the arm of the couch and sling your legs across his like you belong there.

Ok, something is definitely up with you.

Would he describe you as cuddly? A little. Perhaps a more appropriate word would be… hands on. Long before he started wanting more than friendship with you, you two were always just touching. Your presence and your love language was physical. Dewey never felt like you were invading his personal space or overstepping his boundaries because he simply had none with you and the feeling was mutual. But this was something else. Something that wasn’t there before.

Was it him? Was he fucking up his perfectly in sync companionship with you because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants or (his heart for that matter)? He wasn’t sure if he wanted to drag you closer or push you flat on your ass right now.

You were listening to Chloe chew Vance out for hating Gritty the mascot when you felt Dewey plant a hand on your forehead. “Hey, are you feeling ok?”

You gently shake him off and raise a single eyebrow. He seems serious, his voice gone all soft and making you feel gooey inside.

“You just seem… I dunno,” he fumbles, “do you want me to take you home after this?”

Hellooooo opening! “Actually, can I stay here tonight?”

“Yeah, of course.” Fuck, who said that? Dewey? Ah, shit…

“Thanks,” oh oh you should not be rubbing his thigh right now… “I think I’ll go change here in a minute.”

Oh please do, please please puh-leeaaase–

After a brilliant movie drinking game (which Dewey tapped out of), the crowd began to disband. 24 became 20, then 18, then 12. You went out to your car to grab your overnight stuff and Dewey was hoping for a brief reprieve from the assault of your visage. He just needed a few more people to leave so he can sequester himself and rub one out– you know, get his head straight. Ever since you left his lap he’s been rock hard, there’s not enough blood flowing to his brain. The guest count is down to 3– 2 with you in your car, and he can’t wait anymore.

Dewey slipped into the only bathroom in the house and prayed to god nobody noticed him. He barely got his hand wrapped around his shaft when Patty’s fist banged on the door demanding he help clean up. Sulking and agitated, Dewey managed to calm down while cleaning up red solo cups, glass beer bottles, cans, and small pocket sized objects that would need to be returned to the guests after their hangovers subsided (no keys, thankfully, everybody’s got a DD). His “predicament’ is nearly forgotten when you finally return with a bundle of clothes, disappear into the bathroom and reemerge in loose sleepwear with your makeup wiped clean and uh… braless.

You catch him looking. Dewey– surprisingly sober after he gave up drinking half way through his sixth beer– does nothing short of raise a slightly irritated eyebrow at you. “Cold in here, huh?”

“Shut up. You know how uncomfortable it is to sleep in a bra?”

You help him collect a couple bottles that rolled under the couch and walk with him down to Ned’s car. Patty would sort the recyclables from the trash in the morning (late morning, she did a couple rounds of tequila shots thanks to you). It’s almost like the party never happened; you’re shooting the shit again and everything is right in the world. He’s got no ulterior reaction to putting a hand on your hip– that’s just a normal thing in your perfectly platonic relationship. God, he really must have been imagining things, he was beginning to think you were actually trying to flirt with him!

Ned’s bent over the kitchen sink with Patty and holding her hair back. He looks up as you enter the apartment and shakes his head. You and Dewey make yourself scarce by slipping into the shared bathroom to hide. You try to giggle quietly as Dewey surveys the skincare products you covered the counter with. He points to your head and asks, “you wearing that to bed?”

“It’s sewed in, I’m not taking this off for three weeks at least,” you answer. “Get my money’s worth. I can work it like my natural hair.”

Dewey nods. You rub your arm nervously and look for something to say, something to circle back to the whole point of showing up looking like a sexed up goddess. What do guys like? Girls wearing their clothes, right? But you need to phrase it perfectly…

“Dewey?” He looks up from the scrubby lip balm in his hands. “I’m not quite ready to go to sleep yet and it… it is a little chilly in your place. Can I wear your jacket?”

Just to bring your meaning home, you tug on his sleeve– the very jacket on his back. You don’t want just any jacket, you want that one, already warm and scented by him. You don’t miss the way his eyes glance past you like he was reluctant to comply. And yet…

“Yeah, here.” He slips out of it with ease and drapes it over your shoulders. You miss the sigh of relief he makes when you pull the zipper closed and obscure your pebbling nipples. “Think I’m gonna go help Ned put Patty to bed.”

Ned was a scrawny little thing and couldn’t carry her by himself, and she needed to be carried. Competitive by nature, it’s easy to talk her into virtually anything, especially if it feels like girl time. You need Patty in a deep sleep for your plans tonight (sorry not sorry). Dewey’s very sexy as he bears most of Patty’s weight. She’s clinging to Ned, arms around his neck and babbling incoherently while Dewey’s got an arm around her waist and legs, keeping Ned on his feet. You skirt ahead of them and open the bedroom door, help pull her shoes off, her captain insignia, her earrings, you even wipe the spit from her lips and the eyeliner smeared on her cheek.

“You’re my favorite ever,” she whimpers, “I love you so much, you’re like my best friend ever…”

You shush her gently. “You say that about everybody when you’re drunk, baby. I promise I’ll make you a fat breakfast in the morning but you gotta go to sleep now, OK?”

Patty nods. She snuggles into her pillow just as Ned is taking up position as the big spoon when she looks back up at you and asks, “can we go for a run together?”

You blink evenly. “Yes.” You already regret it as she smiles big and wide. It would be just your luck this is the one thing she doesn't forget in the morning.

Finally it's just you and Dewey in the hallway. It feels like you're standing between two choices: his open bedroom door and the living room. But it seems like only you can feel the weight of it.

"Are you sure you want to stay over?," Dewey asks, "you can use my bed."

You perk up out of your heavy mood. "Really?"

"Yeah, I'll take the couch tonight."

He can't possibly miss the way you instantly deflate but he's still not putting the pieces of the puzzle together. "Dewey. I'm not going to kick you out of your own room."

He shrugs. "Suit yourself. I'll grab a few blankets."

There's a storage closet in the main building with this one extra soft blanket that Dewey knows you'll love. You on the other hand have got no more patience left. Once the man leaves, you stomp your foot and decide to try one final act.

Dewey returns to the apartment to find an empty, quiet living room. Ned and Patty are in bed, but where are you? He wanders past the bathroom door because it's dark inside and checks his room. There you are reclining on his bed. He could have sworn you were wearing pants before but your legs are bare and his jacket hugs the tops of your thighs. He also could have sworn you were wearing a shirt. He finds both items folded neatly beside you with your underwear right on top.

Oh…

This cannot be happening right now. He just survived tonight by the skin of his teeth and now you were doing this to him. He’s going to pull his hair out, going to scream, it’s so frustrating because he can’t just ask you what you want– you’ll turn the question back on him and he’ll fuck it up. He lets the blanket fall from his grip and with a heavy sigh he whispers in a weak voice, “straight answers only. What are you doing to me? Why you doin’ this?”

You cock your head and answer leisurely, your eye drifting across the items in his room. “You know that’s not how I roll, but if you want me to address the elephant in the room: I'm naked in your bed right now."

Against his better judgement, Dewey moves closer. "I can see that."

One step closer and your eyes find him again. Like an invitation you lean back more, even uncross your legs but go no further. Dewey swallows his tongue and waits for you to elaborate and every second is agonizingly slow.

"You think you can just walk around here with your pretty face and cocky little attitude like it’s nothing,” you said accusingly.

Dewey glared at you. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

“Well we're in agreement then,” you’re almost sneering at him, but he knows it’s because you’re really frustrated with yourself, “I look and I touch and I feel but I don’t know, you know?”

“Not a clue,” he sighs and sits himself beside you. He’s done trying to keep his distance. “Let’s go back to you being naked in my bed.”

“Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?,” he repeats incredulously. Dewey leans back on his elbow to look you over from top to bottom. You look damn good in nothing but his jacket. You’ve got the long ends of your red hair in braids that sweep down to your navel. The zipper rests tantalizingly right below your ribcage. Dewey dares to reach out a mollifying hand and give a tiny stroke to that silver keeper. He cannot bring himself to speak above a whisper as he nods, “yeah, I… I like it.”

The tension leaves your shoulders and you wear a small grin. “It’s not too late to take it back. Say no, and I’ll put my clothes back on and sleep on the couch like none of this ever happened. This,” you point between the two of you, “doesn’t change unless we want it to.”

… this was real. In answer, Dewey’s chin wrinkles and he watches his finger travel upwards, drawing a light line up the expanse of your chest between your breasts to feel you shiver at his touch. Thing is he doesn’t want to say no, but wouldn’t it be better? Safer? He asks the question he’s been dying to know all night. “What do you want from me?”

“Whatever I can get,” you answer truthfully. “Whatever you’ll allow. Don’t trouble yourself with labels and things ‘cause what we have has always been so much more than that.”

Dewey feels a weight lift off of his chest. His hand works around your waist and drags you closer, halfway under him and he rests his perspiring forehead on your breastbone. Whatever happens next happens, for better or for worse.

You’re not troubled when Dewey moves the jacket to expose one of your breasts, however you are taken aback when he bites you. You barely manage to stifle your yelp when you feel him growl against your flesh and the sound vibrates straight to your core. Dewey drags his head up and stares you dead in the eye as he kneads your savaged breast.

“All night,” he growls, “all fucking night for this? We could have done this ages ago. The salon, the drive in, Chloe’s cat’s birthday– grocery shopping last week. But no, instead you pick a party full of people and you’ve had me riled up for hours.”

Dewey pinches your hardened peak and you keen. “‘m sorry…”

“No you’re not, but don’t worry: you will be.”

AN: Check Out Part 2 @hoodoo12 @go-commander-kim @escape-your-grape @softbeej @imma-fucking-nerd @werwulfy

#Dewey Finn #Dewey Finn x reader #three bees writing #🐝🐝🐝✒#black reader insert #🖤❤💛#dewey finn x female reader

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wendimydarling · 3 years

Text

Cover the Mirrors

Summary: Amber is earning a masters degree in mythology and folklore; when a handsome stranger sweeps her off her feet, she’s left wondering how, and struggles to keep up with his lifestyle.

Pairing: Vampire!August Walker x OFC (first person reader)

Word Count: 6826

Warnings: Alright, we ready to get into the menu of delights we will be reading today? Okay but seriously, if you are triggered by anything on this list, it is your responsibility to not read this work of fiction. The warnings are as follows: manipulation, subtle exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, mention of oral (male receiving), biting, clawing, choking, blood, male violence, gore, non-con, rape, spitting, fear play, primal play, breeding, mention of death, torture, and potentially cannibalism, if you squint.

A/N: Okay so this story is based off of this thread where @killjoy-assbutt-1112 gave me a fic title, but I added another twist to it that I’d been brewing for months; I was excited about it but now I’m not. Whatever, I’ll give it to you anyway. Sources for my vampire lore came from here and here. Cover art was made by me; August was drawn by the amazingly talented @cheyentjj and has been used with her permission. Thank you so much to everyone who brainstormed with me, and a special thanks to @agniavateira for betaing!

“If you look at the Slavic region, vampire folklore runs rampant. One especially interesting specimen is the Pijavica. The Pijavica (translated “leech”, or “drinker”) was a rare species of vampire— traditionally male, and a powerfully strong, cold-blooded killer. The potential for conception is most commonly believed to be through the incest of the deceased with his mother during his life, though some believe that one can be created through the exceptionally malicious and evil acts of the deceased before his death.

The birth of a Pijavica is attributed to many different causes, including suffering an “unnatural” or untimely death such as suicide, excommunication, improper burial rituals, or even simple causes such as an animal jumping or bird flying over either the corpse or the empty grave, being conceived on certain days, or being born with a caul, teeth, or tail.”

I paused my typing, fingers leaving the keyboard in order to brush loose strands of hair from my face. Around me, the baristas of my favorite coffee shop were buzzing like worker bees in an old hive; they were gearing up for the lunch rush, and I realized I’d been here four hours already.

This place had long been my go-to study zone. It was small; there was just enough hustle and bustle to keep me from descending too deep into the abyss of studying and yet, it had the respect of the patrons that a library does. The owner, Fred, made sure that conversations were kept in hushed tones, courteous to those of us who needed to work in noise instead of quiet.

“If ya wanna be loud, go sit at a Starbucks!” He’d huff at those who didn’t heed his warning.

My eyes took in the familiar surroundings as I stretched. An oversized wood-burning fireplace filled the wall next to the vintage cash register; it was sandwiched between two built-in bookcases housing stories of all kinds that were meant to be read and enjoyed. The old stone clackling ran all the way up the wall, and a custom mantle made from an old oak tree that had fallen in Fred’s backyard sat delicately above the firebox. Yes, this shop was magical. It held a special place in my heart, and I’d visited so often that old Fred had deemed the table I sat at as “my table”. It was always kept reserved for me.

I reached for my coffee without looking; my brain needed more caffeine. I’d spent months on this master thesis, and yet for some reason, the notion of vampires was such a struggle. I didn’t understand the fear of those who lived back then. The origins of bloodsuckers were chaotic, the “treatments” laughable and still, people were willing to kill their own offspring over such nonsensical superstitions. Cold drops of stale roast hit my lips in a harsh reminder that I’d finished my previous dose. I sighed heavily and dropped the cup to the wooden surface of my table. Eyes closed, I laced my fingers around my neck and drew my elbows together to stretch my spine. Coffee. I need more coffee.

“Having trouble?”

A man’s baritone, smooth as whiskey interrupted my thoughts. My body jolted at his leisurely tone, and I nearly tumbled off the chair as my eyes snapped open to view the intruder. Sitting across from me was anything but a man; I was in the presence of divine artistry, two breathtaking orbs of gray-washed sky centered below auburn curls that adorned his perfectly symmetrical face. A sharp nose pointed to his strong jaw, while an amused smirk tugged at the corner of lips that I’m certain could send even a nun to her bedroom for self-maintenance. He wore a crisp, pinstripe suit, the buttons of his dress shirt undone sinfully low, revealing a smattering of additional curls.

My oversized turtleneck sweater and leggings suddenly felt subpar.

“The name’s Walker,” he mused further, gesturing a large hand toward the empty paper tumbler that was now lying on its side. “What were you drinking?”

“I--I um,” I fumbled with my words, embarrassed by my sudden inability to form a proper sentence. “I had a flat white? With two extra shots of espresso.”

The man named Walker had the cup in his hand and was out of his chair before I could blink; he was already ordering another coffee by the time I managed to process his intentions. I watched him hand the barista a bill I couldn’t see, but by the shocked expression on her face at the man’s declination of the change, it must have been a sizable amount. He sat down at the table again and stared at my chest unabashedly, making it clear he wasn’t just looking but imagining as well.

I should have been offended or felt objectified, but instead I felt drawn into his gaze.

“Having trouble?” He asked again, gesturing this time at my laptop.

“How long were you sitting there?” I blurted out, still too flummoxed to answer his question. Walker laughed and I swear, time stood still. Never in my life had I heard something so beautiful.

“Long enough.”

His reply was short and cryptic, a dismissal of my burgeoning curiosity. The barista chose that moment to bring two orders of coffee to the table, offering both of them to Walker by mistake. I took in her awestruck countenance, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that if my face matched hers I’d sink to the floor and die of shame. That notion shook me from my stupor and I was finally able to address his question.

“It’s my master thesis,” I explained, taking a sip of the scalding liquid he handed me. “I’m a History major, with an emphasis in mythology and folklore.”

I took another sip and tapped my phone, large numbers greeting me on the screen. Numbers that told me I was extremely late.

“Oh my god I have to go, I’m so sorry!” I apologized, scrambling to pack my things. In my haste I knocked my drink off the table. Resignation sunk in deep, submission to the knowledge of further humiliation at the impending spill. None came however, as Walker caught the drink in his hand before it crashed to the dark tiles.

“Thank you,” I murmured, gawking at him in bewilderment. Who was this man?

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, standing to help me collect the remainder of my books. “I’m interested in your thesis, could we perhaps discuss it over dinner? I don’t want to keep you from your next engagement.”

“I—” I stared at him, his face open and inviting. I’d been asked out before, but never this abruptly, and never by someone who looked and behaved like him. It sounded like an adventure…or a good story to tell on girls’ night at least.

“You know what, sure. Why not?”

I scribbled my number onto a napkin and slid it his way, grabbing the rest of my gear and heading toward the door. As I pushed against the hard metal, Walker’s large fingers caught my wrist, wrapping around it like ivy wraps around a lamppost. They were cool to the touch and yet somehow, my entire body immediately felt heated.

“We forgot first names,” he chuckled, “I’m August.”

I grinned sheepishly, pulling my arm from his surprisingly firm grip. The clank of the metal door handle resonated with the introduction I threw over my shoulder as I left the warmth of the shop and the handsome man behind.

“Amber.”

It took August a full week to call me. I felt like a fool; Did I leave on a poor note? Had I offended him somehow? Did he simply decide to change his fucking mind? I was kicking myself for saying yes; how could I have agreed to go on a date with a complete stranger? Now that I was no longer in his flustering presence, I began to see reason again. I knew nothing more than this man’s name, and the fact that he was more than likely rich. He could be a cold-blooded killer for all I knew, and I had every intention of telling him off.

I was in my apartment when he called. Still stuck on my thesis, I was currently unable to determine how best to explain the theory behind the sexual appeal of vampires. In my frustration, I hung upside down over the side of my bed, reading a book that discussed the many different works of literature revolving around vampirical romanticism and hoping the blood rushing to my brain would help me ascertain how to go about my explanation. The book was written by two authors who essentially argue the whole time, one of them convinced that the human fascination with vampires stems from the cannibalistic nature of bloodsucking or that it alluded to other bodily fluids such as semen, whereas the other stood firm in his belief that it held a much simpler cause; it was nothing more than the presence of oral fixation and sadism that caused the fantasy to plant its seed.

My phone vibrated but I ignored it, too engrossed in my book to be bothered with answering. I was so close… the answer was right there, it just continued to escape me. It wasn’t until my phone vibrated a second time to notify me of a voicemail that I put the pages down and picked up the electronic device.

The moment I heard August excusing his delay in calling to a work emergency, I immediately sat up and hit redial. There was something in his voice that made my heart quicken and my pulse race; it made the hair on my arms stand on end. I regretted sitting up so fast as it rang, the blood surrounding my brain draining quickly into the rest of my body. August answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Amber.”

“I—hi.”

I rolled my eyes then flinched in pain, congratulating myself sarcastically on how pathetic that response sounded with a slap of my palm to my forehead.

“Please, allow me to apologize again for waiting so long to call,” August insisted, seemingly unphased by my lack of vocabulary. “I still intend to take you to dinner, that is if you haven’t written me off completely.”

“No it’s fine, I totally get it,” I assured him. I had completely forgotten my earlier annoyance. He had explained it after all, and it could happen to anyone.

“Perfect. I’ll send a car tonight then, at seven. Wear something revealing please, I wasn’t able to see that pretty little neck of yours last time.”

My insides shook with an unexpected pang of shocked arousal at August’s request. The sexual confidence saturating his tone had me instantly reduced to nothing more than a deep desire for him to drag me to my knees by my hair. Why I wasn’t offended by the dominantly abrupt way this man spoke to me, I’ll never know. I put on the best flirty air I could manage in my stupor.

“I think I can manage that. Might have to charge you though.”

August laughed for the second time since I’d known him and I smiled, proud that I’d caused such a melodious sound to grace this earth.

“I like your spirit; you’re gonna be fun. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I—okay bye,” I managed to say before he hung up. I stared at my phone stupidly, as though I thought he was going to call again. Instead, the large clock face glared up at me like it always does, an ever present reminder that I live on a different plane of time than the rest of the world. I fell back on the bed, thinking about the man named August.

He likes my spirit? I hadn’t really shown him much, I’d been unable to do anything but stammer and trip over my words like a schoolgirl would when confronted by the cutest jock at school. What could he possibly see in me? The woman I truly was, the one I knew was underneath the bumbling idiot finally answered me. You’ve got three hours, Amber. Show him what you’re made of.

Resolve set in, and I bounced off the bed and walked toward my closet. For whatever reason, he’d chosen me, so I was going to let my confidence in that thought override all the self-doubt that was threatening to surface. I pulled my favorite dress from the hanger and set out to work. He wanted revealing? Then revealing is what he’d get, but I was going to do it my way.

The car was punctual, though I was less so. I scrambled to put diamond studs in my ears while being driven to some unknown location, my nerves making my hands shake. Once again, the notion that I could be driving to my death crept up my spine, but I brushed it off. Rich men send cars, it’s what they do. And I am an intelligent woman, I wouldn’t let myself be put in that situation.

Would I?

Touching the final stroke of Red Wine lipstick on my lips, I pulled my loose curls over my shoulder to expose my neck and put my things in my vintage black clutch, staring out the window at the ancient building that housed the most expensive club in town. I was suddenly grateful I’d chosen such a fancy dress. I fidgeted with the soft hem of the sleeve at my wrist, drawing it back and forth between my fingers while I waited for the driver to come to a stop.

I saw August there waiting, looking sharp as ever in another expensive three-piece suit, buttons undone just as low as the first time. This time however, I felt much better matched to his attire, and my confidence rose right next to my excitement. August came down the steps to open the door and I took his hand, hiking the burgundy velvet up to my thigh so that I could exit the car smoothly. The heavy fabric dropped to the ground the moment I freed it from my grasp, allowing August to study how I’d chosen to honor his request.

August drank in my covered form, taking in the way my dress hugged my curves and accentuated what it needed to. His eyes darkened as they lingered on the single large triangular section of bare skin that started at my shoulders and came to a point between my breasts, and I watched his tongue dart out of his mouth softly. He looked downright hungry. August stepped closer, fingertips grazing the flesh on my collarbone before he fastened his grip onto my nape and inhaled the hair at my temple deeply, pressing his lips to my ear.

“You are simply mouthwatering,” he growled, low and possessive. His hand released my neck and slid down to the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine. My insides quivered at his touch, fragrant drops of dew pooling rapidly in the flimsy lace that guarded my mound from potential intruders.

“You wanted to see my ‘pretty little neck’,” I teased his earlier arrogance, lifting my skirt to traverse the steps leading inside, “I thought I’d frame her for you, give her the spotlight.”

August cocked an eyebrow at me in amusement, sensing my challenge. His fingers dug into my hip a little harder than necessary as he guided me through the establishment with nothing more than a nod to the hostesses. Apparent jealousy marred the face of one, and I thought I saw a hint of worry on the other. We were gone before the emotion could register in my mind.

I was escorted to a private booth in the upstairs of the establishment. While the first floor was crowded and full of people, the second floor was empty; August had requested it for our use alone. I could hear the hum of nightlife below, the haunting, non-lyrical melody of a soft alto wafting over the balcony as we walked past, the whispered promise of an enchanting night. A few tables and chairs were strategically placed on the floor, hugged by back-to-back rounded booths on either wall. Light ethereal curtains hung on either side of them, offering privacy from the guests who would typically sit in the next box over. August led me to the corner booth nearest the balcony so that we could look upon the stage if we chose.

“Our table, milady,” he joked, leaving a wet kiss on the back of my hand. Though the charade was seemingly in jest, it could not have been farther from it. His piercing eyes never left mine and I gasped at the feel of his brazen tongue on my skin. The suggestion of what he could do with it hung thick in his gaze, lacing the air with the succulent first tendrils of decadent tension. Playing along, I took a sharp breath and curtsied. I stayed low as August stood to show him the appeal of my figure at this angle, tilting just my head to look up at him. He stood there, head held high like a king, and the smile I received at my display was downright sinful.

“What a treat you are,” he murmured, cupping my chin briefly. My breasts swelled as I stood, consenting August the claim to chivalry by way of settling me into the alcove. He swept my hair over my shoulder again, trailing a single finger down my neck in admiration before taking his own seat. My insides were nothing but a pile of kindling, and every touch he gave was a spark that threatened to ignite the dry leaves into a burning flame of need.

The courses came and went just like those moments, every phrase emphasized with physical intimacy of some kind, whether it be just a gossamer brush of his fingers on my ear or an intentional grasping of my hand. He went as far as to boldly stroke the back of his knuckle along my cleavage, making me dizzy with desire. Each touch was avaricious—like he owned me—and I had zero qualms about letting him.

We ate our fill, but August made no move to leave the comfort of our small corner. With the noise of people below dulled by the far reaches of our seclusion, it was easy to converse. I told him more about my master thesis and the Pijavica, how they could read minds and enjoyed the power of persuasion, how they were impervious to all but decapitation, and how only their offspring could kill them. He listened intently, sharing tales of his own career. It was how I discovered that he was a doctor.

“I don’t practice anymore though, I prefer to study and learn. Specifically, I’m attracted to tears.”

“Tears?” That struck me as odd; it wasn’t often you came across someone who had such a unique field of study. “Why tears?”

August swirled the whiskey in his glass and downed it abruptly. He subtly indicated to our attendant for another before continuing his explanation.

“I’ve always had a fascination for the small things, things that people don’t seem to think matter; the mind-body connection, you know? For example,” he brushed a thumb over my cheekbone, “Did you know that the cellular structure of tears looks different based on the type of tear?”

August cupped my neck with both of his hands, tilting my head this way and that, his calm features set in measured focus as he spoke.

“Basal, reflexive, emotional... they all look different.”

I closed my eyes, letting him caress my skin. August’s touch was intoxicating, addicting. Even his scent was an aphrodisiac to my senses. I couldn’t get enough of it, lured ever closer to his sturdy frame, letting him manipulate my body how he saw fit. He nuzzled my hair, his soft spoken words dripping with lust into my ear.

“In fact,” he went on, “Even among those categories they differ, dependent on the stimuli.”

I could feel his breath on my neck, his lips surrounding the pulsepoint in my veins as he spoke, my jaw his destination. A hand snuck under my skirt, skimming along my trembling skin toward the seeping treasure that awaited him at the end of his journey. I spread my legs willingly, inviting him into my deepest of secrets. August hummed as he went on, sending spirals of tingling vibrations through my chest.

“The sting of onions, the sadness of grief… the satisfaction of overwhelming pleasure.”

“August…” I breathed, but my voice was severed as August simultaneously laid claim to my mouth and my womb. Thick fingers penetrated me in the same moment as his probing tongue, and it was in that moment I knew I was lost; August Walker could pull everything from me and I wouldn’t care; I’d want it, need it. He had spent all night teasing me, testing me, manipulating me and filling me with nothing but a desire for more, leaving me empty and wanting. He had succeeded, I now craved him above all else in this world.

August lifted my skirts, hoisting me with little effort to straddle his lap and I cried out in shock. The sound of my sudden impalement on the thick steel of his manhood was camouflaged by the crowd of people below; no one heard the echo of carnal awakening that sang through the air. When had he undressed? I bit my lip as he sank deeper into my core until the salty bitterness of copper and iron stung my chin. August’s eyes fell to the red droplet, darkening until the only color left in his pale irises was the very absence of light. With a hideous growl he ravaged my mouth, tasting every inch of my bruised lips with the hunger of an animal that’s been caged for far too long.

Thrill and terror tangled themselves in my mind, weaving an intricate web of wanton desire inside of me as August took me right there in the booth. Time itself seemed to halt, the room disappeared. Were we still in the club? Was it still the dead of night? Did I still require oxygen to breathe? Or was my life source now August’s touch, the light in my very soul dependent upon his kiss?

I didn’t notice when we left, nor when we arrived at a house that overlooked the city. I didn’t notice the lock on the basement door, or the fresh garden in the yard. I didn’t notice the continual rising and setting of the sun. I didn’t notice when I grew hungry, nor when I grew tired. I didn’t notice, not anything but passion, need, and desperation.

I didn’t notice.

Sleep drained from my limbs slowly. I awoke to black silk caressing my skin, dim sunlight shining through the wall, diffused by a covering of clouds that hung in the sky. It confused me that it was coming through the entire wall, until I realized that said wall was simply one large window, and the room I found myself in was built into the rock of an obsidian cliff overlooking the city. The room was minimally decorated in dark tones that coordinated with the nature outside, save for a striking, golden painting of a woman crying on the far wall. I clearly wasn’t home, and last night’s events slowly returned to the forefront of my mind.

August.

August was, without a doubt, the most attentive lover I’d ever had. Memories of his lips, his scent, his god-like physique that was surely carved from marble entertained my thoughts, returning my mind to the pleasure I’d never experienced in my life. Chills ran up and down my skin, alighting in wonder as my hand drifted to my sex. My fingers found my petals, swollen from overuse, aching in the dull agony of satisfaction. I stroked them gently, soothing the pleasant tenderness, moaning softly as the blood rushed to swell my clit once more, my other hand slipping beneath the silk to join in the heavenly edging torment.

A sharp, sudden sting at the brush of my inner thigh caused me to cry out, my hands snatching away from their play. I sat up, peering beneath the sheets to discover a semi-circle of divots cut into my leg. Is that a… a bite mark? I pulled at the skin and felt the dried blood crack, a small pinprick of new red seeping through the scab. I lunged from the bed to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and look for other signs or markings, but what I found made me gasp.

Bruises peppered my neck, chest, hips and thighs. A few other crescents were scattered amongst them, standing out against the dark patches that shaded my skin. I took a physical inventory then, feeling the soreness in my jaw from being stretched by his cock, the ache of my neck from having my hair pulled, the shaky feeling of muscular fatigue in my legs from being tensed by orgasm after orgasm. I thought I detected a slight sheen on my skin, but I couldn’t tell if that was from the tremulous bliss of a satisfying fuck, or if it was the sweat and oil caused by said satisfying fuck. Either way, I looked happy and content. I grabbed August’s dress shirt from the floor and threw it on as I left the room to explore.

The bedroom led to a hallway, the wall to my left still nothing but expansive glass that showed off the impressive view. On the other side were large, black and white abstract prints, hung evenly spaced against dark panels. To the left of each was a shadow box with an ornate glass vial inside; each bottle was thin, no longer than my palm and differing in design from the others. Tiny, intricate patterns were painted on the outsides in white, blue, and gold, and gold stoppers sealed each one. When I entered the main room, I discovered a curio cabinet that housed at least a hundred of them, and I leaned in to look at how varied each one was.

“Victorian tear catchers,” August’s voice was suddenly behind me and I whirled sharply, startled. He chuckled at my alarm and I laughed with him, enjoying that glorious sound.

“They’re beautiful,” I murmured, turning back to look at the delicate glass. August pulled me against his naked chest, nosing my hair and kissing my neck.

“Yes you are,” he whispered, earning an eye roll from me. August chuckled and opened the cabinet.

“Would you like one?”

“Really?”

I looked at him, stunned. He simply nodded his head in the direction of the vials and I examined them, selecting one that had a white pattern on it that looked like lace.

“Mmm, a good choice. Perhaps I can collect tears of ecstasy for you,” August whispered. The thrill of what he was implying awakened my senses, and I let him lead us slowly back toward the bedroom. I felt like teasing him, so I delayed a bit by asking about the art on the wall.

“What are those?” I pointed to the first print, a cross-hatching pattern that looked like it was made of sewing pins.

“Those are tears of grief,” he stated, stopping in front of each as he walked me gradually down the hall.

“A yawn,” he said of the next, a white background with dark, fern-looking splatters. August traced his mouth along my jaw, his hand dipping beneath the button of his shirt to play with the sensitive nipples he had rediscovered. I keened as he continued shifting us toward the kitchen, struggling to keep my composure. The next print was a much darker gray, and it looked like it was covered in snowflakes.

“Any guesses?” August asked, mouthing my earlobe in tandem with the flick of his thumbs over my hardened nubs. I whimpered, my knees weak in his lustful embrace.

“Uhm… cold air?” I rasped as he sucked on my neck. August chuckled through his nose, the vibrations of his voice rippling through my chest to connect with his teasing fingers.

“Onions.”

“Yeah okay.”

I tilted my head so that I could kiss him, but suddenly the thought of onions turned my stomach. I lurched, pulling away and gagging slightly. Instead of concern, August smiled knowingly, seemingly unbothered by my retching.

“I see morning sickness has set in. It’s a little early and I had hoped you’d be able to avoid it, but alas, that’s not the case.”

My head swam suddenly, confusion mutilating all thought. I backed away from him.

“Morning what? What are you talking about?”

August took a step toward me, placing a hand on my belly and lacing his fingers in the hair at my nape.

“Women always taste better after they’ve conceived. And I can keep them longer; they make much more blood when they’re host to a fetus.”

I pushed against him, turning away and vainly attempting to process his words. Pregnant? Taste better? Blood? My eyes focused on a card I hadn’t noticed earlier in the shadow box, a single word printed on it.

Bridgette

“Isn’t it ironic,” August mused, tracing my collarbone with a thick finger, “That five weeks ago, you had a chance encounter with the very thing you’ve been studying for months, and now you carry his child.”

The room spun. I couldn’t think; my brain refused to process the nonsense he spoke.

“Five—five weeks?! No that’s not possible, our date was last night!”

“It’s more than possible, sweet morsel. Think about it.”

Bile rose thick and acrid in my throat then, threatening to spill. Memories and time started filtering into my mind, replacing the fog with everything I’d lost. The last puzzle piece clicked into place, confusion all but disappeared and I was left with nothing but the cold, terrifying truth. Pijavica. Vampire. Monster.

I’d fallen into the clutches of a monster.

I did the only thing I could think of; I slapped him as hard as I could and took off through the house, ignoring the sharp pain of a chunk of hair remaining in his hand. My heart pounded in my chest, desperate to be free of this sudden nightmare. I slammed into the front door and grabbed the handle, a strangled sob catching in my throat when it wouldn’t open.

I rattled the door knob, panic consuming every fiber of my being. Suddenly, it wasn’t just my life I was fighting for; apparently there was a life inside of me that needed protecting. The child of a Pijavica that was depending on me to escape, so that he could come back and kill his father. I have to get out. I gave up on the door in anger, spinning around and looking for another way.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

I heard August’s voice again, but he was nowhere to be seen. His voice came louder, penetrating my mind. I have to keep moving.

“It was because of your name; they match your eyes.”

I whimpered at his words, sneaking my head around a corner to survey the living space for some form of an exit.

“Amber has a historical application, you see,” he went on, louder. I dashed over the floor, desperate to be gone from him. Door after door remained locked, and my terror grew with each attempt. Every now and then I could hear August, whether it be a rustle of fabric or the knock of his foot on the wooden floor. The scholar in me knew that it was on purpose, that he was luring his prey, giving chase to his food, and yet my rational mind refused to take charge. I was being led by my flight response, and his jarring monologue wasn’t helping.

“Throughout history, whenever a goddess cried it was typically tears of amber, save for the goddess Freya, who cried gold. You met her in the bedroom.”

His laughter echoed through the dark walls of his lair, and chilled me to my core. It was no longer a beautiful sound, but grating and horrible. I was nothing but a petty human to play with, some toy that he could eat when he tired of me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I came to the last door. Dear God, please let this one open. To my utter relief, the door swung wide and I was met with stairs. Stairs went down, and we were on a cliff. Down was good. Down meant freedom.

I clambered down the steps and flung open the door at the bottom, stumbling into the room and falling to the floor in horror and fear. There in front of me, was nothing but mirrors. A maze of mirrors, each one showing me my trembling features, mocking me, letting me know just how fucked I was. I turned back, intending to go back up the stairs and try another way, but August’s silhouette stood at the top, preventing me from going back into the house. I heard a scream and realized it was my own.

Scrambling off the floor, I took off into the maze, blinded by my tears.

“Each of those girls made it this far you know,” August taunted. I heard the slam of the door and nearly choked as I ran. “You’ll die in this room, just like they did.”

His nonchalance, his continual unconcern about chasing me, his arrogance that he would no doubt catch me made me so angry. I raced from path to path, growing ever more frantic every time I reached a dead end. I didn’t even know if this room had an exit, I just knew I had to keep moving. I tripped over something as I rounded a corner, screaming when I saw what it was.

“I see you found Bridgette,” August chuckled, and I looked up from the skeleton to see his hideous face marred with a sinful sneer. I gasped and took off again, turning this way and that. Hitting another dead end, I doubled back and ran smack into August’s broad torso. He caught me and held me close as I screamed, ripping his shirt from my body. He spun me around, pinning my wrists between my back and his belly, trailing his fingers languidly over my naked frame in an inspection of his handiwork. My jaw was gripped in an iron vice and August forced my gaze to the mirror.

“Do you see what I see?” he mocked. I could only stare in horror, for nothing but my own terrified expression stared back at me.

August had no reflection.

“Out of all the patterns in the world, do you know which tears are my favorite?” August continued to torment. He inhaled my hair deeply, snaking his tongue along the length of my cheek, tasting the stains my tears had left in their wake.

“Fear.”

I heard August growl as I fought against him, his iron grasp caging me against his cool skin, more of the cursed moisture pooling in my eyes. Glassy drops fell, retracing a new path toward my chin but August just kissed them away, shoving me to the floor when my knees buckled of their own accord. He let go of my hands to fidget with his slacks, pulling me back toward him every time I tried to crawl away as a parent would to a petulant child. On the third attempt he snapped my knee, a scream tearing from my throat in my woeful submission to his desire.

Finally free of his clothes, August lifted my hips, lining his rigid cock up against my sweat-soaked folds. He dove into my treasure without care, forcing his way into the depths of my belly, stretching and tearing my walls until he was fully sheathed. Strong arms wrapped around me again, and I felt two sharp points prick the junction of my neck and shoulder. I cried out and thrashed in fierce protest, knowing that small pinch was just a warning of oncoming pain.

August’s teeth punctured my skin easily, shredding muscle and sinew until they hit bone. I howled in pain as I watched blood drip from the wound, a familiar crescent shape joining its brothers on my body. Searing heat shot through my neck with his first draw of thick plasma; the violent removal of blood causing an intense burn that I felt all the way down to my injured leg. August released my neck and I clapped a hand over the fresh wound.

I looked over my shoulder at him; his head was tilted down, mouth still full of my blood; the lack of a reflection behind him unsettling to my senses. August opened his wicked maw slowly, dark scarlet trickling from his lips onto the junction where my hips met his, run through by his sword. He looked up at me with a nasty grin, bloodstained fangs curdling my stomach. I closed my eyes and turned away as he swiped a hand through the mess. His fingers penetrated my core alongside his cock, deaf to my sobbing objections.

“You’d better open your eyes, pet… This needy little cunt is dripping, I’d hate for you to miss it.”

August emphasized his sick joke by grasping my hair, shoving my head to the floor, forcing me to look once more into the polished glass. My desperate wails for mercy were all that kept me grounded as I watched him thrust, my battered hole be stretched beyond capacity. Nothing but empty space plundered my core, crimson air bruising the very place within me that only just last night had been treated with such tenderness and care. Not last night. His slick fingers found my mouth and violated it effortlessly; no amount of pressure I could apply would break through his tough skin.

“God, you look so beautiful.”

August pulled me up and took to my neck with fervor, latching onto the broken sliver of skin like a leech. The more he drank, the weaker I became, until there was no resistance left within me. I could see the color drain from my bloody face, I could see black slowly creep into my vision, but I was powerless to stop it. August was in charge, he held my entire existence in his hands, and he intended to extinguish it. I closed my eyes again, accepting my fate.

I was going to die.

One of my favorite places to visit is a small outdoor cafe, very near the coffee shop where I met Amber. Mmmm. Amber. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that tantalizing woman.

She lasted so much longer than all the others, you know. I was able to feed off of her nearly three full months as she hung there in my basement, until the last drop of her tantalizing nectar was finally extracted. She smelled of carraway and saffron, tasted of sweet mulled wine, and with the rich, heady, piquancy of her fertile womb seasoning each sinew, every inch of her opulent flesh begged to be consumed. I must admit, I should have dispatched of her sooner, but fascination overtook my curious mind as her own was consumed by insanity.

First it was freedom she asked for, and then death. Sometimes she would beg to speak to her mother one last time. But by the end, she only asked for one thing.

“Please,” she would whisper, “Please… Cover the mirrors. Just cover the mirrors.”

She asked so nicely, but how on earth could I hide such beauty? Her tears were just as rare, you see. They hold a beauty unmatched by any of the others that hang on my walls. I’ve never seen such a fear pattern like hers; it is more exquisite than the dawn of a misty spring day in the countryside, more beautiful than a woman at the height of euphoria. And they way they sparkled against her skin, lustrous tracks that wound down her temples and through her hair, glinting in the mirrors with each slow rotation of her inverted body... well, it was as if I was living among the stars. Adding her ashes to my garden was such a shame.

I sat at that little cafe, eyes closed, viewing the world through my enhanced scent. Each drop of bitter coffee, the pollen of a nearby bee, the oil in the bike chains of two clumsy humans as they rolled past; each note and fragrance alerting me to its owner. A familiar scent reached my nose and I turned my head sharply, focusing on it.

Carraway… Saffron.

I smiled softly, opening my eyes to greet the woman that now sat at my table. The honey irises that had intrigued me all those months ago met mine and I chuckled low.

“Amber.”

Read on AO3.

#august walker #august walker fanfic #august walker fan fiction #august walker fanfiction #august walker fan fic #august walker smut #vampire!august #non-con tw

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missluthorwillseeyounow · 3 years

Text

Part III Wed By Candlelight (The Portrait of the Secret Bride)

Supercorp The Corpse Bride AU

Part I, Part II , AO3

EPILOGUE

The lush verdancy of the countryside unfurls itself on the road in front of Kara, and she rolls down the windows of her rental car to let the fresh air in. A deep inhale brings the smells of grass and earth, and Kara smiles to herself.

It's Kara's second day here. She'd gotten in late from her flight and she'd spent most of yesterday in her hotel room, jet-lagged and feeling barely human. The long flight, the bustle of the city, and the general fatigue that accompanies travel had settled on her and she'd allowed herself one day to recover in bed.

She would take longer to recuperate, maybe do some sightseeing in the city -- but honestly, she'd been too excited. So despite still feeling the effects of jet lag like a bad hangover, she'd taken her rented Subaru and set off for the countryside.

Alex would probably laugh at her impatience, but this moment has been two years in the making, Kara can hardly be blamed for being unable to wait.

Two years. Since the last time she'd dreamed about ghosts from the past. And in those two years, it's almost all she's been thinking about.

The book is almost finished.

For two years, Kara has been writing her family's secret legacy. Each page has been a loving chronicle of Lena and her Kara's story.

She's taken some liberties, of course. There are no records of what happened that fateful night, and the full story only lives in Kara's memories now. No one else knows, and apart from the portrait of Lena inside the locket around Kara's neck, there's no proof that this had even happened.

But it did. And now, it just needs an ending.

For the past two years, Kara has been combing through references, records, centuries-old documents to find information on the Luthor family. The last of the line were Lex and Lena, and the name had ended with them. With their deaths, the fortune had dissipated -- and of course, the home had been transformed by her ancestor and now belongs to Kara's family.

But Kara has something in her memories that records don't have.

Something Lex had said to Lena had wormed its way into Kara's mind all these years, and it still hasn't left.

“You’ve never been poisoned before, have you, little sister? Well, I have. Arsenic has a very mild odor. Usually, one would never recognize it, but I know because my bitch of a wife put it in my drink the night she left me, sneaking off like a frightened little rat, just like you were planning to.”

As loathe as she had been to recall Lex Luthor or his caustic words, once she remembered it, a theory had planted itself in Kara's brain, and it had taken hold.

All the records said that Lex had brought infamy to the family for killing his wife and child. But if Lex's wife had managed to escape him, then she may well have survived. And if she had, what happened to her baby? Was she able to take the child with her? If so, where did they go? What happened to them?

It's taken two years of careful research -- fueled by Kara's dedication to telling Lena's story, and her own natural curiosity -- to find out. Tracking down Lex Luthor's wife to her hometown, sifting through various names she might have used and tracking down descendants, finding exciting leads, and coming up against numerous dead ends.

And then three months ago, she'd finally tracked down a doctor living in the small town Kara’s heading to now, who -- if her theories are correct -- could be a long-lost descendant of Lex Luthor.

Kara had contacted her, explaining as much as she could about her book without totally freaking this stranger out. The doctor was very interested in hearing Kara's story -- if a little skeptical at first. She had been polite enough in her earlier emails, but the more Kara told her about the story, the more intrigued she became. And the stronger Kara’s conviction that her theories were correct became as well.

And now four months and a whole barrage of emails between them later, Kara's finally about to meet her.

Kara spies the charming little mailbox on the side of the road, and knows she's at the right place. She steers the rented Subaru into the road beyond it and curiously surveys the place.

As she turns the corner, she finds the picturesque cottage, half-hidden by ivy climbing up its walls and a small grove of blackthorn and aspen trees. Rows of bright little sea-lavender blooms line the walkway. A lovely tabby cat perched on the wall licking its paws completes the delightful picture.

Once she's parked, Kara self-consciously straightens her appearance. The fresh air helped with the jet lag a bit, but she still looks exactly like she got off a ten-hour flight.

She lets out an exasperated sigh as she straightens her button-up and tries to flatten her hair from where it had been blown all over her face during the ride. When she's satisfied, she takes a deep breath and approaches the door to ring the bell.

Kara is fiddling with her glasses as she waits -- a nervous habit -- and when the door opens, she nearly snaps them clean in half. She chokes as she gets her first sight of the doctor. "H-Hello."

"Yes?" The face on the other side of the door wrinkles slightly in confusion and concern at her tone and the expression of utter shock that Kara is wearing right now.

It's the same face in the locket resting over Kara's heart, nearly identical at first glance -- from the sharp angle of her jaw to the high forehead to the clear viridian eyes. It's as if the portrait has come to life right in front of Kara's eyes two hundred years later.

She feels an odd sensation in her chest that she can’t quite understand -- it’s at once a sting and a balm. It's been two years since Kara's seen that face outside of lines and brush strokes on a old memento.

But the longer Kara stares, the more she notices the differences. This woman's face is slightly rounder, her features just a degree softer, and she has a scar near her right eye.

The woman inches slightly away, and Kara realizes she's been staring at her for a full thirty seconds without saying anything. "Sorry. Y-you're Dr. Kieran?"

Kara almost wants to laugh, because of course this is Dr. Kieran. Of course Lex Luthor's last living descendant has his sister's face. Wherever that bastard is, he must surely be rolling in his grave.

"Oh, you're Kara Danvers!"

The woman's voice trills over a small laugh, and Kara can't help but stare more. Hearing her own name in that voice is so strange but delightful in a way that makes Kara shiver. That voice is familiar -- yet somehow lighter and more melodic than that of the woman Kara had met two years ago. The voice of a woman who didn't live under the shadow of the Luthor name, who didn’t spend so many years alone and nearly-forgotten.

"It's lovely to meet you." The woman opens the door wider and extends a hand toward Kara. "Please, call me Lena."

Something pings inside Kara at the name, and she takes the woman's hand with a smile she can’t contain.

"Hello, Lena. I'm so happy to finally meet you. I have so much to tell you."

_________

by SorrowsFlower

I had a note to myself that said “This is the year we finish fics, bitch! Yeah!” and actually 3 fics (out of my 8 SG fics) finished this year ain’t bad.

I’m optimistically making this into a series in the hopes that I can actually write the other scenes I thought up for this AU that didn’t make it in the fic.

#supercorp #supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #katie mcgrath #melissa benoist #supercorp au #tumblr is a chapter ahead but i'll be updating the ao3 link soon #Holy shit look at me being all optimistic wtf??

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chuuyas--boo · 3 years

Text

Ghosts.

An: Read the tags before continuing. Block tags you're triggered by, and don't complain if YOU chose to keep reading and get bothered.

Jack giggled as Riley gently pushed her younger brother on the swing, hanging from a thick, strong tree branch. The two would often visit this area especially if their mother was drunk or high and could avoid being around her for a while. It was one of those times. Mrs. Morgan had started yelling at Riley, so Riley grabbed her younger brother and left.

Suddenly Jack dragged his feet on the ground, slowing the swing down until it stopped.

"Jack?...Jackie what's wrong?!"

Jack hopped off the swing and stood in front of Riley, smiling, but blood slowly ran down his face from a fatal gash in his head.

"Why? You said it wouldn't hurt...you said everything would stop hurting! So why does it still hurt? It hurts real bad Rie..."

Jack's emerald green eyes looked dead, clouded and empty, any innocence in his gaze had faded. It was just like an empty void.

Riley collapsed on her knees, tears started streaming down her face, sobs wracking her body violently. "I-I'm sorry! I'm so sorry Jack..." Riley choked on her words as her face heated up and tears ran down her face faster.

"Riley! Riley wake up!"

Riley woke up to Eddie gently shaking her. Tears started running down her face as she looked at him.

"H-hey what's wrong? Why're you crying?!" Eddie's pretty emerald green eyes gleamed with worry as the ginger girl started crying even harder.

Eddie's gaze softened and he hugged Riley "Did you have a nightmare?" Riley quietly nodded "I'm such a horrible person..." she hissed under her breath "No you're not! What's wrong...?" "I hurt Jack...and he said it hurt..." Eddie tilted his head but then remembered how Riley had a younger brother "Ah! You're not a horrible person just for that! You were helping him!" Riley just stared blankly at the floor "I said it wouldn't hurt...but he said it did...he was scared!" Eddie gently wiped the tears off her cheeks and hugged her again. "You're still not a horrible person, you're a very lovely girl, it was just a nightmare! I'm sure Jack's happy and safe~! You should hurry up and go downstairs though! There's pancakes and everyone's worrieddd"

Well...almost everyone.

Eddie got up and quietly left the room, shutting the door behind him. Riley glanced outside, the sun had already risen most of the way, but there were streaks of pink still in the sky, that looked almost like blood smears. Down on the ground, under the thick of the forest where sunlight barely reached, there were two pale, misty figures, one looked like a woman in a wedding dress and the other looked sickeningly similar to Jack. After changing into a gray t-shirt, shorts, brushing her hair, and putting it into a ponytail, Riley ran downstairs, past the kitchen, to where the burlap masks, gloves, and boots were kept. She quickly put her boots on and ran outside. "Rie-Rieeee! Aren't you gonna eat?!" Riley glanced back, stopping at the door. "Not hungry!" and then ran off into the forest, not paying any attention to the outdoor animals, she had to see if she truly saw ghosts or if it was just her imagination.

***

Riley stood in the forest, heart pounding, feeling like giving up. "It was just my imagination..."

Something quickly darted past, catching Riley's gaze. "Something wrong sis? You look sad!"

Riley's heart dropped, she recognized that sweet, childish voice, but it almost sounded as if in pain now. She couldn't bring herself to say anything, but tears started to well in her eyes as she looked at the small ghostly figure.

"Don't cry! I'm safe...since you killed me...!"

Riley's gaze fell to the ground as the small ghostly figure got closer to her "You're scary Rie...it really hurt! And you said it wouldn't..."

"Jack...I'm sorry..."

"Are you really? If you were you wouldn't have killed anyone else. If you really were sorry you'd have learned from what you did to me."

"B-but you asked me to! You told me to!"

Jack's once pretty, innocent eyes looked cold, and empty in death, though still innocent.

Jack quietly glanced back, looking at the other ghostly figure, which appeared to be a woman in a wedding dress, as if getting married. Riley's gaze followed Jack's glance.

After a few moments of silence, both of the pale, ghostly figures disappeared. Riley sighed deeply and then sat against a tree silently.

***

"Riley! ...Rileyyyyy....!" Riley's gaze jerked towards where she heard Albert's voice nearby, she'd been sitting under the tree for a while, watching random bugs and butterflies. She got up and ran over. "Al!" "What're you doing out here-?" "O-oh! Umm, nothing!"

Albert's ivy green gaze met Riley's mismatched gaze "What were you actually doing? You've been out here for over an hour."

Riley wiggled her foot in the dirt, staring at the ground.

"Look at me." Albert's voice was firm but also somehow soft, knowing Riley'd flinch if he raised his voice, he kept it somewhat calm and quiet, though worried.

Riley glanced up at him nervously, fiddling with her fingers.

"H-hey! Don't look so scared! Just tell me what you were doing.." "Ghosts." That single word sent a shiver down Albert's spine "What..?" "Ghosts," Riley repeated, not saying anything else.

"I'm gonna need you to elaborate, Riley."

"My brother and some woman..."

Albert sighed. "let's go back"

The two of them walked back to the house in silence.

***

"Where have you been?"

Riley ignored the question, not caring since it was Henry who asked.

"Answer me bitch."

Riley stopped and silently glared at him. "I was outside, mind your own business.."

And with that, Riley went to her room. Taking her boots off, Riley sat by the window and watched the branches and leaves dance in the wind outside.

"RILEY ELIZABETH MORGAN GET DOWN HERE!"

Riley felt her heart drop, suddenly scared.

"C-coming...!"

She got up and quickly ran downstairs.

Eddie and George were playing with one of the dogs, Carl was in his room playing video games, and Albert was watching tv.

Riley hesitantly walked into the kitchen and immediately cringed at the strong stench of alcohol, she was used to it but it's not the most pleasant thing.

"Listen here you little bitch, you can respect me or leave. Don't ever ignore me again, I'll beat your ugly little ass"

"I-Im sorry..."

"SORRY DOESN'T FIX SHIT! AND DON'T INTERFERE WITH THE TRADITION-"

"Again with the tradition shit..?" Riley hissed under her breath.

"SHUT UP YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW IMPORTANT IT IS!"

Riley's hands slowly balled into fists as she looked at the man infront of her, refraining from yelling so to avoid drawing any attention to herself. It was too late to avoid drawing any attention to her, both Eddie and Albert stopped what they were doing and their gazes were filed in the direction of the kitchen.

"A stupid tradition shouldn't be put before the well being and mental health of YOUR FUCKING FAMILY"

Henry's drunken glare was piercing as he glared at Riley.

"Don't have anything to say because I'm right."

Without any sort of warning, Henry smacks Riley, hard.

Albert heard Riley's wince, hesitating, not wanting to get involved, but at the same time not wanting her to get hurt. Albert's hesitation was longer than he thought, both Eddie and George had already gotten up and ran into the kitchen after hesitating as well.

***

When Albert had gotten up and ran into the kitchen, Riley was standing with one hand over her nose, blood trickling down her face and tears in her eyes.

"D-dad stop! She's crying!"

Riley shot George an icy glare as it telling him not to bother.

"Well she can fucking cry! She's a pussy and needs to learn when to keep her mouth shut!"

Whatever was keeping Riley from yelling again snapped. "YOU'RE THE PUSSY! YOU'RE THE ONE WHO CAN'T DO ANYTHING AND HAS TO FORCE HIS CHILDREN TO DO SHIT AT AN AGE WHERE THEY SHOULDN'T BE SEEING DEAD BODIES! THEY SHOULDN'T HAVE TO SEE THEM AT ALL BUT YOU'RE TOO STUPID AND SELF-CENTERED TO CARE ABOUT ANYONE OR ANYTHING BESIDES YOURSELF AND SOME STUPID FUCKING TRADITION YOU COULD'VE FUCKING MADE UP! AND YOU WONDER WHY WE ALL FUCKING HATE YOU!"

Everyone's gaze was fixed on Riley, Carl had come downstairs to see what was happening, all the brothers stared at Riley in shock. Riley stood there breathing heavily, she had moved her hand away from her face, letting blood run down her face faster and off of her hand, her breath hitched as she stared at Henry.

"Get the fuck out. NOW-"

Riley didn't need to be told twice, she ran outside. Albert ran after her "Riley!"

Riley glanced back at him, "What?" Her tone sounded weirdly pissed off still, which was shocking, she never used that tone towards Albert, but her eyes looked apologetic.

"What did he do to you?"

"Nothing. I'm fine, it's nothing to worry about."

That was obviously a lie, her nose was bleeding heavily, lip was busted, has some bruises on her arms and a dark red mark on her cheek.

"You're obviously not fine"

Riley sighed "I'm fine, I've been through worse, it doesn't even hurt"

Albert's gaze filled with doubt, as he gently touched one of the bruises and Riley flinched.

"So you're fine huh?"

Riley let out a huff of slight annoyance. "Yes Al, I'm fine"

"Shut up and let's get you bandaged up"

***

Days had passed, Riley refused to eat and when she did she'd immediately go make herself throw up, when anyone would ask her if she's okay or of something's wrong shed just say "I'm fine", or "Nope. Nothing's wrong".

Those several days, Albert would check on her before he went to bed to ask her if she was going to sleep as well, which she always replied "Yes" even though she didn't, she stayed awake and watched out the window watching the ghostly figures, sometimes going outside to walk around in the forest.

Eventually she gave up and decided to sleep in Albert's room, the two of them cuddled until Riley fell asleep.

#death ment tw #Murder tw #Oc: Riley Morgan #Oc: Jack Morgan #Oc: Ghost Bride #Edward Mason #Carl Mason #George Mason #Albert Mason #Angels of Death #Angels of Death oc #AU #Abuse tw #Eating disorder tw

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clockworkgraystairs · 4 years

Text

Letting Go

Rating: M

Warnings: Major character death. Angst. Mentions of sex. Angst. Accidents. Did I mention angst?

Summary:

Cardan thought he and his family were meant to live happily ever after.

He was wrong.

Extra comments: I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.

Extra comments 2: If you’re masochist as me and wish to read this listening to some music, I’ll leave my spotify playlist “Don’t touch me, I’m angsty”

Thank you to the incredible @sweetlyvillainous for holding my hand while I cried because of this, for betaing later and for giving the extra boost to the angst. YES YOU DID, AND YOU’RE AS GUILTY AS ME. I love u.

Masterlist • AO3

As dawn went on, Cardan looked through the window with hooded eyes. It snowed outside. How typical, he thought.

Not long ago he would’ve been excited about it. The perspective of spending the day building snow castles and angels. Never a snowman, since his daughter had always claimed that was too cliché. He would mock her for it and build tiny figures around her castle. ‘The invasion of the fae snowmen’ he’d called it, despite the insistence of his wife about that being pure nonsense.

He laid on his bed, staring at nothing in particular. From that position he would normally be able to look at her, snoring softly in the opposite pillow. That used to be his favorite moment of the day. Few minutes that he could spend watching how she slept, calm and unbothered. At least until he couldn’t help it anymore and woke her up, trailing her neck with soft and playful kisses.

Cold sheets coiled around him now. A reminder of the empty space next to him that haunted Cardan at the beginning and end of each day. Screaming into the silence she’s gone.

The morning it happened, Ivy wanted pancakes an old store sold a couple of blocks away. Cardan was reluctant to get up. All groggy because he and Jude had spent the night before rolling on the sheets, barely moaning in each other’s mouths trying not to wake their 7 year old. He didn’t want to get up. But his daughter was as stubborn as his wife. So Jude gave him a long sweet kiss and told him to go back to sleep while she fetched breakfast.

He did.

He shouldn’t have.

He should’ve gone with her. He should’ve gone instead. Or better yet, he should’ve convinced her to stay and make the bloody pancakes himself. Anything.

Anything except letting Jude go out alone. She was supposed to be back in a matter of minutes, but she didn’t. And he didn’t notice it because he fell asleep again.

He missed the first phone call. And the second.

It wasn’t until a tiny hand woke him up and handed him the cellphone. Frowning with dizziness at Jude’s two missed calls he was about to dial back when it rang again.

“Hey babe, sorry. What’s up?” He mumbled, ruffling Ivy’s hair.

The voice that answered was not Jude’s, instantly startling him awake.

“Yes, he’s speaking.” Loud voices and sirens muffled the voice, making it hard to hear. “I’m- I’m sorry I’m not understanding, where is my wife? Give her the phone so I can speak to her plea-”

He didn’t record the moment when he put on the first clothes he found, nor calling his old college friends that lived two doors away to come and watch little Ivy.

He didn’t watch for the red lights or cared if he’d parked the right way in the hospital’s parking lot. The world seemed to spiral around him, an unending parade of walls, doors, people in white or blue suits. Voices filled him with details but he could only partially hear them. Something about a kid crossing the street unsupervised and Jude running after him. His heartbeat roared in his ears.

“We’re glad we could reach you Mr. Greenbriar. It’s always better when the patient doesn’t have to go through it alone.”

“Through it? What are you-”

“I’m really sorry. The internal damage is too much...”

The doctor’s voice faded away as they entered the room. Fighting to bite back a sob he approached the resting figure on the bed. She looked like his wife, but something was deeply wrong. Her face was awfully pale and her lips dry and bruised. Wires rested along her body. The monitor connected to them matched the aching slowness in her breathing. There was no trace of the playful Jude that teased him mercilessly day after day, stealing kisses from his mouth and knowing he’d let her do whatever she wanted to him.

He found himself still standing centimeters away from her, paralyzed.

The doctor leaned to touch her shoulder and whispered something to her ear. Her eyelids fluttered a moment before opening, not with the fierceness they carried everyday but tired, wandering.

Pulling out of his frozen state he reached for her hand, covered in bandages and stroke it softly. “Jude.”

Her eyes found him and a weak smile curved her lips. “You made it.” She said with a raspy voice. He kneeled, fully taking her hand in his. The door knob clicked as they were left alone.

“Of course I did.” He choked out, trying to match her smile. It felt as if a thin string was keeping him together. “I’m here to take you home.”

Jude looked at him the way she did every time he promised to bring the stars down for her. She squeezed his hand with a nonexistent force that physically hurt in his chest. “You were always a terrible liar.”

Cardan opened his mouth to joke back but wasn’t able to make more than a suffocated sound. That’s when the first tear rolled down his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, opening them as he felt her thumb wiping away the wetness under them. “It’s ok.”

The string snapped.

“No, it’s not Jude, gods I’m- I’m...” He sobbed, incapable of stopping himself anymore. “I’m so sorry, it was all my fault. If I’d gone with you, If I’d…”

“Hey, no. It’s ok.” She cooed, holding him as he buried his face in her neck apologizing over and over. “Cardan, this was not your fault. Please.”

He let her hold him as his body trembled with broken weeps. Cardan shut his eyes close, hoping he would open them and be back home. Not here. Not in this nightmare. They had so much to do, so much to live. He was meant to be with her through everything. He was meant to protect her. And he had neglected everything for five more sleeping minutes instead. If Ivy hadn’t woken him up… If he’d missed another phone call…

If he’d answered the first damn time he might have had more time. There was an ache in his chest making it harder to breathe, to think.

They laid together for several minutes, hearing nothing more than their breathings and the beeping machine.

“Stay, my love.” He begged, the knot in his throat making it harder to speak. “Fight. I can’t do it without you, I’m not strong enough. I need you, we need you… Ivy...”

Something wet landed on his cheek. Only then he realized she’d started crying too. “You’ll take care of her. You can, you’re the strongest man I’ve ever known.”

He felt her breathing falter and he backed up a little, afraid he’d harm her but Jude didn’t let him go. “I love you. I always have, even when you used to make my life a living hell all those years ago. I love you and our daughter so much.” She said. Cardan sobbed again. Don’t, he wanted to answer, don’t say goodbye. Not yet. “And know that even when you can’t see me, I will be with you always.”

“I know,” He whispered back, now wiping her tears away and leaning to kiss her. “I love you, Jude Duarte. You are the best gift life could give me. You saw the best in me when nobody else could and for that and everything else, I’ll be eternally grateful. I’ll... watch out for Ivy, and she will know her mom is a hero, I promise.”

She breathed a laugh and asked him to hold her again. He did, he clung to her as tightly as he could without hurting her, breathing ‘I love you’ on her hair until her hand lost strength around him.

Until the monitor gave out one long final beep and took his heart with it.

He’d kept his vow. He’d continued with his life, dedicating every second of it to take care of their little girl. To make sure she was happy and wasn’t that affected from her mother’s passing.

Ivy was strong, and most of the time more mature than her age suggested. She tried to carry on as well. Even if sometimes Cardan caught her staring longingly at that spot on the living room where Jude used to sit and read his old books.

But even now, months later, it was hard for him to get up from bed sometimes. To wake up from a bad dream only to realize it was real, he was alone. Jude wasn’t coming back.

Some nights nightmares got worse, not because his mind created new scenarios. Quite the opposite, it revived his worst memory.

Hands touched his shoulders, probably seeking to comfort him. But he barely felt them. He barely heard the nurses enter the room after Jude’s pulse stopped.

He was aware of the uncontrollable way his chest shook between sobs. Pleading her to stay, to open her eyes just one minute more.

Of how he clutched her hand as if it would squeeze life back into her. He felt the softness of her hair as he caressed it, clinging to her the moment the doctors tried to pull him away. The nurse started to remove the wires.

He dreamed of his throat tearing apart as he roared them to let go of his wife. Later begging to allow him to hug her for a moment more. Just a second. Just a lifetime. Please.

Just a moment.

Cardan always woke between gasps those nights. Sometimes leading him to stay awake until morning, afraid to fall asleep again.

It was on days like that that he closed his eyes and let time rewind.

He returned to the year before, to the mornings when they decided who prepared breakfast with rock, paper, scissors games.

To years before that, when still half asleep he reached for her and curled his arms around Jude’s swollen belly. Barely weeks away from welcoming their baby.

To the day when he’d held his girlfriend in his arms and waited for her to open her eyes to finally ask her to marry him.

He knew he shouldn’t. In fact he was sure Jude would beat his ass for doing it. But sometimes he just wanted to feel her close only for a couple of minutes more. Some days he refused to accept she was not there anymore.

A loud crash startled him, bringing Cardan back from his daydreaming. He sat up to look at the clock and frowned. It was still early for Ivy to be awake.

He got up and walked to the kitchen, only to find the floor covered in white flour and his daughter on the opposite side with the face of someone that just got caught with a hand in the jar of cookies.

“Ivy, what are you doing?” He asked. Gods, there was a mess. His mental energy didn’t want to deal with it at the moment.

“I...” She darted her gaze to the right, the same thing Jude did whenever Cardan found her doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

He crossed the space, to crouch next to her and started picking things up with an exasperated sigh.

She let out a breath in defeat and murmured. “I was trying to make the muffins.”

“The muffins?”

“The muffins mom cooked for us every Christmas.” Ivy said as if he’d missed the most obvious thing.

Fuck. He looked at the calendar hanging on the wall behind him. December 24th. Fuck, fuck. How had he overlooked the date? They’d received an invitation to celebrate Christmas with their friends and another one from Jude’s family. He had intended to answer back.

“Oh honey…you needn’t.” Cardan turned back to her and took her little hand between his.

“I know. But I wanted to cheer you up.” Ivy’s voice was low. “You’re sad all the time, dad… I thought... maybe mommy’s muffins would help.”

A pang of guilt stung in his chest. Fuck, he tried so hard to keep his emotions at bay around her. Washing his face with frozen water hoping it would take away the redness around his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat and opened his mouth but no words came out so he just pulled his child into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry, I-”

“Don’t be,” She interrupted him, clinging to his neck. “I miss her too.”

Blinking back the tears, he pulled back to cup her cheeks. “There is nothing that cheers me up more than you, sweetie. You know that right?”

Ivy’s chocolate eyes shimmered as she nodded.

Cardan took a deep breath and pulled her up so she was sitting on top of the counter. “Now, you know I suck at cooking those infamous muffins,” He grimaced. Ivy chuckled and bit her lip, totally not denying his statement. “So how about if instead of those, I prepare you my ultra special pancakes?”

Her gaze widened. “With whipped cream and fruit??”

He nodded. The excited squeal of his daughter warmed his heart in that unique way only she could achieve.

With Ivy’s help, the pancakes were made in little time. Even if all she did was jump around the kitchen singing Christmas carols.

Just as he was about to serve the table, she stopped him. “Dad, can we go eat breakfast with mommy?”

Cardan paused, not sure if he’d listened correctly. “With mommy?”

“Yeah, you know, like those days when we went out on picnics.” She said. Excitement floored from every single one of her pores. “She loved Christmas, I’m sure she’ll be glad to see us too!”

He wanted to say no, not knowing if he would make it. It’s too soon, the words hug there in the tip of his tongue. But looking at Ivy and her puppy eyes, he couldn’t.

Covered in scarves and warm coats they arrived at the cemetery. It was a beautiful place, if he was honest. Tall trees and some flowers grew along, giving it the appearance of a valley despite the cold weather. It looked so peaceful. Even if snow covered some parts of it.

Cardan carried a bag filled with the food and a blanket to use as tablecloth. Ivy played with the snow as they walked, and gasped at the sight of her mother’s tombstone. Letting go of Cardan’s hand, she ran towards it. A big smile shining on her face.

He stopped meters away from it, unsure of his decision. His heart hammered on his chest and he could see the steam formed by his shaky breathing.

Ivy turned and motioned him to come closer.

As he approached, he heard the cheerful chatter of his daughter, making him frown.

“...so I tried to be as quiet as possible, but then the flour fell!” She laughed and darted her gaze to him again. “That’s why daddy caught me, right dad?”

Cardan hesitated. “Uh, yeah… that’s when I found you covered in powder.”

He peered at the marble figure, intentionally avoiding the picture under the letters forming her name.

After setting the food they ate. Ivy barely chewed her food between words, since she was deeply invested in whatever conversation she was having with her mother. Cardan just listened. She spoke about her school, her exams with almost perfect grades. About aunt Liliver announcing she and uncle Van were expecting a baby, a thing Ivy wasn’t so sure to like since that would probably remove her from ‘the favorite’ position. She talked about the blanket forts Cardan taught her to build and the new books he’d read to her. Occasionally, she would laugh as if she’d listened to something incredibly funny.

They built a snow castle with the few snow that was gathered around, at least before Ivy accidentally threw a snowball to his chest. The snowball war that unleashed after had them growling and squealing for several minutes. It ended up with both of them lying down on the blanket, tired and giggling.

He sat up to ruffle her hair and sighed. “It’s time to go, little one.”

Ivy whined. “So soon?”

“We can return some other day…” That lit her face back up. “But your aunt Lil invited us to a party today. Do you want to go?”

She yelped. “With Christmas gifts?”

“Yeah.” Cardan winked.

Once everything was back in the bag Cardan started walking, but a tug on his sleeve stopped him.

“Aren’t you going to say goodbye to mommy?”

He didn’t answer.

“C’mon dad, go. I’ll wait for you over there.” She signaled a big space where rocks made an odd figure. That said, she was gone.

Haltingly, Cardan turned back to face the tombstone.

Air seemed to have flown out of his lungs. What was he supposed to say? He looked down and shuffled his foot in the snow. His grip tightened around the bag’s handle.

He used to spend the nights thinking of all the things he would’ve liked to say to her. But as it was, all of them apparently had vanished into the air. Should he say he loved her? That everything was okay?

“I hate you.” Was what came out. Cardan scoffed and swallowed. That was definitely not what he was thinking. “That is a lie. But I guess you already know it, don’t you?”

“Sometimes I wish I could hate you though... Maybe it would make it easier. Because sure as hell it’s not.” His voice was hoarse. “I’m trying. I promised you I would but… I miss you all the fucking time, Jude. I can’t go to bed at night without thinking you’re not there by my side anymore.”

He paused and rubbed his eyes. Cardan flashed quick glances to Ivy, trying to find the strength. But once he faced Jude’s picture again, the pressure on his chest was nearly unbearable.

“Everyday something happens that I would like to tell you. When Ivy or any of our friends do something I find hilarious I turn to make sure you saw it too just to find an empty space and I… I hate it.”

“I hate not being able to hug you, I hate not feeling your hands playing with my hair in the morning. I hate not being able to tell you everyday how much I still love you. I hate that Ivy notices how much I struggle with it. I hate not being as strong as you were.”

He spilled the words so fast they were probably intelligible, but he didn’t care anymore.

“Ivy… she’s an amazing little girl, you know? Everyday she does something new that is clever, or brave… and she reminds me so much of you.” A sob broke through him. He turned to look at her, auburn curls bouncing everywhere. Taking a steadying breath he brought back his gaze to the tomb.

“I just hope she’s not as good with lies or I will be totally screwed.” He let out a low chuckle. “You should be proud of her.”

Before he could say something else something warm spread down his shoulders to his arms and chest. If he was drunk he would say it resembled the feeling of a hug. The pressure on his chest slowly disappeared as tears rolled down his cheeks.

Not knowing exactly how or why, a weight on his shoulders he hadn’t realized he had, was gone from a moment to another.

“I love you, Jude Duarte.” He breathed. “You will have my heart always, and when this life ends I’ll find you again to give it to you once more.”

Giving a final look to the picture he’d been avoiding since they arrived, he gave a weak smile, wiped the tears away and turned to go find his daughter.

“Goodbye, my sweet villain.”

A Christmas party with his family (because that’s how he considered his friends), awaited. He found Ivy marching on top of the rocks, claiming it was a conquered fae castle and she, the new Queen. He chuckled and motioned her to return.

As they walked back to the car, she grabbed his hand and gave him a knowing look. Even when you can’t see me, I will be with you always.

The next morning when he opened his eyes the empty spot was still there. But for the first time in months, he welcomed the memories of his Jude with a longing smile.

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#jurdan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #tfota #holly black #jurdan fanfic #angsty jurdan #angst #tcp #twk #tqon #qon #the cruel prince #the folk of the air #judecardan #jude x cardan #tess writes

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thr-333 · 4 years

Text

Mismatch- Part 16

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

When everyones dates go very well

First< Previous > Next

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“Thanks for dropping us off,” Marion slides out Selina's car, Kagami and Chloe following, “We couldn’t take the same route as them,”

“I’d be disappointed if you did,” Selina teases, with an edge of seriousness.

“Thank you,” Kagami chimes in, getting waved off by Selina as she and Chloe leave to hunt down the targets.

“So you’re going to tell him?” Marion whispers through the open window.

“Yep,” She sighs, tightening grip on the steering wheel, “We’re going to go on a date of out own, completely romantic, then ruin the evening,”

“You really think he’s going to be mad?” Marion cringes, getting a reassuring smile.

“At me,” She clarifies, “Don’t you worry he’ll be thrilled to have more kids,”

Marion holds back a laugh at her exasperated tone, “Have fun,”

“I won’t,” Selina assures, throwing back a, “Have fun,”

“I will,” Marion grins, spying on the totally-not-a-date between two disasters will be nothing but entertaining.

Marion waves at the leaving car before jogging to catch up with the girls. Staying slightly behind to watch them try and talk about plants. Chloe trying to sound more intelligent than ‘look at the pretty flower’, not that Kagami would mind. He resists the urge to drags his fingers through the leaves of ferns and vines as they walk down the winding paths of the botanical garden. Too many times has he touched plant life only for it to wither and die later, a side effect of holding his miraculous too long. So he always made sure Marinette is around to counteract the bad luck.

The urge gets easier to resist as they enter a more open garden area, filled with flower patches and green grass. Probably the cleanest place in Gotham likely thanks to a certain rouge that would hunt you down for littering here. He spots the two lovebirds and directs the girls to a nearby tree well suited for hiding behind as they spy on the little picnic Adrien has set up, in a grassy patch surrounded by flowers.

“Oh my god,” Chloe groans, “How can they be such idiots?”

“Can we just tell them?” Kagami asks irritably, not for the first time.

“No, let their relationship take its natural course,” Marion scolds, not for the first time.

“Do you think they’re going to be just as slow when they’re together?” Chloe complains more than asks, “Will they ever get married?”

“Are you kidding?” Marion scoffs, “The day after they get together someones going to propose,”

“Probably both,” Kagami predicts, watching as they both fumble over something.

“Probably,” Marion and Chloe both agree, as the fumbled object gets dropped.

“Well, hey there!” a high pitch voice shouts through their whispering, “Who’re we spying on?”

Marion whips around coming nose to nose with Harley Quinn herself. He takes a step back to see Poison Ivy standing just behind.

“Um…” Marion debates going for his baton, they didn’t seem hostile but they don’t need to be to cause damage, “Our friends date?”

“Ohhh!” Harley stands on her tiptoes to look over their heads, “Aren't they just precious?!”

“Yes,” Ivy agrees to Harley’s goo-goo eyes despite not having looked over once.

“Let's go say hi,” Harley links her arms with Marion and Chloe’s dragging them over to the picnic.

“What are you doing here!” Marinette shouts as soon as they approach, seemingly more surprised at them than the two rogues.

“I caugh’em spyin on ya and decided to drop in,” Harley releases them and sits down, “This looks delicious!”

Harley takes a cookie from a plate, eyes lighting up when she takes a bite. Marion locks eyes with Marinette as confused as him. It only gets worse when Ivy sits down as well, on the grass not the blanket. Well it’s not like he can just leave. Marion shrugs and sits down, immediately reaching over to steal from Marinette's plate, ignoring the plates around him.

“Sooo,” Harley hums partly around a mouthful of cake, rocking back with legs crossed, “What’s ya names,”

“Marinette, that's Marion,” Marinette hisses his name, as she tries to snatch back half a sandwich.

“Oh! Brucie’s kids!” Harley claps her hands together, “You’re the Wayne twins!”

“Uhhh…” Yes? No? Kinda? Soon? It’s up to him?

“No they're not,” Kagami takes a seat following Chloe, “It’s just a baseless rumour,”

“Yep!” Marion agrees way to loudly, “A completely baseless rumours, no fact here, nope,”

The look he gets from Marinette is expected, but it’s Chloe’s lingering gaze that really gets to him.

“I like what you’ve done with the flowers,” Marinette covers for him, alerting him that Poison Ivy had made many more bloom.

“I didn’t do much,” Ivy says, even as the grass around her is a couple inches taller than it used to be, “They already wanted to bloom so bright at seeing you,”

“Really?” Marinette sweat drops, reaching for her bag, “I do have a bit of a green thumb, I take care of a garden back home,”

“What wonderful things do you grow?” Ivy asks with keen interest, Adrien off to the side looking awestruck at Marinette’s composure.

“She’ll be takin all day now,” Harley spins towards the three other date crashers, “I didn’t hear your names!”

Chloe and Kagami startle as she leans further into their personal space.

“Surely if you’ve heard of the twins you’ve heard of me,” Chloe flips her hair, only getting a blank face from Harley, huffing, “Chloe Bourgeois,”

“Kagami,” She replies curtly, “Marion doesn't appreciate date crashing,”

“It’s alright Kags,” Marion assures, he more had a problem with having to hold her back from yelling at them both when they didn't kiss after fireworks.

“Ohhhh, are you two dating,” Harley stage whispers, making Chloe choke on her drink.

“No not at all,”

“Just friends,”

And not friends in the Adrien Agreste way.

“Ew gross you two dating?” Chloe cringes, “Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous!”

“Oh! Then you two!” Harley exclaims, addressing the girls.

“Umm…”

“Well I….”

“Yes,”

“Rion!” Chloe yells, blushing furiously at his shit eating grin.

“Well let me give you some advice,” Harley sing songs, a not so subtle glance back at Ivy.

“I don’t think that's necessary-”

“Hush now,” She shushes Kagami, “So when you're on a date and some bozo tries interrupting, there's this nifty thing you can do with certain nerves-Or! If you have the tools, a good whack upside the head-Or! My favourite! You get your gun and…”

Marion shifts away, still keeping Chloe and Kagami in his sights, both completely red.

“-And I planted this one three years ago,” Marinette explains, letting Ivy hold her phone, eyes glued to whatever picture was on it, “I know they tend to like partial shade but I found this one prefers to be more in the sun, so I just move it on especially sunny days,”

“Your garden is brilliant they all look so-” Her gaze snaps up to Marion, making him freeze in place, “They do not like you,”

“Um,” It takes a second to realise she was talking about the plants, “I guess not, the plants at home like me,”

“Do they?” Ivy frowns, and Marion desperately hopes she likes Marinette enough to not attack him.

“Well, we have a catnip plant that does,” Or at least Plagg likes it enough to do his best not to let anything, even himself, destroy it.

“You do?” Ivy turns to Marinette, who starts talking about the plant.

Marion takes this opportunity to escape back into the conversation they were having with Harley-

“And if you really want to have fun in bed you can-” Nope never mind.

Marion stands, considers bringing Adrien along to find some more snacks for their bigger group. But he seemed just as enthralled with Marinette as Ivy is with plants. He walks off waving to Marinette as she looks over to check on him. He smiles at the silent desperate pleads for help Chloe and Kagami give him. With a bounce in his step Marion walks off.

He didn’t even realise he had left them alone with two rouges until he was halfway through the gardens. Whatever. Marinette could handle them and they both seemed friendly enough, if not very polite. If they wanted to crash a date he can think of another person that would rather it happen to them.

“So the twins got out of hospital yesterday,” yes because that's a good way to bring up the topic of your illegitimate children to their out of the loop father.

“That’s fast,” Translated means; I’m suspicious.

“Did you look into those Paris heroes?” No she isn’t stalling not at all, this is important.

“I did, they’ve been working mostly alone for years,” Bruce scowls, picking at his food “I don’t know how the league hasn’t heard about this,”

“Didn’t Marion say this Ladybug person fixes everything?” Selina hums, she had been to Paris and never saw anything, they couldn't be that good could they?

"Is that what he meant?" Bruce looks up at her genuinely puzzled.

Selina hides her smirk behind her wine, which she desperately needed for this conversation. She had forgotten not everyone could understand their babbling. Not even Bruce, yet. She merely hums in response, before taking a gulp of wine.

“I plan on contacting her,” Bruce admits out loud, their secluded rooftop table ensuring privacy, “Did they say anything more to you?”

“They’ve had some other things on their mind lately,” She doesn't meet his eye, so they were back to this topic, great.

“Post traumatic stress?” Bruce guesses, she wished- wait no- that's not good.

Selina would rather do this a hundred times over than have her kids suffer like that. Fortunately they didn't seem to be. Which could be concerning in its own right.

“No, actually, they seem completely unaffected by a near death experience,” Selina sighs, they should be right? Thats normal for regular people right? Well they weren't normal, mainly because of the man sitting across from her, who needed to know that, “Just like their father,”

“Tom?” of-fucken-course he had to make this harder, no she will not admit she was purposefully vague.

“No,” Selina feels the anxiety in her chest choke her, “You,”

And nope that last word only made it worse.

“... What?” Bruce pauses, fork still in mid air.

“You,” She places her empty glass down, the clink hitting the table deafening.

“... Selina, what are you saying,” Bruce lowers the fork, halfway between a scowl and suspicion.

“I mean we’ve been at it for years is it really that surprising?” Selina tries to play off, joking tone not overshadowing her panic.

“Selina,” Theres that stern tone, paired with the signature Bat glare.

“... They’re your kids, our kids,” Selina corrects, making sure to meet his eye. No tricks this time.

She lets the silence hang, studying Bruce's face. At first you can clearly tell he's trying to keep a mask on, but it cracks bit by bit. She sees confusion, realisation, panic, anger, disappointment all over lapping. Swirling together repeating over and over again until settling on anger.

“Why didn’t you tell me!” He explodes, pushing her off the ledge she had been on all day, or the last couple days, or hell for eighteen goddamn years.

“Because you-you’re-” She fumbles, so many reasons, mainly relating to Bats in some way, but that wasn't the main reason, “You said you didn’t want kids!”

“You never told me I already had kids!" The realisation hits Selina that he remembers.

If it was just now, or he had for years. He remembered the night she had asked if he wanted a family. He had said no. That he couldn't. That he had a responsibility to the city. So she had left. Not daring to see him when she was pregnant and not wanting to see him afterwards. The next time she saw Bruce he had just adopted a child.

“What would you have done! Huh?!” A child who a year later was chasing criminals around Gotham, “Would you quit? Would you dress them up too and make them fight crime!? I sent them to Paris to avoid that!”

“You know full well I never made them do anything!” Maybe not on purpose, but they do a whole lot for his approval.

“Their kids Bruce! You should have never let them join you out there!” She rants, pacing away from the table.

She gave them up so they would never join her either. Although with how much Marion likes cats he would surely love his own cat suit.

“How would you know what would happen?” Bruce demands, keeping pace with her, dragging his hands through his hair, “I-god- I hadn't even adopted Dick yet and you wrote me off!”

“ Exactly , do you really think you could have raised them!” Dick's his argument for good parenting? Better than Jason.

“Maybe I wanted to!” Bruce yells, anger crumbling, he collapses onto a love seat looking over the city, “Maybe I wanted to raise at least one of my children,”

“I know,” Selina tentatively sits on the chairs arm, reaching over to him, “But they deserved a chance to live without all this ,"

She vaguely gestures to the city and partly to Bruce. Who looks offended at his inclusion.

"They’ve been in Gotham a week Bruce," She slides into the seat, arguing her point before he has the chance, "And they have the press after them, villains attacking, they just got out the hospital ,”

“Hm,” Bruce looks out at the city, not really seeing any of it. “They really are like me huh,”

“Without a doubt,” She gets a slight tug at the lips from Bruce, completely humourless.

They fall silent Bruce looking out at the city. She studies his expression, less of a world wind of emotion now but certainly still in turmoil. He starts to fix his mask back in place, she looks away so he doesn't have to. Looking out at the view they were meant to be enjoying on their date. One that she had planned. Bruce was never going to trust her to plan one again. Or at least he will always be expecting her to spring shocking news on him.

“What do you want to do now?” She asks the question she has wondered for years.

Whenever they were alone and things were calm, unnervingly calm for Gotham. She had thought of telling him. Partly because the calm alarms her, in a life of chaos she felt out of place in it. It would be the perfect way to bring the storm. While cats tended to hate water she has been an alley cat all her life, the calm was meant for house cats. However, thats what the other part of her wanted. For that calm to stay, but to include their kids. Who always sat at the edge of that calm, threatening to ruin it never letting her settle into it. Maybe that was why she could never enjoy it. Maybe now that they were in the storm, the next calm would be with the two of them.

“... I don’t know,” a rarity for the Batman, more common for the man underneath.

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Taglist:

@technicallyburninggarden @fusser90 @misslenamooney @superbwhispersconnoisseur @biodad-bruce-month

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #bio dad bruce wayne #Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020 #Mismatch #Marinette #marinette is mdc #twins au #vigilante au #pop star au #bio dad au #bio! dadbrucewaynemonth2020 #b!dbwm2020 #Maribat #mlb

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jadedragoness · 4 years

Text

Battle Ground 1st Read Through Reaction

Can I just start off by saying, Holy crap. Chicago got curb-stomped hard. So freaking hard.

I really, really, enjoyed the story. I pretty much didn’t want to stop reading as soon as I cracked open the covers of the book but I did have to have periods of giving myself a break and just put the book down and go do something sensible like do the dishes instead of screaming or shaking my fists at the sky like a lunatic.

I do admit that as a story the continuous battle was draining and exhausting to read. But I think that was the point so I don’t really count it against the story. It is something important to know going in, and why I’d recommend breaks.

Let’s talk spoilers… just assume spoilers for everything Dresden Files related too. Ummm, also this runs long.

First Let’s Me Tell You About the Thing Which Exploded My Brain:

1. MARCONE IS FREAKING KNIGHT OF THE BLACKENED DENARIUS! WHHHAAAAT!!

...okay, I’m done screaming about it.

OF FREAKING THORNED NAMSHIEL!!! ...I lied, I wasn’t done. How long? What? When? I didn’t see this coming at all! And I’m so freaking torn about how to feel about it.

I am so damned (heh) relieved that Marcone’s didn’t die at Ethniu’s hands. I seriously freaked at the moment she snapped his neck that I went into instant denial and my eyes skipped several paragraph down out of the desperate wish to see if it was trick. I’m also very, very delighted that Marcone is now so much harder to kill. I mean, he was already pretty hard to kill being Marcone but this just takes it up to eleven.

On the other hand, a Fallen Angel is so freaking dangerous. *makes gargling worried noises* And while it looks like Marcone appears to have worked out a partnership with the coin I can’t help but remember that when we were first introduced to this Fallen he was called ‘Thorned Namshiel’ and not by the name of his bearer. So he appears to be the type to subsume the human who holds him. Which makes me worried that Marcone could be on that path and not even realize it. *goes back to making gargling worried noises*

I do find reassuring that the coin is on a chain around his neck and therefore easily removed and not buried in his body like some of the other Denarians will do.

However, I am feeling a little disappointed Marcone is no longer purely a ‘vanilla’ mortal who stood toe-to-toe eldritch beings and survived by simply being smarter, deadlier and amazeballs. I’ll miss that. I always thought that it was especially hilarious how much Harry would freak out about Marcone and how deadly Marcone is when even in the same room as scary monsters (like in ;Skin Game;, I mean seriously he was in the same room as Nicodemus and Harry was hardcore worried about upsetting Marcone… hilarious!) when Marcone was a vanilla mortal… but now he’s not.

And yet, now Marcone knows how to sling around magic and is incredibly hard to kill. *thumbs up at Jim Butcher* Yeeeessssss! *is so happy*

Although… if Harry doesn’t end up making all manner of ‘thorny’ jokes at Marcone I’m going to be very disappointed. =D

Things I Sorta Expected:

1. Murphy dying.

Now, I totally bawled at the scene after Rudolph shot Murphy. I especially lost it when Harry kept referring to her body as an ‘empty house.’ ARGH. But I wasn’t actually surprised that she died. I did feel like I got a very strong sense it was going to happen. Actually, from how often Harry’s thoughts seemed to be pinging in that direction I was partially convinced his wizardly ‘insight’ was kicking in and trying to warn him.

And he tried. He really did.

But ultimately it was Karrin’s own choice to be away from safety and be her badass self.

2. Hendricks’ dying.

I’ve actually have read the short story ‘Monsters’ from Goodman Grey’s POV and I’ve read it a little over a week ago and in it he notes Marcone’s bodyguard as a dumb Einherjaren. Which made my brain go: Whoa, wait… where’s Hendricks? Is Hendricks dead? Did Hendricks die and become in Einherjaren? Or is he off doing something and one of those guys is taking over for a bit? Fuck, Hendricks is dying in ‘Battle Ground’ isn’t he?

So I wasn’t exactly surprised, but I was still very, very upset. And when Ethniu picked up Hendrick’s corpse and smashed him into Marcone that’s where I lost it. Like totally lost it while also being worried about Marcone at the same time. Gah.

Curveballs I Did Not Expect:

1. Marva and Drakul. The deaths of Wild Bill and Yoshimo at the hands of Black Court vampires and the threat that we may see them again as Black Court? Did not see that coming. I expected to lose Wardens but not like that.

...and I may be in denial about Chandler (I like the guy, okay) being dead. Please. He’s a wizard. He’ll be back. Of course as soon as I wrote that I was instantly struck of by the thought of: “Yeah, but will you like what you get back?”

2. Also Drakul is a starborn? I get more and more curious about what it means! I’m with Harry in frothing in frustration over how people won’t tell him already! *screams into the void*

Also Kincaid worked for this guy? *shudders*

3. Marcone and Thorned Namshiel. *gurgles*

4. Justine had Nemesis in her! And for years?!

How in the hell are they going to save her? Mab barely saved Lea and she’s Mab!

Also I thought Nemesis was very infectious. Is there anyone else around who has been infected? Maybe among Harry’s friends with Justine as the vector? *is worried*

5. Not getting a resolution on the situation with the Svartalves. Or did I miss something? Seriously, the ending of the book felt like it was missing about 30 more pages to wrap up and work a bit more on characters.

Things I Did Not Like or Was Disappointed By:

1. Rudolph getting to live. Fuck that guy.

Okay, I understand that his not getting murdered at Harry’s hands wasn’t really for Rudolph’s sake but for Harry’s own soul. I just want him dead. Dammit, is it too much to ask for him to have been shot by a turtleneck or stomped by a Jotun or splattered by Formor acid that slowly ate away at his guts as screamed until his internal organs slowly dissolved?

I have may have a bloodthirsty vengeful streak. And yet: want.

2. I also may have narrowed my eyes at the end of the book there after Harry said that Marcone was dropping off the keys and then it turned out Lara had picked them up instead. I may have also said aloud, “Butcher, are you Marcone-blocking me?” And he was, dammit, because I didn’t get to read more Marcone.

… I do not have a Marcone-addiction.

3. This is more disappointment than dislike but I didn’t get nearly as much Goodman Grey as I thought I’d get. Aw.

4. Harry not getting to talk to Ivy. *grumbles*

Things I Really Liked/Loved

1. Harry got his home back! And it’s the castle! The castle he all but swindled out of Marcone. Yes, I love it! I love Marcone but doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it when Harry get the best of him too. Anyway, I just love the fact that Harry is claiming parts of his life back from the traumatic heart-stomp events which occurred in ‘Changes’. *bounces in excitement* Now he just needs an office!

2. Marcone. Always. Actually I was a little afraid when he vanished after the battle started that there would be very little Marcone in this book too because Butcher is so Marcone-stingy.

3. That Harry is no longer a member of the White Council. I mean, they’ve been pretty useless to helping Harry out. And honestly, Harry has gotten so many headaches from them that I can’t help but think this is a weight he needed to shed.

Although, it really feeds my ‘Harry needs to become a member of the accords in his own right’ thing again. Seriously, he’s the Warden of Demonreach. He bound a Titan. It needs to happen. Ooh, or the Paranet can see about becoming an Accorded organization in their own right and then Harry can be with them. Yeeeessss.

4. Bob is back in Harry’s hands! Freaking yes! Whoohooo! About time! Oooh, wait, has Bob meet Bonnie? Can we read this happening? OMG, I want it so much… or would Harry be too horrified to let Bob influence his spirit-kid? LoL.

5. Seeing Toot-toot and Lacuna again! And when Harry pulled his ‘Za Lord’ maneuver and got the Guard and a ton of other fairies to help in the defense of… well, pizza in Chicago, that was great I punched the air.

The I gloated even more over how Mab then explained Harry had scared some of the others with that move. Heh.

6. River Shoulders was so damn badass and amazeballs and like Wild Bill said, I’ll take two.

7. Michael and Charity already knowing that Molly is the Winter Lady and being the best parents and loving and accepting and… so much love for those two.

EVERYTHING MARCONE… yes, he’s getting his own heading

1. Gah, I love him. I have mentioned this before. That one of the first things he says to Harry when Harry is staring at him as he changes clothes is to paraphrase ‘did you forget how to get dressed or is this an awkward sexual reconnaissance’ nearly killed me. I was caught between giggling and choking on my own spit and then I nearly fell off the couch. Just remembering about it now, has me giggling at the computer screen.

2. Also, I find that ‘Excellent’ response from Marcone after they exchange threats to be fascinating. This was one of those points were I put the book down and wondered what Marcone meant by that. Then I had the thought that maybe in his own fashion, Marcone was doing the same thing that practically everyone had been doing with Harry since he got back from being shot. He was checking to see if Harry was still the same man he’d been before. And from Harry’s response, Yup. He was. So: “Excellent.”

Having also read ‘Skin Game‘ and how cold Marcone is in the end there? The difference with this Marcone versus the one where Mab was listening? I find that interesting too!

3. When Marcone showed up to the fight! So freaking badass! Love how he led the fighters.

Also I find it significant that both of the guys who are obsessed with protecting Chicago were the ones who manifested ‘banners’ which drew humans to the fight.

Really cool. And it reminds me all over again that for all their different life philosophies Marcone and Dresden do agree on the mantra of: Protect Chicago.

4. This book, especially the lake beach scene reminded me so hard why I love the banter between Harry and Marcone so much. When it just seems to be the two of them and they aren’t actively threatening each they have such a great rapport! Loved reading it! Wished we got more of it in the books.

5. Okay, with Hendricks’ death I’m rather worried for Marcone. ‘Even Hand’ gave the impression Hendricks often acted as a very gentle conscience to Marcone. Losing him has got to be hitting Marcone hard. And that I now know he only has a Fallen angel on his shoulder?

Yup, growing more worried for Marcone at the time.

6. I’m also wondering about what was said in that exchange between Mab and Marcone on the roof when Harry called out Marcone for about being the Lord of Chicago needing to be more than talk. Okay, I can guess. I just really, really want to hear the words because I bet Marcone was badass.

7. The Lord of Chicago giving Harry the title of the Wizard of Chicago? Freaking loved it.

8. Also Marcone freaking purred. Purred. “Prove it,” he purred. “Hero.”

I think Jim Butcher is trying to give me a heart attack or cause me to crack my skull on floor because I nearly fell off the couch again.

9. With Marcone now outed as a magic-wielding Denarian does that mean we get more of him in the future books? Because I freaking hope so... I say this even knowing I’d have the exact same wish even without him being a magic-wielding Denarian.

Things I Found Completely Hilarious

1. Marcone’s opening lines to Harry. Heh. Forever Lol!

2. Is Lacuna a tooth fairy? Her obsession with teeth cracked me up so much.

3. That Mab smacking both Lara and Harry with those wedding plans. *snickers* I mean, I find it totally hilarious because of how gobsmacked both of them were about it. I don’t expect Harry to go through with it at all, not with how we know how seriously he takes relationships. So either he’s going to get out of being the Winter Knight or find some other way to defy Mab. Or hell, maybe Lara gets them both out of it by marrying someone else first. Honestly, I can’t see her agreeing to marry someone who’d burn her with a touch.

Pure Speculation or Things that Just Excite Me for the Future:

1. Now I bet you’re all wondering why I’m not more upset about Murphy or Hendricks dying. Simply put, I’m 100% convinced that when both Murphy and Hendricks wake up in Valhalla, in drinking (with quaffing I bet) halls full of grunting, fighting obsessed Vikings and they will go ‘Nope, I’m out!’ three seconds later. Those two? Especially knowing how much trouble Harry and Marcone have got to be getting up to without them? They’d probably join forces and stage a breakout to get back.

This is what occurred to me the moment Gard explained what happened to their bodies. The whole not come back until everyone who knew them was gone, yeah, right. Not happening.

Or, jeeze, I can’t image Marcone not thinking this was a possibility and then not having made plans to bust Hendricks out and you know Murphy would demand to come along too. And with Thorned Namshiel providing help? I can see this happening.

...okay, this idea sneaked into my head but now I’m seeing Murphy (having busted out of Valhalla with a bunch of Einherjaren) and learning about the upcoming nuptials between Lara and Harry leads a raiding party (what else, with Vikings!) to bride nap (groom nap?) Harry away before he says “I do.“ Heh. This would be hilarious.

2. I’m sorta vibrating with the possibilities of what the future will bring with a Chicago that is waking up to the dangers of the supernatural while at the same time having learned that it is possible to stand up to monsters and kill them. Especially, what this means when bad things go down in Chicago again, because of course they will. And there may be more people joining in the fight.

Hmm, can the Paranet be deployed as a means of bringing vanilla mortals in or educating them so they don’t go after the good guys? They do sort of stand in the middle, more so than Harry. *lost in thoughts*

3. While I’m actually a little surprised that Ebenezar made it out alive as I actually had him down on my ‘Will Probably Die List’. I was relieved as I hope to see him and Harry actually have that conversation which Harry wants. Seriously, if only for Maggie’s sake, who shouldn’t have her first and last memory of her Great-Grandpa be him being a total jerk.

4. Harry can bind the prisoners of Demonreach to do his bidding? *blinks* Ooh, the possibilities.

5. These Librarians, the Men in Black of the DF ‘verse, sound amazing and I can’t wait to see them show up.

#the dresden files #battle ground #Harry Dresden #harry blackstone copperfield Dresden #The Curbstomp of Chicago #spoilers #battle ground spoilers #dresden files spoilers #karrin Murphy #mab #review/reaction #formor war #formor #river shoulders #nathan hendricks #john marcone #gentleman john marcone #book spoilers

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katrandomwrites · 4 years

Text

AO3 Link \ Part Two [soon]

Short vignettes from each of the crew and their relationship with Jonny's heart.

(Is it out of character? Yeah probably but I like the sibling-esque dynamic of ‘I killed them 83 times this month but if you even touch them I will salt the earth with your desiccated remains’.)

---

Part One: Dr. Carmilla (morally grey), Jonny, The Aurora, Nastya, Ashes, and Ivy TW// mention of medical abuse | canon-typical violence | sensory overload

Doctor Carmilla, Lonely Vampire

She was proud looking down at the freshly cleaned and repaired body on her table. His chest rose and fell after a week of stillness. Carmilla almost couldn't believe that she’d finally done it. Finally restored a body to life permanently.

Her cowboy groaned as he came closer to consciousness. She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the tick and flow of his new heart. It was a good heart. He was a good kid.

She wasn’t alone anymore.

Everything could be good now.

Jonny Vangelis, Dead Cowboy

Jonny woke up. He shouldn't- How was he-

Something was ticking. Where?

His chest felt heavy and his breast bone burned.

Something cold was in his hand- no, something cold was holding his hand.

His eyes shot open and he scrambled away from the cold thing only to find himself falling to the floor. He screamed when the impact lit a blazing fire of pain in his ribs.

The cold (hands?) things were back holding his face and shushing him but the pain began to pulse.

Tic. Burn. Tic. Burn.

Jonny pulled down the collar of his shirt to see a mess of thick scars and metal seams to the left of his sternum. His breathing quickened but the ticking held it’s tempo.

“What did you do?” he screamed. Carmilla’s face was inches from his as she tried to pull him closer.

“WHAT DID YOU DO, CARMA?”

The doctor’s face broke, as if she was only now realizing what was happening; what she’d done, “I-I couldn’t lose you… not like that. Not when you were still so you-”

“You promised! You promised you’d let me go!” Jonny cried.

“I’m sorry,”

Tears were falling now as Carmilla pulled him against her. Jonny tried to push her off but the pain was too much and the coolness of her cheek against his was soothing.

“It hurts,” he sobbed, “It hurts so much. Why?”

I’m sorry.

The Aurora, Cyberian Battle-cruiser

The winner of the roulette game and her new 'owner' sauntered onto the bridge and looked around. She contemplated just electrocuting him to death once he touched anything.

"I must say you are a simply gorgeous craft," he said, running a hand over the embossed leather of the captain’s seat, "Somebody put a lot of love into your creation."

The Aurora preened a bit despite herself. At least he had good taste.

“I’m gonna have to go by some polish tho, love. You are absolutely filthy! Where they finger painting with space cheetos on the flight screen,” he looked disgusted at the greasy smears decorating the console, “Maybe a steamer? Some of this shit is worked in, darling.”

>> Thank you. I would appreciate that greatly.

The intruder looked bewildered at the flight screen and fell back into the captain's seat when she rumbled in amusement. He whipped his head around as if to find a source or rogue crewman.

>> Did you really just win a ship without knowing what it was?

>> Poor planning on your part.

The intruder took a moment to process what was happening before he crossed his arms and huffed, "I just do what the Doc tells me so she doesn't decide that I'm in need of having my chest ripped open again."

>> Judging by the way you won me: I would say that isn't detrimental to your life.

"It still fucking hurts!"

The Aurora rumbled again, finding that she quite enjoyed her guest. He may be fussing in the captain's seat, pretending to be offended, but he was still watching the screen for anything else she had to say.

It had been years since anyone had treated her as anything other than just a means of transportation with the downside of sentience. She found herself analysing him closer and realized there was a mechanically ticking coming from him.

Was he also…?

>> Well, I suppose I must register you as Captain so we may take off. I am unable to lift off without any registered crew.

Her guest shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "Not that I don't appreciate that but, uh, I think that's more her place."

The Aurora was starting to get the idea that whoever his travel companion was, they would not be getting along.

>> No

He startled and Aurora realized just how young he looked. Her previous crews were all older Cyberians weathered and jaded by constant battle. This new…. boy, looked more like the young men barely old enough to grow beards that manned her mess hall during the war.

She still remembered the sad stories they told of home.

>> No. You earned me. I am choosing you as the Captain.

"But-"

She buzzed at him before pulling up a login screen.

>> Primary Captain : Please Enter Your Information As Prompted_

Her guest hesitated before beginning to type. It was endearing how gently he placed his hand over the print reader and she could feel the strange rhythm of his heartbeat flitting across his palm.

>> Welcome Captain Jonathon E. Vangelis .

Jonathon beamed at the Aurora's screen before a look of horror dawned on him, "She's going to skin me alive," he whispered.

The Aurora hummed as anger charged her systems and pulled up another screen.

>> I have an idea

>> Loading…

>> Primary Captain profile locked and hidden.

>> Passcode Set to: Handprint and Vocal Verification

>> Loading...

>> First Mate : Please Enter Your Information As Prompted_

“But she’ll know if the Captain’s position is filled” Jonathan protested.

>> I was built to house up to three captains. Your doctor doesn’t have to know that one of the positions has been filled.

Jonathon stared at the screen with a small smile and sniffled before typing again. His accent that had rounded and drawn his words was muted under an average Basic dialect as he spoke now.

>> Welcome, First Mate Jonny d'Ville .

>> Now about those cleaning supplies...

Nastya Rasputina, Former Princess

She ran, following the instructions the Aurora had given her deeper into the ship. She turned to make sure the doctor wasn't following her and ran directly into something warm and squishy. They landed with a grunt.

Nastya scrambled up to look at the… kid? He looked at her in surprise before turning to anger and suspicion..

"How the fuck did you get down here?"

Nastya opened her mouth and realized she didn’t have a response to that. Her eyes began to burn.

“Oh shit. Fuck. I’m sorry I didn’t- Shit shit shit.”

None of this registered as Nastya began to sob. A hand brushed her arm and she threw herself into the boy’s lap. It was undignified but it felt good to be touched by a warm body instead of the doctor’s cold hands.

“Okay, shit,” he shifted her around so her face was buried in his chest.

“I-I’m sorry-, Nastya choked out, “she-she just kept poking and I couldn’t- it hurt so much.”

The arms around her shoulders tightened, causing her to turn her head and look up at him. He looked sad, not in a pitying way but a guilty way.

“I’ll talk to her okay? Sometimes… sometimes she forgets we can feel like that,” he sighed, “I’m Jonny by the way.”

Nastya vaguely remembered the Doctor mentioning there was another like her on board.

“Nastya.”

Jonny gave her a smile and leaned back against the wall with her still pressed against his chest. Nastya rested her head on his sternum and heard an odd ticking sound.

Huh , she thought distantly, that’s why he’s like me. The ticking heart to my metal blood.

Nastya fell asleep safe.

Ashes O’Reilly, Pyromaniac Gangster

Ashes took another shakey drag of their cigarette as the adrenaline from burning Malone faded. They were tired and a rotting sense of uneasy was beginning to fester in their chest.

Of course now was the time Camilla's wannabe cowboy decided to make an appearance for only the second time since Ashes had been taken in. He gave them a strange look before Ashes blew a hole in his gut.

He hit the floor with a dull thud, “Fucking rude.”

“I’m not the one who can’t knock. Were you born in a fucking barn?”

Jonny gave a sputtering laugh as he scooped a handful of intestines back into his abdomen, “Probably, either that or the chicken coop.”

Ashes snorted, the sound surprised them and Jonny grinned.

"Probably made in there too," Jonny continued, not bothering to get up when his stomach healed.

Ashes let out a full body laugh that edged into hysterical. The image of a guy in cowboy boots pushing intestines back into their gut and cracking jokes was unreal. Even after managing to burn down an entire planet.

“Uh, you okay?”

Jonny was standing in front of them now. A look of concern on his face.

Ashes rubbed a hand across their face and realized hot tears were beginning to streak down their cheeks.

They were so tired.

“I’m just-” their breathing hitched but they refused to cry, “I’m just tired. Arson really takes it out of you, ya’ know?”

Jonny’s mouth twisted into a forced smile before he sat down on the bed with them, “This may be over stepping, so go ahead and throw me out if you want but, uh, if you need to sleep, without the nightmares, I might be able to help.”

“Who said anything about nightmares?” Ashes shifted away from him.

Jonny rolled his eyes, “Do you want help or not?”

“What are you gonna do? Shoot me to sleep?”

“No, but Nastya-” Jonny’s ears turned red, “Nastya says that my ‘heartbeat’ always knocks her out. Something about the rhythm being perfectly consistent? It’s just an offer, if you’re not comf-”

“I’d like that,” Ashes said, looking away, “I’m actually not all that used to having my own room and sleeping alone yet. Never had the opportunity even in the Sevens.”

Jonny gave them a small smile before being manhandled into a pile of carefully arranged pillows. His shirt was unceremoniously ripped off in exchange for one of Ashes’ cleaner shirts. (They would not be getting that shirt back)

Ashes gave their set up a hard once over now that there was a cowboy shoved in with their stuffed Charizard before climbing in and resting their body over his.

He wiggled to get an arm free and began to run it carefully through their hair. It didn’t take long before the both of them were asleep.

Ivy Alexandria, Amnesiac Librarian

Everything was too loud and bad . Ivy stumbled through the halls with her hands over her ears in a futile attempt to block it out when the 'it' is her own brain.

She opens her eyes for a moment and instantly regrets it as everything around her seems to shout directly into her mind.

It hurt. Why did it have to hurt?

At some point she managed to find a dark place to wedge herself into and tears are soaking her collar by the time somebody finds her. She can't focus on anything but the metallic whine of her brain and the presence of something loud that she must get away from when a callused hand is suddenly holding her arm and stops the bad feeling there.

She gasps and grabs for the thing (person?) that makes the bad go away, landing in it’s lap. It rumbles something and positions her so her ear is pressed against it.

Ivy wants to fight it and sit up but then she hears something through the whining in her head.

shht tic shht tic shht tic

Hands wind around her shoulders and tangle in the hair at the base of her neck as she begins to relax and start counting the ticks.

_PersonelID [Jonny d'Ville, First Mate]

_MechID [HeartV.3.4]

__ 70 beats per minute

__Operation Efficiency [87%]

_System Notification: Access Granted to [JEVan_HeartCntrlUnit]

_MasterCommandEntry Opened

_[Assisted_SleepCycle] Enabled

_Countdown Begins

#The Mechanisms #Jonny d'Ville #dr. carmilla #the aurora #Nastya Rasputina #Ashes O'Reilly #Ivy Alexandria #fanfiction #My writing #whispers from the scrapheap

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