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love-and-monsters · 5 months

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The Fallen Angel

GN human X nonbinary angel (uses they/its pronouns), 15,020 words.

(Apologies for how long I've been away, a lot has been happening. But here is the story at long last! At very long last. I have written, unfortunately, a fucking novella. Please let me know what you think, I put my heart into this bitch.)

There is an angel trapped in the basement of the church. You are determined to free it.

There was an angel trapped in the basement of the church. You could hear it singing when you cleaned the great brass candles and the stained glass windows. It sang during the services, too, but the song just reverberated behind the choir or the preaching, too subtle to be truly noticed. It was only in the afternoons, when the sunlight sent a colored glow across the floor and your body sweated and shook with fatigue, that the song grew strong enough for you to really hear what it was.

Angel song is not like birdsong, nor it is it like the song of a person. It is almost like the sound of a choir, if the choir was like a pipe organ or the wind passing through a cave. The noise settled in your bones and lungs. Sometimes, you felt yourself humming along, like just the presence of the sound was forcing the notes from your body.

You cleaned the church every three days, more or less- you didn’t clean at all on Sundays, but you did attend. So did the rest of the town. Had it gotten more crowded since the song started? Maybe- the church’s attendance was already high, and the faith strong. The angel would not have come otherwise.

You knew that the angel was trapped. You weren’t a fool- the basement door was chained and sealed, and the singing was louder the closer you get. No free angel would suffer being locked away like this. And then there was its singing. Usually, it just made your bone tremble and compelled you to sing along with it. On Sundays, its song amplified the worship, making your brain tingle with the divine. But sometimes, more frequently these days, the song struck you with such profound sadness, that you found yourself on your knees, face wet with tears.

It was over a month of the singing and the knowledge that something divine rested beneath your feet before you considered doing something about it.

In fairness: you were not qualified to interact with an angel, much less rescue one. You were not a priest, not a spiritual practitioner. A priest was technically your boss, though you cleaned more buildings in town than the church. If he had trapped the angel, there must be a reason.

But the angel’s song grew more sorrowed and more desperate, until you woke at night, nowhere near the angel’s song, with a hum vibrating in your chest and tears on your cheeks. And you came to the conclusion that, no matter what reason the priest has, the angel did not deserve this.

So you called a spiritual practitioner. As much as you may have wanted to help, you had no idea how. Better to leave such things to professionals.

You had hoped the practitioner would arrive at the church, sense the angel immediately, and free them. But there wass no fuss from the church, and no angel emerged. The practitioner left town before the sun set that day.

Three more practitioners and a priest entered the town over the next two weeks. None of them freed the angel. Your bewilderment grew with each failure. Were they not noticing it? Were they being turned away? Bribed?

The sixth person, a priest, was the one you followed. You tailed him to the church, and continued following him twenty minutes later, when he emerged. Once he had made it past the edges of the town, you ambushed him.

It wasn’t much of an ambush, really. You just stepped out onto the path in front of him and demanded he tell you what was going on. He was clearly weirded out, but once you said that you were the person who called him, he was a bit more willing to talk.

You asked him why he didn’t do anything to free the angel. He stareed at you, eyes wide. Then he spoke, quiet and almost frightened. “What that thing is should not be freed. It is best for everyone if it stays down there.”

Once he told you that, he dismissed himself, and hurried away. You stared after him. Then you returned home.

The creature in the basement could not be anything but an angel. It could have been one of the infernal, but the infernal don’t sing. Scream and howl and beg, but they do not sing. And no infernal creature would sit through the services that come every Sunday. People would avoid the church, rather than flocking to it in droves. And yet, if the priest had seen an angel, you found it hard to believe he wouldn’t have tried to release it. He certainly wouldn’t have told you it was a thing.

The next time you went to the church, the singing was low and tremulous. It reminded you of someone trying to sing through tears. Again and again, you found yourself at the basement door. When you placed your hand on it, the dark metal was warm, like it had been resting under a sunbeam.

You could not bring yourself to leave, even an hour after your work was done. The sadness of the song radiated around you and ever since you spoke to the priest, you were terribly curious. Perhaps that was a cruel thing, to be just as compelled by curiosity as compassion. But you were. If it had been just compassion, maybe you could have stood aside and let someone else do it. But it was curiosity as well, and you needed to do it yourself because you needed to know.

While you had access to most of the keys in your line of work, you didn’t have access to the ones that unlocked the chains and the door. Even after some snooping, you couldn’t find them, so you resorted to attempting to pick the locks. It was something you learned in your youth, mostly since you could never keep track of your house keys. The padlock was easy enough to undo. The door took more time, but still under five minutes.

The door itself was more of a barrier than the locks were. It was heavy enough that you wondered if it was even designed for only one person to open. But with enough effort, you managed to open it enough for you to squeeze through.

It wasn’t dark. Or, rather, it was dark, but it wasn’t as dark as it should have been. There were no windows in the basement and you had no light, so you shouldn’t have been able to see anything. Certainly not the gentle glow of what looked like sunlight at the bottom of the cool stone steps in front of you.

It wasn’t cold, either, you reflected as you headed down the steps. It should have been, if not dank, at least a little chilly. But the light was as warm as a sunbeam. You headed toward it, keeping your steps as light as possible. Surely whatever was down here had heard the door open and knew someone was approaching, but you tried to keep as quiet as possible regardless. It made you feel better.

The stairs ended at a doorway that opened into a room. It was clearly intended for storage of some kind, as most basements are. And it was still storing something. Because most of the room was occupied by a-

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it? What was that? Your first instinct was person, but people are not usually so large that, even on their knees, they cannot straighten their back without hitting their head on the ceiling. Their body filled most of the room. You could sit in their hand. And, of course, they were the source of the light. You couldn’t look at their center, since it was so bright as to be blinding, but even their extremities glowed like lamps. You had to tilt you head back to look into their face and you saw… nothing. Their head was human-shaped, but they had no hair, no face. It was almost frightening, the blankness there, but your attention was drawn to something else only a moment later.

Angels have halos. This one was no exception. A golden ring, elaborate in design, hovered behind their head. But it was not a simple, clean circle. It was broken. The metal was (or something that looked like metal) twisted and splintered and dented. The entire thing was rent apart, golden liquid spilling from the broken bits. It looked like something grabbed it and twisted until the halo split.

The song radiated through you then. And, for the first time, it occurred to you that this was not song. It just sounded like it. The angel was crying.

Everyone heard tales of fallen angels. Cast out for crimes or sin, sent to Earth. Crying to return. They were creatures to fear. An angel is dangerous. An angel that has been sent away and maddened with grief and loss is only more so.

You moved toward them, trying to see where they were chained to the wall. Your body moved almost on its own, and you wondered if the song was somehow compelling you to do so. It didn’t matter, though. You’d be doing this anyway.

There weren’t chains holding it in place. That was actually a relief. They would have been huge and you weren’t sure how to handle chains you couldn’t move. Instead, the angel seemed to be held in place by writings across the ground, walls, and ceiling. From a distance, they looked like just worn stone, but up close, you could see the writing. It took you some time to figure out what they were. Bible verses, in Latin and English. They seemed completely random. You assumed they were holding the angel here, since you couldn’t find anything else that seemed to be doing so. But this wass all over your head. Presumably there was a way to undo this, but you didn’t know what. It would be weeks of work to destroy all the writing here.

After taking some time to despair and scream in frustration, you went over to a wall and, by the light of the angel, started to read. It was a bit difficult, since there was no way to read without the angel being behind you, and your shadow appearing on the wall, but if you angled your head, you could make out the words.

Some of the verses were familiar to you. A few of them were about angels. Some of them were about God’s power or smiting the unjust. Some of them seemed completely unrelated. Maybe there was a reason that you just weren’t getting. But as you continued, you noted a pattern. They repeated.

It was a hard repeat to catch- there wasn’t a set pattern where it was the same order every repeat. But after going back and forth and squinting in the low light for long enough that you developed quite the headache, you found that the phrases were repeating. Every verse was repeated once per repeated section. A vague idea came to your head. It wasn’t a plan you were sure would work, but it was the only idea you had.

You slipped back upstairs and rummaged in the tool closet. Normally, you only bothered with the cleaning supplies, but there were hammers and nails there, for general repairs. You took a hammer and a screwdriver and brought them back down to the basement.

At the beginning of each repeat, you took the screwdriver and, using it as almost a makeshift chisel, hammered it into the wall until the rock chipped away. The words weren’t carved very deeply, so it wasn’t terribly hard to flake them off. Well, it wasn’t hard relatively speaking. It was still hard work to chisel anything at all, and your arms were trembling and aching in short order.

It was slow going. Fortunately, the repeats were long, so you didn’t need to chisel all that often, but it was hard to find the proper start, and there was a lot of small writing. Your back ached from stooping to get the stuff on the floor.

You had the inclination that you were doing something right, though. The angel had nearly ignored you before, as you’d walked around its cage. But now, as you chiseled at the walks, it turned its head toward you, face still blank, though you could tell it was watching. Maybe it was just curious, but you thought maybe it could sense something changing.

About midway through your second wall, the air started to take on a different… feel. Like it was getting thicker, almost humid, with a smell like before a storm. You took more breaks, almost dropping your hammer and chisel a few times. Your fingers weakened. You started smashing randomly with the hammer, though it didn’t seem to have a great effect. The angel watched, or did something similar, with its massive, blank face.

By the third wall, the feeling was suffocating. Whether it was from the unbinding of the angel itself, or the bindings themselves trying to fight back, it was impossible to say. You just staggered from one repeat to the next, barely able to stand. How were you going to get the writing on the ceiling? You couldn’t risk stopping and returning, in case someone discovered your work the next day, but you also could not risk getting up on a ladder- not when it felt like the floor was shifting and bucking under your feet.

Please, you thought as you brought your hammer down onto your makeshift chisel. Please be enough. Please be the last. You weren’t sure who you were begging to, pleading to, but as you brought your hammer down one last time-

Light. There was light and then there was nothing. You were on your back on the ground, though it didn’t hurt. Which was strange. If you’d fallen over, you expected your head to hurt where it had hit the ground. You blinked a couple times. The room was less bright than it had been. There were a few scraps of light that seemed to be drifting about like floating candle flames, but they were fading and taking the light with them.

You rolled over and looked toward the angel. It was no longer there. Or, to be more specific, the enormous, glowing, faceless creature was gone. Sitting in the center of the room, blinking in apparent confusion was… a person.

No, the person was the angel. You were sure of it, since the person had wings. Large, powerful-looking wings with scruffy brown feathers. Little wings of a lighter color were set where their ears should be. But they also did not look like the images of angels you’d seen in books or in stained glass. Those angels were always inhuman looking, with perfect, sculpted bodies and porcelain skin. This angel was a little pudgy, with little pockmarks and imperfections in its skin. Its feathers were ruffled and sticking out, and its long hair was ruffled. It blinked at you with drooping, tired-looking eyes.

“Ah…” Looking at the angel, you realized you hadn’t paused to come up with an exit plan for once the angel was free. You’d been more focused on just breaking the cage. There had been some vague idea in the back of your head, of the angel realizing it was free and busting its way out of the church through the ceiling. Though perhaps it was good that hadn’t ended up happening, since that would probably leave you crushed by rubble. You certainly hadn’t expected the angel to suddenly poof down into a nearly human form.

They seemed confused. They swayed in place, staring around the room like they’d never seen it before. Or, never seen it from that angle before, at least. They shifted their wings a couple times, stretching them out only the tiniest amount before trying to get to their feet. Despite looking rather unsteady, they stood with only a little stumbling and stayed on their feet. They glanced around the room one more time, then looked back at you.

They were tall. Bigger than most people you’d seen. And their wings only added to their bulk. They would have cut an intimidating figure, if it wasn’t for the out-of-it look on their face.

This was a new problem. You’d figured the angel would be out of your hair once you freed it. But this angel looked rather helpless. You got the impression that, if you left it there, it would stand there until the priests came back in the morning and locked it away again. Or killed it. It looked more killable in this form.

Leaving it was considered and discarded. It probably wasn’t a good idea to leave them here if they could remember your face and maybe reveal your identity if asked. And even if they couldn’t, you’d already put so much effort into freeing them. It seemed like a waste to ditch them at the last moment.

Not to mention, the idea of leaving them standing there, shivering slightly in the chill of the basement and blinking at you with confused, doe-like eyes made your chest ache.

You approached the angel. It locked its eyes on you, watching as you came closer. Not necessarily cautious- more like curious as to what you were going to do next. You reached out a cautious hand and took the angel’s.

They jolted, sucking in a breath the second your fingers came in contact. You froze. All of their feathers bristled and they seemed to shudder. For a moment, you thought you could faintly hear their song, but it faded so quickly that it may have been your imagination.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, the same tone you used to coax the church cats out of hiding places. “We need to go, though.” You tugged on their arm. Despite their size, they moved easily. You lead them up the stairs and into the church proper.

They followed you to the back door of the church. It was late, and the place was deserted, which was a relief. The angel was both winged and very naked, which would be hard to explain to anyone.

Getting them to your house was tense. The angel was conspicuous, so you had to avoid areas with people. Fortunately, it was late, so the cover of night and the lack of people on the street was enormously helpful. The angel was also quite easy to tug along, despite their size. You made it to the backdoor of your home with no real struggle, though you came very close to shoving the angel into a bush when a person stumbled across your path in your neighborhood. To your relief, they were very drunk and they seemed to barely notice your presence.

The moment you were within your house, you collapsed. The angel shuffled next to you, flexing their wings and glancing around. They didn’t seem anything more than mildly interested in their surroundings. After a moment, they sat down next to you.

You could have stayed on the ground all night, but after thirty minutes, you decided that it probably wasn’t good to your guest to let them stay on the ground all night. It was late and you could decide what to do with them in the morning, but now, you were both going to get some rest.

“Come on,” you grumbled, tugging at their arm. The angel allowed itself to be led into your small bedroom, where you encountered your first problem. The bed was not sized for an angel. Again, it was a normal bed. Not an unusually small one. But the angel was, at minimum, six and a half feet tall and carrying a set of bulky wings. Perhaps, if you shuffled some furniture around, you could have made it work, but it was very late and you were very tired. So you tugged all the bedsheets you had into the room and dumped them on the floor. The angel watched you the entire time, completely impassive.

Once you were done, you had to drag the angel over and push them into the makeshift bed. They blinked up at you from the pile. “Lie down,” you said, pushing on their shoulders. They allowed it, bowing under your touch with as much compliance as ever. “Go to sleep.”

You didn’t wait to see if they followed that order. Instead, you stumbled to your own bed, tugged the blanket you had over yourself, and closed your eyes.

Morning came entirely too early. Even when you were bone tired, your body clock woke you up at the same time every day. It couldn’t have been more than a couple hours of sleep, and probably less. You blinked tiredly for like thirty seconds before rolling over and catching sight of the angel.

It was still laying down in the pile of blankets. Its eyes were on you, blinking heavily every so often. You stared back at it. “I suppose you’re going to be here for a while,” you said. The angel just stared.

With little else to do, you got out of bed and headed into the kitchen. Your head ached, probably from lack of sleep, and also stress. It had been easy to not think about the consequences when you were freeing the angel, but now, well. The priest was going to want to know where his angel went, and you had a winged person in your house, as well as being the last person in the church that night. It wouldn’t be hard to put the pieces together.

You got into the kitchen and became aware of a second set of footsteps trailing after yours. You stopped and the footsteps behind you stopped as well. A quick glance over your shoulder confirmed it- the angel was following you. They gazed back at you as you stared at them. They were swaying a little on their feet, wings twitching like that helped them stay upright.

“I suppose you want breakfast,” you said. The angel blinked. It was the only acknowledgement they gave you. “Well, I’d be a terrible host if I didn’t feed you, I guess.”

At your instruction (physical instruction- it was easier to move the angel around than it was to try and give them verbal commands) the angel sat down at your tiny table. There wasn’t much room for more than one person, but you could make it work. Breakfast was never a particularly impressive affair for you, but if you had an angel over, you decided to go through the effort of actually heating up some biscuits and cooking some eggs and even a couple thin strips of bacon.

You set the plate in front of the angel. They stared down at the meal. Their gaze wasn’t necessarily dismissive. It just also reminded you of a dog examining a new object. Not a person getting a good meal.

“Do you know how to eat?” you asked after a few moments. If it had just become a mortal, than perhaps it wasn’t sure precisely how eating worked? You demonstrated a few times, slicing a sliver off your egg and placing it in your mouth before chewing with exaggerated deliberateness. The angel took it in, but still made no moves on its own breakfast. “Do you need help?” you asked, a bit irritated. You sawed off a piece of biscuit, dipped it in the egg and speared a little bit of bacon before holding it to the angel’s mouth. It recoiled when the fork nearly touched its lips.

A few more attempts at convincing it to eat were unsuccessful and you backed off, confused. Perhaps the angel didn’t need to eat after all, or wasn’t able. You had no idea what angels needed.

Now that you had eaten, you were starting to feel more ready to tackle the current issues. You had work. Not at the church, thankfully, but you still needed to leave. And as reluctant as you were to leave the angel alone in your house, you couldn’t think of anything else to do. Staying home would be incredibly suspicious. You needed to make it look like everything was normal.

As exhausted as you were, you dragged your clothes on and gathered your supplies. The angel watched you. They were still completely naked, though you were getting used to it at this point. “Are you going to put some clothes on?” you asked. The angel stared. “Never mind.” It wasn’t like it was going to fit in any of your clothes. It was too tall. “I’m going to be leaving for a while. I’ll be back as soon as I can, all right? Stay here. Don’t go outside.” You felt a little bad, telling the angel that had spent the past however long trapped in a single room that it couldn’t go outside, but that was a bad idea. Maybe later, you could bring them outside.

“Stay here,” you said, feeling a little like you were talking to a dog. The angel just stared at you. “I’m trusting you.” You left your home and took a few paces down the street, glancing over your shoulder all the while. The door didn’t open again, and you kept looking until your house had vanished around a corner, and even a little after that.

To your immense relief, the angel never followed. That didn’t stop you from being jumpy as you cleaned, though. Every time a person approached you, there was a moment of panic, either that someone had found a strange, winged person wandering the street or that the priests at the church were going to drag you in for questioning. But neither ever happened. You managed to finish up early (by cutting a few corners) and hurried home.

The angel was… exactly where you left them. Literally. Exact same spot. Had it even moved all day? It did look a little worse for wear- a little weaker, maybe, with dark patches coming in under its eyes and a definite sway when it tried to sit up straight. As soon as it saw you, it makes an attempt to surge to its feet- and fumbled, nearly landing straight on its face.

“Woah, hey there,” you said as the angel flailed on the ground, wings flapping like a startled duck. “You, uh. You doing all right?” The angel managed to push itself upright and blinked blearily at you. The swaying was still there, giving the alarming impression that they were a moment from falling again and only just barely preventing themself from doing so.

Perfect. You not only had an angel bunking with you, you had an angel bunking with you and there was something wrong with them. That could only end badly. “Okay, I’m going to need you to work with me here,” you said. The angel was, again, rather compliant as you tugged them into the kitchen and got them to sit at the table. They seemed to be shivering, so… fire in the stove? You grabbed a few blankets and placed them around the angel’s shoulders as well, until the angel was sufficiently covered. The angel’s shivering slowed and it seemed almost perplexed by that development.

“That’s better,” you said. “Are you feeling okay now?” The angel wobbled a little bit and they blinked at you. They didn’t seem to nod or shake their head at all, or communicate in any way other than staring. Which meant it was hard to figure out what they wanted. Or if they wanted anything at all.

After staring at the angel for a little while longer, just to convince yourself that they weren’t about to keel over, you went to the stove and heated up your dinner. It was just some bread and a very simple chunk of salted meat with a couple of vegetables. The angel watched you, though they still swayed like they were on a ship instead of steady ground.

You returned to the table, carrying your plate, and the angel’s eyes remained locked on you. No, not you, you realized as you got closer. Their gaze was locked on your plate. As you wanted, the angel’s mouth opened, ever so slightly, and a bead of drool actually welled up on their lips. As you set the plate on the table, the angel made a strange noise. You hadn’t been expecting it at all, so it took you a moment to realize it was the angel’s stomach growling.

“Are you hungry?” you asked. The angel stared back at you. After a moment, you pushed the plate of food toward the angel. Their eyes remained on it, but they didn’t make any move to eat. Not even when you took a fork and offered them a bite.

There was a bewildered moment, where you weren’t sure what was going on. Then it clicked in your head: the angel was hungry. They also had no idea what to do with it.

The angel was mortal now. Whatever had happened, when you broke its cage, it had become mortal. But it had never been mortal before. How was it supposed to know anything? How would someone know the pain in your stomach meant hunger if they’d never felt it before? How would they know the heaviness their limbs and strange inability to keep their eyes open would be cured by sleep, or their shivering meant they needed to sit near a fire with blankets?

The angel was a mortal, but it was a very new mortal, and it needed to learn all the other things mortals understood just by being alive.

You scooted closer to the angel and picked up the fork again. This time, you took a bite, making sure the angel watched the food travel into your mouth and you chewing and swallowing. Then, you moved the fork right up to the angel’s lips. “You’re hungry. This will help. You need to eat,” you said, not totally sure if the angel was understanding you. The angel blinked once, twice, then tentatively opened its mouth and allowed you to place the food inside.

The angel, with a sort of bewildered slowness, closed their mouth and chewed. It looked like clumsy chewing, but they picked up on it pretty quickly, their brow furrowed with focus. Then they tried to swallow and instantly choked.

You had a real, legitimate panic about having an angel choke to death at your table for nearly a full twenty seconds before the angel got their breathing under control again. You made them drink water, which went much smoother- maybe you should have started there- and cleaned up. The angel had recovered enough to watch you as you did so, drinking in every motion you made. Maybe it would have been a little creepy, if the angel hadn’t felt so genuinely curious about what you were doing.

When you returned the food to it, the angel ate more carefully, if still with enthusiasm. You’d realized, by that point, that the angel didn’t understand the concept of being too full, so while that would eventually need to be a learning experience, you just took the food away after you’d determined what the angel probably needed. It didn’t protest at all, but let you remove the plate and watched as you collected the scraps that could be composted.

It didn’t protest when you led the angel to bed, either. This time, you just tugged all the bedsheets you had onto the floor and directed the angel’s attention onto you. “We’re going to sleep. You need to sleep. Every night. You sleep like this.” You lay down on the floor, tugged the blankets over yourself, and went still, slowing your breathing. The angel watched until you sat up again. “Now you do it.”

With some very gentle persuasion, you got the angel lying on its side, eyes closed. You watched it until its breathing deepened and its body relaxed. Then you went to sleep yourself.

The angel was still fast asleep when you woke, and you were careful not to disturb it as you made your way to the kitchen. You had a feeling it would turn up and, sure enough, when the smells of cooking made their way down the hall, the angel appeared, a blanket wrapped around it like a cloak.

They ate breakfast, this time not even choking once, and even brought their plate over to the washbasin. “Okay,” you told them once you were done cleaning up. They looked at you, gaze attentive. “We’re going to need to get you some clothes.”

You did not have any clothes in their size, and since you were smaller than they were, you couldn’t just take some of your clothes in. The wings were also a complicating factor. In the end, you didn’t have the time or skills to really make anything elaborate for the angel. With one of your old blankets, you simply created rough arm and neck holes and added darts in the sides to hold the entire thing together. There was no way to create holes for the wings. They were large enough that you just left massive slits down the back to create space. It wasn’t perfect, since the slits left the back rather open, but it was better than nothing. The angel was remarkably still for the whole measuring and pinning and sewing. It took a few hours for the entire process to be over, and you were sore by the end, but the angel had clothes.

It was not long after you’d fully clothed them, when you were lying on your bed to enjoy a rest, that someone knocked on your door.

You jolted, nearly throwing yourself out of bed. The angel startled as well, though they seemed to be more upset by your reaction than the knocking. Cautiously, you crept through the door, grateful that your window allowed you to see the people at your door without needing to open it.

The angel came, warm against your back as they stared out the window after you. The Head Priest stood, dressed in his usual gold-flecked robes and with two guards stationed at either shoulder. You felt the angel shift and bristle behind you turned to look at them.

The angel was staring, unblinking, at the priest and his entourage. Its wings had extended a little, puffed up like the pigeons that littered the town did when they were threatened. But its face… it was the first time you’d ever seen the angel make a real expression of emotion. And it was afraid.

That, more than anything, made your stomach sink.

The knocking came again, louder, harder. The angel slunk back a little. One of its hands was latched onto your wrist and it seemed determined to drag you with it. It actually managed to haul you along for a few steps before you dug your feet in. “I have to answer the door. Go hide.” The angel released your wrist, but it hesitated, wings twitching. “Go. Hide. I will be fine.” The angel flexed its wings once, then turned and headed back to your room. You breathed in and out, then headed toward the door.

As soon as you opened the door, the priest moved into your house. He didn’t shove past you, since he didn’t touch you, but he did force his way in. The guards just roughly shoved you aside, barely recognizing your presence.

“Can I help you, your grace?” you said. It was difficult to keep your voice even. The priest wasn’t a withered old man, but he wasn’t young, and his gaze was as sharp as a shard of glass. He glared around the room, nose twitching. You resisted the irrational thought that he was smelling for something. You licked your lips. “Was my church cleaning not up to your satisfaction?”

The priest’s gaze focused on you. “The cleaning has been fine. However, two days ago, an object of some great importance went missing from the church.”

It was him saying ‘an object’ that saved you. Because you didn’t take an item, you had, technically, stolen a person. But your brain didn’t quite register that he couldn’t just say you’d stolen a person, so when he said ‘an object,’ you took him at face value and your surprise was genuine.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t steal anything.” The priest’s eyes locked onto yours, and you stared back with stupid, genuine bewilderment. There was a flicker across his face, like surprise- maybe he didn’t expect you to look so guileless.

“You won’t mind if we have a look around, then?” the priest said, voice lightly curious. Not even accusing. Genial.

It was a trap. Obviously. Say yes, the priest can poke wherever he wants and look for anything he determined to be incriminating. Say no, that was instantly suspicious, even if you were only doing it for the sake of your privacy. But if you said yes… there was no way he wasn’t going to find the angel in your bedroom.

“Actually, I do mind. Are you accusing me of something?” Acting outraged was your best defense. Not a good defense, just the best one you had. “I don’t appreciate having people rifle through my things just because I happened to be near the church when something was stolen.”

The priest’s eyes narrowed. The guards stiffened. “No accusation, of course. We’re merely… cautious. Surely you can understand why we would want to check out every possible lead. If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear, no?”

“I have nothing to fear, but that hardly means I want people meandering into my house at all hours, demanding proof for crimes there is no evidence I committed. Tell me, if I came into your home tomorrow, demanding to look for something you may have stolen while you were in my house, would you be perfectly happy to have me poking through your underwear drawer?” The priest’s face went a strange shade of pink-red, but you barreled on with no pause for his response. “And, to add to that, you haven’t even told me what was stolen! For all I know, you could simply claim any of my items to be the thing I stole and slap me in chains for it!”

The priest was still deadly calm, but there was a clear rage to his voice when he spoke again. “Do you truly think a man of god would do such a thing?” You lifted your chin in a gesture of audacity. “You call yourself that. But people can call themselves any number of things. And would a true man of god barge into someone’s house and demand to search their things with no evidence of their involvement in any crime?”

The priest’s face was heading toward a shade of puce, but, with effort, his jaw unclenched. “Very well. But I’m certain you’ll understand of we are, as of now, reluctant to have you in the church.”

“Yes, sir.” Losing your job was, really, one of the less-terrible outcomes, and the one you’d expected the most. You had other jobs, though losing the church would be something of a financial loss. Though you also had to consider that you were feeding another mouth, now… That could be a problem.

The priest seemed to take your thoughtful silence as some kind of shameful penitence, because he puffed himself up and nodded. “Take care. We will… see what we can find about the thievery.”

You guided him back to the door. It wasn’t until the door closed and you’d watched him head down the street a good ways before you left out a breath. You made it a few steps down the hall before your entire body demanded that you sit down and tremble for a while.

The priest was gone, for now, but who knew how long until he was back? He didn’t have enough evidence now, but that didn’t guarantee he wouldn’t find some. Or make some up- all he needed was enough to make the local governor force a search of your house, and there was no way you could hide the angel from that. You covered your face with your hands, trying to breathe slowly. If they found you, they could kill you.

Someone slumped down next to you. The angel. It pressed up close to your side, petting at your shoulder like it had heard about being comforting, but it hadn’t ever experienced it. One of its wings draped over you.

There was quiet for a while. The angel touched its head to yours, eyes closed. It was warm, tucked beneath its wing. Calming. You took deep breaths and thought hard.

The only evidence that you’d taken the angel at all was that the angel was there with you. Maybe there was some other evidence at the scene, but the angel was the big problem. The solution was, obviously, to get rid of the angel.

Well, not get rid of it. More like… set it free. They were still an angel, after all. They’d needed some basic training in how to be a person, but certainly they could survive on their own. And, well, it would ease some of the pressure on you, financial and legal.

The angel shifted next to you. You glanced at them. They gave you a once-over, then stood and headed off to your room. A few seconds later, they reemerged, dragging a fair amount of blankets with them. Before you could ask what they were doing, they had already knelt next to you and were shoving the blankets all around you. They bundled you up and carefully lay you on the ground. For your part, you allowed it to happen. The angel seemed to have something they wanted to do.

Once you were wrapped in blankets and lying down, the angel settled next to you. There was a rather proud look on its face and you realized, with a burst of amusement, that it was trying to get you to sleep, as this was more or less what you’d done with the angel to get it to sleep! Did it think you were tired?

The angel shuffled closer, so there was little space between your bodies, and spread a wing over you. The feathers shrouded you in darkness, though there was enough light to just make out the angel’s face. They were as inexpressive as ever, but they seemed to be studying you. When you stared back, with no indication of closing your eyes, they shifted, clearly uncertain what happened next.

“I’m not tired,” you told them. “Though I appreciate the effort.”

They stared at you for a long moment before, with now warning, hopping to their feet and all but running into the kitchen. You took a moment of peace, wrapped in blankets are you were, before following them.

The angel was rummaging through your breadbox. “Are you hungry? What are you doing?” you asked as you approached. The angel thrust a slice of bread at you. “Er. Thank… you?” The angel waited, watching you. It seemed to be expecting you to eat. Just to appease it, you did so. As soon as you started eating, the angel went back to rummaging through your food supplies. It offered you several pieces of dried fruit next, then a couple of strips of jerky. You took them all, though you stopped eating after the first couple of pieces. Once the angel noticed you weren’t eating, they paused and stared.

“Thank you,” you said, a bit bewildered by what was happening. “Are you okay? I don’t really need anything. Is there a reason you’re giving it to me?”

The angel stared at you. Their brows creased ever so slightly- maybe they were upset. You patted their arm, careful not to drop anything that had given you. “Don’t look so worried. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

The angel looked back at you. Hard to tell what they were thinking, as it always was, but you thought they looked content. They took the food back and placed it away again. “Okay,” you told them. “We’ve got some things we’re going to work on.”

First step of getting the angel to live on its own: teach the angel how to be a person. The eating and sleeping bits were taken care of, and the angel had picked up on clothing and even sewing with surprising speed. Regardless of how little information it had known previously, it seemed all you had to do was give it the information once, and it would retain it. That didn’t make teaching it how to bathe any less difficult. And teaching it how to go to the bathroom- well, the less said of that, the better.

And so the week went. You went to work, leaving the angel to hide in your house, then returned home and taught it what you could. It picked up reading so fast you felt like you were reminding it of something rather than teaching it, and teaching it math and money went the same way. The angel even attempted to cook for you, though it hadn’t picked up that you were seasoning the food initially, so the meal was bland. You merely had to explain that to it, though, and the next meal was much improved.

Your next day off approached, not quickly or slowly, just approached. The angel seemed almost agitated, though, as time passed. More distressed when you left, tenser and quieter when you were around. You hadn’t told them about your plan to send them away- to free them, to free them- but perhaps they’d picked up on it on their own. They were still as silent and expressionless as ever, but they stayed near you, their head lowered as they presented you something they’d cooked, or showed you something they’d cleaned or sewed, waiting for your praise or correction.

When your next day off arrived, the angel’s agitation seemed to peak. It hovered near you, wings tucked close to its back. Even when upset, it didn’t show much expression or even move all that much. It just stood, like a stone statue, unhappiness radiating from it. Still, when you told it you were going for a walk, it didn’t protest. Just looked at you and nodded.

Its compliance made you feel guilty, somehow. Even thought you weren’t doing anything wrong. This was the best path. If they angel stayed, they would just be killed or recaptured. Along with you.

The hike to the woods wasn’t usually long, but you had to go the extended route to keep away from people. The angel hid their wings under a bulky robe. It wasn’t a very good disguise, but from a distance and the right angle, they would hopefully be mistaken as a hunchback.

You led the angel deep into the woods, deeper than you would usually venture. The angel flexed their wings, shifting the cloak. Their distress flowed around them, their eyes burning into your lower back. I’m sorry, you thought, even though you weren’t sure why. This was for the best, so why did it hurt?

It took hours of walking, legs sore, before you stopped in a clearing. It was a large clearing, and more oblong than circular, but it was good enough for your purposes. And those purposes were giving the angel somewhere big enough to take off from.

Admittedly, you weren’t certain it could fly, but the wings seemed large and healthy and it had no trouble with walking or any other physical functions after some initial wobbles. It stood to reason that flight would be no different. The angel looked up at the sky, staring. Its wings spread, extending out and out to their full length. It seemed to be giving them a good stretch- there hadn’t been room in your house to do so. After a moment, it gave a couple experimental flaps. Cool wind buffeted you.

The flaps gained in intensity and, for a moment, you thought it would take off right there. But its wings stilled and slipped shut and it looked at you.

“I got you this.” You thrust a basket at them. It wasn’t a lot, but it was what you could spare (technically probably more than you could spare, but a couple days of broth wouldn’t kill you) and the basket had a fabric strap long enough that the angel could wrap it around their body and hold it while flying.

The angel took the basket and peered at the food and water and clothes and single book you’d stockpiled inside. It looked them over for a moment, then glanced back up at you.

It was the second time you’d seen the angel really emote anything and it was sorrow.

The angel’s eyes watered and its apparent confusion at that development seemed to pale in the face of its clear upset. It practically threw the basket back at you, wings spreading and sending a powerful gust across the clearing. Then it opened its mouth and did something you’d never seen it do before.

It wailed. A keening sound of despair. You’d never heard it make any kind of noise before. In fact, it seemed startled by the fact that it had made any kind of noise, though, like the crying, that didn’t seem to stop it. Instead, the angel crumpled to the ground, wings striking the dirt, and wailed.

That wasn’t quite the reaction you’d been expecting. Maybe some protest, but not the clear despair it was displaying. “H-hey, don’t- you’re okay.” You approached the angel cautiously. Its wings kept flexing and slapping against the ground and there was an impressive amount of force behind them. Still, it didn’t direct any of the hits toward you, so it felt reasonably safe to approach.

As soon as you were within a few feet of it, the angel scrambled forward. You almost bolted, but the angel didn’t attack like you though it might. It pressed its forehead to the dirt an inch from your boots and spread its wings, every feather on end and quivering. When you tried to take a step back, the angel shuffled forward, pressing its head even more firmly to the ground. It seemed to be trembling.

Your heart ached. What were you doing?

“Look, I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought it would be safer if you weren’t… But I didn’t mean to upset you.” You knelt next to the angel and placed your hand on its head. The angel went still. For a moment, the stillness was like a frightened dog, expecting a strike, then it melted into a gentle contentedness.

It took a couple moments before the angel was quiet completely again. They lifted their head, face sticky from tears and a bit of dirt smudged along their cheeks. The entire scene was a little pathetic. “Here.” You pulled out a handkerchief and rubbed at their face. After a moment of letting you do so, they took it and cleaned their own face off.

Once its face was clear and it had calmed down a little, the angel looked at you balefully. It seemed to be waiting. Almost resigned. But still frightened. Like it was waiting for a scolding or punishment.

“Are you okay now?” you asked. The angel looked balefully at you. One of its hands lifted, like it was reaching out for you, but it paused before it could make contact. Its head drooped. Its wings drooped too, proud feathers dragging in the dirt. “I’m sorry,” you said again. The angel curled in on itself further. Its eyes were on the ground. “I’m not trying to send you away, all right?”

One of the feathered ear-things on the side of its head twitched. You took that as an invitation to continue. “I thought… I thought you’d be safer if you left, though.”

The angel looked up at that. They didn’t change their expression much, but they were staring intently. You reached out, slowly enough that they could move away if they wanted to. They didn’t, and you were able to rest your hand on the side of their head. Your fingers brushed against the soft, downy little feathers of their ear-wings and the somewhat-tangled mess of their hair. The angel closed their eyes and leaned into your touch. Their entire body shuddered in a sigh. “The people who captured you are still here,” you continued. “If they find you, they��re going to hurt both of us. Maybe kill us.”

The angel leaned away from your touch and lifted its gaze to yours. They were focused on you, intently so. “It’s best if you leave,” you told them. “They won’t be able to find you if you fly away, and they won’t be able to tie anything to me, either. We’ll both be safer.”

It was quiet for several moments. The angel stared at you, their wings twitching with aborted motions. They looked between you and the sky, over and over. Their brows wrinkled. Then, in a flash, they reached out and enveloped you.

Technically, it was just a hug, but the angel’s sheer size and the addition of their wings made it so much more. They surrounded you, tucking you into their chest and holding you close. You could feel their heartbeat, jackrabbiting under their ribs, and their heavy breathing. They were soft and warm around you. One of their hands moved to cradle the back of your head.

You cried. It wasn’t a lot of crying. Mostly it was some particularly wet breathing and a few tears. But the angel held you closer, rocking you against its soft chest and you felt warm and shielded. It presses its cheek to the top of your head and you felt one of its ear-wings flapping, like it was stretching out to touch you.

It was a nice moment, but it couldn’t last. You stopped crying and slipped your way back out of the angel’s arms. They let you, tucking their wings back against their back again and their arms falling back against their sides. Looking into their face, you felt… guilty? That didn’t seem fair. You were doing this for their own good. Right?

The longer you looked at them, the less you could convince yourself of that. Your shoulders drooped and a fresh wave of tears came to your eyes. The angel didn’t want to leave. You wanted them to leave, because them staying there would be a problem for you. A genuine problem, yes, a problem that could get you killed. But it wasn’t fair to pretend that this was good for the angel, nor was it fair to ignore how the angel was feeling. It didn’t want to leave. It was terrified when it realized you were going to try to make it leave.

You hung your head. “I’m sorry.” The angel watched you. “I… I don’t know what to do. I’m scared. I don’t want you to leave, but we’re both going to be in trouble if you stay. We need a way to keep you safe, but I don’t know how to do that, and I can’t think clearly about it when I’m going to be in trouble if you get found out too-” Your voice choked off, breath heaving in panic. You scrubbed the heel of your hand against your eyes until it hurt, until the pain grounded you.

Fingers wrapped around your wrist, tugging it away from your eyes. The angel was holding onto you, both hands wrapping around your wrist. Their strength was more than you’d anticipated. Perhaps it was their general softness or their seeming clumsiness or cluelessness, but you’d never seen them as particularly tough.

The hand that held your wrist, however, was not weak. It was firm and unyielding. When you pulled away, it let you go without a hint of resistance, but you had no doubt that if it had wanted to keep hold of you, you wouldn’t have been going anywhere.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you said. “I wasn’t sure if you would understand.”

The angel brushed its hand gently along the side of your face, cupping your cheek. Its face wasn’t terribly expressive, but there was something calmer, almost serene in its expression. It got to its feet, shaking out its wings, and extended its hand for you. There was a stunned moment before you took the hand and the angel pulled you to your feet. They kept your hand around theirs as they gathered up the basket you’d initially made for them and started to leave the clearing.

You let them lead you along until you realized they were leading you straight back to the village, and even when you got quite close to the buildings, they were not slowing down. “Wait,” you said. “What are you doing?” The angel gave your hand a squeeze, but they didn’t slow down. Anxiety prickled over your skin as you entered the town and headed toward the center.

People barely noticed you at first, but within a few minutes of marching through the town, people had started to point and stare. And then the staring turned into whispers and awe. Some people scrambled away. Some people gathered and followed from a distance, watching in something like awe.

You gave up on trying to stop them and instead walked alongside them to whisper furiously. “Hey. What are you doing? Do you have some kind of plan? I can’t tell what’s going through your head right now. I’m kind of just assuming you know what you’re doing, but it’d be nice to have some kind of confirmation.” The angel squeezed your hand again. Their thumb traced over your knuckles. Their expression was serene, calm, like they’d just realized something that comforted them. It was reassuring to you, so you allowed them to drag you wherever they wanted to take you.

Until you realized they were dragging you toward the church.

“Wait.” You didn’t try to pull away again, but you did trip over yourself in your realization, making the angel slow down. “You can’t be serious- we can’t go there! That’s the exact place we’re supposed to be avoiding.”

The angel stared at you for a moment, then released your hand. It nodded to you before turning and heading toward the church again.

“Wha- wait!” The angel paused, allowing you to catch up. “You’re still going, huh?”

The angel stared at you. You sighed. “Okay. I guess we’re going, then.

The angel held out a hand. You took it once more. Together, you walked toward the church.

As soon as you stepped through the doorway, the angel drew itself up, wings fluffing. The entire thing was quite intimidating to watch, given its already tall stature. It glanced around, as if assessing the space. Warm, honey-gold sunlight filtered through the tall, stained glass windows and illuminating the wood of the benches. When the sunlight hit the angel, it seemed to surround them, glimmering off their body in a way that wasn’t quite natural. Almost like a halo around its entire body.

You waited, mostly trying to see what the angel was going to do next. As it turned out, you didn’t have to wait very long, because a pissed-looking priest stormed into the sanctuary.

“The beast returns to holy ground,” he snarled. You stepped in front of the angel, arms spread.

“They’re not a beast. You’re the one who captured them and chained them in your basement. They haven’t done anything!”

“They have been cast out of the divine host. Their fall and subsequent capture are what is deserved for those who would defy our Lord.” The priest didn’t sound enraged or even particularly vicious. His tone was cool and cold. He approached, steps clunking heavily against the cool wooden floor of the church. You resisted the urge to step back and steeled your resolve as the priest approached. The angel didn’t seem to be doing much, though you could feel their presence at your back. “Your assistance with their disobedience is a serious strike against you, but the Lord God will welcome all stray members back to his flock, provided you are willing to repent and return the beast to its confinement.” The priest was leaning into your face, so close you could feel his breath touching your skin. The angel was still unmoving, but there was more tension to their body now. Like a big cat getting into a crouch.

Your breath was trembling, but you managed a clear enough whisper. “Fuck off.”

The priest leaned back. “Hm. Very well. May God have mercy on your soul.” The gestured toward a couple of men standing toward the back of the church. They started to approach, brandishing their short swords. “I would suggest surrender,” the priest said. “Unless you are eager to find out how the Lord God punishes those who disobey his-”

The angel lunged. Its wing brushed against your shoulder as it darted around you and slammed into the priest. He fell, the angel on top of him. Their wings shielded you from seeing what they were doing, but the choked gurgle from the priest let you know enough about what was happening.

The guards, who had been standing on either side of the aisle, near the pulpit, charged. One of them nearly caught the angel with their sword, but the angel managed to recoil just in time, leaving the priest gasping for air on the ground. The guards moved up, pushing the angel back as they blocked the priest from it. Together, they pushed the angel back a few more steps, advancing threateningly, until the angel glanced back and saw you. It stopped, digging its feet in, and turned back to the guards.

The angel spread their wings, blockading the entire aisle. It was difficult to see what happened next, but there was a scrambling noise of footsteps and the angel tucked their wings in and lunged.

Thanks to the armor the guards were wearing, this struggle was more prolonged. The angel’s wings flapped, coming down on the guard they were fighting with blows stronger than a fist could hope to achieve. One of the angel’s hands clutched at the guard’s wrist, driving the sword away from the angel’s belly. They wrestled the guard slowly to the ground, clawing at them with nails that seemed too long and sharp and stomping hard enough that the guard’s armor dented under their feet.

Chills wracked your body as you watched. The angel was a mortal, yes, but you’d clearly forgotten: mortal was not the same thing as human. And the strength with which the angel was tearing into the guard was not human.

And then a cold metal line settled against your throat. Sharp and cruel. A hand locked around your torso, pinning your arms to your sides. Icy terror settled into your brain and every vein in your body. Right. The angel was taking care of one of the guards. But there had been two.

“Call off the fucking bird,” the guard said, “before I slit your throat.”

The sheer terror in his voice should have made the threat less effective, but realizing that he was scared enough to kill you without thought was nearly enough to make you start begging for your life immediately. The angel whipped around as the first terrified whimper escaped your mouth.

It was the third time you’d seen the angel truly express emotion. And they were angry.

They bared their teeth and stretched their wings out, flexing them to nearly their full span. It was an impressive display, and a terrifying one. The knife dug a little more into your throat. Panic clawed your belly to shreds.

“Fucking stupid worthless shit,” the guard cursed behind you. The knife kept trembling at your throat, threatening to nick a little too deep. The angel watched, brows deeply knitted. It twitched its wings a few times, freezing when the blade drew blood at your throat. “You fucking take one step closer and your little pet human bleeds out like a pig,” the guard said. It wasn’t even a vicious or snarling threat. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. But the knife was just as sharp and the trembling was making it slip against your skin in a dangerous fashion.

The angel paused. It straightened up out of its attack crouch, wings tucking against its back. The knife eased at your throat a little. The angel took in a slow, deep breath, eyes on you. Its expression relaxed into something gentler as it met your eyes. It seemed to take a deep breath. Its wings relaxed. It closed its eyes. And it began to sing.

It wasn’t singing with its mouth or vocal cords. It was the same singing you’d heard in the beginning, the singing that had drawn you to the church’s basement. Less like the vocalization of a human, but more like an emotion made into pure sound. It vibrated through your limbs and settled in your chest, a heavy weight of sadness and fear.

The song pulsed, rose and fell, over and over again, thrumming and pulsing and changing as it went. It started as a terrible projection of fear and pain, injury and despair. Then the pain was threaded with hope, then a joy and relief so palpable it was its own kind of pain. Peace and comfort followed that, almost like being settled in a warm bed after a nice meal. Then an abrupt sharpening of terror and sadness before turning to determination, then blind, horrible rage. The anger pressed in around you, bearing down like a sharpened spear. But the rage wasn’t quite aimed at you. It was aimed at the man holding you. And being the target of an angel’s pure rage, even when nothing physical is being done with it, is a daunting prospect. The guard’s knees went weak and the knife at your throat wavered.

The song intensified. Your own legs were trembling under the weight of it. Anger and hope and fear and happiness and even love, pressing down on you, emotion given a deep, physical property. You sobbed, barely feeling the knife at your throat. Had it fallen away? Could you just not feel it anymore? What was real? All that was real was the song and the love that was building in the song, growing more intense around you. It was insulating, like the angel was trying to wrap you in the song until you were surrounded by care, until there was nothing else in the world.

You blinked your eyes. They hadn’t been closed, but you hadn’t been seeing anything. It had been more like the world had shifted slightly out of focus and you were just getting it back to center.

You were lying down across a lap. The shifting of wings above you let you know whose lap you were lying across. The angel was holding you, cradling your head against its body. There was still the faintest traces of song humming from it, though it wasn’t the great, overbearing crescendo it had once been. You made an attempt to sit up and the angel shifted around you, letting you move while still offering support.

“What happened?” you asked. You felt woozy, a bit out-of-body. The angel, obviously, didn’t say anything, but it did stretch one of its wings toward the crumpled shape of the other guard. He was lying on the ground, unmoving. “Is he-” you started, then stopped when you realized his chest was rising and falling. He seemed stunned, like you’d been a few moments ago.

You twisted your head around to get a better look at the rest of the room and winced. Stinging pain radiated from your neck. The angel nudged your hand away and ran its fingers over the lines cut into your skin. Right, the knife. They didn’t seem to be actively bleeding anymore, so they must not have been deep, but the angel still seems distressed by their very presence.

“Are you okay?” you asked, tilting your head back to look up into their face. The angel stares back at you, their ear-wings folded calmly against either side of their head. They seemed physically unhurt, or they weren’t in so much pain that they were showing it. “Good.” You sorted through your muddled thoughts. The song had hit you so hard, it was almost like your own body had gone through all those emotions it had conveyed at a rapid pace. No wonder the guard was stunned. Your head was swimming. But then your brain finally catches on a thought and you startle. “The priest!”

The angel caught you as you attempted to scramble upright and assisted you to your feet. The priest was close to the pulpit, but he was as collapsed as the guard. He seemed to be recovering faster, though that primarily consisted of him flopping his limbs in all directions. You approached, the angel close behind you.

The priest stared up at you as you got within speaking range. His face was completely under his control, unlike the rest of him, and a sneer contorted his expression. “You cannot win against His holy will. God will ensure that His holy justice will-”

“Uh huh,” you said. “He doesn’t really seem to be doing too much smiting right now, though.” The priest groaned on the ground, grinding his teeth.

“Are you going to kill me?” he said, a semi-hysterical laugh bubbling from his lips. “It’s no matter. I will return to His Holiness and my eternal home in heaven. And you- do you think you’ll be able to stay here with blood on your hands and that beast stalking your footsteps?”

“They’re not a beast,” you snapped before forcibly calming yourself. “I’m not going to kill you.” The angel shifted, clearly irritated, but you held up your hand to them. “I don’t have anything to kill you for. You haven’t done anything to me. Not really.” You turned to the angel. “It’s their decision. If they want you dead- that’s up to them. Not me.”

The angel watched you as you spoke, then it turned its gaze to the priest. You placed a hand on the angel’s shoulder. Well, close to its shoulder. The angel was very tall. There was a moment of silence. The angel’s wings twitched. Maybe it was hesitant to try and kill now that it wasn’t the heat of the moment. Maybe it was weighing the pros and cons. The priest rolled onto his stomach and groaned.

The angel turned and pressed a kiss to your head. It happened so fast, you didn’t register it until the angel was turning and grabbing the man on the ground. They hefted him up by his lapels and started hauling him out of the church. You hurried along behind them.

It took only a few moments for the angel to make it to the enormous front doors of the church. They shoved them open with only one hand, sending more light across the sanctuary and revealing the large crowd of people milling around. At least half the town was gathered outside the church, presumably drawn by the commotion and the sight of an angel. The angel looked around them with what seemed to be satisfaction, then hefted the priest again, holding the man out in front of them. Then the angel extended their wings to their full length, drew the priest in close again, so their faces were mere inches apart, and began another song.

The previous song, the one inside the church, had been intense like holding your hand over an open flame, but this was intense like having a spear driven slowly into your brain. This was focused, purposeful. A spire of anger and pain. The world flickered behind your eyes, an image pressed against your brain- the memory of being thrown away, then lost, then trapped. The rage and grief and panic of being trapped. The priest’s face loomed down at you, sneering, cold, and the terror that welled inside of you twisted not just your stomach but your entire being. You were cast out and alone and the only thing you could do was scream as someone else caged you.

At some point, the angel had dropped the priest. They stepped closer to you, tucking their wings about you as the song ended, trembling and weak. They seemed tired, their wings drooping along with their posture. Their body slumped. They weren’t leaning against you, but they were swaying toward you. You reached up to take their face in your hands.

“You okay?” you asked. The angel blinked at you. A few more notes trembled out of it. You could feel them pass from the angel into you. And with them, something like an image: you, scoring out lines of text on a wall with a makeshift chisel, gently dimming the blinding brightness of the room to the comfortable darkness. The angel gave a long, shuddering sigh, then slumped forward until its body weight was slowly but surely crushing you.

The angel was asleep before either of you hit the ground. The priest didn’t seem to be doing much better. He was curled on the ground, occasionally twitching. Maybe he was crying, you weren’t sure. A couple of people walked over toward him, but no one seemed particularly worried. Had everyone else heard the song and made the connection too? Perhaps the angel had just been trying to tell its story. Maybe that was its revenge- making the entire town turn against him.

By the point you’d processed that information, you’d been smushed to the ground. The angel was big enough that you really couldn’t lift them at your best, and you were exhausted by the day. After only a couple seconds to shoving, you resigned yourself to being on the ground.

Footsteps shuffled closer and you looked up to see a few of your neighbors around you. “Need help?” an older man, one you recognized as someone who taught at the local university. You curled one arm protectively over the angel, cautious. “We’re not gonna hurt ‘em. Just trying to help get you home.”

You considered. Then nodded. The angel stirred as a few people worked together to lift it off of you, but it settled when you patted its arm. Slowly, you and the angel returned to your home.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting after you got to your house. For that moment, you didn’t expect anything at all, except for a long nap because you were exhausted. And you did get that, lying in the blanket pile on your floor with the angel. They practically crawled on top of you several times, and your subsequent crawling away so you weren’t crushed to death ended with the blanket pile being almost dragged to the other side of the room. The angel was, of course, never deterred, and it was on top of you by morning.

What you hadn’t anticipated happening at all was the gifts that kept appearing at your house. Clearly, your neighbors were dropping them off. Notes were often attached, sometimes independent of any gifts- wishing you well, giving you messages of support, and expressions of general kindness. There was food in the pile, from vegetables to fresh cheese and bread, as well as some cloth and even a quilt. That one, in particular, made tears come to your eyes. It had clearly been in a closet for a while, given the musty smell, but it was handmade and the kindness of the gesture was unmistakable.

It took you some time to remember what most of these gifts were for- not until you read the last note on the pile. It was from the town’s doctor, a simple gift of a few herbs used for healing, though they were in bundles too small to be useful. The note was simply ‘For health, luck, and peace.’”

The gifts, the note and herbs. You knew what they were for. You’d participated in the tradition before, though your gifts had been pretty paltry. They were traditional gifts given to a newcomer, sometimes when there was a baby born, but also sometimes when a person in the town married someone from outside the town. Gifts of welcome and acceptance.

You returned to the angel, arms laden with the gifts, and offered them to it. The angel seemed vaguely overwhelmed by them, but accepted them nonetheless. It still seemed tired, and so you spent the day at home, quiet and undisturbed. You bathed the angel, scrubbing bits of blood off it and trying to get the feathers of its wings clean. The angel, after some insistence, ended up bathing you, as well, and it fussed over the few bruises you’d gained in the fight. Another night was spent curled in the same nest-bed. This time, you just let the angel flatten you with its body. It was sort of cozy.

The next day, you returned to the church. The town was still a little quiet- there weren’t as many people out as there would usually be- but the people you did see nodded politely to you. Their nods were a little longer, a little lower, than they usually would be. Almost like slight bows. Though you weren’t entirely sure why they would be bowing at you. Perhaps they were bowing to the angel at your back.

The church seemed strangely abandoned, despite it having only been a bit over a day since everything had happened. The guard’s body was still crumpled on the floor, some blood splattered around him and dried to the floor. You approached it. The angel followed, though their wings fluffed up with agitation.

There wasn’t much else you could do with the body. You lifted it, with the angel’s help, and placed it on a pew. You cleaned the blood and viscera on the floor. Then, finally, you took the body downstairs, stripped it, and wrapped it in the white funeral cloth. The angel helped, with an expression on its face that seemed mournful, though it was hard to be sure.

Perhaps you could have left it like that, left the man wrapped in cloth and walked home. But it felt weird to do so. The angel helped you carry the man up into the graveyard. Then you dug out a pit and placed the body in it before burying them.

The angel knelt next to the grave, resting a hand on the dirt. “Sorry,” you told the grave. You weren’t sure where the other two were- the other guard and the priest, but you hadn’t seen them. Perhaps they’d been driven out. The townspeople certainly seemed to have taken your side. The man in the grave wasn’t entirely innocent- he had certainly seemed willing to kill or hurt the both of you. But you felt weird. The other two had lived. He hadn’t. Luck of the draw.

The angel leaned against you, just enough to feel the warmth of their presence. You sighed. They were safe, at the very least, and they were accepted by the town.

You looked at the angel. “What do you want to do now?”

The angel looked back at you. They blinked, once, slowly. Then they took your hand and pulled you into the church.

You knew where you were going before you got there. The heavy doors were solidly sealed, though no longer chained. The angel opened them, letting go of your hand as they did so. They stepped through the doorway, then looked back at you. You stepped forward and took their hand. And so, they led you back down to the basement.

The room was pitch black. You stretched out your hand and felt the rough walls. As you continued, you could feel the words carved into the stone, and some of the scratches and gouges where you’d carved the words away.

The angel moved toward the center of the room, away from the walls, and you followed them. They moved to the spot they’d been chained in. One of their hands was still around yours. The darkness of the room pressed in on you, so black there was no difference between your eyes being open or closed. The angel’s hand remained, the only point of contact in the room. Their thumb brushed over your knuckles, their fingers intertwining with yours. You could hear their breathing. You breathed, too. Together, in the small, dark room where you’d first met. There was nothing else. There was only the room.

The angel tugged on your hand, and you moved with them until you were flush against their chest. They hugged you, briefly, then sighed. It shuddered through all their bones on the way out, and seemed to take something with it. Like something they had been holding onto was released.

Then they pulled on your hand again and led you back out of the basement.

When you emerged into an area that was light enough to see, you caught sight of the angel’s face. It was the fourth time you had seen the angel really emote. And it was happy. There was a certain level of sadness or mournfulness to it as well. But the angel was smiling. Its gaze turned to you and it smiled wider still.

You cleaned the church for a while. It felt more like habit than anything else. Although there was something quite satisfying about going through the priest’s office and dumping everything onto the street. There should have been other officials in the church, but there weren’t any. Perhaps they’d fled when the priest was deposed, perhaps they’d just not wanted to stick around now that the angel they’d trapped was free. Who could say. You weren’t overly fussed at the loss.

When you emerged into the sanctuary, sore and a bit grimy, there were people there.

It was just a couple, a man and a woman. Then you saw the bundle they were clutching between them. A baby, presumably one born not too long ago. It squirmed a little in the blankets, but it didn’t cry. Its breathing seemed… maybe a little labored? You weren’t sure- you weren’t expert in babies.

The angel seemed to perk up when it noticed this, eyes intent, though it made no move to get closer to the couple. “Hello,” the woman ventured. You wracked your brain for their names. Tabitha, maybe? And the man was… Gerald? “We- we, ah.” Her voice quavered and she held the baby a little tighter.

“We came here for a blessing,” Gerald said. “We weren’t sure…”

Oh. Their baby was ill. “You might want to go to the town doctor,” you suggested.

“We were there,” Tabitha insisted. “They gave us medicine. But just in case we…” She glanced around the church, clearly anxious.

Right. They would want a blessing for their baby. One that would maybe grant good health, or at least a peaceful passing and a safe journey after, if not. You chewed the inside of your lip, unwilling to turn them away. But it wasn’t like you knew how to perform a blessing, or hand any authority to do so-

The angel caught your wrist and started tugging you along toward them. The couple huddled closer together at the sight of the angel, but both of them remained there. There was something in their expressions… perhaps awe? Perhaps even a flicker of hope. The angel stopped in front of them. Its hand shifted on your wrist until it was properly holding hands with you. Then it extended its other hand toward the couple.

They barely hesitated before holding their child out.

The angel didn’t quite touch the child, but their hand hovered over them. The air hummed with the faintest vibrations of a song. The baby squirmed. Your hand, the one the angel was holding, felt warm.

And then it was over. The angel dropped their hand. Their ear-wings fluttered a few times. They dipped their head to the parents in a slight bow.

“Thank you,” Tabitha whispered. She clutched the baby to her chest and it kicked its little legs a few times. “Thank you.”

The baby lived. Maybe it was the blessing, or maybe it was the medicine, it wasn’t clear. But clearly work had gotten around, because people came to you for blessings at least once a day. The angel always obliged, though they refused to work if you weren’t around, and they nearly always looked to you for something like permission before they performed the blessing. The only time they didn’t was when they were performing one for young kids or babies.

Perhaps the blessings was why you set up station in the church. It was easier for people to get to than your house, and the angel didn’t seem particularly bothered by being there. Sometimes, the people who came for blessings wanted to talk, too, and you were better suited for it than the angel. They listened, certainly, but people who were emotionally worn down didn’t tend to react well to an angel staring them down with a blank expression. You gave all the advice you could, which wasn’t much. They seemed to be happy after talking with you, though, so you kept at it.

The days settled into a steady routine. You would head to the church and take care of problems that any people had, be it by distributing blessings or by just talking to them. Then you’d gather the donations that had been left overnight and sort through them. The angel was a good help whenever you had to clean- their wings allowed them to get to areas in the high, sloping ceiling that you could never manage.

When they weren’t cleaning or blessing, they tended to hover around you. Not in an oppressive way- they just were usually nearby. Sometimes, if your mood turned, they would come closer, settling next to you, and either stretching their wings out toward you or draping their torso against you. The touch was comforting, and you found yourself responding similarly to their mood. You could almost sense when they were anxious, and they seemed pleased when you were nearby.

You’d just finished administering advice to a small crowd of worried people about a spate of rapid deaths and had settled down to look through the few offerings that had been left when it hit you. “Ah, fuck,” you said. The angel glanced over at you, ear wings twitching. “I’m a priest now, aren’t I?”

The angel headed over and flumped down next to you. Their wings wrapped around you in a comforting manner. “I give blessings and advice, I maintain the church, people leave offerings. Isn’t that a priest?”

The angel squeezed you with its wings. It nuzzled its head against yours. “I mean, I’m not a priest of God,” you mused out loud. “I don’t think I care much about Him.” You looked down at the angel, who stilled under your gaze and tilted its head until it was looking into your eyes. “I guess if I am a priest, I would be one for you, right? That makes me your priest.”

The angel shuddered. The motion trembled through its wings, making every feather stand on end. Its eyes went wide. Then it surged forward to mash its lips with yours.

It was so startling that you simply fell backward, unable to stand up against the angel’s enthusiasm. “Woah, woah, hey!” you said as the angel fumbled on top of you. One of your hands found the back of their head and tangled in their hair. The angle went still. “You okay?”

The angel closed its eyes and sang a few notes. An image rose into your mind- an image of you, leaning over the angel, your arms outstretched and a smile on your face. The emotion the angel felt surged so powerfully you could feel it in your fingertips. Vague other images swam through your mind- images of a couple kissing and a sense of both curiosity and jealousy, images of you and a deep sense of affection, and images of the town with a sense of protectiveness. The final image was one of you and the angel, wrapped together in each others’ arms, and the sense of want that came from that image made your breath catch.

When you came back to yourself, the song fading, the angel was blinking down at you. Their eyes were wet. You reached up and they leaned into your touch as soon as it met their cheek.

“Okay,” you said. “We can try this too. Let me show you.” Your other hand went back into their hair and you pulled them down for a kiss.

It was enthusiastic, if unskilled. When you broke away for air, the angel kissed furiously at every bit of skin they could reach. Scattered bits of song slipped from their lungs, tingling along your skin and mind in dizzying fashion.

Eventually, the angel backed off, apparently exhausted by the outburst of emotion. They slumped on the ground next to you, though there was an apparent reluctance to break contact. They kept a hand on your stomach, feeling you breathe. For your part, the connection sent wild sparks running through your body.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you said after a few moments. The angel tugged you closer, pressing its face to the top of your head and heaving a contented sigh. Even without the song, all you could sense in the slow, steady breath was love, love, love.

#exophilia #monster lover #monster romance #fallen angel #angel partner #fallen angel story #the angel #idk man this took too long and i don't even know if I like the ending but it's HERE NOW

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anxietea413 · 23 days

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i am positive that i will not be able to read hannah and toby's love story in games untold with a non-expressive face. re-reading the hawthorne legacy has proven that. if i start uncontrollably sobbing out of the blue, its cause im thinking about hannah and toby. those letters just hit deep. WHAT A SAD BEAUTIFUL TRAGIC LOVE AFFAIR. im not stable after reading thl i just realized the painful effect it has put on me im crying. the two of them deserved so much better. i stand by the fact that this novella will shatter my heart.

#its going to break me #i will not be the same #that is a fact #the inheritance games #the grandest game #nash hawthorne #the hawthorne legacy #xander hawthorne #jameson hawthorne #avery kylie grambs #the brothers hawthorne #the final gambit #grayson hawthorne

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shadowbends · 1 year

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DEEP DISH!! ROTTMNT FANFIC RECS (OVER 15,000 WORDS)

It’s me again, folks. Do you enjoy good fanfic? We’re reaching the end of the line, but I’m here to hook you up! Whether you’re new to the fandom and diving into the ROTTMNT fic scene for the first time, or a veteran looking for content you might have missed, my hope for this project is to point you to something you’ll enjoy!

This rec list is the last of three and focuses on longfic in the fandom, with a word count reaching anywhere over 15,000 words. You’ll find a variety of fic here, from novellas to full-blown novels—some complete, but many still ongoing! Though it may be heresy on the streets of New York, this is the list you want when you’re craving something really thick to sink your teeth into: a sit-down experience exploding with flavor. Don’t have time for that, actually? Then consider checking out my previous rec lists as well!

NEW YORK STYLE, BABY!! ROTTMNT FANFIC RECS (UNDER 5,000 WORDS)

STUFFED CRUST!! ROTTMNT FANFIC RECS (BETWEEN 5,000 AND 15,000 WORDS)

DEEP DISH!! ROTTMNT FANFIC RECS (OVER 15,000 WORDS) — You’re here!

If you enjoy any of these fics, make sure to reblog and spread the love! Don’t forget to check out the other works by these authors; many of them have written multiple wonderful stories not featured here that are just as good. Additionally, consider leaving the authors a comment! I’m not always the best at that myself, but fic writers work hard and deserve all the love in the world.

With all of that said, it’s time for the recs. Let’s dig in!

Quick note: On previous lists, I separated the recs by the general time period they took place in. I’m not going to that here, largely because—uh. Well. Nearly all of them are post-movie! This fandom’s sure been active in the last couple of months, huh? Given that, I’ll be sorting them by a broader method, but yes. If you’ve not seen the movie, this is your warning that spoilers abound in the recs below.

➤ ➤ ➤ CANON COMPLIANT

The Aftermath by Starrcrossrose

57,262 words, 9/? chapters (last updated 11/03/2022)

Character Focus: Everyone (Leo-centric)

Genre: Angst, Family Drama, Hurt/Comfort

It would’ve been easier to say what he was feeling, but he honestly didn’t know how. He wasn’t sure why, either. He knew his brothers would understand and comfort him and be there if he wanted them to be. Hell, Donnie’s surprise sleepover and everyone showing up for it in the living room had been proof of that.

Yet he still couldn’t do it. He’d tried to talk to Donnie and the pain on his brother’s face had been enough to make him never want to speak about things ever again. He didn’t want them to hurt the way he did; he wanted them to be okay and normal and happy.

You know they aren’t happy. Why do you keep pretending to be fine when the others aren’t either?

Leo squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face into his knees as he pulled himself into an even tighter ball. He wanted to go into his shell as much as possible, but at the same time, a searing energy was making his legs feel like he could run or swim for miles. He could just go and go and go until he collapsed.

Maybe… maybe that'll help.

Set a few months after the movie, Leo struggles with the long recovery time needed for his injuries to heal, both physical and mental. Unable to talk about it, he turns to unhealthy coping methods instead. The rest of the family is doing no better from the fallout of the invasion, however, with each of their own stresses mounting the longer things go unaddressed. That is until Chapter 8, when things come to a head...

There are a lot of post-movie recovery fics out there, each one unique. The Aftermath’s hallmark has to be in its slowburn foreshadowing, and excellent character writing. Throughout many chapters, we get a glimpse into the heads of just about every beloved character the series has to offer, including April and Casey Jr. Little clues to what’s going to go wrong are set up early on, but just like the characters, I was blind to how serious of a turn things were about to take until the problem finally reared its head. This fic does a good job of showing how important it is to talk to one another, even if it’s hard.

Aftershocks by Katiemonz, McBethins, octolingkiera, theashemarie, and this_kills_the_man

153,543 words, 12/15 chapters (last updated 11/06/2022)

Character Focus: Everyone

Genre: Family Drama, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

“Good game,” Leo said to Donnie, smiling at Mikey in the same sly way as before.

“Thank you, Leonardo, but as I’ve said Uno is—”

“But you still lost,” Leo continued. He swept the cards up and began to straighten them for another shuffle.

“Second place is hardly—”

“Honorary title,” Leo cut in again. “Mikey won, so we owe him.”

“Owe him what? I have—”

“Keep your money, Don. In this game we’re dealing in secrets.”

“Secrets.”

“Yeah, specifically what’s up in that brilliant, big head of yours after all that Krang shit. C’mon. You owe him one secret.”

Picking up from the end of the invasion but spanning the weeks after, the day’s been won, but no one came out of the Krang’s attack completely unscathed. There’s a lot of trauma to unpack here—unfortunately, talking about it is the last thing just about anyone in the family wants to do.

Another recovery fic, Aftershocks is unique for being a story told from five perspectives (the boys and April), as written by five different authors. As the brothers avoid each other, each arc’s events end up having quite the different take depending on whose POV you’re currently following, even in moments where the same scene is being retold. Truly an ensemble fic that focuses on everyone’s trauma, I’ve especially enjoyed that April was included. As the longest fic on this list, Aftershocks is heavy on introspection and exposition, but the characterization always manages to shine through in the details. I especially love the scene I quoted above; “Trauma Uno” is totally a concept I could see the boys coming up with.

A Tale of Spirits by unorthodoxx

47,202 words, 6/? chapters (last updated 11/06/2022)

Character Focus: Ensemble

Genre: Adventure, Fantasy, Crossover

"I need to find my brothers," Raph mumbles. "That's if they're even here."

"And then head back to the spirit world."

"It's not the spirit world!"

"Right," Toph grins. "This so-called 'other dimension' without benders."

"There are no benders in my world."

Toph reaches and places a hand on scaled skin. Huge muscles twitch under her palm and the spirit stops. "No benders?"

"Yes!"

She nods. "Like the spirit world."

Raph throws his arms up with a scream and Toph cackles.

For a crossover, this fic requires quite a bit of investment in the second fandom to follow; you’ll want to have seen all of ATLA Season 1, and potentially even Season 2 if you want to keep track of what’s going on, especially for moments when episodes are retold, but with the turtles added in. Additionally, the POV is solely with the ATLA characters. Is this fic worth recommending despite that? Abso-freaking-lutely. This might be one of the most creative crossovers I’ve seen in any fandom, and I’m absolutely hooked.

The plot is deceptively straightforward—the four turtles mysteriously appear in the world of Avatar: The Last Airbender, separated and with no idea where the brothers are. Their arrival changes everything, with the people of the world seeing them as powerful spirits and guardians. I won’t spoil who ends up with who beyond what’s shown in the excerpt, but it paves the way for fascinating political intrigue and character development on all sides, our fave turtles included. Donatello’s position is perhaps the most fascinating for what may come of it, but everyone’s new groupings have been an utter delight. The banter feels charming and wholly in-character, and I can’t wait to read more. This is definitely a fic to keep your eye on, if you’ve not found it already.

Brother Dearest by Wardenov

69,666 words, 22/? chapters (last updated 11/03/2022)

Character Focus: Everyone (Donnie-centric)

Genre: Drama, Sci-Fi, Horror

“You came here looking for answers, weakling, because you messed with powers far beyond your understanding.” “I’m not-” She doesn’t let him continue. “Our brother may be dead, but the glory of our kind is that we are never truly defeated, not as long as our mark remains.” And as if to make her point, she raises a tentacle and delicately touches the glass - tendrils spawning from the point of contact, rapidly expanding across the surface like a frenzied contagion before freezing in place and crumbling under the extreme cold. “We cull the weak and assimilate those worthy, we bestow the blessing of Krang upon those who deserve it. You-” she spits, remaining tentacles scrambling to climb the glass where Donnie stood, “-you have stolen our gift.”

He says nothing.

“But,” she continues, sadistic smile returning, “your transgressions have ensured our survival. Our continued conquest. Whether you like it or not.”

Set a few months after the Krang’s invasion, things have seemingly gone back to normal for the Hamato family. Everyone’s doing their best to get by, and back to familiar routines and hobbies. Donnie, though? His newest project throws all of that into new chaos, showing that no matter how well-meaning, there are some things man (and turtle) was never meant to tamper with.

I’m absolutely feral for this fic, and desperate to impress upon anyone seeing this why they should read it. It might be one of the very best fics the fandom has to offer. Seriously. You want plot and worldbuilding on par with the Season 3 we never got? Exploration of the Hidden City, and the Council of Heads that run it? High stakes, suspense, action, and family drama? Look no further, fam. Brother Dearest has it all, and every character (even Mayhem!) has a big role to play. April’s sleuthing, Mikey further develops his new mystic powers, Leo has some heavy choices to make as leader, and Raph isn’t as home free after the Krang invasion as he thought. Make no mistake, though, the star of this show is Donnie in his unwitting supervillain arc. Will his family be able to save him from himself? Only time and new chapters can tell, but this fic dug its claws into my heart and won’t let go, it’s so good.

Drift and Chemical Reaction by Bronte

26,949 words, 7/7 chapters (split between two fics)

Character Focus: Donatello & Leonardo, Ensemble

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Family Bonding

"Piña colada?"

"What the—?" Donnie cuts him off before he can finish, cramming a green and yellow striped straw between his teeth. Leo wears some of it, the yellow, smoothie-like drink dribbling down his plastron. "Wait, where did you—what is this?"

Donnie smirks. "Pineapple, coconut, rum. A taste of the tropics."

Leo blinks and glances down apprehensively at the ‘Better Late than Ugly’ mug in his hand. "...does this have alcohol in it?"

"Does this have—pfft, I would never. Do you know who I am? Donatello, upstanding citizen of Manhattan proper?" Donnie barks a laugh, tossing his head back before leveling him with a look. "Of course there is. As the Bard himself said, self-love, my brother, is not so vile a sin as self-neglect."

As two sides of the same story, these fics are being recommended together! Set after the movie, Drift is told from Leonardo’s POV, both during and after leaving the prison dimension, where Chemical Reaction tells the story from Donatello’s POV.

The real charm of this fic, though? It has to be the banter. Reading this, I could totally hear the character’s voices in my head, which was only made better once the piña coladas came in. You think the twins are disasters; just wait until they’re drunk. These fics would be worth reccing on their own for that scene alone, but there’s actually a little bit of plot involved as well as Leo struggles to regain his ninpo, while Donnie... Well, something weird is going on with Donnie. Needless to say, both of these are a great read!

Every Night the Longest Day by ashtreelane

33,731 words, 13/? chapters (last updated 10/27/2022)

Character Focus: Leonardo & Family

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Medical Drama

“What’s wrong, Leo?” Raph asks from where he is curled around him, the snapper’s chin nestled on the top of his head.

“Can’t sleep,” Leo mutters. He smells worry, sudden and sharp, and when he opens his eyes Raph has whipped around to look at Donnie, eyes blown wide, looking for an answer. Donnie is looking at him too, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“We- okay. Raph, don't freak out. This is to be expected, remember?” Donnie is saying, his voice just barely on the wrong side of too calm. He’s freaking out too. Why? What’s happening? Oh, he’s being addressed now, he should probably pay attention.

“Leo, you were cursed six days ago to be unable to fall asleep. Your memory is suffering because of it, but we’re all right here, okay?”

Leo kind of knows what they’re talking about. He remembers it, he remembers that it happened, but the… events are… foggy. What- what had they been talking about?

“What are we talking about?”

When Leo is cursed to be unable to sleep, he and the family must wait for a new moon to break the spell through a ritual. Unfortunately, that new moon is nearly two weeks off. As Leo is forced to stay awake for days on end, his mental and physical condition quickly begins to deteriorate. Through it all, Leo’s family stays by his side to help him through it, beautifully balancing hurt with comfort through the beginning. As the story goes on and Leo’s condition worsens, though... Well. Things aren’t looking good, let’s say.

I have such a soft spot for this fic, though. It’s grown quite popular lately, so many of you reading this list may have already heard it, but there was a point when I was following early on where the author was debating shifting the POV around or sticking with Leo as an unreliable narrator. I was really proud of them for sticking to their guns and going with the latter, and I think it’s paid off in spades. The way the author experiments with formatting styles and missing scenes really makes the fic stand apart from the standard whump setup, and turns it into something akin to low-key psychological horror. If you’re into that sort of thing it’s a lot of fun; even if you’re not, the moments of family bonding peppered throughout the fic are so wholesome, and definitely worth your time.

Fallout by GauntletKnight

50,677 words, 20/? chapters (last updated 11/05/2022)

Character Focus: Everyone

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama

“We are here. We are alive. Raph and Mikey are downstairs. Dad and April and Casey are on the way. You’re alright, Leo. You’re safe. We are all safe. No one is here to hurt you…or us.” There is no special inflection to his voice, but his words are firm, unmoving. Leo shakes for a moment, squeezing Donnie’s hand…and then he blinks, his eyes clear and he tries to take a breath.

Violent coughs wrack his body as he tries to dislodge the blood that had built up from his sobs. Bright red spatters down his front and across Donnie’s hands as he holds onto Leo’s arm. Each breath is like nails on a chalkboard.

Draxum steps in instantly, checking the monitor for vitals. “I’ve gotta get to that punctured lung…or else getting this blood transfusion in him isn’t going to do anything.” He turns to Donnie, holding out plastic gloves, “Can you-”

Leo shakes his head, finally getting a rattling breath into his chest. “N-no…Don’s…not great with this kind of thing. S’ok…he’s so good at everything else he had to leave some for the rest of us.” He smiles up at Donnie like Donnie hung the damn moon and stars, his eyes still shining with painful tears. It’s…a weirdly genuine moment between the two of them…

Donnie doesn’t like it.

Set between the final fight and grabbing a slice in the movie, this fic follows the immediate aftermath of pulling Leo out of the prison dimension with a bit more urgency and attention to everyone’s injuries.

As I’ve said before, every movie recovery fic I’ve found has their hallmark, and I’d say Fallout’s is its heart and emotion. By focusing on the aftermath of the battle where everyone’s stresses are still running high, there’s a lot going on here, and it makes for some tense, but evocative moments. The story is lightly focused on Leo’s mental state especially, but everyone is going through it and as the POV shifts every chapter, each character gets some focus as they work through their injuries and messy feelings. Fallout is very satisfying read, and one I often come back to over and over.

hamartia by Punable

40,364 words, 9/? chapters (last updated 10/30/2022)

Character Focus: Donatello & Family

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

It felt nothing like how he imagined dying would feel.

Donatello was a man of science, so it would have been foolish of him to have not, over the years, devised theories around what results certain situations would generate, what or who they might take out of commission, and what he would need to do personally in order to gain the best possible outcome. He would sometimes note down how he believed these situations might affect him or his brothers, both physically or mentally - he wasn’t an expert on emotions, far from it, but he could at least logically assume that getting, say, struck by lightning (one of his planned-for possibilities) would leave its own traumatic scar on any man or turtle that happened to experience it, so he’d dragged in April for those certain emotional areas and promptly abandoned her as a research partner when she’d told him he was being obsessive. He was not obsessive, just thorough.

He couldn’t help but feel as though some of that research time may have been wasted, though, as he lay on his side, his newest project slash rework shattered into almost unsalvageable pieces on the floor across from him. (And really, that felt almost like the harshest blow - how was anyone except him supposed to salvage that hunk of junk? Was that all that he was leaving behind?)

He felt it had been time wasted, maybe, because dying didn’t feel at all like the soft, slowing breaths of passing peacefully into sleep, or the fast tight gasping of someone going out from a bullet wound. If anything, it felt like he was breathing too deeply, every breath filling his whole body and stretching out every wound and puncture and fracture, oxygen making his head light (or maybe that was the blood loss). He didn’t feel at peace, and he certainly didn’t feel as scared as he thought he should’ve been, as he had read he should have been.

Mostly, it just felt like an inconvenience.

Donnie almost dies, and that’s just the start of this angsty tale. What follows is an interesting exploration of what Donatello thinks of himself and his role in the team, and his family’s growing concerns when he won’t give himself time to recover. Donnie’s brush with death has lasting consequences, and a large part of the fic is dedicated both to how much they affect him and how long he can hide it from his family (and the audience). Once the truth comes out, though? Oof.

The newfound disability is handled well, imo, and you really feel for everyone involved. There’s a lot about mental health that the author just does really well in general, actually. The focus on family and everyone’s concerns for their brother is where this fic really shines, though, and there’s a lot of emotion that hits just right. Basically, the hurt is done so well, I’m looking forward to when we get to more comfort.

i go there with you by bobtheacorn

21,649 words, 15/? chapters (last updated 11/04/2022)

Character Focus: Everyone

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Humor

"But seriously," Donnie says seriously, brandishing his tablet screen above Mikey's head and pointing at it, "I cannot emphasize enough how important it is that you be Very Honest when I ask you to scale your pain using this -" He cuts his eyes toward Raph, who grins. "Emoji Scale. Which dramatization would you say you find the most relatable at the moment?"

"Okay, so defo… this guy," Leo says. He thinks he manages to lift his finger but that's all the juice he's got. "On the… left."

"That would be the thumbs-up emoji, Leo," Raph says cautiously.

"Awww," Mikey gushes, "Is that one because you love us?"

"Hang on," Leo says around another small huff of maybe-laughter, "You… can't prove anything. But also…" He moves his finger again. "Also this guy on the… on the far r-right. Like, for-real for real."

"Oh, the sad-angry-crying emoji, fantastic," Donnie says with a bit more pep, tossing the tablet and turning to Splinter, who's closest to the monitor, "Papa, would you do Leo a huge favor and smash that morphine button, please? Like, right now, immediately."

Set immediately after the invasion. This fic is a series of interconnected one-shots originally written for Whumptober, but by Chapter 9 breaks into its own thing. The whump remains a focus, but it’s tempered by a good dose of comfort and humor as well, which the author is a master of.

If you want a recovery fic after the events of the movie that matches the feeling of the show, i go there with you is the fic to start with. The characterization and banter are spot on, as is the emotional whiplash. All of the characters gets some love and introspection in this one too, which is always fun.

Now That’s What I Call A Vacation! by WayWardWatson

56,238 words, 9/? chapters (last updated 11/06/2022)

Character Focus: Splinter & Family

Genre: Family Bonding, Adventure, Hurt/Comfort

Splinter turned his attention back to Big Mama, the flirtatious mood from earlier dissipating. “I am calling in your favor.”

It was like he had slapped her with his rat tail with how she reared back in visible disgust. Her fangs clicked in irritation and she scuttled further down, closer to where Splinter was standing. “Remind me, when have I ever owed you a measly-weasly favor?”

“When you misused demon armor for profit that nearly resulted in the end of human and yokai kind alike?” Splinter evenly said. “Oh, and the time I rubbed your feet, all eight of them, when you were on bedrest.”

“I thought that was an act of love.”

“Kindness.” He corrected because his heart hurt too much when she said love. “I was being kind. Though, if you want,” Again, his voice dipped into a purr, splaying out his arms wide in open invitation. “You could be kind enough to give me and my family a free round trip to Japan? I know you can do it.”

More scuttling as a low hiss escaped her maw. “That is a big, dimbly favor to ask.”

“I thought we were calling those acts of lo- kindness?”

“Why,” She drew the word out as she finally reached the bottom and pressed her broach. Suddenly, a swirl of light engulfed Big Mama and, with a whoosh of mystic energy that smelt like nutmeg, he watched as her stature began to diminish. Just as quickly, the light fractured and then separated into small motes of bioluminescent dust, casting a dim, golden glow around them. Now in human form, Big Mama stepped in close enough to touch. “Do you want to go to Japan?”

Without thinking, Splinter’s eyes trailed down then up and he swallowed. His heart was beginning to pick up, but certainly not from fear. He took a moment to gather himself. “My children need a vacation.”

Splinter takes one look at the S2 finale and the movie and decides that’s it, this family needs a break. Deals are made, mystic disguise brooches are acquired, itineraries are made, and with that, the family (including April!) are off on an exciting vacation to Japan! As with all scenarios involving the Hamato Clan, however, nothing goes so simply.

You’re getting so much bang for your buck picking up this fic. A family trip to Japan is charming in and of itself—and the author has done so much research on the country that some passages feels like taking a tour of your own—but this fic actually has a lot going on for it. How they even get to Japan involves some fun mystic worldbuilding, and the cloaking brooches open the door to interesting commentary on body dysphoria. And of course, things take quite a turn when the fam runs into a figure from Splinter’s past who has questions he struggles to answer. A refreshing story with creative ideas, Now That’s What I Call A Vacation! also has an excellent grasp on all of the characters, in and out of vacation mode. It’s a darling read.

odd man out by cosmocrow

22,676 words, 4/? chapters (last updated 10/29/2022)

Character Focus: Future Leonardo & Leonardo, Future Leonardo & Casey, The Hamato Family

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama

“Master Splinter,” he greets, almost impressed by the fact that his voice isn’t wavering like he feared it would. “I’m sorry for barging in– like. Barging into your timeline? I– I can explain.” He really can’t, but that isn’t the point.

Splinter only raises a hand. “Don’t worry, Casey has brought us up to speed.” He turns to deposit the tray onto a cart, before folding his hands into the sleeve of his robe. Leonardo can feel those yellow eyes look him up and down as he straightens up again. Splinter takes a step closer, craning his short neck to be able to look Leonardo in the face. Melancholy dances on his features, but the rat smiles nonetheless.

“Look at you, you’ve gotten so tall, Leonardo.” The soft usage of his name almost makes Leonardo stumble. He hasn’t heard it from his father’s mouth in a long, long time. A familiar burn starts to prickle within his eyes, so he starts blinking in order to quell the itch, pressing his lips together, so his mouth won’t wobble. He isn’t sure why he’s trying – he knows that Splinter knows.

His father always knew everything.

Splinter steps even closer, lifting a hand from within the confines of his sleeves. Like a magnet, Leonardo bends down, so his dad can cup the side of his face. Gently, the old rat rubs his thumb into his cheek, just below his mask, over his red markings. Splinter’s sad little smile falls, and he tugs down the blue mask over Leonardo’s face.

“But,” he says softly, “you look so tired, my son.”

Several months after the movie’s conclusion, a familiar face from Casey’s averted bad future appears, just as everyone else is startling to settle back in. Predictably, this throws everything into confusion.

Tl;dr, Future Leonardo is sent back into the past and has to adjust back to a world sans apocalypse, and the family takes him in with open arms. Things between him and younger Leo are a lot more tenuous, but there’s a resolution early on that feels very true to their personalities—one less sure of himself, and the other who’s learned his lessons the hard way—that resonated strongly with me and made me fall in love with the story. Add to that some genuinely heartwarming moments with the family bonding, and you’re in for a good, if bittersweet time.

Recoil by unorthodoxx

63,236 words, 10/10 chapters

Character Focus: Ensemble

Genre: Action, Team Bonding, Angst, Crossover

“Hey guys,” he yells. “You might want to see this.”

It doesn’t take long for the three of them to spill into his lab. Leo comes in first and drapes himself across the back of Donnie’s chair. “What’s up? You find the secret ingredient to Luenzo’s Pizza yet?”

“No,” Donnie scowls. “They’re locked down tighter than Fort Knox, but it’ll fall soon. They always do. No fellas,” He enlarges the email, “We’ve been invited to a meet-up of sorts.”

Raph’s hand settles heavily on his shoulder as the larger turtle leans in to read. “Dear Genius Built…….Talk about…….agree to meet…..love…”

“IRONMAN!!?!?” Mikey shouts. “THE Ironman wants to meet us!”

“Wow,” Raph whistles. “The Avengers. That’s some top-level hero stuff.”

ROTTMNT crosses over with the MCU! Set in a world where both universes exist in the same setting, this fic takes place after the Krang Invasion, but fairly into the MCU’s history, long before the superheroes have their falling out. So long as you have any familiarity with the first Avengers movie, you’ll be able to follow the story fine, as it’s straightforward: the appearance of the Krang was as abrupt as their defeat, and Tony Stark can’t let sleeping dogs lie. After uncovering the turtles’ involvement, an in-person meeting is arranged to handle the fate of the Krang Key.

Most of this fic is just a fun excuse to let the ROTTMNT characters bounce off the MCU characters, and it’s fun to see who gets along and who doesn’t. That’s the thing I love in particular about this story—the author is true enough to their characterization that not everyone is friends by the end, in a way that makes whole sense. The Avengers are disasters themselves, after all. The plot of handling the key is done exceptionally well too, and there’s a lot of high octane action at the end that’s quite thrilling. If you’re looking for a good time, you’ll fine it in Recoil, and if you enjoyed it, there’s more where that came from! The author has planned out several other stories set later on in the same series, the first of which (where the turtles meet Spiderman) is already out. So keep an eye on that!

this kind of weather by ihaveathingforpink

21,526 words, 2/4 chapters (last updated 09/18/2022)

Character Focus: Leonardo & Michelangelo, Raphael & Donatello, Ensemble

Genre: Action, Hurt/Comfort, Crossover

“Well, if it is business you seek, Krang has a proposition for you. There are two turtles Krang wishes for you to…remove from the board as their tenacity has proven to be as obstructive as it is predictable. For our plans to proceed, it’s too dangerous for either to remain alive.”

Takeshi takes another sip before asking, “Turtles? As in the ninja turtles that reside beneath the city, whom everyone pretends doesn’t exist? The people of New York won’t be pleased if I do anything to harm their heroes.”

“Oh, I want you to do more than simply harm them. First, they need to suffer.”

“Suffering costs extra. I don’t do anything for free.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“Yet you said two turtles when, last I checked, there’s four.”

“Ah, yes. They are of little concern to me. Krang only need you to get rid of two, and you must follow Krang's instructions precisely. Otherwise, you will fail. First, you will need to get rid of the little orange one; he may not look like much, but he’s one of the strongest mystic warriors of all time. I suggest you handle this one quickly—he can be quite slippery—but the blue one, Krang implores you to take your time.”

This story has one helluva hook. A surviving Krang puts a hit out on Mikey and Leo, and saying more than that would unfortunately spoil the twist of the first chapter. With just two chapters, though, this story is fascinating and deserves a lot more attention than it’s gotten. It has high stakes, great action, and is an emotional roller coaster that doesn’t let up. It’s also a bit of a crossover, though longstanding fans of the TMNT franchise will recognize these faces right away. That’s right, this is a crossover with Usagi Yojimbo! Besides characters of that series, though, there’s also a lot of familiar faces from previous TMNT series that Rise never got enough time to tackle, like Tiger Claw and Renet.

You can probably guess from the latter’s name that things are about to get timey-wimey up in here, and you’d be correct. There’s an absolutely killer plot at work here, emphasis on the killer, and whether they want to or not the turtles have to take a divide and conquer approach to it while at one of their lowest points. Seriously, check this one out.

Under Pressure by ParvumAutmaton

21,560 words, 4/4 chapters

Character Focus: The Boys & April

Genre: Suspense, Angst

“You know April, right?” The voice on the other end of the line asked. “You’re one of her gamer friends?”

Donnie blinked. The voice sounded familiar but that didn’t help him at the unholy hour where way too late morphed into way too early.

“And you are?”

“Her mother. Please, did she spend the night at your place?”

“No, she did not,” Donnie answered, forcing himself upright, his exhaustion evaporating with that question. “I believe she was planning on some extracurricular club activity yesterday afternoon. So we weren’t planning on seeing her.”

“I don’t suppose you know which club?”

“No, I do not.”

“Ok,” The waver Donnie heard in her voice implied that it wasn’t. “You will let me know if April gets in touch?”

“Of course Ms. O’Neil.”

The call ended.

Donnie stared at his phone.

One of the few fics on this list not set after the movie, this story takes place after the S2 finale on a dismal day when April goes missing. Investigating her disappearance leads the boys to a van and a lake, and an exploration on the dangers of cave diving.

As you can guess from that description, this fic has quite the creative setup that’s both atmospheric and suspenseful. Be sure to heed the tags because it does get dark, but it’s still a great read, and the turtles’ determination to find their sister pulls at the heartstrings.

➤ ➤ ➤ CANON DIVERGENT

big sister by Darth_Sunny

18,090 words, 6/? chapters (last updated 10/24/2022)

Character Focus: April & Family

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

April O’Neil wasn’t an only child anymore. She had four younger brothers, whom she loved with all her heart, and who she’d burned the world down for if anything were to happen to them. She’d fight every ancient mystic evil the world would throw at her if it meant keeping them safe. And if she couldn’t be there for them at the moment, she’d be there for them in the aftermath. She was their big sister, their oldest and only sister. : was the self-proclaimed protector, but even he needed someone to protect him and to help protect their younger brothers.

So that’s why, when she watched the portal close up, slicing the Technodrome in half, stopping the Kraang for good, knowing that he was trapped back in that prison dimension, April O’Neil felt her heart break into hundreds, thousands, millions of little pieces.

This one’s a fic following April’s perspective on the end of the invasion, from Leo’s sacrifice, to picking up Casey, and reuniting with the boys. It mostly follows canon, but there is a fairly major change revealed partway through that makes it canon divergent from the movie’s ending. It’s unclear if other changes will follow, but just in case it’s being slotted in the canon divergent category all the same.

That’s not the focus, though. No, this fic is centered squarely on April and her relationship with the rest of the Hamato Clan. I love that it impresses how much April is a part of the family, and that the boys aren’t just her friends but her brothers, and that their pain is her pain. Watching the aftermath of the invasion unfold from her perspective is a fresh and evocative take.

Like Father Like Son by eternalglitch

132,982 words, 25/? chapters (last updated 11/02/2022)

Character Focus: Everyone (Leo-centric)

Genre: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort

“Here, Boss!” Huginn darted back across the room, wings straining, as he carried a very… familiar…

“Uh, wait up, no,” Leo said, eyeing the blue object as Huginn dropped it into Draxum’s waiting hand. “Do you even know where that thing’s been? Have you properly washed it at least?”

Draxum’s roots suddenly shift, dragging Leo upright until he’s forced to stand on his tip-toes to have any sort of purchase. “I happened to have had it offered to me by the mutant that you call Meat Sweats,” Draxum said, admiring the collar (for that’s what it actually was, even if Leo had never called it that when it was just a gift from his brother) in the light. “He was quite helpful once I mentioned what I wanted to use it for.” Draxum started to approach, the collar held aloft.

“So, what,” Leo bit out. “You’re gonna stop me from saying my one-liners? Big whoop.”

“I think you’ll find,” Draxum coolly said. “That this has been modified to do so much more than that.”

This fic needs no introduction. In fact, there’s a high chance some of you heard of LFLS before they even saw Rise; I’ve heard of people who only watched the show just so they could read it! It’s the most popular fic in the fandom for a reason. If that’s scared you off, though, or if you’ve avoided it for other reasons, let me tell you why you should give it a chance.

The fic takes some of Rise’s best villains and settings, and explores the darker sides of them (do heed the warnings in the tags). Leo goes through the absolute wringer, but the effect his disappearance has on his family plays a central part of the story as well, with all of the brothers getting full blown introspection and character arcs. Donnie’s in particular hurts me. The emotions are high and the plot is juicy, with some of the tightest writing the fandom has to offer, including intelligent plans and dialogue. As far as hurt/comfort goes, this is definitely a slow burn with a lot of angst, but the author has promised a happy ending. Between that and consistent updates (it’s been going strong for two years), what more could you ask for?

Three Days to Live by Werepirechick

93,992 words, 13/13 chapters

Character Focus: April & The Boys

Genre: Cyberpunk, Action, Human AU

The heiress and former target lowers her hands, keeping them placidly by her sides. “K-tech is a vicious, unrelenting company,” she says, glasses gleaming in the room’s light as she lifts her chin in defiance. “The people who run it are the same. They don’t let people get away, and they don’t leave loose ends. You were all on their shit list as much as I am, the second you signed on.”

Leo shifts his stance, tightening his grip on his gun. “So what are you proposing?” he asks coolly.

“Like y’all said. I’m the heiress to the company. In three days I’m going to walk into a courtroom, sign the papers that frees K-tech from the control of my guardian, and walk out the richest, most powerful person in North America.” O’Neil smiles bitterly. “That is, if I can survive the next seventy-two hours. That’s where you come in.”

“You want us to guard you,” Raph states.

Ohhh, this fic is an absolute gem. You can’t say no to a good Human AU in this fandom to start, but to top it off with a cyberpunk twist? Trust me, this is a match made in heaven. The plot kicks off when the boys—hitmen in this universe—are hired to take out April O’Neil, an heiress to one of the world’s largest tech companies. When things take a turn, she makes them a deal: protect her for three days instead, and she’ll make them rich beyond their wildest dreams.

The plot that follows is filled with danger, intrigue, and high octane action. The world is incredibly thought out and immersive, and makes for a great way to work ROTTMNT’s mystic powers into a new genre. The banter, though. If you’ve read any of Werepirechick’s other fics, you’d know that’s their specialty, and it’s no different here in Three Days to Live. While on the run from the powers seeking to destroy her, the boys and April bond and their friendship is perfection. The series also blends in characters from other iterations of the franchise, but it’s not too distracting, and for the most part remains firmly rooted in the Rise style. Do yourself a favor, and give this one a read!

Posted: 11/06/2022

#rottmnt #rottmnt fic #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #fanfic recs #the fics got longer #thus so did my commentary

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eerna · 1 month

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after a tfota reread and the suren duology, im totally obsessed with taryn. i recently read the lost sisters tfota novella and there is suchhhhhh juicy stuff in there. locke targets taryn dead to rights, playing on every insecurity, and taryn’s insecurities are so interesting, especially her thinking about her vulnerabilities!! taryn thinks that jude has her place in faerie secured and so taryn is the weak link here and she’s trying to barter her way into a good position. (i also loved her analysis of vivi’s state of mind and that once vivi leaves, she and jude are even more vulnerable.) i love how her and locke’s bargain is a parallel to jude and dain’s. even after just fifty pages can i see how taryn was driven to straight up murder. the more page time locke gets the more sinister he is at how very competent he is at manipulating feelings and what seems like almost psychological torment. taryn makes a lot of mistakes but it really only makes her character so much interesting!!! another taryn novel/la for me please!!!!

YAASSS TARYN FANCLUB!!!!! I love the novella for the exact reasons you mentioned. It is a short retelling of the first part of TCP, but from Taryn's POV, and it gives us SO many interesting parallels. I especially like how while Jude's TCP arc is realizing she is cold-blooded and violent and wondering if that makes her a monster, throughout the novella Taryn is like "oh I am not violent, oh I am so prim and proper" but the more people test her, the more she finds it may not be so true. My personal fave is when Locke shows up beneath her window after ghosting her for weeks and she's like "Hehe what if this time Madoc caught him sneaking around the property and killed him, that would be sooooo cool he totally deserves it- WAIT NO WHAT AM I THINKING THAT IS HORRIBLE???". People always forget that she was always just like the rest of her family. She IS vicious and vengeful, as evident in how she treated Jude for putting a target on both their backs and "stealing" Locke, but like Cardan said, she doesn't want it to be true. She refuses to accept that part of herself, even though she is aware, she chooses to pretend she is all softness and kindness so that's the thing everyone sees her as. She wants to be better than the Folk, and be rewarded for it. It shames her that Jude abandoned that idea and decided to be worse, because now she is the only one cowed and scared. ANOTHER cool narrative is Taryn's relationship with food, how she is a comfort eater and keeps consuming more and more the worse her mental state gets, but is still always hungry. Then there's the metaphorical role of food that Locke presents, where a life she might want is a banquet, all the various experiences of love spices, and she is "refusing to eat" because she is scared of Faerie. But by the end of the book she is "gagging food down" through the Jude trial to prove that Faerie food or no she can take it, even though she hates the taste. She is trying to drown her sadness and guilt in the belief that staying true to Locke will finally make her feel full and satisfied. Where ELSE did I see that greedy streak huh I wonder!

Anyway. The Lost Sisters ily what a 10/10 addition I need a sequel except HB gave up on Taryn years ago

#eernask #eernanon #eernask talk tfota

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pollyaunt · 2 months

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My thoughts on HOFAS

-> First and foremost, only SJM can make me violently react towards books even though it's been years since I've started reading and got into the Maasverse.

-> Ch 99 broke me. Literally. I was downright bawling so hard to the point I couldnt breathe especially with the Danika, Lele and Pack of Devils scene. And ofc, Jesiba. I love you sm.

-> Bryce is an absolute badass and I would agree that her and Hunt's relationship wasnt portrayed the best in this book in comparison to the first, but well, the first also focused on the Kristallos as the danger whereas in this book they were the allies. Suffice to say, the degree of change was ought to happen and supposed to be vast. I'm nonetheless very much happy with how both of them turned out to be in the end.

-> Lidia. She's more Aelin than Aelin herself. In this house, we absolutely ADORE LIDIA CERVOS. And her sons and ofc Ruhn. They carried the book most definitely.

-> The ACOTAR x CC crossover was done immaculately and Maas so not deserves the disappointment shes receiving over it especially because be for fuckin real, it had to be more about CC than ACOTAR itself. And I'm honestly very happy with how she portrayed those scenes while remaining true to the characters (besides the bonus chapter which was kinda meh)

-> Tharion Ketos most certainly made decisions that were not the best but dude, you've got to recognise that he was the most selfless one in the entire book all the while trying to keep himself alive. His determination and ambition were honourable. And ps: I havent forgotten how open ended his story has been left especially with Sathia gone abruptly (whom I LOVED) and I think it's kinda pointing at how he and Ithan might get their own novella or book after the next ACOTAR.

-> Last but not the least, Ithan. That dude was trying to the best always yall and lets be honest without him, I highly doubt they'd been able to 1. Get out of the Viper Queen's lair. 2. Been able to defeat the Asteri without that bullet. And they way Maas has left his story along with Ketos' incomplete for now has surely not escaped my notice. After all, we still gotta know what happened to Sigrid really and Sathia 👀

In conclusion, the two things that felt off to me throughout the book was:

-> Firstly, how the Quinlar relationship was written in certain scenes but also, to an extent I also sympathized with both of them given the extent of trauma both of them had been through. It was understandable but comforting myself with the thought that once stuff on Midgard got better, both of them must've discussed it at length cuz, that's what our Quinlar is really. So, I'm not that unhappy with their portrayal and love them equally.

-> Secondly, this one has bugged me a lot in the series: the wasted potential that was Fury Axtar. She could've been SUCH a vital asset to them and all over, one of the most badass character. But instead of explaining and exploring her, SJM made quite a mistake by off writing her mostly from the books. That could've been done better.

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all-is-fair-in-love-and-war · 1 year

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Francesco & Novella theme song

(my opinion)

#they deserved better #xhideyourfires #francesco pazzi #novella foscari #medici theme song #i medici #the lost love of francesco pazzi #daughter of venice #son of florence #Spotify

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britcision · 1 year

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Alright, friendos! Happy Hanukkah, happy Yule, merry Christmas, happy Kwanza, and happy holidays to anyone I forgot who is still celebrating or gets to start soon!

This chapter is dedicated to all our brave souls who have just made their way through finals! You made it, you’re free, and you deserve a heckin’ break

Tag list: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikoyuii @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @eonic @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel

Previous chapter:

First chapter:

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A Swell Night On The Town

Jason had been pretty sure he knew what to expect from Vlad Masters. The Plasmius file had stood out even amongst all the other ghosts, and not just for being a halfa.

The guy was a stalker, a creep, manipulative as hell, and would not take no for an answer. And no, he didn’t need a second grabby billionaire anywhere near his life, thanks.

He’d dealt with dozens just like him, rich assholes who thought their wealth and power made them untouchable.

And the man himself, standing in front of him? Yeah, okay, Jason was a little surprised.

Vlad’s face had this perfect fist shape to it, like his cheekbones were gonna wave Jason in to break his teeth.

Wild how that worked.

Offering to share Danny’s baby pictures was… an unexpected avenue of attack, honestly. Fucking effective though, and it had somehow defused the situation.

He’d still rather drag the man out by the scruff of his neck, but the apparent peace offering settled something inside him. Well, more directly Danny’s reaction to it.

Danny wasn’t scared of Vlad. Whatever he was, whatever he’d done? However much he’d hurt Danny in the past, used his death against him?

It hadn’t been fear setting Danny off when he knew Vlad was here. Which raised the question of what it had been, but he could always ask later.

For now, Vlad wasn’t an immediate threat to be eliminated, at least not yet. Today, they could play with him a little.

And if that changed? He was ready.

So Jason let his face soften into a smile as Danny groaned, damn near as dramatic as Dick. Let Vlad think he might be tempted.

And maybe just a little enjoy the revenge after all that bugging about the pixie boot photos earlier.

He reached out automatically to steady Danny as he swayed, leaving his hand on his shoulder. And watched Vlad track the gesture, which was… interesting.

Yeah, they could probably get him on the same game as the Manson’s. Jason let his arm slip around the slighter man’s shoulders, skimming gently down his arm.

Danny leaned into him just a little and if that made the pit happy, well, convenient bonus. Most of his attention stayed fixed on Vlad.

“I guess you’ve known each other a long time?” He offered, trying to keep his voice more neutral.

Danny sighed dramatically, folding his arms and glaring.

“Well it sure fucking feels like forever,” he grumbled loudly and Jason grinned, ruffling his hair.

“Not so long as I’d like,” Vlad argued with a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m afraid even though I have always been his godfather we did not meet until he joined the club as it were. Had we met sooner I might have made a better impression.”

Sam snorted most of a laugh derisively through her nose, cocking her hip and smirking at him.

“Would you have given a fuck before he joined the club?” She asked sarcastically, perfectly matching his dramatic emphasis.

Vlad shot her another scathing look, then gave Jason an obsequious smile.

“Of course, I don’t have anything on me, but if you would like to come by some time…” he began, and Danny straightened so fast that something in Jason lurched to pull him back.

He resisted. Barely.

“Hell no Vlad, fuck off. You’re not having Jason over to your creepy ass castle in Wisconsin,” Danny snapped, his eyes flashing green and Jason had a revelation.

That? That was a truly fucking weird thing to see. Even if it hadn’t always been the trigger for violence, yeah, he could see why his family flinched.

Also? Danny getting possessive? Adorable.

Vlad certainly seemed to agree (which made Jason immediately want to change his mind), giving Danny a smug smile.

“Jason is an adult, Daniel, as you are yourself. I believe he can make up his own mind?” He purred, gaze flicking expectantly back to Jason.

It was a good thing he’d been practicing one of his best gala smiles half the month for this occasion. He’d never been more thankful for the training that let him keep it light and sweet.

“I’m not coming to your creepy ass castle in Wisconsin,” he agreed with Danny, loving the way Vlad’s face fell.

Impatient bastard. Like Jason hadn’t proved extremely early on which side of this line he was coming down on. Although…

“But maybe you can email me.”

Keep him sweet. Keep him hopeful. All the better to fully fuck around with later, and maybe give himself a backdoor into any plans.

Danny grinned smugly back at Vlad, folding his arms and leaning into Jason in a way that was definitely all out possessive. Which Jason could kinda get.

The new kid at school liked Danny best. Hell, Jason was always smug as fuck when one of the birds sided with him over B.

“Aww, I guess even your best impression wasn’t up for much, huh Vladdie?” Danny teased and Vlad’s eyes narrowed, before his smile flashed back, sharp and venomous.

“I shall certainly send you some pictures at my earliest convenience, Jason. Do you have a card?” He asked sweetly, looking from Danny directly up to Jason’s face.

Jason stifled a snicker.

“It’s not the eighties. Gimme your phone, I’ll add you.” He held out a hand, half expecting Vlad to refuse.

Surely he didn’t make his money and build his evil empire by being stupid. But no, Vlad gave him a calculating look and then handed the device right over.

Didn’t even try and look at the screen. And, well, Jason was a Robin once. Even Danny grabbing for the phone didn’t stop him, raising it above his reach.

Type his email with thumb swipes so it took half the time, turn on bluetooth, pair to Tim’s phone, get the ping for the downloaded app, bluetooth off and he handed the phone back to Masters, back on the contact screen.

“Here. That’s my private email, so don’t go giving it out to all and sundry,” he added as Danny tried to flap the phone from his hand.

“Aw come on Jason! You can’t give him that, he’s evil!” Danny whined, and Jason put his free hand directly in Danny’s face and pushed him away like he’d do Dick.

“You wanted to talk to Selina, you filthy fucking hypocrite.”

“Who wanted to talk to me?”

And speak of the devil, here she was, slinking towards them in one of her tight black dresses, short hair cupping her face.

Vlad shifted to let her join them, making a face when she stepped too close and stepping quickly away.

Jason closed his lips on a grin. Hope he didn’t have anything too precious in those pockets. Luckily his phone was still in hand, now tucked into a different pocket.

“I did,” Sam said loudly before anyone could interrupt, turning and bestowing her sweetest Manson Party Smile on her. “I heard you have baby photos of Jason.”

Selina raised an eyebrow as Jason made a half hearted grab for Sam, cocking her hip and smirking at him.

“Why darling, I most certainly do. And you are?” She asked, gaze darting around the group.

Sam stuck out her hand to shake.

“Sam Manson. This is my date, Danny Fenton, and my… friend, Jason Todd,” she introduced, jerking her thumb at the boys in turn.

Vlad cleared his throat, and promptly regretted it when Sam smirked.

“Oh, and this asshole is Vladdie.”

Vlad shot a glower at her while Danny and Jason snickered, turning to offer Selina his own hand.

“Vlad Masters, Daniel’s godfather.”

Selina took his hand delicately, a sharp smile on her face as she shook.

“Oh, so you’re the one who’s been snatching at the little Waynes! Have you come to make a grab for Jason?” She asked with a barely hidden glee, and alright, maybe she could stay.

Vlad’s poleaxed expression would make up for a lot, then he snapped too and snatched his hand away.

“I most certainly… oh… well. I. Suppose there was one incident, but I’d hardly call it grabbing,” he admitted with ill grace, smoothing down the front of his suit.

Selina’s smile spread and she pointed discretely towards the refreshment tables.

“Oh? Poor Tim has had to get an ice pack I hear, and someone said that you were behind Dick’s sudden disappearance. I’ll have to warn you that the last one left is Damian and he has a reputation of his own,” she purred.

Vlad’s brows furrowed into a deep frown, clearly not sure how to handle this situation. Being the focus of the gossip was apparently a change for him.

Jason was almost jealous, but the sheer joy of watching Selina at work washed it away. Not being the focus of all the gossip was a fun change for him.

“Damian Wayne?” Vlad asked, glancing back at Jason. Like Jason was about to help.

“He bites,” Jason explained casually and Danny fucking cackled, falling forward into Sam.

“Oh… oh Vlad… Vlad please… go bother Damian,” Danny gasped as Sam caught him, and Sam smirked.

“Would you turn down your Wayne scholarship?” Sam asked wickedly and Vlad’s head snapped around so fast he must have cricked his neck.

“Your what?” He asked sharply as Danny sucked in great lungfuls of air, finally straightening.

He was in no fit state to answer so Sam took over, smirking at Vlad.

“Oh, part of why Danny came is because he won a Wayne scholarship,” she said with a smug confidence Jason had to admire.

And join in on, since it was upsetting Vlad so much.

“Yeah, Brucie just loves to provide for underprivileged youth. It’s how we got my newest brother Duke,” he explained with an offhanded shrug, and oooooh he could almost see steam flying from Vlad’s ears.

His glare snapped back to Danny himself, who was just barely recovering.

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing I was here to defend your good name to Brucie,” Vlad spat the words like they tasted bad and that sent Danny off again.

“Aww, Vladdie, you do care,” he giggled, pulling himself back up and wiping at his eyes.

Vlad’s expression contrived to somehow become even more constipated. He turned deliberately back to Selina, his smile decidedly pinched now.

“And you know the Waynes well, I presume?” He asked, doing his best to pretend none of the younger three were grinning at him.

Selina cocked a brow, clearly clocking the interaction and filing it for later, a slow smile curling her lips that Jason fucking recognised.

“Oh, I know Brucie quite well,” she purred, one hand coming up to cup her elbow while she toyed with her hair, “I couldn’t paw-sibly miss the chance to greet Jason.”

Which, honestly, Jason considered mild for her. Vlad’s brows furrowed in confusion this time and Sam covered her mouth with her hand.

Selina tipped Jason a wink and he rolled his eyes good naturedly.

“Couldn’t miss the chance to fuck with Bruce, more like?” He asked dryly.

It wasn’t that he specifically didn’t want her there. Fuck, anything keeping Bruce off his ass was a win.

It was more that putting her next to Danny was probably an incredibly bad idea. His eyes had lit up - thankfully not green - and he grinned back at her.

“Well it is the purr-fect opportunity,” he said gleefully and Sam groaned.

“So this is how I die. Fantastic,” she snarked as Selina’s smile spread and she turned to face Danny more directly.

“But of course, anything fur family,” she agreed genially.

Vlad was beginning to look annoyed too, and Jason decided that was enough to tip him over into enjoying it. Not joining in; he wasn’t Dick.

Fuck.

Dick was here.

Biting down the urge to look around, Jason took a deep breath. Dick was probably still in the back. Probably still having hysterics.

What had Vlad even said to him?

Whatever it was, Jason might owe him a thank you for getting Dick out of the way of this particular meeting. All three at once would be…

Yeah, no, creepy castle in Wisconsin won if only because Jason had fucking always wanted to cause mayhem in an actual castle. Wayne Manor was fine, but an actual castle?

It might have battlements. It definitely had a ghost and a half.

Danny and Selina were clearly having fun, going back and forth with increasingly over reaching cat puns.

Jason took advantage of the moment to casually reach behind Danny and entwine his hand with Sam’s. She started a little, glanced over, and made a show of almost-but-not-quite pulling away.

Keep the show going. Apparently they were competing with Vlad for the spot of Top Scandal, which was just fucking great. No matter who won, they couldn’t lose.

Selina must have noticed though, because she gave him a sly look and gently broke things off with Danny.

“Not to pussyfoot away, but I do need to steal Jason for just a moment darlings. Old family friends and all that,” she added, tipping Danny a wink as he chuckled.

Jason gave her a wary look for a moment, then followed her a short distance away. Staying far enough back to be out of pickpocket range.

“What did you do?” He asked quietly once they were out of earshot, pausing at another potted plant. Appeasing Ivy, or a subtle invitation.

Selina gave him her most innocent smile, leaning up against the pot.

“I may have upset Bruce a little, and now he’s looking for you. He was going to the back rooms first but that shouldn’t take him long.”

Jason remembered watching Cass drag a wailing Dick to the back rooms.

“He might take longer than expected,” he noted with a half smirk, then shook his head. “So why’s he looking for me?”

He couldn’t think of anything Selina might do that would have Bruce hunting him down; usually the response to Selina turning up was to usher the kids away.

No matter how old those kids were.

Not that any of them actually wanted to stick around, just. It was dismissive at best.

Selina smiled fondly and patted his cheek, and for once the emotion seemed genuine.

“Jason, darling, no man likes to think their little boys have grown up. And of course I assumed that if you were making this much of a scandal this early on it was intentional, so I told him you had an orgy in the back rooms,” she finished bluntly, shattering the soft moment Jason didn’t know how to handle.

Rather than stammering or shutting down over emotions he wasn’t sure he could face, a startled laugh shot down his nose.

“You fucking what?!”

“I told him that when you five snuck off for your little chat earlier you’d been caught with your pants down,” Selina explained casually, an entirely catlike smile of satisfaction on her face.

And yeah, okay, maybe Jason was reminded why he liked Selina. For all the distance between them, she’d never stopped treating him as Robin.

She and Bruce might be on again off again, but she’d always be a cool stepmom to the birds. And she could be relied on to join a good joke…

Leaning in, Jason lowered his voice.

“You’re absolutely right, targets are the Manson parents, Bruce, and Vlad. Do you need to be filled in?” It had been a while since he’d done a speed debrief, but at least Selina had received a few.

And recreationally hung out with Harley Quinn. Her eyes sparkling with mirth, she shook her head.

“Oh not at all, darling. You know I pre-fur a surprise. Is the young Miss Manson in on it?” She asked, gaze sliding back across to the others.

Jason snickered, letting his eyes follow hers. Vlad seemed to have swanned off somewhere, and Danny was vainly “trying” to recapture Sam’s attention.

“Sam called the hit. They insist she has to find an eligible bachelor, so she’s got two,” he added, and Selina’s smile took on a decidedly nasty edge.

“Well then you’d best get back there and woo her, hadn’t you?” She cooed, long fingers gently patting Jason’s cheek again as she straightened to slink back into the party. “I’ll tell Bruce you’re at the refreshments.”

Jason hurried back to Sam and Danny, not exactly keeping his head low, but folding himself in a little. Hanging out with Superman and Clark Kent taught a guy a few tricks.

Catching his companions by an arm each, he leaned in to whisper,

“Selina told Bruce we’ve been having an orgy in the back rooms, she’s gonna be running interference and get him to the refreshments,” he explained quietly.

Sam snickered and shook her head, tugging her arm from his grip but allowing him to take her hand instead.

“So is she in on it?” She asked quietly, sharp eyes glancing around the party. Jason shrugged.

“I didn’t tell her much, but she’s always down to cause trouble of one sort or another. Wanna look for your parents and be conspicuous?” He asked Sam, grinning.

A grin spread across Sam’s face too and she nodded, giving him a nudge with her shoulder.

“Your family is fucking ridiculous, Jay.”

Which wasn’t news, but it was nice when other people noticed.

“We’re not really the ones to talk,” Danny pointed out with a grin of his own, coming around to take Sam’s other hand, “dare you to trip me in front of the Mansons, Jason.”

And if there was one thing Jason had gotten in trouble for all through his life… he could never resist a dare.

When did everything go so wrong?

It had been such a lovely evening, and yet out of nowhere, everything had turned on its head.

People were whispering about him, as they usually did, but now it was with giggles! Mockery hidden behind a hand, a glass, some ridiculous fan.

They tittered as he passed, closed their circles and turned their backs, or even moved away from him! He found himself suddenly alone, a room full of people exquisitely aware of his presence and avoiding it.

As if he were somehow beneath them. As if they had any sort of high horse to hold over him. And all for what? A mild misunderstanding?

It was something he’d always noticed about Gothamites, when he’d met them away from this dingy city. The way they considered themselves superior, above the rest for being a bloated parasite class in a jumped up hellhole.

Talking as if they personally were made stronger by all of those rogues, the darkness, the gothic nonsense. As if their city would protect them when even their Bat sought to bring them down.

Corrupt, stinking, filthy wretches. It was why it had never bothered him to avoid the den itself.

Oh, there was abundant ectoplasm, the misery and terror of millions saturating the air to almost Amity Park standards. So many people, crammed together, living in fear every day of their lives.

It made their hope powerful, those who lived at street level. Those who actually faced the city’s dangers. But these inept plutocrats? Cushioned with wealth and corruption and casual evil?

Their city hated them almost as much as Vlad. Would be happy to see them and their pathetic little Court fall. Maybe then the place could finally breathe.

They should count themselves lucky Vlad was above sinking to their level. Restrained himself to icy smiles and remembered faces, adding to his list of those to exploit.

Perhaps that would make Daniel happy; he and that goth girl were so in favour of the working class. A little redistribution of wealth (and some to himself) could be a nice gift.

Of course, if he actually thought about it, Vlad had a pretty solid guess of when the night had left the rails. He never should have grabbed the young Drake, thinking he was Daniel or not.

Frankly grabbing Daniel had been one of the habits he was intent on breaking, but it had just… happened. Force of habit was an irritatingly powerful thing.

They had always had a very physical relationship, and wasn’t that part of the problem? Vlad had never intended that.

It was just that the boy didn’t listen. Wouldn’t see what was good for him, no matter how clearly it was shoved in front of his face. He was independent, wilful, and while those were good traits…

Daniel also insisted on using them against him. Against himself. And Vlad… well, Vlad knew he had a temper. And frankly, so did Daniel.

They butted heads and with their shared abilities, sometimes that got explosive. But those same abilities were how Vlad knew that no matter how much they fought, they would be pulled back together.

And now there was a new halfa. For a supposedly rare occurrence, it was really becoming increasingly common.

Perhaps that was worth testing too. If something about the modern world made it easier to create a new halfa.

Not that young Jason was quite finished yet, he wasn’t a fully formed ghost, but Vlad could already taste the power in the air around the boy.

Not being alone had been all he’d wanted for so long.

And, apparently, something Daniel had been craving in an entirely different way. The air between the boys had been charged with more than just Daniel’s little flare of power.

Vlad wasn’t quite sure where the need to mention Daniel’s photos had come from; he’d never planned to let the boy know he had them.

It had been an idle curiosity, years ago now, and they’d never come to fruition. But seeing Daniel so obviously interested in young Jason…

Vlad was sure he’d looked at Madeline like that all the time, back at school. And far more lucky than he, Jason seemed to return the interest.

Daniel moving to protect Jason, put himself between them, had been expected. It was his nature, dear boy, and as foolish as it could be he stuck to it.

Jason refusing to allow it, moving Daniel behind himself? Surprising, and entertaining. If not for himself, he’d have thought those protective urges helped to form a halfa.

And, of course, it was rather telling.

Whatever Daniel had told him that made Jason see Vlad as a threat, Jason saw him as a threat to Daniel, not himself. That could be useful too.

Vlad would rather be a threat to neither of them if they’d just learn to listen. All he offered was a gift, and all he asked was to not have it tossed aside.

All he wanted was a family. And while he certainly wasn’t yet as desperate as Brucie Wayne, adopting any child he found on a street corner… perhaps the other man did have something to teach him.

With any luck they would still be able to have their private meeting. Vlad could only hope that the impression he’d managed to make would be enough.

The man doted on his sons, and Vlad involved in upsetting two of them? No, he would have to tread very carefully here.

Some form of apology. Not tonight, not while the issues were still… fresh. He would have to steer clear of the Waynes for the rest of the evening.

And think of some suitable way to show his contrition.

The younger boy was interested in technology, wasn’t he? His interest in Tucker would be explained there. And Vlad had plenty of technology beyond the power of science alone.

Yes, some form of gift for Timothy. Nothing too closely related to ghosts, but that was only a brief limit.

And perhaps it would be a way to soothe Jason too. For him to see that Vlad was sincere, that he did not intend to be a threat.

Why, maybe even something to protect the boy. A personal shield, perhaps. That should please such a protective soul.

Richard would be harder. Perhaps Vlad should have avoided the topic altogether, but he hadn’t realised the boys had been close.

By all accounts Grayson had precious little to do with Brucie around the time of Jason’s adoption, and while there was never any negative publicity, they rarely appeared together.

Not the way Grayson could now be seen fawning over all of his other siblings, draping himself over them and teasing whenever possible.

Perhaps Jason’s death had been a catalyst for him.

Not that it mattered. Even if the young man’s hysterics had been at least partially overblown (it certainly hadn’t followed through to Vlad’s enhanced senses), the message was clear.

And he’d gotten the answers he needed anyway.

Perhaps something equally overblown in return, Vlad mused with a slight smile, ignoring the other guests flowing around him.

Flowers wouldn’t please most young men, but the goal wasn’t actually to please Richard. He might appreciate a dramatic gesture in return.

And the man was a police officer of some sort. Something for his station.

Yes, no need for the evening to be a total loss. There would be the meeting with Bruce, and perhaps he could even persuade the man that he wished for his help to make amends.

As frustrating as this little setback was… this was still his day.

Tucker had absolutely no idea why Sam always complained about these parties, because he was having the best night of his life.

He’d met Tim Drake-Wayne! Actually hung out with Tim Drake-Wayne! WAS STILL hanging out with Tim Drake-Wayne!

And he got to piss off Vlad, eat fancy food, make his mom cry with pics of him in his fancy suit… Yeah, it was the best day ever.

Tim had taken his jacket off a little while ago after they’d bumped into Vlad, and while they’d joked about rigging him a sling for the rest of the night, it’d be taking the bit a little far.

It had also given them an excuse to hang out away from the crowd for a while and just talk tech while Tucker iced the “wounded” shoulder.

As expected, Tim Drake-Wayne was beyond brilliant. Most CEOs had no idea what the departments who actually worked for a living did, but Tim?

Tim knew about every single project going on in R&D. He knew what all of them were doing, and he seemed impressed that Tucker kept up with as much of their testing as was made public.

Remembering which bits still weren’t technically public yet was a little trickier, but he didn’t want to make a bad impression.

Hiring the hacker who broke your system was a movie bit, not real life. But, Tucker did hope that if he could impress Tim tonight, he’d at least remember Tucker’s name when the job faires started.

If Danny and Jason hooked up, maybe he and Tim would get to hang out at other events in future.

Because yeah, Tucker dug the new halfa. He did. Jason was funny, cool, pretty considerate, and just immediately down for Team Phantom’s fuckery in a way few people were.

Hell, he’d gotten Tucker a party ticket at pretty near the last second for Tucker to have this, the best night of his life. Tucker loved the guy, for all he’d known him for about a weekend.

But.

He did suffer from not being Tim Drake-Wayne. Like a lot.

It was probably something he heard way too often though, so Tucker was never gonna mention it.

Cuz yeah, Jason might be entry number four in a species that no one had thought was possible, but like.

Tim Drake-Wayne.

It just wasn’t a fair contest.

Tucker hadn’t clicked with anyone this fast since the day he met Danny in first grade too. He’d known Tim Drake-Wayne would be brilliant, obviously.

The guy was the next best thing to Batman himself, and was even mentioned occasionally in some of the Oracle-spotting groups Tucker frequented.

(Not that he could be Oracle, of course. While Tucker would put money on Oracle being in Gotham, Tim had way too much public presence.

He had a busy, often public job, but Tucker was just dying to ask if he’d ever done custom work for Oracle themself. Not on first meetings, though.

Had to find out if the guy was In The Know or not first. There were some theories that he was good enough to be a Robin, but Tucker didn’t really follow Gotham’s vigilantes.

More likely they just bought - or were given - Wayne tech and talked to the Oracle themselves.)

But really, Tucker hadn’t expected Tim to be so funny. He reminded Tucker of Danny in that way, always ready with a quip or a one liner.

They cracked each other up, and even now that they were back recirculating Tucker barely noticed who Tim was introducing him to.

All rich folks, the Mansons’ level or higher, most old enough to be their parents if not their grandparents. All making boring, prim and proper conversation.

The room might as well have been empty of everyone but Tucker and Tim. He didn’t even bother keeping an eye on Vlad, though he and Tim had exchanged grins as they watched the slowly expanding circle now following the man wherever he went.

Vlad was Danny’s problem. Tonight, all Tucker cared about was spending time with one of his own personal heroes.

Right up until he opened his mouth and fucked it up.

“Yeah, I was gonna stay at MIT over the holidays, there were some cool experimental tech meet ups planned? But I’m glad I wound up going home. It would have sucked to miss this!”

Tim stared at him for a moment, then actually laughed, which kinda surprised Tucker a bit. He hadn’t been joking?

And Tim clearly saw his confusion, patting Tucker companionably on the back.

“Sorry man, it’s just… you’ve gotta be the only person I know who doesn’t hate these things with a passion,” he explained, still grinning fondly.

Tucker cocked his head, frowning thoughtfully.

“What? Why not? The food’s great, dressing up fancy is fine once in a while, and the company…” he trailed off, cheeks heating just a little as he considered how to end the sentence.

He didn’t wanna wind up sounding like Danny. That would be way too embarrassing.

Luckily Tim didn’t seem to mind, grinning and giving him a cheeky nudge. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice the blush so much on Tucker’s cheeks.

“Oh trust me, this is definitely the best gala I’ve ever been to too. I’ve never had half this much fun before, cuz the company is usually waaaay more…” he waved his hand, gesturing to the small chatting groups they were wandering past.

All older, stuffy, boring… yeah. Fair.

Tucker grinned slyly at the other man.

“Well I’m glad I could liven up your evening, but Jason already told us you’re here to scout out Danny,” he teased, and Tim laughed again.

“Yeah, that probably woulda made top five anyway,” he agreed easily, “but you shoulda seen Damian’s first party. Demon brat was still half feral, he challenged a guy to a duel for calling him the “little Wayne”.”

Tucker laughed as well, glancing around the hall just in case the littlest Wayne should appear. No such luck.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” he agreed with a broad grin, “he seemed a little short tempered.”

Tim nodded cheerfully.

“Oh he’d take your fingers off if Brucie hadn’t convinced him it was undignified to bite. His mom was one of those… what you’d call old fashioned. Very big on family honour and defending it at all costs.”

Tucker whistled long and low, shaking his head.

“Yeah, can’t say I’ve seen much of that… not as much as Danny, but you met Vlad,” he added with a snicker and Tim chuckled and bumped his shoulder.

“Yeah, well. I’m still glad you came. Do your family live near by or did you have to fly in?” Tim asked cheerfully and Tucker laughed.

“Nah, neither, Danny picked me up.” And then Tucker froze.

Right.

Yeah.

Cuz you couldn’t just say “my friend the Ghost King came and picked me up, we portalled through his private dimension”.

Not to a stranger.

Tim looked momentarily confused. As one should, when someone made no fucking sense.

“Danny? Does he fly?” He asked, and Tucker hid a sigh of relief under a huff of laughter.

“Well I’m not really supposed to say,” he whispered, leaning in close so as not to be overheard, “but let’s just say not officially?”

Team Phantom Group Chat

‘TechMasterF: so for all future interactions Danny you have an illegal pilots license. Can the GAV do a plane?’

‘TechMasterF: doesn’t matter I’ll say it can’

Jason had not been in the back rooms.

There also hadn’t been the kind of scuffing that would indicate… activities from a group of more than two people, but that didn’t put Bruce’s mind at ease.

There were plenty of ways to hide such things, and he had endlessly drilled his boys in being discrete.

If only he’d done a worse job.

Prowling around the party, he kept his genial smile on as a matter of course, chatting as he passed but never stopping. He had to find his son.

He’d run into Dick on his way out of the back hall, half burying poor Cass in his loud sobbing. Seeing an opportunity, Bruce had pulled both aside for a quick debrief.

Apparently Masters had run into them as well, and had actually dared to ask the question he’d heard circling the room all evening.

Jason’s funeral.

No one else was going to, thanks to Dick’s antics.

It didn’t make Bruce feel any better, since neither of them seemed to have noticed whatever Tim had seen. Both had seen Jason, still with the youngest Manson and this suspicious Danny.

Bruce hadn’t waited beyond that, though he trusted Dick’s quick warning that Masters had a bad reputation. One that Bruce had heard too; his business dealings were notoriously predatory.

Whatever leverage he held over former partners, Bruce wouldn’t allow him to get it over his family.

However the man was also known to be a brilliant scientist and engineer, and clearly had an interest in Wayne Enterprises. Bruce could take advantage of that to gather information on Danny.

Finally, finally he spotted the familiar white flash of Jason’s hair in the middle of the floor. He was accompanied by Sam and a scrungly young man with dark hair and blue eyes.

The mysterious Danny.

Time to say hello.

Bruce began to move purposefully through the crowd, not being obvious in his staring but keeping them in the corner of his eye.

“Oh shit,” Sam hissed suddenly, grip tightening on Danny’s arm, “Bruce is on his way.”

Danny’s eyes widened and he didn’t quite look all around, but only just. He looked to Jason instead.

“Do we wanna do this now?” He asked, shaking out his shoulders like they were talking about an actual fight.

Jason paused and mulled it over. Dinner would be starting soon, and honestly? If they held Bruce off til then, he couldn’t come for a “private chat” for at least another two hours.

Which would be pretty fucking funny. Especially since Selina had been winding him up.

On the other hand, Bruce wouldn’t have more than ten minutes to interrogate them, and Jason could wind the man up himself.

Jason leaned in until his lips almost brushed Danny’s ear, voice low so they couldn’t be overheard by anyone but Sam, who also leaned in.

“How much do we look like we’ve been passionately making out?” He asked softly, wicked glee in his voice. At least, that’s what Danny thought he said.

It was a little hard to focus with his breath tickling across sensitive skin.

Sam stifled a laugh but Danny almost missed it as he glanced over, catching Bruce Wayne’s eye. And the sudden, intense glare.

A startled squeak slipped free and he grabbed Jason and Sam and vanished.

At least Jason wouldn’t see him blush.

Across the hall, Damian’s eyes narrowed.

He’d gotten himself a good vantage point, half way up the stairs so that his relative height wouldn’t be against him.

He could see the whole hall clearly, easily able to track Todd and his cohorts. The dramatics reminded him of one of Todd’s books too, so he was sure the man was having the time of his life.

Right until Fenton grabbed both of his companions and all three disappeared. As if they’d just turned invisible.

Fenton was some form of meta. And something had startled him. Tracing back along the direction he’d been facing, Damian caught sight if Father.

Talking to the Kyle woman.

“Selina,” Bruce acknowledged, attention snapped away from Danny Fenton as Selina slunk up to his side, her smile wide and satisfied.

“Bruce. I thought I should come and let you know about the mood in the room,” she purred, hand slipping through his arm.

Eyes narrowed, Bruce glanced up to where Jason had been. His face much, much too close to Danny’s.

All three young people were gone.

Sighing softly in irritation, he returned his attention to Selina.

“Oh? And what is that?” He asked, trying not to let his annoyance rub off on her. She couldn’t have known.

Selina smiled up at him, her other hand coming up to pat gently at his chest.

“Rumour has it Vlad Masters is after your Jason. He’s invited him back to his castle to “get to know each other a little better”,” she purred, fingers flicking against him for the air quotes.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed.

“Why?” He asked sharply, now sweeping the room for Masters’ ponytail.

Selina shrugged elegantly, tweaking his tie before moving back.

“Who can say? Perhaps he’s after the same thing as the Mansons, hoping Jason and young Danny will hit it off. Perhaps it’s a little more… personal,” she mused, a half smile on his face.

Bruce’s expression pinched tighter for just a moment, but he didn’t bother pasting a smile back on. He was allowed to be worried for his son.

Especially if a man old enough to be his father was inviting him away.

“And what did Jason say?” He asked half to himself rather than to her, once again furiously searching the crowd for Jason.

Selina shrugged again, also scanning the crowd.

“Well, he’s been keeping himself quite busy with the small town guests. Perhaps he’s growing tired of Gotham,” she mused, watching Bruce from the corner of her eye.

He knew he twitched. Kept the rest of the response under control.

He wasn’t sure which was worse; Jason building a harem, being courted by an older man, or just plain wanting to leave… no, none of it was good.

The worst part… was that Bruce wouldn’t blame him.

Jason couldn’t be allowed to leave. He just couldn’t. No matter what else happened, Jason needed to be close enough for his family to keep an eye on him.

However good he thought his control of the pit was, it kept slipping. And the chances that Jason would do some serious damage were bad enough in Gotham itself, never mind across the country.

Gotham held so many bad memories, too many of them Bruce’s own doing. Gods, he wished he could safely let Jason go and get him out of that environment. Somewhere far from bad habits.

Though Jason was reluctant enough to leave just Crime Alley. He loved Gotham, and always had, despite what it had cost him. At least if he wanted to leave, Bruce had a plan.

And the fact that he actually would prefer it if Jason were just sleeping around… wasn’t one Bruce was prepared to deal with. He would absolutely not be admitting any of it to Alfred.

Looking back to Selina, his eyes narrowed.

“That wasn’t an answer. Why would Jason want to leave Gotham?” He almost demanded, stepping into her space this time.

Selina did not look impressed, lips pursing and a single brow rising pointedly as she looked him over.

“Why, I don’t know, Bruce. Can you think of anything that might be making him feel unwelcome? Unappreciated? He never did like the limelight,” she remarked coolly, and that cut deeper than her claws.

“The gala was his idea,” he tried to defend himself, not thinking about the first part of her question. Jason had wanted his official life back.

Selina tutted softly, reaching up to pat him on the cheek. That was her slightly pitying smile too.

She knew him far too well.

“You know you won’t get his motivations from talking to me, Bruce. If you want to know what Jason’s thinking you’ll have to ask him yourself. Today’s probably a good time,” she added slyly, half turning away, “after all, you know how soothing a little… exercise can be.”

And then she was gone again, swaying away into the crowd. Bruce took a moment to collect himself before following, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath.

It would be fine.

He’d been planning his speech for tonight for weeks. Since Jason had first voiced the idea to Dick.

Bruce knew he was no good at bearing his soul. Open heart to hearts with his children had always been his greatest struggle, and he knew it weighed on them all.

He loved them with all of his heart, and it was maybe that which made it so difficult to just… let himself be vulnerable. He never knew what to say. How to express the depths of emotion.

But he would fix that today, he’d promised himself. He would tell Jason how much he loved him in front of the world.

Narrowed eyes being the only outward sign of irritation, Damian hurried down the stairs and through the crowd.

There was no point going directly to Father; he would likely be distracted with the Kyle woman for a while yet. No, he had to find one of his siblings.

Surely one of them had noticed. Todd was to be the center of their attention for the evening. One of them must also have been watching when he disappeared into thin air.

Grayson first, he decided, ducking and weaving between the much taller adults. He was the most competent, and the most invested in Todd’s new behaviour.

Grayson must have seen.

Danny gave Jason and Sam an embarrassed grin as he popped them back into visibility behind a plant.

“Sorry… Bruce caught me looking and I kinda panicked?” He offered sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. It was kinda adorable.

Sam rolled her eyes and flicked him upside the head.

“Dude, you’ve gotta learn to chill. One day someone’s gonna see that,” she reprimanded him.

Jason cocked a brow, resisting the urge to pat himself down and check he was tangible again. They’d gone directly through more than one guest on their way to a quiet corner.

“Does this happen a lot?” He asked dryly, fighting down a smile. It was quite possibly the funniest startle response he’d ever seen.

Danny’s cheeks flushed and he looked away, pointedly looking at the floor.

“Not so much any more?” He offered, and Sam snickered.

“He told you how many times he phased through glassware when he first changed, right?” She teased. Danny gave her a half hearted shove and she laughed, shoving back much harder.

Jason did his very best impression of innocence, raising both hands.

“I’m gonna plead the fifth. We should go make sure we’re spotted though, just in case anyone saw,” he added, giving the room another quick scan.

There was no real commotion, no one looking this way and that like they were trying to find someone.

It might be okay.

Damian caught up to Cass and Dick just as Dick was wrapping up a particularly colourful story about repainting the manor that was probably at least half true.

Cass wasn’t completely sure, but it would explain the rule about paint rollers being used from the floor or not at all.

Damian was frustrated though, all tight and tense and trembling with self satisfaction. Which wasn’t actually all that unusual, but she wouldn’t say it.

He walked straight up to her, full of determination.

“Cain. Grayson. I need to speak to you,” he demanded bluntly, ignoring the two couples still laughing over Dick’s story.

Cass and Dick exchanged curious looks, and Cass shrugged. Dick turned back to their audience, grinning broadly.

“Well, big brother duty never sleeps. We’ll see you around!” He declared with a jaunty wave, turning to follow Damian. “What’s up, kiddo? It’s nearly dinner time.”

Damian gave him a scathing look and Cass hid a smile. None of them did well with stuffy parties.

Once the youngest decided they’d come far enough from listening ears, he stopped and turned back to hiss.

“Fenton is a meta. He and perhaps Manson as well. I saw them disappear in the crowd.”

Brows furrowed, Dick glanced to Cass again. She frowned, thinking back to what she’d seen of both Amity Parkers. There hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary in their body language.

Unless you thought they were supposed to be civilians, but that wasn’t strange. Not in her circles.

Damian was sure though, so she shrugged again. Dick turned back to Damian, grinning consolingly.

“Hey, I know it’s embarrassing, but Jason’s always been a sneaky bastard. It’s not a big deal to lose them.”

Which was the other option. But the way Damian’s eyes narrowed, anger cranking up and then being choked back down… he was sure.

“I did not say I lost them, Richard! I said I saw them disappear. In front of my eyes. Whether it was some teleportation or just invisibility, I saw them,” he spit out, giving them both a fierce glare.

Cass hesitated, glancing across the hall.

It was… busy. Not exactly packed, but there were enough people, the patterns too random to predict… no.

She’d have noticed someone invisible stepping their way through. There were ways one had to move to avoid being struck if no one could see you.

In a place like this? Not even she would try it in the middle of the floor. This was where you took the high road, or hugged the walls.

Looking back to her brothers, she carefully signed, her body hiding her hands from the crowd.

‘Teleport. Where?’

Dick accepted her analysis as simple fact, frowning thoughtfully and looking around. Damian looked viciously gleeful to be vindicated.

“If they’re still here, it’d have to be short range. Probably somewhere quiet, somewhere they’d been. How long ago?” He asked Damian, and the boy didn’t even glance at his watch.

“Not more than three minutes. You are easy to find.”

“I’m not trying not to be, Dami,” Dick corrected easily, looking around the hall again. “Odds are they’d have gone for the back, so we’ll head that way.”

Which was a really solid plan. Until they stepped back into the crowd and immediately ran into Jason, Danny, and Sam, talking to Tim and Tucker.

Bumping into Tucker and Tim had been a fun coincidence, and Danny wasn’t about to miss the chance to catch up. Sure, they’d not been apart long, but a lot had happened.

First of all…

“What happened to your shoulder Tim?” Jason asked “innocently”, something just on this side of sincere worry in his eyes.

Tim made a face, rolling his shoulder and carefully cupping it.

“Oh, nothing. Just a bit of an overenthusiastic greeting by someone called Vlad,” he said nonchalantly, shooting Danny a sly smile. “He thought I was someone else.”

For just the briefest second, that hot flare of Obsession hit Jason again. Protect-mine-how dare he.

But Danny was used to those kinds of reactions; mostly from personal experience. If he even thought his friends were hurt in an attack, things got… intense.

He let his aura spread enough to stroke across Jason’s again, not moving closer while they were the center of attention. He felt the flash of surprise, and something… else?

Something softer, none of the alarm he’d felt when he’d filled the room. He stroked calm-safe-amused-he’s faking back anyway and watched Jason’t shoulders settle.

Felt a wash of embarrassed-amused-sorry more directed his way, and smiled to himself. Jason was getting good at this pretty fast.

Sam, Tuck, and Tim had kept the conversation going while they had their little halfa moment, chatting just a little louder than they should about Tim’s encounter.

Just so their neighbours could hear them without having to strain, of course.

That would be rude.

Slotting back into the conversation was easy, and honestly? Tim was also a pretty cool guy to hang out with. Danny was a little surprised by how much fun he was having.

It just went to show, the galas of nightmares could be pretty fun with friends.

There was definitely something about to start though, because people were beginning to move more pointedly towards the large doors opposite the stairs. The dining hall, if Danny remembered right.

Right. Dinner.

It was probably that which brought Damian, Dick, and Cass to join them. Dick launched easily into the story of their own encounter with Vlad and okay, being funny as fuck clearly ran in the family.

Damian was a little off though. Until he actually met Bruce, Danny couldn’t say for sure, but for now? Maybe the Waynes were just the unfunny ones.

That or something was bugging him, because he had a tight frown on his face. And… was… kinda staring at Danny.

Half an eye on the kid, Danny casually shifted away to the right. The glare followed, so yeah - gonna say that was for him.

It was kinda cute really. For all the kid wanted to play tough guy and pretend he didn’t care, he basically radiated a protective suspicion for Jason.

Danny had to admit he’d been weird enough when he thought anyone was threatening Jazz or his friends, so he couldn’t complain. Just felt strange to be on the other side of.

Just as they were approaching the wide open doors, the Mansons popped up again, absolutely beaming to see Sam surrounded by the full crop of Waynes.

“I’m so happy to see you all getting along, poor Samantha does get so lonely at these events sometimes,” Pamela trilled happily, patting her daughter on the shoulder.

Sam, Manson Party Smile in place, glanced at the hand like she was seriously considering biting it. Danny hid a grin of his own.

“We’re sorry to break up the party, but we should be getting our two off to our table,” Jeremy explained, giving Sam a beaming smile and pretending Danny didn’t exist.

Jason cut in immediately, bestowing a charming smile on both of them and offering Sam his hand. Which she gave a sidelong look to, then slowly took.

Pamela’s eyes all but whirred like camera lenses as she locked onto the gesture.

“Actually, I was just about to invite Sam to join me at our table? And Danny too of course,” Jason added as an afterthought, also not looking for Danny.

For the best, because he wasn’t sure he could hold in all the giggles. No chance of the Mansons noticing anyway, because they were on cloud nine.

“Oh, how wonderful! It would certainly give you some more time to get to know each other,” Pamela gushed, the hand on Sam’s shoulder giving her daughter a sudden little shove closer to Jason.

As if there was any chance she might have missed the super subtle parental semaphore all evening.

And Sam deserved an Oscar.

Glancing up to Jason, she let the Party Smile slip more into a real, shy one, quickly looking away like she didn’t want to be caught looking.

“Yeah, okay. Sounds good,” she said quietly, her grip tightening just a little.

If Danny hadn’t known she’d never been shy in a relationship in her life he could have easily bought into this Bridgerton bullshit. As it was, he and Tuck exchanged grins, wishing for popcorn.

Jeremy took his wife by the arm before she could dissolve into delighted tittering, inclining his head to the group.

“I’m sure we’ll see you after dinner then. Have fun,” he told Sam, and for just a moment he sounded so sincerely proud that Sam’s grip tightened in Jason’s.

Then they were gone and she groaned melodramatically, dropping said hand and glaring at Tucker and Danny.

“Not a word,” she snapped, eyes narrowed. Both boys immediately raised their hands in abject surrender.

“Whatever would we even say?” Tuck asked innocently. Beside him Tim snickered.

“That your parents clearly read even more period romances than Jason?” He offered, and Sam’s eyes narrowed at him instead.

Then she huffed, folding her arms and dragging Jason’s hand into the crook of her elbow.

“Yeah, yeah. Get me to the table. At least I don’t have to listen to them gushing for an hour,” she grumbled, actual sadness flicking across her eyes.

Jason slipped his hand free and before she could protest, wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“C’mon, let me tell you about all the times Timmy’s fallen asleep at gala dinners,” he said innocently, shooting a wicked grin at his younger brother as he turned them away to keep walking.

Tim’s smile dropped immediately as they begun to walk, hurrying around so he could glare at Jason and walk backwards.

“Don’t you fucking dare Jason. I still have pictures of the Discowing incident,” he threatened, and unfortunately for him only made Jason grin broader.

“You did, until Babs owed me a favour,” he teased back and Tim’s eyes narrowed, hands jumping to his phone.

“Fuck off she did not, she wouldn’t,” he grumbled as he fell behind, Dick landing a companionable hand on the back of his neck to steer him along with them.

“Discowing incident?” Tucker asked, hurrying up on Jason’s other side.

Jason glanced back over his shoulder, smirking at Dick and Tim.

“Family game night. The loser has to suffer some humiliation, and when I lost they got me one of Nightwing’s old costumes to wear for photos. The one with the v-neck,” he added for explanation.

Coming up on Sam’s other side, his hand in the small of her back, Danny damn near tripped over his feet. He’d have fallen if Sam hadn’t caught him, a smug smirk now on her face.

At least she was feeling better.

Behind them, Dick rolled his eyes while Tucker went searching on his PDA.

“Hey, I still say that was a cool suit. More interesting than all the black spandex the rest of the bat brigade mainline,” he protested, making all three of his brothers scoff.

“Then why did he stop wearing it?” Steph asked, materialising from nowhere to toss an arm around Dick’s shoulders, just as Danny asked,

“Isn’t Nightwing’s current costume mostly black?”

Even Cass giggled, which Danny had already decided was an accomplishment. Dick gave a few half hearted defences while the others needled him, and Tucker made a triumphant noise and passed his PDA to Sam.

She angled it so Danny could see and he had to clap his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

“He fought crime in that?!” He exclaimed through his fingers, and Sam raised a pointed brow at him.

“Batman’s underwear are on the outside and this is the line?” She asked sarcastically, then turned and grinned up at Jason. “So when are you introducing me to my new best friend Babs?”

They’d reached a large oval table now… right in the front and center of the room. Right. Wayne table, Jason’s gala.

They were gonna have an audience.

Jason chuckled and grinned down at Sam, moving to pull out a chair for her just off center.

“Absolutely fucking never unless you swear to forget all you’ve heard,” he promised as the rest of his siblings minus Cass rushed around for the other side of the table.

Sam snorted a laugh, taking the seat and letting him tuck her in.

“Look at what I am fucking wearing. Give me the disco suit and I’ll wear that with pride,” she pointed out, gesturing to the mass of bows.

Dick won the race, by diving into the seat Tim had just pulled out and locking his legs underneath it. He leaned immediately across the table and grinned at Sam.

“Are you busy tomorrow?” He asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Steph dropped down to sit beside him.

“We could go later tonight?” She offered, and both laughed when Jason flicked a napkin at them, taking his own seat.

“You’re both the fucking worst, and Babs has shit on you too,” he reminded them, with no real effect.

Danny took a seat Sam’s other side, Tucker winding up beside Danny on the curve. That left Tim with a seat almost half opposite Tucker, on the other side of the round.

Further from the main action, but honestly, he took it with good grace. Better than Damian, who despite having the seat on Dick’s other side, near the middle of the table, was still sulking.

Maybe because he’d had to wait for a new chair to be brought? Cass had the other new chair, at Jason’s other side.

No one seemed worried that they’d left the table unbalanced, mostly down at one end.

A couple of attendants had already hurried over with three extra chairs, disappearing again for place settings as the Waynes passed cutlery around.

Danny figured this was what throwing the party (and having more money than your average country) did for you. People didn’t make a fuss when plans changed.

The hall was still pretty loud, people finding their seats and getting comfortable. Across the table Dick leaned forward, grinning broadly at Sam and Danny.

“So, we know about Sam and her folks. What about you, Danny? Do you have any family nearby?” He asked, ignoring a warning look from Jason.

Danny appreciated it, but he didn’t really mind. Odds on, he’d be getting to know Jason’s family better at some point. They seemed pretty close.

“Nah, my sister’s studying psychology in Star City and both parents are still in Illinois. We sort of spread out.” Not least so both he and Jazz could have some time away from home.

Time to pretend to be normal. And somewhere nobody knew the name Fenton.

Dick nodded cheerfully, but Danny didn’t miss how both Damian and Steph’s eyes had narrowed. They were gonna remember what he said for later.

Fun. Maybe he should be doing some interrogating back.

Dick had already moved on though, still with that charming smile.

“Can’t say I know much about that, the furthest I got from home was Bludhaven,” he said companionably, tugging Damian in for a hug. “Can’t let the little ones do without their biggest brother.”

Damian squirmed viciously, sputtering protests, and Steph laughed and pulled Dick into a headlock.

“Jason’s bigger,” she teased, and Danny couldn’t help glancing over from the corner of his eye.

Jason was a lot bigger. In just about every direction. To be fair, Jason was bigger than some cars.

Dick squirmed free with surprising flexibility, releasing Damian who huffed and corrected his outfit immediately. Danny figured it was as good a time as any to do some sleuthing back.

“Bludhaven, huh? What do you do there?”

“I’m a cop,” Dick answered with an easy shrug. “I guess I got in the habit of wrangling these little bastards.”

Sam snorted a laugh beside him and Danny hid a grin in his hands. He was probably gonna regret that.

“You grew up in Gotham and became a cop?” She asked, heavy with derision. Beside Danny Tucker snickered, leaning over to whisper to Tim.

“And you thought you had it bad before.” Which, yeah. ACAB was Sam’s other favourite mantra after Eat The Rich.

Dick shrugged again, not losing his cheerful grin yet and spread his hands.

“That’s kinda why I did it. There were always so many corrupt cops, I wanted there to be at least someone that people could count on,” he explained like it might save him.

Sam stifled most of the second laugh.

“Oh, sorry, I thought you said you became a cop, not a firefighter. Is he a snitch too?” She asked Steph, who looked like Christmas had either come a little late or extremely early.

“Not to Bruce, but he did threaten to arrest me for parking near a fire route,” she said with a wicked grin.

Decidedly pouting now, Dick threw both hands into the air.

“I was kidding! I didn’t actually arrest her!” He argued as the rest of the table booed. Even Damian.

“Just another corrupt cop,” Sam sighed, shaking her head. Dick opened and closed his mouth a few times, then frowned.

“Wait so I’m a snitch if I do arrest people and corrupt if I don’t? How am I supposed to win?” He complained, the pout still mostly playful.

Sam stared him dead in the eye, devoid of mercy.

“Not be a cop.”

Dick groaned dramatically and Steph laughed, reaching over to pinch his cheeks.

“Hey, we told you when you joined,” she pointed out cheerfully and Dick sighed.

“Well, yeah, but the system’s not gonna change if no one ever does anything, is it?”

Tucker and Danny exchanged looks. Grins. And were slightly surprised when Jason beat Sam to the punch.

“Corrupt systems don’t change from the inside, Dickie,” he said with a smirk. Dick pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“Hey, you can’t talk. He likes Red Hood,” he explained as an aside to the Amity Parkers as if it might help his case.

Jason spread his hands, grinning.

“Hey, I came from the Alley, I’m allowed to appreciate a guy cleaning it up. Which the cops never even tried,” he added smugly. Dick huffed.

“Red Hood killed people.”

“So do the police,” Sam pointed out with a smirk of her own and Dick deflated.

“Red Hood stopped,” Jason joined in, jumping on the moment of weakness. “I bet his bodycount is less than Bludhaven PD’s.”

Steph and Tim both snickered at that, although Danny wasn’t quite sure why. It seemed a little more innuendo ridden than just enjoying Dick’s suffering.

And Jason’s cheeks definitely pinked. But he ignored them. Yeah, Danny had some follow up questions for later.

From Jason’s other side, Cass signed something that Danny couldn’t quite catch from this angle, but Steph nodded quickly.

“Yeah, good point Cass. She wants to know what you guys think about vigilantes,” she explained, looking expectantly at Sam.

Who frowned for a moment, then shrugged.

“At least they’re getting something done. But someone needs to look into Batman hoarding children,” she said dryly, and most of the table snickered.

“I think most of them follow him,” Tim pointed out in an effort to be fair. Steph and Jason both made faces at him and he flipped them both off.

“But do you have a favourite of Gotham’s vigilantes?” asked Dick, leaping onto the subject change with both feet.

Danny cast a quick glance at Jason, but he looked about as entertained as the rest of the table. It must have been something they talked about a lot.

Or the rest of the Waynes were the rest of the bats. But Danny didn’t want to assume… unless it would be funny.

Without the key of Jason’s old Robin connection, Sam and Tucker probably wouldn’t get there.

Sam was pursing her lips, probably thinking about her options. She’d know more of them than him or Tucker, but Danny figured he knew most of the big players.

“Black Bat,” she finally decided, leaning back in her seat, “but Batwoman definitely fucks.”

This was met with general agreement, Danny frowning for a moment. He’d not had many bat sightings since moving to Gotham, but…

“She definitely says fuck,” he agreed with a snicker. Sam punched his shoulder.

“You can’t talk. Who’s your favourite, new town boy?”

Rubbing his arm and feigning great injury, Danny stuck his tongue out at her. Thought for a moment longer.

“Signal’s pretty great,” he decided, tipping his chair back for a moment to frown at the ceiling, “I passed by the mall after a rogue attack one time and he was teaching the kids to do flips.”

“After the rogue was in custody?” Steph asked, but she was still grinning. Danny shrugged.

“I dunno, I don’t talk to cops.”

Dick let out another wounded groan and Sam snickered, then leaned forward to look at Tucker.

“How about you?”

Tucker hesitated for a moment, clearly torn. Then he visibly drew in his courage and looked around the table expectantly.

“Have you guys heard of the Oracle?” He asked, voice heavy with anticipation. The surrounding Gothamites stilled, watching him expectantly.

Sam rolled her eyes.

“If you’re not wearing spandex are you even a vigilante?” She asked dryly. Tucker flipped her off.

“Hey, Oracle’s done more for this city than any of the bats! More for the whole world!”

“It’s a legend in the hacker community,” Danny “explained”, keeping an eye on Dick and Steph as the two opposite him. And less obviously hacker connected.

If they were the bats and Oracle existed, they’d know.

“They’re a master hacker that can break any system, any time, and gathers all the evidence to put people like Roman Sionis behind bars,” Tucker said, taking over the explanation.

With his usual dramatic aplomb, planting both hands flat on the table and leaning forward impressively, his voice low and conspiratorial.

“No one knows who they are or anything about them. You just find their tracks sometimes, especially when there’s a really big rogue attack or someone gets busted too soon.”

“Sounds kinda like a rumour,” Dick offered with a small shrug, glancing at Tim. “How about you, Tim? Have you heard of an Oracle?”

Tim hesitated for a moment, just long enough for Steph to snicker.

“Guess if there is one they don’t bother with Bludhaven PD,” she said smugly, dodging when Dick swung half heartedly at her. “Police brutality!”

Dick groaned whole heartedly as the others laughed, sinking back into his seat.

“But seriously, why doesn’t anyone like Nightwing?” He grumbled, arms folded as he pouted at his siblings. “He was on the scene before it was cool.”

‘Before he had to be cool,’ Cass signed, shuffling a little further around the curve of the oval so the rest of the table could see her.

Dick’s head snapped up when Steph and Sam laughed harder, pouting at his sister.

“Hey! Not fair when I’m not looking!”

‘Pay attention then,’ she signed back, her expression all sweet and studied innocence.

At the other end of the table Tucker decided to take a little pity on the guy.

“Nightwing’s okay. I liked that suit,” he said with a shrug and a grin. Dick straightened in his seat, grinning over at him.

“Finally, a man of distinction and taste!”

“Cops don’t get opinions,” Sam smirked, leaning forward to grin at Tucker, “so what’s your excuse?”

Tucker stuck his nose in the air, pointedly looking away from her.

“We’re not all goth, Sam. Some of us have heard of colours.”

“Spoiler wears purple,” Tim put in helpfully, pulling up a picture to show him. Tucker leaned in for a moment, then nodded.

“Yeah that’s pretty cool too. Capes are in,” he added, shooting a meaningful look at Danny. Who rolled his eyes, both hands in the air.

“And when they come in for those of us not wearing identity obscuring masks, I’ll wear one,” he replied dryly. Tucker pshawed at him, waving a hand.

“You’re in Gotham, how weird would it be?” He asked off handedly. Danny sighed and then looked pointedly around the rest of the table.

“Weird?” Steph offered, shrugging.

“Pretty fuckin’ weird,” Jason agreed and Danny folded his arms and grinned at Tucker.

“I’m not breaking my win streak by letting some rogue mistake me for a bat. You wear a cape while you’re here,” he said, sticking out his tongue.

Whatever Tucker was about to say was lost when Dick sat up sharply, face bright with renewed enthusiasm.

“Wait, Danny, does that mean you haven’t been in a rogue attack before?” He asked eagerly, which was just a little too fucking weird.

Even weirder, the rest of the Gothamites looked equally excited. Even Damian managed a smug anticipation around his piercing stare.

Danny felt kind of like he was in a freak show display case.

“Uh… yeah? But I bet loads of people in Gotham haven’t and it’s only been a year…” his excuses were immediately batted away as Steph clasped her hands in front of her.

“Oh that means tonight is gonna be your first! That’s so exciting!” She squealed happily.

Danny and Tucker gave her weird looks, but to their surprise it was Sam who answered, sighing and leaning back in her seat.

“At least one rogue always attacks a gala,” she explained, waving a hand around them, “it’s all of Gotham’s wealthiest in one place. It’s why we don’t come here much,” she added, eyes narrowing in frustration.

Beside her Jason frowned down at her. Probably trying to work out the frustration.

“Because they don’t think it’s safe? One of the bats always deals with it,” he added when Tucker and Danny still looked confused.

Sam snorted and shook her head.

“Because they think I’ll start something during the attack,” she huffed, folding her arms and glaring at Tucker and Danny. Daring them to comment.

Tucker, unafraid of death with Danny between them, snickered.

“You’ll finish something during the attack,” he corrected, ignoring the suddenly concerned looks from the Gothamites.

Sam’s eyes narrowed further but she let the comment stand. Steph leaned forward a little, looking nervous for the first time.

“It’s usually better not to get involved?” She offered, sounding almost apologetic. “The rogues can be pretty dangerous and you don’t want to call attention to yourself.”

“I doubt that would be an issue,” Damian snapped, eyes narrowed as he trained that glare on Sam instead of Danny.

She stared him down, then nodded sharply.

“He gets it. Anyway, you don’t have to worry, I got the lecture half a dozen times when we flew in. “No punching assholes, or any criminals”,” she mimicked her mom’s perky tones, heavily sarcastic air quotes stretched alongside.

Stifling a grin, Danny suddenly noticed something.

“Hey wait, I didn’t get the no punching speech?”

“Maybe they’re hoping you die in the rogue attack,” Tucker snickered, shooting Jason a sly grin.

There was, predictably, that Obsessive flare of protection-guard-still funny and Danny kicked Tucker under the table for it.

He already wasn’t happy about the whole Fright Knight thing, better not to belabour it. Almost before he reached for Jason, he felt the other man reaching back though.

Grinned in spite of himself at that first careful brush.

Safe-home-I’m fine

Smug-strong-damn fucking right you are

“They’d be a little late to that request,” Danny shot back at Tucker instead, even as he winced from the kick.

About half the table groaned, which Danny personally considered unfair, since the Gothamites hadn’t heard his death jokes before.

Right up until Tim ran both hands through his hair, looking from Danny to Jason in amused exasperation.

“Great, there’s two of you. Are bad puns a side effect of the Lazarus pit too?” He asked dryly.

“No because if it was puns, it’d be Dick,” Jason shot back just as fast and Dick groaned, letting his head flop forwards onto the table.

“Did I just not get the memo that it’s “Bully Dick Day” or something?” He moaned plaintively, still overacting enough that Danny wasn’t worried they’d actually upset him.

And when Jason leaned over and flicked the top of his head, equally unconcerned.

“Consider it revenge for almost a decade of godawful puns, Dickiebird,” he told him bluntly, and Dick groaned louder.

“Betrayed by my own brethren… abandoned by my flesh and blood…”

“We are not your flesh and blood,” Damian reminded him sharply - and possibly unwisely, since it prompted Dick to flop over onto him instead and wail louder.

“Denounced! Deserted! Thrown to the gutters!” He howled at increasing volume.

Damian threw all attempts at dignity to the wind, struggling to fight his brother off without falling out of his chair. Dick just threw more of his weight over, both chairs beginning to rock dangerously.

There was now muffled laughter from more than just their own table in the background. This only seemed to encourage Dick, right up until someone cleared their throat into the microphone.

Damian took immediate advantage of his hesitation and shoved Dick off him and to the floor. Danny and the rest of the table looked up into the surprisingly stern face of Brucie Wayne.

Who then smiled.

“So, with that bit of rough housing out of the way… I promise I will let you all get to your meals shortly, but I have a couple of things to say first. I’ll do my best to keep it short and sweet.”

Dick scrambled back into his seat and Danny glanced along the table, wondering what was going on. The party was just to show Jason was back, right?

Jason was sat right here.

And had apparently caught wind of his confusion, catching his eye and half smirking.

“It’ll be a couple minutes. Then I have a speech, then we’re done and it’s just food, more socialising, and shaking hands with 90% of high society,” he explained quietly, leaning down to Sam and Danny as Bruce spoke.

Sam didn’t seem concerned, so Danny settled in as well to watch. There might be some fun baby Jason stories.

And y’know? It was a pretty standard speech. Talking about his beloved son, how hard it had been when he was gone, how happy Bruce had been to find him.

Danny found himself glancing over at Jason a couple of times, the beginning of a smile tugging at his lips. Jason looked mostly unmoved, smiling along at appropriate points, but not engaged.

Until.

“And I can only say how sorry I am that I wasn’t there when he needed me the most,” Bruce ended softly, eyes meeting Jason’s from the podium.

The younger man went white so fast Danny almost thought he’d transformed. Sam’s nails bit into the table.

“That’s the first time he’s said that, isn’t it?” She snarled, just low enough to go under the genteel applause all around them.

Danny flicked his aura out across Jason and he visibly started, then turned to glance at them. Nodded once. And started to stand.

Sam’s hand snapped over like a whip before he’d pushed the chair back, her voice low and deathly serious.

“Jason Todd we met today but if you go up there right now and say anything even like that you forgive him, that man is leaving here tonight in a Fenton thermos.”

Danny rolled his eyes, leaning over and nudging his hand under hers as the applause began to fade, eyes beginning to turn their way.

“Can’t put living humans in the thermos, Sam,” he hissed, sending a gentle pulse of reassurance-calm-we’ve got you through his fingertips to Jason.

The other halfa looked surprised for a moment, then shot him a grateful smile, hand turning to touch both of theirs as he rose. Sam turned her fixed smile on Danny, now holding both of their hands.

“I did not say he would still be living, Danny,” she said firmly and Jason stifled a laugh, his aura brightening to amused-shocked-touched.

Beat the hell out of the gaping, painful hole it had been. Danny caught his fingers for a last second before Jason pulled away, grinning at them both.

“I appreciate the backup, but I’ve got this. I know how to handle him,” Jason said softly, coming around behind their seats.

One hand brushed across the back of Danny’s neck, though who he was grounding Danny couldn’t say. And as he moved up to the podium himself, Danny damn near believed him.

Couldn’t argue with the open sincerity Bruce was putting out either though.

Tugging their hands back off the table, he leaned in to whisper to Sam.

“The fuck was that about? At least he finally said sorry?”

Sam closed her eyes for a long moment, visibly reigning in her temper.

“I fucking hate that manipulative bullshit, Danny. It’s the same crap as a public proposal; he gets to be the good guy, and all the pressure is on Jason to act the right way, do the acceptable thing, or he’s the villain. It’s fucked up and it’s a cruel way to force the answer you want from someone if you don’t think they’d give it,” she snarled, eyes still fixed on Bruce as he moved to the side of the stage.

Danny stared at her for a long moment, then sunk back into his seat, Tucker visibly deflating alongside him. He’d never thought of it like that.

Tucker let out a low, uneasy whistle as Jason took the microphone.

“Sooooooo, note for Val, no public proposals?” He offered in a whisper, and Danny giggled in spite of himself.

Sam kicked him in the shins, fighting her own smile, still staring at Jason.

“Shut up.”

Jason was gonna buy Sam a coffee. Six coffees. Maybe more.

He just… he’d seen Bruce’s speech. They’d read each others, both gone through them with Alfred to make sure they were concise, charming, and appropriate.

Bruce had asked for his green light on every story.

The apology hadn’t been in it.

Fuck, his head was still spinning in a thousand different directions and he could barely even feel the pit. He felt shocky, shaky even now, going through the motions.

Smile and wave.

He didn’t know what he’d have said or done if Sam hadn’t grabbed him. If he could have said anything at all. But it had helped. Brought him back to himself.

And an imminent offer to murder Bruce, which he sorely appreciated even if he was pretty sure Bruce hadn’t actually been hoping to force him into anything.

The guy was a master manipulator of his own image, but… he wouldn’t do that to them. To any of his children, no matter how much Jason sometimes doubted that he still counted.

There was something in the way their eyes met, the way his voice softened even on mic. A tenderness that Jason actually believed, in spite of himself.

And how fucked up was that, that it was easier for Bruce to say sorry in a mask, in front of a couple hundred people, than just to Jason alone? That it took a crowd for him to admit he’d failed?

No. Jason wasn’t going to forgive him. Not the easy out of a public reconciliation and then everything going magically back to normal.

Fuck, he wanted to. Wanted to fall into Bruce’s arms, be fifteen again when his dad was always right and strong and had all the answers.

Wanted to say the words and have the fairytale moment.

But even without the pit screaming bloody vengeance he knew it wouldn’t be true. Saying sorry was never what he’d wanted from Bruce, and he hadn’t expected it.

He wanted to know he’d mattered. Wanted to know that Bruce had cared, had learned, would never put a fucking kid in that position ever again.

Bruce was more careful now. Tim and Damian and Steph had an extra full book of rules on top of what Dick and Jason had made.

But he still wouldn’t make the hard choices. Still looked down on Jason for taking someone at their word when they said they’d never change, that it’d take death to stop them.

They still had a fucking lot to talk about, even if Jason had stopped killing.

Bruce hadn’t looked away the entire time Jason made his way to the podium. At least, not unless he’d done it in those seconds with Sam and Danny.

He’d moved back and away, giving Jason his space, and he appreciated that. He even managed a small, slightly strained but genuine smile as he stepped up to the mic.

“And on that cheerful note…” he let himself trail off, pulling his own less practiced but still perfect Party Smile on, letting the room in on the joke.

Laughter broke out quickly, breaking the tension that maybe hadn’t all been in Jason’s head. Looking back at Danny, Jason could swear he felt the other man’s relief wash over him.

He was fine. He could make a joke.

Part of him wanted to change his own speech, something to acknowledge what Bruce said, something to throw him off like he’d done to Jason.

But Sam was right; Jason had deserved to hear those words alone first. In private. And when he was ready to move on, that’s how he’d tell Bruce.

Honestly his mind was empty anyway. It was hard enough to remember the practiced speech, and letting himself sink into the familiar words helped steady him.

His speech was shorter. Bruce told their “story”, ostensibly to spare Jason from painful memories. All Jason had to do was say how glad he was to be back.

Talk about all the things he wanted to do for kids that hadn’t gotten as lucky as him. The things he’d do with his second chance… third chance in the eyes of most of the room.

Name a couple of generous future donors Tim had helped him select for bleeding hearts and a love of attention. Although… that’d be an opening.

Hiding a smirk behind the practiced smile, Jason looked around the room until he caught sight of the older Mansons.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about the future,” he added, just at the end of his own speech. Made eye contact with both, looked to the front table, and smiled at Sam.

Yeah, this’d give Bruce a fucking heart attack too. That’d do.

“There’s so much I’ve missed. I don’t want to miss out on anything else. I intend to take every chance this new life gives me with both hands. Especially when it brings new… friends.”

He lingered over the pause, enjoying the way Sam’s grin turned fucking feral. Let his gaze drift sideways to Danny, who had both hands clapped over his mouth to muffle his laughter.

Figured fuck it.

And blew Sam a kiss.

Danny stilled, something pinching suddenly tight in his chest.

He’d seen Jason’s lips before. Pretty much every time they’re together, honestly, they spent a lot of time talking. They have so much to talk about.

He’d already seen them laugh, smile, pout, pulled tight in a snarl. All sorts of expressions, and he can just about remember watching old clips of Robin.

Same expressive face, even around a mask. There’s a weight there now that Robin never had though, even when he got more violent.

Dying changed people, and there weren’t many people in the world who knew that more intimately than Danny. Being a teen superhero wasn’t easy either, but being a dead teen hero…

Honestly it was a distinction they shared with way too many of the other young heroes, and Danny got why Jason fucking hated the very concept.

It aged you before your time. Showed you sides of the world no kid should see. Gave you the chance to keep other kids from having to.

Danny thought he’d seen pretty much everything the living world had to offer. The good, the bad, the ugly. But now he was here, looking up at his new friend, and it felt like he’d never seen him before.

There was a part of him that wanted to see Jason smile more, to see the weight lift from his shoulders.

There’s a part of him remembering those lips next to his ear, warm breath stroking across him but not closing the gap.

There’s a part of him that wondered how, even after all he’d been through, Jason still had those smiles in him.

And there’s a part of him as he watched Jason press his fingers to his lips that wondered if they could possibly be as soft as they looked. If Jason had leaned just a hairsbreadth closer…

And yeah, he was going to be denying ownership of every single one of those parts, thank you very much. Especially the one that flickered with just a hint of jealousy.

Jason was a damn fine actor, that much had been clear right from the start of the evening. This was all just for the bit.

There was nothing to be jealous of.

He just. Hadn’t noticed Jason’s lips before. How soft and full they looked, how a smile curved them into something beautiful.

He realised he’d been staring when he caught Jason’s eye, saw those smooth lips twitch into a wider smile. And then Jason was making his way down from the podium.

Back to the table.

Holy fuck Danny was gonna need to be able to string a coherent sentence together by the time he arrived. Even with Sam and Tucker, with Jason’s siblings responses of glee and laughter…

He might not make it.

He just kept getting distracted in the curve of that mischievous smile.

———————————

Biggest thanks to @lehana37 and @wolfjackle for helping me out when I got stuck on this one! It turns out the answer to tricky scenes is still “And then Catwoman was there”.

This last scene is for @jotaroslooseeyebrowhair 😁

#danny fenton dead and loving it #dp x dc #dpxdc #a swell night on the town #chapter 5 #oh what’s this are we finally actually getting somewhere?#slanderous anarchy #dick’s bullying begins >)

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