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justrandomfanfictionskh · 1 year

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We Should have Stayed in Gotham pt6

(Almost every Maribat fic I read has the akuma class going to Gotham. But tell me which is more likely, a class touring the city of crime, or a class touring the city of lights? So here it is, the Daminette fic that only I asked for, where Gotham goes to Paris, and the poor students have to grapple with the fact that they have competition for the most dangerous city in the world. I wonder what will happen?)

ao3 Beginning Previous

Ladybug set Damian down on the deck of a rather messy houseboat, and began assigning positions to her team. Damian could see the value of this location. It was an open area that was easy to quickly isolate and defend should the shore be over run, with many hiding spot and easy escape routes should the boat be taken, provided they all could swim of course. There was only one problem. “Should we tell the inhabitants to evacuate?” Damian asked as the heroes cleared the space for fighting.

“The family’s out,” Viperion said as he stashed some instruments. “We often use their boat for traps, because it’s so versatile.”

“Besides,” Ryuko said moving Damian into position on the far side of the open deck. “The Government gave us acquisition rights. If, during an akuma fight, Ladybug or any of the heroes require something from the citizens, then they are all obligated to follow her orders.”

Damian furrowed his brow as Ladybug swung away with Chat Noir to draw Princess Fragrance to them. “Isn’t that rather dangerous? I can see many ways that can be taken advantage of.”

“Maybe in Gotham,” Viperion said with a sly smile. “But Ladybug knows what she’s doing. Besides, once the Lucky Charm is thrown it’s best to just roll with it and don’t ask questions.”

“Speaking of,” Ryuko said pointing. And sure enough there was Ladybug and Chat Noir running over the rooftops. There was no sign of the zombies or the akuma, but Damian knew they weren’t far behind. The plan was for Ladybug to trick them into following her, not to drag them kicking and screaming.

“That didn’t take long,” Damian said as Ladybug landed.

“Didn’t think it would,” Ladybug said with a huff. “She's turned half of the arrondissement at this point. You sure you’re ok with this? You will be in direct danger. And if we fail to protect you—”

“You have not failed Paris yet,” Damian said simply as a matter of fact, “And I have seen the lists. You will not fall to an enemy this weak. I have faith in your abilities.”

“Oh my kwami,” Viperion muttered, “He really is like Ryuko.”

Ryuko elbowed the snake, but Ladybug ignored them studying him curiously, “Even the meagerest foot soldiers can fell the mightiest General, Spikes, for a blade is a blade and cares nothing for whose flesh it mars.”

Damian blinked in surprise, “That’s an Amazonian saying.”

Ladybug’s brow raised under her red mask. “It’s rare to find a male well versed in Amazonian proverbs.”

“I have had a very thorough education,” Damian said with his usual coldness. And before anyone else could comment a shrill voice rang out through the streets.

“Come out! Come out! My sweet Ice Prince! Don’t you want to thaw that frozen heart! Please! Come on out now!”

With a quick nod from Ladybug, Ryuko and Viperion vanished as she and Chat Noir took up positions in front of Damian as if they had just been cornered. Damian could easily see over Ladybug’s head, but in some ways, he wish he couldn’t. The small blonde ball of pink that had yelled at him in the classroom had transformed into something inhumane. Her skin was a monster green while her hair had turned into the color of chewed up bubblegum. Almost her entire body was covered in a black body suit that was puffed in places to give the illusion of a ballgown. Damian wanted to throw up. She looked like some maniac had smashed the Wicked Witch of the West and Cinderella together and tried to make it “modern.” It was so disturbing how wrongly demented she looked, that he had to say,

“Is part of Hawkmoth’s plan to burn the eyes of all of Paris, and thus ruin the fashion industry forever?”

Ladybug actually snorted as she tried to stifle her giggles, “You got an eye for design, Spikes?”

Damian shrugged, “I’m a Wayne, and my mother was very particular that I always knew how to dress appropriately for every occasion.” He left out the part where “dressing for the occasion” meant being able to go undercover in any environment and culture, but he seemed to get the point across, as Ladybug smiled and said,

“I can see how that would be useful. And for the record, when we do find Hawkmoth, I plan to strap into a chair and force him to watch fashion tutorials twenty-four seven.”

“It’s the least he deserves for forcing us to look at that,” Damian sneered.

“Hey!” Chat Noir said, “I can’t believe I’m the one saying this. But shouldn’t we be focusing?”

“Right!” Ladybug said, “Thanks Chaton, sorry. Now, Princess Fragrance!” She cried as she sped up her yoyo until it was a blur or pink and red light forming a solid circle.

The akuma saw them and Damian, and she cried, “My Prince! Get him!” Easily three hundred people filed out from behind cars and building and onto the street. They were all smiling like they were on Joker venom, as the sang in unison, “As you wish, Princess Fragrance!”

The zombies surged, but clearly unlike the zombies of a more undead nature, these had not lost any of their physical abilities. They rushed the boat in a swarm, spurred by their now instinctual desire to serve their Princess.

Viperion pulled the boat out onto the river, even as the first brainwashed victim reached the dock. That didn’t stop the swarm however, as most of the creatures leapt into the river and attempted to swim to the boat. Damian winced as a young man hit his head on the railing, but panicked as he fell backwards into the river. The training of his father, screamed at him to save him. To stop him from drowning, but Ladybug caught his wrist.

Damian looked up and saw the pain in her powerful blue eyes as she shook her head. Even as she stopped him, Damian saw the reality. Trying to save that person was pointless when the greater enemy was still baring down on them. Not to mention the fact that the cure would revive him once the battle was done. It was cold logic, assassin’s logic, that his family had been trying to coax out of him for six years. But this was a war, for the very fabric of reality.

Ladybug had never spared the public on the necessity of keeping the Miraculous away from Hawkmoth. In her very first press conference which Damian had watched three times, she had explained explicitly why no individual, no matter how good a motive, could ever be allowed to make a wish. Her speech during those first interviews had gotten the inter country on her side as no one wanted to see what a mad man willing to brainwash children wanted to alter reality for.

In the grand scheme of the fight, a single individual who would eventually be resurrected, was a price they had to pay. And as Damian withdrew his hand he could see, that it was a choice that Ladybug had had to make too many times in her tenure as a hero. He returned to his place, and waited for the akuma to eventually catch up with them. He didn’t have to wait long.

As they came up on a bridge, a figure of black and pink dropped onto the deck. She rose in the shadow, cackling as she raised a twisted black gun, and pointed it straight at Damian. “Time to feel the love, my Ice Prince!”

Damian was glad that they had chosen such a messy house boat, because he was easily able to flip behind a stack of boxes as Chat Noir nocked off the Princess’s aim. A puff of pink smoke dissipated into the river, and the akuma shrieked as she fought with the Cat. Damian peeked out when Ladybug called on her Luck Charm.

He could only stare in confusion and disbelief as a deflated balloon fell into her hands. “What are we going to do with that m’lady?” Chat Noir called out in a teasing voice, “Throw a party.”

“Keep her distracted Chat, I’ll—”

“Ryuko!” Viperion yelled as he came out of the cabin, “Zombies are incoming. Ladybug that goes on the perfume. Spikes, you’ll need this.”

Damian blinked as he caught the long thing that the Snake hero tossed him. He had no idea why Viperion was suddenly taking charge, there was virtually nothing about him on any of the websites. But the heroes jumped to obey him, as within ten seconds of him speaking they came out from under the bridge and twenty zombies landed on the deck.

“Get my Prince!” the akuma shrieked. And they charged. Damian looked down and saw that he had caught a shinai, a bamboo sword used in kudo. Who was the family that owned this boat, that they just had this lying around?

He didn’t have time to ponder as Ryuko drew her own sword and stood side by side with Damian creating a wall between the zombies and the other heroes. Damian only took the time to be momentarily impressed with Ryuko’s skill as they swung in tandem against the zombies. Knocking them down, and throwing them into the river. Unfortunately it didn’t matter how skilled or in-sync they were, because the zombies were so single minded, that they stood with broken bones and bleeding heads, trying to catch Damian and help their Princess, and all with those demented smiles on their faces.

Damian thought the smiles were the worst part, because they weren’t like Laughing Gas smiles. No, you could see the pain in the eyes of the Joker’s victims, even as their mouths were twisted. But these zombies didn’t show any pain. Even as Damian cracked one’s knee with a sickening snap, it looked at Damian as if he were the happiest creature alive, not even a flicker of pain. They lunged for him with the strength only the unhinged possessed, even as their leg twisted the wrong way underneath them.

The only way to get rid of them was to throw them over board, which Viperion helped with even as he shouted out warnings. Damian didn’t dare look back to see how Ladybug and Chat Noir were doing, but the Cat’s unending chatter was beginning to grate on his nerves even as he tossed the last zombie overboard.

“No resting,” Ryuko called out, as she pointed to the second bridge coming close. Sure enough, another group of zombies were waiting to leap.

“Chat no!” Ladybug cried, and Damian spun to see Chat Noir get a face full of perfume as he pushed Ladybug out of the way. The perfume cloud dissipated, as the hero straightened and sang,

“At your servi—Mmph!” Viperion tackled Chat and wrestled him to the ground as Princess Fragrance swung her gun to Ladybug. Ladybug slid the balloon onto the end of the gun, right as she pulled the trigger. The balloon inflated into a impossible size, lifting the akuma into the sky.

“Ryuko!” Ladybug shouted. The dragon hero lunged with her sword and pierced the bottle shattering it. A black butterfly flew out as the akuma dropped back onto the deck. Ladybug caught it in her yoyo.

Damian sighed as the akuma was purified and the cure was released. He sat down on one of the many boxes as Viperion rolled off of Chat, and Ryuko went to comfort the small girl who was looking around dazed and confused. “Oh no!” she said, “I…I did it again! Oh Ladybug, I’m…I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to…I just…I just…”

“I know Rose,” Ladybug said gently kneeling beside the girl who was now crying into her hands. “I know.”

“I just want everyone to get along! And be nice!” she cried, “Why can’t we all just be friends?!”

“It’s not always that easy,” Ladybug said gently, as she rubbed the small girl’s back. “I wish it were. But it isn’t.”

“But what do I do!” Rose moaned staring up at Ladybug with pleading eyes.

“Find the people who are true,” Ladybug said gently, “And cling to them. They’re the only opinions that matter. Ryuko’s going to take you back to school now. Are you ok with that?”

Rose nodded, and the Dragon hero swept her up into her arms, like she was carrying a child and, with an inhumane leap, began carrying her back. Damian expected the same treatment since all of the other victims had been swept away by the magic ladybugs, when Chat Noir sauntered up and said with a cocky grin and a swishing tail, “Another successful mission m’lady! Pound it!” He held out his first in celebration. Ladybug scowled. Damian suddenly wanted to jump off the boat.

Damian had survived the Batglare. He had survived his mother’s stare, his grandfather’s sneer. He had only barely escaped Alfred’s frown. But nothing could have prepared him for Ladybug’s scowl. The unearthly power behind her eyes was fanned into a wildfire, as her lips curled into a growl. And Damian felt his skin curl as it did when Superman’s eyes turned red. She stared down her partner as she shoved a finger into his face. “How many times have I told you not to sacrifice yourself for me?”

“But m’lady!” Chat whimpered, his ears falling down in dejection, “You told me to take this more seriously.”

“Yes!” Ladybug cried, “As in follow my lead! Anticipate my movements! Not jump in front of every bast and get yourself brainwashed or killed!”

“Wait!” Chat Noir cried, “This was not my fault, Viperion said we wouldn’t need Second Chance if we used the brat’s ‘improvise’ plan, and that was clearly a lie!”

“I said that” Viperion said crossing his arms, “Because during one of the other times, when I told the truth, you refused to do anything he suggested, and it got you killed.”

There was a deep silence as Damian processed exactly what Viperion's role was. And suddenly, Ladybug's perfect record made sense. Every hero had an off day, where they just couldn't make it in time. But Ladybug couldn't have one. She couldn't fail, because of the importance of the war. So she didn't let it happen. She didn't let her self fail by controlling time itself. It was terrifying both in it's necessity and its effectiveness.

“How many times?” Ladybug asked quietly.

“Three,” Viperion said simply, “We tried your plan once, but we just ended up switching to this one in the end. Thought we’d save time and lives by just jumping to the chase.”

“And the other two times?” Ladybug asked her expression as guarded and as cloudy as the Batman’s.

“Zombies over ran the boat. Second time they killed Chat then you. Third time, Chat Noir tried to save you, got spritzed, killed you.” Damian hissed, as Chat Noir shrunk in on himself like a child trying to hide from his parents.

“What changed?” Ladybug asked.

“Spikes found the sword,” Viperion said simply, pointing at Damian. The heroes turned to him as if just realizing he was still there. Damian looked down at the shinai, and sighed. He stood and said, “My name isn’t Spikes, it’s Damian, Damian Wayne. And I was trained in many forms of combat from a young age…I am sorry this happened, I did not mean to cause that akuma. I have been told that, I should be more…guarded with my tongue. I’m just glad I could help fix the damage I did.”

Ladybug nodded at him consideringly, “Thank you, Damian. You were a great help today. I’ll take you back to the shore. But I don’t think I’ll be able to take you back to the school, my time’s almost up.” As if to prove her point her earrings beeped, as one of the dots disappeared.

Damian nodded his understanding, as Chat Noir stepped forward fiddling with his tail. “M’lady,” he said desperately, “Please I am trying! You know I am. And I’ve gotten better, right? Please, Chat Noir is the only thing I have anymore.”

Damian watched neutrally from the side, as Ladybug’s face contorted into pity as she looked at her partner. He was taller than her, and by all appearances stronger to. But from the way he dipped his head and slumped his shoulders you would have thought he was a child being chided by his parents. And like a doting mother Ladybug sighed and said gently,

“Chaton, I’m not taking your miraculous. You’re my partner, and I trust you more than anyone. But you need to trust me! You need to follow my lead. Pay attention to the others, and work with the team, instead of just throwing yourself in the way of danger. Can you do that?”

“Of course, I can!” Chat insisted.

“Ok,” Ladybug said with a nod. “We’ll talk about this more tonight. Now go home, you’re about to transform.”

As the Black Cat bounded away, Ladybug seemed to slump in defeat as she watched him leave. Viperion stepped forward laying a hand on her shoulder. “He is a good hero,” he said, “Always has been.”

“I know,” Ladybug said in a whisper Damian could only barely just hear. “But he’s not a good cat.”

“Perhaps a different miraculous would suit him better?”

“Not until I have a replacement. Have you talked to Fluff?”

Viperion shook his head, “Young and Old are being very cryptic on the matter. But I think Young is just doing it to be annoying.”

“Figures,” Ladybug muttered, but there was a small smile on her lips. She then clapped and turned back to Damian who was pretending that he hadn’t been listening, by putting the bamboo sword away. “Alright Spikes let’s get you back to shore. Viperion, can you take the boat back to the docks? Excellent. Spikes, once I’m gone you should contact your partner, but don’t expect them to answer immediately. It’s the crying hour after all.”

“The what?” Damian asked. But he never got his answer, as Ladybug caught him up by the waist, and used the nearby bridge to swing them back to shore.

@spicemallow @night-ngale @annastasha @ev-cupcake @hammalammadamdam @laydeekrayzee @itsemmylie @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @doglover82 @raven-ette @atiredartistandacat @theamazingfox @griffinthing @toodaloo-kangaroo @depressed-bitchy-demon @stainedglassm @the-dumber-scaramouche @fangirlingfanatic

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komorezuki · 3 months

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Did Lord Dagon and Howard Lovecraft know each other?

If you love Lovecraft, as much as I do, then you definitely noticed references to his universe in GO. Yeah I'm talking about Hastur and Dagon. We also can suppose, that Lovecraft existed in GOverse. And let's imagine their communication for fun and Dagon's image as we see her. Its not a full proper analysis, mostly likely I give you small excursion into mythology about Dagon and some headcanons.

Origin

Dagon in Lovecraft!verse wasn't created from scratch. It was a Canaan god of prosperity (it was started to be interpreted as a fish-god in the Middle Ages, but its just a mistake). Later Dagon is mentioned in Old Testament as head god of the Philistines.

"Then the lords of the Philistines gathered them together for to offer a great sacrifice unto Dagon their god, and to rejoice: for they said, Our god hath delivered Samson our enemy into our hand."

"And the Philistines took the ark of God, and brought it into the house of Dagon, and set it by Dagon. And when they of Ashdod arose early on the morrow, behold, Dagon was fallen upon his face to the ground before the ark of Jehovah. And they took Dagon, and set him in his place again. And when they arose early on the morrow morning, behold, Dagon was fallen upon his face to the ground before the ark of Jehovah; and the head of Dagon and both the palms of his hands (lay) cut off upon the threshold; only (the stump of) Dagon was left to him. Therefore neither the priests of Dagon, nor any that come into Dagon's house, tread on the threshold of Dagon in Ashdod, unto this day. But the hand of Jehovah was heavy upon them of Ashdod, and he destroyed them, and smote them with tumors, even Ashdod and the borders thereof. And when the men of Ashdod saw that it was so, they said, The ark of the God of Israel shall not abide with us; for his hand is sore upon us, and upon Dagon our god."

A meta about this episode could be here, but I am not good at interpretations of the Old Testament. Maybe someone else will try.

In the Middle ages humans began to interpret him as a fish-god. We call it a mistake, but what if Dagon had visited Earth and inspired someone to this plausible description? Anyway, since then Dagon is associated with sea and fish. Good job for a demon.

In the 17th century, Dagon is mentioned along with the other fallen angels in Milton's "Paradise Lost". And in addition to sacred text this mention is also based on the medieval interpretation as a fish-god, which is actually (as science says) incorrect:

Paradise Lost is a very curious poem to read for ineffable fandom (but IMO very tedious), and not only for us. It has big cultural value, and no wonder HPL was inspired by it. There is a direct mention of Paradise Lost in his short story "Dagon".

Next came one

Who mourn'd in earnest, when the Captive Ark

Maim'd his brute Image, head and hands lopt off

In his own Temple, on the grunsel edge,

Where he fell flat, and sham'd his Worshipers:

DAGON his Name, Sea Monster, upward Man

And downward Fish: yet had his Temple high

Rear'd in AZOTUS, dreaded through the Coast

Of PALESTINE, in GATH and ASCALON,

And ACCARON and GAZA's frontier bounds.

HPL's influence

Well, what can I headcanon suppose. There are some details in their stories which could be received from a demon directly.

We will take rn two HPL's stories: "Dagon" and "Shadows over Innsmouth". In "Dagon" a protagonist ends up on a strange island which is kinda like naked ocean floor and finds there a mysterious monolith with glyphs and supltures carved on it. A giantic creature comes out of sea to the monolith. Narrator escapes in his boat. Later he tries to find something out about fish-god Dagon and slowly loses his mind.

I dream of a day when they may rise above the billows to drag down in their reeking talons the remnants of puny, war-exhausted mankind—of a day when the land shall sink, and the dark ocean floor shall ascend amidst universal pandemonium.

Not that Dagon was a famous deity for the world. But somehow the narrator tells about them. Certainly, HPL was well informed about mythology and he could choose a sea of more expressive sea-gods (pun intended). But he had chosen Dagon. What if it wasn't just random? I think Dagon told him something about demons and ocean. And we know how much she does want The Armageddon. Universal pandemonium, you know.

I think she could be male-presented at that time. Of course if you can call THIS a male.

This is the illustration for "Dagon". The creature is one of the Deep Ones, fish-frog men who were an underwater nation in Lovecraft's world.

Or probably Dagon herself looked like this:

Deep Ones are described in "Shadows Over Innsmouth". They are immortal, they can control a number of fish in the sea and they wear strange jewelry (And I remember her strange necklace from here). Their leaders (probably kinda deities) were Father Dagon and Mother Hydra.

This wondeful art was created by gorgeous @birdgirl22

*fangirling sounds*

A curious detail that appears in SoI. Innsmouth is a town whose inhabitants were members of mysterious Esoteric Order of Dagon. The Order sacrificed people to Dagon and gave to the Deep Ones their women to mate with them. A whole population of Innsmouth consists of hybrids. And this kinda demonic order was in a building of local masonic lodge.

Wait what~

I will just leave here my meta about masons in GOverse. TL;DR: the Lodge in the show may be a demonic nest. What a suspicious coincidence...

After all, I can add something about most notable traits of HPL's books.

The first is an anti-anthropocentrism - an idea that humanity is not the main race in the world for everyone and not the only one. In Lovecraft!verse there are old and huge races and deities (Cthulhu, Dagon etc.). In GO!verse there are angels and demons which don't think about humans at all (except azicrow but still)

The second is that HPL's deities aren't like humans as much as demons aren't. Their mind are utterly different.

And finally the third. THE INEFFABILITY. We don't get detailed descriptions of horrors.

Well, everything written above is just my headcanon but I think it makes sense to research HPL's work and maybe I can find more innuendos. Now I just want the art of Dagon chilling with HPL.

#good omens #good omens 2 #what if #good omens demons #good omens meta #good omens hell #dagon #lord dagon #dagon good omens #good omens headcanon #good omens analysis #esoteric order of dagon #father dagon #lovecraft

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withthewerewolves · 9 months

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The "Make-Everything-Worse-and-Not-Let-Them-Talk-About-It-For-Even-Longer" AU

Because of who I am as a person, this AU was inevitable. (Sorry guys, I do only have the one kink and I gotta insert it into everything.) (Though to be fair, it turned out to be a much smaller part of the story than intended.)

So, a Nimona mpreg AU. Don’t worry about the how, it could be omegaverse, Ballister could be trans (probably this one), all the residents of the kingdom could be hermaphrodites and that’s perfectly normal, whatever floats your personal boat.

The important thing is, not long after losing his arm, Ballister realizes he’s pregnant. (As for the arm, I think this would be mostly movie-verse, but with some comic aspects mixed in. The whole thing with the sword and the Queen and Bal’s arm happened like in the movie.) He gets away, gets the bleeding stopped, recovers from the shock, etc, and starts making his prosthetic, maybe thinking about how to prove his innocence. But before he’s done, he starts having Symptoms. Ones that are Distinct enough from arm-chopping symptoms that he has to Think about them.

It doesn’t take him long to figure it out. He’s pretty smart, and has to be fairly familiar with biology to save himself from blood loss and build a robotic prosthetic. At first, he’s thinking mostly ’This is the worst time in my entire life for this to be happening’, but eventually his practical mind takes a break and his emotional mind gets to loudly trumpet a couple of facts.

A) The baby is his and Ambrosius’s. It’s something they’d talked about, sometimes, alone together in the dark of their bedroom, when a future seemed not just possible but assured. He remembers the way Ambrosius’s hand had trembled in his, the way his heart had wanted to burst with love and longing. Ambrosius may think he’s a murderer, may have cut off his arm, but Ballister will still love their child with every beat of his black heart.

And B) The Institute will not let him keep this baby. If he proves his innocence, if he goes back, the Director will send him straight to the medical center to terminate the pregnancy. It’s happened before. Knights are all on birth control as a matter of policy, and have to either retire or ask for a leave of absence before having a baby. It made sense to Ballister, back when it was explained. They were the shield between the kingdom and the darkness. No one could be out of commission unexpectedly. But some years ago, a knight had become pregnant, either on purpose or because of a failure in the birth control, and she had been offered a choice: end the pregnancy or end her career as a knight. If Ballister had thought about it, he would’ve said he’d make the same choice she did, that being a knight was his calling. But when this thought first occurs to him, while digging around the back of the cupboards for the naan bread he knows is in there, he has to sink to the floor and put his head between his knees.

That’s the moment his belief in the Institute suffers its first crack.

The second won’t come for a couple of years, when his beautiful healthy baby turns into a butterfly right before his eyes.

He definitely panics. His whole life for the last few years has been about Nimona and taking care of Nimona and keeping Nimona safe, and now she can shapeshift? That’s going to complicate so many things, upend an already delicate balance.

The Institute would kill her in a second, just for existing. Ambrosius might kill her without even thinking about it. Anyone in the kingdom might kill her, if they decide she’s a monster.

He does a couple of noninvasive tests, trying to figure out what’s going on. He doesn’t find anything conclusive, and the next time he sets Nimona on the worktable and pulls out a needle, she bursts into tears. She won’t let him comfort her until he puts the needle away. What am I even doing? he thinks. What does it matter why she can shift? She’s his daughter. He sets aside his experiments. But he doesn't give up.

He’s broken into the Institute before, for parts for his arm he couldn’t get anywhere else, but he doesn’t get caught until he breaks into the labs. He curses at himself the entire time he’s running away, he should have known the scientists don’t care about normal working hours. He fiddles with his prosthetic in the middle of the night all the time.

He goes back later, after the fuss has died down. He had to leave his apartment and his job, with his face all over the news, dredging up the mess of the knighting ceremony and restarting the hunt for his head. (How did he get an apartment and a job when he was the most notorious killer in the city, you ask? He shaved his facial hair and nobody recognized him. He accidentally ran into Todd in the street once and Todd was an asshole about it. And didn’t recognize him.) He doesn’t watch the interview with Ambrosius.

Ambrosius has grown out his hair.

This time, Ballister brings tranq shots, and leaves all the techs and guards slumped over on the floor while he rifles through their files.

He finds what he’s looking for. He finds a whole lot more than he was expecting. He sits in the darkened lab until the first guard starts to wake, thinking about what he found. He steals all the files, deleting them as he goes. He doesn’t tell anyone. He doesn’t tell you, either.

He never trusts another word the Director or the Institute says.

For a while, he helps Nimona learn to control her shifts. First to shift into what she wants (they break into a zoo after hours and she shifts into every single one of them. (Where does a giant enclosed city get zoo animals, you ask? Don’t worry about it, that’s where.) Bal hasn’t laughed that hard in a long time), then to suppress shifts if there’s anyone else around. Not shifting leaves her drained and sullen. He makes her practice all the time, even when it’s just the two of them in the little abandoned tower near the Wall they move into.

She’s maybe five or six when Ballister gives up on that. She shifts, and he scolds her. She throws a tantrum, and of course that involves more shifting. He checks that the blankets are still over the windows, that there’s no way anyone can see in.

“Nimona, honey, shifting is dangerous,” he pleads. They’ve been lucky so far, but she’s just a kid, and she’s bound to lose control someday, unless he locks her up in the tower all the time.

“But - I - have to!” she screams, little gorilla fists hitting the floor, then talons scrabbling at it.

“Sometimes there are things you can’t do,” he says, carefully not thinking about himself, “No matter how much you want to.”

“But - it - hurtsssss!” she shrieks out of the beak of some sort of large bird.

Ballister frowns. “It hurts?” he asks, “The shifting?”

Nimona must sense the change in his tone, because she’s a human again, her big eyes blurred with tears, her face still red with anger. “Not shifting,” she says on a sob.

A horrible little ball starts to grow in Ballister’s throat. “It hurts when you don’t shift?” he rasps out.

Nimona screws up her face, calmer now that he’s listening to her, but her breath still hitching. “It doesn’t hurt hurt,” she says. “It feels - bad. Not like scraping my knee, or the dreams. Not like eating pineapple. But bad.” (She has absolutely horrid nightmares. She screams until his desperate efforts finally wake her, and then she sobs herself back to sleep in his arms. He has his suspicions about where the dreams come from, and he’s working on a sleep drug that’s safe for her. She’s also allergic to pineapple, it makes her sick to her stomach. He doesn’t think about where he learned how to monitor allergies.)

Ballister sits on the ground next to her and opens his arms. She crawls into them and rests her head on his chest. He presses his face into her long red hair. The color had baffled him when she was born, nothing like any of the portraits at Ambrosius’s house or his memories of his parents. She turns into a snake and coils herself around his shoulders.

“Ok,” he says.

She hisses an inquisitive sound into his ear.

“Ok,” he says again. “Shift all you want inside the tower. If you need to shift somewhere else, tell me and I’ll help you get somewhere safe.”

The snake turns into a dog, wriggling in his arms and licking his face frantically.

“Alright, alright,” he laughs. “The rules about keeping our mouths to ourselves still apply.” To punctuate this point, he grabs her and presses loud kisses wherever he can reach. She turns into a squirrel and scampers out of his reach, laughing along.

He thinks, I’ll keep her safe, even if I have to tear down the whole kingdom to do it.

~O~

Ambrosius doesn’t know any of this. From his perspective, Bal killed the Queen and ran off after Ambrosius chopped off his arm. No one knows anything about him. Ambrosius tries to remind himself that no one had found a body either, but that comfort is colder and colder as the years wear on. He doesn’t know what to do, what to think. He’s basically a robot for weeks after the knighting ceremony. They don’t let him help with the search, and he doesn’t argue. He isn’t sure if he wants them to find Ballister or not, but they never do.

Then, years later, Ballister breaks into the Institute labs. The security cameras have a good picture of him, when Ambrosius manages to hack into them (he doesn’t want to see the look on the Director’s face if he asks to see the tape). Ballister looks older, more than just a few years should account for. He’s dressed in all black, with a cape swirling around him as he flees the scene of his crime. His hair is longer. His beard is gone. His face is set in furious concentration.

He’s alive.

And his right arm is made of wires and cables rather than flesh.

A reporter asks him about it, while he’s out on Institute business. He gets out something about how Ballister should come in so he can face justice, but he’s heard what the other knights are saying. Would there be justice, or a quiet murder after an ‘escape attempt’? He tries to tell himself that he and the Director could ensure a fair trial. All he really wants is to know why Bal did it. Was killing the Queen his plan all along? Was any of their friendship or courtship real?

Then Ballister breaks in again. This time he leaves a trail of unconscious scientists and knights in his wake. The Director confirms that he’s stolen some data, but no one knows how much, or to what purpose.

There are more break-ins, at Institute labs and storehouses across the kingdom. Sometimes Ballister takes data, sometimes medical supplies, sometimes lab supplies. There’s always destruction. People die. The Director tells him that the death of one of the scientists will set their defense research back ten years.

At first, the Director tries to keep him out of it, either out of respect for his prior relationship with Ballister, or not trusting him to do the right thing. Then Ballister robs a bank, and the people clamor for the descendant of Gloreth to protect them.

The first time he sees Ballister face to face, they’re locking swords while another lab burns behind them. Ballister wins. Ambrosius doesn’t know if he held back, but Ballister sure didn’t. Ambrosius has never seen Ballister that angry. Was this the face hiding behind Ballister’s earnest smile all along?

The next time they meet, Ballister is like stone, unstoppable, impenetrable, and cold. He barely speaks. He takes down every single knight the Institute sends, and only Ambrosius even slows him down.

Rinse, repeat.

Before Ambrosius knows it, it’s been fifteen years since he was knighted. It isn’t anything like he thought it would be. Everyone acts like his whole job is to be Ballister’s nemesis. He hardly ever gets to help people directly, like he used to. None of the other knights talk to him. The Director only calls him to her office to lecture him on his duties and how he’s failing at them. His skin care routine now involves covering the bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, and he keeps his hair long even though it’s against regulation because washing it is the only pleasant sensation in his life sometimes. All his happy memories are tainted by Ballister’s betrayal.

Then Ambrosius meets Ballister’s new sidekick.

The first time she shows up, Ballister clearly didn’t invite her. Ambrosius nearly catches them because Ballister is distracted by yelling at a pink-haired teenager in some sort of chainmail tunic.

It hurts, a little, because he’s clearly worried about her. He used to worry about Ambrosius like that, when Ambrosius fought the other trainees who were cruel to Ballister.

Then the kid turns into a dragon.

Is this who Ballister would rather care about? Rather spend his time with? This is the life he chose over Ambrosius?

The destruction is worse than usual. Civilians are too close. A little kid nearly gets crushed, but she picks up a sword and fends the dragon off all by herself. Ambrosius feels another stab of fury for Ballister. The Queen wanted to accept more common children into the Institute, but because of his actions, that little girl will never have the chance to become a knight.

The Director calls Ambrosius to her office, and for the first time in years, she doesn’t yell at him. She takes him down into the Institute archives, where the really old scrolls are. She shows him a picture of the dragon, the same dragon, fighting Gloreth. While he’s wrestling with the idea of a thousand year old monster, she sends the rest of the guards away, and tells him something else.

“The files about it must have been among the first he destroyed,” the Director says, her voice hard. “He didn’t want us to know what he had taken. If I hadn’t been read into the project, we might have no idea what we’re up against.”

“Ballister took the monster…from the Institute?” Ambrosius asks. His mind has gone fuzzy.

“It doesn’t die,” the Director says, taking him by the shoulders and shaking lightly. He can’t remember the last time someone touched him. “When she realized she couldn’t kill it, Gloreth sealed it away. We’ve been trying to destroy it for a thousand years, and Blackheart has Let. It. Out.”

If Ambrosius could remember feeling warm, he might go cold. “But…if he’s had it all these years, why hasn’t he used it against us before now?” Maybe Ballister doesn’t know what it is. Maybe it had pretended to be that teenaged girl it had first appeared to be. You saw it shapeshift, he thinks, You saw Ballister see it shapeshift. Did he look surprised to you?

The Director shakes her head. “We couldn’t destroy it, but we could keep it small. He’s probably been biding his time all these years, waiting for it to grow up enough to be really dangerous.”

Something about that sentence seems off to Ambrosius, but before he can think about it too much, the Director catches his eyes and holds them. “It is imperative for the safety of the kingdom that we contain the monster. It cannot be allowed to hurt anyone else.”

Ambrosius has never tried to talk to Ballister directly before. He’s played that first fight over and over again in his mind. Ballister had frozen, at first. So had Ambrosius, if he’s honest with himself. He’d wanted to beg Ballister to come back, to promise that they could fix it. He must not have phrased it well. Ballister had been so angry, and eventually Ambrosius had given up on words. But this time is different, he tells himself. Ballister must see that this is bigger than petty theft and vandalism. He didn't want the monster there. Maybe he knows it's dangerous. Maybe he regrets taking it. Maybe he needs help getting rid of it.

He's still skulking around the outer ring looking for black capes (being a full time nemesis leaves a lot of time for skulking), when the call comes in. He's only too glad to abandon his original idea for the more elegant plan of waiting until all the other knights are moaning on the floor or evacuating the burning manufactory and he and Ballister have locked swords to lean in and hiss "Nachos?"

Ballister looks at him like he's lost his mind. Then his monster crashes through the manufactory roof with a hunk of machinery in her claws, Ballister disarms (Ambrosius mentally winces, but he's used to it by now) him in three easy moves. There's a cascading crash as the monster (presumably) drops her prize. When the debris settles, both of them are gone.

Ambrosius goes to the Antlered Serpent as soon as he's done debriefing with the Director. She's furious. The scientists have been working around the clock to produce something to stop the monster, and yet the knights, especially Ambrosius, failed to so much as slow it down. She tells Ambrosius that if he can’t recapture it cleanly he’ll have to start the containment process in the field. She describes enough of the process that he promises to catch it next time just so he can get out of her office before he vomits. He knows it’s a monster, but what if it tries to look like a person again? Can he do that to someone? (Can he even do it to a monster?)

He has to talk to Ballister.

He sits in the Antlered Serpent all night, trying desperately to stay awake. He drinks coffee until he’s shaking. He doesn’t order any nachos. Thousands of possible conversations swim through his thoughts, but none of the opening words are right. The sun starts to rise. He thinks maybe he would wait forever rather than go back to the Institute, but the owner kicks him out when they close.

What’s he supposed to do now?

Only his knight training stops him from falling over when an arm snakes out of an alley and drags him in as he passes. He twists, slamming the assailant against the alley wall, but they dart out of his hold. His sword is drawn before he recognizes the facial hair peeking out of the shadow of the cloak’s hood.

“Ballister?”

Ballister’s expression doesn’t change, but he nods to a set of shabby folding chairs set next to a dumpster. There’s a take out container on one of them. “I didn’t want this conversation to be overheard,” he says, voice hard.

Ambrosius hesitates for a moment, but it’s too late to back out. It’s been too late for a very long time. The sound of his sword sliding back into its scabbard scares a flock of birds off a nearby roof. He sits in the empty chair, his armor sounding like destruction in the silence of the early morning. Ballister huffs, just like he used to do when Todd said something annoying, and hands Ambrosius the take out container. While Ballister is settling into the other chair (no less noisily, Ambrosius thinks smugly), he opens it.

“Nachos?” he asks, a little incredulous.

“Don’t worry, there’s no olives,” Ballister sneers, “It’s not poisoned either.”

Ambrosius is pretty sure that if Ballister was going to kill him, he’d have done it years ago. His stomach chooses that moment to remember that he’s had nothing but coffee all day. He eats a nacho. It tastes like better times. He flips the lid closed again.

“It’s about your sidekick,” he says.

“My daughter. I thought it might be,” Ballister says. His jaw is clenched tight.

“Your what?” Ambrosius asks, thrown.

“My daughter,” Ballister says. His eyes narrow. Ambrosius has a flash of how Ballister’s eyes used to look, wide and gentle and kind. He wonders if the warmth in them was only ever in his head. “If you can’t call her that, we have nothing to talk about.”

Before Ballister can get up, Ambrosius says, “Your daughter then. Ballister.” He has to stop. The single nacho feels like worms in his stomach. Ballister’s daughter. Gloreth. That thing made Ballister see it as his daughter?

Ballister doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t leave either.

Once Ambrosius has pulled himself together, he manages, “They want me to kill her.”

“You tried to kill her today,” Ballister says, voice cold. “Is killing children what heroes do these days?”

Maybe if he’d slept sometime in the last 36 hours he could have stopped himself. Maybe if he hadn’t just sat through the Director explaining in exquisite detail what heroes are expected to do to monsters, he could have stayed silent. Maybe if Ballister wasn’t sitting here looking both like a stranger and like the man he’d once thought he’d see across the breakfast table every morning, he could have kept his words in the back of his throat where they belong.

But all those things are true. So he says, “How would you know? You never even tried to be a hero.”

He half expects Ballister to fly off the handle, but instead Ballister pins him with that icy stare, mouth tight. There are wrinkles around it that weren’t there 15 years ago. He wonders if they’re smile lines or frown lines.

“The Institute was never going to let me be a hero,” he says, as if it’s a fact of life. As if it was carved into the stone of the Wall. As if he’s raged about it, cried about it, examined it from every angle, and finally accepted it. Fire is hot, water is wet, there are monsters at the gates, and Ballister was never going to be allowed to be a hero.

It makes Ambrosius want to punch him. Who had accepted him into the Institute in the first place? Who had spent hours lecturing him on noble social etiquette even when he continued to make mistakes? Who had excitedly selected his second favorite sword to gift to the new trainee? “You can’t blame the Institute for how your life turned out! You made the choice to kill the Queen!”

Ballister is on his feet so quickly the chair falls backward with a crash. “You really believe that? After everything, after all this time, you really think I killed the Queen?”

Ambrosius stands too, the nachos scattering at his feet. His exhausted brain is sharpening with adrenaline, but everything seems to be moving a little too fast, as if his eyes are on a half second delay and his mind is trying to compensate. “I was standing right next to you Bal, I saw you kill her.”

“Don’t call me that,” Ballister snarls. “And if I recall correctly, you weren’t standing right next to me. I very distinctly remember a sword’s length of distance, specifically, between your hand and my arm.”

Ballister has never said anything about his arm. In all this time, all those meetings over flashing blades, he’s never thrown this at Ambrosius. Maybe he knew it would land true. Maybe all those fights were Ballister playing with his food.

Ambrosius can’t stop himself. He looks at Ballister’s metal arm. He can’t look away from it. It’s oddly beautiful, with the pre-dawn light glinting off of it. Each finger is individually articulated, all the joints perfect and sanded smooth, at odds with the scuffed and scratched metal of the forearm. He wants to examine every inch of it. He wants to smash it to pieces. He wants to have never touched anything sharper than a butter knife.

“I’m so…sorry.” He doesn’t mean to say that either. His mouth and his eyes have both betrayed him. Well, they’re in good company. “For your arm.”

He doesn’t realize Ballister is moving until his back hits the other side of the alley. Dimly, he registers that he should be afraid. Ballister was always the better fighter, but Ambrosius was no slouch, he could defend himself. But with his current state of distraction and sleep deprivation, he doesn’t stand a chance. The fear never comes.

Ballister is pressed against him, closer than he’s been in more than a decade. Their armor clinks softly where it rubs together. His face is so close that Ambrosius can make out every wrinkle, every gray hair. It hurts like a kick to the gut that he didn’t get to see them grow in. Time stops for just a second, just long enough for something in Ambrosius, something he’d thought long since starved to death, to wake up and roar its desperation. It’s all he can do not to reach out and pull Ballister closer.

Ballister wouldn’t be receptive. He’s lost his icy calm, the way he hasn’t since that first fight. With his face twisted in fury, he somehow looks younger, just the way Ambrosius remembers him.

“I don’t care about the arm!” he yells. It seems to echo between them, no place for the sound to escape to. “After all this time, that’s all you have to say? That you’re sorry about my arm?”

“I am sorry!” Ambrosius yells back. He doesn’t mean to be yelling, they’re close enough that he could whisper, but the words come out at a yell anyway. “I hurt you, and I did it without even thinking! You! It shouldn’t matter what you’d done! I thought I’d killed you!” He’s going to cry. He hasn’t cried in years, and he’s going to break that streak in front of this man. Well. Better Ballister than anyone else, he supposes.

Ballister makes a sound, like a roar of rage stifled by a sob. “You should have known me,” he says, quieter but raw, like it hurts his throat on the way out. “You should have known I wouldn’t do something like that.”

Ambrosius barely processes the words, because Bal (and it is Bal now) slumps forward and buries his face in Ambroius’s shoulder, and Ambrosius’s arms come up on instinct (oh how he wishes he didn’t have instincts) to wrap around him, draw him as close as he can get.

His lungs are too tight. It’s been so long since anyone touched him, and it’s Bal, his best friend, the man he loves (still, he has never been able to deny in the privacy of his own mind that he loves him still), the person he has missed like a limb. Maybe they both left a part of themselves on that arena floor.

Bal’s hair is as soft as ever when Ambrosius curls into him. The gray glints in the weak sunlight like silver threads. Bal’s breath puffs warm, wet, and ragged against his throat. Somehow the flesh hand ended up wrapped tight around his upper arm, the metal one tangled in his hair. He thinks he might explode. All this time he’s been a keg of blasting powder, and he hadn’t even known Bal is a match.

Then the words trickle in. “Ballister,” he says, slowly enough to let the thought finish forming. “Are you saying you didn’t kill the Queen?”

Bal goes completely still. Then he slowly withdraws his hand from Ambrosius’s hair, so careful not to snag any of the strands. He pulls back. His eyes are red but the fury has drained out of him. He looks as tired as Ambrosius feels, worn down to the bones.

“No, Ambrosius. I didn’t.”

It’s been so long since anyone has used his first name, he’d nearly forgotten what it sounded like. Ballister was always the only one who did. He used to love the way it sounded on Bal’s tongue, the way his accent hugged the last syllable. It doesn’t sound like it used to, but it hurts all the same. Not as much as everything else, though.

Early on, he’d doubted. It hadn’t made any sense. Ballister loved the Queen, maybe not quite like a mother or quite like a goddess, but something like the two combined. Or he’d seemed to. He’d seemed excited to be a knight, open and affectionate to Ambrosius, kind to the street kids who sometimes came up to him on patrol. A years-long plot of deceit and infiltration culminating in assassination didn’t seem his style. And yet, the Queen was dead. His image of Ballister could never fit what he’d done, but he’d seen him do it. Therefore, it was his image that was incorrect.

Wasn’t it?

But he’d never managed to come up with a motive.

Ballister holds his gaze, but his eyes are full of resignation. He doesn’t expect Ambrosius to believe him.

Does Ambrosius believe him?

It would be insane to take the word of a man who has spent the last fifteen years terrorizing the populace, defying the Institute, and trampling the peace and order and safety that the Institute provides. It would be insane to take the word of a man he hasn’t spoken to in a decade and a half. It would be insane to take the word of a villain.

But Gloreth help him, Ambrosius does believe him.

His legs abruptly decide not to hold his weight, and he slides down the wall to sit on the ground. “But - why?” It’s not the question he wants to ask. He doesn’t know what question he wants to ask. Gloreth, if he accepts this as true, what does it push out of alignment? What parts of his worldview does he have to sacrifice to make room for Ballister being innocent? (If he’s innocent then Ambrosius cut off his arm for nothing.)

“I don’t know why,” Ballister says. He hasn’t moved, and probably Ambrosius should feel vulnerable crouching at his feet. If it were anyone else, probably he would.

“You don’t know why?” Ambrosius snaps. “It’s been fifteen years, and you didn’t investigate?”

He doesn’t look away from the patch of concrete between Ballister’s boots, but he can hear the frown in his voice. “Of course I investigated. I know who, and I know how. But she didn’t exactly leave records of her thought process.”

That snaps him out of it. The back of his head bounces off the wall, but the pain is nothing to the need to see Ballister’s face. “You have records? Proof? You could clear your name?”

He’s seen Ballister frown plenty in the last fifteen years. Some were furious, some were intent, some spoke to a kind of focus that Ambrosius had to forget about until after Ballsiter had inevitably won the duel and Ambrosius was alone in his dorm. This frown isn’t what he’s used to seeing. It looks confused, unsure, lost like Ballister had been when he’d first started training.

“What use would that be?”

“Bal,” he coughs, the name sticking in his throat. He’s been saying it a lot, enjoying how it feels in his mouth, even if it hurts on the way up his throat. “Ballister. If we can prove your innocence, you can come back. Be a knight again, a hero.” Be with me, he doesn’t say.

Ballister takes a long, slow breath. It whistles through his nose. He always did get sinus problems in the spring, Ambrosius thinks wildly. Ballister blows the breath out through his mouth, just as slow. Then he says, “I should have known this conversation was a mistake.”

Ambrosius flinches like he’s been slapped. “What?” His legs are a little steadier now, so he pushes himself to his feet. Ballister steps back, putting distance between them.

“I will never go back to the Institute,” he says.

Ambrosius waits a minute for him to go on, but he doesn’t. “Why not?” It seems like a reasonable question. Bal had been happy training to be a knight, hadn’t he? He’d been the best of all of them. The last fifteen years have certainly proven that.

Ballister scrubs his hands over his face. “I don’t know if I have the energy to take you through it all,” he says, and his voice sounds like he honestly is just tired, rather than trying to keep secrets.

“Can you…give me the quick version?” Gloreth, anything. This has made no sense since the moment that sword turned green, and Ambrosius hadn’t even known how much he needed to understand until it had his chest in a vice.

Ballister’s laugh sounds strangled, not at all like the restrained chuckle he used to have. Ambrosius thinks he might like it, under other circumstances. “I’m not sure there is a quick version.” But he rights his folding chair and sits down, motioning to the other one. Ambrosius takes it. “Might as well start with the proof,” he says, fishing his phone out of his pocket. Ambrosius’s armor doesn’t let him access his pockets. He’s a little jealous.

When Ballister passes over the device with a video queued, he has to stop himself from grabbing it like a starving person might grab bread. Instead he takes it carefully and presses play.

“Where did you get this?” he asks quietly when it’s over. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling. He’s feeling a lot of things, or nothing. All the emotions are crowding together and preventing any from getting through, like commuters boarding the subway.

“From the squire,” Ballister says, taking the phone back. “I needed to know what had happened, even if I already knew it wouldn’t change anything.”

“Why wouldn’t it change anything?” It’s hard to get the words out. He’s feeling things now. He’s feeling that Ballister could have come back to him right at the start and he’d chosen not to.

Ballister looks at him for a long time, or at least it feels like it. A thousand years, maybe. Or fifteen. Then he seems to come to a decision, breathes deep again, and says, “Because I already knew I was pregnant.”

The words don’t make sense, like a bad translation from another language, and then they slot into place. “You were - you -” It’s hard to get his head between his knees with the armor on, but he manages. The roaring in his ears doesn’t stop, but the edges of his vision start to fade back in.

“Yeah,” Ballister says, “That’s how I took it, too.”

“What happened?” he chokes out. He wishes he could take the words back. He really doesn’t want to know. He can’t bear not knowing.

Ballister shrugs. “You tried to kill her.”

A wave of horror swamps him, like a thunderstorm rolling over the Wall. He gags on the single nacho, on having hurt his family again. Why does he keep doing that? He shouldn’t be allowed to have family. If he keeps this up, he won’t.

"She’s our daughter?" Oh, this is going to come back to haunt him. If he has nightmares about killing their kid before he even met her, will they replace some of the old nightmares about cutting off Ballister’s arm? Or will it be cumulative?

Ballister makes a noise, but Ambrosius can't look up to see what his face is doing. The nachos are spread out beneath his feet like disposable toy soldiers. There aren't any olives.

“She’s my daughter,” he says, firmly. “Genetics be damned.”

Is that worse? To discover he has a child, fifteen years too late to be of any use to anyone, and then be immediately denied any claim on her? By the man he still loves, the man he had wanted to raise children with back when he saw the world with rose-tinted glasses rather than bleak fluorescent clarity?

He knows this isn’t really a defense, but he says it anyway. “If I contributed half her DNA-” Oh Gloreth, if he contributed half her DNA then she’s a descendant of Gloreth too. Is that why Bal never told anyone about her? He could almost forgive that.

But no, Ballister immediately shakes his head. “You didn’t.”

Ambrosius shoots him an incredulous glance over one arm. “Come on, I know you didn’t cheat on me.”

Ballister makes a noise again, this one more like a strangled laugh. There was a time when Ambrosius had known all Bal's noises, when they were as familiar and comforting as birdsong outside his window. He wants to hoard them, catalog every single one, compare them to the old sounds. He keeps his head between his knees. “You can believe regicide but not that I’d cheat on you?”

“Well, did you?” Ambrosius hasn’t. Not for all these years, even though their relationship was clearly over and his parents have given up on him contributing to the bloodline the usual way and started talking about surrogates. Probably they’ll want to raise their hypothetical grandchild, since he’ll be too busy losing sword fights with Ballister.

There’s a pause. “No,” Ballister says, sullen. Then, “She doesn’t have any of my DNA either. That doesn’t make me any less her father.”

Ambrosius isn’t going to argue that, but he does say, “Where did she come from, then?” Parts of his conversation with the Director creep back into his thoughts. She’d said the Institute had her. Oh no, what if some action of Ambrosius’s (the searches? He could have pretended to search the city and led the knights in the wrong direction but he hadn’t. But how was he to know which direction was wrong?) had caused Ballister to lose the baby and then he’d snuck back into the Institute for something (to talk to Ambrosius?) and found baby Nimona there and in his grief, decided to raise her as his own?

No, that’s a soap opera. Also, why would the Institute have a baby sitting around?

Ballister sighs, long and noisy. “I thought she was ours, biologically I mean. She didn’t look like either of us, but what do I care about the chances of someone who looks like me and someone who looks like you producing a red haired, light skinned baby? She’s my daughter, and I was too busy trying not to get caught while keeping her fed and dry to worry much about her looks.” He pulls in another long, noisy breath. Ambrosius thinks he could sit up, but maybe this conversation is better had without eye contact.

“Then, she started shifting.” There’s a rough sound, like Ballister is rubbing his flesh hand through his facial hair. “I knew what the Institute, what you, would think about her, the life she’d have to lead to stay safe, to keep her secret. I’d have done anything to spare her that. But she is who she is, and I wouldn’t change her.” His voice is laced with fondness. It’s as familiar as the ache in his muscles after a hard day training, and the pain of it feels good in the same way. He’s glad Ballister hasn’t been alone. “I don’t know why I was so sure the Institute would have information on people like her. I’d never been allowed in the labs. But if they did know anything, that’s where it would be. So I broke in-”

“I saw the security tape,” Ambrosius blurts out.

Silence. Then, “Oh?”

“From the first break in,” Ambrosius clarifies. “You looked-” his voice cracks. He coughs. “I didn’t know, before that, that you had survived.” He used to have the most vivid waking nightmares, about Ballister’s corpse rotting in some back alley or forgotten basement, unidentifiable except for the missing right arm bones. He’d been afraid both that his love did give them some psychic connection and those visions were because Ballister was dead, and that they didn’t and he’d grow old and die without ever knowing. His mother taught him some grounding exercises, and he’d stopped letting the visions take over. Ballister was alive. He had to be. And then he saw the security tape. Ballister was alive! But he was as lost to Ambrosius as he ever had been.

He wants to demand to know why Bal never tried to talk to him back then, but he knows the answer. Would he have believed him? He’d never stopped believing, deep down in the very bottom of his heart, that Bal wouldn’t do something like that, but that was exactly why he could never give it any weight. It had been made very clear to him that he couldn’t trust his own judgment. If he was asked to choose between the love of his life, who he may have never known at all, and the life that was still shiny around the edges, what would he have done? He doesn’t know, so he stays quiet.

Ballister is quiet for long enough that he thinks about raising his head to look, then says, “You didn’t kill me,” in the quiet, low, rumbling voice that he always thought no one ever heard but him. Maybe he uses it with Nimona.

With a cough, Ballister says, “We’re getting off topic.”

“I see what you mean about there not being a quick version,” Ambrosius says. His neck hurts, so he sits up. The roaring in his ears doesn’t come back, but one look at Ballister is too much for his heart. He looks resolutely at the wall across the alley.

“This is the important part, probably,” Ballister says.

“You did find her in the Institute, didn’t you?” He remembers the Director telling him just the day before that Ballister had stolen the shapeshi - Nimona - from the Institute. That doesn’t fit what Ballister is telling him. Who does he believe? He forces himself to be skeptical. This whole mess happened because he’d blindly believed too many people, and gone into a tailspin when they conflicted.

“Yeah,” Ballister says, biting off the words like he could crush them between his molars. He sighs. “It turns out they had a lot of information on her.”

Did the files talk about what you had to do (what they did) to contain someone like Nimona? Was Ballister forced to read about the uncaring, impersonal torture of his infant daughter? Ambrosius doesn’t let himself think about it. He sort of understands why Ballister might blow up a lab or two after that.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ambrosius sees Ballister working his jaw to contain his anger, just like he had when Todd and the others went after him and he knew he couldn’t do anything about it. His voice is low and defeated when he says, “I don’t know why the Director did it. This can’t have been her plan. Maybe she hadn’t come up with the sword idea yet. Maybe they needed an expendable test subject. Maybe she thought the pregnancy would kill me. They’d done it before with that result. Maybe she intended to use Nimona for some purpose and she switched my sword so I’d be in a convenient dungeon. Maybe the scientists acted alone. Probably I’ll never know. It isn’t important in the long run.”

Isn’t important? How could Ballister look at the event that changed his life, stripped his hopes and dreams away, left him alone and injured and pregnant and on the run, that took him from Ambrosius, and say it isn’t important?

Ballister huffs a little laugh, just like he used to, nearly silent so no one but Ambrosius could hear. “I guess I can confirm one of my suspicions. That medical exam a few weeks before the knighting ceremony. It wasn’t…weirdly invasive for the rest of you, was it?”

Ambrosius curls his hands, wishing the gloves weren’t there so he could dig his nails into the meat of his palms. He wants to hurt something, even if it’s only himself. “No.”

Ballister nods grimly. “That’s when they did it, then.”

Why? Why would anyone do that? He never liked that he couldn’t come up with a motive for Ballister. Is there a motive for the Director in this turn of events?

“She’s been leaning pretty hard on you being a commoner and reaching above your station and putting us all in danger,” he says, slowly. Is that a motive? It’s absurd. She saw how hard Bal worked just like the rest of them. She knew how good he was. Would she really do any of this? Would Ballister do what she said he’d done? Ballister had proof for the sword being switched. Did he have proof for this too? “You deleted all the files about Nimona.”

“I stole them,” Ballister corrects. “And then I tracked down every scientist who had ever been a part of her project, and I killed them. I destroyed the labs, anywhere there might be evidence, anywhere they might try to hold her. I’ll keep doing it.”

So Ballister really had killed those scientists. Some of the deaths attributed to him couldn’t have been part of the original project, they were barely out of the Academy. Had they been collateral? Did they know something? Did Ballister care?

“Why are you telling me this?” It scrapes in his throat, catching on every day that Ballister hadn’t told him this. “What do you want me to do?”

For the first time in his retelling, Ballister catches his eyes and holds them. “Because you tried to kill her today.” His eyes slip away, never letting anything tether him to Ambrosius for long. “And I thought that if you knew, knew that she was just a kid, you might not kill her next time.” He looks up at the slowly lightening sky. Has this whole conversation fit in the space it takes the sun to clear the walls? It feels like this conversation has stretched forever, back to the beginning of time. Like this conversation has been happening in the background for their entire lives, just waiting for this alley, these rusted chairs, this dawn. “Stupid of me, I suppose.”

“Of course I’m not going to kill her!” Ambrosius bursts out. “I’ve been clinging to hope all night that you might have some way for me to not have to kill her!” He has, hasn’t he. That’s what this whole thing with the nachos was about. He knew he couldn’t do it and he wanted an excuse. But there isn’t an excuse, not really. It’s the same question he’s been asking for fifteen fucking years.

What will he choose; Ballister, with all the moral uncertainty and broken trust that comes with him? Or his duty, and all the moral uncertainty and broken trust that comes with the Institute? He’d thought, once, that he could have both. Now he knows for sure that he can’t, that they’re opposing chess players and he can only wear one color. A knight can only have one king.

If he chooses his duty, this legacy that will crush him under its weight, he’ll have to admit that he’s a coward.

If he chooses Ballister, the man he loves, the teenager he never got to raise, he’ll have to admit that he made the wrong choice fifteen years ago.

Ambrosius Goldenloin is a lot of things, but he isn’t a coward, and he isn’t afraid to admit to his mistakes.

He asks, again, “What do you want me to do?”

#nimona #nimona fic #goldenheart #cw mpreg #cw discussion of abortion #it started out as just rambling and then turned into a proper fic halfway through #my writing

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neuroprincess · 1 year

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Past, present and future - The Conversation (Chapter 5)

Emily Prentiss/Female Reader

Fanfic Chapter List

Summary: The agents on an old case become the target of a criminal group seeking revenge, and Emily returns after four years, thinking she doesn’t have much to lose until she learns about a part of her past that has been denied.

Warnings: A little angst, anxiety crisis, OC (original character)

Word count: +3800

Unrevised chapter

Lilibet's eyes are sweet and curious, there is depth and intensity in the gaze of such a little person. The eyelashes are long, thick and lovely, giving an even more angelic and expressive appearance. And remind Emily, they share the same shade of chocolate brown, which easily earn Y/N in just a few seconds staring at her with an adorable pout, this always makes her want to hug the little girl and fill her with kisses. In fact those eyes are the woman's greatest weakness, because she can never say no to the little princess. She is her weak point. Another thing the little girl shares with the chief is her smile, straight teeth, dimpled cheeks, and when she smiles, lips formed in a way that highlights her heart-shaped mouth. It's one of the most adorable features of the little one, along with all the other hundreds of features the mother can list as she faces her daughter about to fall asleep on her hotel bed, wrapped in a thin colorful blanket and hugging her plush teddy bear. Lilibet is having trouble sleeping after all that has happened and with the little nap on the way, it had not been long or quality, but enough. When this happens the brunette becomes sly and difficult to deal with, also a bit moody, so all that is left for Y/N to do is use her secret weapon, lullabies. "Hush Little Baby", "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star", "All the Pretty Little Horses", "Mary Had a Little Lamb", "The Wheels on the Bus" and "Row, Row, Row Your Boat". She sang one by one hugging Lili, caressing her dark hair and thinking how lucky she is to have her in arms, how every second counted so she could act, not even wanting to imagine what would happen if she didn't get there in time.

So many years working at Interpol and also at the BAU have made her realize that even though she is not in a job that requires guns constantly she has decided that she must protect her small family safe from the evils that surround them, from horrible people just like the ones she has had to deal with and possible retaliation from the past. Although Clyde has given her a clean record and a safe place, she can't ignore the fact that those monsters she has imprisoned or their partners may seek revenge. So that's why she decided to keep a gun at home, making sure it was always locked up and out of Lilibet's sight. She knew that she would need to be prepared in case any kind of emergency occurred and also to ensure their safety, determined not to allow her daughter to have to go through anything like what she went through before, in the end it only served to protect them because now she knows that even at a very young age Lili will probably carry marks from that day forever.

- How I wonder what you are... - she whispers the last verse of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star", the girl's favorite and sung for the third time in the night.

After two hours of fighting against sleep Lilibet finally falls asleep, her plush teddy bear pressed against her chest, face relaxed, body light and her breathing becoming calm as the minutes pass. Mother pulls the blanket over her body, covering her carefully and gently, placing a loving kiss on the little forehead before settling down beside her. But then, only after ensuring that her daughter is all right, can she deal with her own demons. Images from the day before take over mind like a movie that repeats itself several times, like when someone loses the remote control and is forced to watch the same bad channel over and over again. She sees herself running down the halls, the gun in trembling hand, the adrenaline high, the steps fast. She finds herself desperately trying to reach the room where Lili was, the panic and fear of losing her daughter consuming her, and then the familiar sound of gunshots, then red, very red mixed into the wooden floor of the foyer as the child stood there, standing. And she constantly watches herself reliving that moment, unable to change the channel, unable to pull out those memories along with all the unassimilated feelings and sensations.

Her eyes are fixed on the ceiling fan spinning at medium speed, on the city lights vaguely illuminating the dark room, attentive to the muffled noises coming from the ground floor seven stories below, and to those in the corridor where she is, memorizing the footsteps of the security guards, worrying about anyone different from them. But the dry thuds against the floor are more familiar than Y/N would like to admit, instead of knocks on the door she hears the metallic sound of keys against the lock and the knob turning next. She curls up in bed pressing the blankets even tighter against her chest, unable to look at the door and who has entered. She hears heels, but her mind refuses to believe the safe possibility and goes into another alert mode, survival speaking louder than reason. Her heart beats harder to the point where she could swear to hear it, hands sweat and she felt paralyzed, trapped in her own instrusive thoughts. When a hand touches a shoulder, Y/N trembles even more and her heart speeds up to the point of feeling almost pain, which makes her tear up, tears caught in the edges of the eyes. Y/N's hands tremble and she feels even more paralyzed against the bed, she feels helpless as if she is stuck in a maze of thoughts, unable to find a way out to free herself and suddenly back to square one, desperate. The woman still can't turn to look at who is there, but something inside her calms a little as she hears Emily's calm, familiar voice.

- Hey, hey... Relax, it's just me, Emily. - the brunette whispers taking the hand off her shoulder and moving to hold her in a tight hug, pulling the body against her own as Y/N stifles a cry in the curve of the chief's neck so she doesn't wake the child sleeping next to her - It's okay. Calm down, it's okay.

Emily has arms tightened around her, it is cozy and comforting, her touch is soft, Y/N can recognize the scent of the brunette's usual perfume as well as the shampoo as the strands rub against her face. Even though they were divorced years ago she can feel the familiarity and comfort of being in her arms, Emily still knows how to soothe her. She can feel the strength around, it somehow makes her feel protected, so her body slowly relaxes, allowing Y/N to snuggle even tighter against her ex-wife's body, hear her whispering in ear that everything is okay now while thin and gentle fingers caress her head slowly until breathing normalizes and her body stops shaking, the tears have stopped making eyes burn so much when they dry.

- I'm here, no one will hurt you. You don't have to be afraid, you're safe... - Emily's voice is clear, calm and gradually makes the woman relax, slowly the bad thoughts dissipating as she concentrates on the voice that continues to speak reassuring words, bringing her back to the present - - Are you okay now? - Emily asks gently, looking at her with a worried expression in eyes, the same expression she indentifies in her daughter every time she looks at her now and it made Y/N break into tears.

- I don't know, I still don't know. - she whispers, voice almost inaudible not wanting to leave her chest as she separates from the chief, moving quickly to check on the daughter, but seeing her peaceful appearance and in deep sleep reassures herself. Y/N looks over her shoulder to Emily, still seeing concern in her face - I don't know what was going on, but... thank you.

- You're welcome. - Emily nods, putting her hand lightly on Y/N's shoulder - I think it was an anxiety crisis. Are you ok now? If you need anything, I'm here. - she says gently, looking into Y/N's eyes and trying to give a smile, unsuccessfully, her heart aches to imagine what the former agent is going through and the child too - We can talk about it, if you want.

Y/N wipes the tears away and swallows hard, trying not to cry again. She turns to Emily, trying to keep a neutral expression, hiding her feelings of pain, fear and helplessness.

- I'm fine, thank you. - she says, forcing a smile. - Don't worry, it's nothing. I'll be fine in time. Now, let's talk about what we had planned.

- Are you sure you're well enough to talk about it? If you don't want to talk about it now, we can postpone the conversation. - Emily sighs and approaches carefully, gently trying to touch Y/N's shoulder again, but she pulls away, her hard gaze making it clear that she is not ready for contact - I understand, don't worry.

- No. No, I'm fine. - she replies, keeping a firm voice as she can, directing the topic - So, have you read Lili's entire file? Are there any questions that need to be clarified? Anything you'd like to know?

The brunette is silent for long seconds, head down as her mind fills with mixed feelings as she hears her talking about this topic with a certain distance and coldness in voice, Emily feels a combination of sadness and guilt, because if Lili is really her daughter, then she has missed important growing up years, all those first moments like first steps, word, school day, first soccer game or whatever she does as a hobby, as well as birthdays. She was not there to hold her and help blow out the candles. Emily sighs deeply, aware that she may never have the chance to make up for lost time, nor would there be any way to go back in the past and try to do something different, because if there was she would definitely do it. She raises her head, looking at Y/N, and swallows dryly settling herself on the bed. Her jaw is tense and she tries to struggle to formulate something decent, non-invasive, trying to find the right words to express her feelings, but she can't.

- I know the file tells some things about her, but... does she have something she likes to do? Something she loves? Favorite color? - the chief bites the tongue, feeling suddenly silly for having asked so many trivial questions when there is a big question in the middle.

- I thought the first thing you would do is question motherhood. - Y/N laughs and sits down on the end of the other bed facing her ex-wife - Let's start from this point.

- Okay, so, how? I left and you were already pregnant? But our last attempt was months earlier. - Emily tries to do the mental math between her going to London and Lilibet's birth, remembering the time period between their last attempt to get pregnant and her leaving, the question on her mind from the moment she read the file - And we had negative results.

- One week and a few days before you left I secretly tried one last chance, two after you left for London came the positive. I called you.

- And I never answered. - the woman completes in a shaky voice - I don't question being or not being Lilibet's mother, I believe you. Besides, she's the personification of the Prentiss.

- That's true, she has those eyes and smile of yours, the nose is clearly of Elizabeth. - Y/N squares her shoulders and turns to face her daughter, knowing she could never deny her genetic heritage when a small version of her ex-wife is lying there wrapped in the blankets -- If you want, we can do a DNA test, also, I still have all the documents of the fertilization clinic. - she suggests, with care in temper.

Emily sighs and nods reluctantly in agreement, staring at the child behind Y/N, her heart tightens and there is a strange weight in the pit of stomach. She feels the need to get closer, to know Lili's personality and way of being, to better understand who she is, who she can become. To know the little girl's world.

- I wish I was here with you Y/N, when you were pregnant with Lilibet and her growth. I wish I could have been a part of that. But, unfortunately, I can't change the past. - the brunette's body is trembling and she feels the sweat starting to run down her hands -- And I know that no matter how hard I beg you won't forgive me so easily. So I can only ask. Can you tell me how it all went? What were your symptoms when you thought you were pregnant? How did you find out? I want to know more about Lilibet.

The former agent sighs, feeling suddenly sick, everything that has happened in the last few days is simply too much, first the attack, that man, meeting her ex-wife again after 4 long years, Emily discovering their daughter and consequently probably returning to her life just as she once arrived. She looks at Lilibet behind her, eyes gazing at her baby with love and admiration, it's a little human being that she wanted so much and brought into the world. And even though Emily Prentiss didn't know it, she was a part of that process. Y/N understands that despite the hurts and events no matter what happened in the past for now, what really matters is Lili. She turns to Emily again, nodding.

- You're right, Prentiss. I won't forgive you so easily, but for me what matters right now is Lilibet and her feelings. She will never be denied of anything. - Y/N pauses, taking a breath and the courage to continue - I would never deny you the... right to be Lilibet's mother, nor would I deny Lilibet the opportunity to have the other mother by her side. She needs love and care, I just want the best for my princess. - she swallows down her saliva, still not believing that this feared moment has arrived and to go through her pride for the sake of the girl's happiness is harder than she thought it would be - I'm here to answer your questions, as apparently I won't be able to sleep. After all.

Emily opens the mouth to say something, but no words come out. She then quickly approaches Y/N and hugs her with excitement, wrapping her in arms tightly, affectionately and gratefully. Although she returns the contact the woman carefully pulls away, as if the touch is burning her, which is not entirely untrue. Where she is touched burns, leaving a lingering trail on Y/N skin, etched as well as scent of her perfume on her clothes.

- So...

- Ah! - the chief realizes she just did and practically throws herself back to where she was before - I'm sorry. I couldn't control myself. I want to think of something to ask, but there are so many things about her that I don't know where to start, maybe the basics. What is her favorite color? What does she like to do? Is she a lively child or a quieter one? That would be ironic, a quiet child was all my parents wanted. - she laughs sadly, unable to know what the girl is like even though she spends a day watching her, the guilt takes over her stomach and reaches into bile with this dull feeling.

- Well, her favorite color is green, she also likes pink tones, except for vibrant ones. Lili loves to draw and paint, and sometimes she can be quite agitated, especially on colder days, because all she wants to do is go out and play in the garden. - a bright smile appears on Y/N's lips as she talks about her daughter, and this doesn't pass unnoticed by Emily, who pays attention to every word, absorbing everything - She also loves to sing and dance, she is a little fan of musicals and Disney movies. Lili is really smart, she can already read little books, and is learning to count.

- It's amazing how smart she is for her age. - Emily comments, looking a bit amazed - You have done a great job with her. It's really fortunate that Lilibet has you for a mother. And... what else can you tell me about her? Does she do any activities? Maybe soccer.

- She is too young and small to play soccer, but she has been practicing ballet since 2 years old and wants to join the pre-school baseball league as soon as she turns 4. She loves sports, almost constantly accompanies me on walks, and when we are at home, there are the games and active play. - she smiles sadly, remembering that the girl had a day like that and was putting together her own mess when that man showed up, so she closes the eyes trying to erase it from her memory for the moment and tries to change the topic - Any other questions?

- I... - Emily was about to start asking, but was interrupted by the beep of her phone. She picks it up to see what was sent and her face becomes apprehensive - It's Tara calling me back to the BAU. There's a new lead. I have to go. Sorry, Y/N. I'd really like to talk more, but... - she gets up, already preparing to leave, putting her leather jacket against the body and the holster on her waist - Try to get some sleep, anything I call and if you need anything just call me, my number is on the nightstand.

- You can't tell me anymore about the lead?

- One of the invaders was captured. Do you remember the Petros Galanis case? - Emily feels frustrated for having to interrupt the conversation, but at the same time is motivated by finally having a useful lead about what is going on, besides that anything related to the case concluded years before has to be observed and treated with care - It's one of his former henchmen.

- Is Petros seeking revenge? Or one of his sons? - the question is practically rhetorical, Emily neither agrees nor responds - But we arrested him along with his sons, the only one who was not arrested reported him in and is in witness protection.

- He is a man with many cards up his sleeve. - the brunette says low, more to herself than to the woman, and shudders to imagine what the Greek mobster could do in retaliation, she knows he has connections with powerful people and has the ability to provide resources that many others don't have, which probably allowed him to invade the agents' house even in prison - I'll reinforce security here, Will and the boys are in the next room if something happens and I can't get there in time.

- Okay. - by now the tension has taken over the air, both feel the fear running down their spines, as much as they were protected and off the radar, the Galanis family had been one of the biggest criminal organizations they faced at that time, with a legacy marked of violence, power and intimidation, leaving a trail of corpses. When the case was closed there was the near certainty of the decimation with the arrest of the leader and his heirs, so the agents involved would be safe, but apparently not, no one is safe when there is one of them out there - Please take care.

- I will, you take care too. And of Lili. - Emily smiles weakly and approaches the child, leaving a kiss on her forehead. Then, she turns to Y/N and automatically does the same thing to her, an affectionate gesture and at the same time a farewell, something they used to do when they were married and even after years away her body still seems used to it. - Everything will be fine, try to get some sleep.

- Right.

And Emily left the hotel room with the feeling of fear in the pit of her stomach but mentally determined and ready to act on this case, to confirm if that arrested piece of shit is still connected to the greek mafia and what the hell Petros Galanis might be up to, or one of his four sons behind bars. Now, besides the BAU family, she has to protect the mother and daughter as well. She knows the danger they are in, especially Lilibet as she is an easy and fragile target, who could easily become the organization's ultimate goal of revenge. She was called Little Prentiss, just confirming that whoever goes after this sick plan knows about the maternal connection to Emily, knows about the marriage, and most importantly, knows that Lilibet Eloise Y/L/N (Prentiss) is the daughter of the two main agents responsible for the Galanis' downfall.

- Hey, we have a visitor... - Tara whispers practically running towards Emily as she passes through the glass doors of the floor, a bit distracted in her own thoughts.

- What?

- Behind me. Near the snack machine. - she points with her head to a woman in the same spot she indicated, the only person there -- Friend of Y/N and must be important to be here 3am behind her.

When looking closely at the place Emily comes across a tall woman, maybe almost or as tall as Tara, she is slim, her body is highlighted by a tailored feminine suit, she wears black Manolo Blahniks high heels, fine authentic jewelry, light makeup, her blonde hair is perfectly cut at shoulder height, her glasses perched on the tip on her thin nose as she searches for something on the machine reveals her light blue eyes, deep and penetrating. When she notices the chief's presence and directs her gaze at Emily, it is intense and inquisitive, as if she is reading her mind. Her expression is half amused, half serious, and she has an aura of authority that cannot be denied. This woman has an air of professionalism and elegance, standing out among the other people who despite wearing similar clothes seem just background in her presence. As she walks towards the women, the brunette can't not notice the beautiful pair of long, shapely legs fitted tightly into the chic skirt.

- Agent Prentiss, right? - she asks gently, holding out her free hand to the brunette, a small smile on lips.

- Chief, actually. - Emily shakes the woman's hand, feeling the firmness and confidence she conveys in just one touch. The handshake was brief but intense, as if both were evaluating and testing each other - And you?

- Dr. Helena Cavendish. - she faces her with a certain superiority, analyzing Emily from head to foot, as if she were weighing every detail of hers and analyzing it, then smiles before continuing - For closer, Lena. Y/N's girlfriend.

Note: Ladies, I present to you how I imagine the OC, for me Helena would have the same look and vibe as Alex Cabot from SVU

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds fanfic #fanfiction #female reader #criminal minds

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pixies-and-poets · 11 months

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Bramble’s Fanfic Collection

Hi friends!! I’ve been wanting to do this for a while: since I don’t, as of yet, post my work on AO3 or anywhere else besides here, I wanted to get together a collection of my writing. I will keep this post current, so if you are looking at this from a reblog, be aware that it might not be up to date unless you visit the original post!

This isn’t everything I’ve written in my life, of course, but it’s everything that lives here. I have much older stuff that I might port over here gradually if I decide I’m still happy with it.

Nothing I write is too explicit, but it sometimes may deal with body horror, injury, death, and distressing themes such as depression and suicidal ideation. Content warnings are given on individual posts.

Fanfics are collected into general fandom categories below. Thanks to anyone who’s ever read, commented on and enjoyed my work!

Super Mario RPG

I first played SMRPG over half of my lifetime ago, but it never really captured my imagination until the remake came out. Being older, I felt like I was in a better spot to appreciate some of its more subtle themes, and became enamored with the Smithy Gang in particular. I haven't written all that much yet, but I'd like to do more.

The Forging - A Spear is born.

Smithy Gang Headcanons - My personal timeline and background from which I hope to eventually build more ideas.

Mack/Claymorton Headcanons

Mario + Rabbids

This is the fandom that brought me back to tumblr and got me to stick around, and also got me writing on my own again after ages of drought. Years ago I would have never believed that rabbids would get me to write so much, but here I am, and I’m grateful for it!

Most of these so far are about Woodrow and Palette Prime more generally, because that’s where my brain lives, and the catastrophe poet is very special to my heart. I’ll eventually branch out more though, I swear.

I write a bunch of Phandrow (Phantom x Woodrow) stuff specifically; it started out with me trying to justify a crackship to my own brain and then whoops! I became obsessed

Of Verses and Curses

My magnum opus of fanfics, as of yet, and the longest work of fiction I have written independently in my life, this is a story of finding the person who loves you even if your passion in life seems to only bring failure and misfortune. It’s a deeply personal story built off a lot of my own feelings and struggles. It’s also a story about two gay rabbids who have never canonically met. [Phantom x Woodrow, also includes plenty of Dryad x Sweetlopek]

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Music of the Night

The dark inverse to Of Verses and Curses, set in the Sparks of Despair AU created by @pastelprince18, this is a far more upsetting tale of doomed love and unhappy endings. There is a monster at the end of this book.

(Body horror warning, especially at the end, so just be aware before you get invested.)

Chapter One - In Sleep He Sang to Me

Chapter Two - Do I Dream Again?

Chapter Three - Our Strange Duet

Chapter Four - To Glance Behind

Chapter Five - Those Who Have Seen Your Face

Chapter Six - Where Night is Blind

Chapter Seven - Angel of Music

Other Woodrow or Phandrow stuff

Bwahstrella’s Warning - an exploration of what might happen when you push the galaxy’s own disaster poet to the heights or the depths of his passion. [Phantom x Woodrow]

Poetry Slammed - Sweetlopek’s perspective of a certain boat incident. [Sweetlopek and Woodrow, platonic]

Happy Phandrow Things - not really a fanfic so much as a collection of thoughts/headcanons but they make me happy so they’re going here, gosh darnit!

The Eulogist - Woodrow necromancer AU. Not sure I need to say more than that. [character death and slight body horror warning]

Wolf of the Woods - An exploration of a Werewolf Woodrow AU! While not much in itself, people liked it; not only did it spearhead a lot of fun discussion/art, but it’s pretty much what got me writing again and therefore led to EVERYTHING above!

Unmerged - Not really a fic, but an exploration of an idea that makes me too sad to think about too much D:

An Appeal to the Heavens - In a time long past, a poor poet makes a desperate plea to the god he yearns to serve.

Pocket Poet, Part 1 | Part 2 - my one exploration of the Borrower AU: tiny Woodrow experiences the theatrical world of his lover, up close and personal.

Non-Woodrow Stuff (wtf, it DOES exist)

Something from Nothing - before we really knew what the Tower of Doooom was about, we had thoughts. Unhappy thoughts. [featuring Spawny and extra-evil Phantom]

M+R Timeline Analysis - Not a fic, but some background on how I view this universe.

Tools of the Traitors - A mini Super Paper Mario crossover between Kanya and Dimentio.

The High Seas AU

Sirens and Soliloquys - a pirate poet who bears a curse in secret is tempted by a siren's song, and gets more than he could have possibly imagined as a result.

Further worldbuilding and character background ideas for the AU!

Sea Legs - just a little more Phandrow silly sweetness

The Vampire [Phanpire?] AU

A Phandrow-centric AU that really speaks for itself, collaboratively created. Usually Phantom is the vampire and Woodrow his willing prey, but sometimes the roles are reversed, sometimes the ""victim"" is Prima Donna (Phantom's drag persona), sometimes they're both vampires- look, we like to have fun here.

As a general warning, pretty much anything in this collection will deal with blood and mild injury.

A Bite for Good Luck - my starting point for this AU, and its companion piece from Tom's perspective.

Burning Like The Sunrise - a little prequel to the above. A tale of passion at first bite.

One Paw in the Grave - Woodrow learns just how vulnerable a vampire can be.

Bat's Eye View - A vampire shows his beloved the world as he sees it.

Batsong - Lord Phan runs into misfortune; but thankfully, it's only of a rather amusing kind.

Donkey Kong/Banjo-Kazooie/Rare-Playtonic Universe

A Donkey Kong’s World - this is a narrative record of the homebrew D&D campaign I was in, and includes elements from all of the things mentioned above, as well as Sea of Thieves and the Mario series. I’m including it here because not only was I involved as one of the characters, but I actually novelized most of the whole story (taking over from our DM who did the first few chapters) based on our session recordings. It was an extremely special experience for me, and is quite a long read, but if you’re a big fan of any of these franchises I think you might enjoy coming along with us. [Link is external and goes to the forum where the story is hosted.]

Mario and Luigi: Superstar Saga (+ Bowser’s Minions)

These are years old, from before my tumblr hiatus, so they may not be quite up to my current standards... but I still like them.

Anamnesis - While Popple and Rookie plan their biggest heist yet, Rookie tries to remember who he is... and almost does.

Wallflower - In the quiet moments, Captain Shy Guy realizes just how much he cares about that silly Goomba... [Captain Shy Guy x Captain Goomba]

The Stolen Birthday - a little headcanon for a Popple backstory.

That’s all for now!!

#fanfic

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ewelinakl · 11 months

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ewelinakl's fic masterlist

Our Flag Means Death

1. A Pirate Triptych (steddyhands, E, 82k) — When Ed turns into a monster and does some unspeakably cruel things, Izzy and Stede team up to turn him back into his old, gentler self and make him atone for what he's done. — finished ● losing my religion (i'm not my own) [Ed/Izzy, Spanish Jackie/Izzy, E, 9.5k] — The story of Izzy's relationship with Blackbeard, from their first meeting all the way until the birth of the Kraken. Izzy's POV ● it's beginning to get to me (no one knows what this fight's about) [Ed/Stede, pre Stede/Izzy, E, 24.6k] — Stede finds an unlikely ally in his quest to get Ed back. (It's Izzy.) Stede's POV. ● i don't know who i am (but now I know who i'm not) [Ed/Stede, Ed/Izzy, Ed/Stede/Izzy, E, 47.8k] — It's time for Ed to face the Kraken and take accountability for his actions. Ed's POV.

2. Three Men in a Boat (steddyhands, E) — a series for tying up loose ends from the Pirate Triptych and other steddyhands shenanigans. — unfinished ● love is a distant aroma at best (Stede/Izzy, rated E for the conversation subject, 3.4k) — a missing scene to chapter one of i don't know who i am (but now I know who i'm not) ● align my heart, my body, my mind (Ed/Stede/Izzy, E, 46.3k) — a follow-up to the Pirate Triptych, set a few years later. Mary and Doug go on a honeymoon, leaving the kids with Stede and his two not-quite-husbands. ● tell me we'll never get used to it (Ed/Izzy, E, 2.3k) — pre-Pirate Triptych. Ed enjoys pushing Izzy's boundaries. ● we make our choices and take what comes (Ed/Izzy, Ed/Stede, Stede/Izzy, Ed/Stede/Izzy, E) — ongoing — historical fantasy AU. Izzy is a famous assassin hired by the Badmintons to kill Queen Mary. Stede is the Queen's Protector (not because he's good at combat, it's just a shiny title he got because he saved her once) and friend. Edward is an eldritch deity who likes to mess with people and shares his magic with Izzy, helping him kill the Queen. But when Stede gets wrongly accused of regicide, Ed offers his powers to Stede as well, twisting the future until it brings Stede and Izzy together.

3. BBC (bellhands brainrot conglomerate) [Sam Bellamy/Izzy Hands, M to E] — a collection of various fics centred around the fine ship that is bellhands. — unfinished ● there's no me without you (Sam Bellamy/Izzy Hands, M, 8k) — Sam makes one more desperate attempt trying to convince Izzy to leave Blackbeard. Will it work this time? Sam's POV. ● a fable from broken things (Sam/Izzy, Ed/Stede, E, 24.8k) — In which the Revenge gets her mast broken in a storm, her captains have no choice but to stop at Hispaniola, run into Sam Bellamy, get invited for tea with him and Izzy, and realise that their relationship is really messy and strained in comparison to their hosts'. And when Izzy Hand's relationship seems healthier than yours, you know you've got some work to do. ● no one is born a hero (Sam/Izzy, E) — ongoing — modern au. Izzy gets dumped after seven years together with Ed and is not handling it well. so what are the chances of him not blowing it when Jackie introduces him to a man who seems to be tailor-made for him? Izzy's POV. ● someone has to leave first (Sam/Izzy, Ed/Izzy, background Ed/Stede, E, 11.1k) — Incubus Sam gets imprisoned by the British. Izzy teams up with Paul to save him. Edward, who's never shaken off the Kraken thing, is not happy about this double loyalty. ● call it courage (Sam/Izzy, E, 1.9k) — Sam asks to be choked during sex. Izzy is both turned on and terrified by the concept. ● leaning towards the sun (Sam/Izzy, E, 1.5k) — A very hard bike seat and a bumpy road leave Izzy embarrassingly hot and bothered. Thankfully, Sam is more than willing to help out with that.

4. vampire verse (Stede/Izzy, E) — a collection of loosely-connected one-shots. vampire!Izzy/human!Stede, post-season 1. — open ● drink me like a bottle of wine (Stede/Izzy, E, 2.8k) — Stede discovers that Izzy is a vampire and gets turned on by the ideas this gives him. Horny times ensue. ● a little broken, a little new (Stede/Izzy, E, 4.8k) — follow up to drink me like a bottle of wine; idiots in love (struggling to articulate their feelings).

5. birds of a feather (Calico Jack/Charles Vane, steddyhands, E) — everyone lives au, post-season 1, Calico Jack-centric. — unfinished ● blood in your mouth (i wish it was mine) [Calico Jack/Charles Vane, E, 6.6k] — Jack survives the encounter with Ed and the Navy and starts a new life aboard the Ranger. His new captain turns out to be his kind of a freak.

● the forest is my cradle and it's where i'll die (Stede/Izzy, E, 2.9k) — Stede cuts some trees without making suitable offerings to the forest spirit, and now he has to pay for his crime. (Leshy!Izzy/human!Stede, inspired by Polish folklore.)

● landscape after cruelty (Hornigold/Izzy, one-sided Calico/Izzy, E, 1.6k) — Hornigold calls Jack to do the hard work for him while he sits back and enjoys the show.

● knives, singing for blood (Hornigold/Izzy, E, 1.8k) — When their navigator fucks up, Hornigold decides to take out his frustration on his favourite toy. Dead dove.

● you can call it anything (but that was love) (past Ed/Izzy, Ed/Stede, Sam/Izzy, M, 3.4k) — Izzy moved on. Ed thought he did.

● relax (we're in this together) [Jim/Izzy, E, 3.7k] — Jim helps Izzy work on his confidence after losing his leg.

● welcome to the new age (Ed/Stede/Izzy, E, 3.5k) — When they started this whole thing a year ago, Israel could only think of one rule for him and Stede — no romance.

● dangerous liaisons (Calico Jack/Charles Vane/Roach, E, 12.4k) — Roach gets a chance to do something about his crush on Jack.

● darkness, rewritten (Ed/Izzy, Ed/Stede/Izzy, T, 3.6k) — Ed & Izzy have a tender little moment together. post-season 2, everybody lives au.

● what holy men really mean when they speak of sin (Calico Jack/Charles Vane, E, 8.6k) — A priest and a sailor meet in a seedy bar in Saint-Malo. companion piece to we make our choices and take what comes

● pitch black, pale blue (Sam Bellamy/Izzy, Ed & Izzy, M, 6.6k) — after the Kraken nearly kills him, Izzy realises it's time to move on. post-s2ep06.

The Witcher

1. between the lines (Geralt/Jaskier, Geralt/Yennefer, M to E) — a series of short fics following the timeline of the novels — unfinished (on hiatus) ● on my knees and out of luck, I look up (Geralt/Jaskier, M, 3.6k) — Geralt rides into a small town in the middle of nowhere and finds Jaskier there. set post Shard of Ice. ● the wolf and the nightingale (Geralt/Jaskier, E, 2.5k) — Geralt discovers that he's not immune to Jaskier's charms and games. set during A Little Sacrifice. ● thief of fire (Geralt/Jaskier, G, 1.8k) — Jaskier writes a ballad and it comes true against all odds. set during Something More. ● verse. chorus. verse. (Geralt/Jaskier, E, 3.3k) — Geralt starts overthinking things because he feels guilty about the incident between Jaskier and Rience. set between The Blood of Elves and The Time of Contempt. ● when the world seems a dungeon (Geralt/Jaskier, Geralt/Yennefer, E, 3.9k) — Geralt feels guilty about leaving Jaskier for Yen, Jaskier is tired of this nonsense. set during The Time of Contempt.

2. a modern bestiary (Geralt/Jaskier, Geralt/Yennefer, M, T, E) — a modern au (characterisation based on the novels, not the games or the show) — unfinished (on hiatus) ● of witchers and men (Geralt/Jaskier, M, 5k) — Geralt sees a singer in trouble and simply has to help. Geralt's POV. ● basilisk's gaze (Geralt/Jaskier, T, 6k) — Geralt might not be a streetwise Hercules, but he makes Jaskier feel safe and calm, even when everything goes wrong. Jaskier's POV. ● and the djinni said (Geralt/Yennefer, E, 3k) — He came to her with Jaskier's blessing. Yen's POV.

Dishonored

Children of the Many-Eyed God (Geoff Curnow/Slackjaw, Kirin Jindosh/Alexandria Hypathia, Daud/Thomas, M) — Slackjaw as the long-lost Prince of Tyvia, Geoff as the Prince Consort, Kirin as the Royal Inventor, Alexandria as the Royal Physician, Daud & Thomas as Spymasters, with a hearty side of worldbuilding and a brand new Tyvian god. — unfinished ● The Prince, the Guard, and the Many-Eyed God (Geoff Curnow/Slackjaw, M, 54.7k) — The Old Gods of Tyvia choose strange paths for their children. Slackjaw's path leads from the criminal underworld of Dunwall, into the arms of a Watchman, and to the throne that is rightfully his. ● The Heart of a Dead Thing (Kirin Jindosh/Alexandria Hypatia, M, 59.3k) — He's a refugee, an addict, an Academy dropout, a wayward child of his god. He's a loyal servant to his Prince, Tyvia's future Royal Inventor, the brightest mind of the Empire. He's young, and he's learning and refuses to let other people define him when he cannot yet define himself. (a.k.a. the redemption arc Kirin deserved) ● Sea of Regret, Knife of Redemption (Daud/Thomas, M) — ongoing — Daud and Thomas, the Royal Spymasters of Tyvia and Wei-Ghon, team up with Billie to save Sokolov and solve the mystery of Delilah's escape from the Void. The Many-Eyed Bird might be willing to help, too. (think Dishonored 2, but Daud is the protagonist and Jindosh & Hypatia work against Delilah and her her circle.)

American Gods

● A Little Prayer (The Jinn | Ifrit/Salim, T, >1k) — a fluffy little reunion fic set post-season 1

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cantsayidont · 8 months

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December 1971-January 1972. If you've read any number of comic books at all, you probably have an idea what Jack Kirby stories dialogued by Stan Lee sound like. Here's a fine sample of Kirby's own writing and dialogue, unmediated by Stan Lee, in one of the best stories in perhaps the greatest series Kirby did at his creative peak: "The Glory Boat!"

The premise of "The Glory Boat!" is relatively straightforward: A squad of ocean-going villains from Apokolips called the Deep Six is wreaking havoc throughout the Atlantic Ocean, so Orion, champion of New Genesis, sets out to stop them.

Into his path comes a life raft containing three ordinary people, the survivors of a yacht wrecked by the villains the night before. Taking the raft in tow with a magnetic force beam, Orion follows a signal from his Mother Box (the sentient living computers of New Genesis and Apokolips) that leads him to "an ugly, misshapen craft made of aged wood--with a bound, man-like figure for a mast," as seen on the cover above. Having no time to take the shipwreck survivors to shore, Orion brings the three to this curious vessel, where he discovers that the figure on the mast is his friend Lightray, previously captured and bound by the Deep Six. Once Lightray is free, introductions are made:

This issue was published during the Vietnam War, so Richard Sheridan's conscientious objector status means that he's not merely a pacifist, but has been able to convince his draft board that he is so philosophically opposed to war that they have granted him alternative service. Achieving this, especially if you weren't a clergy member of some kind, was not easy, but Richard's father, Farley Sheridan, is obviously unimpressed. Lightray, however, finds it perfectly reasonable — although note the ironic cut to Orion, who is definitely not "like that!!" (Although he's a defender of New Genesis, Orion is a curiously feral individual, the reasons for which Kirby had not yet revealed at this point in the series. Orion himself is something of a monstrosity: the son of Darkseid, raised by his greatest enemy.) On the other hand, while Lightray is at least superficially more sympathetic than Orion is, note that he's really quite condescending, a consistent feature of his interactions with Earth people.

Orion and Lightray investigate the cabin of the strange craft, and discover that it houses a ghastly mutated thing, which Orion calls a "Sender" and which is controlling the sea monster the Deep Six are using to destroy ships. Orion is prepared to kill the Sender, but Lightray insists, "It shouldn't be destroyed!! It should be changed!!"

Lightray's Mother Box is in the front of his headpiece. In the original Fourth World books, Kirby modeled the Mother Box on tefillin, which are small leather boxes containing scrolls with Torah verses. Tefillin are worn strapped to the head and the arm; the New Gods generally wear their Mother Boxes on one or the other. (Orion, the contrarian, usually carries his on the front of his Astro-Harness, the glider he uses to access the Astro-Force.) Note that while Orion obviously understands what Lightray is doing, this is all Lightray's show; even Orion has to cover his eyes at the forces Lightray is unleashing.

Mother Box reduces the Sender to a cube-like "basic life form," but this is only the beginning of its transformation. Over the next few pages, it becomes "techno-active," growing and changing into something quite different, as we'll see.

Meanwhile, the Sheridans have what's clearly just the latest in a long series of arguments between Farley and Richard, with poor Lynn (whose nerves seem understandably shot) caught in the middle. The gist is that Farley, who, like Kirby, is a WW2 veteran, thinks that Richard's pacifism makes him a coward, declaring, "Well, at least I fought! When my outfit hit the beach at Normandy, I walked into that rain of bullets with the rest of them!!"

This argument is interrupted by the arrival of Jaffar, one of the Deep Six. Confronted by this monstrous creature, Farley freezes in terror, but Richard chooses to fight for his father and sister:

Despite Lightray's earlier contention that transformation is an alternative to destruction, for Richard Sheridan, it means not only death, but also the loss of his identity, in a way that obviously parallels the way Lightray previously turned the Sender into a simple "life cube." Another important point here is Jaffar's acknowledgement of Richard's futile courage; grudging respect for an opponent engaged in a struggle they can't possibly win is a device that recurs throughout the Fourth World saga.

Orion responds to this atrocity by killing Jaffar (the second of the Deep Six he's killed; he killed another in the previous issue), but seeing his son reduced to a literal faceless victim is too much for Farley Sheridan. He's gotten what he said he wanted — his son has leapt into harm's way when called — in a uniquely awful way, and his mind snaps:

Richard Sheridan is dead, but his journey isn't yet over. As his father imagines himself back on the beach on D-Day, Lightray carries Richard's body to the heart of the "techno-active" transformation still taking place within the weird craft. Orion, meanwhile, straps Lynn into his harness to carry her away from the imminent confrontation with the rest of the Deep Six. Farley Sheridan remains:

A lot of Kirby's dialogue in this series has the pace and cadence of a stage play. Note how Farley and Lightray narrate parts of the action the reader can't feel or hear. Unlike a stage play, though, this isn't a way of talking around battle scenes or vistas that can't be shown — there will be real fireworks, and imminently. Rather, Kirby uses this technique to add a sense of anticipation and gravity to the situation.

Orion grapples with the rest of the Deep Six on the deck of the wooden boat, which soon catches fire. However, there's still a bigger threat on the horizon: the villains' mutant leviathan, which is fast approaching, drawn by the signal of the transformed "Caller." To Orion's annoyance, Lightray has occupied himself making some seemingly dubious tactical decisions. A central aspect of Lightray and Orion's friendship in the Kirby stories is that Lightray is not really a warrior at heart, often seeing the war as an elaborate game. This frustrates Orion, sometimes for good reason, but it also sometimes gives Lightray insights Orion lacks:

Richard Sheridan is still dead, but the techno-active process has now restored the face that he lost when he chose to abandon pacifism to fight for the lives of his father and sister. Meanwhile, the big wave Lightray spoke of before is finally breaking, revealing the leviathan, the ultimate product of the Deep Six's more horrific transformations. However, Lightray has prepared an answer for that as well. This is what finally emerges from the transformed Sender, the final form of the "Glory Boat" of the title:

This strange torpedo collides head-on with the leviathan in an apocalyptic cataclysm: "Thunderous notes!— White-hot, elemental and all-consuming!! A Wagnerian offering to the Source!!" Lightray, who can fly at incredible speeds, carries himself and Orion away as the explosion consumes the leviathan, the Deep Six, and the mortal remains of Richard Sheridan. As for his father:

We can probably assume that Lightray and Orion later go back to retrieve Farley, or at least tell rescuers where he can be found — Orion is gruff, but he does have some concern for bystanders — but Kirby chooses to end on this tableau: Farley Sheridan coming to his senses, but still trapped in the wreckage of his shattered ideals.

This is heady stuff, and unlike many of DC's attempts at "relevance" in this period, it doesn't boil down to an obvious conclusion. Farley is a fool, to be sure (interesting, then, that he's the character closest to Kirby in age and experience), but the story isn't a straightforward endorsement of pacifism or even the need to change and compromise, which more conventional liberal morality plays (e.g., Star Trek) generally treat as the highest form of virtue. (Orion and Lightray kill all of their opponents in this story, and not even Lightray proposes that they talk it out!)

There's a line I often hear from comics fans and even comics pros who ought to know better to the effect that Kirby couldn't write (or, more offensively, couldn't write without Stan Lee to smooth things out). It's true that Kirby was never one for naturalistic dialogue, or the kind of quips and topical references that superhero comics often substitute for characterization, but "naturalistic" and "realistic" are not synonymous with "good." The Fourth World books in particular are largely unconcerned with realism (although they do contain a variety of topical references, some very pointed), but they're thematically rich and often vividly characterized, and Kirby's narrative drive and flair for the dramatic have few peers.

#comics #new gods #fourth world #jack kirby #vince colletta #mike royer #orion #lightray #the deep six #“You still have one final moment--to transcend your fate!”

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