#and then it said it was a projection fic. none of these characters are remotely abusive this is why projection fics cant work properly.

[greenerteacups]

You're great at plotting your story. Whenever I try to outline my story goes towards a storyline that is too overboard, or very far away from my initial idea. So I tend to just sit and write and let it get me wherever it's taking me.

How do you outline ? Do you have any tips ?

Tumblr has made the executive decision to banish the post where I gave my full outlining process to the fucking Shadow Realm, so I'm afraid I can't find it right now, but I have two thoughts here. The first is that, though flattered by your compliment, I am in fact terrible at plot — my interest in a book flows from (1) character work (2) atmosphere & setting (3) Actual Plot That Tells A Gotdamn Story, in that order. This means plot is the thing my brain does least naturally, and so the part where I put the most Effort Points while I'm in fic pre-production. So. This may be the blind leading the blind here.

But: George R. R. Martin said there are two kinds of writers, planners and gardeners. Planners... plan; gardeners plant a bunch of seeds, prune some weeds, and just kind of wait to see what turns up. Like most dichotomies, this is an arbitrary bisection of something that's really more of a wishy-washy sliding scale. For every writer, there is some level of detail-in-outline that they need to understand what the book *is* and what they should be trying to accomplish. Under that line, your book feels vague and boring because you don't know what's going to happen, so you don't know what you need to do to get there. So the engine stalls. Which is a sucky feeling. Over that line, your book feels boring because you don't have anything left to discover about the piece, and discovery is an essential part of the joy of creation. At its best, writing should feel like reading on steroids: the world disappears, your body disappears, even you disappear, and you get to live and be wholly in what you're creating. You have a baby universe in your pocket, and you get to show people around it.

None of that is remotely helpful to your problem. Okay. I guess my question for you would be what you mean by "overboard," and if there's a more specific problem that your over-outlining creates. First, if your outline starts feeling too intense to start writing, like you're intimidated by the number of things you need to do to tell the story, you may either (1) lean more toward the gardener side of the scale or (2) writing in the wrong form. Long-form stories are scary as shit to plan and scarier than shit to write, because there can be a million things in the air at once, and even if the through-line's simple, your execution has a lot of different places it can go wrong. They are immensely rewarding projects and a fuck of a lot of fun to write, but there's nothing wrong with trying shorter ones that are easier to outline and — more importantly — finish, which is the no. 1 thing you want to be doing if you're working out your process. You don't know what your process is until you actually execute it from start to end. You don't know what helps you finish a story until you've (drumroll) finished a story, and then finished another one for comparison, to see which went better. So short projects, which require less endurance in general, may be the stopgap remedy, at least in the short term.

#greenteacup asks #going to start tag for this so i stop losing all these goddam posts #write good art

[pico-digital-studios]

Into, Across and Beyond!: Shared Universe Mentions

So just yesterday, I got praise from @robovoidfrog for the inclusion of their character in IAB!, and I'm honestly chuffed to get this feedback! So through this post, I just wanted to talk about the prospect of the shared universe idea between this project, Funkinverse and the original Spider-Verse trilogy.

NOTE: None of the mentioned points are canon to either of the projects outside of IAB! unless stated otherwise.

So first off, as you saw through the aforementioned post, The X not only had a run-in with this project's Quill Society, but he also seems to be the most remotely aware of the nature of film fics based around Spider-Verse. A lot of these indeed kick off with that world's iconic hero dying and someone else having to take their mantle for them, which leads them into quite the whacky crossover situation.

In this continuity, some things are different for the Funkinverse storyline due to what goes on with the base FNF universe here. For instance:

Boyfriend died long before through the events of Mario's Madness, and a universal reboot is what gave way to Benjamin.

Benjamin passed down the music/heroic role of his duty to Salty after MtOU, though he continued making music.

Though, like in canon, BF's WI and Twinsomnia incarnations are generation counterparts in the base FNF universe, they're also separate counterparts in Funkinverse (Twinsomnia's BF being Brooke's little son).

Softie/Benjamin Fairest's counterpart in Funkinverse is separate to the one who's linked to IAB!'s FNF universe.

As Benjamin had befriended several of the other BFs and GFs (those from B-Sides, D-Sides, Neo, Minus, B3 and Arrow Funk specifically), any of those that are linked to the Funkin' Society are quick to understand that Salty's in the right for aiming to save his legal guardians from The X and quickly switch sides against Agent Blueballs' ideals for canon events.

The Sky counterpart encountered by the Funkin' Gang is a more hostile variant compared to the original who changed her ways after enough time.

As mentioned above, The X was successfully detained and neutralised by the Quill Society, but the fact that it took FOUR of its members to detain him, compared to just two (Pana and SS!Amy) detaining Speedy in his Chaos Emerl guise, speaks volumes of how he is indeed a threat on par with The Spot and Crimtake.

As Beyond the Spider-Verse isn't out yet, we still don't know whether or not The Spot was successfully beaten.

Sunday ending up with protanopia after their encounter with The X didn't sail well with Carol, Benjamin OR Grace, hence why Benjamin calls him out on it. To think it was all because of a little disagreement about breakfast foods.

The Childhood Memories universe canonically NEVER encountered the Corruption (which is apparently a canon thing, according to Agent Blueballs), and even if it did show up, it'd never effect any of the children's shows. Yeah, get lost, Pibby kids.

Identically to Funkinverse, there's a lone repeat customer that the therapist of the bunch dislikes. For Funkinverse, it's the Boyfriend/Keith from Earth-666 (I Can't Sleep) who Softie dislikes, whereas in IAB!, CD Alt Ending Sonic's disliked repeat customer is Charlie (the Sonic from the god-awful "Sonic 2 Lost Prototype" fangame). That said, he does try to bear with the guy's emotional turmoil, though the other major therapist of the Quill Society, Sara, seems to have caught on as well.

In terms of the Gangs' members having possible canon interactions:

Miles, Salty and OMT!Tails would definitely help learn from each other on how to better protect their respective worlds, and also find solace in the fact that they were all treated as anomalies at different points.

Peter B., Brooke and CR!Sonic would be the doting dads after their first outings and talk quite a bit about their sons/daughters.

Gwen, SNS GF and OMT!Mina would be a sort of comfort group to each other, considering their rough pasts and how broken each one is deep down. Gwen, having been most successful thus far, would definitely be the beacon of light girl the other two clearly need.

Noir, Toon BF and Mini Sonic would interact quite a bit about the Rubik's Cubes that they were given as souvenirs, and their different reasons for admiring the cubes.

Spider-Man, Mobian BF and Mr. Needlemouse are definitely the kind to goof around with their cartoon antics. That said, with the lattermost being the biggest prick, he is prone to being called out for it by the other two, though barely giving a care about it.

Peni, Aloe and EX!Alice are the tech geeks of their respective dimensions and would love sharing their robot-building (maintaining, in Aloe's case) knowledge with each other.

Hobie and the D-Sides versions of BF and Mighty would find common ground in their ideals of screwing over intended consistencies and going their own way in life.

Pavitr, Golden BF and Black Knight Amy would have a way with each other being the naïve newcomers of their respective teams, and BK!Amy, harbouring the most experience, can share some tips for her companions.

The Sonias and CR!Manik would be happy to look after Mayday and Twinsomnia BF, due to them both being toddlers. Them being children sporting superpowers makes it click more.

Margo, Boom, Nicole and Nine could bond from their computer-based knowledge, and the majority could also aim to lift Nine's spirits if he's feeling a bit down.

So that's pretty much the basic gist of things. Another few tidbits:

Of those instigating the canon events, between four candidates: - Melanie / MP (the kid pictured below), despite having tried this himself, didn't do it willingly, and was forced into it by so-called "superiors" who got the short end of the stick big time from Nitro, even after their passing made it look like they could get away with it. - Miguel and Agent Blueballs, despite their cruel methods, at least have good intentions in mind for their approach, but go about it the wrong ways that alienate those around them. - Lost Memory Sonic is the only one of these four to stoop lower than the others would've done, and actually tries DESTROYING universes to maintain the status quo.

(Art will be updated when @mcgamejolter finishes it)

Of the major protagonists between the three universes, OMT!Tails is the only one that's rarely had to use his nanomachine gear to disguise his identity with. That said, he has used it when he visited the dimension of the Hues of Metal (Dimension HoM-2023), and the suit's robotic sheen actually FOOLED the robots. At least, until LM!Sonic was driven away from their base (apparently for, as Rocket Metal put it, being a stereotypical Australian tourist).

In the above point's case, Metallix is the one to catch out OMT!Tails when they're alone, though is ultimately overpowered... from OMT!Tails mentioning that a certain web series isn't officially canon, causing Metallix to go poof from existence. Again.

Despite being a supposed "canon event", Sonic.EXEs are surprisingly quite rare to see in universes that aren't meant to have them, like with the Corruption, Darkness and Venom Symbiotes. That said, the first documented case of one showing up in a Sonic universe in the Quill Society logs is in the Sonic Robo Blast 2 dimension (Dimension SRB-1998), a universe that doesn't even have a canon appearance of the demonic entity.

After "Rivals' Madness" (my unofficial expansion/sequel to Mario's Madness/Vs. Sonic.exe (RERUN)), several of the worlds encountered are their own universes, so the characters within are not solely bound as digital slaves to Ultra M, Xenophanes OR 2011!X.

Related to the above, pretty much all the major cast of FNF ended up dealing with the mess of Ultra M and Xeno in that one adventure, most of which put up with one enemy each; Sophie from Left Behind for Tankman, Mr. L, X.nes and Requital for Pico (the lattermost he fights again later), Stranger for Skid and Pump, OMT for Mommy/Martha Mearest, Awe's Chromophobiac for Senpai, and NMI (No More Innocence) for Daddy/Daniel Dearest.

There are alternate versions of Heaven AND Hell in the IAB! multiverse that aren't solely bound by the Christian bible's depictions. For instance, there's a genuinely friendly community in my version of Hell, which an alternate version of Benjamin dubbed "Keith" discovers after his passing.

Akin to @thestrongestjewel's Eepytale, the Frisk, Chara and Asriel of the IAB! continuity have been living together for some time, albeit independently from adoptive parents like Toriel. Kris also spends some time with them as the biggest sibling of the group, akin to their role in @akanemnon's Twin Runes series.

The full list of those lives lost to the "canon event" theory are as follows:

OMT!Sonic, OMT!Vanilla and OMT!Sally (OMT!Tails)

Uncle Chuck (Crossover Realm Sonic and Extraterrestrial Encounter Sonic)

Sonic and Tails (OMT!Mina)

Caffrin (EX!Alice)

Marc Smith (Nitro; he couldn't even avert this in the Rewritten universe)

Sonic (Antho and Mobiverse Tails)

Amy (ChaosIIUniverse Sonic and Sonia)

ALL of his friends (Hog)

Silver (Lost Memory Sonic)

Tails and Amy (CD Alt Ending Sonic)

The original Boyfriend and Girlfriend (via the original FNF universe's events that led to its rewrite)

Cassandra (both from a tactic Pico pulled to end his school's terrorism early in the new timeline, and for good following the Corruption's events)

Proto Man/Blues (alongside Wily, Bass and Treble) (Mega Man/Rock; these four lost their lives to a rogue Zero build who remains shut down to this day)

For now, that's all I can really discuss. Took me some time to think about all the stuff I could mention here. Until the next post, have a great day/night!

#sonic exe #sonic the hedgehog #spider verse #sth #sonic #sonic fandom #sth au #sonic au #spider man #friday night funkin #funkinverse

[basuralindo]

✨🎊NEW FIC JUST DROPPED🎉✨

I know I said I was probably gonna have a tiny hiatus, buuut I ended up writing a bunch to cope instead, so here it is!

Yes, I mean the OctaViper pirate au, the one I've been bitching about for like a week or something, the one I told myself "this is a self indulgent, back burner type thing, I'm just gonna have fun and not stress about it" about, and then proceeded to get super invested in research and spent hours of my life tryna make it period accurate. That fic. My beloved, horrible child that has given me nothing but trouble yet I'm still so excited to send it out into the world. Please enjoy this dumbshit pain in my ass.

Gonna be adding some thoughts and ref images under the cut, you're gonna wanna read the chapter first. Here there be spoilers.

First off, their ships.

Jamil's ship, The Scarab (reference to Scarabia), is a Baghlah dhow, a relatively light speedy cargo ship mainly used by people of the Arabian peninsula. Some references for the structure and style:

Azul's ship, The Sea Witch, is a spanish Galleon. They outweigh Baghlahs by several hundred tons, armed to the teeth, and while not as fast as a Baghlah, still surprisingly fast for what is just an overall monstrosity of a ship. There's no examples for the specific color scheme and decor, but here's an idea of the general size and over the top style:

They're just generally Extra™. So is pirate Azul.

Speaking of extra, the outfits!

-Jamil wears mostly traditional Sands clothing, in his signature red black and gold, but more decked out than average in order to display the wealth and status of the family he represents. There's also some western influence to the fashions due to trade and culture sharing. He absolutely takes any excuse to dress fancy because Jamil is not immune to wanting nice things.

-The pirates have clothing accumulated from all over the world, which they mix and match depending on preference. Azul accumulates ridiculous amounts of wealth, and the crew ends up with a lot of extra spending money, so taste and practicality are the only limits. Of which Azul has none.

-Floyd mismatches whatever he likes the look of and finds comfortable. So mostly loose fitting stuff in fun colors, and items he finds impressively well crafted. I just kinda wrote out what he'd probably wear piece by piece and it turned into just, classic Pirate™ aesthetic, but I'm just gonna roll with that. You cannot convince me that, without an enforced dresscode, he and Jade would dress remotely alike.

-Azul goes for wealthy high fashion styles from influential western countries (inspired mainly by french, spanish, and italian fashions), because those give the impression of high status. Basically the era equivalent of a three piece suit with fedora and cummerbund. He's very much in peacock mode in this chapter, and went all out with the fancy. I'm kinda basing the look on his masquerade costume, but with some adjustments for the era, like the cavalier hat instead of a tricorn and a more typical cut of overcoat.

-Jade likes to look quiet and reserved just to fuck with people, kinda following along with whatever fashion kicks Azul goes on. He intentionally stays in Azul's shadow the way an ambush predator stays in a hole in the rocks.

-Jamil having an english last name didn't make sense in context, so I gave him the nearest arabic translation of Viper. Khabith is a more vague concept that implies evil/malicious/venomous/underhanded/etc., and is used as a term for venomous snakes as well. There isn't a more specific word for viper that I know of, besides clarifying "'afea khabith", but the implications of Khabith play into the plot I have in mind. Also I just enjoy how it combines with the name Jamil (beautiful) to mean something like "dangerously beautiful", very fem fatale vibes.

Side characters:

-Idk why with the cousins, it just popped into my head and I went with it. It's fun to explore possible family dynamics with Jamil. Their names mean Wisdom (Hakim), and Bravery (Jasur), because I felt like keeping to the theme of descriptive names.

-I love the idea of a monster pirate crew, and I love coming up with Creatures, especially nonhuman people. So I'm just having a great time making shit up for Azul's crew. The harpy is my favorite. She's not a reference to anything twst related, I just wanted to write about a harpy. I'm obsessed with this side character. I'm also excited to eventually talk more about the Very Ugly Man because there is a backstory to him and it cracks me up a lot.

-I really enjoyed making Azul this punchable. I actually really like enemies to lovers as a trope, but have never gotten around to writing it until now, even in original works for some reason. This is still pretty one sided as far as enemies go, because it's still Azul after all, but I'm having a great time and I hope I can pull it off well

-Idk what else to say here, I'm just really excited about this story. I wanted to let these bastard fish be awful creeps, I wanted to do an enemies to lovers thing, I wanna write about the ocean, I'm having fun, and I hope everyone else can enjoy this as much as I do

#twst fic #ashenviper #octaviper #floyd/jamil #jade/jamil #twst pirate au #twisted wonderland #chapter babble

[compartmentalisinghmpf]

Complicated feelings

This is, in a way, another removed/unfinished bit from my review, with some pretty hefty more recent additions. It was intended and still is intended as a service for potential readers, specifically ones who might have complicated feelings about Dave and Bro, and would like to get a better sense of how this topic is handled in the fic before they commit.

I’m putting my actual discussion under a readmore, because better safe than sorry. I don’t think I’m going to any particularly disturbing place with it, but some people who follow me may not want to see this issue discussed on their dash at all. (See tags for content warning.)

The Bro and Dave situation is - this is probably extremely unsurprising to people who know anything at all about Homestuck - the biggest issue I struggled with in trying to write my review/rec thing. It’s a topic I have Complicated Feelings™ about, and I felt I should probably Say Something About It™ in my rec, mainly because I didn’t want to send people unwarned towards something that may range from severely unpleasant to actively triggering for some, depending on their own experiences.

To be clear: the relationship between the two teen Daves and Bro - i.e., the relationship between two kids and their former abuser - absolutely is at the heart of this fic.

As you know if you’ve read my rec, I ended up basically not talking about this at all - even though it is, as I said, absolutely central. This is mostly because I did not feel qualified to address it in a useful way. Also, any attempt to tackle it almost inevitably started taking over the entire review. (I mean, look at the length of this thing here. Sheesh.) Anyway, I figured eventually, there is enough info in the tags of the fic on AO3, and in the front matter of the first chapter, to give a newly arrived reader at least *some* sort of warning, if they need it.

There was enough there, in fact, to warn *me* away, initially. I only came back via someone’s bookmark, I think, or possibly a rec somewhere. I’m glad I did, obviously. And the fic did not, for me, cross any lines I have issues with in fiction, even though I had worried that it might. Other readers’ feelings about this may differ, of course. I can really only offer my own reaction here, in the hope that it may help potential readers with sensitivities in this direction to gauge their own possible reactions - if that is something they would like to do, in advance.

I do not have first-hand abuse experience, at least not with parental/familial abuse - I was pretty thoroughly bullied, including physically, by fellow students, but that’s a fairly different kind of thing - so none of this, neither in canon nor in fic, is personally triggering to me, no matter how it is handled. Nevertheless, even as someone who reads primarily angst fic about very heavy subject matters, there are things I simply, personally, strongly do not want to read, in fic. One of those is abuse apologism. And, having been in fandom for a very long time, and mostly having liked characters who’ve done terrible things, I know that fic, in general, runs rife with that. (I’m not saying you can’t or shouldn’t write or read stuff like that; it’s fic, it’s the playground of the subconscious, and characters aren’t people; do what you need, here. Just, *I* really don’t want to read it.)

So. The Run and Go is, make no mistake about it, *intensely* invested in the relationship between the Daves and Bro. It’s also invested in Bro himself. There is a clear, ongoing project here, for Bro to “become better”, and of constructing a path for these three to move forward, somehow, together - and that is probably utopian, an impossible fairytale ending, in terms of real world psychology. It’s also something I can very well imagine being in itself upsetting, to some readers.

This project of a better future will only be even remotely plausible with a certain *kind* of Bro, of course. The range of Bros that could be considered potentially supported by canon is vast, and on the far end, there be monsters. Of necessity, for reconciliation of some sort to seem at all possible, a story needs to present us with a Bro who exists on the “lesser awfulness” end of the scale, and that is what TRaG does.

(For what it’s worth, in the light of Dirk as seen in Homestuck proper, and the fact that Bro is a version of Dirk, a “less awful” Bro does make a certain sense to me, even in canon, although I also consider darker interpretations well supported.)

Mind you, a “less awful” Bro is still pretty bad. He has to be, if you take canon at all seriously. He’s not “just misunderstood”. He’s a deeply, sometimes dangerously dysfunctional human being. There are reasons for this (not even just the one, obvious one); and TRaG has empathy for him. Which isn’t the same as excusing him.

What is important to me here is that in pursuing its project, the story doesn’t take the easy route. It explains, but it doesn’t justify. It never forgets about the Daves’ pain; it pretty solidly centres and prioritises the Daves’ emotional needs, and it doesn’t ever give us straightforward progress or miraculous epiphanies, because those would make neither psychological nor moral sense here.

Some edges do get sanded off a little too completely, for my taste, but overall things stay emotionally complicated and kind of fucked up – as they should be, as they would be - even as they slowly get better in the long view

Better is always a relative term.

#content warning: abuse #cw: abuse

[outgrowings]

i don't really care if people hate a harmless character but if they hate them bc they have a mischaracterized version of them that isn't even canon well that's the person's fault

#lmao ppl calling oikawa and atsumu abusive. no they're not abusive they're just annoying. #also this one time i got bored and read some shitty s*kuatsu fic where atsumu is abusive towards sakusa and when i went to the author's bio #it turns out they liked terushima and i just commented #'girl you are hating on the wrong blonde boy' #and then it said it was a projection fic. none of these characters are remotely abusive this is why projection fics cant work properly.

[kylorengarbagedump]

Defy Your Authority: Chapter 2

Read on AO3. Part 1 here. Part 3 here.

Summary: So, like, what's the big deal, buddy?

Words: 3800

Warnings: None. Yet.

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: Hello!! Firstly, thank you so much to @bastila-ren​ and @elmidol​ for listening to me talk so much about this fic, for reading the first two chapters, and helping me with their generous feedback.

Secondly, I want to thank all of you for your EXTREMELY generous response to this fic. I admit I was very nervous to post this, and still am very nervous to write it, but I can't explain how helpful it is to know that people still enjoy the story and want to read more. It's definitely a story I want to write!

Y’all have truly been too kind to me. I don't have a posting schedule, just yet--I'm hoping every week or every other week. :) Love y'all SOOOOO MUCH.

Like the smarmy bastard he was, Hux fought off a smirk. But Allegiant General Pryde gazed at you with what some might refer to as sheer, indignant horror.

Kylo Ren stopped feet from the throne, his gaze wandering your grungy hair, dirtied uniform, the cell filth on your face.

“Hm,” he said. “That’s one way to greet your Supreme Leader.”

Embers tickled your cheeks. Your Supreme Leader.

You looked at the two other men. What was on your tongue: Would you prefer I get on my knees instead?

What you ended up saying: “Uh, sorry. Sir.”

“I believe the Supreme Leader requires an apology a little more comprehensive than uh, sorry.”  Pryde stepped forward, as if to explain. “Sir, this woman was brought aboard by General Hux without prior approval.”

Kylo glanced between the older men, stare drifting to you, the darkness in his eyes reviving an animal within you that had been placed on life support. 

“Yes,” he replied. “I don’t recall providing authorization for this.”

“Supreme Leader,” Hux said, “we both know your TIE has been out of commission for several cycles. I thought it prudent to--”

“You thought it prudent to ask a manager of a remote outpost to come aboard the flagship of the First Order. I assume that’s what you’re about to say.” Pryde paused, waiting for Hux’s contrition--but none came. He turned to Kylo. “Sir, again, please forgive me. Had I known he’d be bringing aboard a rim-dweller who would defy your authority, I would’ve denied his request, entirely.”

“Defiance.” Kylo’s gaze drilled you. Much like you had dreamt of something else of his drilling you. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Pryde balked. “Well, I hardly find it appropriate to address the Supreme Leader of the First Order as dude, for starters.” He spat the word onto the floor like poison. “Really, General, you and her both should be begging for his pardon.”

You swallowed, attention on Kylo, trying to hide your glee. “Please, please forgive me,” you murmured. “Supreme Leader.”

Hux cleared his throat. “My apologies as well, sir.”

“Hm.” If he’d understood your tease, he didn’t acknowledge it. You frowned. Kylo looked to the cloaked mercenaries behind you. “Escort her back to Orinda.”

Disbelief smacked you across the face. “I’m sorry, what?”

Sputtering, Hux stepped forward. “Supreme Leader--”

“You don’t belong on this vessel,” Kylo said, glimpsing you, then the cloaked figures again. “Report is postponed. Prepare the Buzzard for departure.” 

Like droids, they activated and brushed past you, stalking toward the turbolift. The Supreme Dickhead gazed at you expectantly.

“They’re not patient.”

You shook your head, crossing your arms. “If you think I’m leaving--”

“Supreme Leader,” Hux said again. For once, you felt like both of you were stuck in the same flabbergasted pod. “Repairing your fighter has already wasted the time of numerous engineers, we don’t need to add--”

“Perhaps every engineer aboard deserves to have their time equally wasted, General.”

Hux’s jaw tensed. “If you wish, sir,” he replied. “But we could resolve the issue now.”

“We won’t.”

For whatever reason, Kylo Ren seemed dedicated to preventing you from working on this ship, as if he didn’t know your skill level. As if he believed other engineers deserved a shot at it over you. Ignoring the furious trembling of your fingers, you dug them into your sleeves. 

“What, you don’t think I’m capable?” you asked, frowning.

Pryde sighed. “Supreme Leader, the Council--”

Kylo pivoted to you. “No.” There was no hint of mockery or deception in his tone. “You’re capable.”

You swallowed, shrugged your shoulder. Tried not to sound hurt. “Then why won’t you let me try?”

Hazel eyes lingered, held you in silence for deafening seconds. There was something very, very tired inside of them. 

“Sir,” Pryde said, “as much as I love the rousing debate over whether or not this rimrat should be deemed worthy of working on your starfighter, the Supreme Council meeting is in minutes.” He turned to you. “I believe you’ve been directed to leave.”

You furrowed your brow, but miraculously managed to say nothing. The muscle under Kylo’s nose twitched. 

“You’ll get two hours.” He didn’t seem excited about the idea. “After that, you will return to Orinda.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” you sighed. “Sir.”

A huff escaped him. “The Supreme Council meeting.” He turned, strode to the exit. “Come.”

Pryde frowned. “Sir, shouldn’t Hux return her to the hangar?”

“No.” Kylo’s voice ricocheted in the chamber. “She’s coming.”

Something like joy sparkled in your heart. Hux jutted out his chin, smirking at Pryde, who frowned and looked to you. You resisted the urge to stick your tongue out at him. There was a puzzle in his mind regarding your identity, a puzzle he was struggling to put together without the missing pieces. You weren’t interested in offering them. 

The three of you followed Kylo into the turbolift. Out of irritation, you stood as far away from him as possible. Awkward quiet settled in the air, and you grit your teeth, ignoring the sting of humiliation at your cheeks. Sure, it was nice he was inviting you to his little meeting, but that hardly compensated for the fact that it had been four entire months since you’d seen him and he was intent on booting you without so much as a parting fuck. 

Not that you wanted to fuck him after that stunt. 

Mostly.

The lift descended. Kylo hadn’t even looked at you, despite your best attempts at petty distancing. Hundreds of words hung on your tongue, and so few of them were appropriate for the ears of Hux and Pryde. Luckily for you, you could think them, instead.

Jackass.

The blast door slid open, and Kylo exited without response, the two generals on his heels. You lagged behind them, glare boring into the broad-shouldered bastard with the flowing cape.

Can’t believe this asshole was here the entire time, knowing everything, with all of the power in the galaxy, just doing bantha-shit about it.

Stormtroopers passed in formation, nodding in deference to the men in front of you as you turned a corner. The clomping of boots was the only sound for meters.

Leaving you for four months, horny as hell, lonely as hell, all while he was here doing what? Jerking off? As if he hadn’t begged you to stay. Please.

At the end of the hall, a set of blast doors parted, and you trailed the group inside, greeted by a massive, jet-black table with a hologram projector buried in the center. The occupants of about a dozen chairs turned, their eyes stuck to you, assessing you. Kylo crossed to the head of the table, Hux and Pryde taking spaces near him. The only open seats were at the back, relegated for only the most irrelevant attendees. You slunk over to one, sinking into it.

Apparently you’re not relevant to anyone in this room, anyway.

“Who’s this?” A balding officer of high-rank stared at you. “Supreme Leader?”

Pryde leaned forward. “She’s the Chief--”

“Who she is,” Kylo drawled, “is none of your concern.” 

Blood heated your face. The room rumbled with uncertainty, but only for seconds. 

“Sir,” said an older woman with slick blonde hair, “Multiple locations on Kamino refused entry to officers seeking out junior recruits. Our entry-level ranks are suffering. Requesting additional--”

Kylo glanced at her. “Yes.”

She nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

“Supreme Leader,” said an older, white-haired man. “Surveillance indicates that a fuel depot located in the Inner Rim has received communications from Resistance starships.”

“Have they responded?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Eliminate them.”

“Yes, sir.”

Another, dark-skinned woman inched to the edge of her seat. “Supreme Leader, ground troops found no evidence of Resistance sympathizers on the most recent patrol of Aeos Prime.”

“And the infrastructure.”

“Seems salvageable, sir.”

Kylo blinked, as if the answer hadn’t even mattered. “Move to the next outpost in the system.”

“Of course, Supreme Leader.”

Yet another man cleared his throat. “Supreme Leader, if I may…”

Swallowing, you stared into the gleaming tabletop, tracing the rivets of white light bordering the projector. Voices rose, offering status updates and seeking approval of the man at the head of the room. Obviously, there was nothing attractive about how competent and powerful Kylo Ren appeared in this setting. And this definitely did not tingle pride in your belly watching every single person in this room vie for his favor, knowing that out of all of them, the one he’d fucked was you.

Then again, maybe that was the very crux of the issue. His time and attention was desired and demanded and split between thousands--he directed and delegated an entire, galaxy-wide government. He commanded armies. Strategized operations. Balanced every need, tangible and intangible, with only two hands.

You spent your days bathing in ion dust.

The Allegiant Asshole cleared his throat, breaking you from your pity party. “General Hux,” he said, “didn’t you have your pet project to present?”

All eyes turned to Hux, his face dull with irritation. Lips pursing, he straightened his spine, fingers whizzing over the data screen at his seat. One swipe, a quick field entry, and the projector hummed to life, shooting a blue hologram of a TIE fighter above the table. It flickered, rotating like a display.

“The First Order has regularly demonstrated deficient performance during naval engagements, despite our superior numbers and resources,” Hux said. “After gathering data, we discovered that during our most recent missions, the TIE fighter is regularly out-piloted by Resistance sympathizers.” He tapped the screen, and the hologram split into a cross-section. “Thorough research indicates the TIE model is obsolete.”

The room crackled with whispers, officers turning to each other and looking to Hux, their faces twisted in disbelief. Kylo Ren sat, saying nothing, trained on the display. 

Sighing, you gazed at your hands and cleaned your nails. To you, this was obvious. Of course the basic TIE models--the TIE/fo models--were obsolete. The ships were highly inflexible, carried little firepower for their unwieldy construction, and had no hyperdrive application. In comparison to the model used by the Special Forces, the TIE/fo was practically useless. 

It was less obvious why these high-ranking strangers seemed unable to handle the truth.

“General,” said a dark-skinned man. “Are you proposing we abandon the TIE corps?”

Hux pressed the screen again, and it zoomed in on an exposed ion engine. “At the very least, the most basic TIE corps is woefully unequipped in comparison to Resistance fighters.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he replied, “our pilots are extensively trained.”

Pryde sneered. “Admiral Griss is correct,” he said. “Our elite troops don’t demonstrate any issue with crushing Resistance burrows.”

“Elite troops are never the ones defending a new occupation.” Hux gestured to the engine blueprint. “We sacrifice our progress because of this antiquated construction.”

“And what’s so antiquated about it?” Pryde sneered. “The construction is based on the Imperial TIE. These ships were a well-known symbol of naval superiority.”

“Updated for modern needs,” added Griss. 

Hux’s voice rose a decibel. “Not modern enough, given how frequently a single X-wing will decimate an entire unit.”

You wanted to groan. Against your will, you had to admit Hux was right. Orinda regularly saw straggling, crippled TIEs smash into the valley outside the hangar in attempts to land for repair. Mirna had pulled more pilots than you could count out of blazing wreckage.

“Do you suggest we change the basic TIE unit, then?” Griss asked.

“Perhaps,” Hux replied, “or we move to a different construction entirely.”

The other officers chuckled, murmurs rippling through the ranks again. 

“Supreme Leader,” Pryde said, “what he’s suggesting is absurd. Sienar-Jaemus manufactures perfectly appropriate and functional fighters at an affordable price to the First Order. It’s been done this way since the Empire.”

Rolling your eyes, you sat back in your chair. For a General of a government allegedly interested in innovation and progress, Pryde seemed to love sucking the Empire’s dick. The fact that they were refusing to even entertain Hux’s idea was, well…

“Perhaps we should place a double order for the basic fighters, sir,” Pryde continued. “To demonstrate their capability.”

You snorted. “Now that’s absurd.”

Every voice in the room died. Leather squelched, and you glanced up from your nails in time to see a dozen bodies shifting in their seats to turn and look at you. Inwardly, you cursed--you hadn’t had to practice volume control in months. 

At the head of the table, Kylo Ren stared. His expression, even to you, was indiscernible. But even if he was mad, you wouldn’t have cared. Not as long as he still intended on kicking you off the Steadfast without another word.

Shrugging, you said, “General Hux is right. The original TIE model is flawed. They lose out one-on-one almost every time.” Kylo still said nothing, the rest of the room too confused to interrupt you. “I guarantee there’s more credits spent on replacement models than it would cost to invest in something more versatile.”

Griss’s nose wrinkled, and he looked between you and Kylo. “I…” When Kylo offered no response, Griss settled on you. “I’m not sure what brought you here, ah… Lieutenant, but regardless of your purpose, you’re surrounded by superiors of the First Order. Don’t speak out of turn.”

“Right,” you said, “I do apologize, sir.  But you have to admit that this all is a little absurd. I see busted up basic TIEs all the time. They’re a failure.”

“Yes,” he replied, “and you are?”

“Chief of Operations on Orinda.”

“An outpost?” The room echoed with laughter, and you bristled. Griss gestured to you. “Supreme Leader, please, why is this woman here?”

Pryde nodded. “I know you have your reasons, sir, but surely she doesn’t belong in this room.”

“Maybe this woman knows what she’s talking about,” you mumbled.

“Excuse me?” Griss whipped around, leering at you. “Mind repeating yourself, Lieutenant?”

Volume control. Really needed to get better with that. 

Gathering a breath, you swallowed your ire. You could not spend all two hours on the Steadfast immediately making enemies with the military leaders of the First Order. Given Kylo’s state, you doubted he’d encourage your attitude. 

“My apologies,” you said, bowing your head, “I’m just. Nervous. Being on this ship for the first time.”

“Perhaps you’ve spent too much time on Orinda,” said Griss. “You’ve forgotten the hierarchy.”

“She needs re-education,” said the balding man.

The dark-skinned woman huffed. “Or a demotion.”

“Some form of discipline, surely.”

“Yes,” said Pryde with a glare. “Perhaps that should be arranged.”

Your heart skipped.

“Enough.”

Every person in the room spun, attention on Kylo Ren.

He was still inscrutable. Still gazing directly at you. 

A shiver spilled over your spine. Like instinct, your thighs pressed together. 

“General Hux,” he said. “Prepare a plan for the replacement of the basic TIE model.” A pause. No one spoke a word. “Dismissed.”

You remained in your seat as the other officers rose, their lips sealed as they filed out of the room. Hux scowled at you--ungrateful prick--and acknowledged Kylo’s order before leaving. Pryde scrutinized you, his focus flipping between you and his Supreme Leader as he stood from the table. 

“It’s time to leave, Lieutenant,” he said.

“I need a moment,” you replied, glancing at him. “Sir.”

Pryde turned to Kylo. “Sir?”

Kylo’s face was blank. “Dismissed, General.”

Whatever Pryde was thinking, he didn’t say. He offered deference to the Supreme Leader before strutting out, the blast door shutting behind him.

The moment it closed, the room thickened with heat, like stars vaporized the air. Sweat beaded your hairline, your tongue drying to paper. Every movement you thought to make was paused, paralyzed by confusion. Had it been four months ago, you’d be getting railed on top of the table or in his chair, you were sure of it. But Kylo seemed almost indifferent now. It neutered every response that came to mind.

Here you were, alone with Kylo Ren for the first time since you’d left. He was only meters away from you. And you had absolutely no idea what to do.

“Your time is limited, Lieutenant.”

A reminder he wanted you gone. You shook your head, chewing the inside of your lip. 

“The silencer is free to be inspected.”

Indignance tightened your chest. Your face was on fire.

“Or perhaps,” Kylo said, “you’d rather travel directly to Orinda.”

You whirled on him. “So you knew I was on Orinda the entire time?” Your frustration was unfettered. “You knew and just didn’t do anything about it? For four months?”

His stare didn’t yield. “Yes.”

“Yes?” you said. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say for yourself? How do you expect me to respond to that?” More heat gripped your neck. He was still. “Why do you want me gone so badly? You act like you don’t even want me around.”

“I don’t.”

The words were switchblades to your chest. You shook your head, gulped your pain.

“Uh. Okay. Wow.” Sighing, you continued, “But don’t you--I mean. You pleaded with me to stay.”

He said nothing.

“You... I know how you feel. You can’t hide that from me. Do you…” Your throat was tight. “Did something change?”

For four months, you had wondered what had been going on in Kylo Ren’s mind. Seeing him draped in the responsibility of the Supreme Leader of the First Order, hesitation crept into your gut. Within his gaze, perhaps only apparent to you, there was a black, terrible emptiness, like shadows reined in by his rage. Exhaustion hung in dark circles under his eyes and at his cheeks. His presence was as breathtaking as it ever had been, only haunted with the weight of the galaxy. 

For four months, you had wondered. You didn’t know, now, if you wanted the answer.

“You don’t belong here.” Kylo paused, then stood, moving toward the door. “Your presence is not warranted.”

“Warranted? That’s not what this is about.” You shot to your feet, intercepting his path. “You knew where I was, and you never once came to me! You left me there! Alone!” He side-stepped you, and you followed him, keeping your eyes chained to his. “Didn’t you miss me?” you asked. “Didn’t you think about me?”

He stalled. Exhaling through his nose, he spoke through his teeth. “Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you find me?” you said. “You promised!” 

Kylo stood, trapped in your stare, his fingers furling into fists.

“I know how you feel about me.” You advanced on him. “I know it.” 

You were so near you could feel his breath, count the individual strands of his hair, bask in the warmth of his body. A short inhale, and memory slammed you like gravity--the scent of his skin, his palms gripping your waist, his lips brushing your ear. The ache in your hands at night when they were not full of him, the bedtime yearning in your limbs when they were not wound around his. You had known him, known him, as if his blood ran in your veins.  

This was the closest you’d been to Kylo Ren in weeks upon weeks. Somehow, you only felt further away.

“Why?” you asked. “Why didn’t you find me?” After all of it, he only stared. It lit you with rage, and you bumped your chest with his. “Say something!”

The muscle in his jaw tightened. His shoulders rolled. But he was silent. 

A peal of bitter laughter escaped you. Whatever issues he had didn’t mater. You deserved more than what he was offering.

“Wow. Okay.” You shrugged, stepping back. “I don’t know who I was thinking about for these past four months, but it definitely wasn’t you.” Shaking your head, you turned toward the door. “Whatever, dude. Fuck you.”

You took a single step, and Kylo snatched your wrist, whipped you against his body. 

“You say that,” he breathed, “as if you haven’t been thinking about getting fucked since you arrived.”

Oxygen fled your lungs. Every blood cell in your body piled onto your cheeks and between your legs. In seconds, you were a throbbing, pent-up, swell of lust. 

You swallowed. “Oh, please,” you muttered. “You can’t distract me that easily. You know I need answers.”

“Hm.” Kylo scanned your figure. “So you say.”

“You’re such an asshole.” You tried to peel your wrist free. “Why didn’t you do this weeks ago, huh?”

His face darkened, his hold on you tightened. 

“You ask questions that have no answers.”

“Ugh. Get off.” Grunting, you shouldered him, body buffeting his like a flaccid wave. It would’ve been arousing, his strength, how utterly solid he was, if he wasn’t making you miserable in this moment. “You’re so full of it, man. Let me go. I’ll go repair your dumbass ship and you can send me back to Orinda, like you so clearly want.”

“You presume to understand what I want.” His voice was severe, a dull blade. “You will not stay here.” The ghost of a smirk fled his face. “But you won’t escape punishment when you’re gone.”

You shuddered, stuck out your chin. “Your punishments don’t scare me.”

Kylo growled. “Really.” A leather palm cupped the back of your neck, tugged you close. “Such confidence.”

You couldn’t help it. A tiny, excited whimper left you. Kylo shifted, his hand squeezed--

The projector in the table beeped. An incoming transmission. The both of you froze, staring at the blinking request on the interface.  You coughed, patted his chest as a signal to answer it. The knot in his throat bobbed, and he released you, crossing to the console and accepting the message.

Hux appeared in hologram form. “Supreme Leader,” he said, voice even more snivelly through the broadcast. “We received a distress signal from Orinda. Multiple Resistance fighters have been detected on radar. Requests for response from the officers stationed there have gone unanswered.”

The joints in your body locked. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“Permission to dispatch TIE units, sir,” Hux said.

Kylo was still. “Dispatch.”

“Yes, sir.”

The hologram winked out. Before you could process, your feet were moving you toward the door.

“I gotta go.” Your pulse pounded in your temple. The entirety of your crew was down there. By themselves. “I gotta go there. I gotta get there. I’m sorry, I know I said I would repair your ship but--”

“Stop.” 

“--it’s probably for the best anyway, I just gotta find some way there, I--”

He spoke your name like a command. You stopped. Stared into his tired, empty eyes. 

His chest fell in a small sigh. “We’ll take the Buzzard,” he said. “Come.”

Kylo Ren tread past you, through the blast doors, into the hallway. The tatters of your bewildered heart weren’t a priority right now. You followed him--your Supreme Leader.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren #defy your authority #fya2 #fanfiction problems #WEEEWOOO WEEEWOOO

[tsarisfanfiction]

Carry Me Home

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: John, Scott, Virgil

Back to back rescues is a recipe for exhaustion.  Luckily, Scott’s got an eye in the sky looking out for him.

A random discussion with @janetm74 about how much we love sleepy Scott fics somehow turned into this...  Well, it feels like it’s been a while since I posted any fluff, so here you go.

John didn’t have alarms rigged to alert him just before his eldest brother crashed out, although at times that certainly sounded like an appealing prospect.  Maybe one day he’d implement it, considering Scott’s penchant for working until he dropped – literally – but for now it remained a vague concept in the back of his mind.

Today was one day where it might be useful.  It was, he supposed, fortunate that the rest of his brothers had just returned from their respective rescues, leaving him with only Scott to monitor as his big brother packed up after his own rescue.  If he’d been distracted by another brother, or some new stream of important data that needed instant attention, he wouldn’t have caught the signs in time.  As it was, the only thing on his conscious radar at that moment was Scott, and John saw the moment his older brother’s vitals plummeted.

His immediate reaction was panic, his heart jumping up to land in his throat as Scott’s blood pressure and heart rate dropped from its high, adrenaline-fuelled state.  But Scott didn’t keel over, or faint, or outwardly show any reaction at all, and logic sidled its way in before John did something unadvisable.

This was Scott’s third rescue in the past twenty-four hours.  None of them had been easy, but this final one had been particularly physically demanding, with his brother clambering in and around a large and challenging area of craggy rocks - in a couple of cases having to carry a rescuee while doing so.  John was also aware that Scott hadn’t had much by way of sleep, and while he hadn’t been tracking his brother’s every move, he suspected food probably hadn’t featured as much as it should have done, either.

It was the perfect storm.

He watched the camera feed closely as Scott packed away the last of his harness equipment before sitting down heavily in his pilot seat.  A dirty, tired hand rubbed at his face, leaving streaks on the skin in an admittance John knew Scott wouldn’t have made if he’d realised he was being watched.  The yawn, splitting his brother’s face in two and beading moisture in the corner of his scrunched closed eyes, was the last straw.

Scott was not piloting anywhere like that.

Pulling up Thunderbird One’s controls took barely a thought.  By the time Scott’s weary hands rested on the levers, ready to guide his ‘bird into the air, John had locked him out and activated her remote pilot.

It only took a second for Scott to realise that Thunderbird One’s controls weren’t responding to him, but a second was far too long for a man who lived and breathed flight.  John let his hologram flicker into view as Scott grumbled and poked at the controls again, clearly not yet realising that the reason they weren’t working was because John had decreed it.

His brother jumped when he noticed him.

“Everything’s fine, John,” he said, although he was still scowling at his ‘bird’s controls as if he thought there was something wrong.  “I’ll be in the air in a minute.”

“I know,” John agreed pleasantly, and was relieved to see the scowling blue eyes turn suspiciously towards him.  Scott was exhausted, but could at least still do the bare minimum of realise when a brother was up to something.  “Strap yourself in.”  Scott gestured at his shoulder harness, and John barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “The turbulence straps,” he clarified. While the shoulder harnesses did their job in most conditions, Thunderbird One’s pilot seat also came with additional security in the case of heavy turbulence – or, in a worst-case scenario, a crash landing.  Considering Scott was undeniably more creeping further towards sleep every moment – proven by another yawn which he couldn’t stifle – John wanted him fully strapped in.

“Don’t need ‘em,” Scott grumbled.  “Conditions are clear.”

“Scott.”  John had mastered the disappointed parent voice years ago out of necessity, and sometimes even Scott reacted to it. Today, with the older man more asleep than awake, the stars aligned in John’s favour, and the turbulence straps were fastened.  Scott still grumbled, but John didn’t care as long as he was secure.

“What is the point of this?” his brother demanded, failing to hide yet another yawn.  His eyes were half-lidded at best, and another glance at his vitals showed that it was only Scott’s stubbornness that was keeping him awake.  There was absolutely no way he was fit to fly, and John was going to enforce that.

“Relax,” he said, keeping his voice level and low.  “I’ll get you home, big brother.”

“Wha-?”  Blue eyes shot open.  “John, what are-”

John didn’t let him finish his sentence before powering up Thunderbird One’s VTOL and lifting his brother’s ‘bird – complete with said brother safely ensconced within – into the sky.

“You’re dead on your feet, Scott,” he pointed out calmly.  “Get some rest.  You’re in no state to pilot.”

“I’m fine,” Scott tried to protest, but yet another yawn interrupted him and he involuntarily slumped back in the seat.  John took the opportunity to ignite Thunderbird One’s rear boosters and accelerate her up through the sound barrier.

“Scott.”  This time it wasn’t the disappointed parent, but rather the wheedling little brother.  Scott was always weak to wheedling little brothers, and this was no exception.  He slumped back further in the chair, head resting back against the headrest.

“Fine,” he huffed, finally accepting that this was a debate he was never going to win.  Another yawn crossed his face and his eyelids fluttered closed for several moments before they were wrenched open again.  “Just for now.”

The fact that he had caved at all proved how unfit to fly he was.

Blue eyes fluttered closed again, but this time they didn’t re-open.  Scott’s vitals stabilised themselves, far too low for consciousness to be on the cards at all, and John kept an eye on the camera feed as Scott’s chest rose and fell in slow and even breaths.  His brother badly needed the sleep.

After a moment, during which he brought Thunderbird One to a safe, comfortable cruising speed of Mach seven and confirmed nothing was in her flight path, he opened a line to Tracy Island, and his immediate younger brother.

Virgil wasn’t long back from a rescue himself, and still had a smudge of grime on his nose that no-one had pointed out to him yet.

“Another rescue?” he asked. He looked somewhat weary himself, although far from Scott’s own level of exhaustion.  John shook his head.

“No,” he promised.  “Scott’s fallen asleep.”

That perked Virgil up straight away.  “In Thunderbird One?” he demanded, incredulously.  John gave a wry smile in response.

“I’m in control,” he assured him.  “Scott’s exhausted, but safe.”  To prove it, he sent along a copy of Scott’s suit telemetry, which was currently reading vitals consistent with a deep sleep.  Virgil scrutinised them closely for several moments before sighing.

“He needs to stop pushing himself so hard,” he despaired quietly, before collecting himself.  “What’s Thunderbird One’s ETA?”

John glanced across at the figures.  “Half an hour,” he said.  “Scott’s probably not going to wake up before she lands.”  He hoped he didn’t.  Scott needed actual sleep, not a half hour nap in his Thunderbird.  “Judging by his vitals, I wouldn’t be surprised if he sleeps right through.”

Virgil’s eyes glanced over the data again, and his lips thinned in agreement.

“Get him home, John,” he said.  “I’ll take it from there.”

“F.A.B,” John agreed. He didn’t close the line with Virgil, but he did turn away from his younger brother to instead watch his older brother as he continued to guide Thunderbird One home.

As predicted, Scott slept right through the landing half an hour later.  There was a slight stir as she decelerated and rotated, but his eyes stayed closed and he remained slumped bonelessly in his seat as John settled the Thunderbird on her castors and allowed her to roll back to the hangar.

Virgil was ready and waiting on the gantry when John let his hologram flicker back into view.

“Still asleep?” the middle Tracy asked as the Thunderbird came to a stop.  John nodded.  “Okay, I’ve got this.”  Virgil stepped forwards onto the extending loading ramp, and as he neared the cockpit, John disengaged the pilot seat so that it swung out to meet him.  His younger brother didn’t hesitate, reaching out and releasing all the straps and harnesses holding Scott in place before scooping the still-sleeping man up into his arms.

That was, in theory, the end of John’s domain.  With Scott safe and still slumbering away in Virgil’s arms, he was the dark-haired Tracy’s responsibility now, and his hologram stopped projecting so as not to distract Virgil.

Still, John watched as the platform retracted, bringing his brothers back to the gantry, and Virgil walked across the metal towards the elevator.  In his arms, Scott shifted, a sleepy murmur indicating that his sleep wasn’t quite so deep any more.  Virgil was no stranger to handling him, however, and a small, fond, smile crept onto John’s face as his younger brother murmured something quiet and melodic.

The microphones couldn’t pick up exactly what it was Virgil was saying – or, John suspected, humming – but whatever it was seemed to do the trick as Scott settled back down.

There were no blind spots in Thunderbird Five’s coverage of the villa.  John didn’t normally pay close attention to areas outside of the den, kitchen and hangars, largely content to let his family get on with their personal lives without him spying on them, but today he tracked Virgil the entire way from the hangars to Scott’s bedroom.  Virgil was frowning a little by the time he got there, clearly a little suspicious at how little effort it had taken to keep their big brother asleep, and the same unease filtered through John’s mind.

Was Scott really just that exhausted, or had they missed something?

John watched the feed like a hawk as Virgil gently stripped off Scott’s uniform, revealing the plain undershirt and shorts, and his telemetry data disappeared.  Nothing new flagged up as a point of concern, except for the ongoing fact that Scott barely stirred.  Virgil rested a hand on their brother’s chest, and instantly made a face.

The next moment, Scott’s underclothes were also being stripped away, leaving him in just his underwear, and Virgil was dropping them on the floor by the uniform judgementally. Despite the underlying concern, John smirked a little.  Scott had done a lot of physical work on the last mission; it made sense for his clothes to have absorbed the sweat that came with that and he didn’t envy Virgil for dealing with that at all.

Pyjamas were retrieved, but before Virgil began the unenviable task of trying to dress their sleeping brother without waking him, a familiar yellow light skipped over Scott’s body.  John immediately tapped in to the medscanner as Virgil scrutinised the results; just like the suit telemetry, it simply flagged up sheer exhaustion, but with a small caution for dehydration added in as well.

Shoulders slumping in what John assumed was relief, Virgil eased the still-sleeping figure of their brother into loose pyjamas and tugged at the comforter until Scott was nestled snugly in bed.  Just before he pulled it all the way up to Scott’s chin Virgil hesitated for a brief moment, and then a monitor was being carefully attached to Scott’s pyjama top.

John tapped into that as well, relieved that Virgil had thought to attach one, and immediately got the data streaming straight into Thunderbird Five for him to check periodically. Just like the scan, it currently declared no causes for concern, barring an advisory for mild dehydration, and a little bit of tension bled from John’s shoulders.

Seemingly satisfied, Virgil then pulled the comforter the rest of the way, tucking Scott in firmly, only for their brother to stir again.  The pianist’s hand immediately threaded into brown locks, and John watched fondly as Virgil ran his fingers gently through Scott’s hair soothingly.  The microphones in Scott’s room were more sensitive, adjusted for quiet night time conversations, and while earlier John hadn’t been able to hear how Virgil settled their brother, now his voice resonated through Thunderbird Five.

John recognised it instantly.  How could he not, when he’d heard it so many times as a child, first from Mom, and then overheard as Scott did his best to fill in the gaps after the avalanche?  A quiet and gentle lullaby from years long gone by did the trick to settle Scott again, but Virgil didn’t stop singing even after Scott stopped stirring.

That, John decided, was his cue to leave.  Scott was home safe and in good hands – and he had the readings from the monitor to keep an eye on if he wanted to check up on him.  There was no point lurking around and listening to a brother who may or may not realise he was still watching.

He dismissed the feed just as Virgil finished a verse, suddenly plunging Thunderbird Five into silence before the quiet background hum of his ‘bird’s ever-running machinery registered again.  A glance at the monitor readings brought his attention back to the dehydration caution, and John checked to see who was near the kitchen.  Virgil, no doubt, would be staying with Scott for a little while yet, but there was no harm in sending someone else up with some electrolyte drinks for when Scott finally woke.

Well, no harm as long as he made it perfectly clear to the rest of the family that Scott was getting some long overdue and well-deserved rest, and anyone who disturbed him would find out exactly how creative John could get with technology.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #john tracy #scott tracy #virgil tracy #thunderfluff #carry me home

[nileqt87]

Thoughts on WandaVision by a non-Marvel fan

As someone who had only seen a single Marvel movie (The Avengers) and only watched Jessica Jones season 1 for David Tennant (while hating nearly every other character in it), which had none of these characters, I only watched WandaVision precisely because it dared to break the mold and be even remotely ambitious instead of doing the same old CGI cartoon fest over and over. And somewhat because of what Marvel has done to the film industry, television has completely and utterly overtaken film as where emotional, dramatic storytelling now happens.

And okay, I happen to have had a major TVLand addiction growing up and binged a ton of the shows referenced in WandaVision long ago (yep, those very same '50s-'80s sitcoms). I couldn't pass up the retro. Love at first sight. Combine that with what promised to be a tragic, human/non-human romance. Sold. I knew little else about the characters.

For a long time, I've seen female fans (in particular) comment on how part of the reason they write fanfiction for Marvel is that they have to read between the lines just to add the implied dramatic content of the relationship focus variety that never quite gets developed in canon (certainly not up to the standard of what a fic reader expects). I saw a few comments that pretty much described WandaVision as exactly that: a fix-it fanfic before tragic reality invaded Pleasantville. Wanda's whole Hex was essentially a glorified fix-it fanfic.

For this reason alone, I can only hope the success of WandaVision gets them to create a season 2 that is dedicated solely to Wanda trying to put her family (Vision) back together that does the tragic romance justice in a way that giving them side parts in other people's movies just isn't going to cut it.

I feel like Vision's ultimate resurrection or even Wanda's struggle with her grief is better left to her own headline story, whether be it film or television. Television is the only medium that is going to allow the actors to really sink their teeth into this sort of star-crossed, tragic drama and not have it relegated to a minor side-character plot. Either give Wanda and Vision their own movie (hopefully, with heightened focus on character development as a lesson learned from television) or wait to integrate the mind and body of Vision in another season that gives both of them center stage with room to develop it.

Them having their twins for real might also be worth a season 2 in a way that probably wouldn't even work on film, as showing such a feminine pregnancy storyline would be a helluva departure for a Marvel movie that goes from action set piece to action set piece.

I wouldn't even hate it if Wanda's sitcom comfort zone made a few more appearances, even if it is merely the occasional domestic fantasy or dream/nightmare, so there is a way to not completely divorce a potential season 2 from season 1's "gimmick". It could be merely as simple as her pointedly doing something Sam/Jeannie-esque with her magic. Cooking with floating kitchen items would be an easy nod.

Probably not what Marvel is thinking of doing, but as a non-Marvel fan, WandaVision has a real opportunity to pull in new viewers with very different tastes that have so far managed to give the films a wide berth. It would do so much better as a show.

Go the route of giving these characters their own headlined projects and Marvel could have a real juggernaut of a 'ship, as well. My impression was that WandaVision got a lot of fans talking about the characters and their relationship in a way that the previous films and comics had not; some even making comments they had barely paid attention to the characters before the show.

IMO, the mere character descriptions sound like some of the most interesting and fleshed-out characters Marvel has got right now with real opportunity for real dramatic depth. And that's putting aside that Scarlet Witch is one of the most powerful characters on the entire Marvel roster. Making a whole television season about a character going through the stages of grief and about a woman who just wants the family she lost back (a woman who desperately wants a husband and children, no less) was very different territory for Marvel. Human/non-human, in addition to having the level of doom that makes tragedies very, very memorable.

There's tropey drama potential there that hasn't been mined with the non-human who becomes more and more "human" (it's the stuff of fairy tales and sci-fi both). Hayward or someone like him could easily be used as a character who doesn't see Vision as equal to humans, for example. Delve into the sort of existential questions about artificial life achieving consciousness no less feeling than a human's that stories like Data on Star Trek, Blade Runner and Bicentennial Man pose. That species difference without the magic of sitcoms could be mined for a gorgeously dramatic plotline. What it means to be human explored through the non-human--one of my favorite tropes.

And of course, it's the stuff of fairy tales--most notably Pinocchio (the once-inanimate learning to and desiring to become real by proving himself worthy and because it fulfills the greatest wish of the person who loves them most), combined with the interspecies romance elements of The Little Mermaid (tragic ending or not--see also the desperate acts taken to achieve this cosmically-denied togetherness, only for such a tragic ending to come of it in the original work).

Given that the MCU movies just lost a bunch of their A-listers, they need something big like this. Marvel needs philosophical and character-driven meat on its meager dramatic bones. Here are two actors who could carry something more ambitious and pick up an entirely different audience. Marvel could get an even bigger female audience with these two, IMO. And it wouldn't be cheap girl power pandering either (I say this as a girl). These characters are legit with incredibly warm, likable, endearing performances behind them. This chemistry works 100%.

I think White Vision having an existential crisis where he's questioning what he is if he has all the memories of a being who clearly can feel every human emotion (the idea that we are our memories), but at the same time knowing that he's only artificial life, would be an interesting lead-up to Vision being fully restored with his full consciousness in addition to the added memories of what he experienced inside the Hex.

A restored Vision would have to reconcile what Wanda did in her grief over him and her family. It's also a glimpse at the life Wanda wants with him, which included something that isn't biologically possible, though it likely is through her own abilities of creation. There's also the idea of balance that he's the one who might hold her back from the brink of going down any further dark paths as a figure of ordered stability for her, while she is key in the chaos of his becoming more "human". The to-be parenthood story is obviously hanging over them.

The situation with Hayward intending for White Vision to remain a mere machine that can be manipulated and used as a weapon in a way that an independently-thinking Vision can't be is also a path to go down. As I said, there's a potential storyline about prejudice regarding artificial intelligence, even if it has all the emotional capability of humans.

And on top of that, Vision is in a relationship with a human, even if it's one who could potentially be the key to restoring his consciousness through her own link with the original Mind Stone. It also furthers Wanda's role as a mother and creator if she can give him back his life in this way. While the heroic Avengers might not question them being "an unusual couple", who says everyone else would be so kind?

I really think he needs to be brought back. Wanda desperately needs him for her story to continue.

#wandavision #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #vision #scarlet vision #wanda x vision #elizabeth olsen #paul bettany #marvel

[lemonpeter]

STARKER: by Peter B. Parker

Chapter 10: Doppelgänger

A/N: hello and welcome back to this clusterfuck of a fic! i, bloo, sincerely apologize for the delay in the posting of this chapter. real life took over for a bit, i started coming out of my winter depression session and feeling better led to me doing more things irl, and thus fandom took a seat on the back burner for a couple of hot secs.

bri has been SO patient with me and she is the best and the sweetest for dealing with my ADD ass. <3 we love bri.

ANYWHO-

we also love y’all, and appreciate you so much! hopefully updates will become more regular again.

thanks for sticking with us, bloo and bri <3

(Bri here: real life has been wild for both of us lol bloo is wonderful 💕 also it feels like I’m gushing about myself since I’m the one posting but I promise that note was copied from what bloo wrote on the doc-)

Warnings: Peter is Not Okay, angst, whump, g*n mention, wound mention, guilt, victim blaming, g*slighting (lemme know if I need to add)

Masterlist ao3

***

“Did Tony just get- shot?” Ned asked incredulously, eyes wide with disbelief. “Peter shot him?”

“I mean...yes? I think? But wait, look- Peter’s acting like he doesn’t know what’s going on. Did he not do that?” Paige rushed the words out, gazing intently at the screen for a moment. Then she turned and looked first at Ned, then at the other agents in the room. “We didn’t do that, did we?” When everyone hurriedly shook their heads with wide eyes, the teen included, she sighed and took off her glasses to run her hands down her face. “So he’s shooting people now?”

Another heavy sigh sounded from a few feet away. Fury closed his eye, taking a deep breath before cutting his gaze to an agent who was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed as he stared at the monitor. “Grayson.” The man stood up straight, blinking with a sheepish expression on his face and he looked over at the director. “Contact May Parker. Now.”

The agent frowned and hesitated before ultimately deciding to speak up. “But… Sir, didn’t she ask that we not-”

Fury was quick to interrupt, his tone biting. “I’m sure she would like to be notified that her nephew has turned homicidal,” the bald man spat, rolling his eye in irritation. “Now like I said- contact May Parker and let her know that there have been some…developments.”

Even if it wasn’t intentional, the violence was still Peter’s doing. Which didn’t seem like a good sign.

He let out a heavy breath. “Tell her that a car will be outside her apartment waiting for her within the next two hours.”

The already tense atmosphere of the room only grew as Fury never looked away from the man, keeping their gazes locked as he dared the agent to question his authority for a second time.

“Of course, Director Fury.” Eyes on the ground, Grayson quickly turned and walked through the doorway, the other occupants turning back to their tasks.

Everyone’s eyes were trained on the screens as they watched Peter all but drag Tony into the penthouse from the elevator. The older man didn’t look good in any sense of the word, not even close. He was pale, sweaty, with rattled breathing and an ever-growing bloodstain covering his chest. And Peter’s panic was clearly visible on his face.

After a few moments, Ned spoke up, discomfort lacing his tone. “I- Someone please tell me he’s not about to do what I think he is…”

“Holy shit,” Paige breathed. Her hand placed itself over her mouth that was dropped open.

Noises of shock echoed throughout the space, and Ned averted his eyes, swallowing with difficulty.

Agent Hill spoke up for the first time since the scene had unravelled. “I don’t think Peter’s controlling this thing, not anymore.”

Fury turned to look at her, gaze narrowed. “What do you mean? The illusion is obviously running, and I’m assuming that means the glasses are receiving input from him. Right Leeds?”

Ned, still unable to keep his eyes on the monitors, nodded slowly. “Yes, sir. Th-That’s correct.”

It was Hill’s turn to nod, then. “Yes, that’s true, but not what I meant. I don’t think he is consciously influencing the illusions anymore. Or at least not completely.”

Paige hummed softly, head hanging as she leaned down over one of the desks. The dark ringlets of her hair fell around her like a curtain, obscuring her face. “I agree. He seems to still be in control of some aspects, like location. And he was able to, uh, place the sutures. Successfully stopping Mr. Stark from bleeding out. But he wasn’t able to heal him indirectly, even though he obviously tried.”

“What...but then how? Why are things happening if Peter isn’t the one doing the um, influencing?” Ned turned back to the screens, specifically the one full of lines and lines of green characters. He wasn’t ready to look at the others yet. “I’m constantly checking the logs and the security, there have been no breaches. Um. Other than us, that is.” He looked back up, waiting for a response from one of the others, eyes searching Paige’s hopefully, but none came.

No one had an answer to that question.

***

Tony may have been the one who got shot, but there was a hole in the middle of Peter’s chest, too. Raw, tender, cavernous...aching with every single breath that he took.

And he couldn’t close it up, like he had done Tony’s, because the piece of him that was meant to be there was just...gone.

Missing.

And he had no idea how to get it back.

Something was glaringly and obviously wrong, but Peter didn’t know what exactly it was, or what he was supposed to do. Despite having tried his hardest to fix things, nothing was getting better. It was all just...getting worse. (He was getting worse-)

He knew that something was missing. It felt like a huge part of him had been ripped from his life, leaving a gaping void that couldn’t be filled.

And things were only getting worse, still.

Especially between him and Tony.

Peter had thought that things were okay as Tony recovered from his...injury. Not perfect, but okay. Good. Improving. Sure, his husband had been quiet and subdued for the past few days. But he thought that was reasonable and to be expected, the man was in pain. (He was in pain, too, though. Tony didn’t seem to notice. Or care.)

But even now that the older man was mostly healed, there was still a strange tension between them. Distance.

And Peter had no fucking idea what to do about it. Because Tony refused to tell him what was wrong.

Deep down, Peter knew. He knew that everything was wrong, that the whole situation was wrong, that there was no part of their world that was even remotely okay. But if he acknowledged that fact, what was the point? Of any of it? What did he have then, without this, without Tony? Absolutely nothing. So he just wouldn’t acknowledge it.

He’d tried everything he could think of. He’d been attentive to Tony’s every need during his recovery, keeping him supplied with food and water, providing entertainment in the form of working together on various projects and watching TV or reading together, never letting the man out of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time.

He’d even tried to initiate sex, once it seemed Tony was feeling better, so that they could be close to each other in such an intimate way in hopes that it woud fix things. Nothing too strenuous on his husband’s part, of course. Peter had simply wanted to make the older man feel good, bring him some pleasure and show him just how much he meant to his lover.

And Tony had turned him down each time, always pushing him away softly with that clouded, far away look in his eyes. The one that had been there ever since he’d brought up his feelings about what had happened with May.

Now that the older man was better, now that he was healed and had more energy and things could possibly go better, Peter was still too scared to try. He didn’t want to be rejected again. He didn’t know if he could handle it.

He didn’t understand Tony’s refusal in the first place. This world was supposed to be whatever he wanted. And what he wanted was for his husband to want him again, for his husband to love him, touch him, smile at him the way that he used to. And that obviously was not what was happening.

Why did it feel like Tony had more control over things than he did? Sure, the teen intended for his partner to have some semblance of autonomy, in that he could take care of himself and his basic needs, but Peter consciously gave him that autonomy. But now…

Now it seemed like Tony was able to actually think for himself on some level, which would explain why he was able to remember the incident with May despite Peter’s best attempts, and why he seemed hesitant to bring it up to Peter.

And he could see it in Tony’s eyes, the way he didn’t quite know what to make of what little information he did have.

Peter didn’t want to add to the confusion, or cause any more frustration. He didn’t want to stress Tony out.

But he couldn’t tell him the truth, either.

There was nothing he could do.

***

Peter gazed into the bathroom, hands gripping the door frame as he watched Tony.

The older man was standing under the spray of the shower. His hand gingerly rubbed at his chest with a washcloth, head back and eyes closed so as to not look at the mottled knot of scar tissue there.

Peter wanted so badly to join him, his husband, to stand there wrapped in his arms and surrounded by the warmth of the water.

But Tony didn’t want him.

Not anymore.

The two of them were merely coexisting at this point. It was like they weren’t married anymore, not really, like they had slipped back into that painful distance from before, when Tony was still Mr. Stark and Peter was just that fucking kid.

Tony hadn’t touched him since the accident.

“That’s a pretty nasty scar he’s got there, huh? I know you tried to stitch him up but damn. No awards for your suture technique, that’s for sure.”

Peter turned around so fast that he was sure he nearly snapped his neck. That was- That was his voice.

But he knew he hadn’t said anything.

Craning his neck and peering around the large bedroom with wide eyes, Peter held his breath as he listened intently. The sounds of Tony showering could be heard from the open bathroom door. He couldn’t hear anything else, but he could have sworn... “H-hello?” The teen kept turning his head, eyes wide as he looked for any sign of someone else in the room with him.

“Up here.”

And up there he was. Crouched on the ceiling, a position Peter frequently found himself in, was... well, Peter. Another Peter.

He was smirking, something sinister and unsettling glinting in his dark eyes as he gazed down upon his counterpart. “For someone with a sixth sense, it’s really sad that I had to give myself away for you to notice me. So much for that Peter-tingle. You really are losing it, Spider-Boy. Pathetic.” His grin only grew as the words left his mouth.

Peter gaped up at him, heart pounding. What the fuck was going on? He blinked a few times as he tried to take control of the illusion, alter whatever was happening. It wasn’t working. Just like when Tony had been shot. “Who are-“

The other Peter was quick to cut off his questioning. His eyes flashed. “Don’t act like you don’t know. You know exactly who I am.” The double dropped from the ceiling, standing right across from Peter.

It was like looking into a mirror. The doppelgänger was a spitting image of Peter, save for the dark look in his eyes and the cocky smirk pulling at his lips.

“I-I don’t know.” Peter shook his head, soft yet frantic. He was still desperately trying to influence the situation, hands shaking as he clenched them at his sides.”

Not-Peter shook his head in return, laughing as he copied the action. But the sound was cold and harsh, no joy in it at all. “I’m you, you fucking coward. It’s as simple as that. All of this is you! Stop pretending you don’t know what’s going on.”

Peter didn’t want to believe it. This…fake him was cruel. He could never be like that. He never wanted to be anything like that.

The doppelganger scoffed. “You’re no fucking saint, Peter, no matter how much you’d like to convince Tony that you are. He’s catching on, isn’t he? Starting to realize that things aren’t as perfect as you’ve been making them out to be?”

“That’s n-not true,” Peter stuttered as he tried to control his breathing. “You don’t know anything about Tony. Don’t bring him into this-”

“How are things with Tony, by the way?” The doppelganger’s lip curled up at the pained expression that took over Peter’s face. “Ohhh, that bad huh? I can’t say I’m surprised…” He let himself trail off. “It really is sad, you know, Peter? Call me redundant but I feel it needs to be said again, so bare with me. You’re pathetic.”

“Stop,” Peter ground out, hands clenched into fists at his sides. His eyes were clenched shut, but when he heard the other move, his lids flew open instinctively. “You aren’t- You aren’t real.”

A harsh bark of a laugh seemed to echo throughout the room. “I’m as real as anyone you’ve been interacting with these days.”

“That’s not true,” Peter said softly, denying what he knew deep down was, in fact, the truth.

Not-Peter scoffed, taking a step towards his double. He shook his head softly in admonishment. “You really are pathetic.” He’d made it more than obvious how much joy the word brought him, with the way it all but oozed from his lips. “Like I was saying, this whole thing is tragic, it really is, Peter. You know that there is no way that Tony Stark could have ever wanted you, in any sense of the word. Definitely not like this, this weird relationship you’ve conjured up as a byproduct of your unaddressed daddy issues. That’s why you ran away, like the little fucking coward that you are. You ran, so that you could hide out and construct this sick little fantasy world of yours.

“And how’s that working out for you…kid? It’ll tell you: you shot your husband because he was starting to question you, and of course you couldn’t have that. How dare Tony be anything other than the obedient little puppet you want him to be.”

“That’s not true,” Peter choked out, chest constricting. “I- I didn’t do that, it wasn’t me! I tried- I tried to stop it, I tried to undo it but it wouldn’t work so I had to- I had to f-fix him-”

The double cut him off again, as if he had never spoken at all. “I guess you’re right in that sense, so I’ll give you that. I know it wasn’t you. Because it was me.” He paused, hand moving up to his chin as he pretended to think, waxing philosophical. “But then again, I am you, so-”

“You aren’t me,” Peter argued one last time, knowing it wasn’t true. His voice was weak because he knew the truth. Even if he didn’t want to believe it, refused to believe it. “And I would never hurt Tony.”

“No? Not even after he abandoned you?” The fake Peter was taunting him, voice dripping with condescension. “Because you were having some pretty contradictory thoughts that are leading me to believe otherwise. Remember how angry you were?”

Of course he remembered. The teen had been so hurt and betrayed and he knew it was irrational. But Peter was certain that he wouldn’t- he would never actually hurt Tony. He couldn’t.

But how else did he get shot, if Peter was the one in control?

“Stop it,” Peter snapped, voice full of vitriol. Then he instantly recoiled, stomach sinking. That wasn’t him. The angry, frustrated feelings that he kept having weren’t him. They couldn’t be. He couldn’t act like that, that’s how he got here in the first place, it was everything he was trying to fix.

It was how Tony had gotten hurt.

Maybe he hadn’t been holding the gun, but he’d been the one that caused it to happen.

Peter became aware that the sounds of the shower had stopped when he finally shifted his focus away from the double and back to his husband. Partner. Whoever they were now. He heard footsteps approaching and didn’t have enough time to try and make the doppelgänger disappear.

“Pete?” Tony asked softly, rubbing his hair dry with the towel in his hands. Another was wrapped around his waist, leaving his chest bare. (Peter’s eyes were immediately drawn to the scar.) “Were you just...waiting out here for me?”

His eyes were on the double, unaware that it wasn’t actually Peter, not catching on to the fact that there were two of them yet.

“Of course I was,” not-Peter said, eyes blown wide as he attempted to look innocent, to look like Peter. “It’s not like there’s anything else I could be doing.”

Tony’s eyebrows furrowed. “What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” When he had first emerged from the bathroom, his tone had been light, more so than it had been since his injury. It had sparked something hopeful inside Peter, and now his heart ached to hear the rough, distrustful edge come back.

“Oh, I mean,” the doppelganger continued with his act, though Peter could see the mirth shining in his eyes. “I just meant that, y’know, there’s nothing else I would rather be doing. Otherwise I would be doing it, since I am control-”

Peter was across the room before he was conscious of the movement, backing the interloper up against the wall and pressing his forearm up to his throat. “Shut the fuck up,” the teen growled desperately, voice breaking. “You ruined everything-”

The double struggled in Peter’s hold, face turning slightly red. His voice was raspy and choked off when he spoke. His nails dug into the skin of Peter’s arm. “Which means you ruined it yourself, you fucking coward! Go ahead, tell him. Tell Tony-”

“Peter? Tell me what? Who is- Peter, what the hell is going on?”

“Shut up!” Peter’s fist jerked back before it flew forward, connecting with the nose of the body in front of him. He heard Tony gasp and call out his name, but he ignored the man in favor of swinging his arm forward again. “I hate you! Why won’t you go away? I hate you!”

Despite the blood pouring out of his nose and rolling in crimson rivulets down his face, not-Peter grinned, the red smearing in sharp contrast on the white of his teeth. “We all knew you hated yourself, Peter, that’s not news.”

When Peter moved like he was going to strike again, Tony decided to actually intervene, even though he still had no idea what was going on. “Hey, Peter- Peter, baby, come here, let him go. This isn’t you baby-”

The teen let out a panicked gasp, melting into the other man’s embrace. “But it is,” he cried, brokenly. “It is me Tony, I-”

Tony hushed him, holding Peter close. He still didn’t know what was going on, but he needed to try and keep Peter calm. And from fighting the other one. “I know this isn’t you. You wouldn’t hurt anyone,” he said softly. Although he wasn’t sure he believed himself. He was so lost with everything going on, he didn’t know what to believe.

The other Peter just stayed leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “You don’t even know, Tony.” The name was said like an insult. “You don’t get any of this, do you?”

“Shut up,” Peter whispered, all the fight leaving his body as he was held. “Just stop. You need to go away.” Why couldn’t he just make the imposter disappear? He was in control.

At least, he was supposed to be.

A grotesquely sinister expression took over the doppelganger’s face. His eyes were bright, burning, as his gaze locked with Peter’s.

The expression set the teen’s already frayed nerves on edge. He froze in Tony’s arms, heart pounding. Why was he looking at him like that? And why was that look so familiar? Where had he seen-

“It’s pretty easy to fool people when they’re already fooling themselves, Peter.”

The reaction was almost instantaneous.

“No, no, no, no,” Peter muttered to himself, voice shaking. His hands moved to his head, pulling at his hair, and when he opened his eyes for a moment, it wasn’t his own face staring back at him.

It was Beck.

“You’re not real,” he whispered, choking on his breath. “Y-you’re not-”

“Peter, baby, you’ve gotta calm-”

“N-not real-”

***

“Peter, sweetie, could you take the rolls out of the oven?”

“Sure thing, mama.” He opened his eyes, glancing back before going to do as she said. That was better.

“And where’s that husband of yours, he’s joining us for dinner, right?”

Peter bit his lip. He hadn’t even noticed that Tony wasn’t there. “He should be back soon, just had to step out for work.” There, that sounded convincing enough.

“Such a hard worker, that Tony,” May chirped, a grin pulling at her lips as she sliced tomatoes for the salad. “You really lucked out, Petey.”

It was a sweet thing to say. It was exactly what he thought about Tony. But it sure as hell wasn’t anything that May would say. However, Peter just let the genuine affection in her tone relax him, letting out a soft sigh. “I really did, Aunt May. I really did.” He smiled at her and then to himself as he got the rolls from the oven and set the pan on the counter.

Ben snorted, taking a sip of his beer. “Stark’s the lucky one, May-Flower. Pete’s quite the catch. Takes after ‘is uncle.” At Richard’s eye roll, he laughed again. The sound filled Peter’s chest with a fuzzy warmth. “Fine. And his father. Parker men ain’t nothing to mess with.”

“Uh huh, right.” May laughed. “I agree with you on one thing, though. Parker men are definitely something else, that’s for sure,” she teased.

Peter laughed along with them, but it was all beginning to feel uncomfortable on some level. He felt just as empty as he knew the rest of his guests were.

His doppelgänger’s words kept racing through his mind. Beck’s words. (“If you were good enough, maybe Tony would-“)

But he pushed them away, steeling himself and blinking blearily for a few seconds. His gaze locked on the food spread out over the counter. None of that mattered.

He was at dinner with his family. They were all there, happy and healthy. Together, the way it should be. There was nothing that he needed to be worried about.

#starker #peter parker #tony stark #tony x peter #tony stark x peter parker #B&B write #SbPBP #Peter’s EDITH!verse #starker angst #ironspider #tw gaslighting #tw victim blaming #tw gun mention

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

Finding Your Heart - fic

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, bits of Tim Drake and Stephanie Brown Summary: This wasn’t the way he wanted to find Damian, after everything that happened between them. This wasn’t how he wanted Alfred and Dick to reunite with him either. A/N: Dick was driving the plane. Crane blew up the building on purpose to cover his tracks, and was the one to lock Damian in the lab after he and the nameless henchmen fought. The whole family comes home and basically all live in the cave/Damian’s room as he recovers, and they all have conversations with him about what he was doing, why etc. Damian didn’t kill the guy who stabbed him because he recognized the henchmen was no the problem, Crane was. He’s still a good boy in my book. Glossed over kind of plotholes because I didn’t care enough and it wasn’t the point of this story ok bye. Don’t forget my Pateron and shit!

~~

If Bruce was grateful for anything, it was the fact that no matter what he lost, save for his parents, it always came back.

Jason came back. Dick came back. Tim came back. Stephanie came back.

Alfred, now, came back too.

Damian…he came back. And then he left again.

It was in the back of his mind, as they celebrated Alfred’s return to life, and Dick’s return from amnesia. The fact that their returns were not through darkness, not through aliens, not through a multiverse crashing down around them and changing time.

It was magic. It was a miracle.

But Damian wasn’t here. And Bruce would never ever forget that. Not now, as they shared delivery pizza at the island in the manor’s spacious kitchen. Not in the days after, as things settled back into a semblance of the old normal, with new quirks here and there. Not in the weeks after either, as Alfred returned to being Penny-One, and Dick began to retrain himself to return to the Nightwing title soon.

Just as Bruce would never forget the tears in Dick’s eyes when he explained to him and Alfred what had happened to their youngest. His breakdown, and resolve in the violence. When he explained why.

“It’s not your fault.” Bruce promised, even as Alfred pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and silently dabbed his eyes. “It’s mine. I…I didn’t see his grief. I didn’t understand how badly he was taking your absences. I didn’t know.”

“But I would have.” Alfred had whispered, closing his eyes.

“We would have.” Dick corrected.

And he’d never forget the despair on grandfather and son alike, when Dick asked if Bruce had any idea where he was, and he had to tell them no.

Damian was a sore subject, to say the least, after that. No one spoke of him, though Bruce found everyone stopping near the case holding his old uniform every so often.

Not a memorial for the dead, this time. But a memorial for the child they failed.

His name was like a bad word, a sour taste, and Bruce never forgot that either.

Most of all, he never forgot it was his fault.

Even now, as he, Tim and Stephanie fought against a gang that he had yet to determine which super villain they associated with, he thought of his son. The one not there, the one he chased away.

How much he could use his help right now. How much he missed him.

God, if Jason knew, he’d be furious. Furious because he didn’t learn the first time around, with him.

The fight was in the streets, and it was becoming a stalemate. Not that he and his partners for the evening would give up. But he was looking for an opening, a moment to retreat, regroup, then reappear with a new attack plan.

But the moment never came, because suddenly one of their enemies shouted.

“Boss said it’s a go! She’s blowin’!”

Before any of them could comprehend the warning, a building down the block – a lab, if Bruce had his bearings right – shuddered in an explosion. Glass from windows spraying into the street, flames pushing out right after. Dust and ash came at them in a typhoon-like wave.

And the gang members in the street laughed.

“You’re fucked.” One nearby cackled. When he came back into view, he had a gasmask on. “You’re so fucked, Batman.”

Bruce punched him in the Adam’s apple, and let him drop to the ground unconscious.

“Something’s in that building.” Bruce said through the comms. “How dangerous?”

“Gotham Labs.” Tim’s voice crackled. Bruce still couldn’t see him in the floating dust. “No major projects that I know of. Or dangerous. Vegan cosmetics was the last big thing I heard about coming from there.”

“And now it’s all up in flames?” Stephanie sighed. “So much for stealing Batman’s credit card on its launch date.”

“Spoiler, please.” Tim snorted.

Before Bruce could scold them, tell them to focus, get them to get these thugs off the street, there was a shriek from the lab, and a shape running from the destroyed building.

“Take care of them.” Bruce ordered. “I’m going up ahead.”

Stephanie and Tim both gave their affirmatives, and jumped back into fighting the henchmen, now with a small element of surprise in the fog. As Bruce ran forward, he saw the shape was a woman in a lab coat.

“Help!” She was screaming. “Someone…anyone! Police! Ambulance! Help!”

“Ma’am.” Bruce called as he approached, careful not to scare her. She turned towards him with tears cascading down her face.

Bruce frowned. She…was clean. No ash, no burns. Her hair wasn’t even out of place. He glanced back towards the building, now smoking.

“Are you alright?”

“What? Oh, me? Yes. I’m fine. We’re all fine.” She sniffed, trying to wipe at her face. “But he’s not. He’s trapped and…and I don’t think there’s any vents in there, and we can’t-”

“He who?”

“I…” The woman paused. “I don’t know. He didn’t give a name. He just…he just appeared! Out of nowhere! Got us all out of the lab, shoved us in the bunker, told us to stay there until help arrived. Then…then the explosion happened, and when we came out to check, he was still in the lab, but…but Batman…”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“He was bleeding when we saw him.” The woman’s tears suddenly flowed harder. “But the canisters were all broken, we could see them.”

“What was in the canisters?”

“I…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The woman cried. “He…he was paying for our other research, and…and he was blackmailing us. We didn’t have a choice.”

Bruce’s stomach dropped.

“Who paid you?” He demanded. “What was in the canisters?”

“Fear gas.” The woman whispered. “Jonathan Crane was forcing us to make it. Mass produce. The…the boy tonight, he saved us, but whatever happened, all the canisters are broken, and the gas is in the lab.”

The woman hid her face.

“And there’s a failsafe on the doors.” She wailed. “That…that fucking shit is dangerous. So if even only one canister malfunctioned, the lab would seal itself shut to contain it.”

“For how long?” Bruce asked. “How long does the lab seal for?”

“I don’t know!” The woman yelled. “Crane installed it! He never told us!” She stopped her foot and pointed from where she came. “But he’s in there, the gas is flooding the place, he’s hurt, I didn’t see him have a respirator, and we can’t get him out!”

Bruce nodded, shoving his own respirator onto his face. “Stay here.”

The woman, surprisingly listened, but shouted information after him. The lab was in the basement, and the remaining scientists were still trying to first reach one of the doors to the lab through the explosion wreckage, and second, try to figure out if they could even open the door.

“Red Robin, when you’re finished, I’ll need you inside.” Bruce called through his communicator as he burst through the doors and looked for a way down. Not hard, when there were various holes in the floor from the explosion. “And both of you, there’s a potential for fear gas in the area. Masks on, now.”

They both returned an affirmative, and Barbara was immediately on the line herself, relaying last known sightings of the Scarecrow.

As Bruce got to the lower levels, he began to follow the voices, the sounds of things being thrown, or pushed. After a few rounded corners, he found the gaggle of scientists, three pushing fallen shelving units and chairs away from a large metal door, and a fourth knelt in front of said door, typing wildly on a keypad.

“It’s…it’s not working!” The typer growled in frustration. “There’s…there’s nothing I can think of! Nothing is working!”

“Then keep thinking!” Another one spat as he threw a table over the heads of the other two assisting him. “That kid is a fucking goner if we don’t get him out of there!”

Unlike the woman outside, Bruce didn’t announce his presence, just silently moved forward. As he reached them, he glanced into one of the windows next to the door, just to see what he was going to be working with. Who he was, hopefully, going to save, and not have to watch die a slow and painful death.

Immediately, his knees went weak.

The lab wasn’t that big. Smaller than an average fast food joint, but bigger than a grocery store public bathroom. Even through the opaque green gas, Bruce could see canisters lining the floor underneath the tables that followed the walls of the room, where microscopes, liquid-filled vials and partially constructed containers sat.

Each canister had a sizable hole in the side, and Bruce could only guess – remote detonation.

But none of that was important, not now, as he tried to stop himself from collapsing to his knees. What was important was the boy in the middle, wearing a black body suit, similar to Nightwing’s, and a black cape with a hood and faded gold trim.

Damian.

“Jesus Christ, no.” He gasped. The scientists nearby jumped, having still not seen him.

Luckily, it was Gotham, and even scientists were disillusioned to the sudden appearance of a vigilante. “We’ve gotta get that kid out of there, Bats. Just one inhale of that crap will make you hallucinate. He’s been in there at least ten minutes, probably more, who knows what the effects could be.”

“Death, probably.” Another one said. The one who spoke slapped her on the arm. “What? I’m being honest! That’s why we don’t have to waste, here!”

Damian hadn’t moved at their ruckus. He was lying on the ground, eyes closed, half curled in on himself, hand clutching his side. There was blood on his fingers, and coming from his nose. Even through the gas, Damian looked dirty. Tired.

Bruce wondered where he’d been sleeping. Was he sleeping? Was he safe?

But then his heart stuttered again, as he noticed something else in the room. In the corner, by a door on the other side of the room. A man. A body.

A body that was, surprisingly, breathing. A body dressed like the gang members outside, that was wearing a respirator that looked suspiciously like one Bruce knew Damian used to carry, when he was Robin.

“…You all need to get out.” Bruce found himself croaking, as his surprise and heartache began to transform into action.

“What? No way. We need to get that kid out!” The one at the keyboard countered. “And…and maybe that other one, I don’t know if he’s even still…”

“I’ll handle it. Now go.” Bruce heard a click on his communicator, other chatter. Alfred it sounded like, to Barbara. Dick, too. He was at the cave with Alfred. The scientists didn’t move. “I said now!”

The four jumped again, and one by one began to slowly move. The last one, the man at the door, stopped on his way. “…You get that kid out, Batman, or so fucking help me.”

Bruce glared down at him. The man shrunk away and ran after his coworkers.

Bruce looked back into the room. The man in the corner was unconscious, he could tell that much. But still.

Bruce put his hand on the window. “…I don’t know what to call you.”

Damian twitched at the noise, and twisted his head to look at Bruce directly. His mask was still green, and it didn’t move as he frowned.

“Oh, great.” Damian sighed, dropping his head. “You.”

“I’m going to get you out, son.” Bruce said. “I promise.”

“Save it.” Damian huffed. But it was quick, and Bruce knew it was because he was trying not to breathe. “I’m not talking to you, Mother.”

Bruce blinked.

The gas. The hallucinations were your fears.

“It’s…it’s me.” Bruce tried instead. “Not your mother.”

Damian turned away, rolled with a groan to lay on his back. “My father doesn’t show up in real life, why would he show up in a fear-induced hallucination?”

Bruce almost smiled at his attitude. He was trying to fight the gas, like it was a sentient being. That was so like him.

God, Bruce missed it.

“I…Rob…” Bruce swallowed. “Da-”

“Do not say another word, Master Bruce.” Alfred scolded on the communicator. His voice was loud. “Focus on getting that door open.”

“I…right.” Bruce shook his head, and crouched, pulling out a code-breaking device from his utility belt.

“Tim will be in to help you in a few minutes.” Dick now, but he sounded distracted. “And we should be only a few minutes behind him.”

Bruce froze. “…What?”

“We’re coming.” Dick said plainly. “We’re coming to get Damian.”

“Wait, no.” Bruce growled. “Nightwing, you’re not recovered yet. A-Alfred, you’re…you are not to be in the field. It’s not safe-”

“And you will have your hands full with the other man in the chamber.” Alfred shot back. “Not to mention, you only have a respirator for yourself. From your cowl footage, it’s clear Damian gave his to that man. You know as soon as you get in there, he will be in the throws of the effects of the gas, and won’t recognize you. He doesn’t recognize you now. He will fight you, or flee, before you can get him any kind of help.”

“And we are not letting that happen.” Dick hissed. “We’re bringing Damian home, Bruce, or so help me-”

“It’s not safe.” Bruce snapped back, hitting buttons on his device. He could hear Damian babbling in the lab now. Talking about how he’s not scared of anything, least of all his father, or his judgment. Which, of course, Bruce knew, meant the complete opposite. He ignored the guilt in his heart, at least for a moment. “You are both to stay in the cave and wait for-”

“Bruce.” Alfred said coldly. “I am coming to get my grandson. Nightwing is coming to get his brother. And there is not a goddamn thing you can do to stop us.”

Bruce heard the distinct sound of a link click off.

“…So…” Stephanie chimed in after a moment. “Red’s on his way in and…I guess I’ll wait out here for Nightwing and, uh, Penny-One to arrive.”

Bruce frowned, squeezed the device in his hand a little too tightly, heard it creak in his grip. He continued to search through codes, the others be damned.

They didn’t know what he would do. Their beliefs were wrong. He wouldn’t worry about the man who clearly stabbed his son. He was unconscious and had a breather. He was fine. Tim could take him, whenever he got there.

No. Bruce would rush in, and he’d take his son into his arms. He’d put pressure on the wound, and hold his boy, no matter how hard Damian fought him, no matter how deep in the gas’s hallucinations he was.

He’d hold his son and this time, he was not letting go. For anything, or anyone.

He heard Tim arrive behind him, and glanced back into the chamber as Tim pulled a wire from his glove to plug into the keypad on the door. Damian was muttering to himself now. But more than that, he was trembling. Sweating. His eyes were wild behind the mask, darting back and forth, or trying to keep them closed, and failing.

He stood, put his hand on the thick glass. He wondered what Damian was seeing, hearing. “Son.” He called, and Damian twitched, curling deeper into himself. “Focus on my voice.”

“No.” Damian shot back.

“Batman, it’s not a good idea.” Tim offered, clicking away on his pad. “You know he’s hearing things. It’s not coming across as you.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t try.”

“Doesn’t mean it won’t be construed into something else by the time he hears it.” Tim snapped. “You know that.”

“So you want him to lie in there and suffer?” Bruce shot back. He saw Tim tighten his jaw. “The least we can do is try.”

“The least we can do is focus on getting him out of there.” Tim countered. “So save your emotional vomit for later and help me.”

He huffed a frustrated breath, but…Tim was right. Of course Tim was right. So he pushed at the door, testing how tight it was, if the explosion had loosened it at all, and settled back in next to Red Robin to hack into the system.

The code was seven digits, and after they believed they figured out three, Bruce glanced over to make sure Tim had his respirator on. Glanced up at the unsteady building around them, that could theoretically collapse on them all at any moment. After four numbers, he glanced back to Damian. His trembles had manifested constant twitching now. Fingers, ankles, lips.

The gas seemed to be settling a little now, the room a little less green. That didn’t help, of course, since Damian was on the floor, where said gas was settling. But it would make containment easier. Wouldn’t reach the city, or any one who wasn’t in this room.

One less thing standing between he and his boy.

His heart fluttered when they hit the fifth digit. Hope, he could hope, he had hope. Damian had hope.

And when Tim’s device dinged for the sixth a moment later, Nightwing and Penny-One appeared in the doorway.

Dick was in his full Nightwing uniform, the one he hadn’t yet worn since before the amnesia. The one he was wearing when he was shot, Bruce realized, as he noticed the shadow of the large bloodstain on the costume’s neck.

Alfred was in black and dull green tactical gear, a black eye mask and a clear respirator adorning his face. He had a shotgun in hand, but Bruce saw at least one more handgun on his hip.

He forgot sometimes, Alfred used to be in the British army.

“Move.” Alfred demanded. Tim shifted to the side of the door, eyes still on his tablet. Bruce didn’t. “Batman, I won’t ask again.”

“He really won’t.” Nightwing mused as they walked forward. He was just finishing putting on his own rebreather. “Seriously, Bruce. Let us handle this.”

“He is my son.” Bruce countered, but his voice wasn’t right. It wasn’t as authoritative. It was almost whiny.

Almost scared.

“And you ran him off in the first place.” Alfred countered. “So the likelihood that you are the first one he’d want to see is almost zero.”

“Not to mention, there’s an asshole in there who, by the looks of it, stabbed him.” Nightwing added, glancing into the window. “So it’d probably be better if you took care of that guy than one of us because let me tell you, B. We’re already not happy.”

Alfred pumped his shotgun. “Indeed.”

“We’d also like some cover, if you don’t mind.” Dick said brightly. “There’s still been no sign of Crane. And if he or anyone else shows up while we’re trying to wrangle Damian, there could be trouble.” Dick looked over with a dark grin. “And we don’t want any more trouble, you know?”

And he did. Bruce did know. Bruce knew all of that, and on a normal case, he’d have already suggested and done all of it.

But, still. His heart was getting in the way. For once, his heart was overriding his head, and all he found himself saying was, “But he’s my son…”

For the first time that night, Alfred softened a little. He put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “So let us help you get your son home safely.”

At that moment, Damian screamed. No words, just a loud sound as he dropped to his back, body bowing as his chest and hips lifted.

Dick swallowed. “Red.”

“I’m working on it!” Tim snapped, angrily punching buttons on his tablet. There was the sound of something falling across the room. “I think if I can just…”

The tablet beeped, and the door sighed as the seal broke.

Dick was at the door instantly, digging his fingers into the seam until the door shifted. Bruce grabbed it too, pulling it until the gap was wide enough for their bodies to slip through.

“Kid!” Dick was calling as he fell into the room first. Damian growled in response. Dick jumped across the room anyway, dropping to his knees. “I’ve got you.”

Tim got into the room next, and he silently went for Damian’s assailant. Then Alfred, who followed Dick. Bruce remained just inside the room.

“Can you hear me?” Dick asked quietly, running his hand over Damian’s hair. “Can you hear me, D?”

“Fuck off.” Damian gasped, pulling away from Dick’s hand and struggling to twist up onto his elbows. His cape twisted around his biceps. “F-fuck off, I don’t have to listen to you.”

“I know.” Dick said smoothly. He glanced at Alfred, who already had gauze out, and was trying to assess Damian’s injuries. “…Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“What, did Satan suddenly forget his own name?” Damian spat, waving his arm like he was swatting at a fly around his head. “We already had this conversation last time I was in Hell, you twat.”

Bruce felt himself twitch at the statement. But he didn’t get any more time to think about it, as Tim was calling, “Any time you feel like it, Batman!”

Bruce shook his head, running over to help Tim with the other man in the lab.

“So yes, I know your name. And I know what you’re going to say.” Damian droned as he slowly shifted to his knees. “I know my parents hate me. I know I’m worthless. I know it’s my fault everyone is dead. Or was there something else you’d like to add?”

“…Oh, my boy.” Alfred whispered, and Damian froze. His eyes went wide as he slowly sat back on his knees. “My boy, it’s alright.”

Damian blinked, and tears appeared in his eyes. Almost robotically, he turned his head towards Alfred. “No.”

Alfred smiled. “Yes, my dear. It’s me. I’m here.”

“No!” Damian wailed. He turned back towards the room, searching. Eventually his eyes landed on something above and behind Dick’s shoulder. “Get him out!”

Dick glanced behind him, just to make sure there was nothing, and even looked over towards Bruce and Tim. They both shrugged.

“Pennyworth does not belong in Hell.” Damian hissed. “You’ve stolen him, haven’t you. You’ve stolen him and you’ve trapped him here, you overgrown piece of shit. No wonder you were kicked out of Heaven, you absolute waste of space!”

Damian tried to lunge, but the slice in his side reacted to the movement, and he recoiled instantly, shoving his hand against it.

“I’ll duel you.” He decided. “I’ll duel you for his soul, and I’ll kill you. Then I’ll rule Hell, and I’ll be sure to get all the souls you’ve stolen out.”

“Damian.” Alfred tried softly. He passed the gauze to Dick. “My dear boy, I’m not in Hell.” He reached out and carefully took Damian’s hand between both of his. Damian’s eyes, impossibly, grew wider, as he turned to look at Alfred once more. “And neither are you.”

“I should be.” Damian breathed. “I should be for what I did to you.”

“You did nothing to me.” Alfred promised. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

It was mine. Bruce thought, as he rolled the man and pulled his arms together for Tim. It was mine, and I let Damian take the blame.

“I should have done something. I should have figured something else out.” Damian gasped, tears rolling down his face. He jerked, but didn’t take his eyes off Alfred, as Dick pressed the gauze to his side. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Damian.” Alfred promised, squeezing Damian’s hand. “Absolutely nothing.”

“D, I need you to breathe.” Dick hummed. Damian jumped again, looked towards him. “Or, well, I need you to breathe slower. In and out.”

“I’m sorry.” Damian continued, eyes looking around the space, looking right through Dick. There was an accent in his voice now, and both Dick and Alfred knew too well that his accent only returned when their boy was at his lowest. “Pennyworth, I…I should have sacrificed myself. Bane would have happily killed me instead of you.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Alfred continued to try to soothe. “Damian, just focus on my voice, alright?”

“I should have let him kill me. I should have been there for Grayson.” Damian rambled. “I could have pushed him out of the way. Taken the bullet.” He tried to tug his hand from Alfred’s but the old man wouldn’t let go. “That’s why I’m here. That’s why I belong here. I failed you, and I failed Grayson and I am worthless so of course I belong down here in this god forsaken pl-”

“Hey.” Dick whispered. Balancing holding the pressure against Damian’s wound in one hand, he reached for Damian’s free hand with the other. Damian’s fingers twitched in his grip, and he watched with almost glee as recognition hit Damian’s eyes. “Kiddo, you didn’t fail me.”

Damian’s tears fell faster.

“You have never failed me a day in your life.” Dick smiled. “And look, see? I’m right here. I’m fine.”

“G-Grayson?” Damian murmured hopefully.

“Right here, Damian.” Dick nodded. Damian blinked at him, then looked at Alfred, then back. Then his eyes seemed to roam the room, like he was seeing it for the first time. He even looked over to Bruce, Tim and the man in the corner. “I came home.”

“…I’m sorry.” Damian whispered, looking back towards Dick. “I should have been there.”

Dick kept his grin, and shook his head. “No, you shouldn’t have.” He glanced behind Damian, watched as Alfred let go of his hand to reach into one of his pockets. It reappeared with the extra respirator they had brought, and he silently held the back of Damian’s head as he pressed it to his face. Once again, Damian didn’t seem to notice the action, nor Alfred retaking his hand. “I’m frankly real damn glad you weren’t.”

“It’s my job to protect Batman. My Batman.” Damian continued, frantically trying to blink the tears from his eyes. He turned to Alfred. “It’s my job to protect my family.”

“It’s not.” Alfred smiled too. “Your job as always been to allow us to love you, and to come home safe at the end of the day.”

“Your job is to be a kid.” Dick added. “Right now, your job is to not bleed out on this floor. Think you can do that for me?”

But Damian was shaking his head. Damian was pulling his trembling hands from theirs and hiding his face behind them as he doubled over himself and pressed his head to his knees.

“I’m sorry.” He cried. “I’m so sorry.”

“…I don’t think he believes they’re real.” Tim whispered as he leaned back from the unconscious man.

Bruce shook his head. “He won’t until his system is free of the gas.”

“Or until he stops losing blood.” Tim hummed. “We’ve gotta get him back to the cave.”

“I’m so sorry.” Damian continued across the room. “Please forgive me. Please, please forgive me.”

“…I agree.” Bruce sighed. He watched as Alfred pulled Damian’s hand back into his, and ran the other along the back of his head. As Dick, keeping one hand against the injury, wrapped his arm around Damian’s back and leaned his cheek on his shaking spine. “We need to get him home.”

“Want me to deal with this guy while you go with them?” Tim asked, pushing himself onto his feet.

Bruce watched for a moment longer. Listened as Damian sobbed, as Damian hated himself. Watched as Dick closed his eyes in sorrow, as Alfred wiped away his own tears too.

“No, I’ll…I’ll stay. They have him.” Bruce admitted, despite how tight his heart felt. “The more of us finishing this up, the faster we can all get home and be with him.” Tim nodded and helped Bruce to his feet, then leaned over to haul the man up. “…Nightwing.”

Dick opened his eyes and glanced over. After a moment, he nodded and sat back up. “Alfie.”

Alfred nodded too, reaching into another pocket and pulling out a syringe. Dick gently rolled Damian to his side, which Damian surprisingly allowed, and carefully gathered the boy into his arms.

“P-Please forgive me.” Damian continued, still hiding his eyes behind his one hand. As soon as he was settled, Alfred leaned forward and plunged the needle into his throat.

Like everything else, the fear gas made it so Damian didn’t notice.

They were all silent as the effects took hold. As Damian’s cries slowed, and tapered off into slow, watery breathes. As his hand dropped from his face in unconsciousness.

It was like a funeral procession as they left the remnants of the lab. Dick first, Damian in his arms. Alfred right behind them. Tim and Bruce bringing up the rear with the nameless man between them.

On the street, the GCPD were already swarming, taking the rest of the gang into custody. The plane Alfred and Dick brought sat in the middle of the road not far away.

“Get him home.” Bruce murmured as he passed Dick. “Call with any updates. We should be back soon.”

“Take your time.” Dick hummed. “It’s going to take us a while to get him stable.”

Bruce nodded, and gave Dick’s shoulder a grateful squeeze. He nodded to Alfred, who gave him a grim smile, and then they parted ways. Bruce watched as they loaded into the plane, as it took off down the street.

He exhaled, and let himself smile, just a little.

He’d found him. He’d found his boy.

It was another two or so hours before the rest of them could clamor home, the city saved, the day won. They’d found Crane, and they each took an extra punch or two to him, in honor of Damian.

But when Bruce stepped out of the Batmobile in the cave, the first sound to greet his ears was Damian crying. Still.

He frowned as he moved up the stairs. Had the gas not worn off yet? Why hadn’t they given him an antidote?

But he stopped as the medbay came into view. Damian was hooked up to every machine available, injuries bandaged and Dick was lying next to him on the cot. Damian himself was sat up, and engulfed in the embrace of one Alfred Pennyworth.

“You’re alive.” He was wailing, clinging to Alfred’s torso. To Dick, who was rubbing his back, he cried, “You came back.” Then to both, even as Alfred tried to wipe at the boy’s eyes. “You’re both here.”

“Like we could ever stay away from you, kiddo.” Dick smirked.

But still, among the tears of relief and reunion, was the litany that wasn’t as influenced as the fear gas as they’d hoped.

“I’m sorry.” Damian whispered. Alfred just stroked at his hair. Dick just rolled over and wrapped his arms around his waist, careful of the now bandaged stab wound nearby. “I’m so sorry. For everything that’s happened. For everything I did. Everything I didn’t do.”

It was something they’d have to work on, all of them. And a confrontation was coming, Bruce knew. But that was okay. That was fine. It didn’t matter. There was only one thing that mattered. One thing that Bruce, and everyone, was grateful for.

Damian was home.

#Damian Wayne #bruce wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #dick grayson #Tim Drake

[kilyra]

Business as Usual

A/N: So, as much fun as I had with the first Huntress fic, I didn’t actually intend to carry on with it. But then this idea popped up and I’m not ready to be done with Birds of Prey in general, so here we are!

Turns out that not only is your boss into some bad stuff, some of the Birds of Prey suspect you’re in on it with him.

Warnings: Bad language, mention of porn, and angst. Sorry, no Harley Quinn. And like with Helena, I use Dinah’s name rather than Canary, but with Renee, I call her Montoya. It’s all I remember anyone calling her in the movie, so hopefully it’s not jarring.

If you want to be on my tag lists, (all or just a character) just let me know!

“So what are you saying?” Helena's icy tone greeted you as you opened the door.

“Just...okay, isn't it a little strange that the person you're dating turns out to be working for the man that everything keeps leading back to?” Immediately you recognized Dinah Lance's voice, strained as it was.

“Whoa, hey, things were...we had...things started well before we realized he was involved.”

“Yeah, before we realized he was involved. But maybe not before he realized we were looking into things.” Renee Montoya.

You weren't expecting anyone to be there, much less the entire team. And were they talking about you?

“Are you serious? Like he sent in a spy?” The disbelief was dripping from Helena's every word.

“I don't know...maybe? We just need to be careful who we trust right now is all...” Dinah hesitantly tried again.

Although your heart was trying to pound through your chest, you had to make yourself known. If they were talking about you, sneaking around would only make it worse. Clearing your throat, you came up the short hallway from the entrance. “Trust who?”

Helena stopped her pacing, spinning to face you as Dinah hopped up from her spot at the table and Montoya did the same, turning your direction.

Spreading your hands apart, you gestured behind you. “Whoa, I knocked okay?”

“And then just let yourself in?”

“Really, Helena, a key already?”

Montoya and Dinah blurted over each other. Helena's eyes narrowed as she shrugged at Dinah. That was all the answer she was going to give.  

The glare softened slightly when she turned to you. “Why are you back here already, I thought you were going in today?”

“I am, I just forgot my laptop,” you said, pointing to the end of the couch in the next room.

Following your gaze, Helena nodded at the laptop bag as an awkward hush fell over the room.

Sighing, you crossed your arms before one hand snaked nervously upward to squeeze the back of your neck. “So, you were talking about me. And what...my boss...?”

Settling back into her seat, Montoya's stare darted between the other two before dropping and staying on the table's surface. Dinah rubbed her arm and also avoided looking your direction.

Despite the smile she plastered on her face, there was heat to Helena's look as she tried to catch the gaze of either partner and was left on her own. Her nostrils flared as she kept the smile. “No, it's fine.”

Your hand dropped from your neck back to your elbow as you hugged yourself tighter. “Don't bullshit me, Hel. Did you seriously turn around and dig up dirt on McGrath?”

The smile dropped. “No, I swear. We were following other leads tha-”

“Hey, whoa!” Dinah spoke over Helena until she stopped.

Shaking her head, Montoya let her hand fall to the table. "Oh, so a key and knowing what we do? Wow.”

Before Helena could defend herself, you jumped in. “But seriously...McGrath? That just...it makes no sense.”

Tilting her head, Dinah watched you carefully. “Why do you say that?”

“Because...he's just...he's an asshole but not exactly some big mastermind.”

Turning toward you, Montoya took over. “And what sort of work do you do?”

A deep scowl immediately spread over Helena's features. “Seriously?”

Sliding into the free chair by Montoya and across from the other two, you waved Helena off. “No, it's fine. I have nothing to hide.”

Helena didn't look comforted in the least as she began shifting her weight between her feet. But she stayed quiet.

Rubbing your eyes, you turned back to the former detective. "We just design apps. I don't understand, so is he involved in some sort of...hacking...thing?"

“Mostly smuggling,” she said, almost dismissively. “Now, when you say apps, you mean...”

“Smuggling? How the hell would mid-range tech firm be involved with that?” Your pulse never really calmed down, but that bizarre fact forced a spike. Even your head throbbed.

But Montoya just watched you, her expression unchanged.

Realizing she wasn't going to answer that, you quickly replied. “M-mostly phone apps. Like for established companies that need to expand their platforms to stay relevant. Um...work out tracking apps to go with a gym membership, that sort of thing.”

Resting weight on her propped elbows, she let her shoulders relax as she leaned forward. It was a subtle shift but somehow you knew you were being interrogated. Period.

“And what do you do there, exactly?”

Helena's hand shot out like she could somehow shove the question back into Montoya's mouth. "Would you stop? You don't have to answer that, Y/n.”

“Hel. Seriously, stop. I'm a coder, that's it. If you guys are even suspecting I'm involved in anything, I want to clear my name. I mean, hell, my laptop is right there, crack it open and go through everything if you want.”

Dinah glanced over her shoulder, letting her gaze settle on the black bag. Without moving for it, she turned back to you. “Why? What's on there that would prove anything?”

“Everything. All the coding for my last few projects. So, proof of what I do, I guess? There’s also all my chat logs with McGrath that you can go through. I’m not in the office much, so that chat is a record of like 90% of anything we’ve ever said. Hell, you could even go through my browser history, look and see if I’ve been doing anything remotely suspicious online I-”

Quickly your mind skipped to all the sites you had recently visited and heat started pricking at your cheeks. But your pause caught everyone's attention. Feeling all the eyes on you, you forced yourself to finish. “You might want to ignore the history from two days ago but otherwise...”

“And why is that?” Montoya's eyes narrowed as she pounced.

Biting your lip, you pressed your knuckles against your mouth as your nerves knotted your stomach. “Porn.”

Montoya's face was unreadable, but Dinah's head bobbed slightly as her nose crinkled in surprise. Helena looked from you to Dinah, catching her reaction as a slow grin grew. Soon, she was beaming with a look of pride and let her gaze drop to the floor. Her soft chuckle made you cautiously smile.

Clearing her throat, Montoya let that go entirely. “Okay...you said you don't go into the office much. Why not?”

Blowing out a long exhale, you melted against the back of your chair, grateful to move on. "Oh, I hate it in there. They're into the open concept crap, so we're all in this big bullpen area. It's impossible to focus, but if I wear my headphones, I can't hear McGrath yelling for me to come into his office. I pretty much only go in when I have to meet with clients and otherwise work from home. Most of the team is the same, we work remotely as much as we can."

Mirroring you, Montoya sat back but never managed to pull off a relaxed look. “Of the times you have been there, do you see McGrath take meetings with other people?”

Dinah's eyebrow arched as Montoya’s gaze darted her direction. Helena's former grin had long since dropped, and her features grew stony with the question. The muscles along her jaw flexed as she watched Dinah pull out her phone.

Not that you understood the shift, but it was uncomfortable. "Uh...sure. The meeting rooms are almost always being used."

Snapping her attention back to you, Montoya's eyebrows creased together. “As in clients or...?”

“Sure, some of them. But sometimes people just want a consultation and don’t come back.”

"Is this one of the clients?" Leaning over the table, Dinah set her phone in front of you. A candid photo of a dark-haired man stared up at you. A man you immediately recognized.  

“Y-yeah, actually. He's come in a few times with some others guys.”

Continuing to scroll, it was obvious the pictures were taken covertly from a distance. And you recognized most of them. Not that you ever worked on their projects...

“You don't find it strange that they've been to your office repeatedly and you haven't done any work for them?” Montoya broke in.

Straightening, Dinah slid her phone back in her pocket and let her gaze trail to Helena. They shared a silent exchange that left Helena's knuckles white as she clenched her hands.

“No. I just...assumed someone else on the team was working on it.” There wasn't much confidence in your answer. You had assumed someone else was working with them, but now that you thought about it, McGrath was the only one to ever meet with them – none of the other techs ever in the meeting room.

But, instead of attacking the obvious moment of doubt, Montoya rapped her knuckles on the table and triumphantly turned to her partners. "Brilliant really. It's a legitimate business that's random enough to stop staff from being suspicious of who's coming and going. And if an employee did question anything, they're all kept so separate with projects and working from home, it's doubtful they'd actually compare notes anyhow. Meanwhile, McGrath is left with a mostly empty office for his cohorts. Hiding in plain sight."

Her switch threw you. “So...you believe me?”

“I do. You're either the liar to end all liars, or this is all news to you. I've got a connection at the station who can go through your laptop and check for spyware, but I've got all I need.”

Nodding, Dinah flipped her long hair over her shoulder as she gripped the back of the chair in front of her. “Okay, so now what?”

Pushing yourself to your feet, you glanced at the clock. “Well, if I'm in the clear, then I still have a meeting to get to this afternoon, I guess?”

“The hell you do,” Helena spat through grit teeth as she rounded the end of the table to block your exit.

Montoya had kept such a professional air about the chat, you didn't realize just how rattled she was. No one jumped in to smooth things over.

Trying to fight your suddenly dry mouth, you swallowed heavily. “I...I can't just not show up. I still have a job to do.”

“After everything we just laid out, you think I'm going to let you go back into that?” Her dark eyes bore into yours and you could see how deep her passion ran.

“This isn’t good, no. But...I mean it's just smuggling ri-”

“Sure, just smuggling if you don't count the trail of dead bodies left behind.” Helena openly glared at Montoya, daring her to argue. Or maybe angry that detail was left out.

Adrenaline coursed through you, leaving your hands shaking. Crossing your arms, you held your hands tight against your sides, trying to hide the rush of panic. Your voice was thin. “So what am I supposed to do? The job is real and at the end of the day, I still have a reputation to maintain in the field.”

Not attempting to get closer, Dinah's hand tightened around the back of the chair as she sighed. "Well, truth is, we could use someone on the inside."

“No.” Helena's dangerous glare shifted to Dinah.

Getting to her feet, Montoya moved next to Dinah and gathered her shoulders in a defeated shrug. “She's right, though. We won't let her do anything dangerous – just business as usual. But even a text when one of those men are in for a meeting would help.”

If you could, you would have turned back the clock and remembered your laptop in the morning just to avoid all of this. But you couldn't. You also couldn't unlearn what they told you about your boss. And you definitely couldn't turn a blind eye.

This new truth weaved through you, pushing you towards Helena as your hands dropped to your sides. As you drew closer to her, the faint scent of lavender and leather wrapped around your senses. “You hate it, I get that. I'm not thrilled either, but I'm in this now. If I bail, McGrath will be suspicious, and if he does have any spyware on my machine, I could be in serious trouble. But if I carry on like normal, then I won’t even be on his radar.”

Her face was a hardened statue as she stared you down. But you saw a flicker of desperation deep in her eyes. “No. I've got safe houses around the city – I can protect you.”

“And in the meantime, you guys keep hitting the same dead ends you're hitting now because I'm not in there to help.”

“But I can't protect you in there.”

For all her bluster, it was her fear at the core. The realization stabbed at you because you knew you were about to make it worse.

Reaching out, you grabbed her hands. They were cold. Firmly, you rubbed your thumbs along her chilled skin as you let out a steadying breath. “But...it's not your decision. It's mine. And I'm going in.”

Helena's face fell, giving you a final stab before she quickly smoothed her expression over. Jerking her hands away, she turned to the other two who had wisely stayed quiet. “Fuck you both. If anything happens-”

Her words caught in her throat. Turning on her heel, she stormed from the room, leaving a stunned silence in her place. Blinking rapidly, you tried to get rid of the stinging tears that threatened to form at the edge of your eyes.

Dinah lightly scratched her fingers across her forehead before blowing out a long exhale. In a few smooth steps, she retrieved your laptop and came over to you. Setting her hand on your shoulder, she gave you a quiet, concerned look. The same one Montoya gave from where she still stood.

Squeezing your shoulder, Dinah finally offered a quiet smile as she pushed the bag into your hands. “It's going to be okay. I promise.”

You didn't know which situation she meant, but either way, you weren't sure you believed her.  

Numbly nodding, you let your heavy feet lead you from the apartment. There was still a client meeting to deal with.

Business as usual, after all.

Taglist:  @foreverfaeries  @flower-two  @getlostinyourparadise​   @selfishkiddo @angelicshinigami  @parkersbabey  @kurreapormaranet  @hobiiwan  @emofairygay

#helena bertinelli x reader #huntress x reader #dinah lance x reader #renee montoya x reader #birds of prey

[bigskydreaming]

You're totally right. I literally cannot read "Jason finds out about Tarantula" fics anymore. I find the way they generally filter what's considered in fandom maybe Dick's biggest trauma, through the lens of " isn't Jay just so awesome for caring (even though Dick's always been such a dick to him)", rather that Dick's needs, pretty gross. And why does Jay's revenge on Tarantula usually matter more than Dick's feelings on the matter (like, Dick could have revenge himself if he wanted, you know?)?

This is DEFINITELY a thing and it bugs a ton.

Like, I get the projection element of using Jason killing Dick’s rapist to act out or process the revenge fantasy of wishing someone would do that for you with your rapist, for writers or readers for whom this is part of the catharsis, and so this isn’t like, a moral judgment of him for doing so, the problem is it never in ANY story has ANYTHING TO DO WITH DICK OR WHAT HE WANTS.

Never have I ever seen a single story about Tarantula or Mirage where Jason kills them after ASKING Dick if that’s what he wants, if that will help him, bring him closure or comfort or relief.

Its just Jason going off and doing his thing, and that’s 100% entirely about Jason, and that’s....annoying, in a fic and an issue that’s supposed to be about hurt/comfort for Dick for something that happened to him.

Like, if Jason was actually acting on Dick’s behalf and fulfilling his wishes, that’d be totally different, but there’s not a single thought ever spared about the fact that if Dick blamed himself for Tarantula killing Blockbuster and thought HE failed HER by not putting her on a better path, then how in the hell do you think he’s ACTUALLY going to feel about Jason then killing Tarantula, supposedly on his behalf?

I’ve talked extensively about how I think Dick has a lot more nuanced and complicated perspective on killing than most people assume of him, and I’m not refuting that here.....but even Dick being willing or tempted to kill someone who’s hurt him or taken someone from him like he was with Zucco and later with Two-Face and then with Joker.....like, this is not remotely interchangeable with how Dick might feel about killing being done in his name, and I don’t for a second believe that’s what he’d ever want from any of his siblings, and thus this would IMO only make things WORSE for his mental and emotional state, rather than bring him any sort of catharsis at all.

Like, its not even about the morality of killing itself even....there’s so many other factors such as Jason’s complicated history with Bruce on this very issue, and like, the last thing in the world Dick would want is to be the reason for even further conflict between Bruce and Jason because Jason killed someone on Dick’s behalf.....ESPECIALLY when its not even on Dick’s behalf because at no point, as I said, is Jason shown thinking through the thought process of ‘is this actually what Dick would want and would it make him feel better, or is this wholly about making myself feel better and venting my anger and aggression about my brother being hurt on the one who hurt him, regardless of how he’s going to feel about it if and when he finds out.’

Like, say what you will about Dick killing the Joker in Last Laugh, but there was never any illusions about him going that far and beating the Joker to death because he thought it would bring either Jason or Tim (who he thought at that point the Joker had killed too) back, nor did he ever during or in the aftermath express any kind of idea that he was doing it because its what they would want. Ironically of course, this ended up being exactly what Jason DID want, just not from Dick specifically, but the point is, this never came up as part of Dick’s thought process either during or after. It was always 100% clear that this event, that moment, was about Dick and his hurt and rage over the Joker taking away his loved ones, just like with Zucco it’d been about his hurt and rage over him taking his parents away and not at all because he was of the belief that his parents would actually want him to kill Zucco. 

Even with Two-Face in R:YO, Dick being tempted to kill Two-Face was less about him having been hurt by Two-Face when he almost beat Dick to death....it really was about him holding Two-Face and that whole situation to blame for Bruce firing him and in Dick’s mind no longer needing or wanting him....he wanted to kill Two-Face not because of what had been DONE to him, but what he blamed Two-Face for having lost, what he felt he’d taken from him....even while knowing full well that this would in no way make things better or right with Bruce, and its the last thing Bruce would want Dick to do.

There is a difference between avenging and revenge, and one of the interesting things about Dick’s stance and history on killing has always been that it always ONLY comes up in the latter. Like, there’s never any point in Dick’s history where he views killing as a valid way to avenge a loved one......the times when he struggles with the desire to, its 100% about his wanting revenge on a personal level.

And that’s the honesty and directness I’m missing from so many Tarantula or Mirage fics these days. Its the disconnect, how Jason is framed and even celebrated as though he’s AVENGING his brother and acting on his behalf, justice for Dick being hurt by these people.....

But the reality is, there’s little to no thought or attention paid by Jason or the narrative as to what Dick’s ACTUAL wishes in this matter are, and what he actually wants and needs in order to be helped along in his recovery.

Its really just about Jason getting revenge for someone hurting someone he cares about and thus feeling hurt and pain by proxy......just twisted and made to look like something it’s not, by saying its FOR Dick even though its likely Dick would actually be worse off for knowing what Jason was doing/had done, as Dick’s guilt complex makes it all but inevitable that he’d now additionally blame himself for being the reason Jason felt he had to do that.....when ironically and obnoxiously, the reality is Jason did it in those stories because its what Jason wanted and what Jason felt HE needed to cope with his feelings and emotions about what had been done to his brother. It really ultimately has nothing to do with Dick, he’s just the excuse, but he also just so happens to 100% be someone who would shoulder the burden of guilt and blame and remorse for even just being the excuse for someone going to those extremes.

If a story is about Dick’s trauma and Dick’s recovery, leaving out Dick’s actual expressed wishes or Dick’s feelings about what other people do or want to do as a result of this is a huge, gaping, annoying as hell oversight.

And for the record, I’m trying to keep this general and not speak to specific fics because I’m aware that for many survivors, the act of projecting onto Dick and what he suffered there can and does mean that for some people, Jason’s actions there are viewed as almost actually being on behalf of the readers/writers who project themselves into Dick’s position in that narrative. I get that, and that’s why this issue is always going to be messy.

As with most things, my true gripe is the overwhelming SAMENESS of the takes on Tarantula/Mirage stories, and the fact that no room is hardly ever left for those who ironically are NOT projecting onto Dick so fully that they feel avenged by whatever Jason does here.....but rather who are simply relating to Dick and thus are actually just looking for the catharsis of him being able to seize back control over his own life and what happens to him and because of him, by the narrative prioritizing the other characters focusing on what HE wants and needs for HIS recovery rather than going off to enact revenge of their own.

Sorry not sorry, but I am always gonna be hardcore gung-ho about the fact that I think that stories that are ABOUT a specific character’s rape should always center and prioritize THEM and what THEY want and/or do, rather than just use them and what happened to them as a catalyst to then showcase someone else acting out a revenge fantasy in their name.

The desire to avenge a loved one, the desire for personal revenge against someone who hurt a loved one, and the desire to act as little as possible on your own personal feelings about what happened and instead be there to help enact whatever that hurt loved one says they want or need to help get better....

Each and every one of these desires has validity....the problem is, depending on the characters involved, they absolutely ARE at times mutually exclusive and not compatible, and thus not keeping a firm awareness on the distinction between these and which are the primary motivations for which characters, like.....it often brings these into direct conflict....but without a lot of writers and readers ever perceiving any conflict exists, because they’re completely centered on Jason’s actions and choices rather than Dick’s wants and needs, to the extent that in a lot of fics, the latter never even comes up for a mention.

And that’s the part that just will never work in my eyes. If its about what happened to Dick, it needs to be about what he wants or needs as a result. There can be other elements in play as well, by all means Jason and others can absolutely have their own conflicting views about what happened and wants/needs for revenge that are at odds with what Dick himself wants, and this doesn’t make them bad or wrong, but there’s so much room for intricate and complicated dynamics and insights there....whereas there’s just none of that in narratives that use harm done to Dick as a catalyst for character choices.....just without Dick’s character choices ever then entering the narrative as being considered at all relevant.

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

BITE DOWN

A new hurt/comfort, isolation, Snowbaz sick fic that wouldn't leave my head and that I cranked out in the last 24 hours. 

Baz and Simon shelter in place in London during the pandemic but they are not aware SImon has been infected until he falls ill. Baz does the care taking as Simon descends into illness and then Baz has some very difficult moments to face and decisions to make. Angst with a happy ending.

*trigger warning from frank descriptions of severe pneumonia and respiratory illness*

BITE DOWN

Day 1

Simon

Penny left this morning. Her mum wanted her home once the shutdown order came through and with her uni having gone all online there wasn’t much point in her staying around.

Other than for me, that is.

She wanted to but I told her that’s daft. She should be with her family. I’d never choose to cross Mitali Bunce and there’s no reason for Penny to, not for this.

I’ll be fine. My classes are all online. I can buy what I need at the corner shop and the curry place is staying open.

And I’ve got Baz. He’s staying too. Spouted some rubbish about not wanting to possibly transmit something to his family, seeing as they’re half-isolated as it is, way out where they are.

And don’t I know it. I made that jog from the road to their place more than once. Isolated doesn’t do it justice. It’s remote.

But I also know that’s not the real reason he’s staying here. I know he’s staying for me, the sappy git.

I tried to make him go. Tried to convince him he should be with his family.

He’d turned his sea-grey eyes on me then and said, “I am with my family.”

There’s not much I could say in answer to that. Not with words that is. I practically knocked him off the sofa in my attempt to snog him senseless. He says things like that and I . . . well, fuck, it makes me believe it’s all been worth it. All that came before.

No, I know it’s worth it. I’d give up my magic again in a heartbeat to have what I’ve got with Baz. Give it all to the Humdrum, fight mutant vampires in the desert, deal with that fucking Lamb character—I’d go through it all over again for him. Every moment of it, to be where we are now.

Together. In love and able to say it. Out loud. To each other.

My therapy appointments are down to once a month now. Baz and I have one together every few months. I was surprised when he started seeing someone, a few months after we came back. After everything had finally settled down.

Fiona found him someone she trusted.

It made it easier for me to do it, once he started. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why he did it. But there’s never been a point in asking him that. It doesn’t serve a purpose. He wouldn’t have kept going if it wasn’t something he needed as well. So why he started doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he did.

And I did.

And we’re here now, better than we’ve ever been.

Well, other than this pandemic shit.

I don’t think it’s going to be as bad as they say. They’ve shut the whole damn country down. Hospitals and clinics at ready. I think it will take time, but it’ll pass.

It’s done a right number on all of our plans, I’ll say that.

Last year of uni for Baz and Penny. I basically fucked away my first year so I’m a bit behind, but still. We’re all moving forward, not looking back.

I hope this doesn’t fuck up Baz’s graduation. He’s top of his class here too, the swot. I want to see that. See him graduate.

I didn’t get to see him give his leavers speech at Watford.

Baz says he’s not fussed about graduation. What he’s fussed about is possibly having to cancel his graduation gift from his parents. They’ve sprung for a two-week vacation on the Continent for the both of us.

I’m part of the gift, it seems. Daphne came right out and said it like that, when they told Baz about it. I thought I was going to go up in flames right there and then.

It’s right embarrassing sometimes, the things she and Malcolm say. I call him Malcolm now, as if that doesn’t take the bloody cake. Took me long enough. (It’s still awkward as fuck, but he likes it so I try.)

It was bad enough when they assumed we were shagging and we weren’t. Yet.

Now they’re even less inhibited. Sending us away on romantic weekend trips. Buying us matching gifts. Asking us when we’re going to move in together (yes, we’ve talked about it) (probably this summer) (or we were planning to, before this bloody thing started) (just hadn’t told anyone but Penny yet.)

But this. This is like some wedding planner’s ideal honeymoon trip. Paris. Venice. Barcelona. The bloody Amalfi Coast.

It’s as if Daphne looked up every romantic location on Pinterest and added it to the itinerary.

Every bloody romantic proposal location, I mean.

That’s what it feels like to me.

Because I’d been thinking to ask him, after graduation. And I’ll be good god-damned if I don’t get to do it first.

Knowing Baz, he’d probably try to get the drop on me, just to be a competitive arse.

No, he wouldn’t actually. Not for this. He’d want me to be sure, he’d want to know I was the one who really wanted it.

And he’d want to see me try to set up something romantic. For him. He’s such a sappy git. I think he’d be just as thrilled if I did it in the Tesco car park as the Eiffel Tower at sunset.

Which is where I’m currently planning on asking, when I let myself think about it. Paris, that is, not the Tesco. Although last week it was a gondola in Venice. And by next week it may well be somewhere else.

It’s not as if I’ve bought a ring or anything yet. I was waiting a bit. Getting comfortable with the idea rather than just letting myself daydream about it.

Not that I’ll be getting any ring shopping done anytime soon.

Not even online, not with his meddlesome self looking over my shoulder when I’m on my laptop, now that he’s going to be here every minute, not just a few nights a week.

He’s here more than a few nights, to be honest, has been for a while. Unless he’s got a big paper or some sort of group project and I’m too much of a distraction.

Baz basically moved in at the start of the fall term. I mean, he still has his place in Camberwell. He’s just rarely there anymore. His clothes fill my closet, he’s got a colourful array of spare pants in the dresser, his toiletries on my sink and in my shower—not travel sized versions carried back and forth in his knapsack anymore.

There’re orderly pints of blood in the fridge and cold vampire feet in my bed every night.

I’m not complaining one bit. It’s taken us long enough to get here.

And so here we are, our coursework done for the day, curled up on my sofa watching Derry Girls again, my head resting on his shoulder.

I’m feeling all right. None of the symptoms they’re blathering on about in the news updates and emails from the uni health centre.

And Baz . . . well, he’s being Baz. Calm in the midst of the anxiety that’s overtaken the city. Meticulous about his personal hygiene and bloody annoying about mine.

Like now.

“Go wash your hands, Simon.”

“I just did, when I went to the loo a bit ago.”

“You just touched your nose. Wash them again.”

“Bloody hell, must you watch me every minute?”

“Not about to change my habits now, they’re ingrained.” He’s smiling, the prat.

“Don’t I know it.”

His eyebrow goes up. “Someone has to, you’re an absolute menace to cleanliness as a rule.”

“Piss off.”

But I love him for it, so I go and wash my hands. I know why he does it. I know it’s out of concern.

I’m being careful. I am.

I’ve not been out other than for a run, not since uni shut down. I mean other than to go to the corner shop for snacks a few days ago. And to the curry place for some samosas yesterday.

Baz has put a stop to all that now though. Said he’s doing the shopping and the food runs from now on. I watched him empty the shopping bags earlier—wouldn’t even let me help, the tosser. He’s stocked up on paracetamol, thermometer covers, zinc throat lozenges, throat syrup, and whatnot.

“Didn’t you get any crisps? I thought you were going to get more crisps?” We’re not going to make it long without crisps.

He just rolls his eyes at me. “We’ve got bags of them, Simon. We’ll be fine.”

Baz

I’m trying not to let on to Simon how worried I am.

I’ve seen the projections. It’s not looking good. This government has bollocksed the entire situation from the very start. Even my father is appalled at the Tories and has not been shy about saying so, which is unprecedented and not doing anything to dampen my anxiety about all this.

It’s end times when my father is to the point of vehemently condemning a Tory government.

I don’t know what Simon and Penelope were thinking. They’ve not stocked up on much other than toilet paper and crisps. I had to purchase the bare necessities today and it took me to two Tescos and one Boots to find any paracetamol.

I do know what Penelope was thinking—that a few well-cast spells would sort it.

She sorted Simon when I thought we’d lose him. I can understand her confidence but it’s wildly misplaced.

This isn’t like that.

This is, for lack of a better term, insidious. Fuck. I hate that word. I can’t use it and not think of the bloody Humdrum. That leads to thinking about the Mage and Simon’s magic and then I’m off on tangents that make me want to rage.

I know it’s been years now. I know he and I have both talked through it, with each other and with Simon’s therapist.

But at moments like this, in the middle of this fucking plague, all I can think about is how much easier this would be, how much safer, if Simon still had his magic. Not that it made him impervious to injuries or illnesses. It didn’t, I know that first hand, from all those nights he’d drag himself up the steps to our turret, bruised and battered and a bloody mess.

But he had a capacity to heal, to bounce back, without needing to be coated in spells. He’s not got that anymore.

But he acts like he still does.

Like he did in America. Like he’s acting now. Like somehow, he’s resistant to it all, that he can barrel through as he is and still come out relatively unscathed.

I’ve put a stop to all that. No more trips to the corner shop or the curry place. No unnecessary activities outside of the flat. None. I’ll be damned if we’ve made it this far only to have some rogue virus destroy it all.

I’m the one who’s impervious. I’m the one who will still be standing at the end of the day, when this is all over. And I want Simon at my side.

I need him to be.

He can content himself with sitting at home, on the sofa, watching the telly. I’ll even buy him some cider, if he’ll just bloody well stay inside.

Here I am, wishing that Simon Snow would just lie the fuck down on the sofa and not argue about it. Who would have thought we’d come to this? Crowley, the world is upside down.

At least now I get to lie down with him.

READ THE REST AT AO3! 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23287240

#simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #carry on #wayward son #hurt/comfort #sickfic #isolation #quarantine #angst with a happy ending

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

Sunshine

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x OC (Evelyn “Evie” Blaker)

Warnings: None

A/N: I’m not really sure where this story came from (and tbh, not sure how it’s going to end!), but I had the desire to write a Maxwell Lord fic.  I don’t know if I’ll follow the same posting pattern as I have with others simply because I have less written before posting the first chapter.  Anyway.  Enjoy!

Reminder:  I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit.  I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tags:  @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @beskars​ , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale  

Part 1 

Start with the Appetizer

Sunshine.

She was the human embodiment of sunshine, he thought.  Her laughter, her smile, her personality, the way she looked – it was like sunshine washing over him.  He could not be exactly sure when he realized that he lacked that kind of warmth in his world, but once she shined on him, he craved it. The need to be in her presence consumed him and for a moment in time, he thought he could cage the sun.  But like Icarus, he learned that to treat the sun as a folly would burn him.  To pay it reverence meant to live in harmony.  Once that lesson is learned, life can continue.

She was his sun and he was certain that he would worship at her altar for eternity.

---***---

Evelyn Blaker stood in the doorway to Donovan Bercholder’s office, watching the large man scramble around in a panic-induced pattern.  As she stood waiting for his blustery nature to die down, she leaned back to slightly to keep an eye on the conference room down the hall.  Chimetech representatives were already in the room, waiting for them.  She had noted a tall, blond man walking with them and something in her stomach began to tap its toes.

“Where are the damn reports I asked for, Evie?”  The man’s naturally loud voice seemed twice as loud as usual and she knew it carried down the hall.  The tapping got worse as she racked her brain to remember who was coming.  Clark Gibson oversaw their medical division, but he was a short man, with coke-bottle glasses that made him look owlish, nor was he blond.

“Donovan, will you keep it down?  The Chimtech folks just arrived.  And the reports are in the conference room where I had Helen put them half an hour ago.”  Donovon stopped to look at her.  In the year he had been at Bercholder Medics, he had come to know Evie as a sprightly and jovial person and he often called her a little ball of sunshine.  He had never met a person so warm and welcoming and nice and being the new guy in town?  That went a long way to helping him gain the trust of his very wary workforce.

But the tone she threw at him was hard and her face was stony.  Nearly five-hundred people would lose their jobs if this plan failed and she wasn’t going to lose her work family because Grant Bercholder had been a thieving bastard.  She had put in too many late nights for the last year trying to save this company for Donovan’s hysterics to suddenly derail everything.  On a large markerboard in her office, she had written a quotation from Knute Rockne when this whole Hail Mary pass idea began,

Build up your weaknesses until they become your strong points.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.  Let’s go.”   He took a deep breath and gave her a smile.  Evie heaved a sigh of relief and smiled back.  The gauntlet was about to open.

---***---

Maxwell Lord stood at the window of the conference room, looking out at a view of the Hudson River and beyond it the rise of the Catskills Mountains’ foothills. He had to admit it was a beautiful view and he marginally forgave Clark for dragging him out of the city for this meeting rather than having Bercholder’s people come to him as everyone else did.  Everything he had read about the company told him they weren’t worth doing business with, but Clark somehow convinced him to take the chance.

As he continued to look out of the window, he realized it was quieter than it had been moments ago, and he could hear the small talk within the room. A loud voice had been shouting something about reports and he smirked at the panicked tone in said voice.  A man who couldn’t control his emotions had little chance of controlling a company.  Maxwell suspected that this meeting would be short, and he could get back to the city in a reasonable amount of time.  He turned from his perch when he heard two sets of footprints enter the room.

A large burly man – who looked more at home in an Adirondack lumber camp than in a boardroom - and a shorter woman walked into the room.  Maxwell assumed the man was Donovan, but he had no idea who the woman was.  He sized up his counterpart as Donovan walked up with a hand extended in greeting.  Maxwell took the hand and was not surprised to feel strength behind the handshake.  He noted the woman was introducing herself to his people and stopped to chat longer with Clark than the others.

“Maxwell, welcome!  You’ve had a chance to meet everyone here, I hope?”  Donovan’s naturally bombastic, yet cheery nature, was evident in his voice and Maxwell noted that the panic that had been there before was now gone. Intriguing.

“All but the woman that came in with you.”  Came the reply

“Evie!  Come say hello to Maxwell Lord.”  Evie looked away from her conversation with Clark and nodded as she stepped over. The tapping her stomach got worse when she realized that the blond she had seen was the one man who could derail this whole thing.  She tamped it down as she, too, extended her hand to him.  “Maxwell, this is Evelyn Blaker, our head of accounting.  She’s been working with your Clark to broker this deal.”

He was surprised – all the reports he had read recently had been signed off by an E. Blaker.  He didn’t realize E stood for Evelyn rather than an Eric or Edward.  He silently berated himself for his lack of attention to detail on this whole project and he frowned slightly.  This isn’t how he did business and sure as hell not how he became a success.

“Mr. Lord?  It’s great to meet you and Mr. Gibson in person.”  Her face broken into her characteristic grin and Maxwell felt bowled over suddenly.  As they shook hands, fissures of pleasure rippled across his skin, a strange warmth seeping into parts of himself that he thought closed to the outside world.  He held her hand longer than necessary before she pulled away.  He felt struck dumb, but thankfully, no one seemed to notice as Evie gestured to everyone to take their seats.

As he sat, he noted she was a few seats over, giving him a perfect chance to observe without her noticing.  He didn’t understand why he felt changed by her presence and why others didn’t seem to be changed either.  She was pretty enough, he supposed.  Nothing like the socialites he sometimes dated or the models he carried on his arm at events.  And yet here he was, unable to take his eyes off her.

She had blonde hair, too, but hers had a coppery hue that almost seemed like a reflection of firelight.  He could tell it was long given how big her chignon bun at the base of her neck was and he noted how elegant that neck was, her skin almost glowing in the late afternoon sun as it streamed into the room.  She was shorter than him and he noted her slender fingers as she took notes, causing Maxwell to wonder how those hands would feel on his chest or maybe his cock. He shifted slightly at the thought, attempting to maintain the hard, professional aura he always carried.

Donovan’s voice droned in the background and then Clark’s.  He barely paid attention to what they were saying when suddenly, Evie stood up.  He was startled, to say the least, when she took the projector remote and brought up a series of charts.  He was lost when she began to speak with her honeyed voice.

“Gentlemen, as you look at the projections on the wall you will note that our finances have been less than stellar for most of the last six years. However, since Donovan’s arrival this cash flow bleed has all but stopped.  As you can see on this next slide. . .”  Evie felt the best offence was a good defense, so by getting the bad out of the way, she was able to move towards a rosier projection that would better sell the company.

She walked around the room, explaining charts and projections with ease and she smiled to herself thinking she could give this whole talk dead.  No one knew these numbers like her, and she could see subtle changes in Clark’s face as well as a few others as she moved from the worse of it.  Occasionally Donovan broke in to clarify something or to answer a question, but this was all on her, giving Chimtech everything they needed to say yes to this deal. This pass was going to work, dammit.

As Evie talked and walked, Maxwell continued to study her.  She carried herself with confidence that he admired and noted that her walk contained a little hop that he could help but enjoy, especially when he realized it caused her breasts to bounce subtly.  He decided her golden-brown eyes were her most attractive feature as he found them to be expressive and engaging.  And in a strange bit of sentimentality, he thought the color reminded him of dappled sunlight in September.  Suddenly, he realized she had stopped next to him as Clark asked another question.

She leaned over Maxwell’s chair to point out something in the projections book that they had in front of them and then pointed to its counterpart on the screen.  His heart stuttered a bit and then took off when he got a whiff of her shampoo, something soft and warm.  The urge to bury his nose into her neck and breathe deeply nearly overwhelmed him and it took his infamous willpower to tamp down the urge.

What in the hell was going on with him?

“Any questions?”  Evie stood back and rested her hand on the back of Maxwell’s chair.  She smiled at the group with Donovan beaming back at her. She wanted this to work as much as he did, but Chimtech was notorious for being persnickety with their vendors. She watched as Clark nodded to Maxwell and she glanced down at the man sitting next to her.  He looked serious and she noted he didn’t seem to pay attention to anything either her or Donovan said.  She began to feel nervous that they just prostrated themselves in front of this man for nothing.

“Let’s get a contract written up and signed by the end of next week.” Maxwell flashed a dazzling smile to the group, but he refused to look up at Evie, fearing he couldn’t contain his facial expressions under her warm gaze.  As it was, he could feel her heating up with excitement behind him and he craved to feel that again, but just for him.

“Maxwell, I am pleased to hear this!  I’ll have my lawyer work with yours on the language of the contract and as soon as its signed, we can go into production.”  Donovan got up from his chair and walked over to the man, shaking his hand.  “Our lead point on this is Evie, so Chimtech will be working with her directly.”

“Sounds great.”

Sounds great indeed, he thought.

---***---

As Evie stepped out her car, she still wasn’t quite sure if she wanted to be at this get-together or not.  The last year had been rough, the last month had been rougher, and last couple of weeks had been hell.  The work she had done to help save Bercholder Medics was starting to catch up with her and she wanted a quiet evening to herself and maybe a week to catch up on much needed sleep.

As she spent most of last week in the city working with Chimtech’s lawyer and Clark on the final contract, she hardly slept.  It was as if she was waiting for Maxwell Lord to swoop into the room and take away everything that she had fought for.  He had shown up a few times, but never said anything and left before long.  She wasn’t sure what to make of the man, but every time he came in, she found herself strangely drawn to him.

She felt something similar during the presentation meeting, too.  She found his initial demeanor to be harsh and a little cold, almost as if he were detached from the whole thing.  And yet, the times he sat in on the meetings for the contract, the aura he gave off was different.  She wondered if had been because they were on his turf and he was more relaxed. Regardless, he invaded her thoughts and she seemed relieved when the contract was signed, and she was back in Poughkeepsie.

As she walked into the Bercholder house, she realized that Donovan needed to celebrate this win and more importantly, her coworkers needed to have some happiness in their lives after such a rough time at it.  Earlier in the day a large party had been held at the factory for all the workers and everyone was sent home with pay for an early weekend.  Now all the department heads and a few extra guests were treated to a nice evening at Donovan’s home at the foot of the Catskill Mountains.

“Evie!” The voices calling her name sounded cheery and excited and she could feel their joy seeping into her, giving her the energy boost she needed.  She found herself slowing passing through the Bercholder house, hugging people and shaking hands, all grateful thank yous that came from her peers, who wanted to express their gratitude for her role in keeping the company open.  Soon, though she was ready to be alone, despite how pleasant everyone was being.

She finally wandered out into Donovan’s garden, a large sprawling greenspace that was inviting with fragrant blooms waving in the breeze.  Towards the back of the yard was a bower with a swinging bench that had a perfect view of the mountains and at this time of day, the spectacular sunset.  She sat down on the bench with a glass of wine that had been pressed into her hands and just relaxed, letting the late summer evening weave its magic around her.

She stayed in place long after dusk overtook the sky and she was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind her. When the person spoke, she jumped a mile, letting out a little shriek and dropped the glass on the ground.  She spun around with a hand on her chest.

“Oh my god, you scared me Maxwell!”  Her voice came out breathy and rushed, her heart beating wildly in her chest. He bowed his head and extended his hands towards her.

“I’m sorry Evie, I thought you heard me call your name as I walked out.” He had been watching her from the house, as mesmerized by her beauty as he had been when they first met.  When he realized she was here; he ignored all attempts at conversation so he could step outside and join her.

“No, I didn’t.”  She shook her head and now that she was calming down, she started to laugh as she bent down to pick up the wine glass that thankfully had not shattered. She set it up right and off to the side before turning towards him. She was surprised to see him here, thinking he wouldn’t have come so far for such a small celebration.  And yet here he was, and she was grateful for the coming twilight – it hid the growing blush on her cheeks.

“May I?”  He gestured to the open space next to her and she smiled at him and scooted over, patting the cushioned seat.  When he sat down, she almost felt dwarfed by him.  She didn’t think she was particularly short at five foot six inches, but for some reason the six inches Maxwell had over her seemed extra pronounced up close.

“Would you like more wine to replace what you lost?”

“No, I wasn’t even drinking it.  Someone handed it to me, and I didn’t have the heart to say no.”  

“Not a wine drinker?”

“Not a drinker at all.”  He nodded and for a moment they lapsed into silence.  It was quite comfortable between the two of them, given how little they knew of each other.  Maxwell moved his legs slightly and the swing began to sway.  They sat enjoying the quiet night, occasionally broken by noises from the party, but both were lost in thought about the other.

“Thank you for the portfolios, our staff thought it was a wonderful gesture.” Evie’s voice was soft but carried easily in the quiet and Maxwell nodded.  The boxes came only a few days after that first meeting, so the company took it as a sign that the company-saving move was secured.  Donovan burst into Evie’s office and pulled her into a giant hug before waltzing her around the room.  She laughed as he left and the thrill that what she had done worked shivered up her spine.

When she opened her box, she found that she too had received a portfolio, but hers was a deep plum – her favorite color – whereas all the rest a classic blue to match the Bercholder logo.  She ran her fingers across the gold embossing of her name before opening it up.  She had received a note like everyone else, but unlike the form letter found in other portfolios, hers was handwritten by Maxwell himself.  As she read the spiky handwriting, she was grateful she was alone in her office.

“You’re welcome.”  His voice was equally soft, and it struck her that in the handful of times that she had talked with Maxwell that soft wasn’t a word that she would have described him. And yet. . .

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“Don’t play stupid Maxwell, you know what I’m asking about.”  He smiled and she could see his teeth gleam in the dark.  She thought that maybe she should be scared to see such a smile from a man known to be so ruthless, but it didn’t seem dangerous to her.

“I did.  I want to take you to dinner.”

“Why me?”

“I don’t know, but I do know that I want to see more of you.”  She smiled softly.  She never felt like the kind of woman who would be so attractive to a man that he had to see her.  So, she couldn’t help but preen internally at his comment.  She was quiet for a beat before she spoke again.

“If I do agree to a date of some sort, you must promise me that regardless of what happens, Chimtech keeps Bercholder as a vendor.”

“Of course.”  She placed her hand on his shoulder and turned him towards her.  He was struck that even in the darkness she seemed to shine like the sun, as if her hair stole the light from the stars.  The look on her face was serious and for a moment he paused.  She took his hand into her own and squeezed, hard.

“I mean it Maxwell; you promise me that you won’t let whatever is going on ruin this for Bercholder.  People are relying upon this contract to keep their jobs and I will not do a damn thing to hurt them.”  Her soft voice was now hard, with a harsh undertone that surprised him.  She didn’t seem to glow anymore, instead it was as if she had been eclipsed and something cold left in her place.  He was taken aback by the sudden change.

“Evie, I promise.  Bercholder is Clark’s responsibility, I never had a hand in anything but approving the contract.”  She relaxed and nodded but to his surprise, didn’t let go of his hand.  The hardness left her and the golden aura he had come to crave from her returned.  The moment had passed, and the silence returned, surprisingly as comfortable as before.

Evie would never admit to anyone but herself, but she wanted to accept his proposition the day she got the letter.  She had thought of him often over the last few weeks, with each meeting dragging her further and further into thoughts she shouldn’t be having about the man.  She recognized at the very onset of all this that Maxwell Lord was a powerful man and he oozed that every time they had meet, but she sensed something else was there and whatever it was, it drew her in like a moth to a flame.  When he kept hold of her hand longer than was usual, she felt herself breakout in goosebumps.

During the presentation, she could feel his eyes on her, and she pointedly avoided looking at him in the eyes.  But when she leaned over his chair, she had to grip the seat’s back to keep her hands to herself.  Up close, she could see his golden locks and wondered if they felt like silk since they certainly looked it.  Her palms itched to touch him, and she was confused as to why she was feeling this way about him. Yes, he was handsome, but never had she yearned so much for a single touch as she did in that moment.

When Donovan put her in charge of the contract, she was lost.  Every time he sat in on a meeting, she could feel herself grow warm under his eyes and she willed herself to ignore him lest she get caught up in his gaze.  On the second to last day, he smiled at her and she felt her thighs clench with want. She was never anything but professional around him, but within the confines of her home, too many nights ended with his name on her lips as she came by her own hand.

---***---

She wasn’t sure how long they sat on the swing, holding hands and enjoying the night, but the sudden increase in party sounds caused her to look over her shoulder.  She saw Donovan coming her way and she squeezed Maxwell’s hand once more before removing hers from their embrace.  She almost felt sad to break the connection, but there was no need for Donovan to see the two of them be so chummy.

“Hello you two!  I’d ask if you were enjoying the view, but it’s dark as hell out here and you probably can’t see shit.”  It was a surprise to people that he was the CEO of a mid-size company.  He looked the opposite of Maxwell and yet both carried that same indominable energy of a leader comfortable in their position.  Bercholder’s staff was happy to have him in charge and that’s all that mattered to him.

 “I enjoyed it earlier, Don.  The sunsets are always spectacular here!”  Evie smiled at him.  “And I was just so comfortable I decided to just stay and enjoy the evening.  Maxwell came to say hello and I think the Catskills are wrapping him under their spell.”

Donovan laughed and Maxwell smiled.  All three knew the man was city born, city raise, and it would be a cold day in hell before he’d leave it all for a small place like Stone Ridge.  As it was, Donovan was surprised Maxwell had accepted the invitation to the party, but he was pleased and hoped this was a sign their recently agreed upon contract was safe.

After chatting a little longer, Donovan went back into the house to continue playing host.  The evening quieted down after the boisterous man left and the faint sounds of crickets filled the air again.  When it seemed like they’d no longer be interrupted, Maxwell reached out and grabbed Evie’s hand, resting it on his thigh.  He lightly brushed his thumb over her knuckles, moving to the back of her hand when she didn’t pull away from him.

If Maxwell knew Evie touched herself while thinking about him, he probably would have been pleased and more than a little smug.  But the reoccurring dreams that he had been having about her didn’t give him much leverage.  He woke up many mornings to a cold and empty bed that seemed all the harsher given how warm and light his dreams had been.  He had thought throwing himself into his work would render this little crush meaningless until she arrived for contract negotiations.

It seemed the dreams were worse after those meetings and when he woke in the morning, he was hard as hell.  It didn’t matter if he jerked himself off, his hands never seemed to live up to the softness of her lips and cunt that he experienced in his dreams. He couldn’t ever get over the sensations he experienced while asleep and Maxwell wondered if maybe his brain got addled at some point and that he was imagining that such warmth could exist from a single person.

But as he brushed his thumb over her hand, he could feel it creeping into his chest and spreading to his limbs.  He itched to touch her everywhere, to kiss her, to fuck her, anything to crawl inside of her and stay there.  He didn’t know what it was about her that had him so obsessed, but he was. Maxwell was known for his will power, but he found it slipping away from him whenever he was around her and suddenly, he raised her hand to his lips and gently kiss the palm.

Evie drew in a sharp breath at the sensation, a mix of surprise and arousal. She turned her head and looked at him, only to find him looking back at her.  It was almost as if he was waiting for her to say something, do something. So, she curled her fingers around his chin and squeezed lightly.  They continued to look at each other as he pressed a kiss to her wrist and then a string of them up her arm until he reached her shoulder.

He scooted over until he was pressed against her and leaned down to kiss the juncture between her shoulder and neck.  Her breath hitched and a small moan sounded in her throat, the sparks of pleasure beginning to spread across her body.  He smiled against her skin and continued to kiss up her neck while rubbing her knuckles with his fingers.  When Maxwell reached just under her ear, Evie turned to him and even in the dark, he could see her eyes blazing with lust.  Reaching up with her other hand, she rested her fingertips on his jaw and leaned in to lightly kiss him.

In that moment, the infamous Lord willpower that made or broke companies was abandoned, and he surged forward to meet her lips.  He dragged his tongue along her lower lip, encouraging her to open and submit to him. When she did, he groaned at the sensation of her heat. As they deepened the kiss, he dropped her hand and brought both of his to her waist, pulling her onto his lap. He could feel the soft yield of her breasts against his chest and then her hands as they snaked up his back.

Evie could feel his erection growing against her thigh and she sighed against his lips, wanting to feel that hardness elsewhere.  His hands rubbed circles on her hips and the sparks that began with that kiss on her throat seemed to cover her skin.  It took everything in her to not throw her leg over his and to straddle his lap to feel friction where she needed it the most.  

She broke off the kiss first, leaning her forehead against him, their noses lightly brushing against each other.  Their breaths were heavy, and their eyes were darkened by their mutual desire.  But they both realized they couldn’t very well keep making out in Donovan’s garden like a couple of horny teenagers trying to hide from their parents.  He spoke first.

“Thursday night, in the city.  Dinner with me at seven.  I’ll send my car to pick you up from the train station.”  The roughness of Maxwell’s voice caused a shiver to run down Evie’s spine, but she nodded, not even bothering to push back against his demanding tone.  “I’ll text you with the information that morning.”

He lightly kissed her again before pulling away and sliding Evie back onto the bench.  But he kept her flushed against him, as if he wasn’t ready for reality to intrude in on the moment.  Evie laid her hand on his thigh and her head on his shoulder, marveling at how comfortable she felt around him.  He placed his arm around her shoulder, and he began to rock the swing again.  They sat there for a long time before they knew they had to leave.  As Evie stood up, Maxwell grabbed her hand and looked at her.

“Thursday.”

“Thursday.”

#maxwell lord #maxwell lord x oc #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #ww1984 #wonder woman 1984 #fanfic

[romewritingshop]

Universal Words Chapter One: Think about it

Fandom: Narcos

Relationship: Indian!OFC x Indian!OMC

Warnings: None

Word Count Total: 2954

Summary: Priya Srivastav is an uneducated housewife who decides to take English classes at the behest of her sister. Coming to the classes, she is drawn in by another class fellow, a mysterious withdrawn writer by the name of Javier Peña. As sessions go on, Javier and Priya learn more about one another and discover a new form of communication.

A/N: This is a fic where multiple characters speak different languages so the words highlighted in bold indicate the character is talking in another language.

Universal Words Masterlist

Tagged: @tiffdawg​ @storiesofthefandomlovers​ @arrowswithwifi​

Priya sat on the sofa with a blanket wrapped around her body, staring dead straight into the Indian drama serial. She didn't know what it was called but the familiarity of the language brought some peace to her heart. Meena sat at the dining table with papers around her and a laptop in front. Her eyes often darted from the screen to Priya. She sat back and rubbed her head. She couldn't focus as she saved her work and shut down the computer, going around the dining table and sitting next to Priya.

"Did you finish your work?"

"No."

Priya frowned and glanced at her sister. Meena had a grimace on her face as Priya unwrapped herself from the blanket to offer to Meena, who took the edge and laid it over her lap.

"Why?"

"Because you sitting here is distracting me from working. It's been two weeks since you've come out of the house. You need fresh air."

Priya rolled her eyes and stared straight into the television, ignoring her sister's suggestion. Meena sighed and held her sister's hand with comfort rather than sympathy.

"Look I know what happened hurts. But staying cooped up in the house isn't going to help. You need to get out there and work. For Jig.”

She hated it when Meena mentioned Jignesh but she knew she was right. She had to go out and work to support Jignesh. At the mention of him, the front door opens with two voices squealing excitingly followed by a deep stern voice.

“Mama!”

Priya glanced over her shoulder watching as her son and niece skip through the door followed by her brother-in-law. Her son, Jignesh or Jig ran around the sofa to jump into her arms, excitedly talking.

“Mama! Today we had chips and chocolates because it was Max’s birthday! And Mrs Jones gave me a sticker for being a good helper.”

Priya smiled as best she could even though she didn’t understand what her son was saying. He was speaking too fast for her to comprehend but she could sense it was something good judging by his big smile and shiny eyes. Meena could see her sister trying to focus on what Jignesh was saying and she decided to step in for Priya. She took Jignesh and sat him on her knee, subtly translating what he said.

“Really! You got a sticker from Mrs Jones and you had chocolates!”

Priya gave a nod, understanding what happened as she held Jignesh’s head in her hands and she kissed the top of his forehead.

“You are such a good boy, Jiggy. I’ll buy you a present tomorrow.”

“Yes!”

Jignesh jumped off and ran upstairs to get changed as Priya and Meena got off the sofa. Priya went to the kitchen to make a start on some snacks for the kids as Meena went to her husband, Yadav and daughter, Radha.

“Hello, you two! How was your day, Radha?”

“It was okay, Mom. Had a maths test and got an A minus. I gave my history project to my teacher. I also signed up for piano lessons.”

Meena smiled and hugged her Radha, who turned out of the room and went upstairs to get changed. Meena gave her husband a hug, staring lovingly into his eyes, talking in hushed tones as if to ensure Priya couldn’t hear. It was useless because Priya wouldn’t have understood what they said anyway. Priya smiled wistfully as she was chopping cucumbers into sticks. Meena and Yadav came around the kitchen counter, as Yadav greeted Priya.

“Hello Priya. Did you have a good day today?”

“Yes I did. I watched an entire indian serial.”

Yadav gave a concerned nod and turned to his wife, asking for help on how to broach the topic but Meena shook her head and urged him to talk. He had a responsibility as a brother-in-law to help out his sister-in-law. Yadav rubbed his moustache and found a way to start the conversation.

“So, Priya. Did Meena talk to you about classes?”

Priya turned to Yadav with an unimpressed raised eyebrow and Yadav grew skirmish under her stare. She nailed ‘disappointing’ as Yadav tugged his shirt collar.

“Look, it's for your benefit. I don’t understand why you don’t want to go. It’s just three hours during the day and you'll be home before Jignesh finishes school."

Priya put the knife down and took in Yadav’s words. She hated that they were offering easy ways to go to the class without stress but it was something she had never done. Her mother raised her to be a dutiful housewife and she couldn’t understand what the point was in learning English.

“What am I going to do with English?”

Meena rolled her eyes and held her sister’s hand.

“You can go back to teaching. I know you loved teaching maths and English will help you get a job to support Jignesh. You can’t keep relying on Amit’s child support.”

Priya was feeling even worse as she understood the deeper meaning of her sister’s words. Meena wanted her to get out and the only way she was going to get out was if Priya had an income to pay for rent for another house. Priya sighed as she took in her sister and Yadavs’ faces. She really wanted to believe they cared for her but deep down they just wanted to get rid of her: a single mother holding on to her sister for support. Who wouldn’t?

“Just think about it, Priya.”

Priya gave a nod as the two kids came tumbling down the stairs and thundering into the kitchen. Priya smiled and brought a tray of vegetable sticks and a tub of dip. Everyone sat around at the dinner table as Priya watched her son scoop a big pile of hummus on his cucumber stick. She should do it. For Jignesh. Jignesh beamed at his mother and she beamed back at him.

~~~~~~

Priya stood in front of a coffee shop, waiting around for Meena to just finish up at work. Priya was still unsure about English classes. Something was holding her back but she couldn't put her finger on it. The coffee shop was quaint and homely from the outside. She caved in to Meena’s request to step out of the house and with an extensive list of directions, Priya was able to take the subway to Manhattan; to a small coffee shop with the logo of a green woman.

She looked down at her dark green saree to brush away the creases. Priya looked fairly decent and nice as she wrapped the extra saree cloth around her shoulders to protect herself from the breeze. It wasn’t long when she heard a low hum from somewhere. Looking into her purse, she realised it was her phone as she reached in and answered it.

“Hello Priya?”

“Meena, I’ve reached the caffee shop.”

“Listen, I’m really sorry but I’m going to be stuck in a meeting for an hour. Sit in, order a coffee and then I’ll meet you at Central Park.”

“But Meena?”

“Look I’ve got to go! See you.”

The phone cut and Priya was taken aback by Meena’s hasty behaviour. She understood that Meena’s work was important but she left her in a difficult position. How was she supposed to order coffee for herself? Priya took a deep breath, reassuring herself that she could do it. It’s coffee. All she has to do is ask for a coffee and then pay. She glanced down at her phone to the store and then stepped in.

It was about time that she tried to be independent for herself, especially if it was going to be just her and her son for a couple of years. There were three people in front of her as she looked around the small shop. It was fairly full with scatters of people on sofas, high chairs and tables. Some were couples, others were with laptops and one or two just sat with a book. She noticed a man alone at a table, his lips pursed with focus and his dark moustache neatly brushed.

He was staring deep into a brown leather bound notebook and his mug of coffee sat with steam whispering away. There was something about him that reminded Priya of Amit. She recognised the quiet stillness as she took a deep breath and tried to shake away thoughts of Amit. She turned her eyes forward and noticed that she was next. Taking an awkward step forward to the cashier, who looked young and sprightly as she had a wide smile on her face. Hat sitting just right which made her face more noticeable rather than hidden.

“Hi, how can I help you?”

‘Help’? Priya didn’t understand what she meant because all she had come to do was order a coffee. She looked at the menu with uncertainty. The words did nothing to help and she didn’t see anything remotely looking like the words coffee.

“Help?”

“I mean, what do you want to drink?”

Priya understood. ‘Drink’. She looked at the menu and was hesitating to read the names, nor understand them.

“Coffee?”

“Sure, we have different types of coffee? Which one would you like?”

The cashier was still expecting more and Priya was stumped. Was coffee not enough?

“You have coffee?”

The girl’s smile faltered slightly and Priya felt unbelievably guilty. She didn't mean to be awkward with her lack of understanding. 

“Yes we do, there are different kinds. Which one would you like?”

Before she could answer, a deep voice behind her bellowed angrily.

“Hey lady! Can you hurry up?”

The cashier’s smile dropped into a grimace as she brought her head around Priya’s view and directly to the direction of the deep voice.

“Hey buddy! There’s a thing called patience! Surely you can wait a few minutes!”

The deep voice grumbled angrily as the cashier turned her head back to Priya with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry about that.”

The cashier was apologising about the voice and Priya felt a little tense from the embarrassment. Out of the corner of her eye, the queue behind her was piling up slightly and she hated being a pain. Forget the coffee, she was thirsty for water. Surely there were no complications with getting a glass of water.

“Water?”

“Of course. Do you want still, sparkling, iced or flavoured water?”

Correction, there were complications with water and Priya’s head was hurting even more. The cashier seemed to notice the customer in front of her was having a hard time deciding what to choose. She wasn’t being overly difficult, she was just unsure and unclear. She seemed to just understand coffee and water and the cashier was feeling a little bad for her. Then she took in the customer’s saree, having a guess she decided to talk in Hindi.

“Do you speak Hindi?”

The cashier noticed a big smile on the customers face as she vehemently nodded. Priya was relieved when she heard the familiar words of Hindi.

“Yes! Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. Do you want anything to drink?”

“I want coffee.”

“There’s different types of coffee so it is not easy just to say coffee because they’re all coffee.”

“Oh! I was wondering why coffee wasn’t on the menu? Well do you have tea?”

“We have different types of tea.”

In the midst of their conversation, an unwelcome deep annoying voice bellowed again.

“Hey! You mind talking in English?”

The cashier fumed as she looked around Priya with fire dancing in her eyes. No longer a polite smile and she was not going to hesitate to put this customer in their place.

“I didn’t recall asking you to be a part of our conversation. You don’t like Hindi, go somewhere else for coffee!”

The slightly tubby man threw his hands up in frustration and stalked out of the cafe. The cashier smiled to herself and turned herself back to her customer in front of her.

“Sorry about that. People don’t have any respect nowadays.”

“I’m really sorry. I’m holding up the queue.”

“Don’t worry. Take your time.”

“Could you recommend something for me?”

The cashier took a moment to look at her customer fully, taking in the sari, simple plain face and bright curious eyes. After a few minutes, she was able to choose something she had a feeling the customer would like.

“Chai Latte. I think that’s a good coffee to start with. I’ll give you a small cup. That’s three dollars and fifty-five cents. Drinking inside or taking somewhere else?”

“Drinking inside.”

Priya smiled with relief, she was able to order a coffee, with the help of the cashier. She reached into her purse and handed the cashier five dollars. The cashier handed her the change and gestured to her to take a seat at a table. She did just that and sat at the table, bouncing her leg with habit. A nervous comforting tick. A few minutes later, a white mug was placed on her table and the lively cashier took a seat opposite to Priya, leaning back and spreading her legs as wide as possible, one ankle resting on her knee. Priya was entranced by her demeanour as the girl smiled and raised an eyebrow at her.

The cashier watched as her customer took a sip of the chai latte, and her lips pursed in and her eyes scrunched slightly. She smiled and leaned up with both elbows on the table, eyebrows hooked with curiosity.

“So you don’t like it?”

“No, it’s different from the coffee I have back home. A little bitter but decent.”

“At least you’re honest.”

Priya watched her with curiosity and realised she hadn’t gotten the name of the kind cashier.

“Sorry, what was your name?”

“Pooja.”

Priya was certainly surprised by the Indian sounding name as Pooja smiled. Pooja could tell this customer hadn’t met anyone like her; she probably hadn’t gone out of her house often as Priya mouthed the name in question. Pooja set about introducing herself to educate her customer.

“Yes. I’m from Nepal. My mum liked the word and thought it would be a good name for me.”

Priya gave a nod and took another sip of her drink, slightly liking it more as she thought it appropriate to thank the cashier.

“Thank you again for speaking in Hindi. I’m sorry I kept your queue long.”

“Don’t worry about it. I know what it’s like not being able to communicate in English.”

Priya had to agree there and smiled at Pooja. She was still dressed in her uniform and Priya worried that she might be keeping Pooja from her job.

“Are you not going to get in trouble by sitting here and talking to me?”

“Nope. My friend owns this branch so he basically has given me free reign.”

Priya smiled as she looked around the various patrons in the coffee shop, feeling slightly down at the fact that her sister wasn’t able to come meet her here. Pooja noticed the way her face fell and carefully treaded onto the topic of her dull face.

“So, were you here to meet someone? Most of the people that come here: meet people or do work.”

“Yeah, my sister was supposed to come down and have a drink with me but she was stuck in a meeting. Told me to get a coffee then meet her later.”

“Ah.”

There was a comfortable pause as Priya finished off her coffee. Pooja was an interesting character, carefree and strong, not to mention outspoken. All the things she wished she was and she couldn’t help but venture down this deep path of discovery.

“How did you learn English so well?”

“The same way I learnt Hindi: I picked it up from watching a lot of TV and films. Soon as I came to New York, I hung out with a lot of people that spoke English. It wasn’t easy but it worked for me.”

Her brain was reeling from this experience as she thought back to her sister’s insistence on English classes. Should she actually bother or should she just wing it like Pooja? Maybe she might get her answer by phrasing the question in a hypothetical situation. It always helps with getting clear cut answers.

“If you had the choice to go to English classes, would you go?”

“Definitely. At least I’d learn all the proper grammar and structures of sentences. I taught myself and that took hours of my time. If I went to a class to learn how to speak English, I’d feel much more confident in my speaking skills.”

It was certainly not the answer she was expecting as she took in Pooja’s words. Before she could ponder deeply, her phone rang and cut before she could answer it. It was Meena, probably finished with her meeting as she stood up along with Pooja.

“That’s my sister. Again, thank you for the drink and just being kind to me overall.”

“It’s alright. Kindness starts somewhere.”

Pooja headed back to the coffee counter with Priya’s empty coffee mug, taking her place by the till and taking the next order. Priya was heading towards the door and looking through the phone when she accidentally bumped into a wall. She brought a hand to her forehead before looking back forward to see a tall person instead of a wall. It was the moustached man as he stood with a grim face, leather bound journal in his hand. Priya apologised and stepped around the man, walking straight for central park where her sister was. After talking with the cafe worker, Pooja, Priya decided that she would give these English classes a try.

CHAPTER TWO: INTRODUCTIONS

#narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos fanfic #javier peña #javier pena #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fanfic #javier peña fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction

[sephirotha]

Hey there! Hoping this crazy times are treating you well 🤗 It's Mermay already so, can I request a fic where Jumin rescues a mermaid from a net near his private island? He went off for some swimming and found her tangled in the middle of some floating garbage? Thanks!!

Jumin never minded letting his holiday time stack up as he worked.  Working was what he did best after all.  He would throw himself into projects and meetings, content to earn his keep and comfort.

There were few things that bothered Jumin to the point where he would want to run away.  Even if such an issue arose, he could talk with Jihyun who would always be happy to lend an ear and calm him down.

However, Jihyun had been increasingly more absent since Rika’s passing.  Jumin struggled to understand why his best and possibly only friend would ignore his calls and texts.

Yes, Rika’s death shook all the RFA.  It was sudden, confusing and distressing.  Yoosung was arguably affected the most but he was young and still struggling to manage emotions.  That wasn’t even taking account the fact he and Rika were family.  Not blood-related but still close.

Jumin was also affected by Rika’s death.  He saw her as a sister.  An annoying sister but there was still some affection.

But why should Jihyun refuse to make contact with the RFA whilst he suffered through the ordeal and work as normal?

So, after the seventeenth failed call, Jumin gave up and booked tickets to his private island. He sent a rather informal email to Jaehee about taking his holiday and spending some time in isolation and to tell his father to expect him in perhaps a month or two.

He regretted announcing it on such short notice, but she needn’t take care of Elizabeth, as he would take her with him, so she wouldn’t be too unhappy, he prayed.  

Why was Jumin suddenly fleeing from society?  His father was trying to get him to marry a woman who was trying to get her claws into his money.

Who his father dated was none of Jumin’s business, despite his reservations on his father’s choice of women.  But if his father was going to drag him into this sorry cycle of relationships which resulted in wasted money, he was going to take a stand.

Talking to his father about it was like talking to a brick wall.  With no one else that Jumin felt like he could turn to, he felt overwhelmed and isolated.  Hence why fleeing to a remote island in the Caribbean was the most logical solution.

Jumin blissfully left his phone on silent and fed Elizabeth.  She purred as she ate the food happily and he stroked her back with a wistful smile.

“There is a cat jungle gym in the garden,” he said whilst glancing at the cat flap.  “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

Elizabeth just purred and Jumin pulled away to grab a towel.  He draped it over his shoulder and made his way to the French windows, stepping out to the beach.

“I won’t be long,” he said to the purring cat.

He closed the windows and walked down the beach.  He laid his towel across the sand and went into the sea.

It was early in the morning but he still had applied sun cream in case he went swimming for longer than usual.

The exercise helped clear his mind as thoughts of work popped in and out.  He shouldn’t need to worry.  Jaehee was more than capable to carry out his instructions.

He frowned as he stumbled upon a plastic bag and grabbed it, mentally scolding whatever faceless character would litter so carelessly.

Then he noticed he wasn’t alone.  He looked surprised to see a woman swimming nearby.  No…she was struggling.

Jumin cautiously approached her and she turned, gasping as she saw him.  He saw a net constricting her arms.

“I can help you, if you’d let me.”

The woman looked a little distressed but seemed to relax when Jumin tentatively took one strand of the net and experimentally tugged on it, seeing how tangled up she was. He frowned.

“Perhaps I could do a better job on land.  Shall we?”

The woman looked hesitant as he guided her to shallower waters.  Jumin looked perplexed as she hesitated when he got onto land.

His eyes widened when she lifted her pink tail to show she wasn’t human.

“…Oh.  Can you get on land?  It would make untangling you easier.”

The mermaid looked surprised at his words before nodding and throwing herself onto the beach. Jumin knelt by her side and carefully got rid of the net tangling her.

His hand hovered over where her hands were cut and scratched.

“…I have something to soothe your wounds.  May I take you inside?”

The mermaid looked between him and his house.  She nodded hesitantly.

Jumin encircled his arms around her and picked her up.  She gasped a little, wrapping her arms around his neck.  She looked flustered and bowed her head as Jumin adjusted her so he could carry her comfortably.

Jumin tilted his head before carrying her across the beach.  

Aside from the obvious…she acted vastly different to the women who had approached him before. Perhaps…she could listen to him as he spoke.

Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Who knows?

Part 2

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