#wheelchairs r hard to draw for me so don’t look at it too closely or i will cry

[eldritchcryptids]

Can we get more art of disabled Brian?? :) I love that dude and I am disabled so seeing him with crutches or a wheelchair in certain fanarts is really comforting No pressure though <3 -💫 anon, aka some guy named cesar (its been a minute??)

one brian in a wheelchair coming right up!

#wheelchairs r hard to draw for me so don’t look at it too closely or i will cry #marble hornets #mh #brian thomas #art #digital art #ask #anon #💫 #i feel like i change how i draw the mh guys everytime i draw them nowadays #oh well #it is what it is

[softscholasticism]

•delilah, darling•

rami malek x oc

a/n: hi y’all:) this is my first orginal character fic! if you have any questions about it please dm or ask me but i hope you enjoy! also please let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

word count: 3.5k+

warnings: fair warning, i do put the deacon children in a little bit of a negative light, it’ll make sense but please remember that this is fiction, also freddie’s death is mention in this first chapter:)

C H A P T E R O N E: you make me smile.

July 27, 1981

Four band mates were located in the studio, trying to come up with anything to write some kind of piece of music. Nothing was coming to mind of course, Roger and Brian were trying to not throw Paul out of a window just because he was present, John’s wife Veronica was due at any second, and Freddie was playing random notes on the piano trying to think of anything. “This is bollocks, we’re not getting anything done, let’s just go to a party.” Roger sighed in frustration, standing up with his beer and pacing. Everyone looked up at that, it seemed that a party would diffuse the tension and maybe even create an event that would be good enough to write a song about.

Suddenly, the studio phone produced a shrill ring, John sprinted to it just in case it was Veronica. “Hello?” He called, the guys all looking at him expectantly, getting ready to have to rush to the hospital. “Holy shoot,” John glanced at the rest of the band nodding his head which confirmed their suspicions, the baby was on its way. The men began to frantically get their stuff together, throwing on coats, throwing away bottles, putting on shoes (or in Brian’s case, those wretched Clogs). “We’re on our way darling.” John hung up the phone and grabbed his car keys, the other men had been drinking and they were not about to get in a crash on the way to the hospital. Paul stood up as well, expecting to be able to go, but immediately sat back down as soon as Brian and Roger stared him down, practically planning his imminent death through their eyes.

The car ride on the way home was eerily quiet, John had done this before with Robert, Michael, and Laura but each time his wife had a child, it didn’t get easier. There was always something that could go wrong or he could possibly miss the birth due to travelling or touring. Freddie kept trying to ease his nerves by telling stories about his cats as well as describing possible future names he had for them. “My favorite name would be Delilah, it has such a lovely ring to it don’t you think Bri?” Freddie looked in the rearview mirror, smiling at Brian’s indifference to the name.

Speaking of names, John began sweating even more so than before, him and Veronica switched off names every other child and this time, it was his turn to pick the name and he had no clue. “I have no clue what I’m going to name my own child.” He sighed and swerved the car due to the surprise attack of name ideas from his fellow bandmates. Luckily it grounded him enough to keep his composure as he drove to the hospital, a slight smile as the boys argue over which of their names is the best fit.

The four men stumbled into the hospital, John rushing up to the front desk to demand where his wife was. It wasn’t long before one of the boys was recognized, specifically Freddie with his iconic mustache and looks. As the crowd began to get louder and closer, John burst through, “She’s in room 405!” They sprinted back, leaving the crowd in its wake. Luckily the elevator opened as soon as they reached it, a nurse pushing a patient on a wheelchair out of the hospital. The nurse’s eyes grew as she realized who was running in the elevator and hurried to let them through. Once they were all inside, Roger pressed the button for the fourth floor rapidly. John rolled his eyes and huffed at the blonde, “Rog, pressing the button a million times won’t make the lift go any faster.” Roger stopped, glared menacingly at John and then proceeded to push the button rapidly again.

The elevator dinged, the doors not even fully open before the band rushed out in search of the room. When they reached it, John’s three other children were there too but being watched over by Veronica’s parents. Once they noticed that their Daddy was here, they ran over to him and John’s nerves towards this next birth faded. His wife was a trooper and if she had the power to give him three children, what’s another? The children gave the rest of the band hugs and talked to them as John went inside the room to check on his wife. She smiled tiredly at him, she was obviously in pain, but nothing that she hadn’t handled before. Her forehead glistened with sweat, hair tucked back into a ponytail, she would always complain about how she looked during labor but John thought she looked like she was glowing. Veronica was the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in his life.

“Hi darling,” he whispered, grabbing her hand, “how do you feel?” She laughed and proceeded to describe that she was ready to have this baby out of her. However her face changed, she began to look serious and John was worried that something was wrong.

“John, have you thought of a name for our daughter?” She leaned in close to provide emphasis that he better not give her the wrong answer because she was not having her child named something ridiculous like Roger always suggested. Her husband gulped, nerves that once were lost, now resurfacing.

“About that darling, I was wondering, would it be alright if Fred were the Godfather?” She was incredulous, that didn’t give her the answer she desperately needed, her child was not about to be named after a bloody drug or alcohol or some breed of feline. Veronica made sure to voice these opinions, it’s not that she cared if Freddie were the Godfather, in fact she quite like that idea, but she knew how wild the man could be. “I want him to name her and I swear to you our baby girl’s name will not be ridiculous.” John assured her, not wanting to cause his wife anymore stress than she was already experiencing.

Veronica nodded her head. “Alright, you better figure this out though, I think she’s coming soon.” With that, John went to go speak to Freddie.

As he approached the boys, who were still playing with his other kids, he patted Freddie on the back. “Fred, can I talk to you for a second?” Freddie obliged and told the children that he would be back in a jiffy. Together they walked down the hallway a little further, that way they could still be near the room and so that people couldn’t be nosy (Bri and Rog). John rubbed his hands across his hair, trying to gather how he should go about asking. “So, I guess, Ver and I would like you to be the Godfather of the baby and choose her name, but it can’t be anything bloody ridiculous after drugs or a vodka you liked in Japan.” He ultimately decided blurting the request was the best option. He watched with a cringe on his face for Freddie’s reaction and was immediately met with arms around his neck as Freddie jumped around.

“Yes, yes, yes darling, of course!” He twisted around, licking his lips in excitement, his eyes glowed with mischief as he thought of a name for the baby. “I have just the perfect name for her, Delilah.” He sighed, thinking about all of the ways he was going to spoil his Goddaughter. John briefly remembered Fred talking about the name Delilah for a future cat, not his daughter.

“I thought you wanted to name your cat, Delilah, Fred?” Freddie’s smile only got bigger as he explained that he would name his favorite cat after his favorite Goddaughter. Roger and Brian suddenly called for John and Freddie, exclaiming that the baby decided to starting coming out right at that moment. The band allowed John to be the only one in there for intimacy sake and so Veronica wouldn’t be stressed about the birth. She worked so hard and the doctor’s were so helpful and in just a few short moments, John’s breath was taken away at the sight of his daughter in his wife’s arms. Veronica had done so beautifully and looked just ethereal as she held her fourth bloody child.

She looked up expectantly at John as the nurse asked for the child’s name. A cheeky grin swam across his face as he spoke, “Delilah Elizabeth Deacon.”

July 27, 1986

Delilah Deacon turned 5 on this particular day and requested that she ​must ​see her Daddy and Uncle’s perform for her big day. Today was the day that Queen would perform in Budapest, Delilah had no clue what a Budapest was but all that mattered was that she got to see her Daddy and Uncle Freddie.

While the stage was being built, a small party was put together. Freddie had this marvelous cake put together that had her face on it as well as some of her favorite things such as unicorns, dogs, and anything Queen related. Freddie held on to the small child as she excitedly blew out her candles, the crowd around her cheering as all of the candles were successfully blown out. “What ever did you wish for, my dear?” Freddie asked, Delilah shook her head though, remembering when her Daddy told her that if she told anyone, it wouldn’t come true. But she knew what she wanted, and that was to have a house just like Garden Lodge one day. She basically lived there. When Freddie decided to not have massive parties, John would let her stay over and Jim and Freddie would watch over her, treating her like one of their own. Freddie just laughed and spun her around as the cake began to be passed to everyone.

Once the stage was finally finished, Freddie took Delilah to the stage, they were quiet, soaking in the vast stadium and the roaring crowd that would soon fill it. Freddie loved Delilah with all of his heart, he spoiled her rotten despite John’s protests. Her bought her so many clothing items and so many toys and books, he would give her the world if he could. In a way, he knew Delilah loved him just as much. She was different from the rest of her siblings, quieter, softer, she liked drawing and reading over playing with toys and watching cartoons. As her siblings got older, Freddie noticed that they would isolate her from playing, he believed that they were jealous of their relationship. John and Veronica loved her just as much as the rest of the children though, Freddie was amazed at how much love two people could carry not only for each other but also for their children. The dark-haired man was so grateful that Freddie allowed him to have just a fraction of that when he watched Delilah with Jim. He got to pretend, even though it felt so real.

Delilah suddenly demanded that Freddie must dance with her at that very moment, so he picked her up and twirled with her, softly singing her favorite Queen song, ​Somebody to Love. ​Delilah sang along with him, feeling like a princess in the Disney movies that Daddy watches with her. A soft ​click, click, click sounded from the right of the stage and Freddie saw Brian with his camera in hand. He was definitely going to have to ask for those pictures later.

“Freddie, you better have a good show for me tonight.” Delilah said seriously as Freddie finished the song. His eyes went soft as he looked at her, her short brunette hair and blue eyes looked up at him with hope. He kissed her hair and told her that he would always have a good show if she was in the audience.

As they stopped dancing, Freddie sat her down at the front of the stage, their legs dangling over. He could still hear pictures being taken of them but he didn’t care. All he cared about was his Goddaughter at this moment, he didn’t have nerves about the show later, he didn’t think about his health, he didn’t think about anything other than Delilah. “Delilah, darling, I need to tell you something.” She looked up at him once again, and his heart melted at the sight of them, so big, so innocent, something he hoped would never ever go away. “I want you to remember how proud I am of you, my love. I want you to know that you can be whoever you want to be but you must be the best version of it. Don’t let anyone take away who you are, because you are so loved by me and Jim, by Rog and Brian, by your Daddy and Mummy, by Phoebe, you have so many people. If you ever feel alone, just remember that you have a home with us and we will always be here with you darling, right here.” He poked a finger into her chest, she smiled and did the same. More clicks went off in front of them capturing every moment that they never wanted to forget.

Eventually the band had to go and start the show and before they knew it, it was almost halfway done. Delilah watched with wonder in her eyes as she saw her Daddy leap around the stage with his funky dances moves that he would practice with her and her siblings in the kitchen, she saw Brian move his fingers faster than she had ever seen it happen before, Roger and his duck faces he would make during drumming a song, and Freddie, who was in her favorite yellow jacket he had. Her eyes sparkled as he pranced around, she of course knew the words to every song, her headphones bobbing as she danced around on the side of the stage with Phoebe. The lights sparkled and gleamed, watching her Daddy’s band was what her idea of heaven was and even at the young age of five, she knew just how special it was.

The end of the show came and ​God Save the Queen b​ egan blasting, John beckoned her on stage and carried her around, she laughed and squealed with joy as she was passed to her Uncle Freddie after John kissed her head. Freddie was so sweaty and smelled bad and she made sure to proclaim this offense. He just laughed and placed the crown he was wearing on her head. Laughing as it slipped off, luckily Brian catching it and holding it in its place. Delilah felt as if she was on top of the world in front of this crowd of thousands with her most favorite people. In her Uncle Freddie’s arms, on his stage with the rest of the band saying goodbye to the crowd, even as she got older, she would never ever forget this night.

What she didn’t know is that she was also saying goodbye to seeing Queen perform live ever again with Freddie and her Dad.

November, 1991

At age ten, Delilah knew that her life was different, not everyone’s Daddy was a famous bassist apart of an even more famous band. Not everyone’s family was as big as hers. Not everyone had to experience their favorite person in the whole world dying. Freddie was dying, Delilah knew that, of course she knew that. Freddie was skin and bone, he was practically blind, and last time she visited him, they had to stay in his bed because he couldn’t get out of it. Delilah had to come to terms with an illness that no one should have had to suffer through. She knew that this might be the last time she would get to see him, but even though she knew this, she could never be prepared for it.

Walking up to Garden Lodge felt like walking into home. She had her own key, all of the workers knew her, the cats knew her (her favorite being Delilah obviously). Garden Lodge was her second home and she desperately hoped that this wouldn’t be the last time she would get time see it. As she walked through the front door, Jim greeted her with a hug. “Hi, love, he’s upstairs like last time.” She nodded and grabbed his hand, needing all the strength she could get from having to see her Uncle so sick and frail. “Remember, he’s still very sick, but I promise you he’s still the same Freddie.” Jim assured, leading her upstairs. As they reached the large wooden doors, she braced herself and put on a smile. The door creaked open and Jim spoke, “Freddie dear, you have a guest.” Lethargically, Freddie turned his head and upon seeing who it was, his eyes grew a little bit brighter.

“Delilah darling, I’m so delighted to see you. Please do come sit with me.” He softly pat the side of the bed, she moved towards him and Jim helped her climb onto the massive mattress. His heart hurt, because he could barely see Delilah’s blue eyes but kept his smile on because all that mattered was that she was there. She cuddled up against him, Jim sat in front at the edge, one leg tucked under the other. These days when she visited the Lodge, they didn’t talk much, just enjoyed each other’s company.

Jim smiled sadly at Freddie, lightly tapping his leg, “Freddie, don’t you have something for Delilah?” Freddie sat up a little bit more as Jim passed a small box to Delilah and another small box to Freddie.

“Delilah, darling, I got you a present, this one I think is my favorite out of all of the ones I have give you. Let’s open it together, dear.” Delilah helped Freddie open their boxes, feeling how cold his skin was and trying to not remember how a short time ago it had been so warm. Freddie had been so warm. Finally when the paper was all taken off, they opened the boxes and inside each one was a small necklace with a heart locket. “Look inside, Delilah.” Freddie whispered, exhaustion reaping over his body at just the small task of opening their presents. She opened the locket, there were two pictures, one from when Delilah was dancing around with Freddie in Budapest and the other of a picture of her Jim and Freddie at Garden Lodge with Delilah the cat. They had just gotten the cat and Delilah cried when Freddie named the cat after her.

“Delilah, darling,” Freddie spoke softly, one hand one Jim’s and the other on her own, “I have the same locket as you.” He pulled his own out to show her. “No matter where you go, or where I go, we will always be together, dear. Like I told you in Budapest, I am always here for you even when I’m not. Delilah you are going to do so many great things in this world and I want you to remember me and remember that Jim and I are always here for you. The Lodge is your home just as much as it is ours. We will stick together, and I promise that I will be there for you, Jim too of course.” Delilah’s eyes welled with big crocodile tears as she clasped her arms around Freddie’s neck. Just like she knew Freddie was dying, she knew this was their goodbye.

One week later, Delilah woke up to John solemnly walking into her room with her mother and sat on her bed. There were tear tracks coursing down both of her parents cheeks, and like she knew Freddie was dying, and how she knew that the last time she saw Freddie he said goodbye, how she knew that she was going to have to grow up sooner, she knew that Uncle Freddie was gone. No words had to be said, she raised her eyebrows as she looked at her parents, and their nods were enough.

Delilah’s heart felt like it was torn out of her chest, her favorite human being on this earth was gone from a terrible illness that she didn’t understand. Delilah knew lots of things, but she didn’t understand why they happened. She didn’t understand why Jim wouldn’t be able to live at the Lodge, she didn’t understand why her Dad left the band and decided to stay out of the limelight, she didn’t understand why the universe had to take her Freddie away. She sobbed and sobbed, too much sadness for her ten year old heart that now felt much older than that.

Veronica went to the other children’s rooms to go and tell them the news while John stayed. “Delilah, darling, I’m so sorry.” He sobbed into her hair, his heart shredding itself at the loss of one of his best friends and the loss of his daughter’s Uncle. His arms wrapped around her and together they laid in bed for what seemed like days. Delilah’s locket was pulled out from underneath her nightshirt, clasping it in her hands and wishing that Freddie could’ve stayed with her forever. John didn’t know how to move forward from this and neither did she and that’s what hurt the most. John was scared that he would never see Delilah smile again because here they were mourning the loss of the one who made Delilah smile.

tag you’re it: @ironqueen98

chapter two

#freddie mercury #john deacon #roger taylor #brian may #queen #rami malek #bo rhap boys #bohemian rhapsody #freddie mercury imagines #john deacon imagine #rami malek fic #rami malek imagines #bohemian rhapsody imagines #original character #delilah deacon

[growingstrongorsomething]

5. A Mute Spellweaver

Original Prompt: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bpxp37/wp_magicians_have_to_say_the_name_of_the_spell/ The man is moving his hands furiously.The shopkeeper is looking at the hands. His eyes are bulging from trying to get the signs. 

“Yes, seven kuais. You think it’s five, well, it’s because the sale was going on. No, no, we are not lying.”

The man pops the knuckles in his fingers before continuing.

“I give you six kuais. It is already too close to our cost, and we can’t do sales every day. Yes, thank you, may Capitalist Ceaser profit you too.”

The man is checking out the new handwand. It is like the short version of katar sword, but made of wood, and slender. He puts it on and aims to a pair of shoes thrown to an electrical wire.Zzap! The shoe received the magic quanta. But the shoe isn’t falling down. 

A boy is puzzled by the man. He tugged the man’s shirt. The man looked at him.

“Brother, brother, you want the shoe to fall?”

The man nodded. He signalled for help.

“Sorry, brother, I can’t read Hand Tongue.”

The man mouthed the word for help. The boy points to the shoe. “Jatuh!”

The shoestrings unravelled from the wire. It plopped on the cobbled road. The boy fetches the shoes and hand it over to the man.The man lifted a metaphorical hat from his head. 

The boy smiled. “You’re welcome, Mr...?”

The man mouthed his name. Dawai.

“Mr. Dawai, you’re welcome. Bye!” 

The boy enters a shop where his mother is already waiting for him at the door.The man tries to signal the boy for his name, but the boy is already gone. Dawai sighs. 

Dawai walks to the magic field gym. Many people are playing there. One is throwing a boomerang and keeps the flight on with his wanded magic, his mouth muttering all the time. A few strong young men and women are throwing and kicking rubber balls at each other. They wear thick cotton armour. The crowd keeps the ball in field with their wall magic, taking turns muttering the incantations. 

He keeps walking to a section of the field. The section is bordered with a tall fence. Balls, discs, and sticks hit the fence from both sides. Dawai looks at the door of fence, with the sign ‘Disabled Magicians Only’. A guard on a wheelchair smiles at Dawai as he shows his disability card. 

The guard smiles brightly and opens the door. “Come in, come in! New wand I see?” Dawai nods.“Come with me! They have installed new disc brands to shoot at. Try it out!”

Dawai tries to knock the disc. Took him three tries. A man shouts at the top of his lungs, and manages to knock a line of twenty discs. Well, when his aim is true. Most of the time, it just flies away, flinging an unlucky person or bird once in a while. 

His assistant gives pointers to aim without eyesight. The blind man knocks more discs over time.The blind man sniffs the air. “Dawai is that you? Clap once for yes, two for no!”

Dawai clapped once.The blind man hugs Dawai. “Well, am I glad to see your silhouette? How’s life?”

Dawai taps on a magical tablet. The words shine and the tablet speaks. “Fine, James. I just got a new wand.” 

“Now, isn’t that awesome? May I look?” Dawai moves the wand very close to James’ face. He squints very hard. He takes some time enjoying every crafted runes and decorations on it. 

“From what I see, very pretty.” James raises his head from his crooning position. “Well, I have to go now. Exercises do have a way to make you tired. Bye!”James laugh at his own joke as his assistant leads him away. 

Dawai keeps shooting at the discs.

The next day is work day, and Dawai is in one line. Some workers practice their stances. Some mouthed their spells. Others stretch their bodies, while more are squatting or sitting cross-legged on the floor. There are two other lines of workers, flanking both sides of the loom. Gari waves at Dawai, he is assigned to the left flank today.

The horn sounded. The factory manager marches to the front of the line, placing himself directly in the middle. 

“Line, ready!”

Everyone stands up straight.“Ready wands!”

They point their wands to the loom.

“Drummers, play!”

A troupe of drummers knock their drumsticks to the side of the drum, giving a wooden sound. A few seconds later, they start beating the drum skin. The music starts and the drummers play by perfect beat.

The manager takes a stance. “Workers, by my lead!”  

The line forms the same stance.The manager starts dancing, and the line joins in almost perfect choreography. Quantas of magic fly in a volley to the machine’s receptors. The loom starts to weave the threads slowly, gaining speed as the give of the thread increase, slackening the spool. 

The dancing line sings as well. The first song of strengthening, to make cotton as strong as steel. The cotton may still be cut in this stage, but after making the main cloth, more spells will be added to strengthen it to the final form. 

Dawai doesn’t listen to the music. He feels the song through his bones. A, a, a, TA! A, a, a, TA! The dancing line throws quantas every fourth beat, gaining a bit of sweat on their brows. Their hands remain pointing at the loom, as the loom starts forming a sheet of fine cotton cloth, magic literally weaved into its formation.The dance takes an hour before the electricity takes over. 

Dawai is already panting at thirty minutes. At forty five minutes, he is losing step. When the hour horn blows, everyone stands still. Except Dawai who is already on the floor. The thump makes everyone look at the fallen spellweaver.

The manager jumps to check Dawai’s breathing and pulse. “Someone get the medic!”

Dawai is awake in a hospital bed.An old man looks at Dawai, his face saagging from age and concern. 

“You feeling alright?”

Dawai makes a flurry of sign. Well, as much of a flurry an exhausted man could.

“Mom is worried about you. Yes, you want to be independent. But, you should go home once in a while.”

Dawai can only nod.

“Remember, we always love you.”

Dawai makes more signs. The doctor comes in to check on Dawai.

“Yes, see you this weekend.” 

The old man kisses Dawai’s forehead again before leaving.

The doctor’s diagnosis is that Dawai is magically exhausted. But the prescription isn’t the usual lemongrass, sireh, and kelulut honey tea. Instead Dawai is referred to a magical teacher. 

Dawai is signing furiously. The doctor shrugs. “I can’t read you. Slow down.”

Dawai repeats himself, slower but the fury is punctuated by each time his hands clap each other.

“You have been using too much magical energy to do what normal people do with less. This doctor, called Teacher Hashim, knows a way to strengthen your magical focus. It’s controversial, but in your case, you may benefit a lot from it.”

Dawai signs about money.“Not too expensive. You have applied for insurance?” Dawai nods.

“Disability benefits?” Dawai shakes his head.

“Well, it will be a bit more expensive. Usually he asks for two hundred kuais, but now he is having a promotion. New classes begin next week. For now, rest.”

The streets are not busy with traffic, but the buildings are filled with people. Dawai scratches his head as he tried to understand the directions. Some are helpful, but others are rude.

“Why don’t you just use the map board?”

Dawai makes mouth movements, telling that he is ill and can’t use a lot of magic yet.

“Your problem, not mine!”

Dawai finally gave up, and use a half-kuai to buy a magic pellet. He presses the pellet on the map board, types the address. A direction is given... to the next city. Dawai sighs.

The doctor laughs until hoarse. “Ahahahahahah! Oh gods, you really fell for that!”This is not a good time to incur extra medical costs, but Dawai could not help but make himself have hypertension from that laugh. 

He stands up, huffs, and prepares to leave.

The doctor stands up from his cross-legged position. “No, no, no, no, you really ARE in the right place! I am sorry for laughing at you.”

Dawai is brought back to where he sat. The doctor pours more tea for Dawai. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but there are two cities named Flew, and our government haven’t agreed officially on how to rename both of them. That city you were lost in, it’s called Flew of the Birds. This city, it’s called Flew of the Concords.”

Dawai drinks the tea, still fuming.The doctor lets a few laughters out of his system. “Alright! As an apology, I will give you further 10% discount. So, your discount will be 20%. That should come to 160 kuais. You agree?”

Dawai considers a bit. He nods.

“Excellent. Finish your tea, then I give you an overview.”

They go to the side of a low cliff, facing a forest. The doctor looks over the scenery. It is filled with trees and shrubs, and a creek flows across the field. Save for a few craters, the scenery is majestic.

“Now, observe. Usually, when we throw quantas of magic around, we use words. For example,” the doctor points at a crater then swings as if throwing a rock, “Tumbuh nan sebatang.”A tree sprout slowly. A few minutes later, they are both drinking more tea. 

“Well, the demonstration shows that speaking magic words lets you throw magic quanta. Now, if you do this,” Teacher Hisham points to the crater. He contorts his body as if to throw a javelin, then inhales a full lung of air. After a second of delay, he shouts, “TUMBUH NAN SEBATANG!”

The crater receives the quanta and a large tree sprouts. The earth around the tree cracks to accommodate the mighty roots.Dawai instinctively clap. The teacher makes a slight bow. 

“But, that wasn’t my point. Now, observe as I do the same thing with one difference.”The teacher points to the crater. He contorts his body as if to throw a javelin, then inhales a full lung of air. After a second of delay, he exhales as if he is shouting. No voice came out however. 

But the quanta of magic flies as strong as before. Another tree appears and the crater ceases to be one as the tree roots ploughed the soil and break the crater’s rim. “You see, Dawai, you don’t need to utter the words to throw magic quantas efficiently. You need,” Teacher Hashim draws and then exhales breath, “to breathe.”

Dawai and Hisham is jogging the early next morning.“Keep up, Dawai, you already paid for this course!”They jogged for an hour. After that, they immediately start the meditation class. It is hard to keep his breath calm and controlled when he has to learn to blow it out of his mouth.

“You need primer on meditating too? Just remember your studies back in middle school. Only this time feel the air in your throat.”

Dawai studied keenly under Teacher Hashim for a week. On the eighth day after jogging, Dawai is instead brought to the cliff the other day. “So, Dawai, you’ve learnt a lot. Shoot my tree.”

Dawai aims at the tree. He swings the wand. In the same tempo of launching the quanta, Dawai exhales his breath with force. The quanta falls only a few dozen feet away. “You’re holding back. Exhale like you’re shouting.”

Dawai repeats the stance and this time, he shouts. Of course, his voice cord being damaged, there’s no sound. The quanta zooms through the air and slams the tree, exploding part of the crown to shards of wood and leaves.

“Good, good. But remove the wand, I want to see your power without it.”Dawai repeats the spell without the wand. The magic quanta instead falls short a few hundred feet from the tree.

“Needs a few weeks of practice. Remember what I taught you. Spend the rest of the day calibrating your output. Don’t want to destroy your workplace now, don’t you?”

After three more days of sick leave, Dawai is back at the cloth factory. He joins the dance, with not much of sweat or heavy breathing like he usually had. 

After the dance, Gari touches his shoulder. Dawai makes a hello sign.Gari replies in sign too. Dawai is amused, and asked where he learnt.

“Just starting. I learnt from my nephew’s Orb 2. Such a rich kid, managed to buy his own horse last year.”

Dawai and Gari talks in sign language when suddenly the loom makes a sound it’s not supposed to. 

“Is the loom breaking?”

Spools are flung away by the springs. The threads tighten and break. The loom machinery begins to fall apart, with the wires snapping wildly with electrical charges. Emergency personnels move quickly to shut off power and reduce damage. 

But the frame holding the loom breaks with a sickening twang and the loom falls. Dawai’s right hand reaches for his wand as everyone runs away. He aims at the loom and exhales with a heave. 

He manages to whisper out a very hoarse word. “Angkat”

The loom bounces up with a great force. A dozen magicians throw quantas to the loom to stop it from reaching the roof. It merely scrape the roof before it falls. The magicians moves to stop the loom from crushing the ground at force.

Dawai walks to a safer part of the factory. Gari points at the loom. “Dawai, you managed to lift it! How could you do that?”

Dawai tried to make a sign, but his throat feels a great pain. He coughs a spittle of blood. His face can only show panic.

Gari is waiting outside the hospital. Dawai comes out with a mask on his face.“What did the doctor say?”

Dawai makes signs.

“Too fast, I can’t read you.”

Dawai makes the sign slower. Gari says what Dawai is signing. 

“You can’t follow Hisham’s technique too much. You can get your throat hurt. Learn to throat speak, but after two months. What does it mean?”

Dawai brings out the tablet and scribbles. It says: “I need to take two more weeks of sick leave. I can’t make magic as powerful as this morning, or my lungs can explode. I am lucky it’s only a slight injury on my throat.”

Gari nods. “So how do you eat? Your throat is hurt.”

Dawai unravels a pipe from within the mask. He sets one end on a jutting pipe on the base of his neck, and the other on the rice and chicken Gari brought. Dawai slurps it in and the food magically pass through the pipe smoothly.

“Huh, the wonders of medicine.”

If you like my story, please support me here: https://www.patreon.com/storyforger

#redditprompt fantasy magic

[kateyes224]

Independence Day

A/N: Fourth of July fluff and nonsense, inspired by some anons I’ve gotten recently about whether Mulder is capable of giving Scully a meaningful gift.  Timeline:  Post-IWTB, Pre-Revival

Mulder knocks on her door and goes to straighten his tie before he remembers he’s not wearing one.  Hasn’t worn one in years.  He tries not to fidget, suspecting she may be eyeing him through her peephole, but he ends up shifting back and forth on his feet the longer it takes her to answer the door.  

He triple-guesses his outfit for the eighteenth time that night, and berates himself for it, feeling ridiculous for feeling ridiculous.

He hears her soft, even footfalls as she approaches the door, then a long moment of silence. She is peeping.

When she opens the door, her apartment seems to exhale at the exact same moment he does.

“Hi.”

“Hey, Scully.”  Scully in her angular new suits and jewel-toned scrubs seems a completely separate being from this creature.  This woman’s hair is pulled up and away from her face and off her neck.  She’s wearing a sky-colored sweater that deepens the blue of her eyes to a dark violet in the low light, and jeans that he knows for a fact have been worn in from years of washing in hard water. He’d washed them a few dozen times himself. She’s hardly wearing a stitch of makeup.

Fuck losing nine minutes.  For a moment, he thinks he might have lost a quarter of a century.  “You look good.”

She knows. Blushes anyway.

“Thanks.  You look pretty good yourself.”

“Ladies always love a man in a polo.”

He keeps his eyes trained on hers, deliberately not looking over her shoulder.  I need a space of my own, Mulder, she’d said, a little over a year ago now.  He’d hated her for it then but he’d respected it just the same.  He still hates it, and he still respects it.  He doesn’t want to taint it by seeing it without her say-so.

“Would you like to come in for a minute?” A polite and completely insincere invitation.  She hadn’t even wanted him to pick her up tonight, he reminds himself.

“Nope, I think we can just go.  Otherwise we’ll be late.”

She looks cautious, but grabs her purse and her jacket from the table by the front door.  “Late?  I thought we were just going to grab dinner?”  

Mulder waits while she turns to close the door.  Her old housekey for their country home jangles on her keyring next to the one she uses to lock up.  

He doesn’t have a key for her new place.  

“We are going to grab dinner.  But I have a surprise later tonight and we’ve got to get a move on or else we’ll miss it.”

She makes a show of slowing and sighs audibly, predictably skeptical and apparently willing to play her old part for old time’s sake.

He walks her out to the pickup truck and circles to her side, opening it for her and handing her in.  She chuckles. “Mulder, you’ve never been this solicitous. What have you got planned? Not another haunted house, I hope.”

Closing her door, he smiles down at her through the half-closed window.  “You know I only save those for Christmas, Scully.”

He drives them back out of town the same way he came, threading his way from interstate to highway to two-lane country road before stopping to pick up dinner. She smiles when he pulls in front of her favorite barbecue joint and hops out of the truck to pay for a couple of messy brisket sandwiches dripping in tangy sauce and wrapped in foil and white styrofoam containers of coleslaw and baked beans.  Two thick slices of cornbread are immediately set upon by Scully when he returns to the truck, and he laughs and slaps her hands away.

The sound of her giggle bouncing around the cab of the truck before it’s snatched out the window and into the night air nearly wipes the smirk right off of his face. He’d been almost sure he’d never be able to make her laugh again.

Another twenty miles past the house he’s still trying to think of as his and not theirs and he pulls off the main road and into a dirt lot that is already filled with cars.  They’re a few hundred yards from where the local high school campus sprawls out in the dark.  Mulder grabs a blanket from the bed of the truck and ties the handles of the plastic bag of food into bunny ears. At her questioning look, he nods in the direction of the football field glowing under floodlights in the distance. Smells and sounds from booths selling all manner of deep-fried food, kettle corn, and funnel cake waft towards them in the heavy July air.

A dunk tank, a pony ride, and a small petting zoo are set up in the home team’s end zone.  An emu is being walked around on a leash, to the delight and horror of many small children.  And just beyond that, a wooden stage and dance floor. A band of morose young teens is going about the serious business of setting up their equipment, plugging guitars into amplifiers and strumming chords that twang offkey.

The lead singer and DJ, a girl with a shock of a bright turquoise pixie cut, stands in front of the speakers and clicks around on her laptop in the meantime. The dance floor is almost full with couples swaying back and forth to an unpredictable mix of R&B and country.  Children of all ages dart in between them in an endless game of tag.

“Mulder, what are we doing here?”

Mulder keeps walking just beyond the stage where other families have set up their own circles of chairs and picnic blankets.  He makes a show of unfurling the Navajo blanket on the ground, smooths the wrinkles before setting the plastic bag of food in the center.  “Just make yourself comfortable. You want anything to drink? Some funnel cake? We have about twenty minutes before the show.”

Scully crosses her arms and stares up at him. “Mulder,” she repeats, “what are we doing here?” She sounds, for all intents and purposes, like she’s just surveyed a crime scene and found it conspicuously lacking in what he’d once half-ironically referred to as a distinct paranormal bouquet.

“What, you don’t trust me?” Mulder asks, blinking down at her, and he nearly chokes on the question like a popcorn kernel has lodged itself in the back of his throat when he remembers that no, she probably doesn’t.  Not anymore.  Mulder shakes his head when it takes her a second too long to answer. “Don’t worry, Doc. Have a seat, I’ll go grab us a drink.”

Scully purses her lips at him and glances over her shoulder as the band strikes up a rousing, if overly-metal, rendition of Yankee Doodle.  “Hurry back,” she murmurs, then bends to sit cross-legged on the blanket and starts untying the plastic bag.

Mulder hustles off, taking a wide berth around a game of cornhole to where a keg and a cash booth have been set up.  He pays $10 for two light beers in red Solo cups and turns, almost knocking over a man and his wife in their late 30s.  

“Mr. Scully?” the young man asks, hesitant.

 Mulder sputters, trying to hide it by taking a sip of his beer.

“Uhhhh, no, I’m Fox Mulder. Dr. Scully is my…” Shit.  This was always the hard part.  “...my partner.”  It’s never not been true.  “Are you Mr. and Mrs. Fearon?”

The young man nods and glances at his wife, who smiles up uncertainly at Mulder.  They both turn. Behind them sits a boy in a wheelchair. “And this is Christian.”

Christian is pale, with huge, almond-shaped blue eyes and a tangle of messy brown hair.  He’s got a crocheted afghan tucked around his legs and a beanie on his head despite the humid July heat, but two rosy spots color his cheeks, belying a fragile bloom of health.

Mulder smiles down at him, bends to look into the boy’s eyes.  “Hi, Christian.  My name is Mulder. I’m a friend of Dr. Scully’s. She’s been wondering about you.”

Christian’s eyes crinkle, a grin lighting up his face. “I’ve been wondering about her, too.”

Mulder leads the way back over to where Scully is sitting on their blanket, the Fearons following slowly but surely behind him. Just as he calls out to Scully and she turns, the lights around the makeshift fairground all dim simultaneously, leading to whoops and hollers and lascivious catcalls.  In the dark, Mulder settles in on the blanket next to Scully and hands her a beer.

“Mulder, who was with-”

“Shhhh, Scully,” Mulder whispers, just as the band gets going with Ray Charles’ version of America the Beautiful. The drummer starts military cadence on the drums and the teen girl with the turquoise hair starts belting out the first verse in a honeyed alto.

Oh beautiful, for heroes proved, In liberating strife, Who more than self, our country loved, And mercy more than life

Just as the chorus gets going, the first pops and whistles of fireworks start echoing from a couple of hundred yards down the way.  The crowd draws in a collective gasp as blue and green and red and white sparks erupt overhead.

Scully’s eyes are trained on the sky for a long moment before she turns back to Mulder.  The wide smile on her face lights over him just as the next round of fireworks explode in a shimmer and a pop of noise. But her eyes slip past him and catch sight of the profile of the young boy who was trailing in Mulder’s wake. Christian’s hands are planted firmly over his ears, transfixed by the showers of color blazing overhead.

“Christian?” Mulder sees her mouth silently before looking up at him, confused.

Mulder bends close to her ear, loud enough that she can hear over the gunshot blast of the next round of fireworks.

“Last week, you got a voicemail at the house from his new treating physician, a Dr. Rajkumar. She thought you’d want to know...he’s been doing well enough as result of your treatment plan that his parents were going to take him to see the fireworks this year.”

Scully can’t seem to tear her gaze away from the boy’s face. His eyes, saucer-wide, haven’t left the sky, and his smile can’t get any bigger.  

Mulder watches Scully watching Christian for the next ten minutes, as the fireworks and the band get louder and more intense.  When the final crescendo and the finale culminate above them, she looks up at Mulder, whispers her thanks, and wraps an arm around his waist.

As she settles into a spot that feels more comfortable than it should for going without the weight and shape of her for so long, he hopes she feels free, if only for tonight.

#my writing #i have no idea what this is #sappy and ridiculous nonsense #but i've always hated that we never found out what happened to christian #so i gave scully some closure #thanks to mulder #anyway

[taeminuet]

Heartbeat (15/?)

Title: Heartbeat Fandom: SHINee Pairings: Jongtae; Minkey; OnKai Chapter Wordcount: 3.5k Overall Rating: R (Some chapters will be NC-17; these will be marked.) Chapter Warnings: ableism, mental illness,  Summary: In which not every problem needs to be fixed and not every person needs to be saved; sometimes you just need support.

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Chapter 15: Minho

Minho’s head hurts. It’s feels like someone cracked him across the back of his head, and he feels just a little bit sick when the tries to sit up, nausea twisting in his gut. He overdid it last night, he thinks, trying to remember what all had happened. At some point, he can’t, the whole night a blur that fades to black.

He remembers snippets: it had been finals – the championship game. They’d won, and then… And then Lu Han had pulled Minseok away to celebrate (i.e. make out against the lockers,) and Minho had gone out to celebrate with his other friends. They’d been driving, and they’d had the beers on the floor of the car, even if it wasn’t safe. And Minho had bent down to get one and – and nothing. And nothing after that.

He’s not sure how he got this bad of a hangover off cheap beer, but his head is pounding, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut against the minimal light coming off of – of something…

It’s too white to be his ceiling lights, too close to fluorescent, and it burns through his closed eyelids in a way that makes him groan uncomfortably. It hurts, and Minho has to all but ball up to blink his eyes open, staring at… at strangely unfamiliar bedsheets. At an unfamiliar room. At an unfamiliar face in the mirror, too angled, hair framing it all wrong.

Minho opens his eyes, for the first time in memory and the several-hundredth time in the last few years, to an unfamiliar life. To a notebook written in a familiar hand, with unfamiliar names and faces and facts.

He falls into a routine that he’s not aware is a routine: the stages of grief all packed into such a short about of time: denial, grief, anger. He’s not sure who he would bargain with, but a part of him is willing to try that too.

But in the end, what choice does he have but to do as his notebook says. To get up. To keep living.

He’s confused, slightly, when he manages to find out the time. It’s a little after 9'oclock, but from the darkness outside his window, kept at bay by the sharp florescents in the ceiling, it’s night, not morning. And from the loose schedule in his notebook, there’s no reason he should be waking so late. Or maybe there is one? But there’s no notes, no indication of why.

Only the tentative knock on his door, the way the woman peers in – Nurse Jung, Minho’s mind recalls, in his own script – keeps Minho from continuing to think about it.

“Can I…” he pauses for just a moment, the beginning of the phrase clicking in his mind like an empty lighter, sparking against nothing. Something he read, only moments ago, but he doesn’t quite remember the context, the meaning. He shakes free of it. “Can I help you?”

She smiles, the kind of practiced but slightly frazzles smile, like she’s trying to keep from letting on how stressed out she really is. “How are you feeling?”

Minho doesn’t know how to answer that question. At all. How is he supposed to feel when he’s just had his life turned on it’s head? How often does he have this mental debate with himself?

“My head hurts,” he says finally. “Can I have some medicine? Or is that not okay for me, since…?”

She sighs a little. “We’ll see about getting you something for the pain – your doctor should have an approved list on file. Otherwise, though?”

“I don’t know. What am I supposed to be feeling? My notebook says I’ve been here for years. Why are you worrying now?” It feels harsh to say, but the way her expressions flickers tells him something, and Minho pushes. “What’s wrong?”

“You had a bit of a run in with another patient earlier in the day,” she says hesitantly. “It’s very unlike him to physically lash out at other patients, but it seems as there was some sort of incident…”

“I don’t… remember,” Minho says, and it’s so stupid because of course he doesn’t. It hurts, somehow, the pitying look in her eyes. “Did he… do you know why?”

She hesitates again. “He claims he didn’t. I suppose he doesn’t want to get in trouble, but he was found with you. Like I said, it’s very strange of Kibum to–”

She stops and clams up, but the secret is out. Kibum.

It’s… it doesn’t seem right, though he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know anything about him, really, just what he has written: his name, his wheelchair, his basic personality, his favorite place to draw.

And, though he’s not entirely sure why, there’s little details, little things Minho’s written – the way his eyes get more catlike when he’s focusing; the way that when he laughs, it’s with his whole body and Minho should keep an eye out to make sure he doesn’t hit his own leg. It’s not a lot to know about a person.

But still, it doesn’t sit right with him, somehow. And maybe it’s a terribly idea to rely on instinct, but wha else does he have?

“Can I see him?” Minho asks, standing. He sways for a moment, head still aching a bit, but it’s starting to fade a little, and he doesn’t have any trouble walking to the door, attempting to push past Nurse Jung.

She doesn’t move. “I don’t think,” she says, “that that’s a very good idea.”

“Why not?” Minho says. “You said yourself he’s not usually violent. I want to understand what happened. I want to understand something–”

It comes out more desperate than he intended, enough to shock her into stillness, giving Minho just a moment to push past her. There’s a loose map scribbled in the front of his notebook, telling where everyone’s rooms are, and he knows that Key’s is the one just next door, so he heads to it quickly, his fingers rapping on the door before anyone can stop him.

There’s no answer, and Minho’s stomach twists, but he has to try. He urges the door open, just a little. “Kibum,” he starts, and that sounds wrong, so instead he tries, “Key, are you…?”

“Minho?” comes a voice, somehow deeper than he’d expected, a little rough like he’s been… crying. ���Minho, is that…?”

Minho swallows thickly, his stomach suddenly lurching, almost twisting. “Can I come in?”

Key doesn’t answer, just for a  moment, and then, “I… yeah. Yeah, of course. I can’t–”

Key can’t come to him, and it’s not until Minho is inside that he sees why. Key is sitting in his bed, half curled into himself, and his chair is across the room, nowhere in reach. They’ve left him there, isolated him on his own as punishment, and Minho feels a flash of anger.

His fists tighten, and he looks down at the floor to try and hide the look. He doesn’t want Key to think he’s mad at him, because he’s not. He’s just confused, and now he can’t bear to see what they’ve done to Key, and just –

“I just…” he starts, and then he stalls, because as he’s looking down, something catches his eyes. There’s a photo, half sticking out from under Key’s bed, and he’d leave it, but he can see himself in it. He stoops to pick it up, and all of a sudden he doesn’t have any words at all.

In the picture, he’s smiling, almost stupidly, and no wonder, because Key is there and he’s… god. He looks so happy, and Key looks so beautiful, and Minho feels like something has stolen all of the air from his lungs.

Minho doesn’t want to look away from the photo, away from Key’s smile, but Key makes a soft noise that demands attention. “Minho, why are you here? Why–”

“I wanted to find out what happened,” Minho says honestly, and it doesn’t sound accusatory exactly, but Minho still finds himself rushing to add, “I don’t think you hurt me. I just… I just want to know. It’s hard not knowing.”

And Key’s face flickers, turns so desperate that Minho’s heart squeezes., because if Key has the ability to smile like he is in that photo, Minho wants to see it so badly.

“Minho, you have to believe me, I would never hurt you. Never. I know it seems stupid, but you just – you fell. You tripped backwards over my chair and you fell and hit your head, and they won’t believe me, but I would never…”

Minho doesn’t know what to say. What can he say here? He holds up the picture with a shaking hand, handing it to Key. His hands are shaking. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t remember it. I don’t remember anything. But, well, you know that already. And I…”

He takes a deep breath, staring at Key. There’s something startlingly genuine in his face, something genuinely disarming. He doesn’t know how to tell Key no, that he doesn’t believe him. But he can’t say yes either.

“I don’t know,” he says again. “I want to. I don’t know why, but I want to believe you. But I don’t know.”

He doesn’t know what makes him do it, but he does anyways, sliding down to his knees on the floor and leaning forward, resting his forehead against the edge of the mattress. He’s shaking slightly, more than just his hands now, frustrated with everything, with not knowing, with not understanding, with the exhaustion that’s weighing on him even though he only just woke, with everything.

And god, he doesn’t know if this is a good idea, but Minho doesn’t even know enough to be able to second-guess himself, and Key seems so desperate, so unlikely to get angry, that the blond lashing out at him feels almost ridiculous; Minho will take his chances.

“I want to believe you,” he whispers. “Why do I want to believe you so badly?”

It’s just a moment, and then there are hands touching him, sifting into his hair and almost petting him, like they’re trying to ease the tension out of him and reassure him all at once.  “I know. I know, Minho. It’s okay,” Key says, voice getting thicker with tears “I… I’ll prove it, okay? I’ll prove it. Just… help me down, okay? Help me.”

And it’s such a bad idea, but Key is drawing Minho’s hands to his hips, and he’s looking at Minho with such vulnerability, and so Minho obeys, following Key’s careful directions until Key is on the floor in front of him.

“Look at me. I’m… I’m completely in your hands now,”  Key says, voice trembling a little. “I know it’s not the same, but I’m trusting you, Minho. Try to trust me too. If you really can’t, I’ll understand, but you have to dig down deep in there and really feel it. Don’t listen to the notebook or anyone else, just see if you can feel something. Please.”

Minho’s heart squeezes. How? How can’t he trust the one thing he has in his own hand, the one thing that’s giving him some idea of who he is now, of what his life is now? How is he supposed to just ignore that?

But Key is  taking his hand, placing on his leg, and Minho can feel the fragility under his palm, feel how much faith Key is putting in him right now.

Minho swallows thickly and slides his hand upwards to Key’s waist again. Key lets him pull him gently, doesn’t pull away, and that level of trust is terrifying, but it’s also touching enough that Minho doesn’t question himself, doesn’t stop himself from caving to the urge to pull Key into his arms, holding him gently.

Key isn’t as small as he would have expected – his shoulders and arms are broad, matching his hands, bu still it’s not what it should be. Key’s legs are too badly damaged, what would have once been muscle and bone now damaged, quite possibly beyond repair. Minho knows that much at least – it’s written in his notebook, a perfunctory note next to a memo not to bring it up if he can help it.

But whether or not he’s his full weight, his full strength, Key is so pliant in his arms, so trusting. Minho can’t believe that someone like this could even attempt to hurt him.

But beyond that even… Key’s voice is desperate and raw, truthful in a way that can’t be faked as he pleads, “You have to believe me. I would never ever hurt you.”

Minho still doesn’t have a right answer, but he isn’t sure he needs one, not when he’s so close, not when he can feel Key like this. He tries to clear it all away – no words, no memories, no thoughts; just the shape of Key in his arms and the way his entire body is shaking, his heart racing where it was caught in his throat.

“It’s okay,” he strangles out around it, trying to will it back into it’s proper place in his chest, but it won’t listen, just stays where it is, making his throat feel tight.. “I… I believe you. I know you wouldn’t.”

Key goes almost slack in his hold. “You believe me,” he says, and when he looks at Minho, his eyes are wet and he’s smiling shakily. After just a moment, he curls back into Minho’s hold, like he doesn’t want to leave. Minho doesn’t really want to let him go.

“Tell me about that picture,” Minho asks. “Please.”

And Key does. He tells Minho about his whole morning, his whole day, telling Minho a story about himself that he doesn’t remember. And it’s a little unnerving, but Minho doesn’t doubt it’s true.

“I thought,” Key says, and then falters for the first time. “I thought you’d remembered something. Something about me. And you got upset and fell. It was just an accident. But I crawled over to you to make sure you were okay, and the nurse found me like that and assumed… But god, thank you for knowing I didn’t, Minho.“

Minho frowns. “What… what did you think I’d remembered?”

Key stiffens in his arms. “I don’t want to upset you again,” Key says. “It’s fine. It was just… I was a fluke, or… Or, I don’t…”

“Please,” Minho says. “Please, tell me.”

And Key huddles closer, like he’s afraid of Minho pulling away, but nods. “A few days ago I called you perfect. And this morning, I did it again, and you asked if I’d said that before. Like you remembered me saying it. Like…”

“I wrote that,” Minho breathes. “I think… it’s scratched out, but… you can feel it through the paper. Or… or, I don’t know. Maybe just because I wrote it, I can… but I…”

“Oh,” Key says, and he doesn’t sound disappointed. He sounds in awe, and Minho pulls back in shock to see Key’s eyes watering.

“Please don’t cry,” Minho says, panicked. “Please don’t.”

“I’m not crying,” Key says, even though he clearly is. “I just… you cared enough to write that? Even if… even if you decided better after, you cared enough to think you’d want to remember that.”

Minho bites his lip. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asks, a little bewildered. “You’re– I mean, I’m not. At all. But to have someone like you think that…”

“Someone like me,” Kibum repeats, and his voice is flattening a little bit, like he’s expecting Minho so insult him, and Minho honestly has no idea why.

“You’re… god. You’re beautiful. And you’re – that you trust me this much? That you care this much what I think? I don’t – you’re amazing,” Minho says, and he knows he sounds bewildered because he is. Why would anyone think anything less of Key after what he’s seen?

“Your way with words never ceases to impress me.” Key says, and he’s teasing, but his voice is wavery and affected and he still looks like he’s about to cry. But he smiles faintly along with his teasing, and it’s so soft and affectionate and beautiful.

And Minho’s been going with basically gut instinct since he woke up, and he’s here, so he doesn’t see why he should stop now.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and he feels like it sounds ridiculous, but Key’s breath hitches like Minho’s just struck him, and he looks so terrifyingly hopeful.

“Yeah,” Key says. “Yeah, please. Kiss me.”

Minho slides his hand up to cup Key’s cheek, the other staying around his waist to hold the blond steady, and kisses him.

It’s nothing special, Minho doesn’t think, just his lips pressing softly against Key’s. His lips are probably a little dry, and his hand is shaking against Key’s cheek, and he probably kisses like the inexperienced moron that he is.

But Key’s lips are soft and slightly chapped, and Minho feels his breath catch in his throat, pulling back from Key to just stare for a moment. He doesn’t know what to say, what to think, just gapes for a moment, his heart racing in his chest.

And then Key kisses him again, just as gentle as the first time, and Minho can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

“Key,” he breathes, and it’s like it breaks a spell, because Key stops kissing him to smile helplessly.

“I never thought – I wanted for so long, but…” And Key’s smile falters, just like that.

Minho feels his chest tighten. “I’m… I won’t forget. Not yet. I just woke up. I have days. We can figure this out. Whatever this is. Key…”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Key says, but he looks tired suddenly, almost exhausted. “I… I want you to stay. But… I’m supposed to be in trouble for hurting you. Even though…”

“You didn’t,” Minho says, and it comes out certain and vehement. “I know.”

“Minho…” Key says, and his voice is so soft, shaking just a little.

“I… I don’t want to get you in trouble,” Minho says finally. “I’ll be here tomorrow. We can figure this out tomorrow. Key…”

“Tomorrow,” Key says, and he sounds hopeful and also like he’s frightened by that hope. “Minho… kiss me again. Before you go.”

And Minho does. He presses kisses to Key’s lips as he helps him back up, back into bed. He pulls Keys’ chair closer, just in case, and kisses him again and again. And he’s fully aware that Key isn’t sure if these kisses mean goodnight or goodbye, but…

But Minho’s not willing to hurt Key like that. Even if he’s still confused and lost, even if he doesn’t understand, he feels something for Key. He doesn’t know what yet, but it’s there, and he felt it. And he’s not going to give that up just yet.

“Tomorrow,” Minho promises.

Key’s expression is all longing, so clear that he couldn’t hide if he wanted to. “Tomorrow,” he says, and then tentatively, “Goodnight, Minho.”

Minho swallows. “Goodnight,” he whispers. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He will be. He has to be. He won’t let himself forget. Not this.

-

Next Chapter

#SHINee fic #SHINee fanfiction #minkey #jongtae #onkai #heartbeat #i'm.... so slepy #any errors in this are 100% my fault but it is 4:15 and i Hate myself #not rlly #but it is v v late and has been a long night #but i'm happy to do this for all of you and i hope you enjoy this #and hey.....minkey. #it's Happening

[drawingsanddrabbles]

Joke’s On You

Chapter Four: I’m Starting to Miss Gotham

betaed by @ilovebeingintroverted

links

“Damian!” Damian stumbled backwards as a fifteen year old flung himself at him. Stephanie rolled up behind him, Cassandra strolling beside her. The young Jason Todd disentangled himself from the original Robin and began to… bounce. Damian grimaced at his younger’s enthusiasm. “Are you going to spar with me and take me out on patrol?”

“That is up to Father, Jason.” Damian smiled at the girls and kissed each on the cheek in turn. “It is good to see you both.”

“Like it ever isn’t.” Stephanie snorted.

Damian opened his mouth to reply but Cass interrupted with: “Hug.” Her arms wide open.

“Cassandra, I gave you a kiss. Is that not enough?”

“Hug.”

Damian sighed and hugged his adoptive sister. Stephanie smirked, and made a whipped motion with her hand. Damian rolled his eyes. It wasn’t like his father could deny Cassandra either. When Cassandra was satisfied she released Damian. The four began to walk to the entrance to the Cave.

“So, what brings the prodigal son home?”

“I am hardly prodigal, Stephanie. I simply returned to Gotham to work on a joint business venture with Father. Nothing more. Then I will return to Bludhaven.”

“And how long will you bless us with your presence, kid?” Stephanie asked.

“Why, Stephanie? Sick of me already?”

“Always.”

“Ah.” A clean British voice rang, drawing the attention of the vigilantes. “Master Damian, you have arrived. Have you brought your animals?”

“Not to worry, Pennyworth. My pets are at home with Maya and Colin.”

“Oh! How are they?” Stephanie asked, cheerfully. Last Stephanie had heard of the two young adults Damian had been complaining about how his new penthouse apartment suddenly had more than one human tenant.

“Fine. Colin never puts away the milk and Maya spoils Pennyworth but fine.”

“Pennyworth…”

“My cat, Stephanie.”

“Ah… of course.”  Stephanie didn’t try to hide her giggles. Damian ignored her. They reached the grandfather clock and Damian opened it, chivalrously letting the girls go first. Cass helped Steph’s wheelchair down the rather steep ramp that had been added to allow Steph access to the Cave. Jason bounced after them and Damian closed the door.

“Hey Bruce! Look who came for a visit!” Stephanie called out.

Bruce Wayne sat at the Batcomputer in his suit, cowl down. He didn’t even cock his head towards the newcomers. “And right in time for patrol too.” Bruce added.

Once on less declining ground Steph took control of her wheelchair again and wheeled herself over to Bruce who sat in the large very expensive leather chair at the computer. “Jason, Cass, get dressed.” His two protégés dashed off to get their costumes. “Are you joining us, Damian?” Bruce asked.

The younger Wayne shook his head. “Nice to see you too, Father. No, I think I’ll keep Stephanie company tonight.”

“Suit yourself.” Bruce said before standing and pulling up his mask.

Damian sat in his Father’s recently relinquished chair and squawked indigently when Steph pushed the swivel chair away from the keyboard. The blonde smirked at her old partner who looked very mortified by his own squawking, but Damian recovered quickly and Steph went back to preparing for tonight’s patrol.

“So, on the agenda tonight… Two-Face has been stealing two headed coins, next up on the list of spots for him to hit is Gotham Monetary Museum, -“

“There’s a museum for that stuff?” Jason asked.

“Apparently,”

“Wow, some people need to get a life.”

“Anyway, they’re showing off famously messed up coins, some of which are double headed. After that there’s a fresh green riddle at the GCPD that Commissioner Gordon wants you to take a look at, and finally it seems that Harley Quinn may not be as retired as everyone thinks she is. She put out a ‘wanted ad’ for henchwomen in the latest Gazette’s classifieds.”

“So the usual then,” Bruce said.

“Yep. The usual.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come, Dami? It’ll be fun!” Jason prodded.

“And you’re implying I’m not?” Stephanie huffed. Jason turned a pretty shade of pink and opened his mouth to respond, but Damian interrupted him.

“I’m sure, Jason.”

“Come.” Cass told Robin from behind her sewn up mask. She tugged the bird away from the two at the computers and they all hopped in the Batmobile and rocketed away.

Stephanie pulled up a window on her computer. “Comms on?” She asked into the microphone.

“Batman, check.”

“Batgirl, check.”

“Robin, check.”

“Happy hunting tonight, guys.” Stephanie well-wished them. She then pressed the mute button and turned to Damian. “What is it?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What is what, Stephanie?”

“You never skip out on patrol, what do you want to talk to me about?”

“Can I not just spend some quality time with my ex-partner?” Steph glared at him. Damian sighed. “I wished to know if you were well. Without Father’s imposing presence.”

“Damian, your father has never made me say anything that I didn’t believe a thousand percent. Nor has he stopped me from speaking my mind. And why the sudden interest in my well being?”

“I have always cared about your well being!” Steph raised a shaped eyebrow. “I have!” Damian insisted.

“So the years of merciless teasing and cutting my grapple cord was… flirting?”

Damian looked affronted. “It was never flirting! I was testing you.”

Steph smirked. “Uh huh.”

“Stephanie, I don’t and never have had a crush on you.” It wasn’t technically a lie. He never had a crush on her but he had had a squish of a sort. Not that he’d ever say that word aloud or that he’d tell her or anyone else.

“Your loss.” Steph said flippantly.

“Have you been keeping up on your training?” Damian asked.

Stephanie grinned and made a muscle. “Feel these guns! Hard as rock!” She patted her stomach proudly. “These too, like a friggin cheese grater. C’mon, feel ‘em.”

Damian grimaced. “I’d rather not.”

“C’mon! Feel them!”

“No.”

“Dami…”

“I am not feeling your abdominal muscles, Stephanie.”

Steph stuck her tongue out at him. “That’s just ‘cuz you’re worried they’re better than yours.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“You are incorrigible!”

“But that’s why you love me,” Steph sang.

Damian snorted. “Please, Stephanie. You know I am incapable of love.” It was meant to be a joke. Stephanie and Damian used to joke about his emotional constipation constantly, but that was a long time ago. That was when Timothy was alive. That is, when Timothy was alive and Steph and Damian were talking. Their complicated relationship had been a silent one for most of the time when Steph was dating Damian’s sudden brother, Damian didn’t blame her for the radio silence. Stephanie was Timothy’s girlfriend and so siding with him on arguments came naturally, especially when Damian was being an asshole to Tim, which he was a lot.

Steph inhaled sharply and glanced over at the wall of glass cases. The cases displayed retired costumes, Bruce had a couple in there; Damian’s Robin costume hung there, a drawn katana was positioned to look like his clothing was about to stab someone; Stephanie had two costumes in the wall as well, her Spoiler costume which was retired when she started officially working with Batman and Robin, although it was on the tail end of Damain’s Robin years, and her Batgirl costume; and finally Timothy’s costume, red and green and black, gold colored R symbol.

“The anniversary is coming up.” Steph whispered. “That’s why you asked how I was…”

Damian nodded.

“Well I’m fine, Damian.” She took a deep breath and clearly stated she didn’t want to continue with this topic of conversation.

“Stephanie-“

“I said, I’m fine. I may be a grieving girlfriend but I’m not helpless.”

“I never said you were.”

“’Wing? Oracle? Haven’t heard from you guys in a while. You okay?” Jason asked, slightly out of breath. They must have been chasing someone. Steph jumped from the interruption, both she and Damian had been tuning out the conversation that the Bats had been having on patrol.

Steph turned off the mute button. “We’re good, Rob.”

“Cool. Hey, Oracle, what’s the Knights-Metros score?”

Steph tapped on her keyboard. “9-7.”

“Woo!” Jason cheered on the other line. There was a crack and it sounded like Jason punched a guy out.

“Oracle, Robin, is comms really the place for this conversation?”

“’Course it is, B, what else would we talk about?” Steph asked lazily. Damian smirked.

“And I thought you were the responsible one…”

“Liar.” That was Cass.

Some complaining was heard from the other end of comms, the familiar hoarse voice of Two-Face. “We have Dent. Going to the GCPD to drop him off now.” Bruce said over the comms.

“Have fun.”

The rest of patrol went smoothly, or as smoothly as patrol in Gotham ever was. Harley Quinn was a dead end, despite her ‘wanted ad’ she was nowhere to be found and Poison Ivy wasn’t any help. They decided to call it a night, they could always search for her tomorrow. Bruce rolled back into the Cave with Alfred on hand to begin patching up his employer. Bruce had gotten a nasty scratch across the cheek and Cass had twisted her ankle badly.

“Jason, get into bed.”

“Aw! But Bruce-“

“You have school tomorrow. Bed.”

Jason pouted but slipped out of his uniform and into the pajamas that Alfred had laid out on the operating table that wasn’t currently being used. “You too, young Miss.” Alfred said referring to Cass. Cass limped over to him and the butler handed her a bag of ice for her foot. “Your evening tea is in your room.”

“’Night Alfie! ‘Night Bruce! ‘Night Steph! ‘Night Damian! ‘Night Cass!” Jason called before trudging up the stairs.

Cassandra waved before following him with her bag of ice.

“You should go to bed, too, Steph.”

“You aren’t my dad.”

“Steph…” Bruce sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily.

“I’m a grown woman, Bruce. You have no legal say over me.”

“You aren’t going to win an argument with her, Father.” Damian added. Steph grinned brilliantly at him.

“Steph, can you at least go make sure that Jason is in bed and not smoking.”

Steph opened her mouth to argue but saw the look on Bruce’s face. The one that he was currently directing at Damian. He wanted her gone for another reason. “Fine. But I’m only doing it for him.”

“All patched up, Master Bruce.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Alfred picked up his first aid gear and joined Stephanie on their way out of the Cave.

Bruce waited until they were both gone and the Cave entrance was closed.  “Damian.”

“Father.”

Bruce stood and walked over to the Batcomputer. He typed something in, and then stood back and crossed his arms. “What do you make of this?”

Damian swerved so that he was in front of the screen and read the headline. His eyebrows began to climb as he scanned the article.

“Someone is toying with us.”

The headline read: OLD NAME, NEW FACE; THE RED HOOD STRIKES AGAIN. The article itself had been written by Vicki Vale. In it she mentioned the recent appearances of a vigilante on the streets saving whomever he happened to come by, and that she had spoken with him before the influx of heroism had happened. He’d spoken to her about Gotham, and for his safety she wouldn’t divulge anything else about their talk. She was interested in what the next few days would bring.

However, neither of the Waynes shared her enthusiasm. “I agree. And...?”

“And they want us to know that.”

“A man named Red Hood begins saving victims. He asks the most famous native reporter about Gotham, why?”

“Red Hood, it’s too much of a coincidence, he must know about his mantle’s past bearers. Asking about Gotham… reporters know things. If you want information, a reporter is a logical place to begin looking.”

“But why not hit the street?”

“Who says he hasn’t?”

“Good point.” Batman frowned.

“Are you contemplating whether or not we should visit Miss Vale?” Damian asked with a raised eyebrow.

Bruce stared at the computer screen for a few more seconds before shaking his head. “Tomorrow. We will deal with this tomorrow.”

Damian nodded. “Will I see you in the morning, Father?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t forget, we have a meeting at noon.”

“I never do.”

“Goodnight, Father.”

“Goodnight, Damian.”

Damian groaned. His phone blared by his ear and he decided that as soon as he went back to the Tower he would kill Jon. The human-Kryptonian had changed Damian’s ringtone again, this time it was the song Rockin’ Robin.

“All the little birdies on Jaybird Street,

Love to hear the Robin go tweet, tweet, tweet.”

Damian grappled for the phone and picked it up. “Hello Jon.” He mumbled groggily.

“Hey Dami. Nice view of your ear.” Huh? Damian blinked the sleep from his eyes and stared at the phone. Oh, they were on video chat.

“Is that Damian? Hi Damian!” Traya called from off camera. She skipped up next to Jon.

“Why have you called at such an ungodly hour?”

“Aww, we woke up Damian. Look, he’s all grumpy.” Jon teased. Traya giggled.

“What do you want?”

“Damian it’s like, ten AM there.”

“Ungodly. Hour.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why are you two awake?”

“We were going to go to the beach with the team.” Jon said.

“But then it was attacked.” Traya added.

“And the others are taking care of that, so we thought this might be a good time to call you.” Jon concluded.

The team still hated Damian, not that Damian blamed them. Damian wasn’t exactly the kindest to their now late best friend. “You called me. In the morning. To say ‘hi’.” The disbelief in Damian’s voice was evident.

“Can’t we miss our friend?” Jon pouted.

“You totally love that we do.” Traya added, sticking out her tongue.

Damian rolled his eyes. “Damian? Are you awake?” The hero heard from outside his door.

“No. Go away.” Damian responded.

Stephanie opened the door and rolled in. “Who is that?” Traya asked.

“Who are you talking to?” Steph said as she rolled up to Damian’s bed.

“No one. Go away.” Damian repeated to her. Stephanie ignored him and took his phone away.

“Hey Trays! Hey Jono! How are you?”

“Stephanie!” Traya cried happily.

“We’re great! Man, we’ve missed you Steph. You ever going to visit again?” Jon asked.

Steph shrugged. “Maybe, I’m a little grounded lately.”

“Aw that sucks.”

“Miss you too, so is this business or pleasure?” Damian rolled his eyes. Of course, Steph would walk in during a personal call from his friends and take the phone away from him.

“Actually, it’s a little of both.” Wait, what?

“You didn’t say this before.” Damian said as he shoved himself into the frame.

“Yeah…” Jon looked at Traya sheepishly.

“You wanted to bring it up.” Traya said, nudging her friend.

Jon turned back to the camera. “Ollie brought over his new protégée two days ago.” Damian knew where this was going. They’d had this conversation before. “His name is Roy, and he’s thirteen.”

“No.”

“Damian-“

“I said no.”

Steph looked at Damian confused. She had no idea what he was talking about, and Damian didn’t want to get into it with her. “Damian at least hear us out…” Jon began.

“No.”

“Dami, what are they talking about?” Steph asked as Traya mumbled to Jon: “I told you he wouldn’t go for it.”

“Nothing. Jon, we will discuss this later.” Damian said as he ended the call to Jon’s protest and Traya’s look of disappointment.

“Damian, what was that about?”

“Nothing.”

“Damian, they were talking about the new Speedy, why was mentioning that he was thirteen important?”

“No reason. Jon thinks random facts are important.”

“This is about Jason.”

Damian grimaced and began to get ready for the morning. “Are you here for a reason?”

“Yeah. Why is this about Jason? You-“ Steph’s eyes widened. “You’ve told the team, right? You told them that Jason is Robin.”

“I didn’t have to.” Damian began brushing his teeth.

“Damian…”

“They may not like me, but they aren’t stupid. They heard that Robin was back out there and went to Jon and Colin, who caved because they’re spineless. The three brats haven’t spoken to me since, and I don’t blame them.”

“But they haven’t met.”

“Jason is not ready.”

“Jason is ready.”

“No, he isn’t.”

“You just want to pretend he isn’t because that means that you can still train him.” Steph snapped. “You want to keep him at home. You want to keep him safe. Well guess what Damian, you. Can’t. Save. Everyone.”

“But I can save him!”

Steph sighed, rubbing her eyes wearily. “No, Damian. You can’t, because he doesn’t need to be saved. Now go take a shower and I’ll tell Alfred to make you breakfast to go.”

“Don’t bother. It’s late enough that I have to meet Father for lunch soon anyway.”

Steph sighed and wheeled out of Damian’s room. Damian stripped before taking a shower. He probably dawdled a little in there but hey, he could speed to the appointment. After a blissfully hot shower came shaving, then after that came dressing. Damian dressed slowly, taking time to mull over what Stephanie had yelled at him. He’d avoided thinking about it in the shower so that he could have a peaceful half an hour but now it was all he could think about.  You can’t save everyone. Damian smoothed out his button-down shirt. But he could. He could save Jason. He could keep him safe. It was his responsibility. He doesn’t need to be saved. He might not need to be saved but maybe Damian needed to save him…

Damian groaned, now Stephanie had gotten into his head. Damian hated when she did that. He began knotting the blue tie around his neck. Why did he ever listen to her? Shit, he messed up the knot. Damian angrily undid what he had done and tried again when someone knocked on his door.

“Come in.”

“Need help?” Cassandra asked.

“No.” Damian lied. He was too distracted to tie his accessory correctly and Cassandra realized it. She walked over to her brother and took the cloth from his hands.

“Upset.”

“I know Stephanie is upset, I won’t apologize, I do not believe I did anything wrong.”

“You.”

“Oh.” Damian hated when she did that. “Yes, I suppose I am upset.”

“Why?”

“Jason…”

“It’s always about Jason.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, he’s okay.”

“No. You and Steph.”

“Oh. Okay as always I guess.”

“Hate when you fight.” Cassandra finished with the tie. She stood back admiring her work before giving a final approving nod.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Say sorry to Steph. Not me.”

“Fine.” But only for you.

“Meeting.” Cassandra reminded him. Damian nodded and he walked downstairs with her. On his way down he walked past Stephanie who was doing something that Damian didn’t want to care less about.

“I’m sorry. But I can’t let him go.” Damian told the blonde. Steph looked up and then looked at Cass, then back at Damian.

“Go see your father, Damian.” She told him. “And I accept your apology.”

“I only apologized to you for Cassandra!” Damian called as he walked towards the door.

“I know!” Steph responded.

“Goodbye Alfred.”

“Farewell, Master Damian. Will you be back before dinner?”

“Yes. I’m taking the black Jaguar.”

“Very well Master Damian.”

“So, we’re all in agreement?” Bruce Wayne asked as he took a sip from his glass of water. Lucius Fox munched on his dessert merrily while his daughter Tamara shifted through folders. Tamara had been invited because Lucius wanted his daughter to be able phase easily into her soon-to-be-new job doing whatever Lucius did for Bruce (even Damian wasn’t sure where Lucius’s job requirements ended) only for Damian in Bludhaven.

“Yes, sir.” Tamara decided. She finished up sorting the papers and neatly placed her used utensils on her used plate, discarded napkin with them.

Bruce Wayne clapped his hands together gaily. Despite Damian living with his father for more than half of his life he was still weirded out by his father using his Bruce Wayne persona. The happiness and the light tones… it was just wrong. “Good! We’re all settled, then. Lucius, Tamara, would you like a ride back to the office?” Bruce Wayne waved his hand in the air, signaling the waitress that they would like their check.

“Actually, I was hoping to speak to you Mister Wayne.” Tamara said. Bruce waved his hand in a ‘go on’ motion and gave his credit card the waitress tipping her fifty.

“Oh! I meant Damian, sir. Damian… Mister Wayne. And… privately.” Bruce raised an eyebrow and Lucius sent a quizzical look to his daughter.

Damian nodded and stood. “Of course, Miss Fox. Would you like to discuss this on the way to my car? I could drive you to the office afterwards.”

“Uh… sure.” Tamara said, as she swept up her papers. Damian held the door for her and the two of them left the café.

Tamara held her work to her chest. She wore a blazer and a pair of suit pants, dark heels clicking against the pavement. She was nice, and Damian liked her a lot. She was younger than him, and the way she seemed to be optimistic about her future… it reminded him too much of Timothy. They would have been friends if they had ever met. “What did you wish to talk about?” He asked her.

“Um, so we’re going to be working together in Bludhaven.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Very closely.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Yes… we are.”

“And, well, I don’t know much about you.”

Damian frowned. Was this supposed to be a problem? “I know about you.”

Tamara sighed. “Mister Wayne, Damian, I know that you have a very close circle of friends. I know that you have a very private life. But if I am going to work for you I need to trust you.”

“Why wouldn’t you trust me, Tamara?”

“Call me Tam. I don’t trust you because you don’t even pretend to pretend.”

“Huh?”

“I know Bruce Wayne, and my father trusts him. My father has been telling me work stories of his since I was little, I’ve known him for that long as well. Damian, I know that Bruce fakes it. I know that he isn’t as happy and as flirtatious as he pretends. I’m not stupid. But the difference between you and your father is that your father pretends, you don’t even try. So, I don’t trust you. I want to trust you, Damian. I really do.”

Damian judged Tamara. For the first time, he really paid attention. She was a tall woman, but not taller than him, definitely not taller than six feet, with the heels maybe five nine. She was dressed well but not to impress him, she wasn’t about that. She held her back straight, tall, she was confident. “What do you suggest? I assume you have an idea to… bond?”

“Dinner.” Tamara proposed.

Damian nodded his head through an alley. “This way.” He and Tamara began to walk down the alley when they heard the click of a gun. You have got to be kidding me… Damian rolled his eyes and turned around.

“I would put down the gun if I were you.” He told the mugger.

The gun was steady. So, he wasn’t afraid. Damian had a knife in his sleeve but getting closer to disarm him would be less suspicious. Tamara looked frightened. Okay, that was unexpected. He figured she would at least have an iron stomach with the way she spoke. “Yer that rich Wayne dude, right?” The finger around the trigger tightened. “Gimme yer wallet.”

“Really? Like I’ve never been held up before…”

“C’mon, Damian, just give him your wallet.” Tamara urged, a hint of tightness in her voice.

“Yeah, man. Listen to yer girl.”

“She is not my ‘girl’, and I will not give you my-“ Thwack! Damian was glad he was used to the unforeseen because someone hitting the mugger with a baton and disarming him in one motion was not anything he expected to happen. Tamara screaming in surprise. A man in a jacket, cargo pants, and a red motorcycle helmet disassembled the gun with military precision. He hit the mugger in the back of the knee with his baton and the mugger went down like a ton of bricks. The Red Hood whipped a zip tie out of his pants pocket and restrained his hands behind his back. Damian frowned, he was good. He had done this before. His proficiency dealing with the mugger… it was familiar somehow. Like he’d learned from a ninja or an assassin. Then a thought occurred to Damian… no. No.

But it fit, the reason the Red Hood made Damian and his father know he existed, the reason the Red Hood chose a name so personal to the Waynes, the reason the Red Hood was so good at fighting…

The Red Hood looked up at Tamara and Damian. He nodded to Tamara. “Miss Fox.” He glanced at the Wayne heir and stared at him unnervingly through the mask. “Damian.”

That settled it. He had been sent here by Damian’s grandfather, which meant that Damian had some family members to track down.

Damian had demanded to come with on patrol. He and his Father sat on the rooftop of some warehouse while Cassandra and Jason dealt with the thugs on the ground below them. The Waynes had muted their comms so that they could speak in peace, which surprised no one. They usually took times like these to talk, that is when they were talking. “You’re sure that he’s connected to Ra’s?” Bruce asked.

Damian nodded. “I’d recognize Grandfather’s fighting style anywhere. He was trained by him, and you know that if my Grandfather trains someone, they work for him as well. You haven’t had run ins with him yet?”

“Never. Not as a civilian, nor as the Batman.”

Damian frowned. “That doesn’t bode well, Father. Do you think he’s trying to bait me?”

Bruce shook his head as he watched Jason dodge gunfire before taking away the offending weapon and bashing the thug over the head with it. “If he were trying to bait you we’d know. But his connection to the League of Assassins is concerning.”

“I concur. Do you think we should inform the others? For protection’s sake?”

“Not yet. We don’t know enough.”

“Understood.”

There was a pause. “Nightwing?”

“Yes, Father?”

“Maybe have Maya look into it. Quietly.”

“Already done.”

Batman snorted. “Yeah, you’re definitely my kid.” They both clicked their comms off of mute.

There was a sharp crack and a yowl and both heroes glanced over at Jason, who stood with a seething look on his face that Damian only recognized too well. It had been his natural facial expression for his first four years as Robin. That didn’t look good. Cassandra had defeated her foes on the ground but Jason kicked his opponent over again, screaming words that were in no way proper. Batman and Nightwing were there at once. Damian picked up the child, who fought him kicking and screaming.

“Robin! Robin! Calm down!” Damian hissed in his ear. Jason stopped flailing but that cheerful child that had greeted Damian at the door the day before was gone.

Jason wiggled from Damian’s grip. “He deserved it, ‘Wing! You didn’t hear what he was saying! About Oracle! About Batgirl! He deserved every broken bone!” The young boy shouted.

“Robin.” That was Cass’s warning tone, but Jason ignored it.

“Don’t look at me like that ‘Wing! You would have done the same thing if you had been Robin!” Damian couldn’t argue with that, but Damian had done a lot of things while Robin that he would never repeat.

Batman stood from his assessment of the broken man on the ground. “He’s unconscious but he’ll be fine. What were you thinking?” Bruce growled.

“I was protecting Oracle’s honor! I was protecting your honor! Besides, a man like that doesn’t deserve to have a working hand.”

“That isn’t for you to decide.”

“You break people’s bones all the time!”

“Not maliciously!” Batman snapped. Jason looked affronted. “You’re grounded, Robin. No going out for a week.”

“But B-!”

“I said, you’re grounded. We do not kill, we do not maim.” Damian had heard this speech before. “And we do not let our feelings get in the way of our crime-fighting, is that understood?”

Jason huffed. “Yeah. You’ve made that really clear, you coward.” Then he turned on his heel and ran.

Bruce sighed and rubbed his face wearily. “Nightwing, could you…?”

“Go after him?” Damian finished when Bruce wouldn’t.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Damian shook his head as they heard Stephanie plain as day in their ears say: “Jeez, B, get over the emotional constipation and relate to someone for a change.” Which Bruce ignored.

“Fine.” Damian agreed before jogging off in the direction of Robin.

“D, you shouldn’t be doing this.”

Damian agreed with Stephanie, but he didn’t respond. Instead he followed the telltale sounds of Jason’s breathing through the comms and the yellow tail of his cape. Wait a second… Damian stopped jogging and listened. That… moron. That moron! Jason has muted his comms! Damian took out his tracker-receiver. Unbeknownst to almost anyone he knew, besides his father and probably Alfred, Damian had placed a tracker in the Robin suits. Just in case.

Damian found him on the roof of a condemned building not far from where the boy had first met Batman. At the time Damian would have found the story amusing, but he had been preoccupied by yelling at his father for allowing another innocent child to be put in harm’s way. Damian didn’t speak, just took the box of cigarettes from Jason’s hands and tossed them over the side of the building. Jason didn’t even resist, just took an angry drag on the one that burned away in his hands.

“Of course, he sent you.” Jason mumbled.

“Stop poisoning yourself.”

“Because smoking is the only health risk of mine.” Jason snorted. “Can’t even deal with someone angry at him, no wonder everyone stays away from Gotham.”

“That has less to do with his incompatibility with others and more to do with his overbearing nature.”

“Overbearing? Really? Wonder when I start to deserve ‘overbearing’.”

Damian frowned. “You know he cares, right?”

“Uh huh. Caring, that’s it.” Jason sighed. “It’s not that I’m ungrateful or anything. You’re all great and stuff,”

“No.” Damian said. “I know he is emotionally distant, but-”

“And don’t you say that this is about Tim.” Damian snapped his mouth closed immediately. “Look I get it. You’re all still sore about it, I understand that, I do. But with him it’s like no one will ever take Tim’s place and god forbid anyone tries to take up his mantle. To honor him.”

“That’s why you’re doing this? To honor Timothy?”

“It’s his anniversary around now. That’s why B’s extra cranky.” Jason mumbled, extinguishing his cigarette beneath his boot.

“Three days.”

Jason scowled. “Sometimes I wish he never died.”

“You aren’t the only one.”

“Sometimes I wish he never existed.”

He wasn’t the only one who had ever wished that either. Damian didn’t speak.

“Aren’t you supposed to calm me down and tell me everything will be alright? That Batman is right for grounding me, but I am right for defending the family’s honor?” The words were spiteful.

“No. I don’t do that.”

“Of course you don’t. No one in this fucking family does. ‘Cept Steph.”

“Is that what you’re angry about? That we don’t hold your hand?” Damian snapped.

“No! I’m angry because-…” Jason growled before trying again. “I’m angry because…”

“Can’t express your emotions?” Damian asked with a raised eyebrow. “Welcome to the family.”

Jason didn’t look at Damian.

“Uhh, guys? Sorry to interrupt but looks like there’s a crime in process, Red Hood is there.” Steph called from the other ends of the comms.

“Where?” Batman asked through the comms.

“March and Main.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Forget it, Robin and I’ll do it. We’re closer.” Damian said. Jason nodded in agreement and the two of them took off.

“Alright.” Bruce said softly through the comms. Then, as an afterthought: “Be careful.”

They arrived at the scene in the middle of a battle. The Red Hood was ducking under Harley Quinn’s mallet, her gang of cronies unconscious and restrained. Jason began to lunge into the fight but Damian stopped him. “Let’s see what the Red Hood’s got.”

“B told you about him, huh?” Jason asked, arms crossed as he watched Harley hit the Hood square on the mask, the man flying backward. Damian nodded.

Hood stood up and tensed, preparing to attack. “YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS HARLEY!” He shouted. That was… unexpected. Harley laughed and lunged. The Red Hood dodged, fists clenched. “Harley! Please! He’s using you!”

“My Puddin’ loves me more than anyone ever could!”

“You said you weren’t going to go back to him! You said-“

“And they call me crazy!” Harley laughed, heaving her mallet over her shoulder. “I’d never say that about my Puddin’!”

“Harley! Please! Think about Ivy!”

“Red’s fine with it! If she had a problem she’d tell me!” The psychotic doctor roared, mallet once again aimed at the Red Hood’s head. Red Hood ducked and slammed Harley against a building, hand around her throat. She struggled to raise her mallet and hit him again but he batted the weapon away simply.

“If you’re so close then tell me where he is! Tell me what he’s planning!” Huh. Why would Hood care what Joker was planning?

“I ain’t never gonna betray my Puddin’ for a shlump like you!”

“Harley…”

Jason leapt forward, dodging Damian’s attempts to keep him from the fight. “Let her go!” He shouted, his body seemed to shake with righteous fury. The Red Hood turned, looking first at Robin then at Nightwing. He dropped Harley and the woman scrambled for her weapon.

Red Hood stared at Damian for an uncomfortable amount of time, eyes behind the red mask locked. Harley grabbed hold of her weapon and let out a deathly war cry, but the Red Hood dropped a smoke bomb and Harley went right through it, confused by the fact that she hadn’t hit her target. By the time the smoke dissipated, the Red Hood was gone.

“Why did you do that?” Damian asked Jason.

Robin scowled. “He was going to kill her!”

“You don’t know that! We could have gotten more information about him!”

“You don’t know that!”

Damian groaned. “~tt~, Fine. Go arrest Harley.”

Jason continued to scowl at Nightwing but did what he was told. Once in custody Harley was a lot less talkative than she had been with the Red Hood, so there was no information to be gotten there. Not even by Batman. The four vigilantes left the GCPD and Jason and Cassandra were sent home for bed.

Bruce and Damian turned off their comms as they did one last sweep of Gotham. The older Wayne’s silence was more telling about his thoughts than him talking would have been. “You’re worried about Robin.” Damian stated.

Bruce didn’t look at his son. “He’s out of control.”

“No, he isn’t. Not yet.”

“Nightwing…”

“He isn’t. Isn’t that what people used to say about me? That I was out of control?”

“They were right.”

“But I still turned out fine. Father, do not take Robin away from him. Don’t. I do not think he could handle it.”

“Then what do you suggest? Because I’m at the end of my rope.”

Damian fiddled with his hands. “He’s lonely, Father.”

“I know.”

Damian couldn’t believe he was saying this. “I could always…”

“You could always…?”

“I hear there’s a new Speedy on the Superhero-ing block.”

Batman looked at him for a second before replying. “Oh.”

“They aren’t that far apart age-wise.” There was a silence. “Flamebird suggested it.”

“Have you taken him to the Tower yet?”

“No.”

Another pause. “Still not talking?”

“I don’t know how they’ll react.”

Batman nodded. “Not yet. We need to talk this over.”

“I knew you’d say that.”

“Brief me on Hood.”

“Trained. He’s looking for the Joker, trying to figure out what he’s planning.”

“Let me know how that goes.” Bruce said cynically.

“He was trying to talk Quinzel down. He mentioned Isley.”

“By name or-“

“As Ivy.”

Bruce nodded, a frown appearing. “What?” Damian asked. “What is it?”

“How long are you staying in Gotham?”

“Depends. Any Wayne Enterprises emergencies in the near future?”

“I’m sure Alfred can arrange something.”

“Father.” Ra’s looked up to his daughter walking in. She held a newspaper between her hands and she handed it to him. Ra’s Al Ghul read the Gazette’s latest headline.

“I see. Talia, gather the team. It’s time we brought the Little Detective home.”

#diana writes #diana writes batman #joke's on you #diana writes dc #damian wayne #robin!reversal #jason todd #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #bruce wayne #ra's al ghul