Summary: Zalthes has a chat with his bonded, while convalescing.
"Dearheart, what did you do this time?" Zalthes' beautiful, stunning, wonderful maiden asked, sounding equal parts fond and exasperated as she walked into the treatment room that he was currently sitting in.
He had an ice pack pressed to the back of his head, a split lip and a rapidly swelling left eye. Several of his fingers ached with the familiar pain of broken or sprained bones, and he had to breathe shallowly, lest his ribs punch him with additional pain that he did not want to deal with at the moment. The Apothecary who'd tended to his injuries had given him some of the good pain killers, so he was also feeling very floaty.
"Beloved! I am so glad to see you." He murmurs, smiling brightly, despite the fact that it pulled at the wounds on his lips. "Worry not, for I did win the altercation that I got into."
She sighed again, rubbing her face with one of her hands before asking "Love... Who did you fight and why?"
The young Ultramarine answered, squaring his shoulders and tilting his head up a little "I got into a fight with four space wolf blood claws. They were bullying one of my brothers, and trying to torment a baseline. I had to physically block the blow that one of the Blood Claws attempted to strike the baseline with, as while we astartes are quite sturdy... Most baselines... Aren't compared to us."
That blow could have sent the baseline flying across the room, into some of the delicate and possibly dangerous science equipment, or hit one of the metal tables, which would have absolutely caused them more damage. "My brother was dealing with two of the Blood Claws on his own and was giving as good as he was getting. I provided him additional back up, in order to help him protect a civilian from the idiocy of hot-headed Wolves."
"I see... So it was you two against four?" His maiden asked, moving closer and placing a gentle hand on one of his knees, a worried expression appearing on her face.
"It started out that way. Then one of the Blood Claws howled, and more similarly aged Space Wolves appeared out of nowhere. I will say that my fellow Ultramarine is very fast and was definitely taking them down. I was doing what I could in order to provide him back up and to aid in ensuring that the civilian was not injured by hot headed fools." Zalthes answers with a shrug. "I would absolutely jump into any fight that a brother is involved in, especially if he had no proper back up."
She sighs again, before going up on her tiptoes and kissing his cheek "I see. Thank you for telling me what happened. I am glad that you are willing to protect others. You... You may be a bit of an idiot, but you're my idiot."
Zalthes grins, kissing her back on one cheek with a pleased purr "Forever! I am yours as you are mine forever."
She kisses him again and murmurs "Should you be sitting up like this?"
"... I should be laying down a bit more, as a matter of fact. But I was having some difficulties breathing flat on my back, and I can't figure out which button causes the head of the bed to tilt upwards, and I would rather deal with additional pain, to the feeling of mild suffocation alongside the physical pain I am in." Zalthes answers with a slight shrug. Internally he regrets the motion, but he'd rather not worry his bonded more than he clearly already has.
"There is a call button, for you to ask for help, dear." His maiden points out "But... I did work as a caregiver for a while, if you'll let me see the remote, I should be able to help you work it out."
Zalthes shuffles a little "... In truth I probably would have figured it out on my own if not for... One small problem..."
"Which is?" She pressed.
"I. Uhm. Accidentally knocked the remote to the floor and have been trying to decide whether or not I should try to grab it. The wire to pull it up is also mostly on the ground, where I cannot reach it easily. And I have been scolded by the medical staff twice already for getting in and out of bed without permission nor oversight. I was trying to figure out if I wished to risk a third scolding, or to wait until someone came in to check up on me. I would rather not cause more trouble so soon." He answered, an apologetic note in his voice.
A small, fond smile appears on his beloved bonded's face and she kissed him very gently on the lips, careful to avoid the fresh wound splitting them. "I'll get if for you, my love. It's easy enough for me to do so. And I am glad to see you more or less intact. Do you have an idea as to when you will be released back into the wilds, as it were?"
"I wish I could tell you that my love, but in truth... I do not know. I think in part, it depends on how well corroborated the events of the fight are told by the others. I am sure that the Blood Claws will try to spin things to make it as though they were the ones who were least in the wrong... They already claim that I attacked them without reason - and that Oleandros did as well. Although I know for a fact that was not true."
"Did you have your armor on, when the fight happened?" His maiden asked.
Zalthes shook his head "No, I had been wearing my swim trunks, as I had come from a swimming session and heard a commotion going on in the laboratory area. From what I had heard from the rumor mill... And from my own observations, I was concerned that a certain small pack of Blood Claws was causing trouble again, and sure enough, my suspicions were proven correct."
"Did you see the start of the fight, or what led up to it?"
He shook his head "No, the Blood Claws were already fighting my brother and trying to attack the baseline that he was clearly trying to protect, so I waded into battle alongside of him, and tried to open a path for the mortal to flee." More had happened during that fight, revealing that Mx. Lullaby was one of the very few known mortal psykers, which they used while defending themself from fools. This was not the first time they had done this, if the rumors he had heard was true.
What bothered him most, apart from the blatant breaking of the most basic and deepest oath that an Astarte took - which was to protect and guard Humanity and all of humankind - was that the space wolves never seemed to be punished properly for their breaches in service. In conduct, and in discipline. It bothered him that they seemed to be able to run amok and do as they pleased with barely a slap on the wrist.
It made him want to know why they were given such a free hand by the officers at Stoneflame base.
... And to maybe sneak into their rooms while they slept in a pile and shave off their left eyebrows and clip one each of their ridiculous braids. If they insisted on playing stupid games, Zalthes wanted to demand that they gain they just deserts that they should receive for their stupidity. He was also going to report their misconduct to Commander Sicarius - who might have a better idea as to how to deal with these idiots.
He is, after all, commander of the Victrix Guard, and had been in frequent contact with The Primarch Reborn, and the highest ranking Ultramarine who Zalthes knew lived on Ancient Terra. Zalthes has full confidence that his older brother would be able to ascertain what in the actual fuck was going on, and that justice would be meted out properly.
"Zalthes? Earth to Zalthes! Did you fall asleep with your eyes open again?" His beloved called out, gently waving a hand in front of his face.
"Ah, my apologies, beloved. They have put me on some rather... Strong pain killers and my mind has wandered. It was not my intention to ignore you. What is it that you need?" Zalthes asked, smiling lovingly at her. She was so beautiful and graceful and patient.
She kisses him on the tip of his nose "I asked if you wanted the bed controller. I've got it right here." She shows it to him. "This button here raises the head of the bed, this one lowers it. This one raises the foot of the bed, and this one lowers it again." She pointed to each button as she spoke. "This is the call light button, and this one is the I am having an emergency button. Do you understand?"
"Yes, beloved. Thank you." Zalthes answers with a nod. He fumbles a little with the remote, waiting until the bed had whirred into partial elevation before allowing himself to relax into it. A tired sigh left him "I am glad to see you, beloved."
"And I'm glad to see you too. Sleep, love. I'll be here when you wake up." She promises, patting one of his hands gently.
He nods, regretting the motion and answers "Thank you, my love." He closes his eyes, allowing himself to drift off into sleep.
Idk if you're still active but can I request a teen!reader x venom where they get saved often enough from thieves that they start recognizing them, you can choose that they're Tony Stark's kid (I know a bit odd, but I'm a bit obsessed rn) or the reader is in their teenage angst years. You don't need to do this immediately
Hi there, still here! Hope you enjoy this one, actually was quite fun to write! Thank you for the ask and let me know what you think.
Unconventional Circumstances - Venom x Stark!reader
Do not repost or rewrite any of my work. Minors and ageless blogs get blocked.
Masterlist Asks
"Seriously Stark? I'm going to start thinking you want to be dismembered."
"Hi Dario." When you swallowed the gathering spit in your mouth the knife held to your neck pierced the thin skin and warmth trickled down and pooled in your collarbone. "Long time no see."
"Where's your black slimy friend? Finally get sick of you?"
"I'm hoping he's just late."
"Lucky me." Dario smiled, eyes drifting down to follow the blood staining your neck. "I could get a lot of money for the ransom of a Stark."
"Hey! Stark's kid was ours first." A shout from the end of the alley called out.
"Not anymore! Go back to the hole you crawled out of Fitch, I'm sure this one will be back tomorrow anyway." Dario turned back to look at you, keeping the cold steel close to your throat. "Maybe I'll let him have a couple of your fingers as a keepsake, hmm?"
"I don't think that'll be happening unfortunately, hate to burst your bubble."
"What makes you so sure?"
"Well my black slimy friend happens to have eaten your friends and is stood right behind you."
Knowing what was going to follow you quickly squinted your eyes closed and turned away as much as the knife allowed; although the squelching sounds made it impossible not to know that Venom had eaten the head from your attacker. As soon as the pressure from your throat disappeared you dared to reopen your eyes just in time to feel Venom's slippery tongue lave against the cut on your throat, licking away the blood that had dried there.
"Eww! Venom why did you do that?" You exclaimed, using the sleeve of your coat to wipe away the sticky residue.
"You were bleeding! I was only cleaning you up before notifying your father of your whereabouts and what you have been up to. Again."
You sighed, kicking the stones on the pavement beneath your feet. "Are you really going to tell him?"
"That this is your fifth time in as many days almost being made into human sushi? Yes little one, he must know."
You shook your head. "He won't care."
"Walk with me."
"I don't think that's a good idea-Venom!"
With an inhuman jump Venom had wrapped an inky tendril around you and lifted you to a rooftop, lowering you gently to your feet.
"You think a father wouldn't care that his only daughter is trying to get herself kidnapped?"
"I'm not trying to get myself kidnapped."
"Then what is the purpose of going into alleyways where you know bad guys are waiting? They know you by name, little one, and I can't stand to watch you get hurt."
"I know you can't, dad's more concerned with his protégé-"
"The spider boy." Venom said with disdain.
"Yes, 'the spider boy', so the only time I get to have a conversation with anyone who actually sees me is when I get to see you."
"Well why didn't you say so?"
"What?" You turned to face Venom as he sent out another black tendril but started transferring into you instead of letting go, the body he was occupying falling gracelessly to the ground.
"Now we can be together when you run into trouble and I get reliable meals every night." His voice echoed through your head.
"Sounds like a plan." You shrugged whispering to yourself, though you knew Venom heard you when he wrapped a little part of himself around your wrist like a bracelet.
"What, exactly, sounds like a plan?"
"Dad!"
You whirled round to find the very unimpressed face of one Tony Stark staring back at you, head tilted.
"Mind explaining what escapade you've been up to tonight? I swear one day you're going to give your mother a heart attack." He stepped forward as he spoke, closing the distance between you both.
"I just needed to clear my head."
"In one of the most dangerous parts of the city?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, I was perfectly safe."
A yell travelled up through the night sky from below, "Hey Stark, when I get my hands on your kid they're dead! The psycho killed my whole crew!"
Tony looked back at you with raised eyebrows from where he had turned to face the criminal down below. "The work of our slimy little friend was it?"
"Little?" Venom squawked indignantly in your head.
"Dad he's well over seven feet tall and can throw a car through a building, I really don't think small is the adjective you should be using."
"Thank you very much." He huffed.
"Hmm, so he's got a mean swing for an alien, that doesn't mean much nowadays."
As Tony turned to go back down the stairs on the side of the building Venom lashed out a tentacle and whipped him across the back of the head, quickly retracting it when he whipped round to accuse you.
"Did you just?"
"Hmm?" You questioned innocently, hearing Venom chortling was not helping you to keep a straight face.
"Something hit me, on the head."
"Deny, little one, deny."
"I didn't see anything." You shrugged. Even though he looked unconvinced, Tony turned around and kept walking anyway.
"We must eat the spider boy."
"No Venom."
"I have a sudden craving for two legged arthropods with a name that rhymes with 'heater larker'."
"I said no, we can come back tomorrow and see who's around. I'm pretty sure on Tuesdays Knox goes round to check on his businesses, he knows me from a mile away."
"Knots it is."
"No, Knox. He's a person, we've met a few times. Accidently."
"Come on kid, I wanna beat the rush." Tony ushered you down the stairs, interrupting your silent conversation with Venom.
"What rush is there at 10 o'clock at night?"
"The same kind that gave you that cut on your neck I imagine, now lets go."
"Does this 'Knox' know you by name?"
"Oh I should think so."
"Perhaps we had get better acquainted then, the sooner the better."
Even though Tony admittedly wasn't happy to be sharing a house with a parasite, he had to admit it made his life easier when the crime rate dropped by 60% because all the criminals were being eaten for an evening snack. He figured a few slaps to the back of the head were worth seeing the new happiness in his kid that he hadn't seen for a long time, even if Peter refused to come over now from the time Slinky almost bit his head off when he wasn't looking.
Whatever the reprimand was from you, it was enough to dissuade him from trying again. If Tony had to guess, some serious grovelling had been involved based on the fact that the next day two boxes filled with chocolate had been delivered along with some kind of apology note. The seemingly permanent black bracelet was back on your wrist as well; order had been restored.
Momentarily anyway. Tony heard news of a new gang in the area, and if the energy coming off you at the dinner table was anything to go by, they wouldn't be sticking around long enough to cause Tony any problems anyway.
"Over the Edge" - Warriors Concept Album Fanfic (part 1/3)
Rembrandt's recovery after a fight gone wrong is going slower than she likes. While she struggles to get back to her old self, the world marches on past her.
This is a continuation work to my other fic titled "Don't Let Anything Happen To Her." Read that if you haven't yet or this one will not make any sense. Enjoy!
--------
Cochise lifted Rembrandt’s arm up from her side. “Does this hurt?”
“No,” Rembrandt mumbled.
She lifted her arm higher until it was level with her shoulder. “How about this?”
“That hurts.”
“Alright.” Cochise dropped her arm and leaned back where she sat on the edge of the coffee table. “Have you been wearing the knee brace I gave you?”
“Yes, for the tenth time, I’ve been wearing the brace.”
Rembrandt had, in fact, not been wearing the brace.
It had been three weeks since she’d been thrown off a fire escape on a tagging mission with Mercy. Well, three weeks since she woke up after it. She barely remembered that night. It came to her in brief flashes and fleeting nightmares she couldn’t decipher. She remembered running, remembered Mercy’s hand in hers, the weightlessness as she went over the edge. She remembered the sky above her when she hit the ground. Everything after was fuzzy, blurred by pain and terror, coming in and out with glimpses of faces and muffled voices in between all the agony.
Cochise let her take off the sling after week two of being tied up in it. The knee brace had to stay on longer. She was allowed to leave it off at home but “not while you’re out walking around,” as if Rembrandt had been able to go anywhere but between apartments since that night. She hated the stupid thing. It was clunky and annoying and the way her pant leg bunched up around it irritated her. But no matter how many times she asked if she could just ice her knee and take it easy, Cochise insisted, and she had Cleon and Ajax backing her up so Rembrandt had no choice but to follow orders.
Maybe if it helped with the pain, she could get over it, but it didn’t. Nothing did. It didn’t matter how many painkillers she popped or how drunk she got. The dull, pulsing ache in her leg and shoulder was ever present, distracting her through the day and keeping her up at night. Most of the bruises had faded to ugly yellowish green blotches by then, but even they still hurt if she twisted wrong or bumped into something.
The scars were the worst part. The other Warriors let her get drunk when Cochise removed her stitches, not because it necessarily hurt, but because of how fucking uncomfortable it was. Rembrandt held Ajax’s hand in a death grip and screwed her eyes shut as she felt the pull of every single thread exiting her skin. The scar on her head she could mostly forget about, hiding it beneath her bangs and reminding herself to not touch it. The scars on her torso were a different story.
She caught sight of them after getting out of the shower one day. Twisting in front of the mirror, she traced the long, jagged, angry red strip that carved its way from her hip bone to the bottom of her ribcage. Her back looked like someone had wildly taken a knife to it, crisscrossed with a patchwork of deep slashes and puncture wounds that she’d just barely been allowed to keep uncovered.
She remembered the intense, stabbing pain when she hit the ground. She remembered something sharp dug into her flesh and the warmth of her blood soaking her shirt. The night sky. Mercy’s voice. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t-!
Ajax had found her with her arms braced against the edge of the sink, head hanging, face blank but with tears pouring from her eyes. She wrapped her in a towel and just held her for a long time before she was lucid enough to get dressed. She’d been exclusively wearing flannels and jerseys stolen from Ajax, anything loose that buttoned or zipped because she couldn’t lift her stupid fucking arm high enough to put a shirt over her head.
Back in present day, Cochise handed Rembrandt a book titled “An Introduction to Physical Therapy.”
“I don’t know much about it but this has good advice,” she said. “I marked the parts that talk about shoulder dislocations and knee sprains and highlighted the exercises I want you to do. You might need someone to help you with some of the stretches, so have Ajax do them with you. Okay?”
“Okay,” Rembrandt said quietly. “I’ll tell her.”
“How are you feeling overall?”
“Shitty.”
“Shitty how?”
“Shitty like I got thrown off a fire escape and landed on broken glass. Everything still hurts.”
“Is there a new type of pain or it just hasn’t gotten better yet?”
“It’s not any better. The only thing better is I can finally talk without almost passing out because my ribs hurt so bad.”
“Well, you know, that means you didn’t puncture a lung so that’s good.” Cochise moved to sit beside her on the couch and squeezed her hand. “It sucks and I’m sorry to tell you, but it’s going to hurt for a while. I’m not being dramatic when I say it’s a miracle you didn’t break your neck. This was honestly the best outcome we coulda hoped for.”
“Best outcome would’ve been not getting thrown off a building,” Rembrandt scoffed.
“You know what I mean. Just keep using the brace, take ibuprofen, and do the physical therapy and it’ll get better. Promise.”
The front door opened. In walked Ajax and Cleon, whispering between themselves. Their conversation cut as they crossed the threshold so Rembrandt couldn’t discern the topic, but Cleon’s eye twitched with severe irritation and Ajax wore a scrunched up expression that Rembrandt knew was her “I’m pissed but can’t cuss out my leader” face. Rembrandt honestly did not want to know what the issue was now.
Ajax sat beside Rembrandt opposite Cochise and kissed her temple before sinking back into the couch, sulking with her hands in her pockets. Cleon sat in the armchair across from the three of them wearing a similarly upset expression. Rembrandt looked between them as cold anxiety blossomed in her chest.
“Rembrandt,” Cleon said after a moment, “I’m sending you on a tagging mission tomorrow night.”
“What?” said Cochise. “She can’t-”
Cleon raised a hand. Cochise silenced herself so sharply that Rembrandt was acutely reminded of just how long Cochise had been under their leader’s command. “Those rich punks from Seagate have apparently forgotten what the word ‘territory’ means,” Cleon continued. “I sent some of the new recruits to pinpoint the blocks they’re encroaching on. I want to double the tags through there to remind them to stay behind their gate.”
“Okay,” Rembrandt said slowly. “I can find a way to get up somewhere.”
“You’re not climbing anywhere.”
“You want me to keep my tags low?”
“You’re not tagging. You’re supervising.”
“What?!”
Rembrandt jumped to her feet, only to immediately drop back to the couch as white hot pain shot through her leg. It was not the first time she’d done that. Any explosive movement in her knee landed her right on her ass. That meant no climbing, no running, no doing fucking anything that made her a good tagger and a useful member of the Warriors.
Cleon pointed at her leg. “That’s exactly why. Business has to continue but I’m not going to allow you to make yourself worse because I let you do something you weren’t ready for.”
“But I am ready.”
“Physically ready. Which you obviously are not.”
“I can-”
“Put your arm above your head.”
That was mean. Cleon knew she couldn’t, which was exactly the point. Rembrandt turned to Ajax, looking for a bit of support, but she didn’t find it. Ajax just bounced her leg impatiently and kept her eyes on the floor.
Rembrandt looked at Cleon. “You’re sending me, your tagger, on a tagging mission, but you won’t let me tag?”
“It’s just for now.”
“How long is ‘for now?’”
“Until you’re better.”
“Who’s gonna tag? Ajax?”
“You don’t have to say it like that,” Ajax said defensively.
“Mercy,” said Cleon.
Rembrandt’s throat tightened. She held no ill will towards Mercy. Truly, she didn’t. Not one bit. Mercy was the only reason she got out alive that night. But… But Rembrandt was the tagger. Rembrandt had been the tagger from day one and now Cleon was sending their newest recruit to take over her job because - what? She wasn’t as fast as she used to be? She couldn’t reach far enough? She could tag just fine! Why was Mercy doing her job for her!
Out of the corner of her eye, Rembrandt watched Ajax sink further into the couch. No way in hell Ajax had agreed to this. No one trusted her to be in the same room as Mercy without Swan and at least Cowgirl there with them.
“Swan and Ajax will be with you two,” Cleon went on as if she could read Rembrandt’s mind. “I don’t want a repeat of what happened. Honestly, I’d come with, but Masai and I are still figuring out exactly how to handle the Princes and neither of us can really afford to be away from the phone at the moment.”
Rembrandt bristled at the name of the gang who attacked them. She saw a flash of purple and a poorly embroidered crown. Rough hands grabbing her collar. The garish jacket rapidly fading from view as she plummeted-
“Rembrandt!”
Ajax was shaking her, hand tight around her wrist. She blinked back into her body. Lifting a hand to her face, she found her cheek wet with tears. She looked up to see everyone staring at her, leaning in where they sat with expressions of confused worry. The only one who didn’t look completely weirded out was Ajax.
Ajax knew exactly what it was, but Rembrandt had made her promise not to tell. She didn’t need anyone thinking she was more fragile than they already did.
“Rem, honey, don’t be upset,” said Cleon gently. “It’s just for now. Once you’re better, it’ll go back to normal.”
“No, it’s… it’s not that. I’m fine.” Rembrandt shook her head to clear it. “Does Mercy know she’s doing this?”
“Yeah, I told her.”
“And Swan?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Okay, yeah, fine. Whatever. I’ll teach her the tag.”
On the walk back to their apartment, Rembrandt refused to look at Ajax. She still held onto her arm but only because she kept tripping from the stupid brace not letting her fully bend her knee. Ajax kept glancing down at her, catching her when she stumbled, being there for her to lean on like always but waiting for her to start any conversation. Rembrandt hated it. She didn’t like starting conversations. Ajax was the one who talked and Rembrandt chimed in or played off of her, not the other way around.
Rembrandt didn’t speak until they were in the apartment and getting ready for bed. “I can’t believe you fucking agreed to this,” she snapped as she struggled to pull on a tank top.
“I didn’t,” Ajax said from her spot on the bed. She looked up from the physical therapy book she held in her lap. “Do you want help?”
“No. I got it. I’m fine.”
“Alright. Whatever you say.”
“You’re seriously okay with Mercy taking over my tagging work?”
“I wanted to go kick the shit out of those Seagate bitches so bad they’d never go past their gates again. Cleon insisted we tag to send our message instead. If I had it my way, you wouldn’t be doing this at all. You think I want to be out with Swan and Mercy?”
“You aren’t going to start a fight with them, are you?”
“No, I’m not going to start a fight! I’m fine being around them,” Ajax protested. Rembrandt shot her a look over her shoulder. “I’m mostly fine being around them. I don’t want to punch either of them in the face, is that good enough?”
“Yeah, that’s good enough.” Rembrandt sat beside Ajax on the bed, leaning her head on her shoulder. Ajax put her arms around her and held her close. “I could tag just fine if she would let me.”
“You’re recovering. Just let yourself get better.”
“I am better.”
Ajax sighed. She didn’t try to argue. Planting a quick kiss on Rembrandt’s cheek, she got up to turn off the lights before laying down beside her and pulling the covers over them both. Rembrandt laid on her side, keeping pressure off her hurt shoulder like Cochise said. She couldn’t bear to sleep on her back. Every time she tried, the ceiling morphed into the night sky and she felt the stabbing pain through every single scar. Ajax settled in behind her, curling around her and looping an arm around her waist. She rested her forehead against the top of Rembrandt’s spine.
“I wish you would just let yourself rest,” she whispered, her breath warm across the back of Rembrandt’s neck.
“I hate this feeling,” Rembrandt muttered. “I can’t do shit.”
“You’ll get better soon.”
“You’ve been saying that for weeks.”
Ajax just held her tighter.
The next morning, Rembrandt stood with Mercy in the alley next to Cleon’s building. She laid out a couple sheets of cardboard pulled from the recycling and handed Mercy a paint can and a mask.
Mercy rarely looked at her anymore. Not fully. She would only give quick glances here and there, trying to hide the fact that they were aimed at her knee or her shoulder or the scar on her forehead when the wind blew her bangs out of place. Rembrandt knew she still blamed herself for what happened. She wore the guilt splattered across her face like blood.
After they talked the day Rembrandt woke up, she thought they were cool. She thought Mercy was okay. But during that first week, when Cleon insisted Rembrandt stay at her apartment to keep an eye on her, she would walk by their bedroom late at night and hear Mercy crying.
Grabbing her own paint can, Rembrandt sprayed a small version of the Warriors tag in the corner of a sheet of cardboard. “Copy that,” she said. Mercy did. Well, she tried. “No, move with your whole arm. Don’t flick your wrist like that.”
“I’ve seen you do that,” Mercy said, frowning.
“When I’m painting. You need strong, clean lines when you’re tagging.”
“I thought tagging was painting.”
“No, it’s-” Rembrandt took a deep breath and shifted her weight off her bad leg. “They’re different. Give me the can, let me show you again.”
She showed Mercy the tag again. She made Mercy copy the tag again. And again. And again. And again until she truthfully did have it down to an acceptable degree, but Rembrandt couldn’t look at any tag that wasn’t her own without finding fault in it. She could see Mercy growing more and more self-conscious every time she made her repeat the tag. Eventually she came around and took pity on the girl because she could admit she was being mean at that point, but in her defense, this was her job. Her tag that she designed. And now Cleon wanted her to-!
No. No. This was not Mercy’s fault. She would not be mad at the girl who got her out of that night alive because Cleon was keeping her benched.
While Mercy threw out the painted cardboard, Rembrandt sat on a busted milk crate to smoke. Mercy leaned against the wall beside her. She wordlessly passed her a cigarette.
“Hey,” Mercy said after a moment, “I’m sorry. I know you’re not happy about this.”
“I’m fine,” Rembrandt said curtly. “I get why Cleon wants you to do it. She’s still figuring out exactly where you fit. She does it with everyone.”
“I thought Ajax recruited you specifically to be a tagger?”
Rembrandt gritted her teeth and stubbed out her cigarette. “She did.”
Rembrandt dreaded going out that night. She and Ajax met Swan and Mercy outside their apartment. Mercy wore her new vest that Cleon had finally finished making for her. Rembrandt had the very beginning of a new vest, only a few spikes and her tag across the back, missing all the scuffs and charms and paint stains that she’d gained over the years. The fall had destroyed her old one to the point where it was completely unwearable.
Ajax and Mercy stood far away from each other, neither of them quite over what happened yet, but Mercy could finally look at Ajax again and Ajax wasn’t trying to beat the hell out of Mercy anymore. Swan pulled Rembrandt into a gentle, lingering hug. Rembrandt buried her face against Swan’s chest.
“How are you feeling?” Swan asked.
“I’m fine,” said Rembrandt, which seemed to be the only answer she had for that question anymore. “Let’s do this.”
Ajax and Rembrandt walked behind Swan and Mercy. Rembrandt didn’t want them to see her stumbling, didn’t want them to see how she held onto Ajax just to keep herself upright. It was a long walk to the edge of Coney Island. When they reached the building Cleon wanted double-tagged, the Warriors stood in a line beneath the fire escape, looking up over the brick face. Rembrandt couldn’t look for long; she just kept seeing herself hanging over the edge of the railing. Ajax discreetly took her hand.
“Alright,” Rembrandt said, looking over at Mercy. “Go to the top of the fire escape to the ladder that goes to the roof. Lean out as far as you can and spray the tag.”
“How far do you go?” Mercy asked.
“Mercy, I love you,” Swan said under her breath, “but you can’t go as far as Rem can.”
Of course, she couldn’t! No one could! So why wasn’t Rembrandt doing it!
Instead of screaming that to the sky, Rembrandt said, “Just reach as far as you can.”
Ajax had a few inches of height on Swan and just a little more raw muscle, so she had to boost Mercy up to the ladder of the fire escape. Rembrandt thought of her first mission years and years ago, how Ajax’s strong hands felt on her waist as she lifted her, and for some reason the sight of Ajax helping Mercy do her job sent a fiery bloom of jealousy ripping through her chest. Pursing her lips, she put her hood up and glared at the sidewalk.
Swan put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not forever,” she mumbled.
Rembrandt glanced up at Mercy climbing the fire escape. “I know.” She raised her voice. “Mercy! Tag it there!”
She watched Mercy reach out with the can and completely miss the wall. She held the can wrong, the nozzle outwards, and ended up spraying her hand and the top of a window. Rembrandt bit back a growl of frustration as Mercy fumbled the can and nearly dropped it. She recovered well enough and managed to correctly spray the tag to where Rembrandt could admit it looked official.
Mercy was all smiles when she came down. Rembrandt plastered a smile of her own across her face, praying it didn’t look too forced. She was proud of Mercy - really, she was - but this whole experience left such a bitter taste in her mouth that she couldn’t think of much else.
Mercy ran right up to her. “Good, right?” she asked. “That works?”
“Yeah,” said Rembrandt. “You did great. Ready for the next one?”
“Yeah! Let’s go!”
Swan smiled as she coaxed Mercy down the street towards the next building. “Don’t drop the spray paint this time.”
Rembrandt couldn’t hear Mercy’s indignant comeback over the ringing in her ears. The world rocked.
The night sky. The taste of blood. Stabbing pain in her side-
tws: mentioned v10lence, curse words, mentioned accidental drüg usage, bl00d, implied nüdity, implied minor character dë4ths, mentioned g0re.
ship: dreamberry.
(the tws are a bit violent but the story is not as bad as the tws. stay safe either way 💓)
~
“Dream.”
Swap watched Dream dip his pen into the ink case, cling it around in the glass and pull it back as the pitch black ink dripped on the surface of the wooden desk, and then onto the document. Dream, furiously, scribbled something on the paper; the thick liquid messing the original paper as it wetted it.
“Dream.” Swap called out again, his hoarse voice cracking as he talked. As he got no response, he budged towards Ink—yanking his own spear from his hands as Ink flinched back. His right hand fixed its grip on his spear as it nearly slipped through his bloody fingers, and Swap harshly banged the staff on the marble floor.
Dream flinched at the loud noise, his head perking up from the desk. And Swap saw the terror in his eye; absolutely stunned by the mix of green leaking from Swap’s mouth and nose as more dark green stained his clothes, black and red garnishing all over his face and well, solidified hair.
He bolted up from his place, an ear-killing screech rising from the chair as it bulged back.
“Swap? What—What in the stars?” Dream tried to get rid of his coat as he pulled it off of his backside, hurriedly scooting away from the desk.
“What in the stars? Are you fucking kidding me?” Swap left his spear down on the floor as the metal part rattled around with a loud clank and aggressively shook his hand in the air, his blood splattering onto the ground.
His orbs followed Dream as he creeped up to him, Dream’s face turning pale.
“What—What happened?” Dream’s eyes ran up to meet with Swap’s, Swap’s eyes boring back into Dream’s.
“My universe is gone, is what happened,” Swap licked his lips, his spit burning the busted wounds as his face scrunched sourly. Swap huffed out of his clogged nose, the flowing blood spilling out as it dripped onto his armor from his chin.
Dream took a full glance at Swap before turning to Ink — then to Swap again. His eyes narrowed, “Are you… influenced?”
“—He got shot by a bear tranquilizer,” Ink blurted out as Swap just started talking, earning a half assed glare from him. Ink’s voice lowered as if Swap wouldn’t acknowledge him when he talked, “…Murder got him from his butt.”
“That fucking bastard. Shot me from my butt? How dare he—“ Swap’s passive-aggressive muttering faded into something like a shrill whisper and his eyes blinked, not syncing. He felt himself wobble on his feet—almost as if he was swaying in the bare air — wind swinging him around, and he would have most probably crashed on the floor if it wasn’t from Dream.
“Alright. Let’s get you bandaged up. You too, Ink.” Dream lifted Swap onto his chest as he got him in a bridal position in his arms, carrying him out of his office.
Swap could barely make out what Dream and Ink spoke about, his ears receiving the soft whispers only as faint, passing sounds. His head pulsed with every passing moment, his eyes fading in and out of focus. He was drifting in and out of consciousness.
Suddenly, after a good while of just black, a burst of cold water hit his body, jolting him fully back to consciousness. The sudden temperature change caused him to gasp — his body coming back to its senses.
Swap shivered, teeth clattering as he and Dream made eye contact.
“I need you to bear with me until I get you clean,” Dream’s eyes darted back to the faucet, turning the switch to hot.
Right. Swap’s focus shifted on the tub, and he was literally in his own blood in it. Not only that but his body was covered in grime, sweat and dirt. Water did little to help in this situation, only causing him to groan every time it burnt his injured skin.
He could only imagine what Dream was obligated to see—and feel, since he was going to bathe him, sticky and green blood — dotted with pieces of dirt.
The whole scene was truly disgusting.
“It’s fine,” Dream said, his voice soft. He reached out for what seemed like a bottle of shampoo, getting a bit of it into his left palm as he placed the bottle down somewhere on the ground — cupping both of his hands until the shampoo separated equally.
“Alright,” Dream got closer and Swap noticed that he had got rid of all of his fancy clothes — just in his black bodysuit, “I am going to wash your head. Do you have any wounds there?”
Swap sighed, “No.”
And Dream’s tender hands started stroking his hair, rubbing and massaging his scalp. Swap felt his rock solid hair soften under his palms, and the shampoo started to foam up. Swap huffed as his pounding head relaxed when Dream rubbed his temples, his body unclenching from the firm grip.
Dream took the header, gently rinsing Swap’s hair as the blood and the foam ran down from his shoulders and down to his body. Swap groaned as the shampoo stung his wounds — and suddenly realized—oh Gods, he was naked?
A weird sense of panic took him over, but was immediately calmed down by Dream’s thumb rubbing over to his shoulder.
Dream said nothing, but Swap could feel that he was also low key embarrassed.
Next up was his body. Every time Dream tried to softly clean his wounds, Swap hissed painfully — his nails digging into his own laps.
Dream basically did what he could do as Swap kept jerking away, at least got to clean the dirt off.
Then, warm water poured down from his hair again, the dirt getting off him and down into the drain hole.
After they were done, Dream took a towel from the side, softly pressing it against his hair as he drained it. Then, he lowered it down to his body, wrapping him with it. Swap’s mind filled with the scent of Dream, and wondered if it was Dream’s towel or if he was in Dream’s chambers.
Dream gently brushed Swap’s bangs out of his eyes, and then cupped his cheeks, taking a look at his lips, “…Who busted your lips? They look—uh, fine, but—“
“—Don’t lie, Mr. Smiles and Rainbows,” Swap flinched when Dream’s thumb stroked his bottom lip, “I know that they look bad as shit.”
They shared some glances, Dream’s worried and Swap’s a bit frustrated, and Swap decided to speak up, “…Killer. He punched me because I stabbed Murder.”
“You stabbed Murder?” Dream breathlessly let out, his teeth baring up, “You stabbed Murder.”
“I am not a fragile little Nymph. I don’t play ‘pretty’ and ‘beautiful’ when someone fucks up my territory to the ground,” Swap scoffed, a pastel colored blood ran down from one of his nostrils, and he quickly sniffed it back.
“…About your universe,” Dream’s palms backed up from Swap’s face and to the tub’s edge, fingers pattering in the edge one by one as he opened his mouth to talk—getting cut off by Swap.
“—Other than Papyrus — who literally got his arm torn out, everyone is pretty much dead.”
Swap couldn’t help but gaze up at the white ceiling, his fingers slowly tracing the edge of the tub as he finally felt as if the tranquilizer had worn off, and actually struggled to take in the extent of the damage.
Alphys, Asgore, Undyne were gone. Not only them, everyone was gone.
As his breaths mingled in the warm air, his throat hurt. Swap kept his eyes rested on the ceiling, his mind still trying to process what had happened—the deaths of everybody he knew and cared about.
“…Let’s bandage you up, alright? We can talk about this later.”
“…Okay.”
~
Swap/Blue Sans belongs to the AU Community
Dream Sans belongs to @jokublog
Ink Sans belongs to @comyet
Murder/Dust Sans belongs to @ask-dusttale
Killer Sans belongs to @rahafwabas
Actverse belongs to me
~
hoped you liked it!! dreamberry are my babies 😭😭🥺🥺
Ooo I’ve had this idea for a while: Phillip Graves x GN!Reader where the reader is a member of Shadow Company and they’re like his bodyguard n shit and the reader save Graves from some sort of danger on a mission and they ✨fall in love✨
this is a really good idea, i hope i can do you some justice for it! thanks so much for requesting anon :,) i hope you had a lovely holidays and re raring to go into the new year soon! also heads up for spoilers right here before the post! also wow this one is kind of weird i don’t know why i went this route for it
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Graves x GN!Reader: The Snake’s Guard Dog
Trigger Warnings: angst, spoilers for the CoD:MW2 reboot, slight angst, assassination attempts, pining, slight implication of Stockholm’s Syndrome, gunshot wounds, obsessive affections
Phillip Graves; a man as deadly as he was charming. With a gruff yet alluring southern drawl to his voice, he was able to convince many that he had their best interests in mind despite him having the capacity of having any single particle of a person be completely wiped from existence. But in being his bodyguard, practically his right hand man, you’ve seen how easy it was to get under his skin and recklessly utilize that bite of. However, it wasn’t as good as yours. The best of the best always needed someone better, and that someone just so happened to be you. Despite having a rough childhood and practically making a living on the streets, you’ve seen the worst of the worst and it’s shaped the intense and deadly training you went through. Hell, you’ve even committed the worst of the worst just to be able to survive, as much as it hurt you. But those feelings meant nothing, the only feeling you ever needed was the desire to protect and ultimately survive.
You were seen as nothing but a loyal dog.
At the moment, your mission with Phillip was to secure intel on Ghorbani’s next location by entering an AQ convoy and stealing documents. With cover provided by stealth operators in your beloved PMC, Shadow Company, it was going to be quick and easy—or rather, should have been. After piecing some things together, you figured out that there were AQ snipers providing overwatch and they were silently picking off your cover. Eventually, that laser sight hits Phillip’ forehead as he’s looking down at the intel he’s got in front of him. “Sir, get down!” you exclaim as you tackle him. A shot fires through the window and right into your left shoulder, causing you to pull Phillip right over you due to the force.
Crying out as the entirety of his weight crushes your freshly injured shoulder, you let go of him so he can scramble off you. For a moment, the two of you just stare into each other’s eyes before Phillip realizes the gravity of the situation. “Shit!” he exclaims, carefully turning you on your side while prone. He checks the rest of your body to see if there was anything else wrong, and once he got to your ankle and heard you practically growl in pain, Phillip knew it was time to get the fuck out of there. Gathering what he could, he clutched it tight before looking around the room to figure something out. “Everyone, we’re going loud! Get rid of those damn snipers! I’m gonna need a few of you to come rendezvous with Executioner and I to help get us out of here!” Phillip yelled into the comms. “Sir…we can leave through the back door…I have two smoke grenades…” you say through gritted teeth. “Toss it now then cause we’re about to take more fire than that shot you just took for me!”
Nodding, you grab the grenade from your belt and pull the pin. Smoke immediately fills the room and you struggle to stand, slightly falling over upon standing on your shattered ankle. Phillip grips your safe hand tightly, helping support you this way to get the hell out of your now compromised position. You were tempted to just tell him to leave you, as you were losing a hell of a lot of blood, but you had a feeling Phillip wasn’t gonna take any of that lip and save your life. “Phillip…fuck…” you groan with a dry and gruff voice. “I know baby, I’m getting us the fuck out of here. Don’t you worry.” Phillip mumbled. For whatever reason in your painfully cold heart, a small sensation of warmth fills you when you hear yourself addressed as such a word by your superior.
Phillip said that all the time, but why was it so different this time?
Eventually, the both of you make it to safety and the area is effectively clear at the cost of some men who were now either severely injured or actually dead; yourself included. “Get them some damn help, now! I don’t need my right hand dying on me!” Phillip yelled. You were in and out of consciousness at this point, so you made a last ditch effort to grab at him and tell him something. “See me eventually…” you mumble. “You know I will. Once I get this report to Shepherd, I’ll go and see you.” Phillip’ promised. “Good…” you say. The blood loss eventually takes hold and causes a fun little side effect called “passing out”. Limbs now completely limp upon losing consciousness, you let go of your vice grip on Phillip’ arm. He gently holds your hand on his own accord for a moment before bringing it up to his lips to kiss your fingertips, knuckles, and the back of your hand. “Get well soon…”
An entire day would come and go where you’d remain unconscious, waking up in the middle of the afternoon another day later. “Mornin’ sunshine, glad to see you waking up…” you hear a familiar voice mumble. “That you sir..?” you ask hoarsely. “The one and only. How you feeling? Need anything? Medicine, water, food—just tell me and I’ll have them bring it to you right away.” Phillip said. “Got any morphine on you, sir..?” you ask, trying to sit yourself up only to remember your fucked up shoulder holding you back. Phillip is quick to carefully help you sit up however, hushing you softly upon hearing you wince. “I’ll be back with some morphine. Don’t you move a muscle darlin’.” he said. Phillip stood up and began to walk away to get a nurse, only to stop and turn around to look at you, “How bout you start callin’ me Phillip from now on? No need to call me sir so often.” he suggested. Feeling yourself get flustered again upon hearing you’re finally on a first name basis, you just give him a silent nod before turning away out of embarrassment.
Phillip smiles and leaves the room to go get you a nurse that can give you the proper dose of morphine you need, and you just sit there by yourself and begin contemplating why you’re feeling such a strange emotion. Every time Phillip spoke to you, it’s like your heart was nervously breaking down in front of him and caused you to do the same. His voice sounded different and was a lot sweeter than it was before, and it made you wonder what the fuck happened after the other day that caused you to be like this. Was Phillip having the same thing happen to him? You didn’t know and no matter how desperately you wanted to, the thoughts and feelings were forcefully buried down as much as they could be.
The door to the room you were in opened and you turned to see Phillip was back with a nurse, as well as a plate of food with a bottle of water for you to intake. There was a warm smile on his face, and it just made your situation worse. No matter how hard you pushed down the sudden feelings you had towards Phillip, they would always float back up. “Thank you so much, Phillip…” you mumble. “No, if anythin’ it should be me doing the thankin’ here. You saved my damn life the other day, takin’ that sniper bullet for me. How is it that you continue to impress me despite the two of us workin’ together this long?” Phillip praises. You want to turn away but you can’t, that southern charm taking a deep hold to your body as your heart takes over your logic. “I’m…not too sure myself, but I appreciate it a lot Phillip…” you say softly, the nerves getting to you for once.
Phillip smiles more than he had previously, placing the plate of food on your bed before handing you the bottle of water. “Thank you…” you say softly. “Anythin’ for you. That nurse is gonna get you the care you need until the doc can come in and see your shoulder. Bit of a shame you won’t be there with me when we finally catch Hasan.” Phillip says. “Those docs we got had all the intel we needed? I’ll be damned…” you say, laughing softly as you take some morphine provided by the nurse. “Wouldn’t have gotten them if it weren’t for you having that smoke grenade and pushin’ me to the floor. I’ll be back later, rest that shoulder up okay?” Phillip says, gently rubbing the safer part of your back. “Before you leave…” you say, looking up at him. “Yes, Y/N?” he asks. “How…long have you been sitting there..?” you ask. “Well after having a briefing with Shepherd the night we got back, I came here and waited until it was safe to go in and see you.” Phillip said.
Your eyes widen upon hearing that he was practically there the entire time, waiting for you to wake up. It was never a thought in your mind that someone was so dedicated to you, platonically or not, and wanted to see that you were truly okay. It screwed your mind up more than it was at this point, and you were beginning to confuse platonic feelings for romantic ones. But how was it even possible to feel what you did, especially for your own superior? To even know what love felt like?
You needed more. So much more from Phillip.
Six months would come to pass and you’d heal up well and found yourself to have spent more time with Phillip whenever he had time to see you while you had been recovering. He began doting on you a lot, pampering you and making sure you were okay in the end. Your physical therapy didn’t last too long thankfully, and you were put back in the field in no time. You were about to meet the men from Task Force 141 for the first time and it made you anxious. You had no idea what their motives were and why you had to work alongside them, convinced you and Shadow Company were the only things needed. Time was also taken to settle yourself emotionally, still finding yourself to be pining after your own superior.
But unbeknownst to you, Phillip was feeling the same thing. That look the two of you exchanged when you saved his life before realizing and remembering you had been shot downright forced him to, out of fear of losing the you as you were the only person he was closest to and didn’t know he had been in love with, do everything he could to make sure you were safe. Sure Phillip had had his attractions to all sorts of people, eventually finding himself sleeping around when he could. Despite this, nobody ever came into comparison for the way he did you. He took you under his wing and saw how damn near animalistic it was to witness you take the lives of his enemies; it was so much that it practically excited him. Phillip needed you, just as much as you did him.
Gearing yourself up alone in your private quarters, you sense a presence that didn’t feel as familiar and you froze up and waited to see what was to happen. But before you could even attempt anything, you were pinned to the wall and your arms were held to your back. After a bit of a power struggle, you broke out of the mysterious person’s grasp and swiftly pinned them to the wall. You finally realize it was Phillip that had pinned you, and you could see the wild lust and adoration in his eyes. “Ain’t nobody can do that better than you can, baby.” Phillip said. “I suppose I could say the same about you, sir.” you say. Phillip puts an idea over your lips, shushing you before he speaks, “Address me properly as your superior, Captain.” You momentarily look away, flustered by this sudden entanglement, “I could say the same to you, Commander Graves.” comes out in a whisper. “Good job.” Phillip says.
He leans forwards and catches your lips between his. Your eyes wide and staring into his own, as they’re pointed in a harsh and cruel glare, you see a sense of an animalistic danger. Phillip then pulls away, slowly leaning close to your ear, “Have I ever told you that I’ve had a deep, obsessive love for you?” he whispers. Heart thundering in your ears, you shake your head, “No, Commander Graves. Never heard it from you.” you say firmly. “Then let me tell it to you now; I love you so much that it hurts from how bad I need you. Nobody’s ever been at my level the way you are and it fills my heart with a warmth I can’t contain.” Phillip whispers. Physically weakening, your grip on him goes limp and he takes this as a chance to flip your positions once more. “Commander Graves?” you ask softly, staring into Phillip’s eyes. “What is it, Y/N?” he asks. “I feel the same way. Ever since that night, I’ve felt an emotion I never thought I could. But…what are we now?” you ask nervously. Phillip chuckles and shakes his head.
“We’re partners now. Not just in the field, but also behind closed doors.”
Bit of fluff for the convict childcare au: Michael gets access to paper and crayons, and uses it to make his own version of Dream's mask, so he can match his caretaker :D
What nice fluff! Would be a shame if I...
In Dream's defense, he was exhausted. The Warden was frustrated when he'd come by the night before, and that meant Dream was left with aching ribs and his left hand not quite broken but bruised to the point of unusable. The pain had brought back nasty memories from the prison, and between the two he'd barely managed any sleep.
His exhaustion meant he was less alert, less focused on watching Michael. The boy was just drawing with his crayons, and it wasn't like there was anything in the room that could hurt him. The Warden wasn't supposed to come by until the evening.
Ultimately, all these factors resulted in Dream not hearing the footsteps coming down the hallway until it was too late. Not a death sentence on it's own, but as the door creaked open, he finally looked over towards Michael and saw what the boy had done.
Everyone was frozen. Dream, Michael, and the Warden. For once, Dream couldn't read Michael's expressions because they were hidden behind a paper copy of Dream's signature mask. Held up by string and little hands just as fragile.
It was stupid. Just a child copying what was around them. But Dream knew the Warden wouldn't see it that way. The man had made it clear how much he hated Dream's mask, the fact that even after all this time the magic held strong and refuses to be pried off. One tiny bit of control Dream still had left.
In the blink of an eye, Dream was on his feet, standing between Michael and the Warden. The quick movement hurt. Made his vision go blurry and his body sway, but he needed to be in the middle. Needed to take the blow, because he'd survive it. Michael wouldn't. The moment he moved, the Warden reacted, rearing back with a distinct fury. Dream had a few seconds, so he did what damage control he could.
"Michael, take that off. Go to the tub."
His voice was raspy as ever, a tremor of fear that he couldn't quite stomp down running through it. But it would need to be enough. The Warden paused, clearly still furious but sensible enough to wait. That reassured Dream. As long as the Warden cared enough to make sure Michael wasn't caught in the crossfire, the boy would be safe. That would have to be enough.
Michael hesitated. Dream couldn't see him, not willing to turn his back to his enemy, but he could hear the paper drop to the ground and slow, shuffling footsteps behind him. Eventually, the bathroom door creaked open, a long pause followed, and it finally shut. Sealing Dream's fate.
There wasn't much time for Dream to feel bad for not being able to set Michael up in the tub himself. The Warden was upon him too quickly.
That night, when Dream was able to regain consciousness, he retrieved Michael from the tub. He had to wake the boy up; one of his arms had been left broken for the first time in awhile which meant he couldn't carry the toddler to bed. Dream's body was in too much pain for him to do much of anything but coax Michael to eat and join him in their bed. Laying down hurt like hell, but he didn't have the energy to keep standing. Besides, laying down meant he could keep Michael tucked under his chin. It didn't ease the pain, but it made it feel worth it.
He knew Michael was feeling guilty. There weren't enough words for him to explain all the complexities of their situation to the toddler. Not in a way he'd understand. Still, Dream started with the important part.
"No masks on Michael, okay buddy? It scares the Warden. Makes him think something bad happened."
Michael took a few moments to digest that, turning it over in his little brain before giving a snuffle of sorrowful agreement. Good.
"It wasn't your fault. You didn't know. It's just- He doesn't want you to be like me. I don't want you to be like me. I want you to be safe, and that means you need to be as far away from me as possible."
When Dream choked on the last sentence, he could almost convince himself it was due to the soreness from the new bruises around his throat. Michael snorted, obviously not getting the second part as he gently snuggled into Dream's chest. Mindful of all the aches.
Look, this is their period, no? The roaring twenties, jazz and flashy jewels under brand new electrical lights, and oh so many people just waiting to be conned-
So, yeah. The Faciliers are having a blast.
You want anything? They can get it. For the right prize, of course...
Seriously. They can get anything. Anything. No mater how rare or expensive it is, they can get it. (Given the right motivation, of course.)
They are smuggling alcohol and weapons and stuff, because, come on, easy money.
Like, yeah. It is prohibition. Why do you think that the alcohol smuggling is so gainful?
On unrelated note, none of them drink.
Except maybe for Freddie, when someone pays for her drinks.
She sings in the bar Harry Hook owns. I mean, she is a jazz singer. How could she not. Just, Freddie Facilier is having the time of her life, and I love it for her.
And she might have threatened to skin Diego de Vil alive when he attempted to get a gig at the bar too. Oh well. But eventually, they come to an understanding, (to great relief of the bar and honestly all criminal underworld, since, you know, you don't mess with the Faciliers OR the de Vils). The Bad Apples play on the days when Freddie takes her free time, since a girl needs to breathe sometimes ✨
She is paid for the singing.
This is a funny story, actually, because Freddie might even be willing to sing for free, but her dad said no and went to bargain the payment with the bar's owner. Which is Harry Hook. Who is very cross with math. Dr F doesn't know how on earth is the bar even staying afloat.
(That would be because Harriet hired an accountant for her brother, and because Harry has the good sense to discuss the more expensive purchases with her or Uma.)
But hey, all the better for the Faciliers.
I could do relationships now, right? Let's talk relationships.
Freddie first. She has a bit of a crush on CJ Hook, but is content just hanging out with her like friends. They are friends, btw. Most of the world regrets it.
There is a betting pool over whether they're dating or not. Like, odds and names and prices and everything, written out on a blackboard, which Harry only takes out when it's Bad Apples turn with the music. He is lucky CJ didn't find it yet.
But no, Freddie has too well developed survival instinct to start something with a black widow anyway. Good for her.
Celia is crushing on Dizzy. Dizzy is crushing right back. Anthony is sitting in the corner, pulling his hair, and muttering „Just get on with it already, for god's sake-“
(He is kind-of sort-of regularly hooking up with Harriet Hook and Ginny Gothel. He has nothing to talk. And Celia will gladly use that for blackmail.)
Now, please, I need you to imagine Dr F trying his best to look supportive of his daughters's flirting attempts, giving them awkward thumbs up from the shadows, and trying very hard not the threaten their love interest. Like, very very hard.
Look, he has 100% killed people for looking at his daughters wrong before and he will do it again.
That's not a threat, that's a promise.
He also handles slight majority of the family's trades, so the girls could practice the singing and fortune telling. He really is trying to be a good parent.
Oh, yeah. I could clarify their ages, no? Because honestly, I have no idea which sister is older. And I'm too tired to figure it out. They are twins now. Nineteen years old. Freddie is few minutes older and she will let Celia know that at any occasion.
Now, Celia. She is also having a lot of fun.
You see, the ordinary people of this period are oh so gullible- What else can she do, really?
So, yeah. Fake fortune teller.
She has read cards to drunk Chad and Audrey multiple times, using the exact same lines. They hadn't noticed. And they paid.
And even those who don't believe in fortune telling often come to her, because it's entertaining. She can talk pretty and she can read people like nobody's business.
Okay, now some darker stuff. Namely, Frollo and his cult.
You see, Frollo is a bastard. He shouldn't be allowed near young girls. He shouldn't follow them through dark alleyways or abduct them to kidnap them to his chapel, with the help of some of his followers. And he definitely shouldn't be surprised when the young girls stab back.
So, yeah. Celia Facilier killed *Judge* Frollo.
After the act, her though process went as follows: „Fuck. Fuck, I just killed a man. Wait. Is he really dead. Yes. Good. Wait. What? Also, why is there a crying teenage girl?? ...I better go get Uma.“
(Everyone's problem solving skills in this AU consist essentially of "get Uma" and I'm living for that.)
Anyway, right back to the cult.
Celia, quite understandably, didn't want to see that place ever again.
Freddie, on the other hand, looked at a cult with recently tragically deceased leader and went: „Free real estate.“
So she took over the cult. Introduced it to insane mix of voodoo, demonology, few olden mythologies and some conspiracy theories. None of the followers actually noticed the difference, or voiced their concerns. Freddie is also very good with words and very persuasive when she wants to be.
(Ally Wonderland decided to start attending the sessions. Freddie finds it hilarious.)
(Claudine wasn't told what happened with her father's cult and she is forbidden to ever visit that place again. The Hooks can be responsible like that.)
So, yeah. I just think that at least one of the sisters deserves a cult. You know, as a treat ✨
