wooden eyes;

“Because we don’t like martyrs…” it was a quick guess to the lecture. taking her weapon, she felt more at ease to answer incorrectly. she’d place it at the holster on her waist. “You don’t want them to die for a cause. You want their cause to be shown for what it is… meaningless.” she could understand that part- as long as there were heroes, there would always be villains. as long as there was light in the world, there would be darkness to corrupt it. 

“I’ve always hated their stupid costumes…” a bitter tongue would conceal a meaning behind that idea. costumes were meant for heroes, and villains couldn’t be mistaken with their bright colored yoga pants and spandex underwear. 

“But you want the public to question their heroes, because without their glory… I guess they’re nothing. Is that what I’m supposed to understand?”

“If we were in class right now, I’d give you points for participation,” He grinned. “The former leader here cared for seemingly senseless violence. There was no real direction. But my -- our -- only goal here is to show people they need to rely on themselves rather than glorify heroes and place them all on a pedestal of honor. All they’ll do is let people down eventually. Really, I’m doing this for everyone’s benefit. Better they come to their senses now than for their hearts to be broken when they realize Mr. and Mrs. Incredible won’t come save them from every criminal on every street corner,” He stuck out his bottom lip with faux sympathy.

“You’ve passed. So I’d better not hear of you putting that pretty little gun of yours to any hero’s head, not unless it’s your absolute last option. And even then, let’s keep that to a bare minimum,” He scrunched his nose. “We do have our ways of dealing with people who don’t listen, notice how I said former leader,” Who was no longer with them thanks to his very own clean team. “But that’s what I want from this. What exactly is your whole goal here? Revenge? Violence? I’m sure there’s something. See, this can be a mutual relationship for us both. You help me with the future I want, and I’ll be sure to help you with yours. A fair deal, no?”

“You’re so funny when you’re under stress. A molding finger… ha.” the laughter to follow would only follow because it was true. there HAD been a finger that went missing, now that he thought about it… “Where’s your proof? What did you do with it? Don’t tell me you threw it away. That’s disrespectful to it’s previous owner.” he’d work on finishing up the final zig zag. “You shouldn’t touch things that aren’t yours, but now that I know your outlook on things. If it was my moldy finger, then it was yours as well.” with more care, he’d tenderly take the end of the thread and tie a quick knot. 

“There that wasn’t such a fuss, was it?” he’d move to place his needle and thread into a basin from his kit. his next step was looking for the proper bandages, “But we will get revenge, and it’s time you tell me what happened, since you owe me.”

“I didn’t stop to take a picture of a finger with literal mold on it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Simon scowled. “I didn’t touch it. I don’t know who it belonged to and have no interest in contracting any disease from it either,” Although if he was going to catch some mold-related illness, surely he would’ve done so from Han’s mere presence ages ago. “I’m not sure it was your moldy finger either, seeing as you still seem to have ten altogether,” Ten fingers that he’d carefully watched stitch up the gash on his arm, and not a single phalange missing. “I don’t want any molded fingers. And certainly not on the table where I eat.”

He’d have to start taking dinner in his bedroom if Han’s mess expanded further.

Simon looked down at his arm but remained careful not to flex any muscle under the assumption that doing so would tear those delicate sutures. If anything, Simon wanted to put the night behind him and get to bed. But he knew Han, and it didn’t matter if a night had passed, or a week, or a month, or even a year -- Han would ask him about that night until he got an answer. With reluctance, Simon sighed. “If I tell you, you have to promise me not to go out tonight,”

she’d shake her head, “No.” she didn’t feel humiliated. not yet. she was following orders and listening to hierarchy. but heroes, “They have too much pride to feel humiliated. You can disarm them all you want but in the end, they won’t piss their pants until you put a bullet where it belongs…” she’d eye the tip of the gun at her shoulder and stand at unease. she hardly believed a man with such power could care that his own headquarters would become a crime scene. he had cleaning teams for that. he had minions to take care of his messes, but he was right. bloodstains were hard to clear out of streets where the action was. 

“I feel shame, sure only because I trusted you with my weapon, but I’m not stupid to carry just one around.” her eye would flicker to the ankle of her boot- for good measure. “I think humiliating them would mean to cause more chaos, so that the city knows of our existence.” she’d roll her eyes, “But that’s not allowed, is it?”

“You’re forgetting. They’re human. Anyone can be humiliated. Sometimes it’s disarming them,” He flashed her weapon again. “But that’s obviously not what humiliates you. Sometimes it’s beating them to the point they have to run home and lick their wounds. But killing them?” Now Simon shook his head. “That turns them into martyrs. At least, right now it does,” He didn’t care if they died one day, in the future, but the public still thought too highly of heroes for their deaths to be of any use.

“Shame is close to humiliation, but not quite the same thing,” He twisted the gun around an offered it back to her without bothering to disarm it first. “Oh, I’m sure the city already has their thoughts and suspicions and rumors about us,” Using his now free hand, he dismissed the thought. “I don’t care much what they think about us, I just want them to realize people who dress in costume and call themselves heroes aren’t always around to help. I want them to be so humiliated that they feel shame when they realize they were once part of such a heroic league. But that means --” His expression turned stern, brows arching down against his cold eyes. “--We need them alive, for the time being. Preferably uninjured. Until we sway public opinion, at least. Do you understand, or do I have to explain to you why?”

“No more questions. Don’t think about how many more stitches. Think about revenge with me, and how we’ll make sure this never happens again. Doesn’t that make it feel better?” the smirk across his lips would widen as a he slowly pulled thread from flesh. gloved hands were careful and delicate in their slow motions, as eyes were glued to the wound. he’d pause his actions for a second to chuckle, as if reading Simon’s mind, “Living object? You think I’m some sort of Frankenstein sewing limbs together?” the needle would prick once again, “That’s cute, Simon, but what  would I do with dead limbs?” he was about two stitches away from being done. Simon’s patience was, in fact, far better than his would be, but he would suggest, “You owe me. You’d have to put up with my cursing and squirming.”

“Easier said than done when you’re not the one being stitched up,” Simon pointed out. “And revenge with you sounds...terrifying,” He could only imagine the blood and guts and carnage that would come from seeing vengeance with Han at his side, and even then, Simon was certain his imagination didn’t do reality justice. He tried not to think of Han’s other hobbies -- for all he knew, Han could have been playing Doctor Frankenstein behind closed doors. Simon couldn’t see the deceased bodies, only whatever was left of their spirits. “I swear, I found a molded finger on the kitchen table once before. I’m not sure what sort of...experiments you do. And before you ask, no, I would not like to see them, either,” The thought made his stomach sick. “I’m sure I owe you for a thousand things and more already,” He owed Han his life. “What’s mine is already yours. Except my room -- that’s out of your mold limits.”

eyebrows hadn’t arched higher in her entire life. it was a silly idea, and went against her moral alignments. you never give your opponent your weapon, and you never give your opponent a chance to take one for their own. she didn’t understand, but Simon spoke as if he had some villain lessons underway. despite her words to follow, she did trust him, “You shoot me with my gun, and I’ll haunt you in the next life.” she’d take a step closer, handing him the handgun carefully. “Shooting’s effective.”  she’d argue, “Get’s the job done. I don’t like it when I have to hear their voices, you know?”

“If I was going to shoot you, I wouldn’t do it in my headquarters with my fingerprints all over your gun,” Of course, he did once kidnap a man without wearing a mask to cover his face, but that small incident wouldn’t come back to bite him for a few months still. Simon believed himself smarter then that. “Shooting’s effective, yes. But then there’s the cleanup, and the fact that killing heroes only helps their image while ruining ours,” Simon took the gun from her and tilted its weight in his own hand, then aimed it right at her shoulder. “See, I don’t like having to hear their voices either. What I want is to humiliate those heroes. I want the world to see just how terrible they really are,” His fingers curled around the trigger. “Do you feel humiliated by this? Well -- maybe you should be because I just took your weapon from you, but I doubt any hero would be.”

“Listen. I’m in complete support of making those so-called heroes look like absolute fools, but we have to get more creative than just pulling guns out on them left and right. The point isn’t to kill them. It’s to humiliate them. Give me your gun. Or a knife. Or whatever it is you’ve got on you,” He instructed. “Let me demonstrate something for you. I promise, it won’t take long.”

His hand on hers does not erase her fears entirely, but she feels the reassurance for what it is, and in this moment, it is enough.  Even more reassuring, though, is the way he relaxes into his illustration of this imaginary beach, seeming much calmer than she can quite manage yet.  She lets the sound of his voice, and the waves, wash over her, conjuring up images of somewhere she has never been, and, truthfully, she does find herself becoming calmer with him.

She returns his smile with little need for effort.  “Yes, Arthur.  I can hear it.”  Though she feels more at peace than she has in hours, a part of her feels as if she is already falling short in her duties.  Here, of all situations, she ought to be her husband’s support, and yet he is the one reassuring her, making her feel safe, just as he always does.  She loves him for it.  She loves him.  It is not the first time she has noticed, but it is the first time she recognizes the feeling for exactly what it is – though perhaps it is only the fear of having nearly lost him hours before, making her feelings stronger.  Though she knows, truthfully, it is not only that, she has no idea how to begin speaking of that level of feelings, nor does she see the need for it, at least not right now, and so she simply allows herself to enjoy this moment.  

“Do not think you need to do more than you have already done,” she says, voice soft, speaking of both the wave noises and everything that has come before.  “It is enough.”  She squeezes his hand once.  “When you are better, perhaps we will find the real ocean.”

A smile grew against Arthur’s face the moment Guinevere decided to play along with his poor imitation of a beach. Yes, he’d just been stabbed...actually, Arthur wasn’t entirely sure how long it’d been. It could, technically, still be their wedding night, or it could’ve been days later. He didn’t like knowing he’d worried Guinevere for any length of time and hoped that his small joke provided some sense of normalcy, some distraction, however brief it may be.

“I doubt that will be long,” He wanted to wave a dismissive hand, but doing so would mean pulling away from Guinevere, and he found he rather liked the way their hands fit together and the pressure of her fingertips against his, so he remained as still as he could as to not make her move away. “I had a small head cold a while back and I was given more medication than I could count. I...I always used to joke that the capitol stole away all the best doctors from the rest of the kingdom, now I’m beginning to think that may be true.” But a stab wound, surely, would take longer to recover than a mere head cold.

“How long has it been?” He asked finally. “Is...is it still the same night? Have you slept at all?” He knew, or assumed, at least, that Guinevere would insist that he needn’t worry about her, but he had an entire castle that would worry about him and see to his safety. “Someone’s got to make sure you’re doing fine as well. You need your sleep, Guinevere,” He insisted. He nearly pat the side of the bed, his bed, and what most of the castle would presume to be their wedding bed ( under...normal circumstances, at least ), but he didn’t know if Guinevere was exactly...comfortable with that idea, so he instead left the choice up to her. “What’s mine is now yours...you’re welcome to rest wherever you like.”

clownpool​:

𝐣𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 &  𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐫 & 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧 || @cvtiehoney  &  @emittingauras​ 

fingers pinched at little toes that were fussed over the moment she saw the baby without shoes. “Phil, yes you heard me right !” the yeti, would have groaned and spoken that god awful language she still hadn’t put her finger on, “I said baby socks. They’re in the chest under Noelle’s old crib !” 

she’d turn back to Arthur, a worry on his brow would mimic her own, though she was trying much harder to conceal the worry upon her face. “Merlin sure was a cutE baby, wasn’t he?” she’d stumble over her words, “Is– is a cute… baby.” she’d rub at her forehead as Phil’s footsteps echoed down the hallway. a wrinkle in her nose would disagree with Mr. Kringle’s words, as she spoke, “No, honey we can’t keep him. We have to change him back ! It’s a good thing you came here, Arthur. There’s bound to be something in that library of scrolls…”

she’d place knitted socks upon the bumbling baby as she looked between the two men in front of her. she was trying her hardest to take control of the situation. “Now Arthur, grab your fa– grab Merlin, but be sure to cradle his head. And… uh–” she’d look at Kris a curious fear in her eyes, “Sugarbear, grab those–” she’d point to a set of oven mits close to him, “Just in case Merlin decides to turn into a fireball. Arthur will need to wear those for safety. Now let’s head to the library okay.” 

It was cute seeing Jessica operate within her element. She was a natural with babies, whether they were orphaned polar bears or pesky faeries victim of a spell gone wrong. Kris spared a final, wistful half-smile before fumbling about for the oven mitts. “It’s very real possibility, dear!” he said. “In event he doesn’t change back, we will have Phil raise him as own.” 

“DWBARD URGHWETEE?” 

Kris laughed at the yeti’s protest, and dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. He was only joking, but the ex-bandits subordinates often had a hard time detecting when their boss was being a mere tease. The man, clad in his favorite red coat, then turned his attention to Arthur. “I’m only kidding, Arthur. We’ll find a way to turn him back soon!” he said. “In mean time…try not to drop him.” 

Suddenly, Merlin’s image flashed. In a puff of springtime clouds, he was gone and left behind nothing but the faint scent of April earth. The infant reappeared a moment later, tumbling down from the ceiling like it was his life’s mission to bang his head on the edge of the coffee table. 

Arthur didn’t know how Merlin had turned out like this. One night, he’d been the same faerie Arthur had known, cared for, and admired. Then, that morning, it was as if he’d been replaced by a toddler with pudgy arms and flowers growing from his hair. Now Arthur came from a small farming village, one where he raised animals, not babies - and certainly not faerie babies. Without a single idea on how to take care of them, or how to turn Merlin back to normal, Arthur took him to the only other people who would have somewhat of an idea other than Merlin himself: the Kringles.

“Baby socks? Library of scrolls? Wait, how do I cradle his head?” Arthur didn’t have the moment to think, but if he did, he would’ve realized he’d never held a baby before until now. “Wait wait wait -- fireball?” That definitely wasn’t a worry about human babies, could even an animal faerie like Merlin impossibly have that talent? “There’s gotta be a way to change him back, right?” His voice cracked as if he were a teenager again. He was still getting used to running a kingdom. He couldn’t even make his own doctor’s appointments. He couldn’t raise his own father Merlin.

He tried his best to secure one arm underneath Merlin’s head, like Jessie had instructed, and the other behind his back. Arthur’s one mission, he decided, was to ensure that he didn’t drop Merlin. But that mission soon failed in an earthy cloud that had once been Merlin. Arthur had watched him disappear from his very eyes, only to reappear just again from the ceiling. Merlin had wings, right? Couldn’t he fly, even as a baby? Too bad Arthur wasn’t prepared to test that theory, as he instead lurched forward, banging both shins into the table as well as stubbing his foot, in an attempt at catching the falling Merlin.

she was digging through a chest of drawers for baby socks, first. it’d been ages since they had a baby in the home. it would be a miracle if they still had those baby socks to begin with. and shouldn’t scout be the one to keep a drawer of her own socks in her own old room. from a couple of feet from that door, she’d notice that yes, of course, Renjae was still there. “Close the door, please. You’ll let the flies in and if I get bug bites because of you, then I’ll never let you come over again.” 

aha! she’d found one sock, but now–finding the matching pair would be– tedious. “If you know Edie and Kyle aren’t home– why would you still want to come in? Are you here to apologize for your lies? Because I won’t accept an apology if you don’t mean it.” 

“Don’t you have someone else’s mother to bother? Should I call Jolene for you? Or– better yet don’t you have one of your own to bother?”

Even though Mrs. Gladstone had told him to close the door, she hadn’t specifically invited him in first -- but he took that as an invitation regardless and closed the door once he’d promptly stepped inside. He wanted to ask what she was searching for, but decided against it, not wanting to irritate her with endless questions more than he already had.

“I’m here to...” He didn’t know what, exactly. An excuse to not be at home, at least. The moment she mentioned apologizing, however, he lept at that opportunity. It hadn’t been his original intention, no, but one he would do, and mean. “Yes, that’s what I’m here for,” His head nodded. “I do want to apologize. Edie and I...we weren’t actually working on a project together,” That much had been obvious. “I really don’t like lying as it is. The closest I usually come to lying is when I play poker with my mom, but even that is more about facial expressions then it is lying. And I want to tell you the truth but I...” But he still didn’t know how Mrs. Gladstone would react to learning about his relationship with Kyle, her only son, and didn’t want to reveal the fact without his boyfriend present. “...I should wait until Kyle’s back to explain.”

     She scoffed again, giggling at his reply “but then you wouldn’t know how vehemently I resented the idea, and you might turnup wearing it anyway.” she fired back, winking at him playfully “if you’re going for vampire we’ll have to think period costume, perhaps something a little Anne Rice, you’ll need a cravat, at least.” She tapped her lips thoughtfully as she looped her arm through his and led him out of the store onward to the next. “Hmmm, perhaps… velvet and lace… yes… you’d look simply charming… and we can get you custom clip in veneers made… yes… yes…” she continued to think aloud as the walked, her heeled boots clicking on the pavement below them.      Gabs had a habit of doing this, forgetting her own interests entirely to focus on someone else. She loved dressing Renjae, had the sort of appearance where he could pull off pretty muh anything, including that one Chanel dress she had to throw out after he wore, but she didn’t like to think about that. “Would a wig be too much?” she pondered, looking at him sidelong “hmm… yes… probably… but…” she turned them into the next store deftly, the attendant holding the door for them politely.

“If I wore a costume you didn’t like to your party, I don’t even think you’d let me in,” He pointed out. In fact, most of the time, Renjae was certain Gabs only let Kyle in because she knew Gabs wanted him there ( as friends, of course ), otherwise she wouldn’t let any of the Gladstones and their sticky fingers close to her. “If I went with a vampire, it would be something more Anne Rice and not dollar store-vampire,” That much he would agree with, though he didn’t know how attached to the vampire idea he was yet. “But I want to look around still before I commit to the idea, because a wig would absolutely be too itchy,” He scrunched his nose at the thought of it as they entered the next shop, just down the street. “Have you got any ideas for what you want to dress up as?” He asked. “I can at least help look if I know what you’re going for.”

a smile would unfortunately bleed through a face of concentration as a needle pulled a string of thread through flesh. the thought of spending an entire night alone with Simon could do that. it wasn’t intentional though a reaction to words that seemed far too sentimental for a pair of roommates. especially one of which Han could hardly go a day without fretting over. a slight nod would end that conversation to be had– tomorrow. and yes, Han Jae Song would press for more details in 12 hours. by the end of the week there was a solemn swear to end that person’s life and allow those remains to decay in front of his very eyes. Han would then be entirely satisfied. 

“You ask where I learned to stitch up a friend? What if I told you you were my first?” the thread would pull once more at a raw bloodied mess upon Simon’s appendage. “Can you imagine any other person I’d willingly and absolutely choose to fix?” 

“Is it such a surprise I’d extend my knowledge in theory to practice upon you? Or are you asking if I’ve had to stitch myself up?” he’d once again point needle into skin and quickly attempt to evade a pain for his dear friend, “I suppose I’ve had to stitch up a couple of wounds on myself, but you’re a far better patient. Please remember to breathe through the pain.” 

Simon grimaced as the needle struck through his skin again, and he wished he had something to grip while the string went repeatedly in-and-out of his arm under the watchful eye of the one man he trusted most. If anyone knew how to stitch someone up, it’d be Han. Or Min, but he knew Han would be more gentle, surprisingly enough. 

“I would be --” He grimaced again. “-- Surprised that I’m your first. Perhaps your first...” The word living wouldn’t pass against his lips, but would remain an unspoken understanding. “But I’m not surprised that I’m more patient than you are,” He didn’t know anything about patching someone up, but even if he did, he wouldn’t want to be on the other side of the situation. “You’d squirm and curse too much if I --” He winced at the needle in his skin. “--If I had to do the same to you,” Simon let out a tense breath and looked from his arm back to Han. “How many more?”

     She paused the tapping to move her hand to rub a spot where one of the babies had clearly not read the mood and unceremoniously kicked her, she shook her head at the offer of help, smiling faintly at him. “No, thank you.” she replied, her voice gentle as she managed to finally get a grip on the tears that had finally subsided, perhaps baby bird had kicked her as a distraction? She was grateful, although she did wish they would stop.      Her lips pressed together as she shook her head politely, refusing his offer of monetary aid, she’d made it this far alone, she could handle a while longer. “Going back to the apartment would mean I might… see… Uncle Han…” her voice trailed off again. Hanjae Song, another guardian she’d loved and trusted, who’d ended up being the very thing she’d tried to protect people against. She’d had to psych herself up enough to come visit Uncl Simon in prison, where they’d sit on opposite sides of a table and have a conversation, going and seeing  Han in person… that was too much of a daunting thought for the present. Maybe one day, but not any time in the near future, that was for sure..       Rowan smiled at the mention of her mother, Simon didn’t speak of her often, neither did she really, it was a painful memory the both of them shared. “Her and me both, I can tell you I’ve still got a couple of months to go and I can’t wait to get them out, I miss seeing my own feet” she laughed, trying to break the tension a little before she shook her head gently again. “I’d love that, but perhaps you can give them tome when you’re out. Like I said, I don’t feel comfortable going to the apartment right now…” She didn’t know if she ever would be, right now the only things that apartment reminded her  of was betrayal and a life of deception, would she ever feel comfortable setting foot inside again?      The kicking finally subsided  yet she kept her hand there soothing the spot gently while she stared at her Uncle with quizzical eyes. “Which ne of those bad things was the one that wound you up in here?” she paused, shaking her head briefly “do I want to know?” 

Her decline in his offer surprised Simon. He had the feeling she wouldn’t want the junk he had in their apartment and doubted any of it would have value. But he hadn’t expected the reason to be...to be because of Han. The fact that Han still frequented the apartment didn’t surprise him, but he didn’t consider that Han would scare Rowan the same way he had scared her.

Simon nodded slowly. “I...I understand,” He wouldn’t force her to do anything that made her uncomfortable, he couldn’t even force her to do anything like that, anyway. “If’d...If you’d like, Han likes to visit on Fridays, he wouldn’t -- couldn’t -- be around there then,” He offered. “But  you don’t have to. Obviously,” He nodded his head head again and brought both hands toward the edge of the table.

He wondered, briefly, what his sister would say if she saw them both right now. Her baby brother in handcuffs, her only daughter heavily pregnant with three children. “I think your mom said the same thing. She was so excited to meet you. I was there. I mean, not when you were born, but the same day,” And he didn’t like knowing he’d still be sleeping in an uncomfortable bed showering with a dozen other men while Rowan would be in the hospital starting her own family. And as much as he’d like to give Rowan and her own kids those pictures... “That won’t be for years still,”

Twenty years, to be exact, for kidnapping. If anything, it was the least of the bad things he’d done. He thought Rowan would’ve known -- that someone would’ve told her, but he knew her habit of not listening to the news. “I’m not sure you want to know,” He answered. “Unless you’d really rather I tell you...” But Rowan already looked at him so differently, he didn’t know if that would change even more if she knew the truth. “I can. Only if you want.”