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lovebecomeshim · 3 years

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hello! your zutara posting today has finally motivated me to ask this question because I came to atla very late(last year, to be specific) and I Love It Very Much but am 1000% out of the loop as far as why what remains of fandom (at least that I've seen among my friends) is so very strongly zutara. I'm not opposed to it per se I just don't really know what has driven it to apparently be such a popular ship? can you help me understand and maybe convert me a little bit?

Hey!! Your ICON! :D I can try but I’m not sure how coherent I’ll be; however I AM sure someone a lot more competent will be willing to add to this. Either way, I’m glad you asked because my plan was to drag down as many people as possible with me.

*smacks the hood of zutara* this baby can fit so much mutual love and support!

This got so long, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to put it under a cut on mobile and it already got deleted once so I’m scared to mess with it lol. Moving on.

I’m gonna start this with a disclaimer that im on mobile so formatting is tricky and I’m also really new to atla in that I only completed my first watch through in like 2019??? So some of my info is all just based on what I’ve picked up from Discourse 👀 so anyway the sparknotes version: zutara was wildly popular from the beginning. To the point where the atla crew internally disagreed on which ship should be endgame. (Ex. Bryke [showrunners] asked the writers to rewrite The Southern Raiders to make Zuko seem less ideal for Katara than Aang [which failed, depending on who you ask]; the animation team purposefully created a visual parrallel between Oma and Shu in the Cave of Two Lovers and Zuko and Katara in the catacombs under Ba Sing Se in the Crossroads of Destiny; etc.)

The ship was popular enough that Bryke actually chose to display zk fanart at a con for the sole purpose of mocking the fans, but that’s neither here nor there. The entire episode Ember Island Players, while a love letter to/parody of the whole show, was an opportunity to address zutara’s viability as a canon pairing (while, again, mocking zutaras for romanticizing that catacombs scene). Point is! It’s always been popular but with it not being endgame, there’s got to be something that’s given it staying power.

And that’s honestly got to do with three things: their dynamic, thematic cohesion, and potential.

(You know what... you know what, it’s four things. The fourth is they’re so aesthetically pleasing together and individually. Like, they’re just good looking people [specifically when they’re grown but they’re also cute kids] and that absolutely doesn’t hurt) (but it’s not the Point, it’s just nice to point out sometimes)

The dynamic is hard to get into without also looking at the canon pairings, but I think I can do that without unnecessary bashing. It’s just that part of the magic of zutara is really highlighted by what they give to each other that their other relationships don’t.

First off, it’s classic enemies to (would be) lovers. The absolute truest form of it. It’s not too different from how CS started out: a rogue antagonist with a job to do—but no personal vendetta against the future love interest—who is deeply and emotionally invested in his personal storyline (revenge/redemption) with little regard for how it effects other people after his entire life and genuine good nature are marred by suffering, and a fierce warrior girl with a strong moral compass and her own personal investment in stopping him (protect her family and save the world doing it). Obviously frustration and animosity grew between them by the nature of them being on opposing sides, but that just lends itself to the sweetness of their later reconciliation.

The thing is that while they’re wildly different on the surface (he’s a hot-headed prince of a fascist regime who is trying to capture the Avatar to please his father; she’s a nurturing daughter of the chief who is trying to protect and train the Avatar in order to topple his father’s throne) they find out that they have so much more in common both in their experiences and their personalities.

(What follows is an excessive use of the word “both” and I’m sorry about that)(I can edit it. I can do that. That IS an option............)

They both have an innate sense of justice that they are determined to see done (zuko, at the war meeting, sticking up for the Earth Kingdom kid when the guards torment his family, choosing not to steal from the pregnant couple despite his circumstances, abiding by his word to leave the SWT should Aang come willingly, etc.; katara, literally.... at any point). They both have pretty one-track minds at accomplishing certain goals once they’ve put their mind to it, regardless of a lack of support in that endeavor (it goes without saying I guess, but zuko’s entire hunt; katara’s determination to get the earth benders to fight back, her determination to absolutely destroy Pakku until he agrees to teach her, etc.). They both lost their mothers at young ages. Their worlds are war-torn and traumatizing to them both, if in different ways, but that ultimately forces them to grow up too quickly to be wholly independent individuals. They both have issues with their fathers (for WILDLY different reasons, but). They both hold extreme prejudices that they need to learn to overcome (which ties into thematic cohesion)(bit like Lizzie and Darcy in that way but magnified by a million). They’re both extremely emotional and empathetic—which can and often does result in loud outbursts. Katara’s a bit better adjusted and can temper her anger for longer than S1 Zuko can, but they both feel that anger deeply and have no compunctions expressing it (Katara is, usually, more justified, particularly in S1. Again, S1 Zuko is severely maladjusted but at the point when they could’ve feasibly become a couple, he’s so much better off with the way he carries himself). They both struggle with feelings of inferiority in their bending abilities when confronted with prodigal benders like Aang and Azula, but have the work ethic required to double down and become two of the most powerful benders in the three remaining nations. This is a little more minor but it is a parrallel that appeals to some shippers that they both have these alter egos in the Painted Lady (notably fire nation coded) and the Blue Spirit (water tribe coded) that are pretty different from who they are day-to-day and are useful in accomplishing a purpose that they as themselves cannot.

(I’m.... I just realized that this could potentially get very long. Should I have made a slide show with bullet points??????)

Anyway, similar. I know there’s more but there’s literally so much to love about zutara that I’ll drive myself a little crazy trying to compile all the ways they’re similar. (Just gonna say that at this exact moment I went back to add more similarities.... so okay then)

Once they’ve reconciled, we see how all of these things only lend themselves to a deeper intimacy together than they share with literally anyone else. There’s a steady partnership that positions them as the mom/dad of the gaang, while also providing the support necessary to allow the other to not have to carry so much responsibility. A lot of zutaras will point out how zuko is actually depicted doing the more domestic chores that are normally relegated to Katara once he joins the gaang, since the others in the group are two 12-year-olds and sokka. The one that sticks out the most is how he makes tea for the group and then serves them, while Katara is able to just relax with her friends around the fire. Fanon expands upon this a lot to Zuko helping with the laundry or the cooking or whatever else needs doing since he, as a once-refugee, is used to doing his own domestic tasks. Before Zuko joined, Katara was the one mothering everyone, sewing for them, cooking for them, etc. She’s always tending to the needs of the group, and that includes emotionally. She does the emotional labor for the gaang 99% of the time, but when she’s the one falling apart, she’s usually doing it alone and without the comfort that she normally provides for others. Until Zuko. And that’s before they’re even friends.

Which is WHY people romanticize the catacombs of Ba Sing Se so much. Katara is verbally attacking Zuko out of her own righteous anger but also her own prejudice when Zuko, surprisingly, chooses to be vulnerable with her. He’s been on a journey that’s opened his eyes a bit, but he’s never actively chosen to expose the rawest parts of his past to anyone. But for some reason he chooses to do that with Katara of all people. While she’s yelling at him. He sees her humanity, and for once can look past his prejudice and empathize with her. And this time, when she breaks down, she gets to be comforted. Katara normally talks about her mother when she’s trying to explain to someone else that she sees and understands they’re pain, as a form of comfort to them. Here, Zuko uses the exact same tactic. He sees her and he understands. And for zuko? He’s not being shut down. He’s allowed to articulate his pain regarding his mother without being ignored and made to internalize it, and he’s allowed to process how he feels about his scar out loud without being told that he deserved it. And then he lets her touch his scar, something we’ve seen him actively avoid before. He’s completely open to her and she’s completely open to him and all it took was one five minute conversation. She was about to use the little bit of Spirit water that she had, that she was saving for something Important, to heal the scar that still daily causes him pain just because they had, somehow, connected.

Plus there’s the whole parallel to the star-crossed lovers forbidden from one another, a war divides their people—

And then zuko messes up, he regresses, he gets what he wants and he HATES it. And the sense of justice he had as a child has been restored to him against his will and he can’t think of anything he wants to do more than the Right Thing, so he joins team avatar. Before he does that though, we get to see his relationship with Mai, which is where comparison really comes in. And what we see is Zuko, fresh off of his encounter with Katara in the catacombs, trying to be emotionally honest with Mai... and getting shut down and dismissed. Which is just how Mai is and it’s fine, but not for Zuko. Still, he keeps trying, and he keeps getting ignored or scoffed at or yelled at. Which is really a larger symbol for how he doesn’t fit in his old life anymore, but again that’s about thematic cohesion. He tries to articulate his anxieties about returning home, he tries to make romantic gestures, he tries to explain how morally conflicted he’s feeling—and Mai diverts to some kind of physical affection to shut him up and a parting comment that is pretty much always, in essence, “I don’t wanna talk about this.” So they don’t. On the other hand, once zuko and Katara are friends, we see him again emotionally distraught and caught up in his anxieties about facing Iroh, and it’s Katara who comes to him and listens to him and comforts and encourages him.

Similarly, we have Aang clamming up and getting uncomfortable whenever Katara shows any negative emotion, usually resulting in him making excuses or running away. Or, in the case of the Southern Raiders, lecturing her on how she needs to just let go of her anger about her mother’s murder. People have talked this episode to death and usually better than I ever could, so imma... keep it brief. There’s a serious disconnect between Aang and Katara in his ability to empathize with Katara and her needs that has her tamping down her vulnerability and amping up her anger. He tells her that he was able to forgive his people’s genocide and appa’s kidnapping (petnapping? Theft??), which is blatantly not true but also not an entirely equal parrallel to Katara’s situation, and continues making these little remarks throughout the episode. But it’s Zuko that Katara opens up to. It’s with him that she’s able to talk about the most traumatic day of her life, and it’s with him that she’s able to get the closure she needs, cementing their bond as friends and partners. This disagreement between Aang and Katara is then... never resolved. They just never bring it up and hear what the other is saying.

There’s a fic called The Portraits of Ember Island that has a line that so completely sums up the heart of the matter for why people love their dynamic. For context, zuko has woken up early to help Katara with the cooking and they spend the whole time just letting one another talk, and zuko stops to ask why she always just lets him talk. And so she stops to ask why he’s always helping, and it goes as follows:

There’s just... so much mutual support! Trust! Intimacy!! And it just continues like that from the Southern Raiders on, listening to each other, advising each other, watching each other’s backs! And then! Literally saving each other’s lives!! I will never be over the last Agni kai. Not ever. Zuko may have been willing to jump in front of lightning for anyone, but he actually did it for Katara. And in a show, that’s the thing that really matters. It’s a fulfilled trope usually exclusively applied to romantic pairings, and it ended up applying to Zuko and Katara. And then she ran out into the middle of a fight with tunnel vision just to get to him.

Also!! Also Zuko pushing Katara out of the way of the falling rocks at the Western Air Temple!! And Katara catching him as he fell from the war balloon that he fought Azula on!! Before they’re even getting along, they’re the ones reaching for each other. They come to this place of equal ground, as partners, who watch each other’s backs, call each other out but still listen attentively and understand, and provide the support that the other has been sorely lacking up until they knew each other (whether that be from lack of effort or lack of understanding from others, or an unwillingness to accept it for themselves).

Then, trailing along under the surface of this, we see the themes of the show totally embodied by Zuko and Katara as individuals and in their relationship to one another. There’s a YouTuber, sneezyreviews, who has a, like, 2-hour explanation on why she not only loves zutara but also believes that their endgame would’ve actually elevated the writing of atla to new levels particularly because of thematic cohesion and resolved character arcs. It’s the zutara dissertation I never knew I needed, and it’s funny and eloquent and effective, so I’m just going to sum up her section on thematic cohesion to the best of my abilities and then link it for whenever you have the time. And I HIGHLY recommend it, especially if you want a full understanding of what makes zutara so great and gives it such longevity.

Guru pathik has a line that goes something like this: separation is an illusion; things that seem different are just two parts of the same whole. Iroh also tells Zuko something similar: balance and strength are achieved when the different nations come together and influence one another and celebrate what makes them each unique. And this lesson is a massive central arc that both Zuko and Katara go through, moving past a black-and-white, good guys-vs-bad guys, us-vs-them mentality and into a greyer, more nuanced view of the world. Zuko sees the fire nation from an entirely new perspective and while he still loves and hopes for his nations future, he surrenders his blind loyalty to them in exchange for an unflinching loyalty to peace and love. Katara too had to come to terms with the fact that cruel people exist in the earth kingdom and water tribes, while some fire nation citizens are just regular, kind people who also need and deserve to have someone speak on their behalf. And this is honed in directly on how they view each other. They grow in their individual journeys to be open to the humanity in the other and then, once they’ve found that, they’re able to grow more in compassion for others in a beautiful feedback loop. And this is all matched in the symbolism repeatedly and intentionally associated with them in canon: sun and moon, fire and water, yin and yang, Oma and Shu who found love despite their warring nations. Their individual arcs are completed in each other and complement the themes of atla beautifully.

The canon pairs... just don’t. Which, again, is fine. But the very things that give atla longevity and popularity are anchored in zutara. Kat@ang doesn’t accomplish this. They’re... nice. Sweet. Especially when you erase a good portion of their interactions in S3. It could’ve been just a sweet love story. (Personally, the dynamic between toph and aang accomplish the same thing that zutara does, with complementary personalities that fulfill the theme of opposites blending in harmony) M@iko, on the other hand, is less sweet but I think wasn’t even supposed to last. Zuko’s relationship with Mai seems to represent his relationship with his old life as a whole. He can’t be emotionally vulnerable, he’s goaded into abusing his privileges, his agency and opinions aren’t respected. They just don’t have common ground with which to discuss anything that matters, so they don’t. As far as themes, the relationship doesn’t fit with atla. It’s zuko returning to and sticking with what is (on the surface) like him, what’s expected. Fire nation with fire nation. Fluid water bender with the flexible air bender. Like with like, separated from what is different and challenging and complementary.

And all of these things combined of course lead to the potential for the ship. I don’t know how familiar you are with the post-atla canon but... well, miss “I will never turn my back on people who need me”, miss “I don’t want to heal! I want to fight!” ends up living quietly in the SWT as a designated healer who turns a blind eye to the water tribe civil war happening right outside her front door. Which can be fine! People change! Some people just wanna stay inside. I just wanna stay inside! But the potential future for zutara is so much more satisfying, with Katara becoming the most unconventional Fire Lady the uppity old cads who are stuck on the old ways have ever seen. Fanon has her serving as a voice for the other nations within a kingdom at the point of its biggest political upheaval, as a confidante to Zuko who can actually help him while he’s trying to figure out how to move forward and make reparations. They have the opportunity, together, to accomplish what they both have set on their hearts to fight for: positive change that lends itself to harmony and balance. And the steambabies! A popular headcanon is that their firstborn daughter, the crown princess, is actually a waterbender, which causes such an uproar among the people who are adamantly clinging to the old ways. It’s just a future full of potential to be forces for good together, full of trust, intimacy, joy. The exact era of peace and love and balance that zuko announces that he intends to ring in with the start of his reign as Fire Lord is, again, magnified by the very personal zutara relationship. And we love to see it.

tl;dr zutara isn’t for everyone. Some people just don’t vibe with it. Some are nostalgic. Some love the canon they grew up with. Some have been disappointed for years. Some just see themselves in other characters and want their happiness instead. Whatever the reason, that’s fine. But for me, I love the way these two, from the moment they give each other a fair chance, are able to lower their walls and prejudices to see the other for the kindred spirits they are. They see each other’s humanity, and their response is to pour out love and support and compassion. I love that they’re a power couple in battle. I love the symbolism and, honestly, soulmatism that colors their every interaction. I love that they embody the whole storyline of atla in their relationship and how it develops, which is notably why their seasonal arcs always culminate in each finale with how they relate to one another. I love that zuko adopting a waterbending move is what actually saves his life and then katara’s. I love the chemistry! And I love the future they could’ve had, instead of the ones they were given.

So, in conclusion: I just think they’re neat and I hope you do too, at least a little bit. Even if it’s just respectfully from a disinterested distance cause you do you. And now here is the video I mentioned. I’m sorry this post got so long and then I gave you an even longer homework assignment, but I can’t recommend it enough. She says it all better than I can.

youtube

#zutara #atla #zutara rant #like really the way the canon relationships were written throughout s3 #it would’ve been more believable for zutara to happen #or at least be hinted at #all of the major issues presented in those relationship were dug up extensively and then... never resolved #and then they just slapped some kisses on a screen and said ‘there all better’#and we just kinda had to say ‘oh ok guess it’s all better then’#this got long I’m sorry #I wrote it all out and then tumblr ate 2/3 of it #which is why it took so long #and what I’ve written now doesn’t even match what I had before #because there’s too much to say about why I love zutara #and the stuff I left out the first time is what came out this time #rip to my original thoughts but this post is different #anyway that’s why this took so long #and I should’ve just made a PowerPoint...#I can do that too if you’d rather not read all of this lol #I won’t be offended #this is incoherent #Alia rambles uselessly #also hoping this doesn’t end up in any wrong tags because I don’t wanna step on toes lol #it’s not anti!! it’s just critical #in a compare/contrast way #I can pinpoint the moment when I started trying to rewrite my points from memory #because everything gets shorter and more succinct #like... I really said all that??? sounds fake and I don’t remember it anyway so here’s the condensed version #with no!! smooth!!! transitions!!!!#also why am I so lazy with proper grammar over text

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frostedfaves · 3 years

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Pairing: dark!Natasha Romanoff x dark!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha and Wanda search for their printsessa with the help of Tony.

Warnings: dark themes, gun use, blood mention, serious injury

A/N: am I devastated that this is the final part of one of my favorite things I’ve ever written? absolutely! but I’m also really happy with myself for being able to turn the images in my head for this ending into coherent words. I’ve been holding onto this idea for weeks and I’m ecstatic to see everyone’s response to it. I’ll be letting you know later on this week what’s coming next! 👀

Previous part

With Clint’s assistance, Natasha and Wanda were able to quickly create a plan and make their way to the last base, using the fear and anger of their girlfriend’s disappearance to barrel through anyone that stood in the way of intel collection. They wasted no time in waking everyone up when they returned to the safe house.

“Is there a security breach?” Steve questioned as the group gathered, and Natasha tossed the hard drive at him.

“We got everything, and we need to get back--”

“Oh, I get it,” Sam cut in with an eye roll. “They rushed through the mission to get back to their girlfriend so they can cuddle and all that cute shit--”

“She’s missing!” Wanda growled as her eyes began to glow, causing Sam to step back a few feet with wide eyes.

Everyone aside from Clint started asking questions all at once, and Natasha shut them all down with a stern command to be ready to fly out in ten minutes. Bags were packed and bodies were dressed as the team rushed to get to the jet, afraid of what might happen if they delayed the two women any longer.

“While we’re checking out the house, I need someone looking into Wesley L/N,” Natasha ordered, nodding as Tony volunteered and sending him all the information she had.

“Who is this, her brother?”

“Her cousin, if that’s even true--”

“It is, we checked the family history,” Wanda insisted, grabbing Natasha’s hand with a shaky breath. “They’re really close, he wouldn’t hurt her.”

“We don’t know that! Anyone can do something terrible if they’re pushed far enough--”

“Stop! Just fucking stop!” Wanda cried out as she covered her face with her hands, and Natasha moved to wrap her arms around her as she sat in the seat beside her.

“I’m sorry, Wan. I’m just worried and my brain is wired to go to the worst case scenario instantly.”

Wanda simply sniffled as tears started spilling down her cheeks again, leaning her head against Natasha’s shoulder as she accepted the comforting embrace. After a few minutes of silence between the pair, Wanda dropped her hands into her lap as she glanced at green eyes already absentmindedly staring at her, lowering her voice as she spoke.

“I want to ruin his mind before we kill him.”

The house felt empty and colder without your presence, every step on the carpeted floor of the front room seemed to echo around the building. Tears threatened to build in Wanda’s eyes again but she held them back, intent on believing that they will find you and bring you back where you belong. Only they could take care of what you needed.

A heavy feeling washed over their hearts when they entered your solo room and discovered some of your clothes and shoes were missing, along with the travel bag you’d first arrived with. The guest room Wesley resided in was also void of his presence, and anything that could clue them into where he’d taken you.

“Tash, look.”

Natasha followed her gaze to the security room, cursing loudly in Russian when she noticed the door left wide open. She stormed inside, clenching her fist in anger when she noticed the tiny plastic baggie holding the miniscule tracker that was supposed to be in your leg right now.

“He’s a psychiatrist, not a fucking surgeon!” she fumed as she showed the object to Wanda. “How did he get this out?!”

Wanda walked around her to get to one of the computers, logging in as fast as her fingers would allow her to type and bringing up the security footage from the last several days. For the most part, the two of you acted normally, doing all the things you’d told them about like playing games and watching TV, but the sight of the two of you emerging from the TV room in the basement and entering the game room brought something to her attention.

“Did you see that?” She backed up the footage and switched over to slow motion. “She’s limping.”

“Isn’t that the day she hurt her leg in the backyard?”

“Yes, but…” The backyard footage is brought up next and skipped through until the moment of your ‘injury’. “This happened almost two hours later, meaning--”

“It was a cover for the tracker removal.” Natasha cursed once more as she released a frustrated sigh. “She’s getting locked in her room as soon as she gets back here.”

A notification similar to a phone ringing went off on one of the monitors, and the two women scurried over to answer the incoming call from Tony.

“Everything you had on this Wesley kid checks out, no criminal history or secret ties to any Hydra related groups, or anything else you have to worry about. However, I tried tracking and hacking into his phone and it seems to be wiped clean. So I got into his phone records with his cell company and his last call was made to an unsaved number connected to someone named Kendall, last known address in Nebraska.”

“Send it to us, please.”

They were on their feet as soon as the call ended, grabbing the mission bags abandoned in the doorway and heading off to their respective rooms to repack for the trip.

In nearly the same moment, you were in your safe house in Nebraska, rounding the corner to enter Wesley’s room. He knew something was wrong by the way your eyes watered and your shaky hand held onto the bugging device.

“They found us.” There was no questioning tone in his voice, but you answered with a nod anyway.

“Pack everything you brought and get out of here, drive toward the west coast until you run out of gas and hide wherever you stop.”

“What?! I can’t leave you here! They’ll just take you back and it’ll be worse than before.”

“I’ll be fine, Wes,” you assured him with a gentle squeeze of your hand over his. “I planned for this too, and if I know them as well as I think, I’ll be free to come find you.”

Wesley was packed and gone within the next hour, and you worked quickly to transform the space, make it seem as if you’d been the only one to reside in the home. Once that was set, you changed clothes and positioned yourself in an armchair against the wall in the front room, a gun resting in your lap. You didn’t move when a knock was heard on the front door that night, simply waited until the visitors got impatient and picked the lock to force their way in.

“You worried us, printsessa, disappearing like that,” Natasha addressed you in a chilling tone as the two of them stopped a few feet away from you. “And we’ll deal with that later, after you tell Wesley to come out so we can punish him first.”

“He’s not here,” you told her calmly. “His only job was to bring me here--”

“And take the tracker out of your leg, which we will be putting back,” Wanda interjected with a stern expression. “Now, you can either come with us to the car willingly or we’ll drag you.”

“I won’t be doing either of those things.” You stood slowly, lifting the gun to your temple as you went. “Your only choices are to leave me here and go back to the way your lives were before I came in, or you can let me die. If you take me again, I’ll just fight you every day until you wish you’d killed me yourself. No matter how you manipulate my mind, my true self will never love someone who wants to control me. I’ll tell you how much I hate you for ruining my life every second I’m able, and I’ll kill myself the moment I get the chance to do so.”

You noticed the glassy look in their eyes as they faced each other, and you knew they were having a silent conversation in their minds. Seconds felt like minutes as they seemed to discuss their options, eventually turning back to face you. Wanda was fully crying now, and Natasha seemed to be physically holding back her own emotional break.

“We always thought we’d be able to love and care for you until our dying days.” Her shaky voice filled the quiet room. “But we understand if you don’t want that, and we’re sorry that you’ll never be able to love anyone else.”

Before you had time to react, Natasha was pulling a gun out and aiming it at your heart, the sound of the shot echoing and triggering Wanda’s instant sobbing. Natasha was quick to pull her into her arms, facing her away from you as you tumbled to the ground, your own weapon sliding away as your free hand weakly pressed against the oversized sweatshirt that covered your wound.

The two women hurried out of the house as you began to choke and cough up blood, not able to stomach hearing or seeing anymore, and the sound of a car speeding off echoed throughout the neighborhood. Waiting another minute or two to be sure they left, you got up to walk off to the bathroom, wiping the fake blood off your palm the best you could. After slipping the bulletproof vest off your torso and washing your hands, you quickly rinsed your mouth and brushed your teeth to get rid of the red stains, lifting your head to look in the mirror with a smile when you were done.

You looked pretty good for a dead woman.

Tags: @littlegasps @nat-km-mh @natasha-danvers @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @imnotasuperhero @creepingwolfberry @emilyprentisswife @cherrieloco @bebe404 @seventeen0 @buckmesidewaysandcallmesteve @its-a-long-way-to-ba-sing-se @fayhar @becka107 @wannabe-fic-reader @beforeoursecrets @cosmicbrownies7 @messuhp @mjaudrey @sxphiaswitch @trikruismybitch @muted-stoneheart @multi-images @just-a-normalpersons @want-to-watch-it-burn @stop-drop-and-drumroll @stickystudentlightmug @pianogirl2121 @welcometothepeanutgallery @witchxaf @natashadeservedmore @sakurat123 @darkangelxoxo @haiiiloeee2

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instasiswetrust · 3 years

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"Holy shit the school bad boy's courting you." Dustin whispered in disbelief as he stared at both the pin and the worn bloodied bat Steve had settled between them on the table.

"Wait, he's what?" Steve frowned, fingers picking up the pin adorned with a creepy smiling face. "No way."

"No, I'm serious Steve. This is like straight-up Jason Todd style courting. He totally kicked the whole baseball team's ass for you."

“That’s ridiculous man, Frank wo-” He ended up stopping mid-sentence because actually, Frank would. He definitely would. Everyone had heard the beating he had given Billy for smacking Hak-Quinn’s ass the other day, it made sense he would go against the baseball team as his way of proving he could provide for him.

Realization crossed Steve's face, lips forming a small surprised ‘oh’ while Dustin just shook his head as if he couldn't believe it had taken Steve this long to realize he was being courted.

"So what are you gonna do?" The younger boy asked, stealing a couple fries from Steve's plate before the other could react.

"What do you mean what I'm gonna do?" He said weakly, slapping Dustin's hand away when he tried to reach for more fries.

"What do you mean, what do I mean?" And it was clear in his tone he knew Steve was acting like this on purpose. "Are you gonna accept his courting, or tell him no?"

The Omega blushes, immediately flustered by the question. Having thought he would be a Beta or an Alpha for most of his life, he had known the whole courting thing would've eventually fallen on him to do it. Now with the roles reversed, he couldn't help but feel flattered by the gestures.

"Look, I don't know, maybe I will talk to him about it or something." Dustin seemed to catch the finality in his words because he finally changed topics, asking Steve instead about how Demo was faring.

Still, he had already made up his mind on this topic.

By the end of classes the next day, he hunted down the self-proclaimed leader of Legion. Steve might've been an Omega sure, but he was also taller and had the body of an athlete. Even so, he believed it wouldn't have been so easy for him to cage Frank against the wall had the Alpha not allowed him to.

"Are you... Are you courting me?" He cut right to the chase, wanting to make sure it wasn't all in his head.

"Been trying my best, yeah." Frank had a jackal grin on his face, looking up at Steve. Not intimidated in the slightest, with a flicker of something in his eye that stirred something up in Steve's gut. Something strange and new and not at all bad. "You like?"

Steve didn't answer with words. Doubts he even could. Instead leaned down and kissed Frank hard. Kissed him until they were both out of breath, Steve's cheeks flushed a pale red. A wide grin stretched his lips when he finally pulled away.

"Friday, 7 pm. I'll pay for the movie tickets if you smuggle in the food. Deal?"

"I got a key to the theater's back door. No need to spend money on me, doll." Frank's grinning again, all sharp cheekbones and even sharper fangs.

"You kick the whole baseball team's ass for me, and I don't get to spend a couple bucks on you? Unfair." And yeah maybe he was pouting, but really it didn't sit well with him not to repay Frank in some way after the way he left the baseball team.

"If you insist, ain't gonna put up a fight. Just thought I'd tell ya if you wanted to trade emptying your wallet for a little thrill." Frank shrugged, grin still solid on his face. Reaches out to cup Steve's face. "Comes with the bad boy package, y'know?"

Steve couldn't help leaning into the touch, eyes never straying from those stormy grey irises. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, dripping with honesty. "I think I would like to find out."

Frank laughed and Steve found himself liking the sound way more than he expected. It was rough and relaxed and shameless.

"Be happy to show ya, doll."

And Steve had to admit the excitement of knowing he had an actual date was enough to keep his mind off the bullying and taunts for the remaining days of the week.

Frank meets him at the theater entrance, right on time. Steve, who had walked the whole way here so as to not have to explain to his parents where he was going, is thankful that he will be able to catch a ride once the movie is done.

As promised Steve pays for two tickets then Frank drags him into another movie after the first movie ends, and another one after that. Steve doesn't feel like complaining, even if the movie genres are all over the place. He's having fun and this is the most he's broken the rules after the whole omega thing.

And really, if they makeout halfway through the second movie and end up missing half the bullshit plot, Steve only has Frank to blame. He kept heckling the cheesy bits under his breath making Steve laugh until he was hiding snorts behind his hand.

It's around midnight when they finally leave the theater, and as soon as they step outside Steve's phone starts ringing. His parents on the other end of the phone, angry because Steve's being careless.

"You should be more careful! What if something happened to you? And shouldn't you be worried about studying? You already lost that baseball scholarship-"

He must've made a face or something because Frank snatches the phone from his hand. Quick reflexes and firm grip. It takes Steve by surprise.

"Hello, Mister .. Missus Harrington -" He starts, and he's determined to take the weight off Steve as best he can and he's no Fairfield and he's certainly not Hak-Quinn, but he can play a part good enough for a phone call. "The movie ran a bit later than expected, but I'll see your son home safe and sound!"

And before his parents have any chance to respond, Frank hangs up.

Steve is stunned for a whole five seconds, blinking at Frank, before what happened sets in and he groans. "Ah shit, now they are gonna want to meet you!"

"I got makeup in my car," Frank says, clicking his tongue as he hands back the phone. "Nothing I can do about the hair."

And Steve looks at Frank dumbly for a second. Confused because, why would Frank need makeup?

"Tattoo. For hiding the tattoo." Frank waves a dismissive hand as he slings his other around Steve's waist. Comfortable. Warm. Close. "Hak-Quinn taught me how."

Steve is dumbfounded. "You would... For me? Wha-"

"... Well duh?" He kinda looks at Steve, confused himself. "I'm not exactly the kind of person people are proud to bring home but it stresses you out so I can play pretend." He raises an eyebrow, grins again, like a feral dog. "Unless you'd rather I show up as is? Full punk?"

"Oh. Oh Frank no, I'm not ashamed of being seen with you." Steve shakes his head, rolling his eyes. "I just know my parents and they will try to prevent me from seeing you. I don't want that to happen, that's all."

Frank looks at Steve. And he's quiet for a moment. And then a softer smile steals across his face.

"You have no idea how you smell right now, do you?"

Steve flinches a little, looks away, but he knows Frank's question is honest, not a jab. "I'm scent blind actually. Doc said it would get better with time but I can't recognize my own scent at all."

"You smell miserable, doll. Not too keen on handing you back to the cause of it, y'know?"

And then Frank scents him. It's light. Polite, even. But Steve knows the action even if he can't smell what it does.

Skin on skin contact and the soft rumbling purr of an alpha.

It kinda hits him then that he's not alone anymore. Frank cares. Cares enough to willingly offer to hide parts of himself just so Steve wouldn't get too hard a time with his parents. It's easily the most thoughtful thing someone that is not Dustin or Nancy, has done for him. Can't help it if he tears up a little.

"Waitin' on your answer, doll," Frank murmurs, probably aware of how Steve is feeling thanks to his scent. "Makeup will take a hot minute and we're gonna have to get you home .. eventually."

Steve ends up shaking his head, surreptitiously wiping a tear or two off his cheeks. "I'm not gonna hide you like you're something to be ashamed of. I'll just deal with them if they get too pushy."

"Cute." Frank's grin returns and he steals himself a kiss before pushing Steve towards his car.

They drive too fast and blast the music too loud. Steve doesn't know any of the lyrics, the music too far off from his usual tastes, but when he tries to somewhat sing along and Frank rewards him with a heart-stopping grin? Worth it.

As expected, Steve's parents are at the door when they arrive. Disappointed face, even more, disappointed scents. Steve's mom is glaring at Frank, his dad is just looking at Steve like he's a lost cause.

"Mister Harrington. Missus." Frank's got a jackal's grin on his face again, and Steve can't smell it, but his scent is twined around the anxious omega like an extra buffer.

It's amazing how Frank doesn't even care about the venom in his parents' eyes, writing him off near immediately with his dyed hair and throat tattoo and grunge aesthetic.

Steve's parents don't even deign to give a response, just march back inside and wait for him to follow after them.

"I had fun, thank you. I will see you tomorrow." Steve murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to Frank’s cheek before going in and closing the door behind him.

They barely waited until the door was closed before they started demanding answers. Frank probably hadn't even left, but they didn't care and Steve hated it. Hated all of it.

His night had been amazing, maybe even the best night he had had this year, but that call had to ruin it.

Before presenting, when they had still thought he would be a Beta or a late Alpha, his parents wouldn't have bothered calling him for a night out. As long as he was home for breakfast, everything was fine. These days though, they had become protective to the point it was bordering on controlling and it bothered Steve.

Maybe he should be glad that they were trying to show they cared but it was hard to do when their words were “Stop putting yourself in unnecessary danger that will just cause more trouble for us.” and not “We are just worried something will happen to you.”

Ever since the goddamn results came back, it was always about them. How this would be a problem for them. How losing the scholarship meant they would have to invest more money in him. How Steve getting involved with a delinquent would look on them.

They don't bother asking how he is coping with it all. The changes in his body, the bullying at school they know nothing about, how he had to give up the sport he loved because society decided Omegas weren't made to be in sports. For God's sake, he had cried the morning he received the letter notifying him his scholarship had been suspended. But either they didn't know about that, didn't realize, or didn't care.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself, young man?” His dad demanded, disappointment emanating from every pore in his body.

Steve might've been scent blind, but familiarity and time had allowed him to distinguish his parents' scents and the shifts in their emotions. Because of this, he wasn't spared from the full brunt of disappointment, anger, upset coming from both his parents. It was hard not to reflexively make himself appear smaller but he knew that would just make his dad angrier.

"I don't really see what the problem is, dad." He said, running a hand through his hair and sighing in exasperation. "I told you guys I would be out till late, and that I was going out with a friend. You had the location of the movie theater too. So what really is the problem here?"

"When you said you would be going out with a friend, we thought you meant that nice girl Robin, or maybe the Wheeler's kid, Nancy. You guys made such a cute couple, Stevie." His mom interjected, her tone softer but no less upset than his dad's had been.

"Mom, please. Nancy and I broke up a year ago already, will you drop it? Plus Robin is not even my type!"

"Of course because apparently, your type is no-good delinquents, you have made that clear." His dad snapped, glaring down at him.

Steve frowned, glaring back at him. "Frank is a classmate and a friend. He defended me when the baseball team started labeling me as a slut just because I'm an Omega. I think that's more than either of you have done about this!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Steve knew he had made a mistake. His dad's nostrils flared and his mother gasped like maybe they were sensing something he wasn't. At least his dad might've because his mother was as scent blind like him, maybe worse. There was a reason scenting was something he didn't know how to do properly.

"Can't believe you needed the help of someone like that to defend yourself. Didn't we teach you to stand up for yourself, Steve? Or do you think just because you are an Omega now you get to play the weak card?" His dad snarked, eyes narrowed.

"Honey-"

"No." His dad shook his head, ignoring his mother's hand on his shoulder. "You are to stop any contact with that delinquent. Now to your room, Steve."

"Wha- Dad-"

"To your room, I said." He didn't yell but the growl was so clear in his voice that Steve couldn't help but flinch and lower his head.

Fine. He would play to their rules while they were watching, but like hell he would give up on what he and Frank had. Not after he had just gotten it.

#alpha/beta/omega dynamics #dbd #dead by daylight #steve harrington #frank morrison #dbd frank #dbd steve #adopted au #drabbles #Morrington #frankxsteve

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thewickeddevil · 3 years

Text

A Study In Jean Moreau

(tw: mentions of Jean's past, violence, mental health and suicidal thoughts/intention to die. let me know if there's something else)

ok, so, i say all the time that Jean Moreau is my favorite and comfort character in All For The Game (i know. it literally hurts but also brings me joy sometimes) and i would literally kill for that man. so, that said, i think too much about him and, consequently, i have too many hcs about him. on request, i will now do what i'm gonna call A Study In Jean Moreau

(my beta reader and best friend helped me a lot with this. thanks @jostenrun)

i'll start with this quote from one of my kerejean fics (https://archiveofourown.org/works/26146540)

During Jean's first four months at USC and playing with the Trojans, he would always ignore Jeremy and put a frown on his face whenever he was in the same place as him. It obviously wasn't the best of strategies to put distance between himself and all the Jeremy glow, but it looked exactly bad enough to work.

Still, Jeremy was all pompous and charming looks at him, always smiling and being polite even though he received much less in return. It pissed the shit out of Jean.

He was used by the Ravens for many years, treated exactly like the exchange item he had been, just possession and obliged to follow lines and lines of rules too strict even for how he should breathe.

Riko was violent, the Ravens were cruel, the Moriyama family was wrong and he needed to repeat this to himself on a daily basis to be able to just keep going.

Back at the beginning of those days, many times he would fight back until he was taught that it was only worse. Many times he would beg until he realized that it encouraged Riko more than it prevented him. Many times he would cry until he was taught that it was wrong.

He would often bleed.

He would often wish to bleed until there was nothing left in his veins, no thoughts in his brain, no air in his lungs, no words on the tip of his tongue—

And he would often try to do just that on his own.

That was his daily life for a long time. Evermore was what he knew, the Moriyama family was who he belonged to and all of that was for what he served. That was it.

How was he supposed to know back then that suddenly overly nice twenty-eight other people would replace all of that with magnificence?

How was he supposed to know that they wouldn't look at him with disgust whenever he accidentally let a curse in French slip away?

How was he supposed to know that the Trojans had complete freedom within the team, instead of having to walk in pairs like the Ravens?

How was he supposed to know that Jeremy wasn't going to hit him whenever he made a mistake?

Or how would he know that Jeremy never considered anything that he made a mistake?

It was all a very big break from reality and so, so suddenly. Jean felt confused at first. Lost, wrong, out of place, stupid and scared.

And Jeremy was always determined to be the best he could be. Jeremy was safe.

Until Jean felt comfortable, confident, fine, and satisfied. He was someone instead of something and he really felt like that.

i think Jean would take years to relearn how to live instead of surviving. sometimes he would fail at that, but so many failures can only lead to success eventually.

he really didn't want to keep playing exy after everything, he doesn't think exy is good at all and trauma made him hate it, but he needs it because of the deal with Ichirou. fortunately, the Trojans are a team big enough to put him in the background for a while, to give him a little rest. but he knows he can't relax too much

he starts therapy. he needs it badly and it takes time for him to really be able to do it, but Jean was never anything but strong, and when he sees the chance to finally heal he knows that, despite how tired he is, despite how many times he wonders if it's worth it to keep going, he needs to grab that and at least try. just one more time. he never wanted to work for anything in his life because nothing was important before, but now he thinks that maybe things are changing

the Trojans get a dorm exclusively for him at first, because they don't want Jean to force himself to share space with someone he doesn't know and still doesn't trust. they want Jean to have his own space and feel safe before anything. he needs that solitude and he knows that it doesn't mean loneliness because his team will always be just a call away from him

he relapses sometimes. days without taking basic care of himself and without getting up from bed, and he no longer remembers whether he’s alive or not. sometimes he's able to call his therapist when that happens, but sometimes he isn't

this is how he gets into the habit of learning poetry. and eventually, writing poetry. he needs a coping mechanism and words seem to be safe enough to float around in his mind and make space in his core

(French poetry that Kevin always dissects for him and tells about the history behind the period in which those texts were written, or about the authors of each text)

the process is slow but it’s progress nonetheless

so, we know about therapy, about not being easy, about difficulties and things happening slowly during the healing process, now let's talk about the little details when things finally start to work out positively. when the best part of Jean's life finally begins

he finds out that his eyesight isn't bad only because of the beatings he took in the nest, and finds it ridiculous when Jeremy offers to help him buy glasses because, according to him, all the glasses Jean likes make him look like a middle-aged man that curses people for fun. Jean doesn't hate it though

Jean learns how to swim and likes it more than he thought he would. he likes the fluidity and movements of the liquid around his skin, how he cuts the water with his body when moving around and how it doesn't hurt him, and he just feels light

Jean likes nutella and chocolate with nuts, because Jeremy used to give it to him after nightmares or difficult days, and it became a comfort food for him (something he wasn’t even allowed to eat in the nest)

Jean's musical taste is a big mess of R&B, soul, pop art, folk, dark pop... he likes artists like Lorde, Aurora, Marina, Sigrid, Sleeping at last and the list goes on

Before he left France, Jean's family had a farm and he was responsible for harvesting fruits and vegetables there. this is one of the last memories he has about France, so he likes to harvest fruits and vegetables whenever he has the chance in the US

Jean loves to read fantasy books. he is a hufflepuff and part of cabin 6 in camp half-blood (children of Athena)

he likes geography. pedology, topography and weather are his favorites. he likes to look at the sky and know how to name climatic phenomena regardless of where in the world he is

(he also likes history and sociology, but only because he can hear Kevin and Jeremy — respectively — talking for hours and hours about those two subjects)

he hates biology

he absolutely hates croissants, tea and coffee. in the morning he always drinks juice or chocolate milk (the latter is Jeremy's fault)

the first time he willingly got wasted on alcohol, he, Sarah and Laila woke Jeremy up in the wee hours of the night while singing in Spanish (Jean barely knows Spanish). he passed out after that and woke up the next day in his room. his first thought was that he was fine even though he lost control of himself around other people, and he cried because of that. Jeremy was concerned because he thought he was crying from a headache or something related to a hangover

Jean can never find shoes his size in conventional stores because he's very big (fucking tall, muscular but not too much, with large shoulders and hips, and eventually a tummy) and, consequently, his feet are also big. he needs to have it personalized and he completely hates it

he loves dogs but is easily scared by them. he couldn't get out of the dorms for almost an entire day after Jeremy's mom's dog barked too loud and it scared Jean. he felt guilty and didn't want people to be mad at him for being so scared of a simple dog

he loves cats though, and after some time into therapy, he adopted a service cat. Kevin and Jeremy always joke about it looking like a replica of Jean himself

Jean doesn't understand the purpose of MMA competitions, because he doesn't like violence and thinks martial arts should be only for self-defense, so he doesn't really understand why people choose to compete over something so aggressive

he also doesn't like the violence in exy, but he forgives because, at least, violence is not the main goal of the sport, but to score points

he learns to draw and starts to open art commissions on the internet. this is his first job and he's proud of it because it was something he achieved by himself

Jean and Jeremy fell in love on the beach

Kevin and Jean take time to forgive each other, especially Jean. the broken heart Kevin left in Jean hurt more than being abandoned by his parents. he suffered from it for years but he didn't really want to blame Kevin. he also knew Riko, after all. he knew how capable of driving someone insane Riko was. it didn't make things easier or less painful though. Kevin and Jean took time, but they never loved each other less

Kevin and Jean fell in love for the second time (the time they could, the time they were allowed) after one of the matches in which their teams were rivals

Jean is very picky for food consistency, and he hates ketchup and mayonnaise for that. he insists all the time that if people knew how to season the food well, they wouldn't need those condiments

(he secretly loves Dijon Mustard though)

Jean was born on 08/31. he’s a virgo

plushies are the first resource that Jean uses when he feels alone but is unable to be around anyone at the moment, so he unconsciously starts making a collection of them. they're all small, except for two that Kevin and Jeremy gave him and are, respectively, a fox and a red and gold trojan. he eventually distributes his plushies to children in local orphanages but keeps those two to himself out of sheer emotional attachment

he doesn't stop suffering because of his trauma throughout his life, but he learns to deal with it. that's the point of everything. he never thinks he will magically forget or get over it, but now he is in a different place in his life and he can start working his way to be the best version of himself he can. he doesn't fool himself into thinking it will be easy and fast, he never thought it would be less difficult than it really was, but he takes things slowly and carefully and hopes it works

his entire healing process is too complex and extensive to explain everything here, but i did the best i could and now i really need to stop because i could stay here ranting for days. xx

#Jean Moreau #all for the game #aftg #the foxhole court #the raven king #the king's men #Jeremy Knox #Kevin Day #USC Trojans #Healing #i love him too much for my own good #this man deserves the whole world and i'll stand for that #Kerejean #Jerejean #Kevjean

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pikapeppa · 3 years

Text

Samson/Roman Hawke smut and fluff: Trash

A little Satinalia special for @schoute featuring her divinely cranky Roman Hawke and Sammyboi! Including PARTY BANTER, fluff, and as always, NSFW smut. Note: the smut may appear dubcon for those who aren’t familiar with this pairing, so read at your own risk.

~8000 words; read here on AO3 instead.

*************************

Roman gazed balefully at the entrance to the Hanged Man. The usual tavern racket was way louder than usual — so much so that she could hear the music and laughter and singing emanating through the door.

She didn’t want to go inside tonight. She usually liked coming here, insofar as she liked being anywhere in Lowtown. But tonight, the Hanged Man was somewhere that Roman would rather have avoided.

She couldn’t avoid it, though, not without hurting Varric’s feelings. She gritted her teeth, then finally pushed through the door.

The noise and heat hit her like a tidal wave. The Hanged Man was packed with at least fifty more people than usual, and their laughter was more boisterous and drunk than Roman was accustomed to hearing. The troupe of musicians in the corner was louder and livelier than usual, playing a cheerful driving song that was, unfortunately, prompting people to dance — very badly, by Roman’s estimation, not that she was an expert dancer herself or anything. It was smelly in here too, like hot cider and roasted meat and sweat from all the people dancing, and Roman wrinkled her nose as she slunk over to the bar.

The bar, too, was more crowded than usual with people clamouring for attention. Luckily, Roman was enough of a fixture here that one hard look had the bartender hurrying over. “Champion!” he panted. “Er, I mean, Miz Hawke, um—”

She cut him off. “Two fingers of whiskey,” she said. She glanced around at the writhing bodies in the tavern, then turned back to the bartender. “Make it three.”

The bartender nodded, and a long minute later, he slid a tumbler along the bar. “Happy Satinalia,” he yelled over the noise.

She nodded brusquely and left him a gold royal for a tip, then gulped down her drink in two big swallows before looking around the room more carefully. Now where the fuck was Varric?

She didn’t bother looking at the dance floor; Varric was about as fond of dancing as she was. She scanned the tables, and when she finally spotted him, she couldn’t help but smirk.

He was sitting at the head of a long rectangular table toward the back of the room, in the comfortable padded armchair that usually sat in his suite at the back of the Hanged Man. He was overseeing a game of wicked grace, looking comfortable and happy and giving the distinct impression of being the man in charge.

He kind of is, she thought. He’s hosting this big fucking party, after all. Ever since the Arishok had sacked the city three years ago, Varric had started sponsoring a Satinalia party at the Hanged Man. The first one had been to celebrate the reopening of the Hanged Man, seeing as it had been partially destroyed by the qunari. But for the following two years after, he’d continued to host these Satinalia parties every year, paying for the food and the drinks and the entertainment — a small fortune, given how much the greedy residents of Kirkwall could eat and drink.

“Why do you do this?” Roman had asked him one year.

“Why not?” he replied. “It makes people happy. We can always use a little happy around here, especially in Lowtown.”

Roman curled her lip. “It’s not like it makes a difference. They’ll eat all your food and drink all your booze today, then go back to talking shit about you behind your back tomorrow.”

Varric shot her a sympathetic look and patted her elbow. “It’s one night, Hawke. A night where we can forget all that shit and have a good time. You should try to join in.”

She clicked her tongue in annoyance, and Varric chuckled. “Besides, if you’re worried about me losing money, don’t. I’ve got a special fund I keep specifically for this party, and you know what it’s made up of?”

“What?” she said suspiciously.

His smile widened. “Winnings from wicked grace.”

Roman gave him an incredulous look. “You pay for all of this with your winnings from wicked grace?”

He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his belly. “What can I say? I’m a lucky guy.”

Roman actually laughed at that, and since then, she hadn’t questioned him about throwing this party every year. Besides, it was nice to see Varric looking all happy indoors, rather than looking all disgruntled while trampling around the fucking countryside with her.

She slunk through the crowds toward him. “I’m here,” she yelled.

He looked up from his cards and smiled. “Hawke,” he yelled back, and he waved for her to join the table. “Come on, sit down, I’ll deal you in the next round.”

She shook her head; she didn’t know anyone sitting at the table right now, and she wasn’t in the mood to make chit-chat with strangers. “Just wanted you to see I’m here. And now that I’ve shown my face, I’m going home,” she said, only half-jokingly.

Varric smiled. “Ha ha. Seriously though, get some food, enjoy yourself, find the others. I think the whole crew is here except for Blondie and Choir Boy.”

She nodded. Of course Sebastian wasn’t here, since he never did anything involving booze or fun. And Anders was probably stuck at the clinic in Darktown.

I wonder if Samson is here, she thought. Then again, she wasn’t sure he was even going to come. He’d shown up at Varric’s Satinalia party only once in the past three years, so there was no guarantee he would come this time. Maybe he’d just gone straight to Roman’s mansion to go to sleep.

Lucky asshole, she thought. “I’m stealing this,” she said to Varric, and she took his mostly-full stein of lager from the table.

He waved affably, and Roman made her way toward the nearest wall, intent on getting out of the crowd. But the revelry in the tavern was so uncontained that by the time she was pressed against the wall away from the worst of the people, a big mouthful’s worth of lager had gotten sloshed over her hand and onto her skirt.

“Fuck’s sake,” she muttered. She gulped down the drink as quickly as possible, then swiftly placed the empty stein on a passing waitress’s tray and grabbed a fresh drink from the tray at the same time.

She sniffed the drink, and a faint aching feeling tugged at her ribs. The stein contained mulled wine, and the distinct Ferelden smell made her feel both homesick and resentful at the same time — kind of like being at this party made her feel.

Roman had never been fond of parties. The cheerfulness and the jollity always made her feel as though there was something wrong with her. The bigger the party, the more isolated she felt, like the divide between her own moodiness and other people’s carefree cheer was even more stark and glaring, and she had never known how to bridge that divide — not that she really wanted to, since most people were shit and she hated small talk.

Still, sometimes she wondered what it would be like to have a gift with people, like Varric had: to be comfortable around people, to see the good in them and chat with them and not be braced any second for them to suddenly decide that she was an evil piece of shit for being an apostate with a temper and a foul mouth that even sailors would cringe away from.

She took a big gulp of mulled wine, and the aching feeling in her rib cage swelled even more. Then someone sidled up beside her — someone she wouldn’t have expected to seek her company willingly.

Fenris nodded politely. “Hawke,” he said.

She nodded in return. “Surprised to see you here,” she said.

“Varric insisted,” Fenris said dryly.

Roman scoffed. “Yeah, he’s pretty fucking persuasive.”

“That he is,” Fenris said, and he took a sip of his wine — normal, non-mulled wine.

Roman curiously eyed his glass. “Is that that Aggregio shit you like?”

He shook his head. “It’s Orlesian. A bit on the vinegar-y side, but I will take what I can get.” He gave her an odd look. “Besides, they don’t import goods from Tevinter here.”

She scoffed and swirled her drink. “Not legally, maybe. You should ask Varric to hook you up, get you some black-market fancy wine. He knows people.”

Fenris huffed in amusement. “That is an understatement. That dwarf knows everyone and their mother.”

Roman smirked at him, and she was surprised to find him smirking as well. Then she was surprised to find herself feeling this relaxed in Fenris’s company. They usually spent any time together walking on eggshells to avoid falling into the kinds of shouting matches he and Anders usually had. He must be pretty fucking drunk.

She glanced down at her half-empty stein of mulled wine. Then again, she was pretty tipsy already too.

She took another deep drink, and Fenris sipped his wine as well. Then Aveline joined them. “Fenris, Hawke,” she said with an officious little nod. “Happy Satinalia.”

“And to you,” Fenris said. Then he raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised to see the captain of the guard here.”

“I’m here for Varric, as you well know,” Aveline said testily. “Although I suppose it doesn’t hurt to have a member of the city guard here to keep the peace. Just in case.” She frowned at the boisterous patrons in the room.

Roman rolled her eyes. “Don’t fucking bother. If you get involved in any fights here, you’ll only make things worse.”

“She’s got a point,” Fenris said. “It would be prudent for you to not get involved.”

Aveline pursed her lips, then sighed. “Donnic said the same thing,” she admitted.

“He is a wise man,” Fenris said.

Aveline shot him a resentful look. “You’re only saying that because he goes to your house every week to play cards.”

Fenris shrugged. “If you wish to rejoin our games, take it up with your husband, not with me.”

Aveline harrumphed and folded her arms, and Roman hid her smirk in her stein. Then Isabela and a pink-cheeked Merrill pushed their way through the crowd.

“Ooh, hello everyone!” Merill said breathlessly. “Isabela was teaching me an Orlesian two-step! It’s very hard work though, a lot more hip twirling than I would have thought.”

Hip twirling? Roman thought. She didn’t think that Orlesian dances were known for their hip action. She glanced at Isabela, who winked at her.

Merrill was looking around the tavern with wide eyes. “I’m so thirsty. I wonder if I can get a glass of water here?”

“Not likely, kitten,” Isabela said. “But here.” She plucked a stein from a passing tray and sniffed it, then handed it to Merrill. “Cider. Not water, but close enough.”

Merill beamed at her, then took a big gulp of cider, and Fenris narrowed his eyes. “You ought to eat something,” he warned.

Merrill lowered the stein and gave him a chiding look. “Don’t fuss, Fenris. I can hold my liquor, you know.”

Fenris pursed his lips and looked away, and Isabela chuckled. “Now children, don’t fight, just dance. Who’s going to dance with me next?” She tilted her head cheekily at Aveline. “What about you, big girl? Care to dance?”

Aveline frowned. “Are you making fun of me?”

Isabela grinned. “No, actually. Why? Are you a bad dancer?”

“I never said that,” Aveline said — defensively enough that Roman knew she must be a terrible dancer.

“It’s all right if you are,” Isabela said soothingly. “If you’re dancing with me, nobody will be looking at you anyway.”

“I’m not dancing with you,” Aveline said stiffly.

Isabela sighed. “Fine, fine. What about you, Hawke?”

“Not a fucking chance,” Roman said, and she finished off her mulled wine.

“Oh come on,” Isabela coaxed. “I can sense that you have moves.”

Roman sardonically lifted her eyebrow. “Ask me again and the only moves I’ll make are toward the fucking door.”

Isabela laughed. “All right, sweet thing, no need to get sassy.” Then, finally, she gave Fenris a slow and salacious smile.

He lowered his mostly-empty glass. “What?”

“What about you?” she said silkily. “Care to dance?”

Fenris shook his head. “I don’t dance.”

“Not even with me?” Isabela simpered.

“No, Isabela,” he said patiently. “Not even with you.”

She sauntered right up to him and trailed her finger down his chest. “How much do you want to bet that I can change your mind?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow, and Aveline stepped away. “All right, I’m going, er, elsewhere.”

“Me too,” Roman drawled.

“Me too!” Merrill said with a nervous giggle. They all dispersed, Aveline toward the opposite side of the room and Merrill toward Varric’s table and Roman back toward the bar, all of them chased by Isabela’s husky laugh.

Roman carefully pushed her way through the crowd at the bar and held up three fingers. A moment later, the bartender handed her a tumbler of whiskey, and she deftly flicked him another gold royal for a tip, which he caught in mid-air with a smile.

A deep, sarcastic voice spoke behind her — one she didn’t recognize right away. “Ain’t that flush of you, Champion.”

She turned around and immediately stiffened. The person speaking to her was a tall and pasty fellow that she instantly recognized as one of Meredith’s more loyal Templars, accompanied by a shorter man who was also a Templar, both apparently on shore leave.

An instinctive flush of anger bloomed in her gut, but she forced herself to ignore it. She might be half-drunk, but she was sober enough to know that getting in a fight with Templars at Varric’s party would be a shitty thing to do.

“Yeah, it was,” she said. “Fuck off and enjoy the party.” She started to step around the Templars, but they shifted in front of her.

Roman gave the taller Templar a flat look. “Get the fuck out of my way.”

Unfortunately, he didn’t listen; instead, he and his crony stepped closer. “We heard you’re a blood mage,” he growled.

The anger in her gut curdled, and she lifted her chin. “You heard that, huh?”

“Yeah,” the shorter Templar said. “So? It true?”

She laughed nastily. “You think I’d tell you if it was? How fucking stupid are you?” She tilted her head. “Oh wait, you’re Templars. Never mind, I answered my own question.”

The shorter Templar curled his lip and took a step toward her, and she tensed her fists, ready to hit him if he took another step. She wouldn’t use magic, not during this party, but she had no fucking qualms about punching someone in the face.

The shorter Templar stepped even closer, and Roman bared her teeth in a snarl. But before she could raise her hand to strike, another voice interrupted. “Evening, fellas. Is there a problem ‘ere?”

Samson, Roman thought, and her shoulders loosened. He was standing just behind her with one hand tucked in his pocket and the other holding a stein, and his lips were curled in a polite smile — or seemingly polite, at least, though Roman could see the hint of mockery at the corners of his lips.

The Templars were looking at Samson now instead of her, and the taller one sneered. “Samson. The fuck are you doing here?”

“Having a drink, same as you,” he said, and he lifted his stein. “Happy tidings and all that.”

The shorter Templar snorted, and the taller one folded his arms and jerked his head at Roman. “You friends with this apostate cunt or something? That why you’re stepping in for her?”

Roman swelled with anger. “Cunt?” she snarled, and she took a step toward the taller Templar. “Who the fuck are you calling a—”

Samson grabbed her arm, and the shorter Templar laughed. “Oh ho, look at ‘im, putting the brakes on mages like he thinks he’s still a Templar.”

Roman wrested her arm away from Samson and glared at him, but he wasn't looking at her; he was looking at the two Templars still, and there was a quizzical look on his face now. “Does Cullen know you’re here?” he said.

The taller Templar went tellingly still, and the shorter one’s face crumpled into a scowl. “What’d you say?”

Samson shrugged and tucked his free hand back in his pocket. “Just askin’ if Cullen knows you’re here. Last I heard, the Knight-Captain had forbidden all of you from going to the Hanged Man or the Blooming Rose on your nights off.” He smirked. “Too much of a distraction, I heard.”

The shorter Templar stared at Samson. “How the fuck d’you know—”

The taller one elbowed him. “Shut it, you dimwit,” he hissed. He shot Samson and Roman a venomous look, then pulled his crony toward the door, and a moment later, they were gone.

Samson turned to her with a half-smile. “Bird,” he said, and he sipped from his stein.

She tutted. “I was handling that just fine without your help,” she said, but without any real heat. She hadn’t expected him to come, and frankly, it was kind of a nice surprise that he was here. He was wearing a rust-red shirt that was unbuttoned partway down his chest so she could see his chest hair, and… okay, fine, if she was being totally honest — an honesty she would entirely attribute to the mulled wine — he looked pretty attractive.

She took a gulp of her whiskey, then squinted at his chest. His shirt wasn’t unbuttoned, actually; he was just missing a couple of buttons.

“Something wrong?” he said.

She scoffed and plucked at his open shirt. “You look sloppy as fuck.”

He twisted his lips ruefully. “Yeah. Nicest shirt I’ve got, if you can believe it.”

“You should just let me buy you something new,” she said, for the umpteenth time. “Then you don’t have to go around looking like shit.”

“If I look like shit, why’re you staring?” he asked.

She tore her eyes away from his chest and scowled at him. “I’m not staring.”

“Sure you are,” he said. “It’s all right, Bird. You look good too.” His eyes travelled from her low-necked top to her knee-length skirt, and he smirked. “There’s a stain on your skirt.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know. Someone made me spill my fucking beer.”

“And you’re nagging me about being sloppy?” he said archly.

She gestured emphatically at her skirt. “This was an accident! You showed up looking like this!”

“Give me credit, will you? I tried,” he said plaintively.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You did not. You didn’t even shave. You’re all whiskery.”

He tsked. “You and the whiskers. I can’t figure out if you like them or not.”

“They look good,” she said without thinking. “They feel like shit on my skin.” Oops, that was more candid than she’d intended.

She frowned resentfully at her half-empty tumbler, and Samson chuckled — a rough little heh-heh-heh that lifted an annoying buzzing sensation between her legs. “That doesn’t help me decide whether to shave the bloody whiskers off or not,” he said.

She shrugged and looked away from him. “Just do what you want. It’s your face. I don’t care what you do.”

He sighed and shifted a little closer to her — close enough that their arms were touching. “You’re a bloody pain in the ass, you know that?”

She clicked her tongue. “Ah, fuck you, too.” She tapped her tumbler to his stein and finished off her drink.

He grinned at her, then took a gulp from his stein before speaking again. “You’re in a good mood. Having a nice time then, eh?”

“Not really,” she said. “I don’t like parties.”

“Me neither,” he said. “Never really felt right when I was at them. Always got the feelin’ like there was something I wasn’t quite in on, even if I was right in the thick of it.”

She looked at him in surprise. That was exactly how she’d always felt at parties.

He met her eye, then rubbed a hand over his chin. “What? Something on my face?”

“If you don’t like parties, why did you come to this one?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I knew you had to come, for Tethras. Thought I’d keep you company.” He gave her a crooked little smile. “Misery loves company, or so they say, and I figured you’d be pretty bloody miserable.” He drank from the stein, and Roman watched the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed.

He lowered the stein and looked at her, then lifted his eyebrow. “What—”

She grabbed his shirt and dragged him into a kiss.

He grunted in surprise and wrapped his arm around her waist, and Roman twined her tongue with his for a moment before pushing him away. “Your face is scratchy,” she said.

He stared at her stupidly for a second, his half-bared chest rising and falling as he panted for breath. Then a broad smile stretched across his face. “You bloody minx,” he said.

She smirked. Then a tall burly man bumped into her shoulder hard.

She stumbled slightly, annoyed but unfazed; this fucking tavern was way too crowded, after all. A second later, however, the man’s disparaging tone made it clear that the bump was definitely not an accident. “Look at this,” he drawled. “The Champion’s a whore for the beggar.” He bared his yellowed teeth at her in a semblance of a grin. “Times so desperate that you’ve got to fuck the trash on the street?”

A ringing rage suddenly burst in her ears. Without thinking, she swung her empty tumbler up and smashed it across the burly asshole’s face.

“Roman!” Samson barked.

The man stumbled back with a howl of pain, and the people around them cried out in shock and tried to shuffle away. Roman ignored them and took a threatening step toward the burly asshole, and Samson grabbed her arm.

“Roman, stop,” he hissed.

She twisted out of his grip. “He said you’re trash,” she yelled. “You’re not fucking trash. He’s the trash.”

Samson opened his mouth, but before he could reply, the burly man’s big hand squeezed her shoulder in a painful grip. “You fucking bitch—”

She viciously clawed at his hand, and when he whipped his hand back with a yelp, she raised the now-cracked tumbler, ready to smash it across his face a second time.

“Stop!” Aveline shouted. She pushed through the crowd and stepped between Roman and the burly man. “Hawke, what’s happening here?”

“She hit me in the face, that fucking bitch!” the burly man bleated.

Roman snarled and took another threatening step toward him, but Aveline held up a hand. “Enough,” she said loudly, and she turned toward the burly man. “Outside, now. Unless you want to come with me to the holding cells.”

“Yeah, get the fuck out of here,” Roman spat. “If I see your fucking face again—”

Samson grabbed her hand and pried the tumbler from her fingers. “Come on,” he said in exasperation, and he started pulling her away toward the back of the tavern.

She tried to pull her hand out of his grip. “What are you doing? Let me go!”

“Getting you somewhere quiet to calm down,” he gritted.

“I am calm,” she yelled. “It’s that asshole who isn’t calm! You heard him, he fucking started it!”

Samson didn’t reply, and he didn’t let go of her hand. He kept pulling her through the tavern, out of the main room with its music and its noise and through to the inn area at the back, which was much quieter.

She sighed loudly and smacked his arm. “Let me go. I’m fucking calm.”

“No,” he said, and he kept tugging her through the corridors until they were in a secluded back corner of the inn, where a few dilapidated crates and barrels sat there waiting to either be repaired or thrown away.

Samson finally released her hand and folded his arms. “I told you not to get into fucking fights for me.”

She glared at him. How dare he scowl at her like he was the angry one? “It wasn’t my fault. He was looking to start a fight!”

“You made the fight happen,” he accused.

“I did not!” she retorted.

He gave her a chiding look. “You hit him with a bloody tumbler, Bird.”

“You’re not fucking trash!” she yelled.

He wilted and rubbed his forehead. “Bloody Maker’s balls…”

“You’re not trash,” she railed. “There’s nothing wrong with you. He doesn’t even fucking know you, how can he just go around—”

Samson suddenly clasped her neck in his hands and pinned her against the wall, and Roman gasped at the impact of her back striking the wall. “You’re lookin’ for an excuse to fight,” he said roughly. “You say you’re not, but you are.”

She glowered at him, stung by the injustice of this accusation. “I am not,” she retorted. “I don’t want to — I don’t want to be this way! You think I like being all — fucking pissed all the time?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I just…” He sighed. “Maker, I don’t know what I’m saying. I just… don’t want you to get in fucking fights for me. I can fight for myself.”

“But you don’t,” she said. “You don’t fight when they pick on you, and I hate it.”

His eyebrows rose, and he released her neck. “Right, right. Because I’m a coward, right?”

Her frustration ratcheted higher. “You’re not a fucking coward!” she shouted. “You’re — there’s nothing wrong with you!”

He scoffed and folded his arms. “Are you blind or something? I’m a lyrium-addicted beggar with missing buttons on my best bloody shirt.”

She glared viciously at him and prodded his half-bared chest. “There’s nothing wrong with you that isn’t wrong with me too. If you’re fucking trash, then so am I.”

He stared at her without speaking, and Roman’s belly twisted; his expression was softening from anger into something far softer and more unnerving.

She curled her lip. “What the fuck are you looking at me like that for?”

A little smile lifted the corners of his lips. “That was almost romantic, Bird.”

She recoiled slightly, then shoved his abs. “Don’t be fucking stupid. It was not.”

He didn’t move. “It was, sort of. You going to be giving me roses in the moonlight next?”

His smile was broad and his tone was playful now, and Roman’s annoyance swelled, along with the hot feeling in her cheeks. “Shut the fuck up,” she said, and she shoved him again.

He grabbed her wrist and pinned it back against the wall, and a sudden hot rush of lust flooded between her legs. She twisted her wrist, and Samson stepped closer, close enough that she was trapped against the wall by his body.

He stroked her cheek with his other hand, and Roman twisted her face away. “Quit it,” she snapped.

He gripped her jaw and turned her face to look at him, and her heart thudded between her legs at the force of his hand on her jaw. She slipped her free hand into his open shirt and twisted his nipple, and he gasped in pain and released her jaw.

His hand on her wrist only tightened, however, and Roman gasped with excitement at the firmness of his fingers around her wrist. Then he captured her other hand and forced it back against the wall as well.

“Bloody wildcat,” he growled. “Just calm down, will you?”

“Then let me go,” she snapped breathlessly.

He huffed. “See, I don’t think you really want me to.”

“Yes I do,” she said belligerently.

He lifted his eyebrows skeptically. “You sure? Then tell me again to let you go, and I’ll do it. Go on, say it again.”

His tone was taunting, and it was like tossing oil on her flaring temper and her lust. She sneered at him but didn’t speak, and he let out a smug little laugh. “Didn’t think so. I know what you’re really looking for.”

“You don’t know shit,” she snapped.

“Yeah, I do,” he said, and he pressed his hips to hers.

His cock was a hard ridge pressing against the vee of her thighs, and her lips fell open with a gasp. Then Samson pressed his mouth against her ear. “You want me to fuck you,” he whispered. “That’s why you’re wearing this skirt, isn’t it?”

She dragged in a breath and wriggled in his grip, rubbing herself against his groin in the process. “What the fuck are you talking about?” she panted.

“This skirt,” he murmured in her ear. “This is the one you had on when we first fucked in the alley outside.”

His voice was low and sly, and the heat in her cheeks and her abdomen swelled even more. He was right, unfortunately; this was that same skirt, the same one Samson had shoved up before pinning her against the wall to fuck her from behind, and she’d be lying if she hadn’t thought about it when putting it on this evening. She wasn’t very well going to admit that, though.

Unfortunately, it seemed that she didn’t need to; Samson was laughing softly against her ear, that smug and knowing little chuckle that both enraged her and riled her up to a maddening degree. “Aw, you got dressed up for me tonight, eh?” he teased. “That’s romantic too.”

“Fuck you,” she spat. “Fuck you, fuck you, I hate you—”

He released her wrist and slid his palm up along her thigh, and Roman broke off with a convulsive gasp. Then he was rubbing her sex, his fingers sliding against her throbbing pussy through her smalls, and he was talking in her ear once more.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Bird,” he murmured. “I picked out this shirt for you, too.”

His fingers between her legs, his voice in her ear, his whiskers scratching her face… She fucking wanted him, and it was so annoying. She gasped in a breath and tried to gather her scrambled thoughts. “You picked the shitty shirt with missing buttons for me? Fuck you,” she moaned.

He laughed softly and pressed his fingers against her clit. “No, you daft idiot. I picked the one in your favourite colour.”

Her heart squeezed, and she scoffed. “Whatever. You’re the idiot.”

“And you’re a bloody pain in my ass,” he purred. Then, without warning, he pushed the crotch of her smalls aside and slid one finger inside of her.

The unexpected pleasure of his finger drove a cry from her throat. She twisted her free hand in his shirt, and he released her other hand and covered her mouth. “Shh,” he hissed. “Keep your voice down, eh?”

His finger was curling relentlessly inside of her, striking at a spot inside of her that was making her legs feel shaky, and she couldn’t stop herself from moaning against his palm. She thrust her hips eagerly toward his hand, and he exhaled hard.

“Maker’s balls, Bird,” he groaned. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

She twisted her face away from his palm. “Fuck me,” she rasped. “Fuck me right now.”

“Where am I supposed to do that?” he said quietly. “There’s no furniture here.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you before,” she said.

He smiled slowly at her, then suddenly pulled his finger free. Before Roman could protest or say a word, he was lifting her up and depositing her on a dusty barrel at waist-height.

He roughly reached into her skirt, and she lifted her hips so he could pull her smallclothes off. “If I get a splinter in my ass, you’re helping me get it out,” she threatened.

He shot her a reproving look as he shoved her smallclothes in his pocket. “Look, d’you want to fuck here or not?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Then stop complaining and spread your legs,” he commanded.

She glared at him as she parted her knees. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do.”

He gave her a reproachful look as he unbuttoned his trousers, but Roman ignored it; she was too focused on his cock, the thick hard length of it straining against the fabric of his smalls, and now he was pulling his cock out and stroking it with one hand while he stepped closer to her…

She eagerly shifted closer to the edge of the barrel, and Samson’s eyes dropped to her thighs. “Come on, Bird, let me have a look at you,” he breathed. He lifted the edge of her skirt to look at her pussy, and Roman spread her legs wide so he could see her better.

The look on his face grew hungry, and Roman stared at his lustful expression with a growing hunger of her own. “Pervert,” she accused.

He looked up at her and grinned. “Takes one to know one,” he teased. He stepped closer to the barrel and grabbed her hip, then thrust into her hard.

She gasped and jolted, then wiggled closer to the edge of the barrel so he could fuck her deeper, and he groaned and grabbed her thigh. “Put your legs around me,” he urged.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her ankles together at the small of his back. He thrust into her again, and this time she was forced to cry out with pleasure; the edge of the barrel was digging into her ass a bit, but with her legs wrapped around him, it felt like he was striking much deeper inside of her with every thrust.

He gripped her hip with one hand and the edge of the barrel with the other and slammed his cock inside of her, and Roman moaned again.

“Shut the fuck up, Bird,” he groaned, and he slammed into her again. She gasped and sank her teeth into the side of his neck, and he groaned and thrust into her over and over, rapid deep thrusts that sent ripples of pleasure through her fingers and her toes, and she greedily sucked and bit his neck to stop herself from moaning at how fucking good it felt.

After a couple of blissful minutes, Samson gasped fitfully and dug his fingers painfully into her thigh, and she grunted against his neck as his cock grew even harder inside of her. He came a moment later, shuddering and painting against her collarbone as he thrust into her a frenzied blur, and Roman savoured the forceful striking thrusts of his cock as he rode out his climax.

A long moment later, he sighed heavily and nipped her neck, and the feeling of his teeth on her neck sent a little shiver down her spine. He patted her thigh, and she untwined her legs from around his waist with a little grimace.

“My ass hurts,” she complained.

He smirked at her as he stepped back and tucked his cock into his trousers. “Sorry,” he said.

“You are not,” she accused.

“Ah, you’re right, I’m not,” he said unrepentantly, and he helped her down from the barrel. She immediately felt his seed dripping down the inside of her thigh, and she quickly untied the red scarf from around her wrist to wipe it up.

“Hey, I’ll do that,” Samson said affably, and he reached for the scarf.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Why?”

“Because I’m a gentleman, o’course,” he said. “Gentlemen clean up their messes.”

His face was lit with a broad shit-eating grin, and Roman couldn’t decide whether she wanted to laugh or to smack him. Instead, she shot him a flat look as she wiped the inside of her thigh. “You really want to be a gentleman? Then you can go down on me.”

His grin fell into a look of surprise. “Eh?”

“I didn’t come,” she said.

He grimaced. “Oh. Balls. Sorry, Bird.” He eyed her uncertainly. “You… you really want me to go down on you? Now?”

She paused in her wiping and raised her eyebrows. “What, you’ll fuck me at the back of the Hanged Man but you won’t go down on me?”

“It’s not that,” he said hurriedly. “It’s just…” He scrunched his face up a bit. “I already came in you.”

“So?” she said.

“So I’m not really keen to, uh, eat my own cooking, if you get my meaning,” he said.

Roman gave him a withering look. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah…” He sighed and wilted. “You want me to do it anyway, don’t you?”

She clicked her tongue. “You’re the one who was saying you’re a gentleman.” She went back to wiping the inside of her thighs.

Samson rubbed the back of his neck. Then, to her surprise, he kneeled in front of her. “All right, twist my bloody arm,” he grumbled. He pushed her skirt up to her hips, and Roman felt a fresh thrill of heated anticipation pooling between her legs.

He leaned in and kissed her hip, and her pussy pulsed at the nearness of his mouth. Then he sighed. “Can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered, and he drew his tongue along the length of her cleft.

She gasped and sank her fingers into his hair. Despite his reluctance, he was doing just as good a job as he always did: his tongue was circling smoothly around her clit, teasing her with the exact amount of pressure that felt fucking good while making her crave an even firmer touch of his tongue.

She dragged in a shaky breath and rolled her hips toward his mouth. He drew his tongue firmly over her clit, and the firm pressure sent a shock of pleasure through her body.

She gasped and clenched her fingers in his hair. He lapped at her clit again, and she bucked toward his mouth. He reached up and placed his palms on her bare thighs to push them wider apart, and the heat of his hands on her skin sent another thrill of pleasure through her limbs.

She rocked her hips toward his tongue, and within seconds she was grinding against his mouth, her rapture rising steadily with every smooth hot stroke of his tongue against her swollen clit. She gasped convulsively and pulled his hair, and he growled into her pussy and tugged at her clit with his lips, and she let out a moan.

He leaned away and shot her a resentful look. “Seriously, Roman, shut up—”

“Don’t fucking stop,” she gasped, and she pulled his head between her legs once more.

He grunted and sealed his lips over her clit, and she shoved the back of her other hand against her mouth to stifle herself, and not a moment too soon: a few blissful licks later, she was shuddering and slumping back against the wall as her rapture rippled from her pulsing clit down to her calves and all the way up to her scalp.

She closed her eyes and leaned her back against the wall, giving the wall all of her weight as the pleasure washed through her limbs. When her climax had finally ebbed away, she dropped her hand away from her mouth and sighed.

Then Samson kissed her and thrust his tongue into her mouth.

“Mmph,” she protested, but his tongue was sliding against her own. She poked his belly and bit his tongue, and he pulled away from her.

“See?” he said pointedly. “Doesn’t taste so good, does it?”

She gave him a shut-the-fuck-up look. “Tastes like it always does when I suck you off after you fucked me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.”

She snorted and reached into his pocket to take back her smallclothes. “You really are a fucking idiot,” she told him. She pulled her smalls back on and smoothed out her skirt, then started to sidle past him toward the corridor, but he stopped her with a hand on her hip.

She paused and looked up at him, then frowned; he looked quite serious. “What’s wrong?” she said.

“Stop getting into fights for me,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you getting into trouble.”

She sighed in annoyance, and he squeezed her hip. “I mean it, Roman. You have to keep your head down more.”

“Are you going to tell the whole world to fuck off and leave me alone, then?” she said archly. “Because if everyone gets off my case, I’d gladly keep my fucking head down.”

He clicked his tongue wearily, then pecked her on the forehead and gave her butt a little smack. “Forget it, all right? Let’s go get another drink.”

She shot him a resentful look and made her way from their dark abandoned corner back into the nearest corridor, then stopped short in surprise: Isabela was leaning casually against the wall.

She looked up at them with a knowing grin, and Roman stared at her. “Were you listening in?” she demanded.

“Yes, actually,” Isabela said.

Roman recoiled. “Why the fuck were you listening in?”

“I was guarding this hallway so you could have a private moment,” Isabela said. “It’s hardly my fault that you make so much noise.”

Roman deflated a bit. “Oh. Fuck.”

Samson rubbed his chin and gave Roman an I-told-you-so look. Roman hunched her shoulders defensively, and Isabela let out a throaty laugh as she approached them. “Don’t look so embarrassed, sweet thing. Having a quick one at the back of a tavern is perfectly natural. We’ve all done it.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Roman muttered.

Samson eyed Isabela cautiously, then touched his fingers to his forehead in a small salute. “Kind of you to keep an eye out for us, cap’n.”

Isabela raised her eyebrows. “Well well. Captain, you say? Talk dirty to a girl, why don’t you?” She elbowed Roman. “You should invite me to join you next time.”

Roman rolled her eyes. “Maker’s fucking balls,” she complained, and she started walking away.

“That wasn’t a no,” Isabela called after her.

She shook her head and didn’t reply. A second later, Samson caught up to her. “Er, what was that exactly?”

“Approval from Isabela,” Roman grunted.

“Really?” Samson said. “That’s, er, nice?”

“Whatever. I don’t need anyone’s approval,” Roman said. But for some reason, she didn’t feel as irate as she would have expected from having Isabela listen in to her and Samson fucking. And Isabela had even been friendly to Samson, which was — well, not unexpected necessarily, because Samson and Isabela had barely ever spoken. But Roman was so accustomed to seeing people treat Samson like a pile of nugshit that witnessing the opposite was… nice.

Yeah, it was nice. The more Roman thought about it, the more she realized that she was actually feeling… pretty good, actually. She was still a little tipsy from the booze, and her damp smallclothes were reminding her of the excellent illicit sex she and Samson had just had at the back of the tavern, and someone other than herself had treated Samson like a person…

Damn, she thought in surprise. Against all odds, she was actually feeling… kind of happy.

She looked up at Samson with a little smile, and his eyebrows jumped up. “What’s with you?”

She shrugged. “Nothing,” she said. “Come on.” They stepped back into the main room of the Hanged Man, and Roman balked for a second; it was somehow even more noisy and crowded and hot than before. The musical troupe in the corner were playing a song with a hard driving beat while the majority of the patrons twirled and spun to the music with varying degrees of coordination and drunkenness. Every few minutes, a howl of laughter and dismay would go up from one of the tables where people were playing cards, and the entire room was scented with mulled wine.

A funny swelling feeling filled her chest. Then Samson leaned in close to her ear. “It’s bloody hopping in here,” he yelled. “I’ll find some drinks, you find us a corner?”

“No,” she yelled back. “Come on.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the middle of the crowd.

She ruthlessly pushed her way through the pulsing crowd of bodies until they reached Varric’s table. He was still sitting in pride of place at the head of the table, and the rest of their little crew was sitting with him and playing cards: Fenris and Merrill were on the left side of the table and Anders was on the right, having apparently gotten away from the clinic at last. Aveline was sitting beside him with no cards and her arms petulantly folded, and they all looked up when Roman pushed her way through the crowd.

Varric smiled. “Hawke! Samson! Have a seat, join us.”

“Thanks,” Roman said, and she poked Anders’s arm. “Move over.”

“Happy Satinalia to you too,” he drawled as he shifted over. “Where’ve you been?”

“Busy,” she said. She pushed Samson down onto the bench beside Anders, then seated herself on the padded right arm of Varric’s chair.

“Busy doing what?” Isabela said as she sashayed over.

“None of your fucking business,” Roman said, but with no heat.

Isabela winked cheekily and sidled around to sit on the other arm of Varric’s chair, and Anders snorted in amusement. “This is rich. Varric, you look like the owner of a harem now.”

Isabela tsked. “A harem of two isn’t much of a harem. Merrill, you should come and sit in Varric’s lap to round us out.”

Merrill tittered. “Who, me? Oh no, I couldn’t!”

Anders glanced at Aveline. “What about you, then? You could go on up and sit in Varric’s lap.”

“Over my dead body,” Aveline said flatly.

“Over mine, actually,” Varric said drolly. “I don’t think I could survive all of Aveline’s muscle.”

Merrill, Anders and Isabela laughed, and Aveline smiled faintly. Then Varric tapped Roman’s arm. “Are you and Samson joining in the next round, then?”

His tone was casual, but his expression was faintly hopeful — the look he usually wore when asking if Roman would play cards with them, even knowing that she was going to say no.

But today wasn’t a usual day, and Roman wasn’t in a usual mood. She shrugged. “Yeah, deal us in. Right?” She looked askance at Samson.

“I suppose,” he said tentatively. “I, uh, haven’t any coin to bet, though.”

“That’s okay,” Varric assured him. “The elf here hasn’t got any coin, either. He’s just playing on good faith.” He jerked a thumb at Fenris, who sighed and tugged his ear.

“I’ll win it back next week, I swear it,” he grumbled.

Varric nodded affably. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say.”

The others chuckled as Fenris tsked, and Roman watched contentedly as Samson’s posture relaxed a bit. Then she looked at Varric once more, and an unusual feeling of warmth spread through her chest. He was smiling broadly at her, and Roman knew that he understood the significance of her agreement to play cards.

She shrugged and looked away from him. “Happy Satinalia or whatever,” she muttered.

He chuckled. “You too, Hawke. Now come on, let’s play.”

“We’re all waiting on you,” Anders pointed out.

“All right, all right,” Varric said affably, and he set down a card. “Okay, Daisy, it’s your turn.”

The round of wicked grace continued, with Anders seeming to have the winning hand. Roman listened quietly as they chatted and teased each other in turn, and she marvelled at the strangeness of the situation — the strangeness of sitting here with this weird little group of misfits, all of them victims of shitty circumstance in one way or another, now joined together in a mish-mashed group of semi-friends who spent most of their time together and helped each other out when help was needed, whether they even particularly liked each other or not.

Kind of like a family, Roman thought, and that weird squirmy feeling of warmth invaded her chest again.

She shifted slightly on Varric’s chair. Then Samson subtly squeezed her ankle. “You all right, Bird?” he said quietly.

She nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine,” she said. And for once, she genuinely meant it.

#samson #samson da2 #raleigh samson #samson/hawke #samson x hawke #romanson #pikapeppa writes #schoute CREATES AMAZING OCs THAT I ADORE

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jemej3m · 4 years

Note

HAVE U EVER THOUGHT OF A BAND!AU?? i love band au's and ur work!!! (not to mention but i think u would write an excellent drummer!andrew)

are you kidding me??? have i ever thought of a band au? bruh i breathe band au’s

also, i wanted this to be soft, so have some childhood friends starting a band out of their mum’s garage :DD

“Can I now?”

Neil ducked his head, trying not to show Andrew his grin. “No, ‘Drew.”

Andrew cocked his head. “How about now?”

Neil turned around and arched a singular eyebrow at the man. “You cannot shove your drum stick through Kevin’s brain, Andrew. Not now: not ever.”

“I hate you,” he muttered. Neil just grinned.

“You say the sweetest things to me, ‘Drew.” With that, he turned and continued to tune his acoustic. Behind him, Andrew was going bright red.

What started as a friendly, neighbourhood band had turned into something else entirely: Neil and Andrew were cramped backstage, tuning and warming up. Kevin was probably talking to his mom on the phone, whilst Nicky was most certainly trying to escape their security detail and go flirt with fans in the event centre’s foyer. He could charm a crowd.

They’d started the band up when they were just kids: Neil remembered Kevin grabbing him by the sleeve and dragging him across the street, where he’d noticed the three Dobson boys setting up instruments in their garage: Nicky on bass, Aaron on keyboard and Andrew on his drumkit.

Neil, having been only 11 whilst the others were 12 or 13, wasn’t as outspoken or enthusiastic about joining them as Kevin was.

“Come on, Neil,” Kevin insisted, dragging him by the elbow. “I’ll sing and you play the guitar. Okay?”

“It might be fun, Neil,” his sister, Dan, insisted, giving him a gentle push out the door. “It’s just messing around in a garage band. Nothing serious.”

If little Neil knew where he’d be, nine years later, he probably would’ve spontaneously combusted out of paranoia and fear.

Adult Neil still got anxious - he always wanted to perform his best - but it’d taken years of gigs and scouts and labels to work them up to where they were now. It was a gradual process, which definitely helped the whole stage-fright thing.

“What are you thinking about?” Andrew inquired, sitting down behind Neil and hooking his chin over Neil’s shoulder. He smiled, leaning back against his best friend.

“Just stuff,” he responded. “How we got here. Where we’ll go.”

“Next stop on the tour is D.C.”

“Funny.”

“Yes,” Andrew agreed, deadpan. “That’s what I’m known for.”

Neil just laughed, getting to his feet. “We’d better get ready before Kevin comes back.”

“Your brother is the worst,” Andrew grunted, following suit.

“At least we’re not related,” Neil grinned, jostling Andrew’s shoulder. “You can’t talk: you’re Aaron’s twin.”

Andrew just pointed a stick at Neil in warning.

The lights were flashing. Audience screaming. Neil opened his eyes out of his reverie and looked to his counterparts: Nicky was rushing up and down the front lines, giving out as many hugs as he could. Kevin was waving and blowing kisses. And Andrew -

He stood behind his drumkit, shirtless and dripping with sweat. He still bore his armbands, brimming with blades and secrets, and in his hands he loosely held his favourite pair of drumsticks, a pair Betsy had bought him, one’s he’d been careful to not break.

Neil’s mouth was dry as he walked over to where Andrew stood. A spotlight blazed from above, shrouding Andrew’s head and illuminating his hair like a golden halo. He looked angelic. He was angelic.

“You were amazing,” Neil said, voice lost under the cacophony of the crowd. His hand was reached out, gently brushing the bare skin of Andrew’s bicep. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore: the post-show euphoria was driving him.

Andrew didn’t need to hear him. He could read lips. Read intentions.

They were ushered off the stage soon after, Neil’s ears still ringing, his fingertips still burning. Andrew tugged on a fresh shirt, a towel around his neck. He had the most laborious job out of all of them, save maybe Kevin. Neil looked away from the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck.

“Good show,” Kevin panted, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. Neil nodded, the exhaustion of playing for four hours settling in. His shoulders ached, fingertips raw with playing both his guitar and the keyboard (Neil filled Aaron’s vacancy when he’d fucked off to college) whilst his throat ached from countless harmonies and backups he sung for Kevin.

Genuine praise from Kevin was rare and prized for their band, and was usually reserved to the few moments after a performance finished. Then he’d go back to his regularly scheduled criticisms and evaluations.

“Wasn’t it?” Nicky grinned. “We are such hot shit sometimes! Anyway,” he slung his guitar off to the side, careless. Neil winced a little. “I’ve got a cutie waiting in my car, apparently.” He winked. “His name’s Erik and he’s built like a wall. I’ll see y’all tomorrow!”

“Jesus Christ,” Kevin said, not unkindly. They were all used to Nicky’s antics by now. He looked back to Neil. “You gonna stay with Andrew or me?”

Neil narrowed his eyes. Was he going to stay with his brother or his best friend? The choice wasn’t exactly hard to make.

Kevin put up his hands. “What? I thought you two’d had a lover’s spat or something, before the show.”

“Kevin,” Andrew warned, voice low.

“You guys weren’t as synthesised as you usually are,” Kevin continued. “Did Neil say something, again? Neil, what did you do?”

“Kevin,” Andrew snapped.

The man took his final warning with a grain of salt and rolled his eyes, peeling off to cool down and head back to the hotel. He left Neil standing in the middle of the corridor, baffled. What the fuck was he talking about? A lover’s spat?

“Don’t think too hard, junkie,” Andrew muttered, fingers hooked into the collar of Neil’s shirt. “He’s just sprouting his usual bullshit.” But Andrew couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Right,” Neil agreed, smiling weakly. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“Shut up,” Andrew tugged him down the corridor with a finger hooked through Neil’s belt loop.

Neil went willingly. He always went willingly with Andrew. There was no one else in the world that he trusted more.

“What do you mean, you’re not a thing?”

Neil paused with his fingertips up to the door, ready to push it open. It seemed as though he had stumbled upon a conversation - perhaps not for Neil’s ears.

“He’s not interested,” Andrew said, sounding exhausted. “And I’m not about to pressure him into something he doesn’t want.”

Huh. Maybe they were talking about a new guy. Andrew didn’t date that often - or very successfully - and he was usually not willing to talk to Neil about it whenever it did happen. Neil wasn’t quite sure why but respected his boundaries nevertheless. He just didn’t know that Andrew went to Kevin about it.

Neil wondered who it was, this time. Roland? He’d been the most long-term thing Andrew had ever attempted. No, Andrew said he wasn’t interested in Roland. Unless he was lying.

Andrew doesn’t lie to me, Neil reminded himself.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kevin insisted. “He’s been in love with you ever since he first saw you. Don’t give me that look, Andrew. Put away your knives.”

“Do you think so?” Andrew asked, voice low. Gravelly. Tainted by disbelief.

Something in Neil’s chest tightened. He sounded…hopeful. Neil was arbitrarily jealous. Who was this guy?

Wait, why was Neil jealous?

He pushed against the door, ignoring the way that the two of them shifted so that it didn’t look like they were engaged in conversation.

“We’re loading up the bus,” he supplied. “Time to get moving.”

And if Neil noticed the way that Andrew walked around him, careful not to brush their knuckles, well.

He didn’t say anything.

By the end of the third week, Neil couldn’t handle it anymore. He wasn’t sure what he’d done, or why Andrew was so adamant in avoiding him, but he hated it. He hadn’t felt this isolated since his early years when his father would shut him in a wardrobe and his mother would scold him for eliciting his father’s ire, before both of his parents died and Wymack adopted him into his strange little family, brought him into the tiny cul de sac where Betsy Dobson and Abby Winfield lived with their own collections of abandoned kids.

“Andrew,” he mumbled as he watched Andrew tuck himself into his own bed. They were sleeping in the same hotel room but they were millions of miles away from each other. Neil felt stiff and confused.

Resigned, he shut the light off.

“Fix it,” Kevin demanded.

“Fix what?”

“Just tell him already. It’s getting nauseating.”

Neil narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Kevin threw Neil’s lyric notepad back at him. “‘Living limbless, lost, lonely, ever since you went and left me’? What do you mean, what am I talking about? I thought you two were already together - now he’s saying you were never interested? What the fuck, Neil. You’ve been practically married for years.”

Neil blinked. “Me and -”

“Andrew, yes, who else?” Kevin continued, irritable as he scrawled down new ideas. “You’re so fucking dense sometimes - ow!”

Neil stuck out his tongue, satisfied with the large black line his thrown pen had left behind. He fished out another pen from his bag and kept writing, letting Kevin’s banter distract him from how painful his chest felt.

The tour was ending. They were looping back to South Carolina. Andrew hardly looked at him anymore, let alone spoke to him. Kevin looked at Neil with pity. Nicky tried to cheer everyone up with icecream.

Neil couldn’t understand why they were falling apart. What had he done? What had he said?

The screams irked him. They sounded less ecstatic and more afraid. Neil was falling apart onstage, overthinking. They’d just played for Charleston, one of their last stops on the tour.

The curtains came down. Neil couldn’t move. The others were already off the stage. Neil couldn’t breathe.

“Neil,” Andrew said. He couldn’t look Andrew in the eye. How was he to explain that Andrew’s estrangement had left him in such a miserable state that he could hardly perform without breaking down?

“Neil, look at me.”

Neil closed his eyes. “Whatever I did - I’m sorr -”

“Abram,” Andrew whispered, before pressing a bruising kiss to Neil’s lips. His eyes flew open, though he didn’t move. It didn’t matter: Not a moment later, Andrew ricocheted back, hand over his own mouth. In his other hand, his favourite drumsticks snapped, falling to the floor in uneven halves.

By the time Neil had opened his mouth, Andrew was gone.

Neil spent the drive to the pub they’d chosen to ride out their performance high in silence. Andrew was stoic and unmoving, silent despite Nicky’s attempts at conversation. When they arrived, Neil felt like he wanted to throw up.

It was bustling at the late hour, but dark enough to slip in unnoticed. Neil followed Andrew up to the bar: at one point, someone shoved into Andrew and Neil felt him press Neil against the marble top, warm from shoulder to shin. Neil wanted to lean back into him. He wanted Andrew to look at him, to talk to him. He wanted Andrew back. He wanted Andrew.

Quickly, he turned around, ignoring the bar tender when he asked if he was sure he wanted a virgin martini. Andrew was right there, pupils blown, cheeks red. Angry.

He was furious.

“Andrew,” Neil insisted. “Why -”

He grabbed the tray of drinks and disappeared before Neil could form a sentence.

And - well. Neil wasn’t known for subordination.

He waited patiently for the others to get drunk and disappear into the crowd, like they always did. Sometimes Nicky dragged Neil with him, if the night was right. Andrew usually just sat, patiently waiting for his family to return to him. His whiskey sips were cautious and slow.

Tonight was different. As soon as they were alone, Andrew stood, knocked back the entire glass and strode towards the exit. Neil let his breath hitch and followed, almost jogging in order to keep up with Andrew’s stride.

“Andrew, this is insane,” he said as they walked down the street, leaving the bar behind. “I’m losing my mind here. Why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you even look at me? What did I do?”

“Exist,” Andrew snarled, hands curled into fists and shoved into the pockets of his denim jacket.

Neil ran ahead of him, almost tripping over the uneven sidewalk. They’d walked far enough that they seemed to have removed themselves from any remnants of the club, and instead were stood in front of a circular, patheon-esque church and its haphazard graveyard.

Andrew stopped walking and stared. In the moonlight his skin was pale enough to be translucent.

“Tell me,” Neil whispered. “Truth for truth. We promised, Andrew. To never lie, to never leave. Why did you kiss me?”

“You promised,” Andrew corrected him. “I swore I would have your back. Does that have to constitute being attached at the hip?”

Neil crossed his arms, petulant.

Andrew’s sigh was aggravated. “It was never meant to be a problem.”

“What was?”

“You.”

“Andrew -”

Fingers curled in the collar of his shirt, then slipped across the warm skin at the nape of his neck, then tangled themselves into Neil’s hair. Andrew pulled their foreheads together, squeezing his eyes closed too tight. Neil wanted to iron out the crease between his brows.

“‘Drew?”

“Shut up,” the man croaked. “Shut up. Shut up.”

“Andrew,” Neil said, weakly. “I wanted to kiss you.”

Andrew’s nails dug into Neil’s scalp. “No you didn’t.”

“Yes,” his fingers carefully found their way onto Andrew’s jaw, forcing the man to look up at him. “I did.”

Andrew just swallowed, red-cheeked.

Neil pulled Andrew closer, head dropping to Andrew’s shoulder. His heart throbbed like a drumbeat, heavy and insistent and never, ever out of time. “Is that what this is about?”

“No,” Andrew lied.

“I think I like you, ‘Drew,” Neil whispered into the skin of Andrew’s neck. “I think I really do.”

“I hate you,” Andrew managed, sliding his hands around Neil’s waist and holding him close under the Charleston moonlight. “I hate you.”

“I know,” Neil managed, closing his eyes. It made a lot more sense, now.

Between their erratic breathing and racing pulses, a drumbeat formed.

#andreil #pining #band au #drummer andrew #guitarist neil #they're soft and in love #childhood friends #betsy dobson is a good mother #and wymack is a good father #musician au #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten #aftg #oblivious neil josten #jem writes

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scaryscarecrows · 4 years

Text

Screw Piña Coladas

AN: Thing that takes place after ‘R&B’s P’. For fun!

* * *

Juanita eyes the group with apprehension. It’s not that there’s a lot of them-they get largeish groups from Gotham all the time, usually from the mob-but it is a little weird, because these guys aren’t mobsters. But no, it’s mostly the one they haven’t let out of their sight since they got here. He’s a kid, or close, and, well, the hovering makes her wonder if he’s, like...not here willingly.

You know.

And it’s just...a couple of days ago, a very drunk, very belligerent guest had been getting on one of the waiters-just one of those things, happens too often but hey-and the kid had gotten involved. The guest had backed off, made a run for it when some of the others had showed up, and the kid had promptly been manhandled into a chair.

Weird. It’s just a weird situation all around and she doesn’t like it.

Today’s her lucky day. They’re all outside, and the kid’s sprawled in one of the sun loungers with a book. The others are either nowhere to be seen or in the water-two of them are attempting to dunk the big one in the surf, but so far he hasn’t so much as slid in the sand. They’re far enough away, though, that if she acts casual about it, she should be able to approach the kid without drawing suspicion. She works here. She has to check in with the guests, make sure everything’s all good, yes?

Up close, he looks terrible; sickly pale, with cuts and bruises mottling what little skin’s visible. He’s not dressed like a normal tourist, either, instead going with long, loose pants and a long-sleeved shirt that clings to the outlines of bandages wrapped around his midsection. He’s got a knee brace, too, a good one, and that explains, at least a little, why he’s usually got someone with him. The only normal thing he’s wearing is the pair of large, mirrored sunglasses that do very little to hide or even obscure the brand on his cheek.

She thinks he’s asleep, at first, but then she takes one more step and his head snaps sideways, sunglasses barely hanging on.

“Sorry to startle you,” she says, trying for an easygoing smile. She gets a shy one in return.

“Not your fault. Did you need something?”

“Just checking in. Would you like a drink, or a snack? Our shrimp cocktail--”

“That’s not what you wanted,” he says gently. Fine.

“Are you okay?” Okay, it’s blunt, but still. “Because we can absolutely get you out of this situation if you’re not.”

The kid laughs and sinks back, one arm draped carefully across his ribs.

“I appreciate it. Really, I do. But I’m not a-oi!” In the water, the big man has finally turned on the other two and is carrying one of them out to sea. “If he drowns, I drive back!” Whatever that’s about, it stops the guy cold and he hurls his cargo into an oncoming wave. The kid sighs and mutters something about idiots before turning back to her. “They didn’t kidnap me, I promise. Thanks for the concern, though. Means a lot.”

If he says so…

“You okay, sir?”

Eep!

She’s brushed aside by a man with a backpack, who crouches down and unzips it.

“I’m fine. Just getting a drink.”

“No alcohol,” the man warns. The kid’s eyebrows go up like he’s rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses.

“I’m not,” he grumbles, then turns to her and gives her a more confident smile. “C’n I get a raspberry lemonade, though?”

“Sure thing. Anything for you, sir?”

“No, thanks.” He sounds distracted. “You take your antibiotics?”

“Thought I had to take ‘em with food.”

“It’s like you’re trying to die.”

“I’m not-!” The kid sighs. “C’n I get some of those fried plantains with that?” The man gives him a hard stare. “Those are food!”

“I am this close to dragging you back to the hotel--”

“Don’t, they’re already worried you idiots kidnapped me--”

“We didn’t,” the man says to her, and it’s the most unconvincing thing she’s ever heard. “There. Now come on, you have to eat something else.”

“I’ll eat more at dinner, I’m not hungry.”

“Fine. But if you puke, I’m going to say I Told You So.”

“You say that anyway.”

“Shut up.” Out of nowhere, a bottle slaps against the kid’s palm. “If I had my way, you’d still be in a nice, sterile hospital bed. Do not push it.”

“Okay, okay. That’ll be it, thanks.”

“That’ll be right out.”

When she gets back, maybe fifteen minutes later, the man with the backpack is gone and the kid’s asleep, sunglasses halfway down his nose and the paperback splayed across his chest. He’s not alone; one of the men from the water is lounging next to him, slathering sunscreen on his arms.

“What do-oh. Step back. Hey, boss?” No response. The guy grimaces, mutters, “This is gonna suck,” and leans over to poke the kid’s elbow.

The reaction is sudden and explosive; his hand shoots up to grab the man’s wrist and he pulls himself halfway up, sunglasses falling off his face and book tipping into the sand. His...friend...just stays still for a minute before nudging at his shoulder with his free hand.

“Hey. S’okay. S’just me.”

“Drouot…?”

“Yeah. Mark’s gonna pitch a fit if you don’t take your meds, so, uh, wakey-wakey.”

The kid lets go and sinks back, breathing hard, before leaning down to rescue his book and his sunglasses.

“Sorry.”

The guy-Drouot-waves a hand.

“I hate to wake you up, but, uh. Yeah. Mark’s scary.”

The kid visibly bites back something, if the mischievous grin is anything to go by.

“Mm-hm. Thanks.”

“Can I get anybody anything else?”

“I’m good.”

“I’ve got a piña colada coming,” Drouot says. The kid gives him a look that promises murder.

“If you sing so much as one line, I swear on God, you’ll be another missing tourist.” He leans up to take his food from her. “I mean it. One. Line.”

Great, now that song will be in her head for a year. She’s with the kid on this one.

“I do not want this,” he’s saying now. Then a wheedling, “I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

“He’s gonna know, and he’s gonna be pissed. I’m open to fighting, like, Batman--” The kid snorts. “--but Mark will literally murder me if you try to get out of it, so. Sorry, sir.”

“You should have left me to die,” the kid groans, before handing her a handful of bills. “It looks nice. Thanks.”

“Enjoy!”

She’s not far when Drouot receives his piña colada. She knows this because he hums a few bars, resulting in a furious, “I wasn’t kidding--”

“If you rip your stitches--”

“You’ll go down for it, because you provoked me.”

“That’s fair.”

Aaaand there it is. The song’s in her head now. Thanks a lot, asshole.

THE END

#Jason Todd #the squad #fluff #they are on vacation #where nothing bad happens to any of them #because sometimes you need nice things

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vaguely-gestures-to-the-void · 3 years

Text

Hindsight: My thoughts on Loki (2021)

As always, thanks for being here my friends. There’s definitely more nuanced discussion of this show, but I’m here for the vibes. Anyways, here’s my thoughts on Episode 3 of Loki. Bear in mind I hadn’t watched episode 4 before I wrote the review for 3. No hate on anyone/thing, it’s all my opinion.

Episode 3: LAMENTIS

Pre-title scene

I rioted when I heard Hayley’s voice. It’s a win for all of us.

C-20! Sylvie!

C-20’s lil dance was adorable. I love her.

I want Sylvie’s tie dye.

Is that Ralph Bohner?

The same place, but at night. Coincidence? I think not.

Sylvie’s powers have limits. She can’t search someone’s mind and take information, she needs them to willingly tell her though she can use her powers to do that.

TVA

Sylvie’s experienced. Always tie your hair into a bun before a fight.

Her music is nothing like what we’ve heard previously. It’s the Sylvie show folks.

The mural on the left side of the hall is the one from the credits scene.

The plaque above the elevators says ‘FOR ALL TIME ALWAYS’.

Even in the mural on the right side, the Time Keepers aren’t equal, the middle one takes up the most space.

Ravonna!

I love how their movements are similar. The head-snap-hair-flip combo is nearly identical, reflecting how they are the same person to some extent.

2077 Lamentis - 1

“Get off my leg!” SiblingTM energy.

“Goodbye, variant.” She sure has the Loki drama.

I finally remembered it’s called a TemPad. Rip.

“Don’t ever call me that.”

“Tech savvy?”

That’s so Ragnarok.

I love the music as we pan up to the planet. It’s the familiar, anxiety-inducing ticking for me lads.

“You idiot! This is Lamentis - 1.”

“I don’t know what that means!”

My siblings when I can’t restart the router (every country has an AT&T).

I like that it’s a moon that’s inhabited. It’s nearly always the planet, still not great for the people on it.

That slide to get under the dump truck was so smooth.

“So we’re a team now?” Jesus Loki needs friends. Probably a good therapist too.

“Didn’t need your help!”

“You’re so weird!”

I like the way Tom runs. Don’t know why. Just do.

Sidenote, my favourite running form is Chris Evans’.

Sylvie’s magic flickered so I genuinely think the enchantment didn’t work.

“Well then I’ll cut it out.” I like the way she says that. I am questioning so many things rn.

“Just because I have to work with you doesn’t mean I wanna hear your voice.” It’s ironic since they spend so much time talking about themselves.

“Alright, well, slow down… Variant.” They really play off each other’s egos to find weaknesses.

“You don’t know what you want.” Sylvie’s more straightforward in everything she does. She efficiently points out Loki’s flaws but when it comes to a goal, she’s meticulous.

“...just walk away.” Loki stops walking, but Sylvie does walk away. There is distance between them (for now).

I’ve had experience with mining towns like this one and whilst they weren’t so out-of-this-world (ya know) there is a tendency for rural and isolated communities to struggle with old/not maintained infrastructure. This is not everywhere, but it’s not uncommon from what I know. Even though these towns are a source of wealth, there isn’t distribution of the money and it’s a grim reality that’s being shown. I appreciate it.

The shot of them walking past a slab of that planet towards the hut is incredible. Wow.

The person in there is just waiting for their death. I’m going to be addressing a lot of the harsh realities in this episode folks so it won’t be so cheerful.

I understand that people weren’t so happy with this being a filler episode, but I think they got it right. It’s strange that a literal planet-moon collision doesn’t bring the tension that the hurricane did in the last ep, but by having an atmosphere that wasn't so omnius, they conveyed (to me at least) that hope was already lost. In the Roxxcart Disaster, the people believed that it wasn’t going to be the end. There’s desperation on Lamentis - 1 but as Sylvie said, the collapse of society occurs. That’s a large group of people realising that class divides will cause slaughter. It’s greed portrayed in two different ways, one being the integration of excessive capitalism into society, the other being social structure based on oppression. Not everyone’s reading into Loki like this but it’s a change from how Marvel usually approaches conflict.

We learnt about the characters and whilst I’m not a fan of when a plot line is moot (my bet is that Loki and Sylvie will be rescued next ep, making all the attempts to get off Lamentis - 1 pointless), it’s necessary for the characters to develop. The way Loki and Sylvie end up on Lamentis - 1 makes sense and the plot doesn’t feel forced.

“It’s remarkable that you made it as far as you did.”

Devils is recurring in this episode. Maybe this has implications on future episodes?

“Which one was that, diplomacy?” Why are their interactions so funny?

I don’t think I need to comment on the significance of the train station scene.

I would like to acknowledge that though this is good writing that’s relevant in the time it was released, we shouldn’t forget it’s coming from large corporations who aren’t perfect.

How do they just walk past the line?

The people who snitched were right in front of them.

Did the cat get Loki’s silvertongue? That was the most graceless lying I’ve ever seen.

Sylvie not sitting with her back to a door makes sense, but why won’t Loki go backwards on a train? They both have little quirks.

“That’s not a plan. That’s just doing a thing.” Loki went to the Thor school of planning, it’s Get Help all over again.

Loki’s exaggerated nods at the other guards lol.

Sylvie growls whenever she’s mad, it’s hilarious.

The close ups of their faces when the conversation gets personal and isn’t just trading jabs is great for conveying the authenticity of their answers.

Loki not pressing Sylvie when she clearly didn’t want to talk about what happened to her mother is something I appreciated.

Here’s to Tom for having to do magic for more than 10 years now. He’s so serious, I can only imagine how funny it is without the effects.

“Well she did.” Yeesh, has Loki gotten time to grieve?

Sylvie is genuinely impressive.

“Pity the old woman chose to die.”

“She was in love.”

I don’t quite understand what they were talking about then, I guess we’ll find out later?

Loki, why are you so unnecessarily dramatic?

I laughed. Who am I kidding, they’re dorks and I love them.

Loki is trying to find out anything, anyone who could be used against Sylvie.

Here’s to the postman, they’re probably dead but we appreciate Sylvie’s happiness anyways.

“A bit of both. I suspect the same as you.” AND THAT’S HOW YOU WRITE IN REPRESENTATION FOLKS!

Let’s just take our scraps and be happy, eh? It made my week.

They both need real relationships of any kind, guys.

“Love is… uh, something I might have to have another drink to think about.” Me whenever anyone asks me about my love life.

“You do realise… ...a civilisation’s only hope?” I think this was Sylvie’s way of making sure Loki’s (albeit grey) morals and drinking habits don’t interrupt her plan.

The train sure gives me Snowpiercer vibes.

Do I have to talk about Drunk Loki?

Tom’s singing voice is lovely.

Sylvie’s eyes shift nervously to the door and then back to Loki. She’s initially tense but she relaxes slightly though she knows she’s gonna have to clean up the mess.

“Nobody cares. It’s the end of the world.” Again, Loki’s headspace is one where existence is futile.

The green walls contrast the purple lighting nicely.

You can see plants (?) from the outside if you look out the windows. Talk about attention to detail.

Bruh what is the dagger about? Drunk Loki’s a comedic genius.

The descending notes in the background of Loki’s fireworks.

Sylvie’s smile when she goes to attack is animalistic. I’d like to see her character explored more in terms of how she views violence.

YEET.

“You’re right. I’m a god.” Loki’s defense mechanism is to state that his motives are above the understanding of others.

“You’re a clown.” Sylvie tells it as it is.

Loki and Sylvie’s reactions to the TVA contrast the most here. Sylvie is potentially motivated by vengeance or a need for revenge whilst Loki has resigned to numbing the pain (for now at least) as he comes to terms with his reality. The question of what drives you is so important for these characters, I’m excited to see whether they’ll find a common ground and wreak havoc on the sacred timeline.

Loki and Sylvie both struggle with communicating in a healthy way. Sylvie calls him out on his directionlessness and Loki tells her what may be the harsh reality of her plan. Neither of them are willing to accept it, but there’s potential for a strong bond if they do.

Sylvie’s scream lmao.

I love the colour of Loki’s pants.

Problem? Solution! Do thing! Is Sylvie’s method of thinking when all is lost.

Gosh I love the shots in this episode.

“That’s a pretty good life.” Sylvie’s definitely not lived as a royal, or not from what she remembers.

“I just need to know if I can trust you.” Sylvie giving up how she enchants people is an olive branch because as useful as the things that Loki told her may have been for manipulation, they both know the importance of her upper hand. But she only relents once Loki doesn’t have the TemPad. Later, when she asks whether she can trust Loki, it’s more of a reassurance because he’s already been vulnerable around her.

The actor’s body language and facial expressions are incredible. Loki’s eyebrow’s furrow slightly when Sylvie mentions C-20’s mind but Tom takes a second for the information to be processed rather than instantly reacting to Sophia’s next line. She does the same when Loki talks about the TVA workers being created. What skilled people they are.

The city is a wonderful piece of set design.

“We do, and you can.” They step into the light, neither of them have tunnel vision and are able to see a bigger picture.

“They’re gonna let these people die.” This show explores a side of Loki we haven’t seen before, his morality and compassion. He has grey areas that could be explored in the next season. It also points back to how Sylvie and Loki differ in their view of others. I think this is partially because of their childhoods. Loki was raised as a prince and cared about his people, but Sylvie doesn’t share that perspective (“...they usually survive”), maybe because of her past. Hopefully in the upcoming episodes we’ll get a bit more of her backstory.

That sequence is beyond words. The constantly rotating and revolving camera really hammers home that it’s a disorienting fight for their lives at the end of the world. I’m speechless, just watch it.

The music in that blue-purple-pink club was banging tho.

Loki and Sylvie’s posture, facial expression and general body movement is similar. The variant point is hammered home here.

It’s interesting how Loki is in shock/denial of the Ark being destroyed whereas Sylvie immediately leaves.

The end music of this episode is beautiful. I love how it all builds to leave us on the soft tones of Dark Moon.

No one’s interested, but my mum and I bonded over the Jim Reeves version of this song and the Bonnie Guitar one.

Ep 3 review

Short episode with not much going on other than character development. However, if the first two were anything to go by, this episode will have greater implications on the plot. The pacing of this show is a bit strange, but we may see this change in the next season.

I mentioned previously that it would be a shame if the entire plot of this episode was made irrelevant by how they get off Lamentis - 1 next ep. This show has been really good at keeping us on our toes with the writing so they probably won’t take turns that have been speculated.

Happy mid-season guys! The following two episodes were apparently Tom’s favourites so we can expect some mayhem up ahead. See you next time!

Here's the link to my Ep 2 review

#loki #loki review #loki (2021)#i've stayed inconsistent in all these tags and i'm not about to change #my opinion #opinion #loki spoilers #spoilers #spoiler

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apollo-writes-random-shit · 4 years

Note

omg!! please please please do gasoline with race!!

Ahhhhhh! Sorry, this took so long! I wrote this like three or four times and I’m still not 100% happy with it lol. I did some research and it turns out the song is actually about Halsey’s struggles with mental health while being in the spotlight so I used that but don’t worry! This has a happy ending!

Song requests

AO3 copy

Are you insane like me?

He was pretty sure every kid at some point had wanted to be famous and here he was. Gone from causal dancing to acting and singing, all thanks to a small show that had been secretly visited by a talent scout. Multiple doors had opened for the young teen but with the fame came extreme expectations and with those expectations came extreme stress.

Everything seemed to be dictated by his manager, one William Snyder. As grateful as he was for the jobs Snyder had landed him, he was driving Race insane. Every single little thing was scrutinised, from the things he ate and drank, to even his hairstyle when he went out. His smile had to be perfect every time to 'keep up his image' but it got tired having to look perfect all the time.

Don't get him wrong, he adored his fans but at the same time, he wished he could go out without being stopped every five minutes for photos and videos, being made to repeat lines constantly.

Been in pain like me?

Every day left him exhausted, even if he had only been shopping. Everything had to be perfect to make sure he avoided any bad publicity. He was still young so why ruin his career so early?

Sighing, Race stared at his schedule. Countless practises for both dances and an upcoming audition filled every day, leaving him with almost no time for himself. He had only a few hours after evening practice and he knew he'd spend most of that sleeping.

He could already feel the pain that would come with everything. Today's practise had already wiped him out, body flowing with pain. After being scouted, Race had discovered muscles he didn't know existed thanks to the pain that came with the job.

However, he could deal with the physical pain but the mental pain? Not so much. He knew the others were getting worried about him but it didn't stop him from following all of Snyder's strict rules...Even if it caused him to throw up some mornings and night before practice.

Bought a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me? Just to pour that motherfucker down the drain like me?

Well, he followed most of the rules but Race liked to have fun, even if that meant drinking some nights, whether it be cheap beer or expensive champagne, he'd take it, only to pour whatever remained down the drain the next morning in shame before scrubbing his teeth to get rid of any hint of the alcohol that was forbidden.

That's what he was currently doing, letting the taste of his toothpaste take over the taste of morning breath and expensive champagne. Rising the toothbrush, he chuckled softly as he licked his lips, savouring the artifical taste of bubblegum. Despite the event happening over a week ago, Race could still see Jack's face when he walked out of the bathroom carrying it. He knew he wasn't a kid but that wouldn't stop him from buying the 'kiddie' toothpaste, no matter how 'disappointed' it made his older brother.

Would you use your water bill to dry the stain like me?

Walking out to the kitchen, he noticed the damp paper resting on the table, causing him to shake his head. He had spilt a little of his drink on the table and mopped it up with the closest thing which appeared to be the bill he opened last night.

Not that it mattered, he could still read it which meant he'd be able to know who to pay. That and he had read it last night and despite getting drunk, his sharp mind still remembered every word.

He would concern himself with that later, instead focusing on making his breakfast smoothie before rushing out that door, hoodie pulled over his head to hide his face in the short run down his driveway. Sure, no one was around but that didn't mean he wasn't paranoid about being spotted. He already had to deal with stalkers and so far, none of them had found his house and he'd like to keep it that way thank you very much.

Softly singing along to the radio, he grinned to himself as set off, heading towards the dance studio. Sure, Snyder was going to be there to see his progress which meant he'd have to work harder. At least Romeo and Tommy always gave him good criticism instead of berating him when they taught him a new move. Even in Tommy Boy would jokingly kick his feet into the right position while telling him to keep up. Out of everyone he had been taught by, the two were his favourite. Tommy would teach him the dances while Romeo took care of the acting and like almost everyone, they thought Race should get rid of the man.

Are you high enough without the Mary Jane like me?

Shaking the thought out of his head, he pulled into the car park, flipping his hood back up before speedwalking inside.

It was only when he got inside the studio that he relaxed, something that always happened. Sure, most of the time sometimes he'd walk out and there would be a small crowd outside the building which he found awkward considering he was still all sweaty and smelly. There was only so much a towel and deodorant could do until he had access to a shower. Sure, the dance studio had showers but honestly, Race didn't like them. He also felt awkward showering in a building where his fans might find a way to sneak in. He might love his body but he didn't feel like having nudes of him spread across the internet where anyone could access it.

"Damn, look who finally showed up."

"I'm late by one minute Tommy Boy. Traffic was horrible."

"Whatever, warm-up you dork." The Australian chuckled, scrolling through the playlist, trying to decide which routine to have his friend start with. Subtly, he clenched his jaw as another presence filled the room. He really didn't like when Snyder was in the studio but unfortunately, he had no say. He knew the man liked to see that his client was actually making progress. Sure, some of his dancers would have their manager show up occasionally but Snyder came twice a month to take notes on Race before taking the teen to the side to lecture him, almost like he was trying to undermine everything he had been taught. He really hated him in all honestly but hey. He couldn't fire him, only Race could and considering the number of gigs Snyder had landed him, he doubted he'd be let go anytime soon.

Race shook out his limbs after stretching, pretending that he didn't sense the tension between his manager and instructor. If he ignored them, he could actually focus properly. He had learnt during the first few sessions that Snyder had sat in, that if he let the tension distract him, he'd slip up and get a long lecture about how he had to 'focus more if he wanted to nail a role'. So, he just pretended to be alone, letting the music flow through him. As cheesy as it sounded, Race liked to pretend that he was one with the sound. The noise was his dance partner, the leader of the pair. He followed its gentle coaxing willingly, allowing it to control every step.

It gave him a high that nothing could replicate, no matter how hard he had tried in the past. Dancing gave him something that he couldn't explain. Something that couldn't be described. He was addicted to it.

He allowed himself to come to a stop, his partner leaving him with a gentle caress and smile. Race grinned at himself in the mirror, slowly coming down from his high, allowing himself to relax, calmly walking over to his duffle bag, yanking his towel out before wiping his face off. As much as he loved dancing, he didn't like the sweat that came with it.

Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?

Tommy's compliments were cut off by the clearing of someone's throat and the two turned to look at Snyder who was lounging in a chair in the corner. "Your turns were sloppy Higgins. You fell out of a few turns, your feet weren't pointed during one of your jumps and your arms looked strange. You need to work on those."

"With all due respect sir, I believe he did quite well."

"Clearly you weren't paying close enough attention to your student Manchester. We all know he can do better. If he nails this video, even more doors will open for him and surely you want that for him."

"I do but."

"Then you'll allow me to critique my client. I want what's best for him after all."

Race sighed. "I'll work harder. It's okay." Sure, he knew he was overworked as it was, but he could always try harder. There was always room for improvement after all.

Tommy just shook his head, knowing what Snyder wanted was a fat paycheck. Race wanted to please everyone and that included Snyder, even if the man pushed him past the point of breaking. Once discovering that Race had an empty basement, Snyder had pushed him into turning it into a mini studio for extra practice and would often visit to watch and offer more 'corrections' when really, he spent most of the time on his phone, only sparing glances up at the mirrors, pushing the teen to almost the point of collapse before lecturing him at the way he had become so wobbly. He didn't care that the boy was tearing himself apart in hopes of earning the praise he had been craving all his life. Race lived to entertain people and so far, he had failed to fully impress Snyder.

Do the people whisper 'bout you on the train like me?

Buttons sighed as he listened to the faint sound of music, vibrating through the wooden floor. He was there to do final adjustments to Race's costume for the video tomorrow and wasn't surprised that he'd be found in the makeshift studio. Whispers floated around not only Race's friends but some of Buttons' friends in the clothing industry. Race seemed ready to fall apart and it was a waste of talent. He was being pushed too far and from Buttons had learnt, had recently been pushed into modelling as well, taking up even more of his time, leaving him more exhausted than normal.

Saying that you shouldn't waste your pretty face like me? And all the people say...

Shaking his head, Buttons headed down steps, rapping on the door to inform the other of his presence, watching as he stumbled slightly. Race had been sucked into the whirlwind of fame, dragged into an uncaring industry, one deadset on farming out copies and copies, ones that would give them the cash they craved.

It destroyed every member they took in, ruining their minds and bodies until they were dumped, left to eventually fade away, replaced with a newer shiny version. As famous as someone was, it was surprisingly hard to be remembered. Making something that everyone remembered for years to come might be somewhat easy, but having your name in everyone's mind for years? That was much harder.

Fame was a dream for a lot of people but that dream would turn into a nightmare quickly.

You can't wake up, this is not a dream, you're part of a machine, you are not a human being.

Buttons loved seeing his work in videos but looking at the way his crafts looked on Race's skinny shaking body made him feel sick.

"Really. You need to take better care of yourself."

"Gotta look my best Buttons." Race just grinned, brushing off the concerns like normal.

"Tony seriously. Everyone's telling you the same thing. You need to eat more." The tailor shook his head, scanning the other's body to spot anything off with it. "You always look ready to collapse and you're shaking!"

"Buttons...I'm just following what's set out for me."

"Don't you think it's going a bit far?"

"Nah. It's fine. After all, it could be worse." Race just shrugged, holding his arms up when prompted.

With your face all made up, living on a screen.

While talking to Buttons was always fun, Race was relieved to see him leave. Whenever he spoke to someone alone, they always told him to drop his manager. That he looked like he was five seconds away from being rushed to the nearest hospital.

It didn't help that Snyder had become stricter later, criticizing his body and form more than normal, not caring that he was breaking his spirit. He was one of many, easily replaceable in the mind of the industry, something that Snyder liked to remind his client of constantly, claiming that it was 'in his best interest that he followed everything to the letter', forcing him to practise harder whenever he strayed from the harsh guidelines he set out.

Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline.

Requesting time off just brought another lecture. Hell, Race had to beg and fight to be allowed to take his birthday off and out of everything the man had done, that's what pissed Race's friends and family off the most. Jack had been close to demanding the man's address or phone number, only for Davey to stop him. It was no secret that Jack and Snyder had bad blood, disagreeing over what was best for the dancer/actor. Jack had known him all of his life while Snyder had only known him for roughly two years.

Race hated the relationship between his manager and older brother but did his best to never let it trouble him. He desired to be on his A-game at all times after all and any form of tension would throw him off, only causing him to work harder than any other day. Snyder constantly likened him to every other young celebrity out there, reminding him all the time that he was replaceable, that he had to work harder if he wanted to keep up with the industry. That he was...Already stumbling behind.

I think there's a flaw in my code.

The man acted like Race wasn't trying at all...That all the hours he put in meant nothing. That Race was acting like he 'didn't care about his job'. Like he was...Broken in some way and that strict behaviour just increased when he had handed him a slip of paper given to him by a professional. A diagnosis for depression, anxiety and bipolar disorder. He hadn't been super happy to find out that his client was mentally ill and that the paperwork even pointed out that he was overworked and just pushed him harder.

Voices pushed at him from both sides. Drop him some said. He's working you too hard others chimed in. You need to work harder if you want to succeed in the industry kid one kept saying and for some reason, he kept listening to the single voice, despite the fact he knew he wasn't meant to. He needed to drop him and he would, after this music video and movie audition though.

Well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold.

Race sighed, shaking his head. Focus Higgins. In a month, you can find someone new. Darcy, Bill and Kath can find you a new one. He stretched, smiling at himself in a mirror. He'd be okay, he could last a month.

He pretended Snyder's not so subtle jabs at his diagnosis. The man hadn't been pleased when he found out about Race's ADHD, clearly 'trying' to hide the way he felt about the whole thing. That he didn't think Race was 'unstable'. That he was 'broken'.

Are you deranged like me? Are you strange like me? Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?

He growled in annoyance when he fell out of a turn again, glad he was alone. It wasn't his fault he was so stressed! He was being pulled at every end, each person claiming they just wanted the both for him. With his mental health 'issues' dumped on top of that, Race wanted to scream and tear his hair out. He hated this. Hated the worried looks from his friends and family. Hated the harsh tone from Snyder used when he was giving him 'constructive' criticism.

He wasn't at fault here! He was just trying hard so why did it seem like everyone was trying to pull him to their side? Sure, what he was doing wasn't the healthiest but he had to work hard to keep up with the fast pace workforce. Sure, he could stand to gain a few pounds but he could always do that later.

Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me? Pointing fingers 'cause you'll never take the blame like me?

"I'm just worried Race..."

"I know Jack. I know you hate Snyder, that he's an asshole, that you think he's ruining my life. But, without him, I wouldn't have gotten so many gigs."

"Tony, please. You need to drop him. You don't look healthy, you're never able to go out anymore, you're being worked to the bone." Jack frowned as he looked at his brother. "I get that you love your job but you need to take time for yourself as well."

"Look. I'm already planning to drop him after this audition...It's just a month Jack. Please. Give me that and I'll drop him."

"Promise? I'm sick of his bullshit Tony..."

"I promise."

And all the people say, you can't wake up, this is not a dream.

"Again."

Race nodded, restarting the music before throwing himself into the dance again.

"You're distracted, Higgins."

"Sorry, sir. Just got a lot on my mind lately..."

"You need to focus. If you don't you'll fall behind and fail. Restart."

You're part of a machine, you are not a human being. With your face all made up, living on a screen.

Race honestly wasn't sure if Snyder even knew what he was talking about when it came to his dancing but still, he took his words to heart, letting them crash through his weak walls again as he started the dance yet again, letting the music wrap itself around him, allowing it to bring him both a familiar rush and familiar comfort.

The comfort that came with the music was his favourite kind of comfort. He never had to seak it out. Never had to send a text or make a call. All he had to do was press a button and it was there, ready to hug him and bring him a calm distraction from whatever was bothering him, sometimes wiping away any tears that would run down his cheeks, drawing a watery smile from him.

Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline.

"What the fuck do you mean you're firing me? I'm the one who got you this damn role! You would be a nobody without me Higgins and you know that!"

Race looked at the man's angry face. "Leave my house, Snyder. We're done here. While I am thankful for the work you have done, I need to focus on what I feel is right for me and I believe what is right is us parting ways."

"You're making a big mistake Higgins. I can ruin your damn life! I got you that role and I can fucking take it away from you! You'll regret this! I'll fucking leak your damn address!"

I think there's a flaw in my code.

"You can not ruin my life, Snyder. You even try and I'll make sure everyone knows what you've been doing. I'll let everyone know how hard you've pushed me. How you've forced me to dance right after throwing up. Believe me, Snyder. I can and will let them know. I've dealt with this for too long."

These voices won't leave me alone.

"You've let those people poison you! They know nothing!"

"Romeo and Tommy have been working in this industry for years. Longer than you have and I trust their judgement."

"I'll get their places shut down!"

"Keep talking Snyder...You're just digging yourself a bigger hole."

"The fuck are you talking about?"

Race smirked, holding up his phone. "I've looked up the laws. We have a one-party consent law here meaning I can record this conversation without your permission and that's what I have done. I recommend you leave now."

Snyder scoffed, storming out. "You'll regret this!"

"And you'll regret being so strict! Goodbye William~"

Well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold.

#apollo's shitty writing #newsies #buttons newsies #buttons davenport #Snyder #Snyder the spider #Jack Kelly #Race Higgins #Racetrack Higgins #Tommy Boy #Romeo newsies #song fic #racetrackhigg

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detectivejay-chuckles-halstead · 5 years

Text

Stay // Jay Halstead x Reader

Prompt: Don’t you dare die on me! You promised!

Warnings: Whump, Shooting

Words: 1628

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

It started off as a normal day, showing up at the district and sitting at your desk. Jay was already there, like always, and magically there was already a cup of hot coffee on your desk. You threw a smile his way, seeing that smirk plastered on his face and a glint of mischievousness in his eye.

You’d been working with Jay for nearly three years now. You’d been sneaking around with Jay for two. With Voight’s no in-house romance rule, it was necessary to sneak. It was fun at first, but recently, you’d been wanting to tell people. Even just going out off the clock was stressful, worried you’d run into someone you knew from work. Neither of you wanted to get transferred out.

“We have a hit on our perp at South Levitt Street,” Antonio announced, quickly standing up.

“You heard him. Leave in five,” Voight agreed.

The rest of the team funneled out, you and Halstead the last ones to start to head downstairs. He brushed his hand against yours, lingering a little too long for just friends. It was a good thing nobody noticed. You looked up at him with a smile, knowing he had your back no matter what.

“We take down this son of a bitch dead or alive,” Voight told them as Jay helped you get your vest on.

“Y/L/N and Halstead, you’re going to breach the back of the building. Al and Ruzek, the front. Atwater, you’re with Dawson,” Voight continued.

You and Jay went out to the car, Jay getting in the driver's seat. It was routine. At first, you hated that Jay always drove, but now you didn’t seem to mind it. It gave you plenty of opportunity for naps, or to rest your hand on his thigh like you were doing on the drive to Levitt.

“Y/N,” Jay said, he warned. You didn’t listen, hand rubbing his thigh with a smirk. “You’re such a tease.”

“That’s why you love me, Jay,” you reminded him in a sing-song tone.

The closer you got to Levitt, the worse the feeling in your stomach became. It was normal though, always worried about him. You were partners in many different ways. This way, though. Your love for him could out-power your rational mind sometimes. You’d never made a mistake, though. Every bust, every chase, you always made sure your head was on straight. You’d never put him in danger.

“It’ll be okay,” he assured you. “I’ll be fine.”

“You promise?” you countered.

“I promise.”

He always promised you on the way. He always promised he’d be okay.

He parked the car behind Antonio, you both getting out of the car and getting your guns out of the trunk. He gave you a look, and you knew it would be alright.

You both went around back, guns drawn and pointed low. He breached the door, you following. Both of you diligent and on guard. Which is why you didn’t expect for shots to ring out, taking cover.

“Shots fired! I repeat, shots fired!” you called through the radio. “Jay!” you then called out, needing to make sure he was clear.

Glancing around the door frame, you saw him lying there, seeming to struggle to breathe. You couldn’t explain the amount of fear coursing through your body. You glanced around the door frame again, firing back, needing to get to Jay.

“I need an ambulance at South Levitt Street. Officer down!” you called before returning fire again.

“Suspect down!” Ruzek yelled out after the sound of several more shots. It was good enough for you, falling down next to Jay.

Your hands ran over him, trying to figure out how the hell he got hit. Your fingers found a hole in his vest, wanting to have killed the suspect yourself. Cop killer bullets. His blood was covering your hands. When you got to him, he was staring at the ceiling, face pale and clammy.

“Come on, Jay,” you told him, putting pressure on the wound over his vest. “Don’t you dare die on me! You promised! Where the hell is that ambulance?”

You couldn’t lose him. He was the best thing in your life. It didn’t matter what anybody said or thought. This was what you needed to come clean, once he was better. Because he wasn’t going to die. You couldn’t even fathom that possibility.

“Jay, keep your eyes open, baby,” you told him, trying to hold back tears as his eyes started to drift shut. Blood tinged his lips, and you could see some rolling down his cheek from his mouth. “I can’t lose you.”

“Y/N,” Ruzek said, kneeling on the opposite side of Jay. You looked up at him with tears and fear before your attention returned to Jay.

“Jay, look at me.” You saw his eyes meet yours. He looked tired, like he was ready to give up. “You gotta stay awake, okay?”

He weakly reached up, hand grabbing your wrist. He felt cold, his grip weak and shaking. It looked like he was trying to say something, but it didn’t come out.

“I know Jay, I know. I love you. It’s gonna be okay.”

The paramedics showed up, taking over for you. You stood, trying not to lose it. Ruzek put his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as they loaded him up.

“Someone can come with us, quick,” the medic told them.

“Go ahead Y/L/N,” Voight assured.

You climbed into the back of the ambulance, holding onto his hand. He was out now, though, but luckily still had a heartbeat. You only focused on him, tuning the medic out as she worked.

As soon as you got to Med, though, he was whisked away, leaving you standing in the ED with Jay’s blood all over you, not sure what to do or where to go. That was, until Maggie led you to the waiting room.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the team to show up, Voight looking over at you regularly. Probably partly to check to see if you were okay, but also probably because he realized something was up.

“Let’s get you out of the vest and cleaned up, Y/N,” Voight said, pulling you to the nearest bathroom. You went more than willingly, considering you were in shock. You’d not only just seen your partner shot, but the man you loved more than anything else.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Voight told you, helping you undo your vest, pulling it off and dropping it to the floor. It left red around it from Jay’s blood.

“I-I just don’t understand why. Or how. We did everything right! He-” You were talking with your hands, pointing at nothing. “He did everything right, Voight!”

“That dirt-bag had cop killer bullets. Doesn’t matter that you did everything right. You and Halstead, huh?” he asked, wetting some paper towels to help get the blood of your hands.

“We knew it was against the rules,” you told him, knowing it wasn’t a secret anymore. “So, we couldn’t tell you. Been two years.”

“I’ve known, Y/N. But you guys are good cops. You never let it get in the way of your work. Except that one time.”

You knew what situation he was talking about. You and Jay had a huge fight, you’d kicked him out of the apartment, and he’d slept on the couch at the district for the night. He’d made the excuse that he’d been working a case late, but you knew that wasn’t the case. The worst part was the fact that it was a stupid fight.

“I love him, Hank. I can’t lose him.” You washed your hands, pulling off your shirt to just your tank-top.

“He’s a fighter, he’s going to pull through.” You nodded, the both of you going back out to the waiting room. As soon as you stepped out, you saw Will pacing. When he saw you, he walked over in long strides, pulling you into a hug.

Neither of you needed to say anything, sitting down. You leaned your head against his shoulder, waiting for news. It seemed to take an eternity, but eventually Dr Rhodes came out, looking drained.

“He’s out of surgery. The bullet ripped through the very bottom of his left lung and his spleen. A lot of bleeding with the spleen, but luckily, you can live without it. It was touch and go for a bit there. He lost a lot of blood, but I expect him to make a full recovery.”

You let out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. He was going to be okay. Jay was going to be okay.

“Can-Can I see him?” you asked, getting a nod in response. Will motioned for you to go ahead, so you followed Rhodes to Jay’s room.

His color seemed to be coming back, but you could see they still had blood running into him through his IV. You sat down next to him, taking his hand in your own. His skin was warmer too, which all seemed like good signs. It took a while until he started to wake up, but when he did, it was with slow and gentle fluttering of his eyelids.

“Hey,” you said softly, wiping away your tears, hoping he wouldn’t see. “Glad you’re awake, sleeping beauty.”

“Y/N,” he said groggily.

“You scared me, Jay. I swear to god, if you ever do that again.” You shook your head, not sure what would happen if it happened again. Maybe, next time, he wouldn’t make it through. Next time, he might leave you for good.

“I’m sorry.” You brought his hand up to your lips, kissing his knuckles. “I love you.”

#jay halstead #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x reader #fanfiction #whump

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stolethekey · 4 years

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so, what’s the past for? i’ll need it if love don’t last long

notes: this is for @romanogersweek.

it feels a little weird to be posting fanfic right now, but i hope y’all take this as an opportunity to take a break from reading/donating/educating rather than one to leave.

donate to the bail project here.

read on ao3

Steve Rogers, long ago, was the man who never ran. He was the man who faced down his problems and enemies indiscriminately, who spat in the face of both Nazi generals and the very idea that anything could keep him from fighting for a better world. He used to be the paragon of bravery, the man who worked to uphold his reputation as the symbol of courage his country held in the highest regard.

Until that one fateful day, when he’d decided to run—away from the death and destruction, away from the friends he’d seen suffer too much pain to be truly happy ever again, away from time itself. He ran, straight until another timeline, hardly conscious of what he was doing until he ended up standing on the doorstep of a woman he’d last seen lying peacefully in a casket.

By the grace of God, or maybe the devil, Peggy had been home that day. After she’d recovered from her shock, she’d welcomed him in, he’d asked almost clumsily for a dance, and when the music stopped she’d pulled back and said, “I want to introduce you to Daniel.”

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he likes Daniel. Daniel is sarcastic and witty but warm and solid—a safe place for Peggy’s often slightly-chaotic personality to land. So he’d shaken Daniel’s hand and accepted his invitation to stay for dinner and then stayed the night because, honestly, where else was he supposed to go?

And then one night turned into two, which turned into a week, and then Steve ended up staying in their house permanently. They established a general rule that he was not allowed to tell them about the future, but could contribute to strategy discussions about missions he had never heard about. He helped them during the day and tried to stay up helping them at night, except Peggy started chasing him to bed with a broom a few weeks in.

He’s never liked sleeping much, but after—well, after everything, he likes it even less.

Some of the dreams he’s familiar with: the nightmares and memories full of too much blood and smoke and explosions that rack his imaginary body with tremors come initially, as he expects. Those he can deal with; those he has dealt with for years. The ones that he is markedly not equipped to deal with are the ones that come later: the ones that aren’t vague flashbacks or terrifying possible futures but vivid, specific memories, memories that leave him with an aching heart and stinging eyes when he wakes.

Steve thinks this distinctly unfair, given that these memories haunt his waking moments too; but his life has never been fair, and so each night he succumbs to more and more detailed recollections of moments running infinitely around in his head.

The worst ones are always about her. Those run his mind in what feels like slow motion, forcing him to relive even the most minute details of the days they were carefree and alive and happy, at least as much as they could be. He starts seeing flashes of vivid red hair and brilliant green eyes everywhere, and in his dreams, they’re inescapable. In his dreams, she’s inescapable.

In his dreams, Natasha is always there. Sometimes, she’s perched in the passenger seat with her feet on the dashboard where he’d always hated them, laughing at him as he steers the car down an open country road, the two of them alone in the car in the middle of the night. He turns the music up to drown out her laughter and she smirks, promptly deciding to sing along to the sounds of Out of the Woods coming through the stereo instead.

“Come on,” she coaxes, her voice still viscerally real in the layers of his unconsciousness. “I know you know this song.”

“I will not,” he says, but a smile is still floating unwittingly to his lips, and by the time he pulls into the open clearing he’s belting are we in the clear yet, in the clear yet, good with a fervor that would impress any concert crowd.

Sometimes, it starts in that clearing, with him shutting off the car and the two of them lingering in the darkness for a moment. He pulls open her car door, the moonlight filtering into the seat and casting a soft, silver glow over her features. She comes willingly, laying a blanket on the ground with a flourish as she steps out of the vehicle.

“When did Tony say it was starting, again?”

Steve checks his watch, and he’s seen this dream enough times to know exactly where the second hand is going to be when he does. “Five minutes.”

They settle onto the blanket, side by side, and he glances over at her. “What was the first shooting star you ever saw?”

She meets his gaze, her smile soft and nothing like the cold, calculating grin she’d given a certain arms dealer mere hours before. There is a brief moment of hesitation, and then she smirks. “You.”

His mouth falls open before he digs an elbow into her side, and she laughs. “Get it? Because you had a gun, and that stupid star on your uniform—”

“Yeah, yeah, a shooting star,” he groans, letting his head fall back onto the ground. “Shut up.”

She does, but only because the atmosphere around them tangibly changes—Steve feels it too. A second later, a jet of silver streaks across the sky, and Natasha sucks an audible breath through her teeth.

He looks over at her, and watches the second meteor through the reflection in her eyes—the silver makes them glean, and she grins at him.

“Enjoying the view?”

He shoves her, she laughs, and he thinks he could live in this moment forever.

Sometimes, they’re standing on top of a massive hill, gazing at the city of Rome, beautiful and regal below them. And even though it’s a dream, he can feel the heavy exhaustion of a battle just fought seeping into his bones, can sense the relief of another disaster narrowly averted cloaking his shoulders.

Natasha reaches for him, the streak of blood on her face looking real enough to touch, and gazes out at the sprawling city beneath the hill. “I almost wish we could stay,” she murmurs.

She doesn’t voice the rest of the sentiment—that they could stay here, in this world away from the world, and live normal lives. Become normal people, people who window shop and sit in cafes and don’t have to save the world every other day.

She doesn’t say it, because she knows he understands, and also because they both know it’s impossible.

“Me too.”

There are other dreams, too—dreams where they’re both tired and sad and frustrated; dreams where their friends have been snapped into thin air and the ones that haven’t been are gone too.

There are dreams where they’re the only two people left in the gigantic, designed-for-at-least-fifty-residents Avengers facility, where he walks into a room with zero lights on and her crying.

“You know, I used to think it was hard to tell when you were scared,” he says, trying valiantly to lighten the mood. “But not so much anymore.”

She looks at him ruefully through her tears. “You don’t have to do this every time.”

He shrugs and gives her the best smile he can muster. “I have no idea what you mean. I’m just passing by, and I don’t want to leave you if you’re crying.”

She glares at him, but gives a half-laugh, and he moves to sit next to her. He doesn’t say that he knows she tries to hide from him when she’s crying, that he actively tries to find her when he hasn’t seen her in a few hours. He doesn’t tell her that he needs her there, by her side, that he’s terrified he’s going to lose her, finally, irrevocably, for real, every time it happens.

Her tears subside, every time, and every time he leaves once they do. She lets him go, turning back toward the screens with a sigh, and he watches her back straighten as she goes back to business.

Never, in any of the dreams or memories or whatever they are at this point, does he stay. He would if she asked him to.

And then there’s the worst one, from the night before that day, where she shows up at his door before curfew with a bottle of wine in one hand and a key in the other.

“It’s for my apartment,” she says, placing it gently in his hand. “Just in case.”

She cuts off all of his protests with a sad, firm smile, then uncorks the bottle of wine and pours it into two of his water glasses.

They talk, about everything and nothing, and at one point she perches on his bed and tucks her knees into her chest.

“I don’t know if anything is ever gonna go back to normal,” Natasha says quietly. “It all feels broken, somehow. Unfixable.”

“What does?”

“Everything,” she says, gesturing at the walls around them. “Life itself.”

He doesn’t know why that hurts a little to hear, but he shrugs and stands anyway. “We still have to try. For everyone.”

“I know,” she murmurs, draining the last of her wine and standing too. “Trust me, I know.”

It’s the last real conversation they have, and it’s always the last one that plays before Steve wakes.

For weeks, Steve gets out of bed in the morning with tears staining his cheeks and a rush to the bathroom to collect himself, but Peggy intercepts his mad sprint one day and forces him to sit at the kitchen table and talk. He says he doesn’t want to and she gives him a withering glare that would probably topple a wall of solid rock.

He tells her about Natasha, about the aliens, the assassins out to kill them, the Accords. He doesn’t tell her about HYDRA, or about the midnight drives, the shooting stars, about Rome.

Peggy seems to understand anyway, and for some reason the sympathy in her eyes melts away some of the ache in Steve’s chest.

When he runs out of stories to tell, he starts talking about her past, about the way she was taken from her parents as a child and then trained in the Red Room.

“Those ladies are tough,” Peggy says with an impressed nod. “One of them escaped my locked trunk after I’d tied her wrists and ankles, then shot a policeman with his own gun on her way out. And that was when I was trying to work with her.”

“Nat almost never obeyed orders after she had turned,” Steve says with a laugh. “I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like to try and work with her while she was still at the Red Room.”

“Well, she was the only one who could do the job. We needed her.”

Daniel snorts from where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter. “For the record, I thought it was a bad idea,” he mutters, earning him that exasperated but loving Peggy Carter glare that had once been reserved for Steve.

Steve is slightly surprised to find that he doesn’t mind at all.

As the years go by, the memories become gradually less painful. The ache becomes a little duller, the wounds a little less fresh. The Carter-Sousa household adds a third long before children come into the picture, and they slip with only minor hiccups into a routine that works for everyone. Steve’s only allowed in public with a disguise, so while Peggy and Daniel are at work he spends his time drawing, cooking, cleaning, and generally being a good housekeeper. When they get home, he helps them with plans if he can and plays old card games if he can’t.

When the kids do arrive, Steve teaches and nurtures them as his own, and he gets through it with only vague stabs of pain as he remembers the Barton family. They know only that he is hiding from the world and that no one can know about him. They grow into strong, incredible adults, and when they move out Steve wipes away a tear that matches the ones coating Peggy’s and Daniel’s cheeks.

Peggy and Daniel are older, obviously, when the house goes back to holding only the three of them, and Steve starts picking up more of the dirty work. They both retire far later than most people would, finally admitting defeat to bodies that just can’t keep up with their younger colleagues and targets anymore. It’s hard, watching them become unable to do anything but gesture in frustration at the news, but it’s not as hard as it was to arrive at Peggy’s hospital bed, so many decades before.

He’s had enough time, this time, with her. They’ve spent fifty years in the same household, they’ve had a life together. So he cherishes the wrinkles that now adorn her hands and the lines of her face, and he ventures outside to run errands with only the slightest twinge in his heart.

The only time he ever dislikes this whole arrangement is on a single grocery store trip.

He collects everything on his list with little issue, keeping his hood up and his head low as he peruses one particularly crowded aisle for the hot sauce Peggy likes. Nobody pays him any attention, and as Steve wheels his cart into the checkout lane he congratulates himself on a faultless grocery run—God knows he’s had some close calls.

One would think he’d have learned some lessons about celebrating too soon.

He’s aimlessly selecting a pack of gum and skimming magazine covers (Brad Pitt is the sexiest man alive this year, according to People) when he hears a laugh.

An unmistakable, once life-affirming, thought-he’d-never-hear-it-again laugh.

His blood freezes over in his veins as his hands go slack, the Trident mint in his hand falling onto the conveyer belt and tumbling underneath a couple bags of Doritos. He stares at the fallen gum for a moment, not seeing it at all, before forcing himself to raise his head.

She’s there, in the flesh, helping the customer in front of him—her nametag says Natalie, and her hair is darker than it was when he met her, but it’s definitely her, and Steve thinks he might faint then and there. His hand tightens around the cart as he fumbles his phone out of his pocket and stares at the date—November 15, 2000. Of course.

Steve is desperately trying to find a way to get out of this when the woman in front of him takes her last bag and leaves with a grateful wave. Steve swallows thickly as Natasha beckons him forward, smiling brightly at him as she does.

There is no recognition in her eyes—of course there isn’t—and something about being a stranger to her makes him want to grip the counter in front of him so tightly that it breaks.

She says something, but he doesn’t hear her; his ears are full of a roaring, sharp wind, and suddenly he’s back on a dark, foreign planet, a jagged cliff behind him and a limp body lying broken in front of him. He can feel the cold, tough dirt between his fingers again, can see the ice crystals forming on the strands of red hair he had run his fingers through so many times.

Her eyebrows knit together in mild concern as her mouth moves inaudibly once more, and Steve wrenches his mind back to reality.

“Sorry,” he manages. “What was that, again?”

Natasha gives him a perfectly practiced customer-service smile and says, “How are you today?”

“Great,” Steve says, trying and failing to keep an edge of panic out of his voice. “Just dandy. You?”

“Well, you know, a little nervous,” Natasha says easily, swiping a can of chickpeas past the scanner. “It’s my first day on the job.”

He remembers. He also remembers her seated at the foot of his bed, playing with her hair while she told him about one of the first missions for SHIELD she’d ever failed.

“I was undercover as a cashier at a Safeway—”

“O-oh,” Steve sputters. “I’m sure you’re doing great.”

“Well, so far, so good—"

“I had him, for a moment, and then I didn’t—”

“—But, you know, things can always change, right?”

Steve feels curiously as if his head is swimming, and he doesn’t think he can hear anymore. He wonders dimly if Peggy would find him, were he to faint in a grocery store.

“He’d somehow stolen my nametag while we were scuffling and I didn’t even notice—”

“Um, sir?”

“He picked the lock with the pin—”

“Sir!”

Steve jumps. His hand smacks against his cart on the way up, the rattling of the metal doing nothing to calm his nerves.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head to clear it. “Did you say something?”

Natasha frowns, and the familiarity of the sight almost sends him back into the recesses of his brain. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, trying to sound unconcerned. “Yeah. Long day, sorry.”

She gives him a sympathetic smile and hits the keyboard. “That’ll be two hundred and one dollars and thirty-five cents. Paper or plastic?”

“Uh, paper,” Steve mutters, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Thanks.”

He takes the bags off the counter as soon as she fills them, trying his best not to look like he’s impatient but still trying to move as quickly as possible. When the bags are all in the cart, he grabs the handle and speed-walks away, throwing a feeble “thank you” over his shoulder.

He looks behind him the entire way out of the store, relaxing slightly only when he turns the corner to a different area of the parking lot. Then, as he spots his car, he almost has his second heart attack of the day.

Natasha is standing next to the trunk with her arms crossed and a half-guarded, half-inquisitive look on her face.

“Do I know you?” She asks as he shuts his eyes, desperately praying that this is a dream.

Once it becomes clear that this is not, Steve takes a deep breath and resigns himself to whatever nightmare scenario happens next.

“No,” he says hoarsely, unlocking his trunk and gesturing at her to move aside.

“But you know me,” she says matter-of-factly, taking a step to the left and watching him place the bags she’d just packed into his trunk. “At least, you seem to.”

Steve stays silent as he finishes loading his groceries and shuts the trunk door, then turns to face her. “I’d rather not do this here,” he says quietly. “Where I’m exposed.”

“Okay.” Natasha shrugs. “Follow me.”

She leads him into a small, dark alleyway behind the store. Steve thinks the overwhelming scent of garbage is going to rot his brains forever, but he does appreciate that they probably won’t be overheard.

“So,” Natasha prompts. “Who are you?”

Steve hesitates. He’s made it decades without telling anyone anything—besides Peggy and Daniel, of course—and a prickle of anxiety is creeping up his spine at the mere thought of saying the words out loud.

On the other hand, that anxiety is nothing compared to the way he’s pretty sure his nerves are currently fraying at the edges, and he’s sure that Natasha would see right through him if he decided to try and lie his way out of this.

Besides, if there’s one person who can keep a secret, it’s her.

He settles on a half-truth, one that gets him out of most of the hard conversations but is still hopefully enough to satisfy her.

“I’m, uh, from the future,” he says carefully. “I promise.”

Her eyes narrow, her natural skepticism overtaking her features. He can see her brain working, can see her scrutinizing his facial expression, his body language, anything that might betray a hint of a lie.

“I believe you,” she says finally. “Some of the tech I’ve seen being developed…well. Do you work for SHIELD?”

“I did.”

“So we worked together?”

He gives what sounds like a half-laugh, half-sob. If meteor showers and midnight drives and painful conversations overlooking the city of Rome are “working together”—

“You could say that.”

She bites her lip, assuming the thoughtful expression he knows to mean she’s trying to decide whether she wants to know the answer to whatever question she’s going to ask, then tilts her head slightly. “Can you tell me one more thing?”

Steve nods.

“When I die, have I contributed something good to this world?”

He almost chokes on his breath, staring at her with equal parts wonder and horror. “How—Why—"

“You were a little too surprised to see me,” Natasha says wryly.

Half a century, apparently, is enough time to forget how well Natasha can read people. How well she can read him.

“You give more to the world than you could imagine,” Steve says softly. “You save it. More than once.”

Her smile is more relieved than anything, and Steve wants to bask in its remnants forever. This is a younger Natasha, a less-worn Natasha—he’d almost forgotten how she’d looked before the snap, before she’d chosen to take on a burden that was far too heavy for anyone to carry.

This is the Natasha that he’d catch dancing in the early light of dawn, carefree and lost in her solitary art, even if it was just for a moment. The one that’d been lost five years before the rest of her was, too.

“Well,” she says as her watch beeps, breaking Steve out of his reverie, “I should get going. I assume you know I’m not actually here to bag groceries.”

“Of course.” Steve moves to leave, then turns back towards the disgusting, garbage-lined alleyway, suddenly aware that his next words are the last words he’s ever going to say to her. That he has a chance, now, to do what he hadn’t been able to do so long ago.

He wants to tell her that the key to her apartment is still on his keychain, sandwiched between the keys to his car and his current house. He wants to tell her that his fingers brush against it as he unlocks the door or starts his engine; he wants to tell her that it’s the only thing he has left of her. That everything she has—everything they have—is going to be destroyed in about twenty years, that a big purple titan is going to ruin any hope he has of living a life that he is unequivocally happy with.

Instead, he says, “Take your nametag off before you go after him. Trust me.”

Maybe, in this timeline, she’ll remember. As she makes her decision on that icy, god-forsaken mountain, maybe she’ll think about today. Maybe she’ll think about this mission, the one that went smoothly, and wonder if he’d used his last words to make things a little bit easier. And maybe she’ll think about all the other ones, too, the ones where they fought side-by-side, and realize that this was him trying to do it one last time.

Her soul is hers, he knows—but he’ll help it move if he can.

The corner of her mouth ticks up in a half-smile. “Aye-aye, captain.”

He almost laughs.

#romanogersweek #my mcu fics #steve rogers x natasha romanoff #romanogers #prompt: timeless love

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witchofmorena · 4 years

Text

Eskel gets a bard

I got the idea from @jaskiersvalley and this fic (Imma steal name of competition, hope you don’t mind darling <3 )

Jaskier invites Eskel to stay and watch/listen to music, in hope Eskel finds someone he likes. Eskel stays and helps Jaskier prank Valdo over and over again (for one Eskel distracted Valdo while Jaskier put horse-shit (yes he was disgusted, and yes Geralt helped) in Valdo’s bed in place of his bed mattress... When Valdo went to bed with some other bard (yes they were going to be naughty) and as soon as they laid in bed they sunk into feces...well lets just say our dear witchers and Jaskier learned many new swearwords and other bards realized it might not be a good idea to bed Valdo during the Bard-Off).

The Bard-Off lasts for about 2 weeks, depending on number of participants, and teachers of Oxenfurt are judges, many nobles come to watch this event - it is one of most important events after all. During day the bards sing, the judges give them points for songs and audience enjoys some good music. In the evenings there is always a party, with lots of alcohol and food and people sneaking away for...some...private parties...

Over hundred bards singed up, 128 to be precise - human,part-humans (fea, sirens, succubi, etc)... however non-human participants used magic to hide their “abnormalities” - they didn’t expect so many nobility and TWO witchers to be present. Each circle eliminated half of current participants (1st circle 64 get eliminated, 2nd 32, etc), there is 7 circles .

In first circle, Eskel notices one girl who is fairly quiet compared to other bards, who cheers for her friends when they do well while most others boo-es them, she comforts other bards who get disqualified ("Why did they disqualify me? I can’t stop people from trying to impress me, because they are susceptible to even tiniest amount of siren voice! And I can’t even *turn it off* as they demand and they know it” “I know maybe, darling, next year will be better”)... Well now Eskel know why his medallion keeps vibrating - not every contestant was human... The girl is very pretty, she has short black hair and eyes that look like they are actual mini thunderstorm and pale skin, at least that’s all Eskel manages to see before she disappears from his view...For her first performance she sings a song about helping someone, falling for them and them taking advantage of her and her love /*AN: smth along the lines of Without me by Halsey*/ all while looking at Valdo. When she finishes and gets off the stage Valdo’s approaching her. He grabs her arm and drags her away and into an empty hallway. What Valdo forgot is that Jask is fond of this lady and sees her as younger sister. Jaskier asks his darling and friend to come with him (he already sang and doesn’t have to worry much about performing). They find Valdo yelling at her:“ Ishtar....what did I say about telling people about what happened between us?”. The girl, Ishtar, smells of fear and it makes witchers’ noses itch and Eskel growl - he hates seeing others being hurt in such way. As soon as bard raises hand and moves to strike Ishtar, Eskel appears in front of young lady. Idiot bard hits him and...regrets it immediately, for Eskel punches him hard enough to hear and feel breaking of bone. Jaskier and Geralt force Valdo outside, unkindly, and Eskel is alone with the beautiful woman. Only - she doesn’t seem fully human anymore, oh no. she has two horns coming out of her temples and ears have transformed as well... Eskel doesn’t address the fact that she is part succubus - her fear didn’t disappear and that is a bigger worry. So he tries talking to her.

“Did he hurt you? Do you want me to get someone else?”- he asks as gently as possible, not wishing to scare her even more, looking closely for any change that might indicate that she is calming down. “No, he didn’t and no need....Thanks for...help and....offer“ Ishtar said quietly, she didn’t understand why he was nice to her, especially now that her glamour is off, and why he protected her. Unable to stop herself she asked him. “Simple, I’m a witcher and my job is to protect innocent, besides I...uh...“ he stutters trough the rest of the answer, uncertain how to answer. “Oh....I thought witchers kill monsters“ Eskel frowns “We do, but not all,” he launches into explaining about differences and reasoning just about everything. Ishtar listens intently and calms down. Witcher gathers courage to ask her. “I’d like to dance with you, will you honor me and go to the party with me tonight?“ “Depends“ she answered shortly.”Will I be able to leave at any moment or will you force me to stay? Will I be able to speak with my friends?“ The scarred wolf smiles slightly, he likes her already”Why would I stop you doing anything you like to do? If you say you wish to leave I’ll walk you to your room....or corridor if you wish for that, wouldn’t want a repeat of what happened earlier“ our wolf has a feeling she’ll accept. “Very well, but do not think I wont argue if try to restrict me!“ “Wouldn’t dream of it, lovely“ she blushes, unused to compliments while unglamoured.”I’ll see you tonight“ he says with a wink and turns to go find fellow wolf and his bard.

At the party Eskel and Ishtar dance until she decides to find Essi The Little Eye and some other people. Meanwhile Eskel finds Jaskier and White Wolf and tells them about the succubus bard he wants, Jaskier gets enthusiastic and tells Eskel everything he knows about her (and that is a lot) and Geralt just keeps up with his “hmmm”-s until Jask is done. Then starts teasing bigger wolf about his “love for horny women“ (pun is dumb but intended). When she says she wants to go, he walks her to her room. Ishtar get a kiss on her hand - he is doing this the way she wants.

Her second staging is about Essi and she sings about lover who fell for someone else, the one whose love changed from friend to lover and back to friend, the one who she’ll always love and treasure. Jaskier is impressed - he didn’t hear that one before so it must be new. Eskel appreciates how her voice is raising and falling so smoothly, how it goes from gentle to husky.

Third one is simply about the one who lied and despite that drove her crazy and did crazy things with this one and she doesn’t regret it at all (Ricky Martin - Livin’ La Vida Loca). Eskel raises eyebrows - it happened to him, a whore slipped him something for sleep, took his coin (leaving barely enough for room) and left him there, he felt resigned at the time and unhappy (he looked forward to eating her out and driving her nuts with his tongue).

Fourth performance - she wanted to sing her newest song about the one who keeps Valdo away (aka Eskel), she composed it last night - and so she sings about a hero, a hero who is strong, fast, larger then life (Bonnie Tyler - I need a hero) all while keeping eye-contact with Eskel (he winks at her).

Fifth round and she has no idea what to sing - so she sings a song to god of vegetation, fertility, protection and war (aka Yarilo) and once again is looking Eskel in the eye, as if she is challenging him in some way. That is the day he asks her to be his bard... “I’m curious....“ he said quietly, as if unsure of something ”Do you travel around Continent, like Jask does?” Ishtar looks up from her notes, she’s composing something new “Hmmmm? Oh....yes, all bards travel, but Jaskier travels the most” she seems confused ”Tho if I had a chance I’d travel like he does...“ even tho that was all he needs to hear to know she’ll be up for travelling with him he’s still uncertain - who would want his scarred and ugly mug? “What if someone asks you? Say someone you’ve spent some time with during this Bard-Off?“ he hints he wants to travel with her. “Are you asking me to wander with you, oh scary witcher?“ her eyes sparkle as she asks him teasingly. “hmmmmm...“ Eskel humms thinking to himself <Good going, Eskel, you’re just as eloquent as Geralt....On the other hand that might help>. He keeps stuttering answer “Well....yes...I mean if....if you don’t....want to...it’s fine....Unless?...” Ishtar pulls him down “I’d love to travel with you, sweet witcher”, kisses him and drags, well it’s not exactly dragging since he is following her willingly, to her room.”Just know that is not the only thing I want to do with you” pushes him on the bed ”The word among succubae is” perches on his lap and his arm goes around her waist, steadying her “That Eskel of the wolves” kisses and bites his neck, he grunts softly “is amazing in bed” whispers in his ear and sucks “Is that true?” He growls, aroused. “Want to find out“ he pulls her closer “Just how good“ tangles his free hand in her hair ”I can be“ kisses her, moving from her sweet lips, along her jaw and down her neck, leaving occasional bite or sucking on the skin.

She is too focused on Eskel as they tear each others clothes off to notice the glamour slipping. He lies her down as they are kissing, and slowly makes his way down her body, taking time to warship her - sucking and biting than licking and kissing to sooth the sting. He makes her come over and over again with his tongue and and fingers til she’s overstimulated mess, begging him for something and even she doesn’t know what for. Is she begging for more? For less? Until she decides she wants him to be a mess. So she turns the table on him - suddenly he is the one in his back, and it’s her turn to drive him crazy, like he did her.

Afterwards, when they are both spent and cuddling, Ishtar looks at her witcher, for in her eyes he is hers, and whispers softly, gently, her breath tickles his neck “I want to travel and I want to travel with you, my dear wolf” she raises her head to look into his eyes “and the stories are true - you are amazing” leans in to kiss his lips, where the scar deforms them, gently.

Several months later.... Eskel is in a small town, so small it doesn’t even have name not to mention it’s in a swampy area, Ishtar is with him. They go to local alderman to check if there are any monsters that are terrorizing people. Turns out there are drowners - rather big horde of over 20 drowners. Eskel takes the contract and tries to convince his lovely succubus bard to stay behind and “maybe sing in a tavern? I don’t want you near danger”. Of course, she doesn’t stay in town/village and follows her darling. She keeps her distance, as to not make more work for Eskel. <Silly witcher thinks I need protection 24/7....*shakes head fondly*....well if he doesn’t need help I still need new material for a new song - it’s been a while since I accompanied him on his hunts...> she thinks to herself. The fight last much longer then either of them thought it would and Eskel left his potions behind, didn’t drink them thinking it’ll be easy fight. He’ll definitely have words with the alderman about this. He doesn’t notice couple drowners coming from behind, but Ishtar does. She picks up the first thing she sees - it’s a tree branch and thankfully it’s not dry. She runs at drowners (<NO NO NO! That is MY witcher! I wont let you have him>), starts hitting them with her make-shift weapon screaming at the top of her lungs “Die DIe DIE” until there is only...mess made of brain matter, mud and bones left behind. Eskel watches her with amusement in his eyes and proud smile on his tired face - the rest of drowners were already dead. “I know I should’ve stayed in tavern or something, but I’ve decided to follow you AND I’m not apologizing” Ishtar says defensively. “I was wrong” he admits, coming closer to her and hugging her tightly. She could feel his excitement against her hip, but since he’s ignoring it she does the same and returns the hug just as tightly. They found the alderman upon their return to the town. He admitted to not knowing how many drowners there really was, and, since he couldn’t pay for the ones he didn’t know about he invited duo to stay at his house for a few days.

With time Ishtar’s songs become as popular as Jaskier’s and the Eskel Chernovuk becomes as famous as Geralt. While Jaskier and Geralt are known as Feral Bard and White Wolf, Ishtar and Eskel are know as Demon Bardess and Chernovuk.

The person who supported me is my sweet tree climbing buddy Rhi, @merthurlocked so I’m tagging her (Thanks, love <3)

#eskel x bard #part-succubus!bard #the witcher #I based this off of actual shows as y'all can guess #yeah I put AN in the middle of fic as explanation #yeah I decided that valdo's a butt-hole #at least here #mention of geraskier #eskel the master pussy-eater #whoops #this became smut on accident xD #straight smut #yes they are together #that took longer then i thought it would #eskel and ishtar are protective of each other #succubae can have chosen mates #and Ishtar chose Eskel a long time ago #basically when they first met #so beware #if you are an ass to her eskel will rip into you #if it's him that you're an ass to #she's gonna try to rip you heart out (eskel'll stop her)#oh yea #Jaskier took first place #Essi took 3rd #and Ishtar took 2nd #Valdo got disqualified #he tried to sabotage too many ppl too much #Ishtar and Eskel have a pet named #Lil'Bleater and it's a goat

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violetsmoak · 5 years

Text

Philtatos [6/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101543/chapters/47723155

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: During a patrol where Red Hood and Red Robin cross paths, Jason is infected with the blood of the Eros, the ancient God of Love, who informs them that they must track down his missing bow and arrows, or Jason will go slowly mad with an obsessive desire–for Tim. Though overwhelmed by the sudden attention being paid to him, Tim sets to work trying to solve the case, before Jason succumbs to madness. In the meantime, Jason discovers that there’s more than godlike powers at work here, as well as a legacy that reaches back through the sands of time.

Rating: Mature (for like one thing this chapter)

Beta Reader: None at the moment, but if anyone’s interested, message me through Tumblr.

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #art #jealousy #reincarnation #secrets #undying love

Author's Note(s): Chapters are all still unbeta'ed, but I'm hoping that will soon be fixed :)

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

Tim leaves the Cave and collects his bike and gear, preoccupied with conflicting thoughts.

On the one hand, he wants Jason spared as much discomfort as possible, but on the other, the possibility of him never waking up again makes his heart clench. Temporary or not, it’s still killing Jason, and there’s a reason why everyone is so reluctant to do that.

The fallout from his death the first time still haunts them all today. Still influences the Mission.

And either way, whether we use Diana’s cure or not, it all comes back to finding Eros’ arrows, right?

And speaking of Eros…

Tim returns to the Nest and the sight of the Olympian sprawled against his cot, completely naked and his own hand busily moving up and down his very erect dick.

“Oh my god what the hell,” Tim chokes, whirling around to avoid the sight.

“Fuck,” is the reply he gets, breathless and more irritated than anything else. “You…had to walk in now? Come back in…like…ten minutes.”

“I’m not leaving my own—” The distracting sound of heavy panting and the wet slide of skin on skin interrupt him. “I’m standing right here, stop it!”

“Not really much incentive,” Eros sniggers.

Tim scrambles over to his computer console, trying to block out the sounds, and punches in the code to activate the fire safety system. There’s a sputtering sound as the sprinkler in the ceiling sets off, followed by a shriek of surprise.

“What the hell, man?” Eros yelps, trying to scuttle away from the cold spray.

“Pants,” Tim bites out. “Now.”

“Okay, okay, geeze!”

There’s the rustle of jeans being dragged on, along with a great deal of cursing in more languages than Tim can recognize. Deeming it to be safe, Tim turns off the sprinkler and turns to face his unwanted houseguest, who’s glaring at him as if he wants to set him on fire.

“I can’t believe you did that. What happened to respecting guy-time?”

“There is no guy-time while you’re here,” Tim growls. “It’s enough I have to deal with your attitude, I’m not listening to sex noises. Or watching you get off.”

“Not something you’re into?” Eros questions. “I bet if I was 6’2” and with muscles like Thor, you’d be singing a different tune, darlin’.”

Don’t bet on it.

Eros’ personality aside, Tim’s never really had a taste for men. He considers himself open in terms of preferences, but until Jason, there’s never been any guy he’s ever thought about that way.

He clenches his fists.

Jason.

“Why didn’t you say anything about Stygian Sleep?” he demands, desperate to reroute this conversation pronto.

Eros snorts and rolls his eyes. “Of course someone brought that shit up. I’ll tell you why—because it’s a cure that’s as bad as the disease. Worse maybe.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean its price is steep and I didn’t think you’d be willing to pay it. I was saving time.”

“What did we say about not sharing all the information?” Tim snaps, and then pauses as something occurs to him. “Wait. Is that price the reason you couldn’t help your wife?”

It’s been confusing him, since Eros is supposedly a god; you’d think he’d be able to figure out a way to save the life of someone he supposedly loved.

“The Styx is older and more powerful than we are,” Eros replies, his entire demeanor shifting, as if to put distance between himself and the topic. “It has rules that make it pretty much impossible for a soul that’s been bound to it to leave. Only a soul that’s already returned from Hades can make that sacrifice…and it must be of equal value. Soul for soul, you see? God for god, mortal for mortal.”

Tim frowns.

“Put it this way—bodies are like this Zesti container,” the Olympian says, grabbing one of the many empty cans lining his table. “There’s only room for a certain amount of soul. No more.”

“And when Psyche was cursed, she was mortal,” Tim realizes; a beat later, “And you were a god.”

“Exactly.”

For the first time since they met, Tim feels a flicker of sympathy for the Olympian. It doesn’t make up for his generally irritating personality, but no one wants to lose someone they love. It’s especially hard when you know how to save them but are physically unable to do it.

Something else occurs to him.

“If we used the Stygian Sleep on Jason, there wouldn’t be anyone who could bring him back,” Tim realizes.

There’s no shortage of colleagues they know who have been dead, but no one with enough of a connection to Jason to willingly consign themselves to the death for him. And in the Family, the only one that’s actually been dead and come back (Dick doesn’t count, his heart only stopped for a few minutes) is Damian. And there’s no way Bruce, or anyone else, would let him make that sacrifice, even if he were so inclined.

“See?” Eros says. “I was sparing you the pain of a bad option.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Somehow I doubt it was as altruistic as that.”

Which means they’re back to square one, with the only way to save Jason being finding Eros’ diviners.

There’s a hollow pain in Tim’s stomach. Jason’s in trouble because of him. If he hadn’t thrown himself in front of Tim to save him from the gunfire, he wouldn’t have gotten tagged with Eros’ blood.

On the heels of that is the feeling of disgust.

His harmless daydreams of Jason ever liking him in that way have been twisted in mutated into this.

So, Tim dutifully throws himself back into the investigation.

Video-chatting with everyone back at the Cave, they work together on cross-referencing areas where Eros’ robberies took place and the locations where he last sensed his bow.

For two days, it’s just endless sifting through data and ignoring Eros’ increasingly obnoxious behavior and trying not to think about Jason.

Then, at last, there’s a break in the case.

“All these places you robbed,” Tim begins, frowning at his digital murder-board. “They all correspond with instances of murder-suicides. The victims are always a couple that never showed any sign of domestic issues.” He had noticed them earlier in his investigation, but thought they were unrelated. “Wasn’t there something in the stories…your arrows, they can make people fall in love, but that’s not all they do.”

Eros blinks and then his eyes narrow. “The golden tipped ones make people fall in love. The lead-tipped ones make people hate each other with a bitter passion.”

“I’m going to run a search on the victims, see if there are any connections.”

“I can tell you right now there aren’t,” a mechanical voice interrupts, freezing Tim’s screen.

“Oracle,” Tim greets, not even surprised that she’s been listening in.

“Oracle?” Eros repeats. “What is it with you people and muddying the legacies of the great ones? Have you ever even been to Delphi?”

“The only link between the murder victims is they were all newly married,” the flat, digital voice continues, ignoring Eros. “If you widen the net to track murder-suicides during the past month, most of them occur in or around areas where Eros was looking for his bow and arrow. The interesting thing is, though, they all happened before Eros committed his robberies.”

“What?” Tim asks, confused.

“That’s probably what I was sensing,” Eros says, perking up. “If someone’s using the bow and arrow to incite hatred between lovers, that’s what I was drawn to. But if there were more than one death happening in the area, it’s no wonder I couldn’t get a strong trail. It’s like the scent was overlapping too much.”

“Which means whoever took your diviners not only knew what they were taking, but also from who. And how to throw you off their trail.”

Eros’ face is stormy.

“Still no clue who this could be?” Tim asks, and receives no answer in return. “Great. Very helpful. Do you even want to solve this case?”

Oracle interrupts whatever quip the Olympian has prepared. “Red Robin, you might want to return to the Cave.”

“What? Why?”

There’s a sinking sensation in his gut.

“Red Hood isn’t doing well. And Nightwing might be on the verge of convincing Batman that Wonder Woman’s solution is the only option.”

“What? No! I sent them the report of exactly why that’s a bad idea!” Tim snaps, already hurrying toward the garage.

“I know that,” Oracles replies, her voice switching from the screen to his comm. “But if you could see what Hood looks like right now…it might be a kinder end.”

“And what’s Hood’s opinion on this?”

“He’s…not exactly lucid at the moment.”

And now he feels like throwing up. He was sure they had more time! “I’ll be there in ten.”

“I’m blocking any incoming and outgoing transmissions from Wonder Woman, but at some point, they’re going to clue in to that fact. Drive fast.”

The ride is a blur to Tim, whose thoughts race without registering anything beyond a desperate disbelief.

Think! There’s got to be something we can do, something we missed.

As he weaves in and out of the traffic on the bridge to Bristol, he goes over every interaction he’s had with or about Eros and his abilities. Anything that was said, no matter how seemingly insignificant or unrelated.

One idea needles at him, a shadow of an inkling…

He doesn’t bother with the roundabout route this time, tearing into the Cave’s parking area and barely parking the bike before he’s hurrying toward the containment unit. Bruce isn’t there, which is a good sign—he must still be trying to get a hold of Diana; if he were ready to carry out any action for Jason, he would be here with him.

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t!” Tim orders, striding forward.

“Tim,” Dick says, getting up from the chair he’s been occupying beside the unit. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He ignores him, eyes drawn immediately to Jason. The older man is sitting curled in a ball at one end of the glass cage, surrounded by books and papers that look like they’ve been thrown in a fit of rage. He presses the heels of his hands against his temples, and Tim can see the bags under his eyes from here. And the angry red welt around his wrists and neck, like he’s been scratching into his skin.

Tim’s heart lurches.

“I didn’t know he was doing this bad,” he whispers.

Dick sighs. “He hasn’t slept in two days, and we can’t sedate him after what Diana said. It’s like he’s going through withdrawal—fever sweats, hallucinations, throwing up. Which isn’t great because he hasn’t been eating, either.”

And on top of that, he’s probably feeling trapped in that claustrophobic cell.

“He’s deteriorating right in front of us.”

“I know. We’re trying to contact Diana, but—”

“No. Not that. That is not an option.”

“Tim—”

“It would kill him, Dick! There’s no waking him up from it!”

“This is killing him, too! Wouldn’t you rather he didn’t suffer anymore?”

Tim’s fists curl into balls and he glances back at Jason.

He knows he;s is fighting. Bruce’s training and whatever he learned from the League is probably keeping him tethered—even if it’s only looselytethered now—but that’s only a stopgap. Jason looks like he’s on the brink of bashing his head against the glass until he knocks himself unconscious.

The mental image makes Tim recoil.

Jason’s in pain and it’s my fault.

He needs to help him, needs to do something, even if it means tamping down his own inconvenient feelings and letting Jason do…whatever he needs to.

Tim will do it; if it means giving Jason more time, he’ll do it.

Even if the idea of it makes him nauseous because right now Jason isn’t in his right mind and when they fix him, he’s going to hate Tim. But then…he’s hated him before, so at least Tim will know what to expect. And maybe if he’s careful about it…

Something Eros said about the nature of desire comes back to him then, and he considers it alongside what he knows about Jason.

He can’t take it anymore.

Tim strides to the door of the containment unit, ready to input the code. Dick blocks his way.

“You can’t!”

“I have an idea.”

“Then tell me what it is, and I’ll do it.”

“You can’t do anything right now,” Tim replies with a sad smile. “Just trust me, okay?”

Dick is still conflicted, but after a beat, he steps out of the way.

Tim opens the door to the containment area and slips inside, letting it close behind him. Slowly, he approaches Jason, almost the same way he might a wounded animal, moving slowly so as not to spook him.

Jason is shaking his head, backing away from him, and murmuring something to himself. Something foreign sounding, like a grounding chant; swear beads on his forehead.

His eyes are clenched shut, as if he’s trying not to see—either Tim or whatever hallucination has been plaguing him.

“Jason,” Tim says quietly. No response. “Jason, look at me.” Clear blue eyes snap open, locking with Tim’s. “I need you to focus on me, okay? And, uh, don’t punch me.”

He can see the difficulty Jason is having with comprehending right now, but he’s lucid enough to flinch away when Tim reaches for him.

“Tim!” Bruce barks somewhere in the distance, having finally made his appearance.

He ignores him and seeks out Jason’s hand, wrapping his hand around it. Or trying to; the other man’s hand feels huge compared to his.

He gives a fully body shudder at the contact, and then he’s clasping back at Tim as if he’s his lifeline. Something is at war in his eyes, that bit of sanity that tells him Jason’s still there.

“Philtatos,” he whispers, and Tim shivers at the way the strange word rings like a verbal caress.

Tim’s thumb automatically swipes across Jason’s wrist, and skin to skin like this he can feel the frantic beat of his pulse. Too fast for someone that’s been sitting still.

“You’re going to be okay,” Tim tells him. “Remember your training. Just breathe…and focus. Hold as tight as you need to.”

Jason’s breath shudders in a way that suggests he trying to comply.

Tim isn’t sure how long they stay like that, him crouched in front of Jason just holding his hand and murmuring calming words. But at some point, Jason begins to look visibly better. His pulse is returning to normal, the cold sweat on his face is beginning to cool and his breathing evens out.

“What…” Jason begins, eyes unfocused in their exhaustion. “Tim…?”

“Yeah. I’m here.”

“…shouldn’t be. I might…”

“You won’t,” Tim insists, confident. “It’s like what Eros said when we met him, remember? Desire is not just about…physical attraction. That’s not what you’re fixating on right now, is it?”

Jason shakes his head, slow, though his eyes don’t leave Tim’s face.

And I know what skin hunger looks like, Tim doesn’t add.

Before becoming a Wayne, before Dick and Alfred and Bruce and Steph—no on ever touched Tim in kindness or just casually because they wanted to. He was so touch-starved that for the longest time he flinched whenever Dick tried to hug him, even as he craved it more than anything.

He had been so worried about it seeming creepy to want to be held or hugged by his former mentor that it was, he’d let himself believe he wasn’t worth it. It’s a thought that occasionally comes back to him even now. And Jason…

Well, he wasn’t just starving for food when he was living with an abusive father and a drug addicted mother.

“Fuck, babybird, I’m so tired,” Jason murmurs, and there’s something in his voice like he’s asking permission. Tim feels a grating burn at the back of his throat and a swoop in his stomach.

“Go to sleep,” he says quietly. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

And utterly uncharacteristic of him, Jason listens. He lets Tim lead him back to his cot and sit him down, their hands still clasped, and almost the moment he closes his eyes, he’s passed out.

There’s a lingering heavy silence.

Tim takes one last moment to make sure Jason’s asleep and not about to wake again anytime soon, and in a more level voice remarks, “Could you guys stop gawking like this is a side show?”

Outside the glass, Alfred and Dick watch with bemused expressions; for Bruce, it’s disapproval.

“Uh, Tim?” Dick asks, clearly uncomfortable. “Explain?”

“It’s something Eros said. And Cassie, too,” Tim explains, settling back against the wall beside the cot. He keeps his fingers threaded between Jason’s. “This infection, it capitalizes on feelings that are already there, right? With Jason, his instinct when it comes to physical desire…it’s probably not a sex thing. Not with his background. But there is a touch component; having physical contact with another person—in this case, the object of his fixation.”

Alfred appears impressed. “How could you be sure of that?”

“I…wasn’t.”

But his theories are usually correct, so it balances out, he thinks. Dick and Bruce look like they disagree, though.

“Tim, this was foolish,” Bruce lectures, looming as best he can from the other side of the glass. “This might have gone very differently.”

“But it didn’t. I might not be great reading people, but except for you, I don’t think anyone ever bothered to learn about Jason the way I did.”

“He has a point,” Dick agrees carefully. “He was a persistent little stalker.”

There’s a degree of fondness in the statement.

Tim scowls at him and continues. “Besides, like I said, I know the look.”

Bruce doesn’t seem convinced.

“This is only a temporary solution,” he points out. “It won’t work forever.”

“But it will work for now,” Tim insists. “That’s what matters.”

And there’s really no more arguments against it.

⁂

Of course, Jason complains about it when he wakes up.

“I’m going to lose all my street cred,” he grumbles, shoveling a plate of Alfred’s oatmeal into his mouth with his left hand. The fingers of his right remain interlocked with Tim’s.

Tim makes to pull away. “I can stop—”

“I didn’t say that,” Jason interrupts, tightening his hold on Tim’s hand. He knows Tim has no intention of following through with the thread, but that doesn’t make it easier to look him in the eye.

Since waking up with Tim by his side, Jason’s condition has improved drastically. The color is back in his skin, and he’s entirely lucid if Tim is sitting within his personal space. And, of course, his appetite for actual food as returned.

It doesn’t completely quell the gnawing hunger, but he knows that’s not a physical hunger. There’s not much anyone can do about that until the damned arrows are found.

“I think you’ll eventually be okay to leave the containment for short periods,” Tim tells him, looking thoughtful. “At least if I stay in close quarters.”

“Out of the question,” Bruce interrupts; he’s been looming in the corner with a glare since before Jason woke up.

Oddly enough, I don’t think it’s directed at me this time.

“Definitely not a good idea, Timmy,” Dick adds.

“Why? He deserves to shower in peace and eat and groom and act like a normal human being instead of a quarantine patient,” Tim points out. “It’s not like he’s contagious.”

And, yes, Jason could definitely go for a goddamn shower; the grit on his skin has grit. But almost as soon as he has the thought, another image appears in his mind.

“You planning to shower with me, babybird?” he asks, voice tense as he tries to joke it off, because Tim couldn’t possible mean—?

“What? No!” Tim’s cheeks darken. “I think after another hour or so, you should be alright with light or no contact. And once we reach that point, I can probably sit outside the bathroom or something. If I’m within reach it should be okay. We can test it out.”

“Just what I always wanted, to be a science experiment…”

“No,” Bruce says again. “He might attempt to make a run for it or lash out and hurt someone. You in particular, Tim.”

“It is the whole reason I agreed to come here,” Jason concedes.

“And do you have any intention of going away again?” Tim shoots back, and frowns at Bruce. “At least not voluntarily. Also, the idea of him harming anyone is unlikely, he only reached out for Matt because he was disoriented and mistook him for me.”

“Who?”

“The kid from the alley,” Tim clarifies.

Jason’s stomach churns. “That doesn’t excuse what I almost did.”

“He was fine. He was a little shaken up, but I made sure he knows it wasn’t you. That you’re not like that,” Tim assures him, and refocuses on Bruce again. “There’s no one here he can do that with because he knows us all. If that weren’t the case, he would probably have gotten upset at the fact Damian’s been here for the past hour.”

In the shadows, Damian scoffs at being caught. “It’s not like I was hiding.”

And Tim…has a point there. Not sure if it’s because he’s sitting here with me or not, but now that I think about it, the past two days I couldn’t care less about Damian being here.

That’s actually a relief. So he’s not going to become a creeper to anyone that passably resembles Tim. Just Tim.

Okay, maybe relief isn’t the right word.

“As for trying to hurt me, I doubt he’d be capable of doing that in his current state,” Tim concludes. “Besides, I know how to defend myself. The fact that you don’t think I can do that much is a bit insulting.”

Jason can’t help the snort of laughter at that. He always likes when people other than him stand up to Bruce, but it’s somehow better that it’s Tim.

“If I might also point out,” Alfred speaks up. “It has been a rather long while since Master Jason has been able to enjoy a dinner at a table. With other people in attendance.”

Bruce doesn’t respond beyond exhaling through his nose.

“And that’s it, B,” Dick says, trying for levity. “Alfred’s spoken.”

Bruce doesn’t seem amused, either by the situation or the fact he’s lost the argument. Nor can he pursue it, because a notification pops up on the Batcomputer that Firefly is making a nuisance of himself again.

Which is how an hour later, Jason finds himself showered (fastest shower in his life while Tim waited outside the door), wearing fresh clothing (how the hell does Alfred always have clothes in his size around?) and sitting in the library with Tim, who’s doing something clever on his tablet.

“I figure you’d prefer not to be in the Cave unless it’s absolutely necessary,” Tim tells him, not looking at him.

“And I have taken the liberty of returning all of the materials you requested earlier,” Alfred adds, walking in with an armful of books. “I should hope you treat them with a mite more respect this time though.”

“Sorry, Alf,” Jason winces.

“Never mind that, Master Jason. Extenuating circumstances, and all that.”

He departs again.

“Anyhow, you can keep looking into whatever you were doing before,” Tim goes on, still not meeting his gaze. “It’s a good idea. Not all information on the subject has been digitized, so it isn’t searchable. I’ve got remote access to my system and the Cave from here, so I can keep working without having to leave you alone.”

“Right. Because you’ve got no choice but to be my babysitter.”

He tries to dial down the bitterness there, but Tim detects it easily. Finally, he glances up; his expression is surprised, and strangely soft.

“Being here is my choice. Or didn’t you notice the glares B was sending me all night?”

“Yeah, but he always looks like that. That could be about anything.”

“True, but in this case it’s because I have an issue with you getting dosed with some Olympian Death Kool-Aid.”

Tim had explained about the Stygian Sleep when Jason woke up and was trying to understand why they were holding hands. “Better that than me doing something I’d regret.”

“And I say what I said before—give it time.”

Jason scowls. “It’s not fair for you to use you against me right now.”

“If it means putting off the possibility of you dying, it’s totally fair. Besides, in this family, you know no one is above manipulation. Least of all me.”

“Why do you even care?” Jason wants to know. “After everything I’ve done to you?”

Tim shrugs, eyes darting away again.

“I don’t want Bruce and Dick and Alfred going through it again,” he mumbles, returning his attention to the tablet. “Losing you again. It…wasn’t pretty.”

Which Jason’s heard before, but he’s never exactly been willing to hear the specifics. He wonders if Tim decided to tell him this time, if he’d listen.

They lapse into silence then, both drawn into their respective avenues of research. Thankfully Tim’s theory about Jason’s affliction has proven true, and he seems to be regaining some control over himself.

Jason recalls what Eros said, about his condition depending on how far Tim was willing to go for him. He’s not entirely sold on the idea—there have to be limits, of course—but he won’t argue that it’s nice to be able to focus on something other than Tim for a few hours.

Just as long as he’s within easy reach.

By the early hours of the morning, though, Jason has grown bored.

“We’ve been at this for hours,” he grumbles, rubbing at his eyes.

“Uh-huh.”

He shoots a look at Tim, who’s frowning over his tablet and clearly didn’t hear him, and rolls his eyes.

He wants to have this whole mess sorted out, of course, but right now it doesn’t look like it’s going to be finished for a while.

They need a break.

Tim needs a break, or he’s going to pass out.

“Time to take a breather, babybird,” he declares a good ten minutes later, after debating with himself about how much of this is his regular concern and how much is Eros-induced mollycoddling.

“We don’t have time for breaks.”

“Right now, we do. And you’ll be able to think better if you get some air and come back with a new perspective. Never know when you might get an idea from something random.” Tim still doesn’t appear very enthusiastic, and so Jason tries another tack. “It’ll make me feel better at least, I feel like I’ve got ants in my brain.”

Which is what convinces Tim; Jason feels only a little guilty about that, figuring it’s for the greater good.

No one is above manipulation, right?

“Go sit in the family room and queue something up on TV,” he orders, something like enthusiasm manifesting in his stomach. “Casablanca or whatever.”

Tim makes a face. “You really think that’s the best movie idea for right now?”

He considers, then winces.

“Good point. Fine, choose whatever. Something with car crashes and explosions and shit. I’m gonna grab provisions.”

“You think that’s a good idea?”

“It’s downstairs, not navigating Gotham’s sewer system,” Jason retorts.

“Okay…” But Tim still looks doubtful.

Which Jason remembers the reason for once he’s in the kitchen making coffee.

Alfred won’t let him cook, insists on whipping up a tray of sandwiches because he doesn’t trust anyone in this house to make healthy food choices. Normally Jason would argue the point, because he eats just fine thank you very much, but his thoughts are straying back to Tim, and the fact he’s not here.

And if he glances at his phone every so often, finger hovering over the Contact button for Tim, well…he can’t do anything about that, can he?

At last, Jason heads for the family room, carrying a tray of coffee and tea.

“I’ve got the drinks, and Alfred said he’s going to bring up the rest of the—”

He freezes when he discovers the room is not occupied with just Tim. Dick is sprawled beside him on the couch—close! Too close!—while Damian hunches over his sketchpad in the corner, Titus and Pennyworth curled beside him, looking mutinous as ever.

“Bruce is still out on patrol. Gordon needed him for something, so he suggested we head back here and check on you,” Dick answers the question that wasn’t asked.

‘Suggested’ my ass.

Unsaid is the knowledge that if anyone has a chance of taking Jason down if he loses it, even if it’s just stalling him until Bruce gets there, Dick and Damian have the best chance.

He can’t even argue the point.

Scowling, Jason wanders over to the end table beside the couch and puts down the tray before handing Tim his coffee. The younger man takes it, sniffs and makes a perplexed face. “How’d you know that’s how I take my coffee?”

“Hell if I know, apparently it’s something I noticed,” Jason mutters as he finishes steeping his tea.

“Aw, Little Wing, don’t I get any?”

“Fuck off and get it yourself,” Jason snaps, still testy about how close Dick is sitting to Tim.

He knows that Dick has no interest in Tim that way, and vice versa, and that he’s just here to protect everyone. But the older man is also the one everyone likes best. Tim already likes him better than Jason, which puts a bad taste in his mouth and—

And he’s getting lost in his thoughts.

“Move,” Jason tells him. “That’s my spot.”

“You can’t have a spot. You don’t even live here.”

“Neither do you.”

“I’m here more often than you are.”

“That’s irrelevant. It was my spot when I lived here but you were too busy being elsewhere and an asshole, so I guess you wouldn’t know that.”

“I can move,” Tim pipes up quietly.

“Or Jaybird could just sit over here beside me,” Dick suggests innocently

Jason is not gritting his teeth. “No thanks. Your ego’s already suffocating me from over here, I don’t need the added burden of your cologne.”

“Guess you’re sitting on the floor then.”

Tim huffs. “If this is an issue, we can just go back to work. We really should be—”

“No, this is supposed to be a break,” Jason interrupts and glares at the older man, “and he’s ruining it.”

God, he sounds like a child. Tim must think so too, because he stands up and points to the space he was occupying. “Sit.”

“No, I don’t—”

“Jason, if you don’t sit, I’m going back to work.”

Which translates to Jason going back to work, since he’ll inevitable end up loitering wherever Tim goes. So, he scowls, and throws himself down in Tim’s spot, arms crossed and glaring at Dick, who watches the whole thing with a wary look on his face.

That gets blocked when Tim sits between them and shoots them both an irritated glare. “Are we good now?”

Not really, Jason thinks but doesn’t say, because Dick is still too close to Tim. A beat later, something occurs to him, and he smirks.

He stretches out, wrapping his arm around the back of the couch. Not touching Tim, or his shoulder, but there’s a heavy implication of hands offfrom his body language. Dick’s eyebrows are in danger of disappearing into his hair, and there’s worry now written in his eyes, but Jason ignores it.

He’s the one who even made this an issue.

Tim, meanwhile, sits very still, his cheeks stained red. Jason shifts with sudden guilt.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, considering pulling his arm back. “I can sit on the floor if—”

“No, it’s fine,” Tim cuts him off, crossing his arms tight against his body. “Now are we watching, or what?”

“You people are ridiculous,” Damian informs them, having watched the whole interchange with mild derision.

“Your face is ridiculous,” Jason shoots back and tries to concentrate on the television screen.

Which is more difficult than he expects.

The movie is boring. Worse, it’s predictable. He makes a mental note to never let Tim choose the movie ever again, at least until he gets some taste.

Early on, he loses interest in the formulaic plot and static characters, instead occupying himself with studying Tim out of the corner of his eye. The kid really isn’t that bad looking, for someone who lives on coffee and microwave dinners. His lashes are longer than he’s seen on most men, and his cheekbones are sharp without making his face look pinched. There’s also the curve of his mouth, where it’s not really smiling, but quirking upward in dry amusement.

It works well with the snark, Jason muses as his eyes grow heavier.

He drifts off, the family room fading away, dim light and tinny sound from the television blurring end ebbing, until it’s gone and he’s no longer there.

He’s in a large chamber, warmed by the dry breeze that winds through the open concept room. The walls are decorated with rich, colourful frescoes, and the floor with meticulous mosaic.

He leans over a wooden table, frowning down at piles of vellum and papyrus. There are discarded styli and other design tools lying across the sheets of military maneuvers and maps. The nearest one shows a hastily sketched city plan of roads and buildings; the one with the most notations reads Вιβλιοθήκη but it barely registers for him.

His attention is instead on the man seated across the room.

It’s Tim—because, of course it is—and he has a stylus stuck behind his ear while he uses another to etch something into a wax tablet. He’s also chuckling and shaking his head.

“You’re the one who wanted to stop here and found another city. What is this, the fourth one?”

“Fifth,” Jason corrects, though he knows Tim is just teasing him. “And it’s all planned now. Someone else can do the heavy lifting. Dinocrates is champing at the bit to get to work.” He shoves at the maps in front of him in frustration. “And I have things to do! You know that bastard Darius is holed up across the Euphrates trying to dictate to me?”

“He knows he’s losing, he’s just trying to cling to some semblance of power.”

“Exactly!”

“That doesn’t mean you should be impatient. Think it through—you’ll regret it if you just rush in. Remember what happened last time? You sliced a relic of the gods in half.”

“I was fulfilling a prophecy.”

“You were vandalizing public property. Call it what it is.”

“They threw me a parade.”

“Because they’re superstitious old goats.”

Jason crosses his arms. “You’re questioning my gods-given destiny to rule all of Asia. I could have your tongue for that.”

“You already have my tongue,” Tim says dryly. “Among other things.”

Though his face remains solemn, his eyes dance with irreverence and a heat that has Jason licking his lips and suddenly wanting to do something about that smile.

Which is when there’s a sound of approaching footsteps beyond the chamber. Tim looks down quickly, attention back to his etchings, and Jason draws himself up with an air of irritation that isn’t completely false; he hates interruptions.

A man wearing something like a linen caftan darts forward and bows.

“Your majesty, the sculptor Lyssipos has arrived.”

“Send him in,” he replies, a bit of the irritation waning.

A minute later, an older man appears, graying hair and beard oiled into curls; behind him, two darker-skinned men follow, carrying a large crate between them. From the way the old man snaps at them it’s obvious they are slaves.

“Your majesty, as always, you look to be in the prime of health!” the old man says; he has a smile like a salesman.

“Conquering the world agrees with me,” Jason answers in dry amusement. “What brings you so long from your workspace?”

“The piece you commissioned is ready.”

He makes a gesture to the men, who are quick to open the top of the wooden box and bring out a two-foot bust. It has been painted lightly with color, less garish than most artists prefer, closer to realistic. The face and shoulders rising from the marble are stocky, nose straight and locks of hair painstakingly hewn from the stone.

“I spent much longer on this than any other before it, majesty, and believe you will be pleased, though I would be humbled to know your thoughts on it.”

“I don’t know,” Jason chuckles as the men place it on the crate, and turns to Tim. “’Wife’, what do I think of it?”

Tim rolls his eyes, and both ignore the scandalized expressions from everyone in the room not privy to their dynamic. He lays his tools gently aside and wanders over to circle the bust with a critical eye. It is some time before he speaks.

“Master Lysippus has done well to hide that receding hairline you’re so worried about.”

Jason scowls, running a hand through his hair—it’s longer in the back than he’s used to—but the expression doesn’t remain long. He’s too busy studying Tim as he continued to evaluate the sculpture. Jason likes the way he wrinkles his brow and the set of his mouth.

Tim traces the statue’s eyelids and cheekbones with a finger, then brushes across the curved lips almost lovingly. Jason is reminded of the myth of Pygmalion and Galatea, and rather hopes Tim isn’t about to embrace a piece of stone in his place.

“It is graceful, elegant and has good symmetry,” Tim pronounces at long last, and Lysippus preens. “Although I have to admit, for being the work of the only sculptor the king has ever trusted with his likeness…it doesn’t look a thing like him.”

The earns a sharp gasp, and the old man looks as if he has just been struck. The slaves’ eyes flick toward one another, and no one seems to know what to say to that.

Irritation flares in his chest and Jason feels the inclination to snarl, until he notices the teasing in Tim’s eyes.

That little shit…

“My liegeman is simply enjoying a joke at my expense,” Jason informs the old man. “The piece is perfect. A true artistic marvel, as expected.” He reaches for a piece of vellum and scribbles a hasty note, ignoring Tim’s pained expression at the informal proceedings, and then uses his personal seal to legitimize it. “Take this to Harpalus, Machatas’ son. He oversees the treasury and will see to your needs.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”

“Now, I’ll say farewell, as I must have some words with philalexandros here about inappropriate humor.”

“Your majesty,” the men echo, and soon Jason is alone with Tim once more.

He grimaces at him. “Do you see what you did? They’re scandalized by your irreverence.”

“Maybe, but you like that about me, and that’s all that matters,” Tim replies, approaching.

“Yes, but no one else is supposed to know that. I’m meant to be the god-king—remember that cynical philosopher in Corinth? He insisted I’m ruled by your thighs.”

“Hm,” Tim considers. “Aren’t you?”

“Rather the opposite,” Jason grins, drawing close to the shorter man. “I seem to recall you having a few choice things to say about my thighs.” He tips a finger beneath his chin. “Come, let’s take this somewhere else.”

“Why?” Tim teases. “Are you afraid your double is watching?”

Jason’s eyes flit to the lifeless stone irises of the statue, and shudders. “Well, now I am…”

He bends closer to Tim, and can feel his breath on his face—

Jason jolts awake to discover he’s nodded off against Tim’s shoulder—no, worse; he’s practically curled into him, face in the crook of his neck.

Tim is sitting rigid, neck and cheeks radiating warmth, though he’s staring carefully ahead of him. Jason hurriedly shoves himself away. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Tim croaks.

Dick is watching the whole thing with evident concern his eyes. “You were talking in your sleep.”

“Shit. What did I say?” He doesn’t remember everything from his dream, but he’s pretty sure at the end there he was making some kind of innuendo.

“No idea.”

“It sounded like Greek,” Damian says, glancing up from his sketching. “Not any dialect I’m familiar with, though.”

“Oh. Good.” Jason swallows. “Also, what the hell?”

From everyone else’s expressions, they’re wondering the same thing.

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

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ialreadyreadthatfanfic · 5 years

Text

Charles Xavier Is A Huge Dick: The Movie

or,

X-Men: Dark Phoenix

Hey, if you haven’t seen the movie yet and don’t want to be spoiled, you probably should stop reading!

I watched the new X-Men movie. Not only I’m that annoying cinema-goer that sits behind you and mocks the movie audibly during the seance, oh no, I’m also that annoying cinema-goer that comes back home and makes a bitchy tumblr post about the movie.

But, guys, that was so bad.

First off: I’m convinced that upon reading the script, James MacAvoy and Sophie Turner instantly lost the will to act, because we’ve all certainly seen far better performances from both of them.

My other theory is that the director simply told them not to bother, because this was, as far as I can tell, a deliberate franchise-killer.

The scene-by-scene description of the train-wreck under the cut for the curious.

PROLOGUE

We open the movie with the scene where young Jean Grey and her parents are in car crash, because Jean Cannot Control Her Powers. The kid survives; the parents aren’t so lucky. This scene is generally inoffensive, if predictable.

From now on, young Jean Grey behaves like a kid-shaped robot. Someone please write her better dialogue.

Charles Xavier arrives at the hospital, confirms her parents are dead, somewhat unenthusiastically delivers some well-worn platitudes and whisks her away to his school.

Hey, mutant powers are like pens. Especially the ones you can’t control, because sometimes pens go on a rampage and stab people in the eyes, you know, unintentionally.

(No, seriously, they went with that metaphor.)

TITLES - BACK TO THE FUTURE - or 1992, I guess, one cheer for 90s nostalgia

In effort to remind us humans that as a species we did some cool things on our way to ruining the planet, we watch the launch of a space shuttle.

Suddenly Houston, we have a problem. A sentient solar flare or something is attacking the brave astronauts! Oh no! Who’re we gonna call?!

Charles Xavier!

Like literally, the Mr. President of US of A calls Charles Xavier, like Chuck, are you watching the TV rn?, and Xavier’s like, already giddy with anticipation, Why yes, Mr. President, I see you are in a spot of trouble, and Mr. President’s like, Sooo, Chuck, I literally HATE TO ASK, BUT... and Xavier’s like, practically bouncing with glee, BUT OF COURSE, X-MEN TO THE RESCUE!!!

So Chuck sends off his chicks. Nominally, the team is under Mystique’s command. There also Hank, and baby-faced Storm, and even more baby-faced Kurt Wagner, oh yeah JEAN, she’s there too bc PLOT, and Scott was along too. Did I forget anyone?

I forgot someone, didnt I?

OH YEAH, the Quicksilver was there too. Considering how cool he was in earlier movie(s?), it’s kinda sad that he’s largely inconsequential here and I forgot about his existence about halfway through.

Charles calls Houston on the Cerebro like a huge showoff he is, and the X-Men proceed to rescue the astronauts from weird-looking space cloud (which is of course the Phoenix Force, or whatever comics call it). There’s some cool looking scenes here where X-Men use their powers, but they’re just window dressing for the main plot:

Charles Xavier is being a huge dick, backseat driving this mission through Cerebro and not trusting Mystique’s judgement.

BTW, Mystique might be the only character in the movie who behaves like a sensible person, which is why she’s not there for very long.

Anyway the scene goes like this:

Mystique: we saved ALL BUT ONE astronaut! Coming back for that one guy is super risky and probably will only lead to more deaths! I’m cutting my loses like sensible field leader!

Prof X: OH NO YOU WON’T get back for that one guy or the whole mission is a failure!!!

Mystique: WTF??!! That’s crazy, we will get killed!

Prof X: But it’s better to throw away our lives than have less than 100% record on rescue mission, because if we give humans even slightest pretext, they will instantly revert back to hating us, see? The President will stop taking my calls, people will want to arrest us for property damage, and neutralize our powers and stick us in prison for mutants.

Mystique: ...seriously, why am I on your side again?!

Prof X: Just have Kurt take Jean to the shuttle and she’ll hold it intact while he looks for the guy! Raven, I want to remind you I can bitch at you telepathically anytime, anywhere, for the rest of your life!

Mystique: DAMN YOU FINE

So they do it. Kurt manages to rescue the guy, but not Jean. The shuttle blows to bits around her. We are supposed to be sad for 2 seconds there, but then the Phoenix Flare swallows her, she survives, X-Men return to Earth with the astronauts and are showered with praise from adoring masses who stand there with cutesy sings to welcome them upon landing. Whatever.

Jean has a conversation with Scott where they mack on each other and she reassures him She’s Never Been Better, Really, I Feel Great After That Traumatic Experience, and Scott is like, IDK but okay?? I guess??

And Hank checks her out too, and her power is OVER NINE THOUSAAAAND, but Jean’s like, chill, I feel greeeeeat, so Hank’s like, the only problem with this situation is that I need to design a better power-meter!! Ha ha!

Meanwhile, back to plot A, where Charles Xavier continues to be a huge dick. Mystique calls him out about his control freak thing, Charles responds by being a sanctimonious asshole because it’s not like he ever learns or grows as a person in these movies, you know, and Mystique basically throws her arms up and storms out, which is a good representation for audience reaction at that point. Her parting shot is one of like two good lines in the whole movie:

Mystique: And anyway, as far as I can see, the women saved the day again! Maybe you should think about renaming us X-Women!

The movie will shortly repay her for that, don’t worry.

Some other things happen. Creepy aliens looking for Phoenix Booster covertly invade Earth. Mystique goes to Hank and says, hey so Charles is being a huge dick and a total control freak. I’m kinda fed up with him, maybe it’s time to move out and start living our own life? To which Hank is like, IDK Raven do even have a life outside X-Men, and I don’t want to move out of my lab, and Mystique is like, ugh okay I’ll stay.

Jean gets upset at the party and pushes some people over in midst of Phoenix breakdown, which makes everyone panic. Charles notices that her power is now OVER 9000 and he can’t just go and fuck around in her mind anymore, so the logical solution is to use Cerebro to do that anyway.

It turns out that Phoenix thing not only amplified Jean’s power, it also dissolved mental blocks Charles put in her mind to hide a terrible truth from her: her father survived the car crash. In fact, with her powers, she can find her father right now! Jean, in midst of her generic emotional crisis, blows out of the school to do exactly that, because she feels alone and misunderstood and betrayed, man.

It turns out he willingly gave her up and I guess hates her because she caused the accident by putting her mother to sleep while driving. Jean is pretty upset and about to smite the whole neighbourhood, when the X-Men arrive.

This is how X-Men discreetly take care of their business: They suit up in their official uniforms and take their official super-advanced jet and land it on the street, so everyone around will know what’s up. The only thing they were missing while confronting Jean was the transparent with the word INTERVENTION.

Jean freaks out, X-Men try to fight her, they all cause maximum collateral damage possible, there’s police, Mystique tries to talk Jean down, Jean semi-accidentally kills Mystique by pushing her over and impaling her on some wooden debris.

It’s all very badly written and feels utterly cheap and is a total waste of character. Frankly, the scene made me angry and not much else. But since the whole movie revolves on the fact that everyone is an idiot, Mystique didn’t go there anyway, I guess.

Anyway, it furthers three things:

Plot A, Charles is reaching new heights of being a huge dick wherein he goes to sprout platitudes at Hank, who predictably doesn’t want to listen to him and lashes out, to which Charles reacts very maturely by being OFFENDED, because Raven was HIS sister, OBVIOUSLY he’s the MOST injured party here! (No, seriously, he pretty much says that).

Plot B, Hank needs to be a bigger idiot, to which we will come back in a moment.

Plot C, Jean Grey is now Public Enemy Number One and all people are back to hating humans! The President literally stopped taking Xavier’s calls, people want to arrest X-Men for property damage, neutralize their powers and stick them in prison for mutants.

Oh, and aliens are tracking Jean to get the Phoenix Power or whatever.

Jeans next move is to go visit Erik Lehnsherr, who is living like a hobo in Genosha with a handful of like-minded mutants. She wants to ask him for life advice, I guess, because when Charles Xavier is being a huge dick and hiding your memories of your childhood trauma from you without your consent, Magneto is the only alternative.

Too bad she wants advice on Not Killing People With My Powers When I’m Kinda Upset With Them. It’s unsurprising that Erik Lehnsherr, who spend his whole life Deliberately Killing People With His Powers Because He Was Very Upset With Them, can’t really relate.

This upsets Jean further, and she demonstrates that by attacking US soldiers who came to Genosha to arrest them and doing her best to kill them. Then she flies off to drink in a bar, where an alien picks her up, because it wants to show her the whole wide world or something.

Let’s come back to plot B for a moment, which is Hank being an idiot. Hank is very distraught and wants to kill Jean. So Hank goes to Magneto.

Hank: I want to kill Jean and I need your help with that.

Erik: Wait, what? Why?

Hank: She killed Mystique!

Erik, already frothing at the mouth: ...let me grab my I’m Being A Huge Idiot Helmet, Hank, and we can commence the business of killing.

So the aliens are pitching their “Let’s Re-Create The Earth In Your Image” campaign to Jean, which can be done only in a New York townhouse, specifically in a very special bedroom (...oh hey, I didn’t pick up on that creepy vibe until now!).

Jean is largely convinced, because in this movie characters just go back and forth as the plot demans.

So both Charles and Erik with their lackeys track down Jean, and have a huge fight in front of the above-mentioned townhouse, with lots and lots of collateral damage while they debate who is right. Before that, Erik has the second good line in the movie, which is used to rightfully call out Charles:

Erik: You’re always sorry and there’s always a speech. But no one wants to listen anymore.

Anyway, X-Men and the mutants beat up each other, Erik gets into the house and fails to kill Jean, then Charles gets in the house and tries to talk down Jean, which is followed by perhaps the most genuinely disquieting scene in the movie, in which Jean uses her telekinesis to destroy the wheelchair and force Charles to walk up the stairs.

They have an exchange that is supposed to be hopeful and heartwarming and so on, but by this point I’m fed up with this world movie.

Jean rejects the aliens’ campaign, so the alien head honcho attempts to suck out the Phoenix Dust out of her, and partially succeeds, but is interrupted midway and knocked out. All the mutants are arrested, put into special shackles restricting their powers and put on a train which is going straight to special prison for mutants.

Don’t worry, we’re in the last stretch.

Aliens need the rest of Phoenix Macguffin, so they ambush the train. There’s a big action scene, everyone is fighting the aliens, there are a few cool shots but beyond that I’m blanking. In the end Jean awakens, wipes the floor with the aliens, and when the alien head honcho tries to emotionally blackmail her into not eviscerating its hide, she grabs it, flies up into the sky and explodes them both.

Much sad. Very sacrifice. Such tears etc etc etc.

AN EPILOGUE, FINALLY

The situation returns to the status quo, except some people are dead.

The humans were about to lock up mutants in a prison like five minutes earlier, but nobody mentions that. Guess everyone forgot about that.

As far as I can tell, nobody except X-Men noticed that Earth was about to be invaded by aliens.

The school is renamed after Jean Grey.

Hank is the new headmaster. On his desk, a cheesy nostalgic photo of Mystique.

Charles, despite seemingly getting a pass on his dickishness on every turn in this narrative, is Worn Down By His Losses and retires. He occupies his time by brooding morosely at a cafe in unspecified European-looking country.

Erik finds him there. He is disproportionately cheery, like a man who after decades of pining finally is in a place where he can bully his longtime crush into a reluctant chess date, which he proceeds to do.

Camera pans up, to the sky. The sky gives us Phoenix Force-shaped wink.

THE END

#x men #xmdp #dark phoenix #review #spoilers #nebra original #my stuff #charles xavier is a huge dick the movie #jean grey #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #mystique deserved better

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hjslovbot · 6 years

Text

strangers ⇀ lovers

strangers ⤍

so like u lived in a pretty chill neighborhood

like nobody moved into there Often

it was a small town

so when it got out that someone would be buying the house next to urs, hell broke out in the neighborhood and everyone was like O___O thru their windows

and of course u were takin a peek too when the moving van pulled in

a boy gets out and he’s tugging a suitcase into the house while the mover dudes are like unpacking for them and ur like Hello?

after he came back out he jus sat on the edge of the moving can and scrolled thru his phone like -____- idc.

but u felt like a total creep jus staring at this random dude through ur window

though ur vision was blurry as hell u could deffo see it when his head snapped up and ur eyes met

so u pulled ur curtains shut and tried not to SCREAM BCEVAUSE UR A FUCKIGN PERV.

anyway u cldnt help but wonder like if this new kid wld attend ur school or not

bc the last time someone was new to ur school, he was smothered in attention but something told u this new boy next door was Not the type to want the smothering attention.

the next day at school Was pretty boring up until ur last class

bc there was shuffling outside the door and then it swings open and

its ur principal and ur like FUCK

bc he only ever shows up when someone is in trouble and even though u did nothing wrong u were FREAKIGN OUT

anyway in walks in ur principal and.. ur new neighbor and ur like Oh

and he sees u nd he’s like -____-

so he sits in the empty space beside u and ur like Oh no,

but he didn’t kno that spot was the Infamous Senior’s Seat

aka lee minho

minho did Not care if seungmin was new bc that was His seat nd he wanted 2 sit with U.

and minho came in (late as Usual) the next day and was like Ur in my seat?

but seungmin didn’t care

at all

anyway their lil dispute ended w minho taking the empty seat behind u

(bc NOBODY fuckign took ap biochem willingly)

and seungmin was like -3- sorry!

and minho was like Ok newbie this aint OVEr

(ik this sucks but it’ll get better ok)

so over time u learned his name is kim seungmin

nd his least favorite class he has is the one u share

he has his own car

nd he fights w his mom like All of the time

seungmin hadn’t spoken a word to you until the morning after you heard him and his mom screaming at each other and slamming doors until 3am

u did NOT appreciate it bc u were tired

so u dragged urself to ur car and tried to open it but

seungmin was like No and stood in front of u and tilted his head down to look at u

nd the first word he SPOKE out of his FUKCING mouth?

“howdy, peeping tom, how is it seeing me in arms reach distance?”

internally ur like WWWHWHWHWWHWHW LIPSTICK?!

but on the outside, since u were TIRED, u were like“seungmin move”

“how do u know my name”

“we have the same fourth period”

“oh ok bars.”

and then ur just STANDING there like ur late for first period and seungmin is Not moving so ur like.

*sigh* what do u want

“ok funny story but my mom took my car keys bc i drove my friend jisung to mcdonalds and i don’t want to take the bus to school because it’s full of gross and sweaty teenagers and there are germs everywhere and i’ll get squished between two girls who are handsy because APPARENTLY this school never gets new kids and the last new kid was FUCKING LEE MINHO!! who, by the way, is totally FUCKING GAY AND IF YOU THINK ANYTHING DIFFERENT THEN YOU’RE STU-”

“seungmin.”

“what.”

“do u want a ride to school?”

“well since u asked.. and u have a car.. wow ur so generous..”

best friends ⤍

it really didn’t take seungmin long to warm up to u

u had a lot in common:

you both hated everyone at school

you both hated being at home & avoided being home a lot of the time

u both were obsessed w chicken nuggets <3

so eventually u started giving him rides to school every single day

and he’d offer gas money but u were like No this is what friends r FOR.

but seungmin was getting attached to you and he did Not like it

he was jus Waiting for the day tht something went wrong nd he was alone again

yes he had other friends but...

he felt lonely unless he was by your side

or falling asleep on the phone with you

or at least just Knowing you were there and you would be no matter what

like he could come to ur window at 4am and u would let him in no questions asked

seungmin really was your best friend- and your only friend

i mean there was changbin but he was busy w his Soundcloud Career

seungmin was always insulting u jokingly like

“does this look good”

“yeah but it’s a shame u look like That.”

“WOW”

“;)”

you guys were SO comfortable around each other that u didn’t even wear ur pants around him when he came over bc hes ur BRO and it’s fine

but the inevitable was coming nd seungmin was Never good at expressing his feelings

esp ~Romantic~ ones

so even after being friends w u for what Felt like ages nd opening up to u ab every emotion

he never talked about anyone romantically so u figured he had no interest

but he did

it was you.

strangers ⤍

one morning when you got to school

something was off and seungmin didn’t hug you goodbye like usual

and that made ur heart go :( </3

you didn’t see him at lunch so you sat all by yourself and it was Sad

u were sad

seungmin was nowhere to be found until your last class

minho leaned on his elbows on ur desk and was like <3___<3 hey!!

and u, sad, were like *sigh* hey Lee Know

but you were looking to ur side a lot

but seungmin wasn’t looking at u

but he as listening to minho hit on u

and u laugh at his attempts

seungmin didn’t care if minho hit on the whole school

he didn’t care if minho always got what he wanted

but the One thing.

the Only thing seungmin wanted and relied on

minho was going to take from him

and he didn’t need to watch it happen in front of his eyes

he stood up and his chair squeaked which got Everyones attention

nd he grabbed his hoodie

nd muttered a “i’ll walk home.” before leaving.

you were :( </3

minho took the spot beside u and was like Hey ;)

but you didn’t like it

and you didn’t wanna ask seungmin what you did bc he seemed mad at u

so seungmin started taking the bus to school every day

and you only knew this bc you drive next to the bus stop on ur way to school

he never even looked in your direction

it was like your friendship never existed

there was no evidence of your friendship on his instagram either

he deleted all the photos of you and the ones of you together

yes it hurt

you on the other hand had kept all of the videos and photos of him in the folder you made for him specifically on your gallery

and you had things on your snapchat memories of him as well

and yes you watched them all of the time

yes you cried into his hoodie

you wore his hoodie around your room and to bed as well

but you wouldn’t be caught dead wearing it in public

yet sometimes you wanted to so there was at least a chance he would talk to you and ask for it back

but you didn’t want to risk losing it

it was the only physical thing you had left of him.

if you thought he was completely cold and closed off now, you were wrong.

the moment he got home from school after having to see you in the hallways and at lunch and in seventh period, he fell onto his bed and curled up into a ball with his fists balled up as well.

he was spending his alone time beating himself up over screwing up the one good thing he had in his life.

he just had to fall in love with you, didn’t he?

he had to become addicted to the pretty noise that was your laugh

he had to adore you no matter how you looked

he HAD to love the way you looked in his hoodies, didn’t he?

of course.

even seungmin’s mom was asking where you were and why seungmin was taking the bus to school, she knew about his thing with germs but it was better than him growing a pair and telling you how he felt because that would only ruin things further.

seungmin got his car keys back eventually and started driving himself to school every day which was a relief

but he couldn’t even turn the radio on without thinking of you and how you would obnoxiously sing along to songs on the radio and annoy him to the point where he’d turn the song down and sit there with a pout on his lips sooner than later though, he’d start singing along with you and you both looked so completely stupid

but it’s the most fun seungmin had had in a long time.

seungmin finally got to feel like himself around you and the minute he felt comfortable and safe, he had to fuck things up like always.

one morning before school, you left your house right as seungmin left his and you were completely fed up with how things were between you

so when you seen him reach to pull his door open fully, you basically sprinted and shut it with your back the same way he did to you when he first talked to you.

his face was flushed but you could see a hint of sadness in his eyes and you hated it, you wanted to hold him so tight right then and there.

“why haven’t you talked to me? it’s been months.”

your voice broke mid sentence and you didn’t realize it but your eyes were filling with tears but leave it to you to be dramatic.

when seungmin didn’t answer you and just stood there the way he did when you tried hugging him, you sighed and shook your head, spinning on your heel and started to walk away

but he gripped your forearm and tugged you close to him so there was no space between you and before you knew it-

his lips were on yours.

you didn’t realize it in the moment because he was kissing you!!!!! but he was crying too.

the moment his lips met yours, everything was starting to make sense in your mind, and you felt SO utterly stupid.

he didn’t like minho hitting on you because HE wanted to hit on you,

he didn’t go on dates with anybody because he was interested in the one person who was too blind to see that was madly in love with them.

the kiss lasted longer than you expected and after you pulled away to breathe, you looked up at him with wide eyes and his eyes were looking right back into yours.

you held eye contact until seungmin looked up at the sky before he spoke.“i love you, i’m sorry.”

and he wanted to walk away from you but he shifted in the slightest and you held onto him tighter

which sort of broke his heart

but after a few more moments of silence,

he cleared his throat and spoke again.

“i think i’ve loved you since i seen you, and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same as me because honestly who would love an asshole like me, you know? ignoring you was the worst thing i’ve ever done and i punched jisung in the face because he didn’t knock on my do-”

you kissed him again before he started rambling some more.

“you’re cute when you ramble.”

lovers ⤍ not long after you and seungmin had that little moment outside of his house, you were a couple and nobody asked anybody out or anything, it was sort of unspoken. dating seungmin, by the way, is the best thing in the world.

“baby?”

“hm?”

“get ur ugly face out of here i’m trying to play fifa.”

“WH-”

he’s always following u around like the puppy he is and no, he never took the hoodie back, actually he gave u two more bc u look SO CUTE in them

he kisses u ALL the time in public

especially when minho is around

and minho is PISSED BC HE WAS RLLY TRYNA GET IT IN W U

but seungmin is like SORRY !

but hes not sorry

like at all

he kisses ur knuckles and calls u his baby

His baby.

he’s the little spoon like u Always hold him

hes allowed to sleep over bc your mom likes and trusts him

his mom likes u too

and you actually plan on getting a place together after graduation which was only a month away

but the feelings were there and they weren’t going away

you were his world and he was yours

fights weren’t often but they usually consisted of him being dramatic and throwing a whole fit and then crawling into bed next to you like

“baby im sorry im the WORST BOYFR-”

“shut up seungmin”

“just kiss me u idiot”

#kim seungmin #kim seungmin x reader #seungmin #seungmin x reader #seungmin au #stray kids imagine #stray kids au #stray kids #skz au #skz imagine #stray kids as your boyfriend #strangers to lovers #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz scenario #seungmin scenario

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