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smuggsy · 3 years

Note

the second prompt list you posted, number 25, the "when you love someone" would be really good for nygmobblepot if you wanted to 😌

okay, so first things first, we agreed to change the prompt to this one: Character A combs fingers through character B's hair. thanks for being such a sport! <3

Summary: Oswald is jealous, drunk and dizzy. In that order. Word Count: 2096. Read it on AO3 (or under the cut).

There are certain things that come attached to the title of Kingpin of the Underworld. Certain things one might consider red flags, green lights if you will. Things that would send Gotham's hungry wolves on a merciless hunt for his head, no doubt. Showing weakness, hesitation, doubt, incompetence. Oswald knows there's just no space for error when it comes to these, not for Penguin and certainly not for the Mayor.

Unfortunately, he comes to learn Edward Nygma incarnates each and every one of those traits. The ones that would certainly bring about his demise, Oswald admits, if he isn't careful to hide them behind his facade of cold-blooded killer or faithful politician. If he doesn't avert his eyes when the cameras are rolling or when his party attendees are talking to him, toasting, congratulating, saying things Oswald will have forgotten within the hour.

Because he can't help but be painfully aware of Ed's presence, usually standing in strategic high-points making sure everything is running smoothly, sometimes entertaining particularly snobby guests who would have Oswald at their sides for the duration of the night if it were up to them, their egos too fragile but at the same time too precious to threaten even slightly.

Edward is always on top of things.

Oswald is always aware of this.

Of him.

Too much, sometimes.

It's a bit more difficult to pretend he isn't hyper-aware of his musky scent and hoarse voice and well-lean figure when they share a car back to the mansion after occasions like these. When Edward slides into the opposite seat with a pleased self-congratulatory air and confidently starts listing off people and colourful details that might prove useful in the future and Oswald smiles gently, doesn't tell him he already knows he spoke to all of them because he was watching.

He was watching when he brought the Commissioner's mother her favourite cherry-chocolate liquor and when he complimented the Gotham Gazette's new editor's dress. When he leant in pretending he couldn't hear her, when he oh-so-gentlemanly offered a handkerchief after she collided with one of the waiters because she was too distracted by the way he smiled down at her - Oswald was watching.

And, well.

He doesn't blame her.

And Edward?

"...she scribbled her phone number on a napkin and slipped it into my hand so I'll say we, quite literally," he smiles smugly and produces the neatly folded napkin from his dark-olive jacket, "have her in our pocket."

Oswald laughs, sharing in the sentiment, the joke.

Or so he thinks he's doing until he sees Edward's expression shift into something much less chipper and he realises what he's actually done is roll his eyes and scoff like a spoiled little child.

"You don't approve?" Edward asks, excitement dying off.

Oswald curses his own recklessness and puts on another smile that he knows wouldn't fool anyone.

"Oh, no. I approve. I quite approve of your calculated flirting, Ed. A very nice strategy. Maybe try to exercise a bit more prudence next time, go one at a time?"

The car comes to a stop at a red light, Edward stares at him for a long moment before he seemingly understands the meaning behind Oswald's reproach.

"Oh, that!"

(He definitely doesn't understand the meaning behind Oswald's reproach.)

"Yes! No, that was just Miss Johnson recommending me some poetry," the napkin returns to the safety of his breast pocket and next Ed brings out a little notepad from the inside of his jacket, pushing his glasses up his nose and wetting his lips - Oswald looks away, feeling too hot all of a sudden, "she's the head of the Literacy Club, they hold meetings at the City Library every other Thu—"

"I know who she is, Ed!" he snaps before he can stop himself. It's such an abrupt reaction that Edward stops his monologue and looks at him again with that face that means he's trying to decipher his real intentions and assessing the terrain. He looks Oswald up and down and sits straight, clearing his throat one more time and reading his hostility.

"Of course," Ed mumbles, "yes, you do. Sorry. It was a tedious evening, I should—" he clears his throat again out of nervousness and Oswald sighs, biting his tongue and taking a deep breath in, "I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Or not. I know you're not one for poetry anyway."

"Ed..."

"No, it's fine. You must be exhausted, I know you hate these events, mingling and standing up all night—"

"Ed."

Edward's caramel eyes, that'd been cast downwards to his lap in an awkward and almost sheepish manner, shoot up to meet Oswald's again at his insistence. His gentle gaze brings back memories. Of bullet wounds and take-out food and piano melodies and a flourishing friendship.

"Who told you I don't like poetry?" Oswald tries with a gentler and more genuine smile this time. Because he's being too rude. Edward is none the wiser and he shouldn't have to deal with his stupid outbursts of jealousy. "Go ahead," Oswald says, with a much less venomous roll of his eyes and smiling at Edward's playful air and devilish grin.

His Chief of Staff opens his little notepad and shifts over from the opposite seat to come and claim the space next to him.

"I'm all ears," Oswald announces.

Except he isn't, really.

If he'd known Edward was going to make himself so comfortable between him and the cold window, was going to press himself so tightly against his side and loosen up his tie and giggle and start reciting a love poem with that mocking glint in his eyes and that theatrical hand-waving, Oswald never would've encouraged him.

"I hoped that he would love me, and he has kissed my mouth. But I am like a stricken bird that cannot reach the south..."

He needs to loosen up his own tie, too.

"...for though I know he loves me, tonight my heart is sad. His kiss was not so wonderful, as all the dreams I had."

Oswald stops breathing, stops trying to make himself look away from Edward's rosy lips, his cheekbones ever-so-slightly turned pink because their driver has turned on the heating way too high, the laugh that rocks his body, Oswald can feel it too because if he were closer he'd be sitting on his lap.

Stop it.

"—and then she just started telling me about her divorce, as if it wasn't all over the Gazette's front page last month. I declined her invitation but I figured I'd keep the poem, do a little bit of research, get in her good graces, so to speak. Never know when you'll need some funding and everybody knows she won the court case so, ca-ching!"

Ed blurts out another laugh and turns to look at Oswald, no doubt fishing for praise.

Oswald, who's so helplessly staring at him, lips slightly parted and hearing nothing beyond his gentle poem-reading about kisses and love and dreams. One of his betraying hands goes to Edward's nape and settles there, fingers brushing his hair of their own volition, brain failing to catch up to the situation. He feels light-headed.

"Oswald?" comes Ed's slightly concerned voice, now fully turning to face him better.

Oswald blinks out of his stupor with a pitiful gasp.

Sees his hand almost pulling Edward closer —

"Are you..." Ed starts, eyes darting to the side, to Oswald's outstretched arm with a frown, "...okay?"

"Fuck," he says out loud, without meaning to, "I—," he tries, he blinks again, he swallows through a dry throat, he looks at Ed and at his own hand cradling his head and then at Ed again looking at him with a quizzical look but still not leaning away, "—sorry! I— think I had too much to drink."

With that, he retrieves his hand and shuffles away from Edward, feeling like he's about to implode and like he can't take a proper breath in, he starts to get uncomfortably sweaty.

You idiot! What the hell do you think you're doing?!

"Is your leg—?" Edward places a cold hand on his thigh, "is it your leg?"

Oswald looks down, Ed's slim fingers brushing over the fabric of his trousers, he keeps them there, like it means nothing — like it doesn't mean everything.

"What?" he blurts out, because he didn't actually hear what Ed just said.

"You're sweating," his Chief of Staff states matter-of-factly, but when he goes to grab his handkerchief he finds it isn't there.

Oswald closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, thinking this is his only chance of living it down.

"Yes, yes. I'm feeling a bit dizzy."

Edward leaves his side immediately to go tap insistently at the dark window separating them from their newly-appointed chauffeur. He mutters a few orders that Oswald doesn't actually catch, there's a menacing undertone to his words and then he actually leans over into the front side of the vehicle.

"Are you trying to cook us alive?" he says finally, before shutting the window back close with unnecessary force. He turns to an Oswald biting his lip and trying not to laugh, "amateur. Do you want me to fire him?"

"It's his first day."

"Precisely."

"No, I��don't want you to fire him, Ed," he peels his eyes open and gestures to the left window, his vision spinning for a moment before he gets just the teensiest bit nauseous, "but maybe you could—?"

Edward returns to his side and rolls the window down a few inches. The cold winter air feels heavenly on Oswald's flushed cheeks and he lets out a sigh — it turns out he did actually have one drink too many, then.

"Better?" Ed asks, too close. Oswald doesn't dare open his eyes again. He only lets out a grunt and shakes his head.

This has backfired completely.

What was supposed to be an act — a decoy, has turned into him bracing himself against the cold glass window to his right and feeling like he's inside a blender. He meant for Ed to get distracted and brush aside his slip but now Ed is closer than he was before and Oswald genuinely feels like he's going to be sick.

"Stop— stop the car," he crooks out, he opens his eyes to see Edward leaning over him with a worried look but making no move to obey, "Ed!"

It stops just in time. He feels quite helpless as he wrestles with the door handle and stumbles outside into the cold dark and empty street of some downtown neighbourhood to empty his stomach by the sidewalk.

He hears rather than see Edward scramble out of the car after him.

"Oh, dear."

How humiliating, Oswald's mind provides, as he tries to lean back up, tries to get some leverage with a hand on the opened door only to find nothing there and almost trip over. Edward catches him just in time.

"Uh-oh," Ed sings, "I got you."

"Mayor Cobblepot! Is there anything—?"

"Just get in the car and wait there," Ed mumbles menacingly. Oswald would've sent the boy a murderous glare himself if he hadn't been so occupied trying not to fall into his own vomit and holding onto his Chief of Staff for dear life.

So much for living this down.

"Ughhhhhh," is all he can say, because he thinks he's about to faint.

"I know, I know," Edward keeps one hand on his arm and the other round his shoulders, "but you'll feel better now it's out."

Oswald scrunches up his face and almost gags again. Edward does a great job of guiding him back into the car, now much colder than it was just a moment ago. He feels like a deer that's learning to walk: he can't seem to find proper footing and only when Ed sits him down and settles next to him does his head stop spinning. The car starts to move again and the passing lights become so bothersome he doesn't open his eyes the rest of the trip home.

"Now can I fire him?"

Oswald nuzzles closer into the embrace, one of Ed's arms is still around his waist and the other hand is left unmoving over his forehead, a cold solace, keeping his head from moving around too much with the sloppy turns and few street holes the car fails to avoid.

And because he's still drunk and Ed is holding him so close, his lips brush against a warm minty-scented neck and stay there, breathing in perfume and skin and finding no resistance.

#i started writing this at midnight #it's almost 6am #between editing and trying to make this useless app work???#skskskks #anyway i hope this doesn't disappoint #as i said. muse does what she wants #i have two more prompts i'll see to tmw!#nygmobblepot #nygmobblepot fanfiction #riddlebird #gotham fanfiction #gotham fox #gotham #oswald cobblepot #edward nygma #the riddler #the penguin #answered #my writing

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anemonenemerosa · 4 years

Text

It said three people

Hello fellow people and Hazelnoots (love it),

This is a drabble I got inspired from the lively discussions and brain-cell sharing at the SW-Discord with @im-oknutzy-trash, @bkfstclubmember and @icaughtfeelsagain

Thank you so much for beta-reading @unadulteratedpaperparadise

O'Knutzy alternative getting together:

The characters and the world that is Sweater Weather/Coast to Coast belong to the wonderful @lumosinlove.

It said three people

Summary: Finn does not know what nature is, Logan has a plan and Leo is cold.

Warning: It gets a bit angsty.

____________________________________________________________

"Ok, we are lost." Finn stated for the fourth time in ten minutes.

"No, we are not." Logan answered for the fourth time in ten minutes with an exasperated groan that drew a chuckle out of Leo, who was walking behind them.

"Of course, we are. Here is nothing!"

"Harzy?"

"Knutty?"

"Do you know how places outside from cities work?"

"Why?"

"Because most of them do not have civilisation... that's, like, the whole point, y'know."

"But how do you know where the hell we are?" Finn turned around himself, gesticulating wildly.

"There are markings on the path? And we have a map?" Logan gave him, waving with the map just as madly as Finn with his arms.

"But-"

"Fish, you desperately wanted to go hiking and camping for once in your live. Get it together and enjoy the sounds that are not traffic and the air that is not half exhaust fumes." Logan snapped playfully and sped up his steps.

They walked on quietly for a few more minutes until Finn voiced the presence of another aspect of nature.

"Ugh, there are bugs everywhere and dirt... so disgusting."

Logan just groaned again, burying his face in his hands while Leo started to laugh, exclaiming "City-boy!" in-between breaths.

They went on like this for a while. Logan and Leo trotting along while Finn complained over every little bug or twig or root that bothered him. Being in the woods was always described as freeing and peaceful but if just one other little beast bit him, Finn would burn that whole thing down.

Just when he considered digging though his backpack for a lighter, Logan stopped at a small clearing.

"Alright, let's just stay here for the night." Leo nodded happily and went to unpack some stuff while Finn had a hard time believing that they were not just joking.

"Here?"

"Yeah. Harzy, get that tent out." Logan was already in camp-mode, puttering around with stuff Finn had never laid his eyes on.

"Like, in the middle of nowhere? In the woods?" more gesticulating.

Leo laughed again "Yes, Finn. What did you think we would be doing while hiking? With a tent?"

With that, the other two continued unpacking while Finn dawned that this was a lot less peaceful and freeing than he thought. He was ripped out of the re-evaluation of his vacation-plans by Logan, adding another coffin nail to his camping adventure.

"So, we have two rolls of toilet paper and a foldable spade. I put them besides the tent -that is still not standing." Logan glanced meaningful at the folded tent in Finns arms, who just stared back in shock.

"A SPADE?"

"Yeah?" Logan just shrugged. "You dig a hole and then you take a shi-"

"Ok, Ok, OK. I got the concept. Why do people do that again? It's completely gross!" Mortified, Finn tuned away, finally setting up the tent. Behind his back, he just heard Leo giggling "City-boy" over and over. He was pathetic, wasn't he? But to hear that giggle, he would do it again. No. Nope. No. Don't think about it.

"Have you started on the tent, yet?" Logan asked airily, knowing exactly that Finn was lost.

"Yes."

"How's it going?"

"Fine." Finn looked up from the mess of fabric and stakes, not missing the teasing glint in the eyes of his best friend. He braced himself for endless chirping, but Leo just got up, leaving a little fire in a stone circle* (please read end notes) under Logan's supervision and helped him setting up the tent while an awkward silence fell upon them. It seemed to sink in that they all have to share that one tent.

The silence was broken by Leo. "Harzy..."

"Mh?"

"What is this?"

"A tent?" It was a tent, wasn't it? He got it from that outdoor store at the mall.

"And how do you expect us to sleep in there?"

"Oh, non. Harzy. We will never fit in there." Logan had looked up from poking the fire.

"But it said three people on the tag!" Finn exclaimed. He was very sure, damn it.

With a sigh Leo turned to Finn " Three people tents never fit three people and luggage, let alone three grown-ass hockey players!"

"Oh." Finn felt his cheeks warm up in embarrassment. Why did the guy at the shop did not warn him?

______________________________________________________________

"Alright, I'll sleep outside. That way I can see the stars all night."

Logan heard Leo offer while patting the shoulder of a slightly ashamed Finn and needed to react immediately.

"NO." He nearly shouted, making the other two turn their heads to him, questioning. "You- Erm... You freeze too fast. I'll sleep outside." Logan could not be in a tiny tent alone with Finn, he would do something very stupid.

"Nonsense." Finn exclaimed, looking worried all of a sudden. "No one sleeps outside. What if bears eat you?"

That pushed a laugh out of Logan's lungs. " Harzy, there are no bears in-"

"Or wolves... Or... or- mountain lions or venomous snakes or spiders... oh god, why did we come here?!."

While Logan was preoccupied with doubling over in laughter, he nearly missed Leo's deadpan reply.

"Finn Callahan O'Hara, do you actually know anything about wildlife?"

"Yeah." Came the defiant reply.

"Really? Because we picked this very region to make sure that all the animals you just listed do not exist here."

"Oh. Good then." Despite turning completely red, the older boy seemed very soothed by the thought of not being eaten in the night.

With that settled, Leo came over, crouching down besides Logan so close their knees were touching, sending a jolt through Logan's body, quickly followed by guilt. The blonde continued getting the fire bigger while clouds were accumulating above them, making him shiver.

"Why the hell is it so cold here? It's August."

"Bad news Pinotte, its actually very warm today." Logan joked in an attempt to calm himself down again.

"God." Leo wrapped himself closer in his hoodie and poked at the fire, before his gaze flew upwards.

"Oh no."

"What?" Finn asked, rather alarmed. He probably thought they spotted a bear anyway.

"It starts to rain."

"Naaah, it's just a drizzle." Logan reassured the younger boy. It always did a bit here.

_____________________________________________________________

It was not a drizzle. Soon they had to extinguish the fire and squeeze into the tent with their backpacks while torrential rains were pouring down outside. Neither of them could even sit upright, let alone move.

"I'm sorry guys," Finn mumbled while trying to navigate his backpack into a corner "Tomorrow, we will go back."

Logan could not stand to see his best friend like that. All sad puppy eyes and slumped shoulders. "Yeah." He said, patting Finns head as lovingly as he dared. "We camp out on your balcony and have the park as the only nature you experience, like the city-boy you are."

The puppy eyes gone, Finn smile warmly at Logan's attempt to cheer him up, but it faltered again as Leo's deep sigh waved over.

"Sorry that it's raining. I hoped for you to see the stars"

Leo looked strangely at Finn and Logan shifted uncomfortably. He had noticed the looks they exchanged but here, he couldn't ignore them. This trip was a horrible idea altogether.

Dinner consisted of cold canned beans and toast

"No Finn, you cannot make a fire in a tent. We will either burn down or suffocate."

Getting ready for the night was awkward as hell. There was not much room and operating camping mats and sleeping bags out of the backpacks was almost as complicated as getting out of their trousers. Brushing teeth was holding the toothbrush out in the rain, simply swallowing the toothpaste and washing it down with a sip of water. Once they all were settled as good as they could, Logan looked over to Leo, buried in his bag, barely suppressing his shivers.

"Come on Pinotte, you're freezing. Get in the middle." With that Logan rolled over Leo, who shifted thankfully towards Finn.

It was not easy but once they were all settled again, Logan found himself too close to Leo. He could smell his soap, his toothpaste and the way it made his heart flutter let his stomach knot in guilt. Mortified, he tried to turn away, but the tent was so small, all they could do was awkwardly spooning each other to even fit inside. He moved his head as far as possible against the backpacks to not touch Leo' neck. He was not allowed to enjoy that, could not risk creeping Leo or getting caught, by Finn, nonetheless.

______________________________________________________________

Leo felt heavenly warm where he was but knew very well that he was, metaphorically and now literally in the middle of something he did not belong to. Logan and Finn had something. And although neither of them seemed to acknowledge it, it was very obvious. Leo would not try to get a foot in the door with either one, as much as he wished for it, he would not ruin it for them. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and tried not to feel these wonderful boys snuggled to either side of him. This was not what they wanted, after all. It was necessity.

______________________________________________________________

Finn was set alight with panic. He knew that sharing a tight space with Logan was bound to be awkward. Last time he slept so close to Logan, he left for Gryffindor the next day. And then Leo in all of it? What had he thought, getting both boys he had not-very-platonic feelings for on a trip in the middle of nowhere? He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to think, just to sleep.

______________________________________________________________

Leo was the first to wake up in the morning. Somehow Finn had accomplished to turn around and was snuggled up in his arms. Also, he could feel Logan's head between his shoulder blades. While this was the essence of the few daydreams, he allowed himself from time to time, the circumstances were horribly wrong.

Just necesseties, he told himself. Don't get your silly hopes up. But he did not move. Moving meant being awake and that meant acknowledging the elephant in the tent.

Also, it was still raining. There was nowhere they could go if things got even more uncomfortable and Leo had no intentions in starting this endeavour.

After a while of waiting in this compromised position, Finn blinked blearily, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Then, he just stared at Leo, eyes wide and pressed his fingers to his own lips, nodding towards a still sleeping Logan. They tried to disentangle but there wasn't enough room to move so they were stuck in this pose. Leo gestured at his arms, wrapped around the other boy, with his head and made a face that was supposed to look apologetic, but Finn just shrugged, avoiding his eyes now. Great.

"Sleep alright?" He asked in a hushed whisper.

"Manageable and you?" Finn replied just as quiet.

Leo gave him a lopsided smile and a tiny shrug. "'t was ok, a little cold."

______________________________________________________________

They stayed like that in uncomfortable silence until there were some very quiet, suppressed sobs wafting over from behind Leo's back.

"Tremzy?" Leo tried to look over his shoulder and failed.

"Non."

"Lo, what's up?" Finn was getting worried now and he leaned up as much as he could. Emotions were nothing Logan liked to share; Especially being hurt was something even he rarely saw. But instead of an answer there was just the usual flurry of French. His usual escape-route.

"No, Logan please speak to me in a language I can understand." He turned to face Leo again, pleading. "Leo, what was he saying?"

Leo looked pained but only shrugged. "No idea, it was something Canadian."

With that, Finn carefully scrambled over Leo to get to his friend but slipped with his hand on the sleeping bag fabric and fell into the blonde, faces colliding rather painfully but lips meeting, nonetheless. Finn and Leojerked apart, then froze, staring at each other, the world around them forgotten for a short moment as both tried to figure out what played in the mind of the other. Just as Finn slowly leaned back into Leo to do something, he was ripped out of the bubble by a violent move that made the whole tent shake. Logan was trying to get out, but the heavy rain outside made it rather impossible to leave so he stifled a sob and retreated completely into his sleeping bag, only a tuft of dark hair looking out while silent sobs shook his body.

"Lo", Finn said softly and worried as hell. What had he done? He knew how Logan felt about him, knew how he felt about Logan, even if they never dared to act on it and here, he was almost kissing Leo in this goddamn prison of a tent?

Leo did not move but his eyes switched frantically between the Logan-Burrito and Finn, still on top of him.

Carefully, Finn shifted from Leo's lap towards Logan.

"Lo, please talk." Finn pleaded now. It was ripping him apart to see Logan like this but all that came out of the burrito was some choked mumbling.

Finn did not know what to do. Logan never talked to him about his feelings when they were alone but now there was Leo in the tent with them, no way to escape and something had just shifted between Leo and Finn. He was at loss, starting to tear up himself.

Now Leo, very carefully leaned over Finn to put a hand on the burrito. "Logan. I think you should talk about what is wrong. I promise you I will never tell a soul what happened in this tent."

That made Logan's shaking still a little and a part of his head slowly re-emerged from the sleeping bag, eyes red and puffy, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"I can't." He said very quietly.

"Why not?" Leo asked calmly.

"I – I don't want you guys to hate me."

"Lo, I could never hate you" Finn exclaimed and reached out to Logan but as teas were spilling out of his eyes again, he stopped the movement.

Finn knew that Logan would not talk on his own, so he needed to make a start. But how? Hey Lo, remember we've been pining after each other for years now? Yeah, I started to fall for Leo here while my feelings for you have not changed in the slightest. Nice, huh? Not an option.

Instead, he just lunged over as good as he could and hugged the Logan-Burrito, burring his face in the fabric.

They were all stuck in here for the time being. Logan could not escape and somehow Finn felt elated about it despite it being probably cruel towards Logan. The elation did not last long as he felt Leo shifting and turning his back to them, possible only because Finn and Logan were closely pressed together, and his heart ached. He was ripped into two directions, wanted Logan to understand, really understand that he loved him, no matter what but also tell Leo that he wanted him there, in his life, with him. Finn craved both and he was freaking out.

______________________________________________________________

"Leo?" Finn asked hesitantly from behind Leo's back.

"'S fine, I'm sorry I cannot give you more privacy but really, I promise I won't spill a thing." That was something Leo had expected sooner or later but not like this. Not being forced to witness both men he fell for finally getting together, leaving him out.

______________________________________________________________

"I know what is between you." Logan said between sobs.

"What?" Finn asked but he didn't have to. His stomach just dropped out of his body into the void.

"And- And I'm not mad at you. I know I kept you waiting for too long without even the hope of becoming more and- and I understand but it hurts so much." It all came out in a flurry and Finn had a hard time following before Logan broke into another round of sobs.

"No. Lo, no you don't understand." He tried to calm Logan down but the more he petted the brunette's head, the worse it got.

"What is there to understand?" Logan's voice rose a bit as he stuck his head out of his burrito. "I've seen it for a while now, the way you look at each other, but witnessing..." He trailed off, seemingly not daring to finish the thought.

"Lo, no. We are not together or something." Finn felt Leo flinch against his back and bit his lip. This was a disaster.

"What- but-" Logan looked more confused than hurt now but he had no idea how Leo was doing behind his back.

Finn took a deep breath. And then another. Apparently, he was the one who had to spill first.

"Alright. If this all goes down in flames, let's just leave it all in this tent. We literally burn it down and go on OK?"

"How comes you want to set things on fire all the time? What-" but Finn pressed his fingers to the other boy's lips.

"I love you Logan. I've loved you for so long, I can't even remember how it is not loving you." He had to take another breath as Logan's eyes widened. They had never said it out loud.

"But I also fell for Leo a while ago. And I know- I know that makes me a horrible, selfish person but I can't help it and I cannot decide between the two of you. Please don't be mad at me." Tears started spilling out of his eyes.

______________________________________________________________

Leo had the feeling his heart had stopped and he was dead now. Finn liked him? Slowly, he turned around to see Logan's gaze flicker between Finn and Leo

"I love you, Finn and I- Me, too."

Too? Leo thought, not daring to believe his wildest dreams might actually become true.

"You like him?" Finn asked, baffled.

Logan nodded slowly and now they were both looking at Leo. Leo, who could not believe that was happening. He bit his lip in an attempt not to cry and just nodded, grabbing both their hands and pressing them to his chest

"But... but can we do that? How does that even work? Is that legal?" Logan was getting panicky again.

Leo grabbed Logan at his sweater to pull him over but ended up pulling himself into the middle instead.

"We can do what we want." He mumbled into Finns shoulder, smiling dumbly.

Logan laughed wetly. "Do I get it right that everyone of us likes the other two and was afraid of admitting it?"

"Yeah." Both, Finn and Leo replied but their similes became confused as Logan started to laugh hysterically.

"Lo?" Finn was rather alarmed by now.

Said boy was rubbing his eyes, gasping for breath. "This is hilarious. The whole situation. Like in a bad rom com and of course we all had to collapse on this horrible hiking trip."

Leo was giggling now too. "I actually wanted to back out after I realised what going hiking with you two meant but I didn't know how."

"Me too." said both Logan and Finn and now all of them were laughing loudly.

After a while, they calmed down again, and Leo spoke out loud what they all thought. "What now?"

"I don't know... I mean it's still raining so there's not much we can do..." The brunette replied casually only to get smacked around the head playfully by Finn.

"Idiot, he means with us. In general. Are we a thing now? All of us?"

"I'd like that." Logan sighed deeply. "But I don't think I'm as brave as Cap and Loops are."

"We don't need to go public." Leo countered and Finn nodded.

"But Finn... it's the same all over again. I've never wanted to hide. I still don't want to."

"So, you'd rather not be with us?" Leo strained his neck to properly look at Logan. Why was he still so reluctant? Didn't he want them as much as Leo wanted?

"I- I don't know. What if it gets out? We're not Cap, we're exchangeable... What if it gets too much for one of us, what if-"

_____________________________________________________________

"Logan, please calm down." Finn caressed his cheek because he could and this time, it made Logan calm down a little.

"We are not like Caps and Loops were. Our families can know, the team can know. We are not bound to be completely secret or completely out. It's not a light-switch, it could be more... like a dimmer." He had to pause and swallow a laugh at Logan's incredulous face.

"Light-switch metaphors?"

"No one knows if one of us gets annoyed with everything. This is why people talk. I think if we can talk about what's going on, everything will be fine. Now stop it, I'm the worry wart and you're stealing my job." Leo continued as Finn was busy stifling his laughter.

"O- OK."

"What?" Finn asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You know." Was Logan actually blushing?

"Say it." Yes, he was, and Finn was not letting it go. He needed to hear it.

"Alors,-"

"NO FRENCH!"

"Alright, alright. I want it if you two want it." Logan looked between the other two and Finn felt Leo nodding as animatedly on his shoulder as he did.

"Let's be together, then." Logan concluded with the widest smile Finn had seen in years. He felt like squealing like a little kid over a puppy.

"I wanted to do that for months" Leo whispered into Finns ear as he leaned over and kissed Logan. Finn had to bury his face in Logan's neck, breathing him in, trying to stay composed. Them kissing was the best thing he's ever seen, and he was so filled with love that his chest was close to combustion.

Their chaste, careful kisses quickly turned into heavy snogging and when Logan grabbed Finn at his collar to include him, the redhead complied instantly. However, in the confined space, moving was demanding and Leo's arm slipped on the fabrics. He lost contact to Finn's lips and buried Logan beneath himself who let out a loud oof.

After another while of trying to figure out a comfortable position to make out in a tent they couldn't even sit upright in, they gave up eventually.

"We have all the time in the world". Finn concluded after failing repeatedly to get on top of Leo without pushing Logan into the clammy tent walls, just dropping between them.

Leo and Logan instantly made a thing out of unzipping all sleeping bags to create a cuddly nest and snuggle close to Finn, one on each side. The redhead drew and arm around each of his boys, afraid to wake up from this dream, while Logan and Leo were holding hands on top of Finn's chest.

"Let's just wait for the rain to stop and go home. There, we have quite a lot of space to explore all the possibilities." Leo commented cheeky, receiving one of Logan's feared finger-jabs.

Finn kissed both on the crowns of their heads, enjoying the feeling of them burying their faces in the junction of his neck, drifting back to the most comfortable sleep he ever had.

*Alright: Important: DO NOT JUST MAKE OPEN FIRES IN THE WOODS!!!! If you want to go on a hike, inform yourself concerning wild-camping and open fire. The rules probably change according to season and region.

Stay safe and channel your inner Hufflepuff

P.S: There will be a little different version of it on AO3 and I put the link here once its up there.

#lumosinlove #lumosinlove ocs #coast2coast #Sweater Weather #logan tremblay #finn o'hara #Leo knut #camping #getting together #angst with a happy ending #fluff

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salty-ironstrange-shipper · 4 years

Text

Being Known Is Being Loved

being known is being loved

“i know your pizza order” “you have freckles on your ears” “you make this face when you’re tired” “you order green tea on a good day black on a bad day” “you always make that face before you try something” “the tips of your ears turn red when you’re angry” “i knew you’d say something” “you must be exhausted to miss the class” “your favorite pie is pumpkin, right?” “i know your phone number, don’t worry” “you miss me, i can tell” “you fiddle with your pens when you’re bored” “you don’t like converse unless they’re high tops” “your favorite cereal is cinnamon toast crunch and you first ate it when you were 8”

being known is being loved.

(@natasharxmanov) (post since deleted, see here and here)

(read on ao3)

“You do that thing with your tongue when you’re curious or excited.”

Tony stopped, feeling air brush against his stomach where his tank top had ridden up. His hands carefully caressed the new arc reactor model, even as the rest of him focused his attention on the man sitting on the workshop’s sole couch. “Huh?”

Stephen’s ears turned red, as though even he didn’t know why he’d spoken. “I said, you do that thing with your tongue when you’re curious or excited.” He gestured at Tony’s mouth, trying to replicate the little tongue-rolling gesture.

It didn’t really work, but Tony smiled anyway. “I never noticed.”

“Yeah, well . . .” Stephen shrugged before looking away almost snappishly, returning his attention to the research he had open on his laptop. “I noticed.”

“Because they’re your favorite flower.”

“You can’t blame me!” Tony insisted, trying to defend himself as Stephen wrestled the urge to laugh. “I thought it was a good idea!”

“How was sending me flowers that I’m allergic to a good idea in your head?”

They were standing against the railing on the Brooklyn Bridge, looking out on the East River. They’d finished their Chinese takeout as the sun set, and now they were enjoying the display of white and gold lights on the blackened water. Tony had his back to the river, speaking with grand, sweeping gestures of his hands as he tried to justify himself to a laughing Stephen, who was leaning over the metal bar as though daring the water to rise up and take him.

“Because, they’re your favorite flower.”

Stephen shook his head, brow scrunching. “What?”

Tony nodded insistently. “They are! Whenever we walk by a flower shop, or a store with flowers in it, you stop to look at the lilies.” He paused before adding. “I know remember that it was usually from a distance.”

Stephen tilted his head, trying to think. He guessed that was true. He’d always thought they were pretty, particularly the stargazers like the ones Tony had sent to his office at the hospital. And he wasn’t even the type to care for flowers or other naturey things like that. He definitely hadn’t thought Tony had cared to notice.

Tony had his head tilted back, looking up at the few stars that managed to shine in the light-flooded city. “Maybe I can get someone over at R&D to look into making a new strain . . .”

“Or you could just buy plastic ones,” Stephen suggested, smiling despite himself. “Instead of inventing a new flower.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Stephen chuckled. “My mistake.”

“You prefer a peppermint stick in your coffee in winter.”

Tony held his hand out, frowning when Stephen ignored him. “Doc? Coffee?”

“Hold on.” Stephen awkwardly held up the cardboard drink tray with one hand while the other fished around one of the pockets in his long, dark-blue wool coat. His eyes, grey today, lit up when he found what he was looking for. “Got it.” He held out a small paper bag. “Take one.”

Tony arched a brow. “There better not be something gross in there.”

“What gross thing would I be carrying around?”

“I don’t know. Brains? Figure they have to go somewhere after you take them out.”

“That’s not what my job is.”

“Sure.” Tony did, finally, reach into the bag, surprised when he pulled out a red-and-white striped candy. “Ooh. Have I earned a treat?”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “You prefer a peppermint stick in your coffee in winter. Thought it would be a good idea to stock up.”

“Man after my own heart,” Tony said blithely, ignoring the warm feeling that stirred in his stomach. He took two sticks, pulling the lid off of his cup when Stephen handed it to him and dropping both inside. It took a few minutes for the flavor to seep into the entire drink. When he finally took a sip, he couldn’t help the not-so-tiny moan that escaped his lips.

Stephen smirked. “Enjoying yourself.”

“Obviously.” He took another long drink before grabbing the front of Stephen’s coat and pulling him in for a kiss, smiling when Stephen’s tongue ran over his. “Doc, if you wanted a taste, you could get your own candy.”

Stephen stepped forward and away from him as though nothing had happened, enjoying a draw if his own burning hot mocha. “Bold of you to assume I’m sharing again.”

“Oh, that’s just evil.”

“You always listen to this album when you’re thinking about your sister.”

Stephen didn’t bother to look at him, keeping his eyes steadily trained on the water pouring outside their window, the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance, not quite drowned out by the Nirvana soundtrack playing in the bedroom. Everyone now and then, lightning cut through the sky.

“I know.”

Tony nodded as though this was the answer he’d expected. Then he started walking across the room, shutting the door behind him, and crawled into the bed arms opening instinctively to wrap around Stephen’s shoulders as the doctor silently nuzzled his chest and neck.

“You always play with your phone so you don’t have to pay attention to this scene.”

“I do not get emotional—”

“Yes you do! You always play with your phone so you don’t have to pay attention to this scene!”

“It’s. SAD, STEPHEN!” Tony snapped back. “The mother whale tries so hard to save her baby, but in the end the goddamned . . . killer whales . . .” Okay, maybe he DID get a little bit emotional when they watched nature documentaries. It wasn’t his fault the circle of life was brutal.

Stephen sighed as Tony completely failed at not being emotional, shaking his head slightly before holding his arms open. “Come here.”

“Thank you,” Tony muttered later as Stephen dutifully fast-forwarded through the scene.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry, I know your order.”

“Goddamn—” Stephen pulled his ringing phone out before absently glancing at his fiancé. “It’s work. Do you mind?”

Tony shrugged absently, looking down at his menu. “Don’t worry, I know your order.” He looked up. “The special butternut squash ravioli, right?”

Stephen smiled before leaning forward to brush a kiss against his cheek. “You know me.”

“You’re always losing this, so I put a label on the drawer.”

“C’mon . . . where is it . . . I know I left it . . .” Actually, he had no idea where he left it. Giving up, he leaned back on his knees and away from the open compartment. “Jarvis, do you know where—”

“Here,” Stephen said, slipping down from his stool and walking over to a completely different set of drawers on the other side of the room from where Tony was searching. “I’ve got it.”

“You don’t even know what I’m looking for—”

He stopped as Stephen pulled out the exact thing he’d been looking for, a laser cutting tool he often used when making repairs to the armor. Stephen dropped it into his hand as he explained, “You’re always losing this, so I put a label on the drawer.”

Tony couldn’t help the amused expression that crested his lips. “That’s the nerdiest way to say ‘I love you’ I’ve ever heard.”

“Are you complaining?”

Tony scoffed before leaning forward to “innocently” nip at his ear. “No.”

“These gloves are easier on your hands, right?”

Stephen stared at the offering in Tony’s fingers, the soft black leather that he knew would be lined with devastatingly soft white fur repurposed from one of Maria Stark’s old wraps. His throat tightened.

“Steph?” Tony said cautiously. “These gloves are easier on your hands, right?”

Forcing himself to move, Stephen nodded sharply before taking them, his own fingers shaking. “Right. Yes.” It took too long to pull them on, but once it was done, it was as though a burden had been lifted, his scarred hands stilling some as they adjusted to the comfortable warmth. “Thanks.”

Tony nodded once before starting to walk away. “Don’t worry about it.”

Stephen stopped him with a gentle hand on his elbow. Tony froze in place as Stephen stepped forward, leaning his forehead against the nape of Tony’s neck. “Thank you.”

Slowly, Tony reached back, pulling one of Stephen’s hands around so it was resting on his stomach then covered it with his own.

“You smell different.”

Tony paused, looking away from the small herd of children running around the lake house or playing on their phones to face his husband. “Is that a come-on or some kind of sick way to tell me to take a shower?”

Stephen shrugged. “Neither. You’re just . . . different.” He learned forward, being far too open with the fact that he was sniffing Tony’s neck in plain view of everyone. “Are you wearing a new cologne?”

It took Tony a moment to think, somewhat preoccupied by the (annoyingly innocent) feeling of Stephen’s lips brushing over his neck. “Um . . . yeah, actually. I, uh, started using a new one a few years ago. After you, you know.” It was perhaps not the most graceful way to refer to someone being dead for five years, but hoe was he supposed to think with Stephen practically draped over him like this?

Stephen nodded, sitting back slightly. Tony fought the urge to pull him right back. “That’s probably it.” Then he went right back to sitting a respectable inch away from him, watching the children to make sure they didn’t get too close to the water.

Tony hesitated, watching him. “I could . . . go back to using the old one.”

Stephen glanced at him from the side before allowing a small smile to grace his cupid-bow lips. “I’d like that.”

“I made sure to get the pens you like.”

“I made sure to get the pens you like,” Tony said casually, passing a paper shopping bag over to his husband, who looked through it with mild interest.

When Stephen looked up, his eyes were mildly amused. “Yeah? And which pens do I like?”

“The blue ones. Inky, so if you hold it still for too long you’ll make a huge mess all over the paper.”

“My favorite.”

“Told you.”

“Your arm must be giving you trouble after today.”

Tony winced as he sat down on the bed, head aching as surely as his shoulder. It took a few minutes for him to even start removing the metallic arm for the night.

“Do you want me to run you a bath?” Stephen asked, suddenly appearing on the other side of their bed, even though Tony was sure he hadn’t even been in the house a moment ago. “Robots in Toronto . . . your arm must be giving you trouble after today. The hot water will help.” His hands twitched at his side, as though reminding Tony how his husband knew that.

Tony smiled softly despite himself. “You always know just what I need.”

Stephen returned his gaze, pale eyes soft. “Do you want a bath bomb?”

“Vanilla and rose, please.”

Stephen shook his head good-naturedly. “Pampered little rich boy.”

“Gold digger.”

“You know it.”

“That tub’s big enough for two, right?”

“You’re always starving after a trip like that.”

“I’m late,” Stephen said, gritting his teeth as he stumbled through a portal into the dining room. “I know I’m late . . .”

It was immediately obvious that everyone else had gone to bed — but Tony was still there, hunched over the table as he read something on his starkphone. He looked up when he heard Stephen, smiling. “Hey.” The oven light was on. Tony stood, opening it and pulling out a still-warm lasagna, though only half of it left in the (frankly, huge) pan. “Made sure there was plenty left for you. You’re always starving after a trip like that.” He glanced over his shoulder, removing his oven mitts. “When you go all extra-dimensional and all.”

“That’s not really what it’s called.” But Stephen went ahead, feeling the Cloak of Levitation detach itself from his back as he sat down. He smiled as Tony set his plate in front of him. “Thank you. For waiting up.”

Tony smiled that too-bright smile of his, dark eyes almost glowing. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“You have forty-eight freckles on your shoulder.”

Tony shifted in bed, not turning around, but just moving his head enough to catch sight of Stephen tracing lines along his back. “Come again?”

Stephen’s hand, tired and shaking, traced gentle constellation along Tony’s tired back and arms. “You have forty-eight freckles on your shoulders. I must have counted a hundred times by now, and it’s always the same, summer or winter.”

“It’s a universal constant,” Tony said thoughtlessly.

The corner of Stephen’s mouth edged up in a smile. “I hope so.”

“Your eyes are always blue in this light.”

Around them, the beach was nearly deserted, a tiny bubble of solitude. They could hear Pepper and Christine corralling the children in the distance. The sun was setting, drops of gold splashing upon the watery horizon. Tony leaned back on his metal red-and-gold arm, gazing at Stephen, who was meditating beside him. He spoke without thinking. “Your eyes are always blue in this light.”

Stephen looked over at him, eyes instinctively opening. Tony smiled. “Yeah. Like that.”

#incorrect-ironstrange #ironstrange #tony stark #stephen strange #fanfiction #ironstrange fanfiction #ironstrange fic #oneshot #fluff #soft #romance #ao3 #from the top #being known is being loved #ironstrange fanfic #ficlet #my fanfiction

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the-busy-ghost · 4 years

Text

What exactly happened to Scottish food????

To give three examples:

“Not long after the dram, may be expected the breakfast, a meal in which the Scots, whether of the Lowlands or mountains, must be confessed to excel us. The tea and coffee are accompanied not only with butter, but with honey, conserves, and marmalades. If an epicure could remove by a wish, in quest of sensual gratifications, wherever he had supped he would breakfast in Scotland.” - Samuel Johnson, “A Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland”, published 1775. And Dr Johnson was not a man known for speaking gently about the Scots.

“Her cuisine is a little limited, but she has as good an idea of breakfast as a Scotchwoman.” - Sherlock Holmes describing Mrs Hudson’s cooking in “The Adventure of the Naval Treaty”, by Arthur Conan Doyle (himself a Scot) published 1893.

“While we were talking the neat, small maid had covered my table with a Scottish tea. No southerner can conceive the reckless generosity of Scottish teas. They are of two calibres: heavy and light, but known technically as high or plain. There is nothing you cannot eat at high tea in Scotland. You could order ham and eggs, half a cold grouse, with outriders in the form of bannocks and cakes and many varieties of bread. I think the Scots are, with the Viennese, the best pastrycooks in the world.” - H. V. Morton, “In Search of Scotland”, published 1949. I have not read this whole book but this English journalist seems to have been particularly besotted with Scottish food (or at least the sheer quantity of it) because later he continues:

“It is however, in breakfasts and teas that the Scottish genius for repletion manifests itself to perfection. I entered the front parlour and saw on the table a breakfast which I can describe only as perfectly sincere. There were eggs and bacon. There were warm scones. There were baps. There was toast. There was marmalade. There was jelly. There was honey. In case this was not enough, there was a plate of parkins and a currant loaf.”

Those are only three examples but I could point to several other passing references to the quality of Scottish teas and breakfasts in nineteenth and twentieth century literature and other media, including the 1943 film “We’ll Meet Again” (starring Vera Lynn) and indeed my own mother’s memories of the food offered to guests in her (working-class) parents’ house.

I have to imagine that this sort of excess was not everyday fare for most Scots, but in terms of both the quantity and quality of food offered to visitors it seems to fly in the face of both the stereotypes that the Scots are mean and that our food is necessarily worse than what is consumed in the south (if British food at all can be rated particularly highly).

I do know personally that Scottish baking used to be more highly regarded- even Aberdeen alone had a score of its own unique cakes and pastries until the 1960s and 1970s (now almost entirely represented by the unprepossessing rowie). I do know that the kind of fare provided by farmers’ mothers in rural Perthshire was impressive at least ten years ago (can’t testify now) and my own family’s history attests to the fact that the coal and steel towns of West Lothian could offer a similar level of quality, at least twenty years ago. But the sharp decline in the overall reputation of Scottish food seems very sad- even the ‘full Scottish’ offered in hotels now is no more impressive than the Full English, and only really differs with the occasional addition of some oatcakes or extra black pudding. Maybe it’s the time constraints and lack of access to fresh produce that modern Scots contend with but I’d still like to have a proper explaination for the difference now.

We all love our bakery pies and deep fried delights, as horrendous as they may be re: calorific content and miscellaneous scraps of meat, and perhaps we love them even more because they horrify some of the posher folk down south. But it does feel a bit like we’re forgetting just how good the preserves, fish, meat, and cakes (oh god the cakes) that fed Scotland for generations actually were, and that until recently the reason that our cuisine was famous was NOT actually because of how bad it was. Yorkshire teas are still rightly famous, what happened to Scottish teas?

I really shouldn’t be complaining. I’m a terrible cook myself. But the fact that when I stated this once to a 77-79 year old lady from rural Buckinghamshire, her reaction was essentially “What kind of Scot are you???” says a lot about how much things have changed. Especially since, if I’d said that in my office just over the border in Oxfordshire, where the employees tend to be two or three decades younger, their reaction would have probably been “So what- don’t you lot just deep fry everything anyway?”

Anyway this is just a bit of a rant- I know very little about food or the history of British cuisine- nor indeed am I privy to the opinions of everyone in the UK re: Scottish food! But every time I'm reading an old book and a ‘Scottish breakfast’ is used as a synonym for a damn good meal, I am always a little bit taken aback (and hungry. If the Scots could make good breakfasts, the English certainly knew how to describe them in the most mouth-watering way).

#Scottish history #British history #Scotland #food #food history #Thoughts on the Thistle

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imagining-supernatural · 5 years

Text

Breaking Rules

Summary: Friends-with-benefits to Lovers. That’s all you really gotta know.

Word Count: 3368

Warnings: Language. Mentions of sex. Douchebag at a bar.

*~*~*~*

It started off innocently enough. Two friends. Fucking when they felt like it. No strings attached.

Well, I think you know where this is going.

“Dean, get off me. You’re fucking hot.”

You pushed at his chest, putting some power behind your words and that fucker had the gall to smirk and wink and say, “Don’t I know it, sweetheart.”

Just as you were about to retort with what probably wouldn’t have been as witty as it sounded in your head, he rolled off and sprawled on the other side of the bed, naked as the day he was born. A lot happier than the day he was born, though.

Silence reigned in his room as the two of you regained your breath.

“So, that guy back in Tallahassee…” Dean, of course, was the one to break the post-coital bliss with a stupid remark.

“There were a lot of guys back in Tallahassee,” you mumbled, knowing exactly to whom he was referring.

It was a hunt that had, for once in your life, gone as smoothly as a lake at sunrise on a cloudless day. You got to town, did some snooping, flirted with the bartender for information, found the monster, killed the monster, slept with the bartender, and left town.

Dean gasped theatrically at your comment. “How many guys did you bang the two days we were there?”

“Shut up, Dean. Why are you even bringing this up, anyway? I fucked him, I left. End of story. A story, might I add, that you’ve played out in your life dozens of times.”

“Is that jealousy I detect in your voice?” He pushed himself up on his elbow and leaned over you. All that did for him was get a front row seat to your well-practiced eye-roll.

“Nah. More like sympathy for all those women you slept with.”

“Sympathy cause I left them after one night and they don’t know that I go from great to outstanding in bed the more times I sleep with someone?” He reached over and ran his fingers slowly from your up hip your stomach. “Like you know?”

You gripped his wrist, stopping his wandering fingers before they went any further. “Sympathy for having to have slept with you at all, you egomaniac.”

Your response earned you a punch to your shoulder.

A friendly punch.

A punch between two friends just joking around.

Granted, you were both naked, but still.

Friends.

*****

It is not acceptable to kill fuckboys in bars. It is not acceptable to kill fuckboys in bars. It is not acceptable to kill fuckboys in bars.

But… maybe I can punch this one. Send him to the hospital?

Dammit, I’m undercover. Can’t blow my cover.

You mentally cursed the vampire you were hunting who had a taste for the helpless, innocent type. If you could just lure it to you, you could get it away from everyone, and kill it. After that, maybe you could track down this fuckboy and kill him. But the vamp had to come first.

Like Dean always made sure you did when you two were—

Shit. Not the time.

Where did this douchebag get off anyway, trying to keep all of your attention and feel you up when you obviously weren’t interested.

“Look, fuck off, okay?” You delivered your words with a coy smile, hoping the vampire didn’t hear you or read lips. Because odds that this idiot was the vampire were slim to none. Monsters were more interesting than this bore.

“You don’t want that, darlin’. I can show you a good time. Just lemme take you in the back—”

“The time you could show me isn’t even in the same league as when my boyfriend fucks me, okay? So get the fuck out of my face before I punch you so hard you’ll have to spend the rest of the week in the hospital.”

He just laughed.

It is not acceptable to kill fuckboys in bars.

“Darlin’, your boy ain’t here. A pretty thing like you doesn’t deserve to be alone in a bar like this.”

Actually, you thought, my boy is here. He’s right over—

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

Dean wasn’t your boy. He’s not your boyfriend. Why did your mind even go there?

Friends. You were friends. You’d constantly told him off for trying to protect you from fuckboys like this. From other men that you were actually interested in. He’d learned not to get in between you and someone that you might be interested in for the night.

He always respected your wishes.

And he also knew that he was always welcome in your bed.

Which was all he wanted from you.

That was all you two agreed on. You had rules. Rules you both kept.

So why did it hurt so much that he wasn’t marching across the bar to lay claim to you and get this fucker out of your face?

Unfortunately for you, your silence seemed to be an invitation to the fuckboy and he stepped closer, running a hand up your side. “Wanna get outta here?”

As much as it hurt you, you had to at least see if he was your vamp. Thoughts of Dean clouded you for a moment, but now you were back.

But there was no way in hell you were going anywhere alone with him. Not because you thought he could overpower you, but because you didn’t want to have to bury his body if he wasn’t the vamp. That would just add a complication to this night.

So, instead, you sighed in defeat and forced a smile. “How ‘bout that drink first?”

His face lit up, but not in that cute way that some guys’ faces light up. No, this was more like a fisherman who just caught a fish and was excited to cut it open and tear the guts out.

The way Dean’s face lit up when you offered a drink was much better. Those green eyes of his sparkled with mischief and he had that little tilt of his head and—

No.

Friends.

Focus on the douche in front of you.

At least the old frat dude dropped his hand back to the bar instead of your body after signaling the bartender.

It seemed to take the bartender several years to make your drinks, but you knew that was just your perspective. A single second listening to the inane boasting of this dude felt like an eon.

Finally, the drinks came and you pretended to slip off the stool, knowing he’d catch you to play the hero. While he was distracted, you passed your hand over his glass of bourbon and unlatched your ring to pour a few drops of potent dead man’s blood in the glass. While the red dispersed into the caramel-colored drink, you laughed off your clumsiness and climbed back on your stool, sad to have lost some ground, as the fuckboy was now standing between your knees.

No one needs to wear that much cologne.

He made some stupid toast and took a long drink of his bourbon.

Nothing.

Not the vamp.

Dammit. That meant you shouldn’t kill him.

How, then, were you going to get out of this situation?

You tried catching Dean’s eye as the fuckboy droned on about some sort of prize he won, but all you got was Sam’s eye.

He raised an eyebrow, asking if this was the vamp.

No, you returned with a headshake and he turned away to whisper that to Dean, who still didn’t look at you.

Then the younger Winchester went back to looking around the bar instead of at you for more silent conversation.

Fat lot of help those two were.

“—I told her, lady, I can’t accept your money. I’m just doing what any decent person would—”

Decent person, you thought, scoffing. Right.

Plan B: Texting Dean.

Y/N: I need you to come be my boyfriend and get this idiot away from me before I kill him.

Sure, you could have texted Sam, but you and Dean slept together. It would be more believable.

You definitely didn’t ask Dean because you wanted, for just a few minutes, to pretend that he was actually your boyfriend. No. That definitely wasn’t it. It was the difference in chemistry. Dean was your best friend that you fucked. Sam was your best friend that felt like a brother.

That was the only reason.

Luckily for you, the fuckboy was so caught up in regaling you with all of his stupid accomplishments that he didn’t notice you texting.

Unfortunately for you, Dean read the text from across the bar, looked at you with a half-smile, and sat further back in his seat, crossing an ankle over his other knee to enjoy the show.

All you could do was glare at him.

Fine.

You weren’t helpless. Just pretending, for the sake of the vampire.

Fuck chemistry. You were pretending. You could pretend some more. Fake some chemistry.

So you copied the message and sent it to Sam.

The fuckboy – had he even introduced himself? Should you even know his name? – had moved onto some sort of high school accomplishment by now, but you were too busy keeping the Winchesters in your peripheral vision to listen to what it was.

Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket—

—And Dean instantly grabbed it out of his hands and stuffed it in his own pocket, now looking at you with narrowed eyes.

“—My shop teacher wanted the principal to give me an award but—”

Did this guy not do anything of note since he graduated from high school? Well… assuming he even graduated. You weren’t listening too closely, nor were you that interested. But this man was in his thirties, for god’s sake! How did he even remember anything from high school?

However you were going to get out of this situation, you decided not to waste the free drink. Tossing the mixing straws to the bar, you downed your entire mojito in one go. Stupid fuckboy not letting you enjoy your favorite drink.

“Thanks for the drink, but I just realized how late it is and—”

“You aren’t leaving.” His face immediately closed off from the mask he had on while talking his accomplishments up. What a surprise. He expected sex in return for a single drink and some boring one-sided conversation.

“My boyfriend is expecting me and—”

His hand gripped your hip hard when you stood up and tried to side-step away from him. “I bought you a drink. Don’t be a bitch now.”

“You don’t wanna play this game with me,” you warned, knowing he wouldn’t take it seriously.

Guys like this only listened to other guys, which is why you’d tried to get Dean over here. But now it looked like you were going to have to blow your cover and hit this dude.

Oh no. You didn’t want to do that. Definitely not. Just too bad.

“There are a lot of things I want to do with you.” The lewdness in his eyes tipped you off to what he meant. “If you were smart, you wouldn’t fight me. You won’t win.”

Cute. Overconfidence and underestimation with undertones of a rapist point of view.

“Y/N?” Dean’s deep voice saying your name would have been a welcome distraction a few minutes ago, but now it just made you want to punch both men.

However, you were still undercover. If the vampire was here tonight, you had to play your part. And right now, your part was helpless, innocent girlfriend.

“Babe, hi!” Surprise coated your words. “I was just about to leave to your place.”

“Is that so?” He directed his icy words to the man with his hand still gripping your hip.

The fuckboy, with so many accomplishments in his life, didn’t recognize the danger in Dean’s eyes, gripped your hip tight enough to leave marks, and smirked. “Actually, your girl here was just about to come with me so I could show her what a real man is like.”

Dean’s eyes flickered from his hand on your hip, to your angry eyes, and finally back to the fuckboy’s all-too-confident face. When he spoke, his words were flat. This was the last warning he would give. “Take your fucking hand off my girl.”

“That’s not what she was just saying to me,” the idiot snarled, immediately earning him Dean’s fist in his face.

That one punch was all it took to send the fuckboy stumbling back into the bar before falling to the floor. It was satisfying to see the blood already pouring from his broken nose.

Immediately, the bartender reached under the bar for a gun or bat, but Dean just grabbed your hand and backed up, nodding at the bartender and raising his other hand to let him know it was over. “C’mon sweetheart.”

*****

“Are you mad at me?” Dean asked when you walked out of the bathroom, drying your hair with a shitty motel towel.

“No?” Confused with yourself? Yes.

“Really? Cause you took three times longer than usual in the shower. Thought you were avoiding me. You know. Cause I ignored your text.”

A glance around the room let you know that Sam was gone. It was just the two of you.

“Just washing the fuckboy stench off of me. And getting over my jealousy that you got to punch him and I had to keep my cover. God, I wanted to punch him.” A thought occurred to you and you tilted your head at him, dropping your towel to the ground. “You ignored my text for fun. So why did you end up coming over?”

He ducked his head, cleaning his fingernails with a knife. “I, uh. Just didn’t want you to have to blow your cover to get away from him.”

That wasn’t quite right. Dean was your best friend. You knew when he wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“Yeah, okay,” you said offhandedly so he knew that you knew he wasn’t telling you everything, but that you wouldn’t push it. Instead, you walked over and straddled his lap, gently taking the knife from him to place it on the bedside table. Lowering your lips to his neck, you mumbled, “Thanks for caring about my cover.”

A low groan escaped his throat. “Sweetheart, Sam could come back at any time.”

“Mm, okay. Guess a normal thank you will have to suffice, then.” With a shrug, you started to back off of his lap, but his hands gripped your hips, keeping you in place. You flinched involuntarily when his fingers dug into the bruise the fuckboy had left behind, and Dean didn’t miss a thing.

His eyes darkened in question and you sighed before lifting up the bottom of your shirt to show him the marks.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Dean muttered darkly. And, since you were his best friend, you knew he was telling the truth.

But, if you managed to hold off on killing him, Dean could too. All you had to do was redirect his attention. “I accidentally called you my boyfriend today.”

Surprised, Dean’s eyes shot from your hip up to your own eyes.

“I mean, it wasn’t really you I was referring to at first. I just played the boyfriend card to see if he would back off. And he didn’t. Just said some shit about how my man wasn’t there. And I—” See, here’s where it got tricky. You were trying to distract Dean and somehow, you’d managed to get into touchy-feely territory. So that meant it was time to employ advanced eye-contact avoidance techniques. “I just—I mean. I didn’t say anything about you directly, so I guess I didn’t really call you my boyfriend but…”

“But…”

“But when he said my man wasn’t there, I couldn’t help but think that, yes. Yes, you were. You were sitting right over there. Though, I mean, you weren’t even watching me. Which you were supposed to be doing. Waiting for my signal. So fat lot of good you were.” There. Put the spotlight back on him. It was off of you and he was distracted. Perfect.

It didn’t stop the red creeping onto your face. It wasn’t like you’d admitted anything bad. Dean was your person. Like in Grey’s Anatomy. He was your person. So he was your boy, your man, your friend, your partner… maybe not romantically. But he was your person.

Still though, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, even sitting on his lap with your face right in front of his as it was.

It just so happened that the sheet on the bed was so much more interesting than what you definitely had not just admitted. The creases and shadows on the fabric… Definitely worth your attention. Not at all boring. Nope.

“Do you know why I wasn’t watching you?” Dean asked softly, running his hands up and down your thighs slowly. His voice had dropped an octave, gotten even more gravelly. It was that tone that made your panties drop. “Sweetheart, I couldn’t stand to see that idiot flirt with my girl. When he touched you like that I just—I couldn’t take it.”

“Dean.” His name fell in a whisper off your lips. “That’s…”

“One of our rules. I know. I broke it tonight.”

Don’t stop the other from hooking up with someone.

“No. Dean, you didn’t. It was a case. I asked you to play the boyfriend card.” Your eyes skipped up to his before darting away once again. You and Dean were best friends, but you rarely talked about emotions and shit. “You didn’t break a rule—”

“I did, though,” he interrupted pointedly. For someone who was so decidedly against chick flick moments, Dean was determined to have one. So determined, in fact, that his finger under your chin directed your eyes back to his. “I didn’t punch that guy to keep your cover, Y/N. I wasn’t even thinking of the case. I forgot about the vampire, really.”

“Dean…” He was crossing a line. He was admitting to something that couldn’t be undone.

By the way Dean’s eyes were boring into yours, he didn’t give a shit. “I broke a rule, Y/N. I got in the way of you and a guy at a bar. That’s a rule.”

“It was a case,” you repeated weakly.

Dean completely ignored you, sliding one of his hands from your thigh, up your back, and tangled his fingers in the hair at the base of your neck. “Sweetheart, I’m about to break another rule.”

No kissing.

“I—” Your heart stuttered when his forehead rested on yours, and all you could do was sigh his name.

“And I’m going to break another rule tonight when I fall asleep next to you.”

No sleeping in the same bed.

His lips were just breaths away from your own, words filling the space between.

“But right now, I’m going to break that first rule.”

Yet he didn’t move. He was waiting for you. Waiting for your consent. For confirmation that you wanted this too.

“Dean,” you breathed, fingers gripping his shirt. Your eyes dropped to his lips, considering. This was a turning point. This was the line that was being crossed. It was… It was exactly what you wanted.

Your eyes shot up to his. “Break the rule, Dean.”

He didn’t need any more coaxing before his lips were on yours, exploring the one part of your body he’d been denied.

*****

Sam opened the door to the motel room a few hours after he left. It hadn’t been his intention when he left to run into the vampire and kill it, but some things just fell into place.

And he sure could use a long shower to get the vamp blood off of him.

Before that though, he was stopped in the doorway by the sight of his best friend and his brother curled up on one of the beds, fully clothed thank God, heads inches apart on the same pillow.

He smiled fondly and shook his head. “It’s about damn time.”

#deanxreader #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #fwb to lovers #fwb

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the-shadow-of-atlantis · 5 years

Text

Induction

Summary: Annabella spends some time with the team.

Tagging: @lizartgurl @thespacebuns @melyaliz @coffee-randomness @gobydana @speedypan

Part 1 Here

Annabella woke up with a smile as she remembered that today she would be going back Mount Justice to hang out with the team. Skipping down to the kitchen she said good morning to Alfred and helped him finish up breakfast.

Her father and brother came in just as they finished setting up the plates. Bruce smiled as she placed his plate in front of him and gave her a quick peck on her forehead.

“I have a meeting this morning so I have to go in a bit. Dick you have training with the team and Annabella.”

“I can go once I’m done with my chores for the day.” She finished for him.

“I’ll see you later today.” Bruce said as he finished up his breakfast. “Be good both of you.”

Annabella nodded as she munched on her toast. Dick got up after a few minutes having scarfed down his food.

“Well better get to training.” He said with a smug smile.

“Hope you get your butt handed to you.” Annabella grumbled.

“Master Dick, please clean your plate before you leave.” Alfred scolded since Dick only tossed his dish in the sink.

The rest of the morning passed by quickly as Annabella got her chores done. Soon she was packing her stuff, grabbing her laptop and a couple of notebooks. She hopped down the stairs to the bat cave and put in the code to disable the voice announcements as she stepped through the Zeta Tube.

However she froze in place when she saw the whole team gathered around along with her father. Spotting her brothers smirk she quickly tried to backtrack but her fathers voice stopped her.

“Bells I was wondering when you’d get here. We can begin now. Come on.” He ushered her forward and she internally cringed.

Please don’t embarrass me, please don’t embarrass me. She thought.

“My daughter will be spending most of her time here since she is doing homeschool. However there are some rules I’d like to establish.”

“Dad.” Annabella whined. “I already know the rules.”

“They still need to be informed. So first she is to not go on any mission. Second if you wish to visit Happy Harbor or any city with her, you will inform Red Tornado. Third you must carry one of these at all times.” Annabella’s eyes widen in horror as she saw him holding her inhaler.

“Dad.” She protested. “I haven’t had an asthma attack in almost a year.”

“That doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be prepared.” Bruce gave her a warning look and began handing out inhaler to the team.

M’gann and Kaldur seemed to look at them curiously but Superboy simply shrugged and tucked it into his pocket.

“Why doesn’t Wally get one?” Superboy asked.

“That’s because I already got my own bat issued inhaler.” Wally smiled as he pulled out an inhaler from his jacket, Annabella noticed it was tacked with bat symbol stickers and one flash sticker.

Annabella smiled softly but it quickly dropped when her dad began in lecture on proper use of the inhaler. By the time it was over Annabella he her face buried in hr hands.

“I believe that’s all. Robin I need you back in Gotham.”

Robin nodded and followed him back. Annabella straightened up took a deep breath and stared at everyone.

“Right well I’m gonna go do some of my school work.”

“Do you need a guide?” M’gann asked.

“Nope I know my way around.” Annabella smiled tightly as she walked off still feeling embarrassed.

She sighed as she plopped on the bed of one of the rooms and screamed into the pillows. Once she calmed down she fished out her laptop and began her work.

Feeling her stomach growl Annabella slightly jumped and blinked, feeling her eyes burn. Rubbing them she looked at the time and did a double take. Had she really been working that long? Stretching she felt something pop and groaned.

Getting up she made her way to the kitchen. She spotted all the guys in the lounge area, Wally was apparently trying to teach them how to play a certain video game. M’gann was in the kitchen her back towards Annabella as she was busy mixing something in a bowl.

“Watcha making?” Annabella asked as she approached the counter only to duck as a wooden spoon went whizzing over her head.

Peeking over the counter top Annabella saw M’gann look of honor and burst into a fit of giggled.

“I think you’ll give my grandmother a run for her money with those spoon skills.” Annabella snickered.

“Well now I know why Wally calls you Bells.” M’gann composed herself as she made the spoon float back.

“So what are you making?” Annabella asked again as she stuck a finger in the bowl and tasted it.

“Lasagna, though this sauce isn’t looking right.” M’gann frowned at the bowl.

“Rule number one about cookbooks always go crazy with the spices.” Annabella paused as she sniffed one of the spices. “Put some of this in.”

“Alright food is ready guys.” Annabella called out as she started cutting up the lasagna and placing slices on the plates M’gann was making float.

Wally passed by and ruffled Annabella’s hair, she swatted his hand away giving his a playful glare. Everyone muttered a thank you as they grabbed their plate, but as soon as everyone sat down a small cloud of awkwardness began to loom over them. Annabella knew the team barely had time to bond in the couple of weeks it had been formed but she couldn’t help but blame her father for making things embarrassing for her.

“Are you alright Bells?” Annabella looked up at Kaldur feeling concern poke at her.

“Yeah I’m fine.” She smiled reassuringly but Kaldur didn’t seem satisfied.

“You were in there for quite some time.” He added.

“I was doing school work, lost track of time.” Annabella shrugged, still Kaldur didn’t budge. Damn he was good. “My dad has a good way embarrassing me without really trying. You really don’t have to listen to what he told you earlier, I know the rules I know what I can and can't do.”

“What about the inhalers? Wally always seems to have his on hand.” Superboy pointed out.

Annabella groaned placing her face in her hands. “I had an asthma attack one time and my inhaler was tucked away in my bag in the house. One time! And I was eight. I know better now. But I am his only daughter and given the things he’s seen as Batman he just… worries… a lot.”

“Is that why you’re being homeschooled?” M’gann asked.

“No that was actually my choice.” Annabella said taking a bite of her food.

“Why would you want to be homeschooled? Isn’t school fun? With extracurricular activities? School dances? Pep rallies, and being with friends?”

Annabella couldn’t help but feel like if M’gann had learned everything about school through the lens of an over glorified version of it on an 80's sitcom. Still Annabella could feel M’ganns hopefulness and decided she needed to choose her words carefully.

“School can be fun, but its also not for everyone. Sometimes depending on who you are certain expectations are made of you and people can look at you differently because of it. At least in homeschool. I can be a bit more in control of the situation and be able to progress how I want without judgement.”

“Oh.” Was M’ganns simple response though Annabella was glad to feel that she wasn’t completely let down.

However she did feel something come from Kaldur. A sense of sadness and understanding? She wondered about that last one.

Once everyone as done with their food they all moved to the lounge area where Wally began to flip channels.

“You know not everyone has super speed.” Annabella retorted as she plopped on the sofa with her laptop.

Wally stuck his tongue out at her but she simply laid her legs on his lap and opened up her laptop.

“You two have known each other long?” M’gann asked.

“I knew him when he was just a dork, now he’s a dork with powers.”

“How did you know him before?” Kaldur asked.

“I grew up with most of the league members as my babysitters. Like I said my dad is very protective.” Annabella sighed as she typed away her homework.

“So you know who Superman is.” Superbly said in a gruff voice, though his expression was stiff. Annabella could, like always, feel his anger.

“Yeah, I know him. And you know being Superman is a big responsibility. A responsibility that he, like you, was integrated deeply into him. For the longest time he’s been the only kryptonian. A concept that’s going to be hard for him to let go now that your have appeared. Now it doesn’t excuse his asshole behavior but hopefully this will make you I understand what exactly you are dealing with.” Annabella kept her eyes on superbly the whole time she spoke, He in turn just slightly nodded and looked away from her.

“How old are you?” Kaldur asked and Annabella smiled at him.

“Sorry you gotta be a level 3 friend to unlock my background information.”

“Really we can’t even know your age?” Superboy asked.

“Nope, at least not until my dad says so.” Annabella sighed. “Paranoid dad remember.”

Everyone nodded and focused not he tv as Wally finally selected a channel.

The rest of the evening was spent teaching the two aliens and Atlantan about pop culture. In the end Annabella made a list of tv shows, movies, and even food that they would need to try out. In turn they offered to help with her homework no matter how much Annabella insisted she had it under control. Still it was fun to hear Superboy spew out facts when asked a question. It was also fascinating to hear Kaldur version of mythology. M’gann simply found the concept of homework interesting.

An hour before she had to go Annabella decided to gather her things and everyone said they’d better get to sleep anyways since they weren’t sure how often they might get days like this off. When Annabella walked out of the room she had left her backpack in Wally was waiting for her.

“So.” He said smiling down at her. “Why are you really here? Finally decided to take it the sidekick business?”

“No.” Annabella punched him as she made her way to the Zeta Tubes.

“Come on Bells its me, you can tell me.” Wally slung his arm around her shoulders however her silence did worry him usually she would smile and shove him off. “Bells?”

Annabella sighed her eyes looking around the large room.

“My powers have been getting stronger recently. My last year of school was getting difficult my mind would wander off a lot and my teacher wouldn’t like that. Doesn’t help that everyone thinks I’m going to take over dads business when I’m older. They’re already making me choose classes to “help” me” Annabella huffed.

“But that’s not what you want.” It was more a statement than a question, she shook her head.

“I love my dad but I don’t want his legacy I don’t want to just be Bruce Wayne's daughter. I was born with these powers for a reason I want to do good with them. So I hoped being with people like me I can figure out what that is.”

Wally brought her in for a hug. “You really need to stop growing up so fast.”

Annabella laughed. “Sorry never did get taken to Neverland.”

Annabella waved goodbye as she stood in the tube feeling herself getting pulled back home.

#oc x kaldur #oc x superboy #oc x kidflash #oc x miss martian #yj imagine

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 4 years

Text

The French Connection - Chapter 2

A HardyxMiller AU

Ellie Miller is left to go on her honeymoon alone after a devastating secret about her fiance comes to light - halfway through the wedding ceremony. Sitting in St Pancras International in London waiting for her train, she runs into none other than her uni rival/best friend Alec Hardy, on the run from his own recent heartbreak.

They decide to make use of Ellie’s pre-paid trip, rekindling their friendship and escaping real life; yet, it turns out their years at uni are the hardest to outrun. Based on this prompt from @timepetalscollective

Chapters will be posted every Wednesday and Sunday. Beta’d by the wonderful @stupidsatsuma

Masterlist | AO3

---

Ellie washed her face, grateful she’d forgone makeup that morning in her misery. Her face was still splotchy from crying, though the cold flannel helped ease the contrast.

After wasting a minute or two thoroughly examining the tiny bathroom she gave up, steeling herself to open the door and leave the relative safety of her hideaway. It’s just Hardy, she scolded herself, trying to make her hand reach for the doorknob. Stop being so weird. You invited him on this trip. He’s not going to expect anything. You both just had traumatic breakups.

Finally her hand obeyed, and she stepped out into the main area. The first thing that caught her attention was his attempts to remove the romantic elements – the rose petals were gone and the candles were off, which eased some of the pressure.

“Champagne?” Hardy offered, holding a full flute out towards her, and after a moment, she accepted.

“Thanks.”

They clinked the glasses together, and Ellie drank the whole thing in one go, lowering the flute only to see that Hardy had merely sipped at his, and was watching her with raised eyebrows.

Thankfully, he didn’t comment, merely refilled her glass and asked, “What do you want to do for dinner?”

“Wander the streets, whatever catches our fancy?”

“Sure. D’you want to head out now and walk around, or stay in and unpack?”

Ellie checked her watch; five o’clock. Far too early for dinner, especially in Paris. But to stay in or go out? She felt a bit antsy, like she needed to move, but it had been such a long day she didn’t want to fall asleep halfway through dinner. I did sleep on the train…

“Walk around?”

“Sure,” Hardy nodded, moving towards his suitcase, “just give me a couple minutes.”

Ellie shifted to let him squeeze past, noting they were both careful to avoid touching. “Take your time.” Drifting towards the far side of the bed, she noticed a door flush to the wall; opening it, she found a dozen steps leading up. At the top was another door, and upon opening it, she gasped to find herself on the roof of the hotel, a small semi-private balcony area that was gated in. In reality it was one space divided in four, so it wasn’t terribly private, but it gave such a wonderful view of the river and the Ile across from them that she didn’t care.

“Miller?”

Footsteps on the stairs behind her said he’d followed her up, and a moment later, he joined her with a wide-eyed look of his own.

“Now that’s something you don’t see every day,” he murmured, looking positively enchanted, and Ellie’s heart twinged with grief.

It was the kind of view you shared with someone you loved, the kind of view you kissed in front of and made plans for the future.

Joe should be here, she thought, hating herself for it. She missed him, or at least the man she’d thought he was. As a detective, as a cop, it was her job to protect the public, and she had no time or patience for abusers and perverts. In that sense, she’d immediately and irrevocably cut Joe out of her heart, ending their relationship and refusing to see him even when he asked.

But the man she’d known, who she’d thought he was… that was the Joe she wanted with her. Kind, sweet Joe, who cooked her dinner and made her laugh and wanted to share his day, his dreams, his life with her.

It hurt to know that Joe had never existed, not really.

“Oi.” Hardy jostled her with his elbow. “Look.” He pointed, and she followed his finger to the street along the riverbank. A mime stood on a box, performing, and she couldn’t help a reluctant smile.

“Right, well, that’s what I came to see,” she joked, grinning up at him. “We can go home now.”

Hardy shook his head, giving her a mock scowl, the effect somewhat ruined by madly twinkling eyes. “Now, hold on! I came to Paris to see the Moulin Rouge. We can’t leave yet!”

“Can we at least leave for a walk?”

“Yeah, all right.”

Ellie took a moment in the bathroom for herself, dusting on just enough makeup to not look like a ghost, and changing into something a little dressier. Just because she wasn’t here with someone she loved didn’t mean she could look like a savage.

“Ready,” she announced, stepping out and right into Hardy’s chest, drawing a loud ‘oof!’ from both of them. “Sorry.”

“S’alright,” he said, steadying her with his hands on her biceps. “You good?”

“Uh huh.”

Once out on the street they walked side by side, taking in the ambiance and beauty. They took turns pointing out various items of interest, and gradually Ellie relaxed. To her surprise she was actually having fun, enjoying Hardy’s company, and wasn’t that strange?

Maybe he’s not as terrible as I always thought.

Sticking his hands in his pockets, even Hardy had to admit that wandering the streets of Paris was relaxing and, dare he say, almost enjoyable. It was a beautiful late spring day, warm enough to be comfortable but not too hot, the slowly-sinking sun a brilliant orange.

Casting his eyes to the side, he tried not to frown at the distant look in Ellie’s eye. Arms folded across her stomach, she seemed to be watching without seeing anything.

She just found out she almost married a predator, the little voice in the back of his head scoffed. Of course she’s in a tailspin. Setting his jaw, he decided it was up to him to save her trip. She already spent all this money to be here, he rationalized, she ought to get something out of it.

“Here,” he said abruptly, noticing a street cart and grabbing her arm, tugging Ellie over to it while ignoring her yelp.

“What’re you doing?” she asked, voice smaller than it should have been, but he ignored her to place his order and pay. Within a minute he had his prize in hand, and turned back to her, offering it out.

“We’ve been in Paris too long not to have a crepe,” he explained patiently when she just stared at him with a blank look. “Go on, have a bite.”

Ellie took the treat, biting carefully before her eyes closed and she let out a moan. “Oh, that’s good.” She took another bite, then scrunched her nose. “Of course you ruined it.”

“Bananas and chocolate are a natural pairing,” he argued, taking the folded crepe back for a bite of his own. It was too sweet for him, but the way she was now watching it like a predator with prey in its sights said it had been the right call. “And I’m sure you’re hungry. You haven’t eaten since your sad breakfast.”

She practically snatched it away when he offered it back to her, taking a ridiculously large bite. “Piss off.”

They started walking again, and he was pleased to see some of the liveliness return to her eyes, as she pointed out things to him again.

When’s the last time anyone took care of her, instead of her taking care of them? he wondered, even as they traded light-hearted barbs. I doubt her family’s changed. Did her fiancé? Obviously not, in the long run.

She didn’t have to invite me, could’ve gone on her own, or somewhere else. A surprising swell of pride surged through him.

She trusts me.

Ellie laughed, watching Hardy study the menu. He was making absolutely no effort to disguise his disgust for the rich French food, but the restaurant had been his suggestion, so she felt no sympathy for him.

“You could get fish,” she finally suggested, stomach rumbling.

Two dark eyes peered at her over the menu, and despite being all she could see of his face, she knew he was scowling. “You’re not helping.” Not waiting for a reply, he turned and caught the waiter’s attention.

“Oui?”

Ellie smiled up sweetly, ordering in French, “Good evening, I would like the bouillabaisse.”

“Merci. Et vous, monsieur?”

“Uh… chicken,” Hardy muttered, also in French, pointing to a specific dish. “Merci. Oh- vin. Plus de vin.”

The waiter nodded, taking their menus and disappearing. Before they even had time to speak, a sommelier appeared with a bottle of red, and Hardy gestured in her direction.

“How’s this?”

Ellie carefully inspected the bottle for just long enough to make him think she knew what she was looking for, before nodding. The sommelier poured them both a taste, and when Hardy nodded, filled their glasses and left the bottle.

Once they were alone Hardy leaned forward, reaching out with his wine glass, and Ellie matched his pose.

“Are we toasting?”

Pursing his lips, he glanced out the window behind her before turning his gaze on her, dark eyes full of emotion despite his iron-glad grip on them otherwise.

“To… second chances,” he offered, tilting the glass. “To old friendships. To lucky escapes.”

Ellie considered him. Running into him had, at first glance, seemed like the only thing that could make her day worse, but in truth, it had been the first good thing to happen to her since Joe’s arrest. “To running away.”

“Hear, hear.”

They sipped moderately from their glasses, setting them down at the same time, and opened their mouths.

“So-”

Stopping, Ellie laughed softly, shaking her head. “The more things change…”

Hardy chuckled in agreement, a smile flitting across his usually stern visage. “Go ahead.”

“I was just going to say… thank you. You’ve always had a way of making a shitty day better. I mean, usually by being a git and pissing me off, but still.”

“It always worked, didn’t it?” he arched an eyebrow, taking another mouthful of wine. “Distracted you.”

Ellie hummed. “To be honest, was a hell of a lot more fun being enemies with you than friends with any of the other tossers in our class.”

To her surprise, a flash of hurt blinked across his face.

“What?”

“Nothing.” His eyes fixed on something outside the window for a long moment before he continued, almost reluctantly, “I never considered us enemies.”

“We constantly fought!” she protested, even as a little part of her was glad to hear it. “We were voted two most likely to kill each other, remember? I can remember on one hand the number of times we actually agreed on something!”

Hardy snorted, expression easing. “One, we agreed more than it seemed. Not on methods, maybe, but on general topics? Absolutely. I think the term most of our classmates used was ‘bickering’, rather than fighting. People who are fighting don’t have that much fun doing so. And besides…”

“What? ‘Besides’ what?”

He lifted his glass to his lips, obscuring all but his eyes but unable to hide the mirth pooling there. “They certainly voted us ‘most likely to something each other’, and it was a four-letter word, but it wasn’t kill.”

Ellie choked on her wine, spluttering as she tried to process that. “You’re lying!”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“You said it wasn’t see-through!”

That made him laugh. “Okay, fair enough,” he agreed, “but other than that? They all thought we were together.”

“How come I didn’t know about this?”

“I asked once, why I got all of their shit. Apparently they thought you were the scary one of the two of us.”

“What?!” Ellie tried to picture that. At school, he’d been the broody Scot, always wearing a suit and tie to class and snarling at anyone who irritated him. In stark contrast she had been the embodiment of light and happiness, wearing pastels and bringing baked goods in every other week. “I was the scary one?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he nodded like he agreed with the assessment. “I would bark and snarl, but that’s my default – or so I’ve been told. Meanwhile you were, I dunno, Snow-bloody-White. Sweet as could be, but when someone crossed you-”

“Usually you,” she interrupted.

He waved a hand in vague acknowledgement. “-you could yell. No one ever forgot that bollocksing you gave Murray over that joke.”

“It wasn’t funny,” Ellie mumbled, sinking down in her chair.

“Course not, he was a plonker,” he shook his head.

Ellie pursed her lips. “Most of those boys were, even you occasionally.”

Hardy’s expression fell slightly, taking on a more serious quality. “I never apologized for that, did I?”

She didn’t have to ask what he meant. “No.” The moment was burned into her memory, one of the more awful experiences she’d had. As only one of two women in a class of thirty, the testosterone had been unbearable. The other girl had dropped out halfway through their third term, abandoning Ellie to their occasional juvenile pranks.

In this particular case, the entire class was at a police training facility getting in some practice, as every one of them were intending to go onto the force. The uniform had been khakis and a white dress shirt.

One of the tasks had been to help each other up over a wall; if they fell, it was into a pool of water. One of the others, she forgot who now, had purposely dropped her. She’d landed on her back, which had hurt her pride more than anything, but had also soaked her.

Hardy had been the one to help her up, and when she’d worried about the state of her shirt, had promised it didn’t show anything.

It wasn’t until two hours later, after lunch in the cafeteria and walking past hundreds of people, that she caught sight of her reflection and realized it was entirely see-through, and her modesty wouldn’t have been much more impacted had she gone entirely topless – which would have probably been far more comfortable than wet, clingy cotton.

That was the first- and last- time she cried over her classmates.

“Well, I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “It wasn’t right.”

“Thank you.” After a moment, Ellie pushed the memory away. “Besides, I can’t really blame you.”

“Because I didn’t push you?”

She smirked, raising her glass of wine. “No, ‘cause my tits never looked better than they did then. They deserved to be seen by someone.”

Hardy was still laughing when their food arrived.

#bbatcfic #broadfic #Broadchurch #HardyxMiller #Alec Hardy #Ellie Miller #AU #The French Connection #platonic honeymoon fic

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cruisercrusher · 5 years

Text

Dicktigerweek day 2- meet cute

The restaurant was nice, but not too nice, well lit but not too bright. Some italian place in central Blüdhaven, Tiger actually thought it was a suspiciously upscale location for an exchange of information, but Tiger knew better than to argue with the director.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat at a table for two near the large wall to wall windows. His ‘date’ had yet to arrive.

Tiger had no idea why he was so nervous about this. It wasn’t a real date. This was just an assignment. True, it was probably the strangest assignment he’d ever been on, but it was an assignment nonetheless.

Helena’s instructions had been very clear. Nightwing had information to pass onto them which was going to be delivered in code. Tiger had to meet with him under pretense of a date, wearing an earpiece so that Helena could listen in and decipher the code in real timeline .

An electronic chime sounded from the front of the restaurant as the door opened and a man walked in. Tiger looked up at the noise to see who could only be Nightwing.

He was unmasked and in civilian clothes, an elegant blue button up and tight, tight black pants— obviously, Tiger hadn’t expected him to come in costume, but the only picture Spyral had on hand of Nightwing was of him in costume, and the quality of the picture wasn’t very high. So Tiger knew, theoretically, what Nightwing looked like.

Just— Tiger hadn’t expected him to be— well. He was much more handsome in person.

“Oh good, he’s here.” Helena said through his earpiece. She had eyes on the restaurant, too. “Be cool, Tiger, and for the love of god please try and be a little bit friendly. Give him a nice greeting, make small talk—“

“I know what to do.” Tiger grumbled.

A waitress led Nightwing to his table, and Tiger could only watch, caught off guard, as the man took the seat across from him with effortless grace. Nightwing smiled at him, and Tiger felt something happen inside him that may or may not have been his lungs exploding.

“Can I start you two gentlemen with anything to drink? Some wine, maybe?” The waitress said, handing them both a menu.

“Just water.” Tiger said. He frowned minutely when Helena barked in his ear: “Say please, you heathen!” “Please.”

The waitress walked away, and once again Nightwing’s smile was directed at him. “It was nice of Helena to set this up for us.” He said. “I’m Dick, by the way.”

“Pleasure.” Tiger shook his hand. It was a nice hand, Tiger couldn’t help but notice, rough with callouses in some spots and perfectly smooth and soft in others. It was almost hard to let go.

“Don’t use a fake name,” Helena said. Tiger had to suppress a confused frown. He would never have used his real identity on a mission, but… it wasn’t as if it went against Tiger’s (however loose) morals, so, an order was an order.

“I’m called Tiger.” He said as their hands separated. Dick smiled again. The man was doing a lot of smiling. Quite a lot. Had he even stopped smiling since he sat down?

“Is that a nickname?” Dick asked.

“In a sense.” Tiger said. “I assume Dick is a nickname as well?”

The waitress came back with their waters, then. Dick thanked her, and Tiger was quick to follow suit lest Helena berate him for his manners again.

“Yeah, short for Richard.” Dick said. He took a sip of his water. “Though I’ve always wondered, how you get Dick from Richard, anyway? I mean, it’s my name, I oughta know, but it’s a mystery.”

“Well,” Tiger said. “Asking nicely should do the trick.”

Dick choked on his next drink and sprayed water all over the tablecloth. “Oh my god!” He damn near yelled. “Did you just call me a slut?!”

“No, I—“

“Tiger, don’t call him a slut!”

“I did not! I’m sorry, I didn’t— I didn’t call you a slut.” Tiger verbally flailed. He winced. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re very classy.”

“Nice save, Prince Charming.” Tiger could hear the smirk in Helena’s voice. He winced again, even as Dick started snickering.

“Well, I think this date is off to a great start.” He opened his menu, looking up at Tiger through his lashes. “And for the record, you’re right. I’m the classiest slut in Blüdhaven.”

Then it was Tiger’s turn to choke. Picking up his own menu, Tiger wondered when Dick was going to start talking in code. If classiest slut in Bludhaven was code for something, Tiger couldn’t imagine what.

A moment or so passed in easy silence as the two men looked over the menu (or, Dick looked over the menu and Tiger peaked over his menu at Dick). It was Dick who broke it. “I think I’ll get the cannelloni, with the mushrooms,” he said. “How about you?”

“Hm,” Tiger quickly looked back down at the menu in his hands that he hadn’t read yet. “I haven’t decided.”

“Are you going to make moon eyes at my contact all night or are you going to make some conversation?” There was amusement in Helena’s tone, but Tiger straightened his back like he’d been reprimanded anyway.

“So, Dick,” Tiger took one last glance at the menu before setting it down on the table. He fixed his most attentive gaze on the man sitting across from him. “Tell me about yourself.”

Dick let out a little trill of a laugh, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. “Oh, well, what would you like to know?”

“Ask him about his family.”

“Tell me about your family.”

Suddenly Dick grinned a dazzling grin, and Tiger realized like a punch to the gut that the smiles Dick had been offering him so far were all canned and generic. Now Dick had gone from handsome to lethally exquisite with one smile. Tiger wasn’t sure if he would survive till the end of this assignment.

“Well, it’s a big one. There’s my dad, and my step mom, and my grandpa who’s technically a butler but he’s basically my grandpa, and my…” Dick took a second to count on his fingers. “Six brothers and sisters, I’m the oldest, and we’re all adopted except for the youngest— though one of those is my sister in law, she and my baby sister Cass got married just this spring. My littlest brother Damian is in grade eight, at Gotham Academy, and he’s actually been homeschooled up until now so I was really nervous he wouldn’t adjust well but he’s actually made a friend! And I don’t want to like flame my baby brother but I honestly wasn’t sure if that would ever happen…”

Tiger watched, captivated, as Dick went on and on about his father’s wedding, and how much of a miracle it was that his youngest brother and his step mother were getting along well, and what the second oldest was doing in his university classes, and probably literally every other single thing even remotely related to his family. He barely stopped for a breath, only pausing when the waitress came back to take their order.

“Oh my god,” Dick laughed suddenly. “I just realized I’ve been talking this whole time, I’m sorry…”

Tiger shook his head. “It’s alright. I like watching you talk.”

“That’s good,” Helena said. “Now, compliment him.”

“You obviously care for your family greatly.” Tiger continued. “Your eyes light up in such a mesmerizing way when you speak of them.”

Dick blushed. He scratched absentmindedly at the back of his neck, another smile on his face. This smile was smaller than the blinding one he gave earlier, but simultaneously seemed just as genuine.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. “And you’d be right, I guess. My family means more to me than, well, anything else in the world, I think.”

Tiger nodded. “I can tell.”

“What about you?”

“Pardon?”

“What about you?” Dick repeated. “Your family.”

Tiger looked away. For a second he said nothing, silently hoping Helena would provide him with an easy answer but his earpiece stayed silent.

He was about to snap something evasive, to tell Dick it was none of his business, when he looked back at Dick’s face and stopped short.

There was such an unfettered kindness in the man’s eyes, an expression of curiosity and care, that pulled the sad truth from Tiger before he could do anything to stop it.

“I… haven’t had a family in a long time.” Tiger admitted.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I understand.” Dick said, voice soft and soothing. Tiger hated it a little bit. Or, more accurately, he hated that he maybe kind of loved it. “I lost my birth family when I was very young… wow, almost twenty years ago, now. I miss them, very much, still. Do you miss yours terribly?”

Tiger frowned into his water. “Of course.”

The conversation petered out then. A minute, then two, passed in silence, until once again it was Dick to speak up first.

“You can be a part of my family, if you like.”

Tiger blinked at him, wide eyed and unable to contain his surprise. But before he could respond, Dick quickly backtracked, red in the face.

“I mean— I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. Wow, that was pretty forward for a first date, huh? Does that count as a marriage proposal? Because if so then I think I just broke my record.”

“Well,” Tiger started carefully. “It wasn’t so bad. I already accidentally called you a slut, so I don’t believe you could put your foot any farther in your mouth than I have mine.”

Dick burst out laughing— a loud, uproarious expression of amusement that caused the patrons around them to turn and glare.

Luckily it was soon after that their food arrived. Cannelloni di funghi for Dick, and atlantic salmon for Tiger. Dick teased him briefly for ordering fish at an italian restaurant, and Helena agreed for only Tiger to hear. Then they were more focused on their food than conversation, but this time the silence was comfortable and amicable.

Tiger could almost forget this wasn’t really a date.

They talked a little more, about things like jobs and how they both knew Helena, and whether they preferred cats or dogs, peanut butter or jam on toast.

Tiger was horrified to learn that Dick put peanut butter (the kind that was less like peanut butter and more like peanut flavoured icing) and jam and honey on his toast all together.

Dick was horrified to learn that Tiger ate his toast plain.

Food forgotten, Dick was in the middle of telling an animated story about the third-oldest brother’s escapades in the business world when he stopped mid sentence. His gaze was stuck on the window to their right.

It was dark outside, and so it was difficult to see anything out the window aside from the reflections of the restaurant’s interior. Tiger followed Dick’s line of sight, squinting into the darkness.

Suddenly he spotted a flash of movement, a familiar glint, and his eyes widened.

“Everybody get down!” Tiger roared. He kicked their table onto its side, grabbed Dick by the shoulder and pulled him down behind the overturned table just in time to dodge the spray of bullets that shattered the windows.

He glanced around the restaurant, checking to make sure no one got shot. The other patrons were cowering under tables and behind chairs, but there was no blood. One less thing for Tiger to worry about.

“Helena, what the hell is going on!” Tiger barked into his earpiece. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Dick pressing a blue domino mask to his face.

“I don’t know!” Helena barked right back.

“How do you not know, don’t you have eyes on the building?!”

“I have my eyes on the building!” Hissed his boss.

“Well, send in backup!”

“There is no backup!”

Tiger’s jaw dropped. Beside him, Dick was quickly unbuttoning his shirt to reveal stripes of black and blue across his chest.

Behind them the gunshots had stopped. Broken glass crunched under numerous heavy footsteps.

“What kind of director sends their agent on a mission without backup!”

Tiger heard Helena groan as if he was the one who fucked up.

“There are six gunmen.” Nightwing said beside him, cool as could be, pulling on a pair of black gloves with blue palms. “Not here for us, probably for Katherine DuPont, who’s having dinner with her fiancé four tables away from us. Her family just put a bunch of others out of business with their boardwalk casinos, so my best guess is that this is a revenge kidnapping. Pretty sloppy, though, if I do say so myself. You armed?”

“If you don’t already know then maybe it’s you who is being sloppy.” Tiger said, pulling out the gun he’d stashed in his suit jacket. Nightwing chuckled.

“Okay, I’ll draw their fire. You protect Katherine DuPont. Don’t kill any of the gunmen. My city, my rules.”

And with that the vigilante rolled out from behind the table, right into the attackers line of sight. “Awfully rude of you all to crash a nice place like this, don’t you think, fellas?”

Tiger would have time to be mad at Helena later. Now was combat time.

Tiger leaned out from behind the table and spotted one of the gunmen grabbing a young woman who must have been Miss DuPont by the elbow. Katherine screamed as the man dragged her to her feet. Tiger fired a round into each of the man’s knees. He let go of Katherine and fell to the floor, screaming in pain.

Even as Tiger dodged bullets he felt himself relaxing. This was a regular Tuesday for him.

Kind of sad, actually, that getting shot at was more in his comfort zone than going on a date, however pretend it was.

“Hey, are you stupid? You’re supposed to be aiming at me!” Nightwing yelled. Seated on one of the gunmen’s shoulders, thighs wrapped tightly around his neck, an escrima strike to the man’s temple sent him toppling to the floor in a second.

Tiger barely had time to wonder where Nightwing had been concealing those weapons, tight as his clothing had been, before he was making his way across the restaurant towards Katherine DuPont.

“Stay close to me, ma’am.” Tiger said when he reached her. The woman nodded, terror clear in her wide eyes.

Her fiancé wasn’t as cooperative.

“Hey, stay away from her, creep!” The man pushed Tiger’s shoulder. He reeked of money and white entitlement. Tiger stared incredulously at him, ignoring for a moment the chaos around them.

Katherine punched her fiancé in the chest. “I didn’t see you do anything when that guy grabbed me!” She hissed at him. Thankfully, the man backed down, but not without another glare at Tiger.

A gunshot pulled Tiger’s attention back to the matter at hand. He spun around, instincts screaming at him to make sure Nightwing didn’t get hit.

There stood Helena, smoking gun in hand, smirk on her face. Gunman on the ground at her feet.

“How’s that for backup?”

Tiger frowned at her. “Helena, you’re here? Wait— if you were going to be present anyway then why didn’t you just receive Nightwing’s information yourself?”

Helena inexplicably rolled her eyes at him. “Man, you are slow on the uptake.”

Tiger didn’t have time to interpret that. There were more men running towards them.

“Come on!” He ushered Katherine away in the opposite direction towards the door. They ran outside into the open night, Katherine’s fiance following on their heels. Behind them thundered rapidfire gunshots. Tiger spared a glance over his shoulder.

Helena and Nightwing were fighting off the last of the kidnappers. Unconscious bodies littered the floor around them. The rest of the restaurant was empty; the other patrons and staff had already fled.

Sirens sounded in the distance. Red and blue flashing lights grew closer. The police were on their way. Took them long enough, Tiger thought, grumbling.

With a final solid punch to his jaw the last gunman was down, out cold. The fight was over.

Tiger saw Helena and Nightwing exchange a few friendly words. They shook hands, then made their way to join Tiger and the civilians outside of the restaurant. The spy noticed, with a frown whose source was absolutely not worry no matter what anyone might say, that Nightwing was limping heavily, favouring his right leg.

The electronic chime the door made when it was pushed open sounded like it was coming from an alternate dimension as all of Tiger’s focus narrowed onto Nightwing.

“Are you alright?” He was asking before he could stop himself. Nightwing smiled at him, but Tiger could clearly see the strain on his face the smile was supposed to conceal.

“Just peachy.” Nightwing chirped. Tiger glanced pointedly down to where the vigilante was very obviously avoiding putting weight on his left leg. He sighed. “Old injury healed badly, it acts up from time to time. One of those guys kicked pretty hard. I’ll just need some ice and a brace and I’ll be fine.”

Tiger could accept that.

Why he was suddenly so concerned with the well being of a man he literally just met, though, Tiger didn’t want to think about.

Helena eyed where the line of police cars were rounding the corner onto their street, sirens blaring. “We’d better get out of here. Agent one, take Nightwing and go. I’ll meet you back at HQ, and then we’re going to have to review your detective abilities.”

“Yes, Matron.”

Then she was sinking back into the shadows like one of the bats, disappearing entirely.

A soft hand on Tiger’s arm momentarily kept him from leaving. Katherine DuPont was looking at him with wide, shining eyes.

“Thank you,” She breathed. Tiger said nothing, uncomfortable and unused to such blatant gratitude. He shook her arm off, ignored the fiance glaring daggers at the back of his head.

Just as the police cars stopped a few metres away, Tiger threw one of Nightwing’s arms over his shoulders and walked them both as quickly as they could go into a nearby alley. Tiger did his best to ignore the warmth radiating from the man pressed to his side, and ignore the urge to press appreciatively into the little bit of give he could feel under his hold on Nightwing’s waist. That was not professional behaviour in the slightest. And Tiger was a professional.

They stopped at the other end of the alley. It was late, and the street beyond was practically deserted by downtown standards.

“I have a safehouse pretty close to here where you can drop me off,” Nightwing said.

Tiger weighed his options.

As far as he understood, walking someone home at the end of the night was a very date-like activity. And this hadn’t actually been a date (which was admittedly regrettable). But, then again, Nightwing was compromised. It would be irresponsible to leave him alone now. Taking him back to his safe house would be the logical thing to do.

With one more furtive glance around to make sure no one (ie Helena) was watching, Tiger quickly reached down and took Nightwing up into his arms, holding him bridal style. Nightwing gasped as he was lifted, throwing his arms around Tiger’s neck.

“Oh,” Nightwing grinned. “I like this.”

Tiger flushed against his will. “It’s faster this way.” He insisted. There was absolutely no ulterior motive here. None.

Although, holding Nightwing like this felt very nice.

Tiger shook those thoughts away. He started walking.

It didn’t take long at all to get to Nightwing’s safehouse, only a few minutes at Tiger’s usual brisk pace. They took the sidewalk, Nightwing pointing out every now and then where to turn. A few people stared as they walked by. Tiger didn’t concern himself with them.

Tiger carried Nightwing all the way up to his door, where he finally set him down so the man could start undoing all the locks and shutting down the security measures so he could get inside. A few clicking noises and a mechanical whirr later the door was ready to open. Only, Nightwing didn’t open the door.

He turned back to Tiger, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Stop looking at his mouth, Tiger scolded himself.

Nightwing pressed a button somewhere on his mask that caused his white lenses to slide back and shuffled closer to him, until there was zero semblance of a professional distance. “You know, I don’t usually do kisses on the first date, but…”

Tiger leaned back, blinking at the much shorter man. “You-- this isn’t-- you realize there is no point in keeping up the ruse, right?”

“What ruse?”

“That this was a date. It was just a cover, remember? In fact, since we were interrupted, you might as well give me whatever intel you were meant to pass on in the first place directly.”

Nightwing gave him a puzzled look. “What are you talking about?”

Tiger sighed. His patience was quickly slipping away from him. “You had intel to pass on to Helena. I was the middle man. The date was just a cover to meet.”

Nightwing stared at him for a moment longer. Then another moment. Then, all of a sudden, he burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” He cackled, “I can’t believe Helena. Is that what she told you? Because there is no intel, this was a date, dude. This whole time, it was just a date. Oh, man. And you didn’t realize? Wow!”

Tiger’s mind came to a screeching halt. What? “I-- there was never an assignment?”

Nightwing shook his head, features still alight with laughter. “Nope. Just a date. One of the better ones I’ve had in a good while, in fact.” He sidled closer to Tiger again, then paused, face falling slightly.

“Is that… okay? That we were actually on a date?”

Tiger was taken aback by the sudden lack of confidence in Dick’s voice-- he was Dick again, not Nightwing, he could see his eyes and the emotion in them plainly and Tiger could never imagine a renowned and competent vigilante such as Nightwing being vulnerable in this way, but maybe Dick might, so he was Dick.

“Yes. It is.”

Then Dick was smiling again, and Tiger knew he said the right thing. Slowly, slowly that Tiger could easily stop him if he wanted, but he didn’t really want so he didn’t stop him, Dick’s hands snaked up his arms and came to rest on his shoulders. Then Dick was leaning closer, tilting his face up in invitation.

“So? How about that kiss?”

Tiger met him in the middle, leaning down to press their lips together in a sweet, chaste kiss. Dick’s lips were soft and simply perfect under his, and for the first time ever Tiger thought he wouldn’t mind drowning in a kiss such as this. He brought his hands up to tenderly cup the sides of Dick’s face, pulling the man in deeper.

All too soon the kiss was over and Dick pulled away. Tiger instinctively chased Dick’s lips, but the man had already retreated to stand flat on the ground (he’d gone up onto his toes, Tiger had to resist a laugh).

“I take it I’ll be seeing you again?” Dick asked. Tiger nodded. His voice seemed stuck in his throat.

One last smile and a wave, and Dick was opening the door to his safe house and hobbling inside. Tiger took a moment to catch his breath before walking away.

He’d been planning on yelling at Helena when he got back to Spyral, but now he thought he might have to thank her instead.

#dicktigerweek2019 #dicktigerweek #dicktiger #Tiger King of Kandahar #dick grayson #nightwing #writing #My writing #yahoo

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cherry3point14 · 5 years

Text

Mine: Ch3 - WITH

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Straight up murder. Manipluation. And a date. Word Count: 6000ish. Chapter Summary: How many times will Dean have to fix your life? A/N: I’m so sorry for how long this took pals. Forgive me?

Ao3 if you prefer

In the morning I bring you toast. You look like the last thing you want to do is eat it, which worries me. But I've gotta draw the line somewhere and shoving food down your throat feels like a step too far. Then again, I'm not even sure if it's you on that bed. Knees in your chest and a hollow shadow framing your eyes. You finally broke. Out of sight and locked in this room you fell apart, and I missed it. Missing it makes everything harder. I can help you if I see it happen but now I'm nothing but a stranger standing here holding toast. Now you'll have to heal on your own.

You need this time though. You need it to figure out you're better off without him. Grieving is important even if Carl is, or was a complete asshat. If you don't grieve you can't move on and I need you to be able to move on. I can only show you how perfectly we fit together, you need your eyes open to see it.

The toast is still there when I bring you water, and the water is untouched when I come back with soup hours later. Sam offers to bring you some dinner in the evening and I lie to him, telling him I already have. I don't want him scaring you is all. You don't know him. You know me.

"Dean?"

It's what, the second time you've said my name out loud? The first time, in the diner, you'd been this flirty chef arguing with me about food. And now you're this sad little thing with a voice so distorted from disuse that it doesn't even sound like you.

"Yeah Y/N?" You're not ready for a nickname.

You clear your throat, "I wanted to say thank you for taking me in like this. I'm sure you're probably used to… to witches? But…"

"Witches suck. You never get all the way used to that."

Carl sucked too. Try to remember that Y/N. Remember how he cheated on you. Him and his buddies with the same hooker. Don't make him out to be a martyr.

You suck in a shallow breath letting the air steady you and force a smile to your face. Small, encouraging and not enough to reach your eyes. "Will you tell me about what you do?"

It's too much for day one. We're standing here still shy of twenty-four hours since Carl died in your living room. Since you heard it and I didn't stop it. I've got decades of nightmares that I could tell you but right now even a simple ghost story will keep you awake at night. I want you to sleep and dream. I want you to stay you.

Maybe I'm selfish too. Maybe for a little while longer, I want to be just Dean, the guy you met in a diner who likes pie. Or as close to him as I can get.

"I'll make you a deal, sweetheart." OK, that one slips out. "You eat this delicious grilled cheese I made you and when you're ready I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Within reason. I won't tell you about the hex bag sitting in the top drawer of my desk. Tossed in there amongst a few pictures I keep. When was I going to burn it? Sitting in the Impala with Sam so I can endure all his judgment? And then you were with us because I brought you home.

You look at me like you want to argue. Your chin sticks out a bit, all hard and stubborn. There's fight left in you, under all those jagged edges and I fished it out of you. The diner chef is still in there. The one with fire in her eyes. The one who wanted me to look at her curves and wasn't shy about it.

She's the one who takes a big whiff of the melted cheese goodness in my hand and she's the one who gives in with this tiny nod.

You haven't eaten all day so the first three bites don't touch the sides. My arms cross over my chest while I lean against the door watching you. As weird as it is I can't help watching every bite. Making sure you swallow. I'm not saying grilled cheese is the cure for your emotional turmoil. Except anyone watching you devour it right now might be hard pressed to argue otherwise.

When was the last time someone looked after you Y/N? If I didn't know any better no one ever has.

"Y/N still holed up?" Sam might as well be asking if there's coffee in the pot for the normality in his voice.

I look up from the diner Facebook page. I'd only been looking for the phone number, so I could call and tell them you won't be in for a few days, at least. "Yeah, in her room. Why?"

"Her room? Don't you think it's time we talked about this dude?" He goes from zero to shaking a stressed hand through his hair pretty damn quick.

Shit. I forgot about Sam and his dumb questions that he's been squirreling away for days now.

"I mean, not that I mind but what, we're bringing vics back here now?"

"Y/N's not just another vic." I bite out on a growl. It's a knee jerk reaction to a potential threat to you. I have to swallow it down, pinching the bridge of my nose because this is Sam. Not another douchebag trying to hurt you. "She's not some random victim. She's… we met at the diner remember?"

He doesn't remember. Not at first. He tries but you aren't the first thing on his mind and a part of me is grateful for that. His face scrunches, smoothes out and then finally my dramatic baby brother rolls his eyes at me. "She brought you two pieces of pie?"

It's offensive if anything. His implication that you won me over with two pieces of pie. He's trying to belittle our story before it's started. We're not even at the good part yet, the part where you fall for me.

"That's not- yeah she did- but that's not why I-"

"You like her?" Sam interrupts, astonished that I could.

Like sounds as if I pushed you down in the playground. Like is not enough for you. But there's no way to explain to Sam without telling him everything. That would include all the things he won't approve of. Since there's no way to explain, I don't. I deflect his attention instead.

"So, what if I do?" It's not what I want to say. I want to tell him about Lawrence and how you were made for me. He'll understand if I tell him about all the things that make you different. Again, explanations take a backseat. I'll have to wait until we're official and these things can slip out as pieces of a normal conversation.

He leans back a little, taking time to make up his mind. And when I think the world might end before he speaks again, a smile spreads across his face. "Nothing, it's nice is all. You've got a little crush."

"I do not have a crush."

"Aww look at that, you're blushing."

I'm not but Sam is buying this. He's on board with the idea of you staying because he thinks I've reverted to a preteen with a boner. He makes it all too easy to play along, he hands me my alibi with a bow on, "shut up Sammy."

"Ok, ok," he pushes up from his chair opposite and makes like he's giving himself up. He throws off this big, over the top shrug. "Just nice to see you… you know."

I know. He's doesn't need to say any more than that. I'm happy. I'm happy even if you're tucked up in a room feeling sad for something that I want you to forget already. Because at least you're safe. At least you're where I can keep an eye on you.

Sam is on a supply run because he's not stupid enough to think I'd leave you here. He didn't even bother to ask me if I wanted to go.

So, when you stumble into the room like a baby deer learning to walk for the first time, I'm the only one who gets to enjoy the sight. "You ok there, sweetheart?"

"I got lost about ten times and I still don't know where I am." There's that funny little bite back. I missed it. I don't for a second think you're fixed but you're learning to hide away the dark stuff.

I want this to be the only bad thing you need to bury. Bury this for me Y/N and I'll keep the other shit away.

"Guess I'll need to give you a tour today since you're up and at 'em."

"About that," the way you draw out your words gets my attention. It's bad news obviously because when I try to find your eyes and you're aimlessly looking around the room. "I was thinking maybe it's time for me to go home."

Shit. That's not how this is supposed to go. How can I finish fixing you if you're not here?

I need to pretend this isn't as panic-inducing as it actually is, "are you sure? You're welcome as long as you want."

Longer even.

"Oh my god. Please don't think I'm not beyond grateful. Honestly, I don't know how I would have coped at home... but I can't hide away forever. I don't want to hide away forever anyway. I have a job, at least I hope I still do and…"

"Oh yeah. You're all good. I called and let them know you'd be out for a few days."

That wasn't supposed to come out. It's weird. I know it's weird. I'm some guy who invited you to my secret bunker and now I've called your work without telling you. I wasn't planning on telling you I called them. But Y/N, you've been in that room for three days. What was I supposed to do? Let you get fired?

"You called work for me?" There's no anger in the question. When I finally dare to look at you to gauge how weirded out you are, a barely-there smile sits on your face.

Again, with the being surprised if anyone does anything for you, god it's going to take time to get you over that. "Couldn't having you get fired before you finally make the perfect burger."

My answer is enough of a throwback to your old self that you don't question my behavior.

"I've already made the perfect burger, maybe just not for you."

A hand over my chest and a pout on my lips. "You're breaking my heart."

You laugh. An actual honest to goodness laugh that rings like a bell, "wouldn't want to do that."

I could stay wrapped up in this light conversation for hours. I'd never get tired of it. Hearing you say you don't want to break my heart is a bonus. That's the promise I need, you see that about me without even trying. And I'm what you need. We're already in sync.

"Stay." The request falls from my mouth without permission making me seem desperate. You actually frown a little at the word, leaving me to scramble for a recovery. "Just for tonight, I mean. I'll give you the tour, show you my awesome kitchen and drive you home in the morning?"

It makes sense. It's past noon already, we're already head first into the afternoon. And I'm being selfish again. I want time with you where you're not in your room on a self-imposed lockdown. I'm being impatient too. Because if I let you slip through my fingers it'll be an undetermined amount of time before I get you back again.

"How awesome is this kitchen?"

"Oh honey, you won't want to leave."

Or, at least, that's what I'm hoping.

You'd marveled at the kitchen, rambled on about the stove being a classic. Scrunched your face at the ingredients on offer. I take note of everything. I'll make sure everything is how you want it next time. If it had been perfect this time maybe you wouldn't have left.

You're a good actress. When I drop you off home and walk you to the door like the gentleman you deserve there's hardly a flicker on your face. At least Carl had died without leaving bloodstains all over the place. Looking around your living room it's hard to tell he was ever here. Does that help Y/N? Does that help you pretend that you're going to be ok? You don't have to pretend for me, even if you still do. Your tone is forced, too high and there's a tremble in your smile when you see me out.

Don't worry about being alone. I'm not going far.

After you think I leave you try to avoid parts of your own home. Phone calls are made standing on the opposite side of the room. For a while, you disappear from my sight completely. Holed up in other places that aren't that room.

I don't often stick around and see this part. Sam and I usually haul ass out of town before the dust settles so I've got no clue if this is normal behavior. Watching you makes me realize how many other people we've left to feel scared in their own homes. Countless families worried about a monster they don't know how to fight while they try to sleep at night. It makes motel hopping all my life seem like a blessing. Or a necessity.

You're doing so good though. You keep forcing yourself to stand in different spots for as long as you can. I can see the way you pick somewhere to stay until awkwardness, or fear, washes over you and you retreat again. Over and over you try, shoulders locked and back straight, determined to get over this mess. It's only your first day home. And you won't even be here forever, not that you know that yet. But you're sick of being scared and you're training yourself out of it.

Of course, I should have known that the perfect girl for me would have been strong like this. Determined. More than what you seem.

Sam texts me and asks me if you got home alright. That's not what he means. He wants to know where I am. Why I'm still missing. He doesn't know that I'm too caught up in you to have lost track of the time. Sam thinks I've dropped you off and then fallen off the face of the earth, so I lie to him, again. I tell him I'm at a bar because he'll write that off as typical me behavior.

It takes an hour to drive home when I tear myself away. I'm quicker now because the journey is becoming routine. I know where that one speed trap is to avoid and the rest of the way my foot is down. The faster I drive the quicker I can come back to you.

Sam's on his laptop when the bunker door closes behind me. He barely looks up when he tells me what he thinks is good news.

"Hey, you should sleep it off. I think I found us a case."

Well, fuck. If I hadn't been sober already that right there would have done it. So much for my plans.

It takes four fucking days to kill the werewolf pack in Salt Lake City. Never mind the fact that it's the opposite direction to you and every mile we drive makes my mouth itch. They'd been good at covering their tracks, dragging the whole messy business out. Sure, we've worked cases that go on longer. Sure, what's four days in the grand fucking scheme of things? Four days is all it takes for something to happen to you if I'm not there. When we take the last of them out my silver knife ends up buried deep in the pack leaders heart. I make sure to give it an extra twist for us both. This asshole kept me from you. All I've had for four days are a few facebook updates between the constant worry. The first day it's a picture. You in your whites brandishing a big ass knife to the camera. What is it with you and waving knives around like they're not sharp? Then again, you're my girl so it kinda fits. The caption on the picture says you're back at work and people should come on down to eat. Looks to me like you're asking for trouble. Advertising your location out to every creep in a thirty-mile radius. My eye starts twitching a little after that. Then the next day you post a status update that you're thinking about looking for a new car. Goddammit Y/N, you can't wait until these werewolves are done? I've seen your taste in cars and this is not a decision you should be making without me. What's worse is the radio silence that follows that one. People comment on your update with links to used cars for sale, but you don't reply to any of them. Which means I spend the last two days of the hunt with no idea what's going on in that head of yours. No clue if you're ok. The last night in town you put me out of my misery. I'm wiping the blood off my blade and already pretty relieved to be heading home when my phone dings in my pocket. I may not be a social media guy but I know how to set up notifications. A weight I hadn't realized had been crushing my chest disappears with the sound. I wait until Sam is jogging over to Baby for the lighter fluid he forgot to take out my phone. My thumb is still bloody leaving a thick red thumbprint on the screen, it becomes a messy streak when I scroll. You've shared a video of Dr. Sexy MD. It's some dumb viral compilation but you've added a caption; Judge me all you want but I swear those COWBOY BOOTS. You're alive and more than that you're fucking perfect. "What are you smiling at?" Sam asks on his way back. It's pitch black. How does he even see my goofy grin? "Nothing. Glad to be done with all this." I gesture to the haul of dead werewolves. He nods, we’re both glad although he doesn’t know it’s not about the same things. Sam wants to stay tonight and drive fresh tomorrow which is the dumbest idea I've ever heard. I tell him as much. He huffs because he has no idea why I want to get home so bad. He doesn't need to understand as long as he shuts up and takes his shift driving while I get my four hours. I need to be fresh as a daisy when we get back since I'll be driving to you as soon as. It's a little after ten when we finally roll in the next day. Day five of not having seen you. Too long. It's not enough to know that you're ok, I need to see that you're ok. I don't even bother with an excuse when we get back to the bunker. I unload my gear same as always and then I start to leave again. When Sam asks where I'm going my eloquent answer is, "food." Not a lie this time. I'm heading to this diner I know. One with the cutest chef around. I've missed you which is why I'm going to the diner. Normally I'd avoid it because there's nowhere to hide but today I don't care if you see me. Hell, I want you to see me. It's been five goddamn days now, maybe it's time that we stopped playing games. It only takes me an hour to get there. I turn up as the breakfast crowd is leaving but before the lunch rush really starts. Despite there being tables free I walk straight up to the counter. Obviously, Carol is there, smiling like there's nothing weird about my determined stare. "What can I get for you, honey?" She asks with that familiar raspy voice. "French toast, side of bacon, coffee and some facetime with the chef please." It sounds a lot more romantic in my head. I haven't really taken into account that Carol has no idea what the fuck is going on. She doesn't know who I am, which chef I'm talking about or even that I know you. All of that is pretty evident in the confusion etched into her wrinkles. The food part of my order is written down, but she's faltered over the rest. I guess I'll have to elaborate. "Uh- is Y/N working today?" That she understands. "Sure thing, let me get her." She wanders through the door I know leads to the kitchen and I hear Carol's muffled, "Y/N, someone's asking for ya hon." Carol doesn't reappear immediately but I'm the only one at the counter and she's put my order in. Both my orders. So, it's no surprise when you burst through the door first. Like you had that first day. Your face cycles through shock and confusion, settling on an easy smile, "Dean?" I love it when you say that. "Hey, sweetheart. How you doing?" I'm so calm and collected that even I believe my act. But I did have the drive to get my shit together. You close the gap and lean on the counter, putting your weight on your forearms and leaning in. I almost expect a kiss for how close you get. Instead, it's a quiet whisper, "what are you doing here?" I'm not offended because you know what I do. You probably think I'm working a case, if I remember I'll apologize later for scaring you. Right now, I'm too distracted by having you so close. The warmth radiating from your skin makes mine glow. "In the neighborhood." Lie. "And I was hankering for something to eat. Thought I'd stop in and see how you're doing, maybe give you a second chance." See I know you Y/N. I know you better than you know yourself. And you react exactly how I expect. Luckily, I don't find predictability boring, instead, it's a comfort to know what makes you tick. You pull your head back half confused that I'm checking in on you because you don't know what you're worth. Mingled with the confusion you're half frustrated by my challenge. You still want my approval and I still haven't given it to you. Now I'm being mean, dangling the bait in front of your face. "What did you order?" "French toast and bacon." The smile becomes a grin. Mischievous and confident. "I hope you're prepared for the best thing you've ever had in your mouth." My gaze flicks down your body and I almost make a joke. The second-best thing. But I've not had the pleasure of tasting you yet so my reply will have to wait for now. I'll put it with the hundred other things I've held back until you know me as well as I know you. What I do say is more suitable for the acquaintances you think we are. "Good luck with that." You push yourself off the countertop worrying your bottom lip. If you're actually concerned about your abilities your eyes don't show it. You stare me down. Game on.

I'll admit the food is a work of fucking art. It shows up in front of me looking like it's intended for the cover of a cookbook and tastes, somehow, even better. I have to remind myself it's just French toast and bacon. Of course, it's not just either of those things.

You're a goddamn magician. Although a needy one. It's too convenient the way that you saunter back from the kitchen the very second my plate is clear.

"What's the verdict then?"

I can't prove you were watching me, but I take a gamble, your timing can't be that good. "Were you watching me eat?"

Your face flushes for being caught, "maybe."

"You little stalker." I tease hoping to keep you pink.

"Fine. I'm a creep but stop avoiding the question. What do ya think?"

You've been begging for this since day one and I don't deny you another second. I finally give you what you want. "That was awesome."

It's not enough for you, "Are you one of those guys who says awesome a lot or is that an actual compliment?"

The truth is a little of both. I'm not telling you that. "Trust me, sweetheart, it's a compliment."

"Well," you begin. It's the start of an end, I can tell. It means you're satisfied and you're heading back to work.

I'm not ready for this to be over, even for today. "Can I take you out to dinner?"

"What?" You stutter.

"You, me, dinner. It won't be as good as this but we can let someone else cook for the night." I'm not sure how I'll handle it if you turn me down at this point. I know I'm rushing but the moment felt right so the question slipped out. A lot of things seem to slip out around you. And now I'm shitting bricks because what if you say no? This is why I pick up women in bars and forgo the pretense of a date.

Your pause only convinces me you're about to say no. I'd forgotten that you're not where I am yet. Carl died a little over a week ago. Even if he was a cheating bag of dicks you must have felt something for him. There's this fear on your face and as fleeting as it is I still see it. And yet you manage to surprise me, "I'd love to. I'm- I mean I don't know when you were thinking of- I'm working late tonight but I'll get off early tomorrow?"

You don't just want to go on a date, you're actually nervous. You want this. You want me.

"Tomorrow night. Pick you up at 7?"

You stumble backward like now that I've set a time it's finally real. You duck your head and nod. If you're not the most adorable thing I've ever seen.

"Perfect. That's perfect. But I've got to…" your hand motions to the kitchen. I'm not sure I should send you back there this flustered, still I can't help the wink I throw you. It draws out another smile as you disappear.

The diner is getting busy behind me. Tables of conversations all mingling together to create this loud hum. I hadn't noticed till you left. Why would I notice anything else while you're in the room?

Tomorrow will be good and you're working late tonight. All I need to do now is make sure you get home ok. Then tomorrow I can actually spend some time with Sammy because you'll be safe at work, and then safe with me.

The parking lot out the back of the diner is big considering. Purpose built for the place and poorly lit. Pretty perfect really. I can sit the Impala in a far corner and disappear. Y/N, baby, why is it always you? I'd been satisfied with our plans. I'd only come back to make sure you got home and locked your door tight. That's it. I might be anxious for being away for so long. Or you do this to me, you bring this protective side out of me. Either way, I was seeing you safe so I could get some sleep. And now there's this. Or him. It's always some sleazebag with you. Not that I blame you. You can't help it if you attract them. You can't help being a dangerous combination of beautiful and trusting. All the things that made me notice you are exactly the things that lure in creeps. If anything, I should have expected this, I guess. To think, if I hadn't come back. Everything seems fine at first, from a distance. You and one of the younger waitresses are leaving the backdoor together. He follows behind you, locking up and honestly? It looks like any three regular co-workers's having a conversation. The girl even laughs at something you say before wandering off to her car. At least someone else is laughing at your jokes, huh? Then the problem presents itself because fucking hell Y/N why is your car parked so much further away? Of course, this slime ball parked himself next to you. You gave him the perfect opportunity. Hidden in the darkness I see the ways your shoulders tense when he wraps an arm around you. Apparently telling a joke that required him to touch you. He shouldn't be fucking touching you. You are not his to touch. It's the way your body recoils that makes my blood boil. The way your face winces has me holding the steering wheel so tightly the whites of my knuckles look ready to pop. This guy can't take a hint and you're too sweet to tell him. My hand hovers over the handle of my car door. Screw the explanation of why I'm there. I'm ready to tear this guy a new one. I don't jump quite yet. You look so relieved as you finally reach that square of tarmac that separates your cars. This is where you go your separate ways. He still doesn't see how awkward you are. Except this son of a bitch probably does, he just doesn't care. I'm willing you to walk away and I can see you want to. It's not for lack of trying. It's for lack of this prick getting a clue. He takes another step. Too close, too quickly. Then his hand settles on your arm. He's testing the waters and you're standing there probably frozen in fear. This guy is your boss and you like your job, I think anyway. My jaw is probably ticking in time to the beat of your panicked heart. His hand squeezes your arm and then slides upwards, his thumb brushing over your cheek. I find the door that time. It opens with a squeak neither of you hears across the empty space. Or you might hear it. It might be what spurs you into action, being watched. Either way in the next second you jump back into the metal of your car. Your hands form a barrier between you both, flat where they would be pushing against his chest if you could stand to touch him. You book it to your car from there, leaving your new psycho speechless. While I'm proud of you for stopping this before you can truly sink back into your old patterns of falling for losers there's still a little problem I find myself needing to deal with.

Did you know that in the great state of Kansa's if a car is left by the side of the road for more than 48 hours it gets towed? After that letters are sent. Then after 30 days, they auction the car off. This is important. Kansas will destroy my evidence for me. There's nothing strange about being the only two cars on this particular stretch of road. It's early evening and the sun has already begun going down, plus it's a quiet stretch; used by those few who need it. When I flash my lights in his mirror it's still not crazy because that stuff happens all the time. He pulls over because he doesn't have a reason not to. I'm one guy. I pull up behind him I ask if he's got jumper cables since I think my battery's dying. If he was nervous then it disappears at such a goddamn reasonable request. That's what makes this whole thing go so smoothly. My words are ordinary enough that he doesn't question the fact that you only jump start a dead battery. So, he's an idiot as well as a fucking creep. He's hunched over his trunk and wading through the crap he keeps in there when it happens. I happen. His head slams into the car beneath him. Enough to hurt and see the stars that haven't finished coming out yet. I didn't want to spill blood. Blood is messy and telling. Blood makes this a murder instead of an abandoned car. Nobody misses a monster but this guy is a regular joe. He might be a creep who inappropriately touches his staff; doesn't mean he'll disappear easily. I mean, I'll be making sure he disappears, it just needs to happen the right way. No blood, which is why I don't hit his head hard enough to spill any. Although that also means he's not unconscious. He's dazed and confused as he falls to the ground. It only takes seconds before he's looking up at me from the floor. Anger trying to mix with confusion like oil and water. Unlike him I'm calm. This isn't something I decided to do ten minutes ago. This is something I knew I would do for you the minute I met you. This is all for you. He sealed his own fate the moment he touched you. God, it probably wasn't even the first time. It was just the first time I saw him lay hands. He finally spits out something, "what the fuck man?" Not what I'd pick for last words but that's just me. The road is still quiet. It's a little darker now. The sky is a few shades blacker. Hardly noticeable to people who aren't wondering if it's enough to get away with murder at the side of the road. It is enough though. Between the evening shadows and dragging him out of sight, I shouldn't have any problems at all. He's struggling but still pretty out of it, until my weight pins him down and my hands wrap around his throat. See Y/N, I don't want to do this. Not really. I get no joy out of feeling his airways close under my grip, even if he got in our way. His scrambling hands trying to push at my arms only remind me that I'm killing a normal, albeit sleazy, guy. This isn't a monster that's killed innocent people. This guy is the innocent. So, no, I'm not enjoying this. This isn't for my satisfaction. It's for you. Saving you. Hunting assholes. My new business. Feeling his windpipe tense and release against my thumbs, fighting for air, it's all for you. All I see is you in my mind, not him as I end whatever pathetic life he leads. I know you don't know this yet Y/N, baby, but I'll do anything for you. Less than thirty seconds and he stops fighting. His arms fall limp by his sides. Another twenty seconds and his eyes roll back until they close. He's out but he's not dead and knowing the difference is one of the many reasons I'll get away with this. I know things. All the better to protect you. It takes three minutes for the brain, even one as small as his, to die without oxygen. I keep pressing my weight on his throat for five. The last thing I need is him waking up in the trunk. In the end he goes out like Carl. Choking. Dying for doing you wrong. Fitting really. There's dirt on my knees when I get up which is fucking annoying. And there's no time now. I'm sure you'll understand but I don't want you to have to understand. I want everything to be perfect. Tonight I show you how you deserve to be treated. Showing up looking like a kindergartener who scrapped his knees is not how this goes. Dick face, probably should have learned his name, goes into the truck nice and easy since he's not stiff yet. So, that's a win at least. I'm still cautious though since you're going to be in the car. His hands cuffed behind his back and ankles stuck together. Duct tape over his mouth even if his skin is too cold to be living. Can't take any risks tonight Y/N, not when I'm picking you up for our first date.

I'd changed jeans in a gas station bathroom and washed the death off my hands; I'm respectful like that.

It was never going to be enough.

You come to the door in this dress that floats on the air as you walk and fuck me, cowboy boots. Brown, worn and weathered cowboy boots. And as if that wasn't enough you're sporting this smile like you've been waiting all day for me. I'm the luckiest son of a bitch to walk the planet and all I can think to do is blow out this silent whistle on an out breath.

"Sorry, I had no idea how nice to dress and... is it too much?"

I know it hasn't been long, not long enough to touch you, but I reach out for your chin anyway, lifting your face to look at me. "Don't you ever apologize for looking this beautiful sweetheart."

Another smile for me. Tonight, it's all about how many of those I can earn.

You slide into the passenger seat and cross one leg over the other. You know exactly what you're doing. How your hem bounces up your thigh a little. If your plan is to make me question taking you for food, instead of taking you to a bar to drink till we're naked, well done. I'm an idiot.

I actually scoured yelp for the restaurant we do finally make it to. Hours spent reading reviews until I found somewhere that not everyone hated. You're better than going to a bar, for the first date anyway. Not even your skin show will change my mind.

I'm kind of wishing I took you somewhere even fancier than the little Italian though. Except you tell me you've been meaning to try this place when I do the whole holding your chair thing for you. You're getting the whole nine yards from me tonight. And you make every second worth it.

All it takes is, "tell me about yourself," after the orders are in and you're away. Every time you push the conversation towards me I hand it straight back. Do you think you're talking too much? If you do, then you clearly don't understand what's going on. I want to know everything. I want to know all the things I already know, from your own lips, and then I want to hear the rest too.

If you give me all of you I swear I'll keep it safe.

Besides I'm not in a rush. Not like I have a dead guy in the trunk or anything.

Continue to Chapter 4

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage

Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer

#dean x reader #supernatural x reader #spn x reader #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn #supernatural #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean x y/n #dean x you #stalker au #I am so tired #EDITING FOR DAYZ #porbably need to re EDIT tomorrow

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odderancyart · 6 years

Text

Retribution

Chapter 2

First

On AO3

Summary: A late night, after yet another unfruitful day with no work, Detective Edge Serif receives a phonecall from the countryside. There seems to have been a murder.

Warnings: Murder, Violence, Swearing, vaguely referenced minor Past Abuse

Chapter word count: 3331

The breakfast is uncomfortable, at least to Edge. Inspector Fuente doesn’t more than glance at him at times, speaking only to Sir Razz. Sir Razz only graces Edge with a few words. The food is delicious, however. A true English breakfast. There’s tea and eggs and beans and sausage and toast. He hasn’t seen so much food for three people in his life; for it is only for three. Neither Stretch nor Blue eats with them. Instead Stretch is serving tea and food, and where Blue is, Edge doesn’t know. He has left.

He eats until he’s so full he can’t get another bite down. His stomach feels heavy. Then he reaches for the teapot again, only for his hands to once more be ushered away as Stretch grabs it instead, pouring the tea into his cup. Discomfort creeps up his spine as he watches. Being served like this feels unnatural, and he isn’t enjoying it.

Once breakfast is over, however, Sir Razz stands, he looks straight at Inspector Fuente. “Why don’t you show Detective Serif the crime scene, so he can say what he thinks, Inspector?” His voice is steely.

“Good idea, sir,” Inspector Fuente replies politely, even as his gaze darts over to Edge, full of disgruntlement. What the fuck Edge has done him, he doesn’t know. He hasn’t interacted with the Police since he was sixteen and his mother died. Therefore, he simply mirrors the expression.

Sir Razz smiles at him. “Good luck, Detective.”

“Thank you, sir,” Edge says, a smirk playing on his face. “But I don’t need luck.”

The other chuckles, and then Inspector Fuente grunts out something Edge can’t hear. But he starts walking, so he can only assume they’re going to look at the corpse. His soul skips a beat. Brilliant. His first ever murder case was about to begin.

They walk in silence through the first hallway, before Edge sighs. Well then. If that’s how the Inspector is going to be, then he’s just going to have to be the greater one here. As always. “So, Inspector,” he begins, making the other twitch. “How long have you been on the case?”

“Two days,” Inspector Fuente replies stiffly, not looking at him. “Not much have shown up yet. We believe th’ cause of death to be poisoning, but Sir Razz refused to send the body to an autopsy before ‘the detective’ had looked at it.”

Nodding, Edge clasps his hands behind his back. The other walks with his hands deep into his suit pockets, a perpetual scowl on his face. Soon, they reach a door. Inspector Fuente fishes up a brass key from his pocket and stick it into the keyhole. It clicks, and the door slides open. Immediately, an insufferable smell of rotten hits Edge, and he coughs. The other smirks. Waving a hand before his nose, the inspector steps inside, waving for him to follow. As he does, the door closes behind him.

It’s a music room. A sleek grand piano stands in the middle of the room. By the wall there’s a harp, and a couple cellos. Violins hang on the flowery walls. And on the floor, just by a white couch, a body lies. His eyes widen as he steps closer, regarding it carefully. The skeleton is dressed in an elegant, black suit; Edge assumes it’s the latest fashion. It’s stained with something dark red, however. Blood? He’s curled up in a foetal position, and his face looks like it was distorted in pain before death made the muscles relax. Glass is shattered on the floor around him, together with more of the red. Not blood. Wine.

“Poisoned wine?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Probably. A sample is in for analysis.”

When he turns around, the inspector is wearing gloves, kneeling by the corpse. He looks up at him, exasperation written on his face. “Well? Yer here, what do ya think?”

Quickly pulling on his own gloves, Edge joins him at the ground. He hums, studying the lordling’s – was that the right term? He didn’t know much about the British aristocracy – face. Both his sockets were closed, and two huge cracks ran from them. Briefly, he wonders how someone like Sir Gaster could’ve gotten hurt in such a way. His arms had obviously been held around his stomach as he died, and as he a, is on the floor, and b, is lying on literal glass, Edge can only assume he’d fallen.

He tilts the man’s head. A couple superficial scratches had drawn blood from colliding with glass, but it was hardly enough to make true damage. Hm. Pulling at the body, studying it from different angles, Edge nods. “I agree.”

The inspector blinks, and Edge huffs. “Poison.”

“Ah. Yes.”

“So. Why do you hate me already, Inspector? Have we met before? Did I take your lunch money in high school?” he carelessly asks as he slowly pulls of his gloves, one finger at a time. Inspector Fuente snorts.

“As if I would’ve gone to school in the slum, Detective.” As Edge flinches, twisting around to stare at him, he grins. “Yeah I know a lot about you. I wasn’t just about to allow Sir Razz to bring in a detective without at least making sure you didn’t have a criminal record.” He leans against the wall, crossing his arms, as he meets Edge’s gaze. “This is my case. My first major case. I’m not about to allow a servant class private detective to cause trouble for me. ‘M sure you can understand.”

“Perfectly,” Edge replies coldly. Very well then, if that is how the other want to play. He stands, towering over the other. The inspector doesn’t flinch. “Very well. I will keep out of your way if you keep out of mine. If you’re right about me, then you shouldn’t need to worry about me solving it before you, Inspector.”

“I don’t.” His voice is stiff.

Nodding sharply, Edge turns his back toward him. “I’ll show myself out. There is nothing else to do in here anyway.”

They don’t exchange another word as Edge leaves the murder scene behind. He doesn’t slam the door, however much he itches to do so. It would just prove the other right in whatever prejudices he may have about ‘Edge’s kind.’

The manor is a labyrinth, and he’s soon lost. The walls are lined with portraits that all look the same, outside of their clothing – there must be centuries of fashion depicted. His soul is still pounding in fury as he finds yet another stairwell leading down, and as he glances out a window, he realizes it must go beneath the ground. Into the basement. The stairwell is narrow and wooden, and has a door, although it is open.

After a moment of hesitation, Edge steps into the badly lit void. It creaks beneath his shoes. Immediately, the air feels colder, and he exhales slowly. Some of the rage leaves him. He sighs. What the fuck did he expect anyway. People of higher standing never would look at him as an equal. Not even when he, as he hadn’t owned any stocks, actually had more money than most of the folks who had been middle class three years ago and now lives in cardboard boxes on the street. The corner of his mouth twitches. Having both an apartment – if shared with roommates – and an office wasn’t bad at all in these times.

And why would he give a damn what anyone thought, especially some policeman he’d just met?

The basement continued with a narrow hallway, leading into multiple rooms. Most of them seemed abandoned, or used as storage, when he glances inside. Once upon a time it could have been the servants’ quarters, Edge imagines. He certainly hopes Blue and Stretch didn’t live down here now – it can’t be healthy to live underground.

Suddenly, he’s hit by a delicious scent. His mouth waters. Freshly baked bread. He’d lived next to a bakery when he was a kid, he’d recognize it anywhere. Curious, he follows the narrow path until he steps into yet another room. It’s huge, with a wooden bench in the middle. The walls are lined more benches, and kitchen machines such as what seems like a very modern gas stove. An old-fashioned wood oven is, however, open by the opposite wall. Golden bread sits on a table nearby.

By the bench in the middle stands yet another skeleton, thoroughly working a dough. He looks up as Edge steps inside, a smile lighting up his face. “Oh! Hello!”

“Good day,” Edge greets, raising a hand.

“Are you the detective Sir Razz was going to bring in? I can only assume so, since we don’t have a lot of visitors these days,” the skeleton – the cook, he guesses, asks, and as Edge nods, his smile widens. Also he speaks with a British accent. Wiping his hands off on his apron, he steps around the bench, so he can offer one of them to him. “I’m Papyrus Safont – the cook! A pleasure to meet you!”

“Detective Edge Serif.” He shakes the offered hand, unable to keep himself from smiling. Papyrus’ energy certainly seems infective. “Were you close to the deceased?”

The other deflates somewhat, his smile falling. He shakes his head. “No, thankfully not. I mostly stay down here in the kitchen, and Doctor Gaster never would’ve stepped into the basement. This is the servants’ parts of the building.”

Edge raises an eyebrow as Papyrus gestures for him to come in. The kitchen is warm and smells heavenly, and when he’s offered a biscuit, he doesn’t hesitate to take one. “Thankfully?”

Biting on his lower jaw, Papyrus fiddles for a moment before he nods. “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, sir, but Doctor Gaster wasn’t… the best person. Like I said, I hardly ever spoke with him, but Blue and Stretch – especially Stretch, as the butler – got the worst of it. And I’m not certain, but he may have been a bit unkind against Sir Razz as well? I know Blue sometimes was fuming, and it wasn’t for his own sake. Blue cares a lot about Sir Razz, you see.” He sighs, but then his smile returns. “Even so, it’s very sad what happened to him.”

“Truly,” Edge nods, biting down on the biscuit. “Well, this has been highly informative, and it was a pleasure to meet you, but I should probably go back upstairs. We’ll see each other again, though, I am certain.”

“Oh!” Papyrus’ eyes widen comically. But he nods, and smiles, although Edge thinks he can read disappointment in the other’s expression. “Of course! I won’t keep you, sir. I should return to my bread too.”

Nodding back, Edge smiles. “The biscuit was delicious, thank you. You seem to be a wonderful cook.”

“Thank you!” He beams. Then, without warning, he gestures toward the door, shooing Edge towards it. “But you are right, you must go. Go solve the murder, Detective!”

“Don’t worry.” Edge smirks, waving once as he steps out of the kitchen. “I will.”

…

Well upstairs again, Edge searches through the manor until he can find a way outside. By now, it was midday. The sky is grey, with only a few sunrays finding their way through the heavy cloud cover. A chilly breeze makes the few, now brown, leaves still on the trees flutter. The leaves already on the ground crackle as he steps on them, breathing in the cold air. It’s strangely fresh, and the world is quiet. Disconcertingly quiet. There’s no lingering taste of oil or smoke in the air, and no sound of cars or sirens. Just the wind, and his footsteps. His shoulders sink as he relaxes into the quiet. It’s the first time he can remember where it’s quiet. He’s never left the city before.

Sitting down on a wooden bench with black-painted iron armrests, he picks up a cigar from the box he carries in his coat’s inner pocket, and lights it with a match he carries there as well. Smoke rise toward the sky as he puffs on it, leaning his elbow on the armrest and his head on his hand. Staring at nothing, he breathes in a mouthful of smoke. So as for now, looking at the corpse will do him no good. He’ll have to take a better look on the crime scene, however, once he can get a key, so he won’t have to bother Inspector Fuente. He rolls his eyes at the thought.

Until then, he could consider the suspects: everyone.

Sir Razz was maybe not the likeliest choice simply because he had hired a private detective as well as a detective inspector from the Police force, but he still had motive. According to what the cook had mentioned, it wasn’t unlikely Doctor Gaster had been a substandard husband, and then there was of course the fortune he had inherited now when his husband was dead.

Then there were the Fontaine brothers. Suddenly Stretch’s reaction this morning made sense. They both most certainly had a motive, if Papyrus had spoken the truth. Revenge, or pure fear for anything that may come.

And then there was Papyrus. Admittedly, right now, he seemed the least likely one to have committed the murder, but Edge would never claim anyone innocent without a good reason. Perhaps he did it to protect one of the others or had actually encountered the doctor more than he said. There is probably some motive to dig up.

At this point, Edge’s biggest advantage over the inspector is that he’d always been good with people, despite his general personality. And from what he’d seen, the same did not apply to the inspector. He seems like your classical middle- or upper-class snob. Looking down on the servant class. Letting out a chuckle, he grins sharply and stands. He rolls the cigar as he begins to take a slow stroll through the garden. The manor house is lined with thorny bushes and the wing farthest away from the road is covered in poison ivy.

Eventually, he reaches a smaller enclosure. It’s full of garden boxes with green plants inside. Kneeling by the side of one, he recognizes some of it as peppermint. And that tiny purple bush is lavender. An herb garden. Just by its side, an inconspicuous brown door resides, and Edge assumes it leads down into the kitchens. An few apple trees grow nearby, with fruit stubbornly clinging to the bare twigs.

Suddenly, the door crashes open, and Edge jumps, his soul skipping a beat. Twisting around, he finds himself face to face with a wide-eyed Stretch. The other blinks rapidly before visibly relaxing, giving him a polite smile. “Oh, good day, sir. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Oh?”

“Non-servants rarely visit the herb garden,” Stretch explains, smiling faintly. “The Gasters and their guests usually send us if they wish anything from here.”

The corner of Edge’s mouth tilts upwards. “Well. I imagine you already figured it out, but I am quite certain you’re of more respectable birth than I am. At least you know who your father is.”

The other’s eyes widen even more, his mouth parting somewhat. It looks quite comical. Snorting, Edge clasps his hands behind his back. “I am not ashamed, and as I assume Inspector Fuente has told Sir Razz everything about my past, I see no reason to hide it.”

“O-oh.” For a moment, Stretch seems speechless, gaping dumbly. Then he straightens, closes his mouth, and smiles. “Well then. We’re approaching a new time, sir. In the future, perhaps no one’ll care at all.”

“Hopefully,” Edge muses. Imagine that. A world where his lowly birth wouldn’t matter. So much had already changed since the Great War, and more change was to come, he is certain of that. Then he huffs, grinning crookedly at Stretch. “You may call me by my name, Stretch. Like I said, you’re more respectable than I am.”

Stretch’s eyebrows rise, and he stills for a moment. Then he smiles, nodding his head. “Thank you, si- Edge. In private. My brother and Sir Razz wouldn’t like it.”

Shrugging, Edge bows down to pick a peppermint leaf and sticks into his mouth. Delicious. “As you wish.”

Suddenly, Stretch twitches, and fast as lightning fishes up the pocket watch in his vest pocket. “Oh fuck- pardon. I’ve got to go, Sir Razz should’ve had his tea ages ago.”

Nodding, Edge steps out of the way, allowing the other to quickly pick some herbs before hurrying inside through the small door again. For a moment, he considers following, but doesn’t. Turning around, he makes his way back inside, searching for Blue. Perhaps it was time to have a chat with him.

…

After searching through the manor, he finds Blue in a small study close to Sir Razz’s own rooms. The door stands open, and so he only knocks lightly on the door before stepping inside as Blue looks up, waving for him to do so. The study has pale blue walls, a few bookcases, and a writing desk full of paper and binders. Blue sits bowed over them, a fountain pen in hand.

“Pardon me as I finish up, sir,” he says apologetically as Edge sits in a brown chair on the other side of the desk.

Edge shakes his head. “No hurry.”

Nodding, smiling gratefully, Blue continues to scribble on the papers for a while, before carefully putting it all down into his desk drawers, effectively clearing the desk. “My apologies. I’m helping Sir Razz figure out Doctor Gaster’s economy – he wouldn’t let anyone else look at it before he died, so we don’t really know how much money we have yet, and what it goes to.” Clasping his hands on top of the desk, he shakes his head. “But that’s no issue of yours, of course. We will pay you sufficiently. Now, how can I help you, sir?”

Folding his hands in his lap and straightening his back, Edge meets his gaze. His expression is fully serious as he looks at the shorter. “I’d like to have a chat about the inhabitants of the manor – anyone who were around on the time of the crime. I assume you realize you’re all suspects?”

“Yes.” Blue’s voice is dry, but he nods, still smiling. “Inspector Fuente has interviewed us all. We were expecting the same from you. What do you wish to know?”

“The only inhabitants of Duskshire Manor are Sir Razz, you, Stretch, and Papyrus, correct?” Blue nods. “And there was no one else here that night?”

“There was only us. And, as Inspector Fuente has let us know, there are no signs of forced entry. The death was also after midnight, as that was the last time any of us saw him, and so everything was locked.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Edge pulls a notebook out of another inner-pocket. Inner-pockets are so damn useful. He scribbles a few words down with his fountain pen. “And Papyrus has let me know Doctor Gaster wasn’t the kindest employer. Did you hold any grudges?”

Blue blinks, an expression of affront appearing on his face. Straightening in his chair, he shakes his head firmly. “It is true the doctor had little patience for mistakes, sir, but my family have been proud servants of the Gaster family for generations, ever since my great great grandfather moved to England from France. I would never do anything to disgrace us in such a way, and neither would my brother. We are honourable, hard-working people.”

“I don’t mean to offend,” Edge replies mildly. That was a bit unexpected. He hadn’t thoughts Blue would react that strongly.

Sighing, Blue shakes his head again, softer this time. “My apologies, sir. Mother always did tell me I have a short temper. Ask away.”

After a moment of silence, Edge looks him straight into the eyes. “Did the doctor ever lay a hand on you?”

#underfell #underswap #swapfell #undertale #uf papyrus #us papyrus #sf sans #uf sans #us sans #ut papyrus #gaster #noir detective #murder #mystery #my writing

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pjbehindthesun · 6 years

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chapter 10: asleep, awake, asleep

Wednesday, October 10th, 1990

My eyes fly open and I sit bolt upright, flinging the covers forward, blood hammering in my ears. This is my routine now. Every morning, before sunrise, my brain screams me awake, my autonomic nervous system in overdrive: what the fuck do you think you’re doing, you think you have time to sleep, with all the work you have to do? get up get up GET UP

I take a shaky breath and check the clock on my nightstand. Well, shit, it’s almost 6:00, which is better than I’ve been able to do in a while. Alex isn’t in the bed with me anymore. I’d woken up a few times last night, like I usually do, and this time I spent the quiet hours watching him sleep, analyzing all the familiar lines and angles of his face. It’s hard to articulate this feeling I get when I look at him now. I missed him when I was away. Of course I did. We have our problems, our rifts, our differences, the things we’ve said along the way and can’t take back. But we’ve also spent years together, breaking this love in, taking for granted that the other person is always here. Which is why my chest hurts so much when I remember last night, when I realize that he didn’t even register my absence. Maybe we’re taking different things for granted. Maybe there’s not much to come home to anymore.

There are mysterious smells and noises coming down the hallway, so I toss on one of his old t-shirts and go out to see what he’s up to, bracing myself for what’s sure to be an ugly talk. But I find him in our tiny kitchen with his back to me, cooking breakfast in his work clothes, and to my great amusement, I notice he’s got one of the little aprons I sewed tied on over his slacks. The little blue gingham one with the ruffled hem and the red tulip patch on the pocket. He’s got a half dozen sad-looking red roses on our coffee table, perking up in some water in the giant filtration flask I’d stolen from the lab to use as a vase for all the times Lucy randomly drops off flowers.

I can’t remember the last time he cooked. Or bought me flowers. I stand as still as a statue, unwilling to disturb the scene just in case it’s a dream, just in case I’m still asleep and really about to wake up to the same old shit. If that happens, I want to remember this moment where I know what it feels like to be cared for.

He turns around with a frying pan full of pancakes in his hand and nearly drops it.

“You’re sneaky, C,” he jokes with a cocked eyebrow, “I’m not done yet.” He nods at the table, which is set for breakfast in the loosest possible interpretation of the word “set.”

“Let me help,” I say as I squeeze behind him to grab some glasses. Jesus fuck, the kitchen’s a disaster, but I can’t stop grinning.

He sets the pan down and wraps his arms around me, peppering little kisses over my nose and cheeks as he says, “you’ll do no such thing. You’ll sit and have coffee until I’m done ravaging our kitchen, and then you’ll eat pancakes while I clean up this fucking mess.”

“You had me at coffee,” I give him one more kiss before twisting out of his grip to steal the mug on the counter, curling up on the couch to enjoy the spectacle. “Carry on.”

As he clatters around in the kitchen, I brush the rose petals with my fingertips. “And just when and where did you get these?”

“Huh?” he turns around from his work of mutilating oranges on my grandma’s little blue Depression glass juicer. “Oh, down at the convenience store, before you woke up. Sorry, I tried to pick the least dismal ones they had.”

I smile into my coffee once he turns around, in spite of myself. Shit, he’s really trying. Maybe we don’t even need to talk about it now. Maybe we both just needed the night to sleep on it, to process things and come back around to one another. I watch him sow chaos, burning his finger here, almost dropping a glass there, cursing as he tries to fish tiny eggshell fragments out of the bowl. It’s a ridiculous, over-the-top gesture, sure. But Alex isn’t usually the gesture type. Alex is usually the frowny, sardonic, superiority complex type who sneers at stereotypically romantic shit like this. And I guess I am, too, except that when the real connection feels like it’s evaporating before your eyes, sometimes these big, overdramatic, silly shows of affection are all you have. I have no idea what brought on this flood of sentimentality, but I’ll take it. It’s enough. It has to be.

With a flourish, he pulls a chair away from the table and gestures for me to come over. I smile as I survey the damage: there are seeds floating in the orange juice, the toast looks like something that fell off the space shuttle, the pancakes look dense enough to break a tooth, and the scrambled eggs look like rubbery choking hazards, but it all looks like the work of someone who loves me and tried his hardest to make a broken thing whole again.

“Guess I oughta withdraw my application to Le Cordon Bleu,” he chuckles, ruffling his hair in that way that has always killed me, ever since that night we met.

“Yeah, I’d really rather you hang around here and try to poison me instead. Alex, this is… this is wonderful.”

With nothing more than a rueful expression to offer me, he pulls me into a hug. I bury my head in his chest. Please, don’t let this fade again.

We sit down and get to work on his breakfast, which is borderline inedible but we manage to persevere thanks to the fortification of another pot of strong coffee. I fill him in on the gossip from back home and he listens quietly, stroking the back of my hand. By the time we’ve cleared our plates, I’m beginning to feel like maybe it won’t fade after all, and I help him with the washing up even though he insists he’s got it. (More than anything, I’m just afraid for the well-being of my favorite dishes.) After I send him off to work with a kiss – sort of a chaste, 50s housewife, sepia-tone version of our usual, because even though I’m feeling better about everything this morning, it’s all I can manage – I sit back down on our couch, contemplating the roses. I know I’m supposed to make two phone calls, but I’m only going to make one.

***

“Ahh, hey!”

My first waking moment of the day, and I’m crying out in surprise as Jeff lunges over me like some kind of enraged mythical sea monster to smack my alarm clock so hard that it jostles off the table, partially crushing me in the process. Then, muttering something barely intelligible about “that’s what you get, rude motherfucker… not you, obviously…” he sinks back to his original position, the way we’d been all night, curled up together with his arms locked around me. He buries his nose back in the crook of my neck, his warm breath sending a wave of the best kind of goosebumps down my spine, and I let myself drift back against him, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Waking up next to him always fills me with the purest sense of peace. I mean, as peaceful as a person can possibly feel after the vicious assault of an alarm clock. When he doesn’t have to wake up for one of those insanely early shifts at Raison D’Etre, he’s emphatically not a morning person, and it’s almost impossible to kick him out of my bed and get to work on time. But his grumpiness is so cute that I don’t even mind the struggle.

“Morning, sunshine,” I laugh, trying to twist around to face him but getting locked into an even tighter grip by the sea monster. A gravelly rumble is all I hear in response. I somehow manage to squirm around anyway, and he grumbles again, I assume in general approval.

“Je-effff,” I singsong, nuzzling his nose. “It’s quarter of, I need to get in the shower…”

“Noooo, why would you do that, you smell fuckin amazing,” he mutters, brushing his lips against mine for a soft, scratchy kiss.

“I mean, at this point I probably just smell like you.”

“Yeah… isn’t that fucking amazing?” he whispers between kisses.

“Be that as it may, it’s frowned upon to show up to a professional workplace smelling of sex and bassist,” I whisper back. “Shower with me?”

Well, that woke him up. His eyes fly open and he rolls me onto my back, grinning as he props himself up over me. “I’m not even sure what’s worse, the fact that my girlfriend just told me I stink or the fact that I don’t even care if it means I get to see her all naked and wet…”

“You’re such an easy mark,” I duck under his outstretched arm and make my escape, dodging the pillows he’s throwing at me.

We manage to behave enough in the shower to actually get measurably cleaner, and I’m ready for work with time to kill. Just as we’re putting coffee mugs in the sink, though, my phone rings. Jeff gets there first. It kind of feels like someone inflates a little balloon in my chest every time he does something like answer the phone in my place. Like it’s his place. Ours.

“Hello?” Whatever he hears in response dissolves his neutral expression into an exasperated shake of his head, although he’s smiling. “Yeah, maybe I do live here now, what’s it to you?”

That balloon puffs up a tiny bit more, although now I’m trying to get his attention so I can find out who’s calling me.

“Cora,” he explains as he hands the receiver over to me. Shit, I’d gotten so wrapped up in Jeff that I’d forgotten she was supposed to call me. My stomach flips as I wonder all over again what happened when she got home last night.

“Got yourself a concierge, huh Luce?” Her voice is the same as always, nonchalant and vaguely amused, like the smirk refuses to stay confined on her face and has to express itself in her tone. That doesn’t mean anything, though, Cora’s the queen of deflection.

“Hey, how’d it go?” I ask her, shooting a loaded look at Jeff, who understands instantly and sits on my couch to start pulling on his sneakers so we can go.

“Good, good… you got a sec before work, you wanna come up?”

“Yeah, be right up.” I hang up, knowing that if she actually wants to talk about it, it isn't the worst case scenario, but it can’t be that good either.

“So?” Jeff asks. “The fuck do you think happened?”

“I have no clue, genuinely.”

“I don’t know, she sounded pretty normal on the phone. I mean, normal for her.”

“Yeah,” I’m unconvinced, although I have to chuckle at his qualifier. Jeff doesn’t exactly get Cora. If the worst really happened, there’s no way she would call. This is her trying to convince me, and by extension herself, that whatever it is, it’s fine.

Outside Cora’s door, before I can knock, Jeff pulls me into his arms and rocks us back and forth a bit, turning us slowly in a circle, like middle schoolers at a dance.

“So, I need to go make sure my singer survived the night, but you girls have a good talk, and, uhm,” he puts his lips to my ear and drops his voice, to that whisper that scrapes down low, “come to rehearsal later?”

“Hey, Lucy, you have a bassist on your face,” Cora’s voice taunts, and when I pull back from Jeff I see her mischievous grin. Ha shit, I didn’t even hear her open the door.

“Hadn’t noticed,” I sneer.

“Yeah, well, the longer it’s there, the less you notice it. You’re acclimated now.”

“Meh, I think I’ll keep it,” I squint at Jeff in appraisal.

“Pretty sure I’m not cancerous,” he chuckles. “You two have fun, and get your asses to come hear us play tonight, okay? Cora, you know Stone’s gonna have a fit if you don’t.”

“Stone’s gonna have a fit no matter what anyone does, it’s an immutable Law of Stonerism, like the law of conservation of bitchiness,” she retorts with a wicked grin.

“You’re not wrong,” Jeff says before giving me a kiss on the cheek and heading back to his apartment. I follow Cora inside, and the first thing I lay eyes on explains what happened last night better than anything she could tell me. She’s not rushing to say anything, though, so I wait until we’ve got cups of coffee and are sitting on her couch before I broach the subject.

“Roses, huh?”

She beams at the flowers on the table. “Yeah. Isn’t that cute?”

I can’t stop myself from smiling, but it’s more a reflex than anything else. The most socially acceptable expression of my shock. “But… you hate roses. The cliche…”

“Check.”

“…the cheese factor…”

“Present.”

“…the whole religious undertone…”

“Perennially gross.”

“Points for botanically correct punning. And the environmental impact??”

“Ghastly. But, like, he bought me flowers, Lucy.”

“Yes, I can see that. Your absolute least favorite thing, how fucking romantic.”

“No, I mean… Alex, Alex bought flowers. I don’t need to understand anything else about what happened last night, Lucy. I know exactly how sorry he is, if he woke up freakishly early to root through sad mini-mart roses –” I cringe and don’t even bother hiding it, which earns me a couch pillow to the side of the head “– just to show me how much I actually mean to him.”

That, or you’re so hard up for any signs of life in this relationship that even sad mini-mart roses are an appropriate apology for forgetting all about your existence. But I can’t say that to her. I’ve never been able to say shit like that to her. I’m all for our friendship being based on honesty, but what happens if you criticize a friend’s relationship? If they break up, what then? You’re the meddling asshole who helped contribute to your friend’s misery. And even worse, if they don’t break up, then you’ve established that you don’t like who they’re dating, and everything gets so awkward! I can’t do that with Cora. I don’t pretend to understand what she sees in Alex and I think he’s pretty awful to her, but she’s too important to me to alienate over a fucking boy.

“Yeah, it’s definitely out of character for him, he must have really been shaken up,” is all the diplomacy I can manage.

“The poor guy, he had it written down right but just remembered it wrong,” she explains, “and I mean, I was hurt, but everybody makes mistakes, right?”

“Well, right,” I say slowly, picking my words, “but that’s a pretty big one, didn’t you guys talk about your flight on the phone while you were gone?”

She bites her lips in, staring at the roses again. “Yeah, but like, a couple days before I got back, so it’s not like it was fresh in his mind.”

“No, that’s true.” She’s looking for anything small to excuse it, to make it better. She doesn’t even look like she wants to talk about it with me but she knows I’d have killed her if she didn’t call. Maybe the kindest thing I can do is just to let her have whatever illusion those roses are projecting on her eyes.

“So, are you gonna come see the guys tonight or what? Jeff was right, Stone didn’t shut up about you while you were gone, I think he really wants your opinion on their new stuff. He’s really been putting Eddie through his paces.”

At Stone’s name she rolls her eyes and smiles, which at this point is like a Pavlovian response that either one of them has been conditioned to give when you mention the other. “Oh, the chairman of the board. I bet he’s been impossible. But even he’s gonna have a hard time keeping up with Eddie, I think.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Have you listened to the guy talk?”

“I mean, yeah, but it’s not like he says much. I couldn’t get two words out of him!”

She shakes her head at me. “He wasn’t very talkative with me either, unless we were talking about music. Or surfing. Then he lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. He was all about getting back to work as soon as possible, sleeping at the practice space… I think Stone’s got his hands full!”

“Well, anyway, you’d better prevent World War III and come hear them sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah…” she says slowly, wrinkling her nose. “I’d like to, but I’ve got so much shit to catch up on. Before my trip, my advisor gave me this list as long as my arm of follow-up experiments he wants me to run, and I’ve got this fucking grant proposal due soon… I should probably make some headway on that…”

“What’s a couple of hours? You won’t solve the world’s problems tonight, come play!”

“Luce…” her expression’s genuinely strained as she fixates on all the work she has to do. I know that look. And unless someone’s opened a Seattle chapter of Overachievers Anonymous, there’s no talking her out of it. I just sigh as I get up to put my mug in the sink.

“Okay, okay. Well, maybe this weekend?”

***

Friday, October 12th, 1990

“Cyclops again? Man, Stone, I wanted to go to Mama’s,” Jeff complains, but I’m not having it. Cora’s working tonight and she’s been a ghost since she got home. And I only know like thirdhand what happened with Alex that night, because Lucy told Jeff and he finally knuckled under and told me after I harassed him enough. I mean, Cora doesn’t owe me an explanation, it’s her life. And I feel so pathetic trying to run into her like this just to talk to her about it, but… she told me she’d call.

“You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit,” Mike scolds Jeff as we bend our path towards Cyclops, and earns himself a headlock from the bassist. Luckily Eddie’s pretty flexible and doesn’t give a shit, and Dave’s got a pregnant girlfriend at home so it’s not like he’s hanging around all that much outside of playing, so there’s no one else to convince. We get to the cafe and she’s nowhere to be seen. She’s probably in the back. Luckily we’re here often enough that Emily knows to seat us in Cora’s section, and we grab our usual booth while we wait. Eddie pulls out that little notebook of his he’s always writing in, and Mike and Jeff are debating some basketball game that I honestly couldn’t give a shit about, so it gives me an excuse to look around for Cora without getting made fun of by anyone.

Where the hell is she? This place is the size of a shoebox, but it’s got all these little side alleys and bad sight lines and dim lighting, so I’m trying not to crane my neck too obviously but I can’t find her anywhere. I’m just resigning to my fate of learning something about sports when I notice with a jolt that a pretty, redheaded girl just wandered out of the kitchen and stopped at the till behind the bar.

She’s got her back to us while she works, so I take the opportunity before she spots us to study all the little details I’ve been missing so much. The way her hair always looks like it’s a darker shade of red when she wears it piled up in a bun like that. The wisp that inevitably escapes and falls across her forehead and into her eyes, making her unconsciously sweep it back (while I always have to fight the urge to do it for her, because speaking from experience I know she’d just punch me if I tried). The little baby hairs at the nape of her neck, which never stay up in a ponytail and somehow look even softer than the rest of it. As usual, she’s got those little brass earrings in, the tiny little stars she always wears. And that big, chunky dark green sweater, the one she has to roll the cuffs of twice in order to be able to do anything with her hands. I can’t see much else until she comes out from behind the bar and walks over to us with a smile. Oh, hell, she’s wearing that skirt. Cora doesn’t wear skirts a lot and she only owns two, as far as I can tell, but this one’s my favorite. It’s black, and tight, and stops just above her knees. The fabric looks sort of stretchy. I don’t even try to stop my mind from imagining how it would feel to bunch it up in my fists as I kiss her, reach down and slowly work it upwards, slide my hands up underneath it and over her soft skin to pick her up and set her on the counter, wrap her legs around my back, and…

“Helloooo, earth to Stoner,” she calls, and I’m ripped out of that gorgeous dream to see her staring at me with eyebrows raised. I guess I’ve been writing my cheesy bodice ripper in my mind long enough for everyone else to have ordered their dinner? “I asked you what you want?”

Oh. Well, I want to make you scream my name, but I doubt that’s what you’re asking. Think. Think!

“Cheeseburger?” the word comes out sounding like I’m a non-native speaker who’s never heard it before and is asking someone to confirm the pronunciation.

“Are you asking me or ordering me?”

Damn it, woman, that’s a whole other fantasy.

“No, uh, yeah, I’ll have a cheeseburger.”

“Welcome back,” she says dryly, jotting it down on her notepad with a little smirk. Jesus, I’ve been missing her and worrying about her so much lately that I don’t even know how to keep a grip on reality when I finally get to be around her. Like I’d gotten so comfortable with the dream of Cora that I don’t even know how to act normal around the real one anymore.

Speaking of the real one, she looks tired. I’ve already stared at her like a creep enough for one night, but I can’t help noticing she’s got big dark circles under her eyes. And she looks pale. I mean, pale even for her. She’s still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, but she looks so worn out. What the fuck has happened to her this week?

“Speaking of welcome back,” Mike shouts, “where ya been, Cora? We miss you at practice, we thought Lucy would drag you out the other night.”

“Yeah,” she hedges, “but I’ve got all this work I have to get done…”

“Typical mad scientist shit, huh?” and she and Mike share a grin. Eddie suddenly rips his gaze from the page he’s been tattooing and frowns at Cora.

“Wh-, what does that mean, I thought you worked here?”

“Well, I do,” she explains, tugging her apron, “but this is a part-time gig, the real job is grad school.”

“Whoa, really?” he’s still scowling.

“Yep. Mild-mannered waitress by day, mad scientist by night… or is it the other way around…”

“You’re about as mild-mannered as a rabid badger, Red,” I break into their conversation, just wanting her to look at me again so I can study her face some more. “OW!” She kicks me hard in the shins and gives me a saccharine smile.

“Well, if I want to keep working here, I need to get back to it,” she says.

“Yes, comely bar wench, fetch us some ale and – OWWW!” Now I’m just asking for it. At least she’s wearing Converse today and not the Docs.

“Dude, you’re such a fuckin moron,” Jeff shakes his head at me as Cora walks away to put in our orders. Eddie’s eyes immediately drop back to his notebook. I’ve already learned during this short visit that if he’s writing, I don’t want to interrupt, because he comes up with some incredibly good shit. All of our old Love Bone songs sound so totally different with the kinds of lyrics he’s putting over the top of them, so much harder-edged.

“So!” Jeff claps and rubs his hands together. “Hoops, mañana?”

“Si, señor,” Mike agrees in an exaggerated accent.

“Y tu tambien, Eddie?”

“Absolutely, yeah!” He looks up from his writing excitedly and the three of them start scheming about a game of pickup. “What about you, Stone?”

Jeff snorts and I shoot him a glare before explaining to Ed, “I personally don’t play.”

“Yeah, if you saw him try, you’d know why… OW!”

“That’s right motherfucker, now it’s my turn to kick people in the shins!”

“Pretty macho for a cheerleader…” We spend the rest of dinner bickering and making plans for practice and, yes, basketball for the weekend, but I’ve got one eye on Cora the whole time. No, really, both eyes. I really don’t have the attention span for much of anything else. I don’t think anybody else has noticed how exhausted she looks. I mean, Eddie wouldn’t know the difference, he’s known her for five minutes, but the other two stooges are so distracted about some random dude on the New Jersey Nets with a ridiculous name to pay her any mind. And she’s putting on a good show, but something’s not right. I just wish I could get her alone for five minutes and talk…

I climb out of the booth and walk up to the bar, where she’s pouring some beers for another table.

“Hey, uhm, I was kidding about the wench part, you know, I didn’t mean to…”

She glances up at me with those big, warm brown eyes I’d missed so much. “You’re getting squishy on me, Stone, you know I don’t take anything you say seriously.”

I bite back a grin. There’s my girl. “Yeah, maybe I’ll just change my name. Uhm, Marshmallow’s got a good ring to it. Marshmallow Gossard?”

“Honestly if you’re starting from Stone, it’s not like it can get any worse.”

“Hey, can we talk?” I blurt out, interrupting her laughter. Her eyebrows draw together.

“What are we doing now, communicating telepathically?”

“No, wiseass, just – can you take a break for a second?”

“Uhm, yeah, let me just…” she nods at the tray of glasses, and I step back to let her out so she can take them to a table before coming back over and pulling off her apron.

“Colleen, back in five?” she calls to her boss inside the kitchen, holding up a pack of cigarettes she’s pulled from her bag below the counter.

“What gives? You don’t smoke unless you’re drinking… you drunk on the job, Red?”

“No, this is just the only way I can get away with taking an unscheduled break. Honestly, I gotta find a new sidekick, I can’t keep explaining all my evil plans to you like some entry level henchman,” she pokes me in the ribs, shoving me toward the back door.

“So what the hell, Cora?” I burst out as soon as we’re alone in the alley, feeling my patience with this night and her and her stupid boyfriend evaporate all at once.

“Excuse me?” A dangerous look glints in her eyes. Whoops, came out of the gate a little strong, I need to stay calm or I’m never going to get her to tell me what happened.

“Sorry, just… what happened to you the other night, I thought you were gonna call…”

“So?” she frowns at me, then fiddles with the pack of cigarettes she obviously has no intention of smoking. “What does it even matter, Stone? It’s fine.”

“‘What does it matter?’ Are you fucking kidding me?” So much for calm. “What the fuck happened?”

“You’re gonna pretend like you don’t know?” she bristles back. “Come on, I’m sure Lucy told you guys the whole deal.”

“Well… no, I mean, she told Jeff a little, she said you guys made up or something, but she also said it’s not her story to tell, so –”

“She’s right!” Her anger flashes and I take a step back in shock. “And it’s not your story to fucking extract, so why are you so hard pressed to hear it? It sucks, okay? Is that what you want to know? That I told her everything’s fine but it fucking sucks? You want notarized confirmation that my relationship’s shit, Stone? How can it be anything else, if my boyfriend can’t even remember to pick me up at the airport?”

“I…” does she not know? Does she still just think he forgot her because he’s forgetful, and not because he’s banging other girls? Did that asshole get away with it?

“You want me to spill my guts and tell you how it feels? You want to fix it for me? Sure, fucking fix it, be my fucking guest, I don’t even have the time to think about it anymore because I’ve got so much goddamn work to do, so I’m just trying to fucking forget and get on with it. But if you’re going to insist on reminding me, you’d better have something helpful to say.”

As she stares me down, I feel like a bug stuck on a pin. Do I tell her? If I tell her now, she’s going to wonder why I didn’t tell her in the first place and she’s going to hate me for allowing her to make up with him. If I don’t tell her, though, what if he keeps cheating, how can I let this get any worse? God, what a fucking nightmare, how did it get this way?

“That’s what I thought,” she sighs after a moment, whirling around and going back inside to leave me out here alone.

#behind the sun #chapter 10 #fanfiction #fanfic #jeff ament #stone gossard #eddie vedder #mike mccready #pearl jam

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theblogchelor · 7 years

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Week Seven aka Angst and Love and Non-Sharks

Here’s What Happened Monday

Anxiety has plagued our Bachelor. Where once stood a strapping bearded fortress of manly stoicism now sits a forty-year-old tear factory in short shorts, divulging the angst of his deepest romantic worries to a wise and weathered Chris Harrison. Chris puts a loving hand on Nick’s shoulder. He’s been here before. In some other setting, in some other life, they might be father and son. It might be a fishing trip, Nick telling his dear old dad about his first broken heart. Chris might say, “life is but breaks and builds, son, breaks and builds.” But Chris knows it’s this life, and it’s this day, and it’s this Bachelor. He knows what he has to say, what every Bachelor at his lowest moment needs to hear. He leans in, holding Nick’s beautiful, sad brown eyes in his, and whispers, “you’ll get fucked with breach of contract if you pussy out now.”

Back in the hotel, our remaining six sisterwives nearly break under the weight of their distress. Where is Nick? Will he leave? Does he love them? After what feels like an interminable wait, he returns, says he made the choice to let Danielle go because of the power in the room, and vows to keep serial dating them all. Salvation! Corinne toasts with some celebratory 9 AM champagne while Danielle M lights up like the Teletubby sun baby, the first time she’s smiled in weeks.

Nick decides life on St. Thomas is too dark and stressful, so we’re off to a different island in the Bahamas because that should really turn things around.

The One-On-One Date aka Sweet Boring Vanessa Gets Stuck On A Boring Date With Boring Nick Viall

Nick and Vanessa board a boat and cruise around the ocean, talking about their love worries. Vanessa asks if Nick “is just going to pick someone because that’s what the show is all about,” to which everyone in America collectively screams, “YA THINK?”

Later they make out in snorkels. Between the spaceship and the ocean, it’s going to be a rude awakening when these two realize they have no idea how to kiss on solid ground.

At dinner Vanessa says, “I love you” and Nick says, “I really really like you.” Lol.

The Group Date aka Finally Something With Sharks And Alexis Isn’t Here To See It

Nick picks out yet another horrifying pair of tight swim trunks, takes Corinne, Raven, and Kristina on another boat ride, lovingly rubs sunscreen on Kristina’s inner thigh, sends Corinne into loco jealousy, and announces they will be swimming with sharks. But this is no ordinary swimming-with-sharks experience. Oh, no. This is just swimming, with no sharks ever in the same camera shot as the human beings. For all we know, ABC bootlegged the shark footage from the Discovery Channel. But still the nonexistent sharks frighten Kristina, who takes comfort in the attention of the boyfriend that threw her in with the non-sharks in the first place.

The One-On-One Date aka Sweet Boring Baby Nurse Danielle Gets Freed From Nick Viall!

Incredibly mopey Danielle gets her second and last one-on-one with Nick. They go bike riding where they show off how hard it is to bike with only one hand on the handlebar, then they Corinnterupt a basketball game of children who have zero interest in these large corny white people.

The awkwardness of the day culminates in Nick offering, “your face is pretty great” and Danielle casually mentioning that the last time she loved someone they died. In the most emotionless breakup of all time, Nick says “you’re so great” and Danielle pouts, “not great enough.”

The One-On-One Date That Is Actually Just Corinne Breaking Into Nick’s Hotel Room In Louboutins

By the time Corinne musters the will and hairspray to march into Nick’s room late at night, we have heard her “platinum vagine” quote four separate times. Things don’t work out so well for Corinne; after some saucy audio from Nick’s room but before any real action, he sends her on her way. It’s fine; she’s blackout drunk and won’t remember.

The One-On-One Date aka Sweet Lawyer Rachel Gets Stuck On The Bachelorette Without Nick Viall HAAAAAY

Nick didn’t have enough fun with Danielle at the place with the wicker bottle covers so he takes Rachel there too. They have a deep discussion about dads until the camera pans back and reveals there’s been a toothless Bill Cosby sitting feet away from them the entire time. The best part of this date is knowing it doesn’t matter at all.

Bye Felicia (Kristina)

Rather than do it at a brutal Rose Ceremony, Nick takes Kristina to let her down easy. While Nick sobs about his love for her, Kristina doesn’t break her steely death glare or shed a single tear. Stone cold. I love her.

We leave the episode on a high note, flashing back to happier times when Kristina’s greatest concern was how many cheese blocks Raven could stack on a sleeping Corinne. I think three is a respectable number.

Miscellaneous

Corinne’s observation that Vanessa is only as deep as “special needs and pasta” is brutally hilarious. Corinne proves time and again that she is the wisest broad in the Bachelorsphere.

Nick with flat wet hair is the most hideous thing I’ve ever seen.

They did exactly what I thought they were going to do: make me love Kristina in this episode then kick her right to the curb.

You really have to invest some mental capacity into listening to an entire Raven sentence from beginning to end.

I can’t wait to meet Raquel.

#the bachelor #the blogchelor #nick viall #corinne #corinne olympios #vanessa grimaldi #blogchelornick

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courage-a-word-of-justice · 7 years

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Morose Mononokean 3 – 13 (FINAL) | Nanbaka 19 | ACCA 5...and anime from 2016, ranked.

(Morose Mononokean ep 3)

LOL, the kaomoji scroll.

Hopefully your handwriting won’t be illegible, Fusshi.

The Japanese place a lot of emphasis on independence, hence th errand running comment.

It’s so threatening to get pointed at with a stick.

I didn’t quite get the “five years again?” joke, but the jokes were going pretty rapid fire there. I might’ve just missed one and that’s OK. *shrugs*

Technically Ashiya lied when he said “you don’t have to believe me” because she believed him in the end…kinda sorta…?

Oh, to grandstand means to be showy. I don’t think I solidified that into my brain until just then.

Are those weeds or onions?

…Oops, not onions at all. Close enough (since they’re blub plants), though.

Where’s your dad, Ashiya?

Zenko’s not crying, you’re crying, I’m crying. Everyone’s crying!

…Oh, that’s the punchline of the joke…but Abeno’s scary when he’s really angry.

(ep 4)

I think even lil’ Fuzzy nods in the OP near the end.

The d and b thumbs are very inventive in regards to kaomoji. I like inventiveness.

Exhibit A of how Comic Sans ruins a mood, CR subbers.

So that’s Abeno’s writing (and not Comic Sans)?

Ashiya and Abeno have really creepy eyes on the eyecatch.

Shizuku means “water droplet” IIRC.

Ashiya, Super Sentai!...or something like that.

The Fuzzy Ashiya knows has 3 tails. This one only has one.

Ashiya, getting coerced into deals he can’t handle. *sigh*

(ep 5)

Fuzzy’s basically a Pokémon now.

What happened to Abeno’s jar?

Where I am, there’s three arms to the government: the legislative arm, the judicial arm and the executive arm. This show must run off a lot of the same principles.

Fuzzy seems vaguely unimpressed when Ashiya learns he doesn’t have to die.

How is that communicating with a fuzzball? Sad life for Abeno-san.

The sad thing about Abeno is that he’s very grumpy. While that does make him basically a male tsundere, his grumpiness isn’t something everyone can live with. Rippou (Legislator) included.

(ep 6)

The Ring? Like a horror movie? (This is the last of the Mononokean episodes I’ve seen before, so it’s not a horror movie, but I had to make the joke while I was at it.)

Fuzzy looks like an offering to the ancestors there on that cushion.

The Mononokean went “If you’d followed my instructions [yada yada yada] but…” Note the “but” – that wasn’t in the translation.

Where does Abeno sleep?

Fuzzy wrapped up is like a fuzzy sushi roll. I wouldn’t like to eat a fuzzy sushi roll, though.

Edo = old Tokyo…so are all Edoites (or whatever you call them) meant to be non-honorific users?

Manjiro must’ve been easy to draw if this were in the source material. However, since this is obviously a CGI Manjiro, it must’ve been easier to animate than, say, Fuzzy. (Apparently fur is hard to get right in CGI.)

“15 whole minutes”…hardly anything impressive…LOL.

Ashiya will never give you up, he’ll never let you down, he’ll never run around and desert you…

Even Fuzzy’s sweating up a storm just thinking about how to return the ring.

Ow. Getting headbutted by an eel is not the way to go.

The salve on Fuzzy looked like a box for a frame or two.

The irony of an eel shop with an eel youkai…

(ep 7)

It’s fresh impressions from here on out.

Butterflies don’t fly like that…

Since middle school is years 7 – 9…okay…Ashiya is that childish? *laughs awkwardly*

I just realised this show doesn’t do flashbacks very well.

I saw a grave in the back that said “Abe Family Grave”. It’s not the kanji for Abeno, though.

Don’t be so proud of your status as a hide and seek veteran, Ashiya.

“Yoko” is the word for a fox spirit. it’s why, in Tactics, the fox spirit is called Youko. Even I knew that much and Ashiya didn’t, LOL.

Oh right! Abeno calls Fuzzy “hairball”.

Abeno is 15?! I’m absolutely positively flipping out!...Abeno and Ashiya look like they’re 17!

(ep 8)

I thought something was up with the subs. Turns out “Haruitsuki” was spelt wrong.

Remember “–sama” is of more respect than “–san”.

I think Mr Chips from Eldlive was like this critter. Gets drunk on green tea.

Tsundere flying green youkai. That’s probably better than an annoying, possibly tsundere fairy (<- reference to One Wish They Never Wanted).

Benkei? I’ve never heard anyone yell “Benkei!” when they stubbed their toe. I get that it’s Standing Benkei though.

Aww. Even if it’s a youkai proposal, it’s so sweet…

(ep 9)

How do you spell “dispirited”? Two Ss? One?

Dangit, Ashiya would do well in job interviews…

The eyecatches always look unnecessarily dramatic, don’t they?

Does Abeno’s question about amateurs include Ashiya?

Abeno must’ve gotten a “Don’t come near my daughter again!” sort of thing a lot.

Fuzzy’s body went “boomph!” when he jumped on to Ashiya’s shoulder.

Fuzzy absolutely fails at rolling on balls, LOL.

(ep 10)

Why did I think of “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” when it came to large!Yahiko?

The title of this episode is “deku”, like Boku no Hero Academia Deku.

Rakugan.

How did the eyecatch manage to put shojo sparkles on Nobou and turn him into something that’s vaguely appealing (in a handsome sense)? It must be the magic of the shojo sparkles…Also, henohenomoheji scarecrow.

“Phantasmagoria” aka “fantasy” or “illusion”.

Wow, basically this show is an ethics lesson…

Who knew a mutant scarecrow could cause such a heartfelt story? Also, please stop hitting yourself with a potato.

(ep 11)

I don’t think I’ve seen the character for “purple” being read as shi before.

Stop using Fuzzy as a shield for your words, Ashiya.

Fuzzy jumped on to Zenko’s head. It��s kinda funny to see Fuzzy acting like a Swablu.

Fuzzy with a leaf hat is aesthetically pleasing. It soothes the soul. (Uh, hey. Come to think of it, Mononokean’s a lot like the works I’ve done on Honeyfeed, eh? Light comedy and a lotta drama.)

I keep stumbling upon spoilers for shows I’m not caught up on, this show included. So I technically knew about Yahiko and never mentioned it, and I’m going “oh no” here because I know what will happen to Ashiya…

Tomori. That was the name from the spoilers…oh no!!!

Fuzzy looks particularly round in the eyecatch.

Apparently Ashiya began as a doodle in the margin of Kiri Wazawa’s sketchbook, but he became the protag of Morose Mononokean. That’s the ultimate upgrade in life for a character, eh?

Abeno’s logic…I get it, but I guess it was played for hilarity. Well, it worked. Really well.

A 9-11. I thought it was funny at first, but now it’s scary and solemn.

Simultaneous equations? I want nothing to do with them anymore.

Come to think of it, Aoi may have been a woman due to the woman’s cloak.

(ep 12)

Oh? A sister? I’ve haven’t seen her in the show yet. I wanna see her.

One of the lil’ pine cones is sleeping. It’s strangely adorable.

(ep 13)

Yahiko’s so spoilt by Zenko.

*squints at Ashiya’s book* Oh hey. I haven’t done this in years! Yeah, that sort of stuff is “first year of high school” stuff, but speaking from experience as an advanced maths student, I have a skewed perspective of what “normal maths” is for a year level. Add that to the fact Japan has the idea that they have to push their geniuses to the limit by being ahead of their years (sometimes going up to one year ahead of the “usual” standard) and…yeah.

From the lip reading, the word could’ve been tera (Buddhist temple) or jinja (Shinto shrine). Knowing how Zenko is built off the ideas of Buddhism anyway, it’s tera.

Well, out of sight, out of mind, as they say.

Abeno looks like such a bad boy in that eyecatch, it’s hilarious.

Seriously, how does Nobou talk with no mouth?!

I thought the hand was Yahiko. Turns out it was Abeno.

Fuzzy looks downright ill when Ashiya’s scared.

A boss normally doesn’t bow his head to his subordinates, let alone call them “lord” (dono), which is the highest type of honorific one can give to a person.

See, the kaomoji scroll really is fun. If someone could make one for me, I’d love to play with it for a little bit. Maybe you could make a (computer?) program that could function mostly the same way…huh. That’s a good idea, actually.

Notice the Mononokean uses “watashi”. I guess it doesn’t have much of a gender anyway.

Nice hat, Ashiya. (LOL.)

Welp, that’s the final episode of all my 2016 anime. I moved the top 10 anime of 2016 to the bottom of this post for the surprise factor, but knowing my reactions to the anime means you can’t be too surprised by the results.

(Nanbaka 19)

Honey’s still on arrow mode.

The scream. It’s like a horror movie, but so funny because it overlays the OP.

The sparkles actually helped viewers see something for once.

Rokuriki. So that’s the guard’s name. It has “six” in it.

Deer hook swords. I’m not quite familiar with them but they look cool.

I only just realised, but they left Nico behind in the supervisor’s office.

The rubble is so beautifully rendered.

What was Jyugo doing behind the pots? Something for humour, I suppose, because I laughed.

“Hachiman” can mean 80000.

Kawaisouni… translates to “unfortunate” or “how unfortunate” but I probably wouldn’t peg it as “poor baby!” like the subbers did. It’s probably the tone Uno used that caused them to sub it the way they did.

Here we go again with this Jyugo comeback from episode 1…

It’s around the part where Upa’s trash talking Hachiman that you can identify Upa’s VA is Yuu Kobayashi (SGRS’s Konatsu’s VA). Even Nico is voiced by a dude and yet Upa is not.

(ACCA 5)

Seriously, this blue haired guy (Magie) reminds me of Japan from Hetalia. Must be the haircut.

How does a guy not remember toast? Probably because this is of Japanese origin, where rice and fish are more common than bread.

I still think his name should be Gene Otus.

CGI fits flawlessly into this style, and if you’ve been around these parts long enough, you know I don’t like obvious CGI.

Dowa Travel.

Hotel Akevitt. They have some weird names in this show.

Reindeer…? I’m not very good at identifying deer vs reindeer.

I heard you like wheat bread, so I put some wheat bread in ACCA to keep you happy, Jean. (insert more memes about wheat bread here)

Lotta really likes walnuts, eh?

Crow/Nino’s a free agent hired by Grossular, right?

Ah. I get it. Lotta’ll keep an eye on Nino for Jean.

Isn’t a sandpiper a bird?

Oh. So that’s why Grossular has such long hair.

Lilium’s bro? Gotta remember him for later.

Grossular’s an older Kyosuke Kuga, LOL.

Anime of 2016, Ranked

Since I have 17 entries this year and it took a lot of shuffling to get right, I’ve decided to show my entire 2016 rankings. Only shows I saw in their entirety at least once over in 2016 (with the exceptions of D Gray Man Hallow and Morose Mononokean, which are applicable through the simulcast commentary process but were only watched to episode 6 before 2016′s end, and fall anime, which due to being AFK at 2016′s end were unfinshable until 2017), and had at least one new seasonal entry in 2016, apply:

17. Prince of Stride Alternative

16. Mr Osomatsu s2

15. D Gray Man Hallow

14. Kiznaiver

13. Morose Mononokean

12. Nanbaka s1: can’t talk about this yet because its s2’s not finished!

11. Classicaloid s1: can’t talk about this yet because it′s not finished!

10. Flip Flappers: The art style and fight scenes really make this a show worth watching. However, it did get somewhat confusing at the end so that’s where most of the drop in the rankings comes from.

9. ReLIFE: While the themes were pertinent and the art style on point, it was a bit plain and there wasn’t much of an explanation as to why the pills work (even if that isn’t Yoake or An’s role). I guess I’m still used to it living in the shadow of Detective Conan, after all.

8. Boueibu s2: This was a step up from s1, but unfortunately there were prime contenders this year that knocked it out of higher places. Also the fact that it does seem more rushed than s1 due to the time constraints does give it a bit of a toll.

7. Bungou Stray Dogs (overall): 2 seasons makes this show stand out as a strong one, especially near the end when it really hits its stride. The fact light novel stories took up up to 4 episodes did make me worried, but the fans definitely have more than enough material to work with as a result, right?

6. Yuri on Ice: I don’t mind the off model in this one if it means the good stuff can come with it, but the fandom is quite intimidating and it was a “show of the year” in ways some people now consider to be a negative thing, so it did suffer a bit from that. I give it merit for the things it does well, but it’s not the saviour of anime the talk of the town can make it out to be.

5. Boku Dake ga Inai Machi: Stunning visuals, a Sayuri ED and good thrills with well executed cliffhangers. My only gripe with this one was the very end, but you’ll have to see the relevant posts for why that is.

4. Boku no Hero Academia s1: Even if it is repetitive, it rises above (Plus Ultra!) to become something more than just a fusion of East and West like I always try to strive for. It’s an emblem and it’s definitely something Horikoshi should be proud of after what happened to Barrage and Oumagadoki Zoo.

3. Sakamoto Desu Ga: This show also managed to go above its repetitive trappings with inventiveness and humour. The fact it’s also touching at exactly the right points shows you why Takamatsu is one of my favourite directors.

2. ConRevo s2: Colourful and politically striking as always, ConRevo was one of the shows I always looked forward to watching, even if it meant staying up past midnight to document things on the wiki. Even if I’m not that fond of the Urobuchi episode, this show managed to reach awesome highs without losing the fans it got from s1.

1. SGRS: With a soundtrack that brings you to the past, humour that can make you laugh no matter how many times you watch it and visuals to wow even the most serious of artists, you can tell SGRS is a labour of love in every aspect. Its second season has already surpassed its predecessor in only 4 or 5 episodes, so...only time will tell whether anything can challenge SGRS for the throne.

Total:

winter 4

spring 5 (incl. Bungou Stray Dogs s1)

summer 4

fall 5 (incl. Bungou Stray Dogs s2)

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