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analogskullerosis · 6 months

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Thoughts on the Doom Patrol Finale

"It's okay. I made it home."

I thought the finale was wonderful. It was a perfect send off for the show and I think all the main characters got a good conclusion to their stories, even if I think some had bigger flaws than others. I think the show came full circle and did exactly what it wanted to do. While I would've liked to have seen a fifth season, I'm satisfied with what's here. I would say the theme for the final episode of Doom Patrol revolved around "breaking the cycle" and realizing that the only way things get better is by embracing change and to stop running around in circles. Let go of your worries and just be what you're meant to be.

Vic's ending was simple but sweet. The entire show he's been struggling to find his purpose and how he can help people in a way that isn't joining the Justice League or being a comic book superhero like Batman or Superman. Becoming a teacher with Derrick for the next generation of students pave the way and teach them valuable skills via robotics and prosthetics work (which Vic's Cyborg parts basically are) felt like the best ending for him. He wanted to be a hero and he is, it's just in the more subtle, usually unspoken/unthanked way that teachers can be viewed as "heroes".

Rita's death was sad, but necessary in order to help the rest of the team move on to their final destinies. It's often said that mothers (or grandmothers, in Old!Rita's case) are what keep families together. With her death, the Doom Patrol also died with her. She died beloved and with her family by her side... although she was embarrassed that her family only seemed to think of her by bringing her favorite alcohol... and her body blobbed up and popped like a slime balloon afterwards... But being reunited with Malcolm in the afterlife was a lovely conclusion for her. Being reunited with her lost love in a garden felt like something out of an old movie. Perfect for Miss. Rita Farr. The rest of the team paying tribute to her and watching her movie Secret Rendezvous was a lovely way to remember her. Their Lovely Rita died a star.

Speaking of dying as a star, Larry! Larry went nuclear!! Him flying into the sun during the Bad!Future at the beginning of the season was wild, his future with Rama here at the end was beautiful and it was the ending Larry deserved. He broke the cycle by not having Rama be the same "What If?" that John Bowers had been. He freed himself and was able to truly love without fear or hesitation again. Turning into a bright star in space was perfect for Larry because the entire show he had been introverted and shy and reserved. He made it a point to hide for as long as he could and never let anybody see him. His journey was all about a man embracing the things that make him who he is and to let the world see him in his glory, no matter what they think. Joining with Rama in space and becoming a star (which is how I interpreted their joining to signify) means that for the next couple thousand years, Larry can be seen shining bright in the night sky, whether people like it or not.

Jane becoming Kay again (or simplty, K., as Vic suggested) was the ultimate win. The underground was destroyed and K. found her peace. Her going to space with someone who she could find comfort in and explore with was a lovely ending for her. She wanted to leave Doom Manor and explore the world, now she can. Admittedly, I wish her relationship with Casey Brinke would've had more time devoted to it, but it's not a pairing I mind. As much as I wish she could've found her way back to Shelley Byron, I suppose I treat Shelley as an unreachable fantasy (she is fog, after all) whose role was not so much to be an endgame romantic partner to her, but to be a guiding hand and help Jane/K. begin to become comfortable in her body and sexuality again and ultimately help her reach her ending. Her conclusion had flaws, but her journey was still very very satisfying and I can be happy with her having Casey Brinke, her painting, a ship with a view, and a nice cat (so long as Casey doesn't... you know.) Her ending felt like it answered the ending Grant Morrison gave her after their run of the comics. "There is another world. There is a better world. Well... there must be." The show's answer is, "Yes, there is. She found it."

Laura's ending was my second least favorite (next to Dorothy, who just flat out fucking disappeared!!!) and I wish she had gotten a little more, but I got to see Michelle Gomez wield a flamethrower and smile bigger than a child on Christmas Day, so I can't be too mad about it. If you believe in fire as a thing that cleanses things and allows people to start over, Laura's ending worked for her character. The place that really and truly broke her is about to be violently burned down. A woman like her needed violence to heal her and I think burning down the Ant Farm was just that.

Cliff's ending was the one that got me the most. "I thought I came home to live, but I think I came home just to die." The gift that Isabel/Immortus gave him was a sweet gift. He gets to see the cycle be broken right before his very eyes. He gets to see Rory's whole life play out and while you fear he's repeating his grandfather's actions, those fears are quickly put to bed when you see that he's perfectly fine and everything works out. He doesn't become RJ Steele, he doesn't fall into the same traps and vices that hurt Cliff Steele, he becomes a different man. Rory Steele is there for Clara Steele and he gets to meet his own grandson as a flawed, but supportive and good man. When Cliff powers down and it hangs on that shot of Cliff's robot face, I broke. The journey is completed. Cliff was in an accident and spent the whole series trying to get home. He did just that. It was the most beautiful way Cliff Steele's story could've ended. I loved every minute of it.

I was happy that the Immortus plot and the Butts plot was wrapped up in about five minutes with no explanation. It didn't need one. This show was never about them. It was a show about a bunch of misfit-assholes-turned-superpowered-weirdos who had to learn to care for one another, helping each other guide through trauma and pain and become better people at the end of it. They did just that. Larry was right: every single threat the team dealt with was created by them in some way. If there's no Doom Patrol, then the world is safe for another day. The only way this all ends is by the Doom Patrol disbanding for good. If you view Doom Manor as one giant therapy/rehabilitation retreat, then all of the members of the manor were stamped and cleared to leave. They left and they all found their own happiness, happiness that would be strange and weird and nonsensical if it was any show other than Doom Patrol. In the end, the cycle was broken and the characters became free to explore the world beyond the manor. No more chaos, no more fear, only peace.

The only cycle that never seems to break is the one where the Doom Patrol dies at the end of almost every iteration of the comics... until some weirdo (Grant Morrison, Rachel Pollack, Gerard Way, etc.) comes along and resurrects them, brings them back to life. I suspect the Doom Patrol will go through that cycle again. They will die, the team will be disbanded and gone for a while, then some weirdo will lovingly make up some way to get them all together again. It doesn't have to make perfect sense, just so long as they're all together again somehow.

There's so much more to say, but I'll leave it with this for now: Doom Patrol has become one of my favorite shows of all time. It's hilariously ridiculous, wonderfully weird, delightfully strange, and the most beautifully human show about superpowered misfits coming together and helping each other find brighter days after experiencing nothing but the darkest ones. They're my new go-to example of what a found family should be and I think the finale was satisfying. I think the show wrapped up the best way that it could've and I think every person that had the pleasure of working on it should be proud of what they've unleashed onto the world.

Long live the Doom Patrol.

#original post #doom patrol #doom patrol spoilers

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ashesandhackles · 3 years

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The Hogwarts Express scene in Prince's Tale: A Sirius and Snape analysis

I really, really enjoy Sirius and Snape as characters and their respective narrative functions in story. But what gets me most about them is how much Rowling hints about their backgrounds and so much of it makes sense with regard to who they are as adults. So I am going to be breaking down a very small scene from Prince Tale and getting into long winded hypothesis about their respective childhoods.

So, let's start with Snape. The scene begins with Snape rushing to find Lily, already in his Hogwarts clothes. Harry notes he must have been eager to get out of his clothes - ones that look like he borrowed from his mother, as Petunia spitefully pointed out. This has always been a very interesting detail to me - first off, it indicates how poor Snape's family is. Second, this indicates his tiny rebellion from his father - he refuses to wear clothes of the abusive man, and prefers his mother's. I admit, I am partial to the reading that Snape refuses to associate with his father in tiny ways, rather than Tobias refusing to hand his son clothes.

(I have seen readings which say that it is also a sign of neglect - perhaps his parents bought clothes that simply don't fit him, but I am more inclined to think it's a hand me down, simply because Harry identifies so strongly with it. Because Harry knows what it is like to wear a hand me down that don't quite fit, that are too big for you, or the ones that make you look ridiculous.)

Lily and Petunia's relationship is fraught with Petunia's jealousy. And young Lily is upset over it when Snape meets her. "I am not talking to you. Tuney hates me" she tells him. "Because we saw the letter from Dumbledore". Young Lily shows signs of being extremely emotionally reactive and this scene is one of them. It's easier for her to deal with Petunia's rejection of her by telling Snape she doesn't want to talk to him. It's a childish displacement of her hurt over her sister's rejection. (I am genuinely baffled by interpretations that Lily and Hermione are similar. Hermione is very cognitive person, Lily, as we have been shown repeatedly in memories, is not).

Snape, however, with his bad history with Petunia and his inability/ poor social skills to understand why this matters to her, goes: "So what?"

Lily, who throws him a look of deep dislike, says "So she's my sister". This seed is important because this is what develops into "he doesn't get me" feeling she later displays in her teenage scenes with him. Interestingly, most of Lily's personal relationships have deeply interwined love and dislike - Petunia (whose rejection bothers her but she cheerfully informs Sirius that Harry nearly broke a vase her sister sent - which means there is resentment on her end too), James - who she was attracted to even before 7th year but also disliked at one point, and Snape - again, a contentious friendship filled with love and distance.

"She's only a -" we dont get to hear what Snape intended to say. And given his own acrimony with Petunia, it could be anything. However, I read it as "She's only a Muggle" because it ties into his feelings about his father. Snape, who is proud of being half a Prince, emphasizing his magical lineage from his mother's side, his refuge in a violent, neglectful home. (Barty Crouch Jr and Snape with their disappointing fathers - I imagine Voldemort is supremely attractive leader to people with broken homes like this)

Snape, by all accounts, shows a disorganised attachment style. His caregiver, his mother - and perhaps the only parent he seems to have regard for, is too preoccupied by her own abuse to be there for her son - we see this in glimpses Harry sees in OOTP: " woman cowering" where a man shouts at her, and a young, neglected Snape cries in the corner. Children born in homes like this have trouble regulating their emotions, simultaneously displaying tendencies to aggressively lash out or show disassociative symptoms. Both of which Snape displays. Statistically, this is also seen more in low income households where economic instability and resulting domestic instability creates an unsafe environment for the kids to safely form ideas of their identity, or express emotions in healthy ways, modelling instead out of behaviour seen at home.

Then, Snape reminds her that they are going to Hogwarts. He is already in his Hogwarts clothes - now, Snape gets to be the impressive figure. The one who told her about magic, who theorised about how Muggles get letters from magical people, the one who told her about Dementors and Azkaban. He has already left behind the Spinner's End version of him, he wants to bigger than that, and is keen to be in place of magical learning and to join Slytherin. Essentially, he shows signs of unstable identity, insecurity - all prime for grooming into a cult.

And here comes along James Potter, who looks around at the mention of Slytherin. James's comment uses Snape's line and directs it to Sirius instead and it becomes a conversation between them, as a way to bond more with a fellow "rowdy boy" Sirius. Effectively ignoring the other two.

Sirius as we see here, "does not smile" when James talks about Slytherin. He essentially says something that can be construed as a way to nip that conversation in bud: "My whole family has been in. Slytherin". This suggests to me that there is some loyalty to his family there and his disillusionment with them isn't entirely fixed yet. After all, Sirius's intense loyalty to his friends, more specifically James, did not come out of thin air. It is reasonable to suggest that he felt some loyalty to his family at some point and the intensity with which he regards his friends is a reaction to burned off and being a "displaced person without a family" as Rowling put it.

Interestingly, while his reaction to his mother and Bellatrix are obviously sore spots, his response to Regulus is comparatively quite soft. ("Stupid, idiot" - something he calls James later on in the same book, OOTP). I imagine Sirius has quite complicated feelings about his brother and he is capable of nuance (when the person isn't Snape, where his dislike seems to be borne of an intense projection): "The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters". As someone who is grown up among them, Sirius would understand that.

His framing of Regulus's need to please his parents also further highlights what exactly is the source of disillusionment. He calls Regulus "soft enough to believe them" - which means he is crediting his own intelligence to see through his parents bigoted world view. Clearly, bigotry is not something the Blacks explained in a way that Sirius, eldest of their male line and their heir, bought it. It also probably didn't help the Blacks case that Grimmauld Place is in a Muggle neighborhood and that their eldest son is a bit of a wild boy with interest in pushing boundaries. His intellectual disconnect leads to the righteous rage he later feels but it began there. (Boy, it must suck to discover that everything you have been taught to value in the world and in yourself as the heir is essentially rubbish). Since his differences with his family began with seeds of intellectual disconnect rather than on intense empathy with downtrodden, it makes him, as a pureblooded privileged boy, unable to truly understand Lupin's fears regarding his lycanthropy. Hence, the Werewolf prank (I am not getting to the Snape bit, just the Lupin bit). To James' credit, he does understand what that means for Lupin and saves all three of them from different set of consequences.

Anyway, back to the scene. James, who has made an ass of himself in front of his new friend, who he was getting along with fine until now, then goes "Blimey, I thought you seemed alright". (Btw, I find James wildly large ego kind of hilarious here, especially in light of Snape's comment about him to Sirius in OOTP: "You will know he is so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off him"). Sirius, who I believe has been raised like "royalty" as Blacks would, has good enough social skills to defuse a situation. He grins and says: "Maybe I will break the tradition".

This line is an indication of Sirius's desire for independence, an identity seperate from his family. The use of the word "tradition" is interesting. It sounds like Sirius is expected to behave in a certain way, the heir of Black family whose parents thought being a Black "made you practically royal". Adult Sirius is contemptuous of this, or their "valuable contribution to Ministry" which means they just gave gold - it tells me that any and all conditions put on him by his family were to fulfill tradition that is either worthless or holds no meaning in his eyes. The root of the emotional abuse Sirius suffers from his family is this - realising his parents love for him is conditional on him being a certain way. (In fact, you can read Regulus desire to emphasise his connection to the family as a reaction to what he sees with Sirius - Sirius does not behave, Mum and Dad don't love him). As a child with unconscious knowledge of lack of love, Sirius then acts out, they react, rinse and repeat "until he has had enough". Sirius chafes against boundaries well into adulthood and doesn't react well to people enforcing it on him, even if it is out of love for him. Cue the fire scene with Harry where he behaves as if Harry is rejecting him instead of protecting him.

Sirius asks James about where he wants to go, and Snape, who is incensed about James being insulting about a House he put stock in, which he made part of new identity (so that he is no longer that Snape boy from Spinner's End) and was in general trying to be impressive about in front of Lily, "makes a disparaging noise" once James talks of Gryffindor. Snape's response to James' : "Got a problem with that?" is interesting. He says: "If you'd rather be brawny, rather than brainy-"

This is an important value for Snape. He knows he is clever and values it. He spends his spare time inventing hexes, making great shortcuts to Potions. He has genuine thirst for learning and he hones it. In SWM, we see that he has written far more longer answers than anyone else, he is poring over his paper after exams. He even mocks Hermione's lack of inventive answers: "Answer copied word to word from the textbook, but correct in essentials". He values originality. It may be me stretching this, but I am partial to the reading: this is his way of rejecting his father once again, who is implied to be a violent man. (in other words, someone who is hypermasculine - "brawny". In fact, Snape's rejection of hypermasculinity is a huge post on it's own - Potions (brewing, cauldrons - coded as feminine arts), the doe Patronus, his proficiency in Occlumency and Legliemency (intuitive mind arts, again seen archetypically feminine) etc).

"Where are you hoping to go, seeing as you are neither?" - Sirius is quick with emotionally cutting insults. Snape hasn't even finished his sentence, but Sirius is already on his case. Which suggests growing up in a household with sharp tongues. It's a fair assumption, given Mrs Black's half mad portrait. It also tallies with Sirius's talking about his mother: "My mother didn't have a heart Kreacher, she kept herself alive out of pure spite" . The wounds are fresh enough on this. (Another interesting way Snape and Sirius act as inverse mirrors - Snape rejects his father, Sirius rejects his mother. Sirius acts as proxy for James for Harry while Snape takes on Lily's role of protecting him). However, you know who else is spiteful? Sirius.

While James is the physical bully (the tripping Snape, doing most of the bullying in SWM), Sirius attacks emotionally. ( Sample the one about Snape's appearance - "I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment, there will be great grease marks all over it, they won't be able to read a word" or even the carelessly vicious- "Put that away, before Wormtail wets himself in excitement"). Curiously, with all that talk of how his mother being spiteful, it's her room he spends time in when he is depressed. (Again, in inverse mirror way, we can talk of how Snape looks for a father figure in Dumbledore - craves his validation and is proud of Dumbledore's trust in him). We could argue it's also because Buckbeak is there, and perhaps it's the largest room in the house, but it's very telling that's where Sirius spends time when he is "in a fit of sullens". Sirius's sense of abandonment from his family, makes him look for family connections with friends - a trait he shares with Harry. Interestingly, the first time he glimpses Harry in Privet Drive, Harry is also running away from home - just like he did. Anyway, I could go on.

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teamxdark · 3 years

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Mirror, Mirror

Based off of this little interaction between @damnitd and @silvermun a long time ago. It’s basically unedited, but the story I’ll end up putting on AO3/FFnet another day won’t be much different from this one here.

What can one do, when the heart is split in two? Where does one end, and the other begin? Where is the line drawn?

Or should it be drawn at all…?

Sonic stared at the twisted heap of metal on the kitchen counter, bisected by a sword, and tried his hardest not to scream.

“Lancelot,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even, “that was a toaster.”

The knight in question wrenched his sword from the mess, causing sparks to fly and little bits and bobs, both mechanical and breadlike, to scatter across the counter and fall to the floor. “It was burning up,” he explained gravely, “achieving heats far too intense for today’s weather. I could not trust it, and when it let out a scream, I had to act.”

“That ‘scream’ was an alarm,” Sonic snapped, too tired and hungry to deal with this nonsense. “That means that the toast is done and we can eat. Which we can’t now. Because you attacked the toaster.”

The dark hedgehog turned his sword over in his hands, and Sonic braced himself for his rebuttal, and then they would argue over who was in the right, but the knight uttered a soft, “I simply wished to protect you. I am still getting used to the complex machines of this era, and I cannot bring myself to trust them. I realize that this is… unbecoming of me, and an irritation to you. I apologize, and I will try my best to keep my impulses under control.”

Sonic let out his breath in a loud exhale. It was so easy to forget, still, that this wasn’t Shadow in front of him.

No one could quite explain how the switch had come to pass; one day, Shadow and he had parted ways, the sensation that there were still words left unspoken between them that would be better saved for another time, and the next day, Lancelot had been found in his place.

The knight was having trouble adjusting, to put it lightly. It had been weeks, but the advanced technology of contemporary times drove him to paranoia, and Sonic had seen many a monitor, vehicle, and appliance fall victim to Arondight’s wrath, much to Tails’ chagrin.

Worse, still, was that Lancelot refused to stay anywhere aside from Sonic’s home. The knight graciously declined Shadow’s place, leaving Rouge and Omega down one roommate, staying instead in any spare room he could find, so long as it was where Sonic was staying as well. Rouge had laughed it off, waving the knight away with a taunt that he was ‘Sonic’s problem now’, but the hero had seen the flash of hurt and worry in her eyes.

No one knew where Shadow was, or if he was ever coming back.

And now incidents such as these, with another appliance in pieces, were commonplace.

Sonic rubbed at his forehead, trying to put his buzzing thoughts together in his head before he spoke. “Lance, I get that you’re trying to protect me from my evil cookware and all that, but I don’t get why.”

The knight started, one ear tilting to the side in confusion. “Why would I not? I swore to do so, did I not?”

“No,” Sonic deadpanned. “You didn’t.”

That seemed to offend Lancelot, who let go of his sword for a moment to cross his arms. “I do not wish to speak out of line,” he said, sounding like he was struggling to remain calm, “but you are mistaken. A knight is loyal to the sovereign who knights him, until the last of his days.”

“But I didn’t knight you!” Sonic protested, at the end of his rope. “I’m not your king!”

In response, Lancelot pushed up his visor, and Sonic took in the set jaw, the way his pointed white teeth bared themselves in a snarl, by all means, the spitting image of Shadow, with just the smallest thing here and there that harshly reminded Sonic that the one standing before him was not the one he had spent so many years with. He saw it in the same set jaw, as it trembled with the effort to keep everything held back. He saw it in the snarl, which was more dismayed than hostile. Most of all, he saw it in Lancelot’s eyes, red and wide and so very expressive without the visor to shield them away.

Sonic was so used to seeing those eyes guarded, cut off from him, with only the smallest of opportunities to peek inside before they closed him out again.

Lancelot reached out, holding one of Sonic’s hands in both of his, delicately, like he was something infinitely valuable and the knight was afraid of sullying him with his hands. Sonic had only blinked when Lancelot dropped to his knees, his head bowed forward, and he heard him clear his throat before he spoke.

“You are him. You may not believe me, but I know it to be true. You are Arthur, my king, in this life and all others.”

Sonic sighed, unwilling to let this go but also not wanting to keep on this path of conversation, especially on an empty stomach. He tried to wrench away his hand, but Lancelot held tight, lifting his head, eyes ablaze with passionate certainty that made Sonic freeze in place.

He had never been looked at like that before…

"Every piece of you is the same,” Lancelot declared, his eyes unwavering, drawing in the hero and refusing to release him. “It is not only in image, either. I see it, I hear it, I feel it... It's more than just the body, the vision I see before me. You have his soul, free and unbound and hungry for adventure. You have his heart, strong and kind and noble. I see it in your eyes, you are him, you are who he would be if he were not burdened by his destiny! Don't you understand, Sonic? The only difference between you and Arthur are the memories you keep! You are him! You are him, and that's why I will follow you and protect you with my life. I gave you my vow, and I will not break it. No matter the time, no matter the life... I will stand by you until any and every version of us ceases to exist. That is my promise to you, as your knight!"

He said it so resolutely, so earnestly, that Sonic couldn’t find the words, nor the will to argue against him. In all his life, in all his wildest fantasies, Sonic could never have imagined those words, coming from that mouth, spoken in that voice… It was enough to get his heart pounding, that was for sure.

Sonic closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, but Lancelot’s hands clasped around his kept him anchored in this strange reality he was in. He didn’t like it; it had taken so long to get to where he had gotten with Shadow, so much time and effort and tenacity to get every last crumb from him, but Sonic had been adamant. He had wanted to break Shadow’s walls, to reach through, to understand him and be someone trusted and cared for. He had tried so hard, made so much progress… and now Shadow was gone, and in his place, Lancelot knelt before him, eagerly baring his soul for him without so much as a command.

Sonic would have been a liar if he said he didn’t like what he saw in Lancelot, either, but after all he had done for Shadow… it felt… wrong? Bad? In poor taste? Off, to be feeling similar flutters in the chest for a man who shared his face but not his past, nor his experiences.

Yet, as he opened his eyes and saw Lancelot still staring resolutely at him, as though desperate for him to understand, Sonic had to wonder if the knight had a point; Shadow had had amnesia twice, now. His memories had reset, but he had still been Shadow at his core. Sonic had never doubted that.

Did memories truly make a person who they were? And if so… were Lancelot and Shadow truly two different people?

Are you him? Sonic wanted to ask as he was burned alive by those eyes, crimson and intense, focused on him and him alone. Are you who he could have been if things had been different?

He wasn’t sure, but at least he could kind of understand where Lancelot was coming from.

Sonic heaved out an exhale, using both hands to pull Lancelot to his feet. “Okay,” he conceded. “Okay… but no more protecting me from my house or my friends. I’ll let you know when we’re in danger, okay?”

And Lancelot beamed, overjoyed, his teeth poking out through his lips and his eyes crinkling with happiness, and Sonic would be an even bigger liar if he denied that it was one of the most gorgeous sights he had ever seen.

Lancelot… I think I want to know you, too.

...

The sound of his pen scratching along the page was the only sound in the room. King Arthur sat back in his chair, stretching out his fingers, his eyes seeking out the room’s only other occupant, who was standing by with his back against the wall, looking displeased.

Shadow was silent, as always.

Arthur let out a breath, drumming a couple of fingers against his desk. “I cannot solve anything if you do not speak,” he finally remarked, much to the displeasure of the other.

“I don’t want to be out there with the others. This is the only room where no one barges in. That’s all.”

“Hm. Quite.”

It was mostly true, he supposed. Sometimes an advisor would poke their head in, but usually those weren’t the people Shadow was hiding from.

Arthur had started hearing the rumors a while ago; Sir Lancelot, his greatest and closest knight, and his longtime friend, was deeply in love with him. The rumors had followed him every day, and plagued him by night, as he wondered if they could be real, and wondered what he would do if they were real.

He had started to see and feel it, too. Lancelot’s habit of looking his way, his gaze, hidden behind his visor, lingering just a moment too long before he looked away again. The way his knight’s hand would remain on his person, his touch still warming him even after he drew his hand away. These moments had grown in number in the latest months, though their time together had remained fleeting, as the life of a king and the life of a knight were wrought with busy schedules and hardly enough time for a ‘hello’ to be exchanged.

For a while, Arthur had felt that something unsaid but reciprocated was between them, but Lancelot was gone, now, and Shadow had taken his place, and now the knights and the maids and the servants all looked at Shadow in the same way they had done to Lancelot, and the whispers and giggles followed the dark hedgehog until he ran into Arthur’s study and shut them all out behind him.

He made for some rather unsettling company, this sullen, tense man who shared his face with that of his closest friend.

Arthur missed him. Arthur missed him so much it hurt, and every day that passed he wished for the man who had stood by him from the very beginning to still be there, by his side, in a world that demanded the most he would be able to give as the bare minimum, but that didn’t mean he was allowed to take it out on Shadow. Nor was he about to dismiss the fact that Shadow was in a strange new world, and likely every bit as confused, disturbed, and frightened as he was.

“Would you like me to speak with them?” Arthur offered, figuring it was worth a try.

Yet Shadow huffed in response, the proposal seeming to offend him, and Arthur wondered why. “Don’t bother, I can handle my own problems.”

That was the other thing about Shadow: he had never, at any point, treated Arthur like he was royalty.

“It’s considered bad form to refuse the offer of a king,” Arthur pointed out, partly as a piece of advice; though he didn’t mind it himself, he knew Sir Gawain would throw a fit upon hearing that Shadow had shown such dismissal.

And the other part of him wanted to push Shadow just a little more. To get more of that strangely satisfying feeling of being treated like a man instead of a crown.

“I don’t care,” came the instant reply, and Arthur had to fight back a smile. “There are no kings where I come from, so your title means nothing to me, and even if it did, I won’t bow to you, or to anyone.”

The ‘not again’ went unsaid, but Arthur could hear it in Shadow’s voice, could read it in his body language. Arthur was always rather adept at deciphering Lancelot’s small cues and gestures, though Lancelot kept many of them hidden behind a wall of steel, but with Shadow, who bared his face and his body for the world to see, nothing could be hidden from Arthur’s discerning gaze. It was fascinating, truly, to be able to read someone new so well and so easily. Shadow was a puzzle with clear edges, but with many, many pieces that Arthur still had to search for.

All in all… a refreshing individual, despite the circumstances.

“Okay,” Arthur relented, and the sight of Shadow’s eyes narrowing in confusion only served to make fighting back his smile impossible. “In that case, I shall leave it to you.”

With that, he picked back up his pen, continuing to draft the latest ordinance on adjusting the limits of imported goods past Avalonian borders. The work was tedious, boring, dull, and even though he had just taken a break, Arthur felt his hand start to cramp with just a few words jotted down. The king sighed, rolling his wrist a few times, before getting back to work.

Just grin and bear it, he thought to himself as an involuntary noise of discomfort escaped him as his hand twinged again. You’ve done it before and you will always be able to do it. A king cannot show weakness. A king may not make excuses for poor judgement. Everyone is counting on me to do the best I can.

The thoughts only served to worsen the sense of anxiety that always seemed to cloud his mind, and Arthur grimaced, dropping his pen, holding his head in his hands and wishing for comfort for a man who was no longer with him.

His ears perked up as he heard a noise, something akin to a footstep taken in his direction, and when the king lifted his head, he noticed that Shadow no longer had his back flush against the wall. The dark hedgehog was doing his best to mask his emotions, but Arthur could still peel back every layer he put up, seeing the concern and the discomfort in the smallest things, from the slight narrowing of his eyes to the light raising of his spines. Shadow’s body language was silently screaming in empathy, something Arthur wasn’t used to receiving from others, and it intrigued him more than it should have.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured Shadow, not waiting to be prompted; he doubted the other would have asked, anyhow. “It’s simply sobering, sometimes, to remember that I have a kingdom’s worth of expectations to meet.” The king looked back down at the piles of papers on his desk; it was the same work, day in and day out, with decisions ranging from laughably easy to crushingly difficult. Yet, he had to make them all. Without thinking, he murmured aloud, “A single mistake could cost me everything I’ve done up to this moment. All the good I’ve done, all the efforts I’ve made, all the reputation that I’ve struggled to build up… it could all go up in smoke in a second, and I would be back at the beginning, needing to prove myself over and over again to people who expect everything from me.”

It was a moment of weakness, of cowardice, wherein Arthur was so tired from years of work and the loss of his most precious ally, for whom he still had almost no time to mourn. His eyes flicked back up to Shadow, and he prepared to apologize and ask that he forget all that he had just divulged 一 it was hardly fair on his guest, after all 一 but then he saw Shadow’s face, stunned and amazed, his red eyes wide and fixed on him, welling with a look that Arthur almost never saw on another person; understanding.

Shadow was looking at him with such mind-blowingly clear understanding and empathy that Arthur’s breath was taken away.

For a few more charged, heart-pounding moments, all they could do was stare, the sensation of something new connecting them becoming stronger and stronger with every passing second.

Then Shadow tore his gaze away and flung open the door, stepping outside and closing it behind him, leaving Arthur alone in his study.

As the king sat back in his chair, he stared into space as he tried to make sense of what had just happened, and what that might have meant for Shadow.

He was certain that, even though his dear friend’s face was too often hidden from view, that Lancelot had never once looked at him like that.

Shadow… what is your story, I wonder?

…

Just when Lancelot thought he couldn’t hate the odd technology of Sonic’s world any more, it came to a sudden and violent peak as the blue hero was called into action as a swarm of machines called ‘robots’ began invading Station Square. To make matters worse, they were created by some sort of mad doctor, and upon seeing an image of the man in question, Lancelot had to restrain himself from running the monitor through with his sword.

This mad doctor held a horrible resemblance to a certain ‘emperor’ that had caused Arthur far too much trouble, back at home in Avalon, and it made Lancelot desire nothing less than for this man’s complete and utter demise at his hands.

According to Sonic, these attacks weren’t anything new to him and his team, and though he knew it was a distraction or a trap, they didn’t have any options aside from stopping them quickly and efficiently, for the sake of everyone who lived in the city. He rallied his team effortlessly, leading the chase down to the battle, not bothering to bark orders because of the trust he carried in his followers…

Lancelot’s heart swam with affection. Sonic truly was Arthur, whether he believed it or not, and it showed in everything he did. He was a leader who cared not for the title, a man who cared for even the smallest life under his protection, and his bravery was unmatched, inspiring, and absolute. Someone of such immeasurable importance that needed to be protected at all costs.

So what else could Lancelot do but run to shield him when, during the battle, he saw a robot take aim at Sonic’s back?

His ears registered the sound of Sonic moving, then stumbling, but he only paid attention to the blast that came his way, soaking up the impact with his legendary strength, but he was not indestructible. Blood began dripping from a wound on his arm, and the scent of singed hair prickled in his nose in the most unpleasant way. Lancelot hissed in pain, his mind threatening to cloud with this new kind of pain, like fire but so much more unnatural, but he took pride in knowing that he had done his job. Sonic was safe. Sonic was safe and…

And he was dragging Lancelot to the side?

“What the hell was that, Lance?” Sonic demanded, panic and fury coloring his tone, and Lancelot’s feet almost froze in shock. Why was Sonic so frightened? Why did he sound so angry?

Had he done something wrong?

In a space several yards away from the battle zone, Sonic sat Lancelot down, and swore under his breath when he saw his battle wound. “Damn it Lance, I knew that robot was there! Why didn’t you just let me dodge? Oh Chaos, you’re bleeding, why did you run in like that?!”

Lancelot only gaped at him, his mind struggling to make sense of his leader’s words as Sonic inspected his arm and fretted over how it wasn’t healing.

Was he supposed to heal quicker than the average being? Lancelot supposed that maybe, with the help of his mother or Merlina, that could be possible, but the young girl who appeared to be his mother’s counterpart appeared more of a fighter than a healer, and he had not yet seen a counterpart to the royal wizard.

Lancelot wanted to ask these questions, to get some answers, but the near furious look on Sonic’s face made him hold his tongue. Such a look on someone he admired and loved so strongly… it was enough to make him feel like the scum of the earth.

The knight sat out the rest of the battle, staying in place even as Sonic left to finish the job, and the humiliating feeling of utter shame managed to overpower even his need to ensure his leader’s safety. Every time he felt the urge to stand up regardless, to charge into the battle even while wounded, and fight by his leader’s side as his sword and shield, the image of Sonic’s distraught face would flash before his eyes again, and he would remember his words, sharper and more painful than any sword, demanding why he had interfered.

Why had he failed his job as a knight?

What good was he, if he couldn’t even fulfil his one objective?

Lancelot’s head remained bowed in shame, even as he heard rapid footsteps coming his way. It remained bowed, even as he felt steady hands clean his wound and wrap a bandage around it.

It was only when Sonic lifted his chin and forced his visor up did Lancelot finally manage to look him in the eye.

“Why did you step in front of me like that?” Sonic asked, his voice calm again, though it did nothing to soothe Lancelot’s inner turmoil. The knight wanted nothing more than to no longer speak, to be swallowed by the ground and forgotten, the pathetic knight who couldn’t do his job when it mattered.

But he couldn’t refuse his leader, and so he forced himself to talk.

“It was the promise I made to you,” he said, and he struggled to keep his dismay in check as Sonic immediately looked displeased at his answer. “I am… protective by nature, and even moreso as a knight. I swore to protect Arthur, and I must protect you, too, even if that comes with my own life as a cost. That is something I must do, for I--”

“Oh stop it!” Sonic interrupted, once again looking angry and upset, and Lancelot bit back his speech, both ashamed and relieved. Had he gone even further, he might have lost control of his emotions and revealed just how deeply his affections for the blue hedgehog lied.

And then, Sonic asked something very, very strange.

“Isn’t there more to being a knight than serving a king?”

Lancelot, who up to that point had felt so certain of his standing, of his mission, of who Sonic was and what he represented, felt his heart break in two as cold reality settled over him.

“No,” he whispered in response, having never felt further away from the other than he did in that moment.

Sonic was not his king. Sonic was Arthur, but he was not his king. Sonic had no want for a knight, no desire to act as a king.

But if that were the case, what was Lancelot to do?

“Lancelot.”

Sonic’s voice was firm, and Lancelot braced himself for some hard truths.

“I’m not a king, Lance. I’m a hero, I guess. That’s what people call me, anyways. But the point is, I’m a free hedgehog. I’m not here to give orders or have people die for me, I’m just around to have a good time, to go where the wind takes me, and if I have to save a few people from some robots in the meantime, I will. I just gotta do what I gotta do… and I can’t do that if all you can do is try to protect me.”

Even with his face raised, chin still supported by his leader-- no, by Sonic’s hand, Lancelot tried his best to look away. His eyes watered treacherously, threatening to spill over. Being a knight was Lancelot’s life, his identity, the air that he breathed, the reality he lived in. It was everything he knew, but… but now it was…

The hand disappeared from his face, and then Sonic was reaching for his own hand on his uninjured arm, and Lancelot was pulled to his feet. Sonic looked him full in the eyes, their pull hypnotic, and even as Lancelot tried to choke back his tears, he felt his breath catch in his lungs.

“Hey… I need you to trust me with my own life, okay?”

Lancelot blinked, and the smallest of tears managed to escape him. Sonic didn’t think he trusted him.

In a sense, Lancelot supposed that he didn’t.

Yet when he reopened his eyes, he saw the look the other hedgehog was sending him, a look he had seen in Arthur’s eyes many times, mixed with a sense of sad resignation. Lancelot had never been able to read it perfectly, a fact which had always frustrated him to no end, for all he wanted was to be Arthur’s closest, to be the one who knew him at a level that no one else could hope to achieve.

But in Sonic’s eyes, the message was plain and clear.

He wanted to be seen as an equal, not someone above him, unattainable, on a pedestal. No, it wasn’t just that… Sonic looked determined to pull them both onto equal ground, to the same level, and the thought made Lancelot’s head spin.

“Lance… I know it’s scary, but you can choose how you want to live your life now, and trust me, it’s a good thing.”

And Lancelot, who knew nothing aside from being a knight, felt the crushing weight of the world in front of him, dark and untamed, when before he had Arthur’s light to follow. Paths were branching in front of him, too many to count and too many to walk down individually and explore. His head spun with possibility, and fright gripped at him, tempting him to deny, to refuse, to hide his face, or perhaps, to die as a knight in a world that refused to house him as he was.

Then he felt Sonic’s hand, still holding his, warm and comforting and safe, and somehow, in the midst of his existential turmoil, Lancelot felt a warm glimmer of hope.

“Okay,” he murmured in response, and Sonic’s brilliant grin soothed and delighted him more than he could properly understand.

Sonic… I shall do my best. For you… and for me, as well.

…

It hit too close to home, in this place that was about as far from home as Shadow could get.

Every day, whether he looked for him or not, Shadow saw King Arthur struggle silently. He saw him work day in and day out, endlessly trying to prove that he was worthy of being king, of being in everyone’s good graces and that he wasn’t just entitled to be there, but that he was supposed to be in his position. Even while all around him there sat obstacles and red tape and tough decisions and divides and people who were just never satisfied and…

And…

Shadow closed his eyes, recalling every debriefing he had had in G.U.N.’s headquarters. He remembered feeling as though he was on a leash, that every mission, every move he made had to be executed perfectly, otherwise he would lose his right to exist as a free being.

No… Shadow had never been free. Not since the day he was created, with the power to hurt and to heal, and every day he had to face the consequences of actions he had committed years prior. Shadow remembered the feeling of the imaginary leash shortening, tightening around his throat, reminding him that no matter what he did, it would never be enough.

Shadow would never be considered a true person by the people who saw him as a weapon.

And Arthur… Arthur seemed to be considered in the same way by the people who saw him as a king.

Shadow’s heart ached, and the dark hedgehog grit his teeth as he recalled all the times he had caught the other wincing and massaging his hand while drafting laws and messages, how he plastered a smile on his face as he met people and made addresses when he clearly would rather be anywhere else, and how he kept his voice even as he ordered his knights around, even though he obviously didn’t want to be giving orders, he just wanted to be looked at as an equal, but he was so ingrained in this life that he felt resigned, and so he stopped trying to fight where the fight could not be won. Shadow knew all these feelings, all the sensations of being worked to the bone, of putting on an act to protect himself, of accepting that there were some things that, like it or not, would simply never change…

But Arthur, unlike him, was not the Ultimate Lifeform. This man was not made of infinite power and energy, was not capable of rapid healing or boosting himself in body and mind with his own energies whenever it suited him. Arthur was a remarkable but regular hedgehog, who had been working off of nothing but his own willpower and strength of mind, and that knowledge hurt perhaps the most of all.

Arthur and himself… they both pulled a painfully similar weight, a weight that, even on his worst days, Shadow had never wished upon another person.

So what else could Shadow do but grab Arthur’s hand and run him out of there, out of the castle, yelling vague excuses at anyone who tried to stop them?

Arthur followed easily behind him, not asking a single question as Shadow ran, ran away from suffocating walls and legal obligations and the knowledge that it was never, ever enough.

Shadow was used to Sonic keeping up with him. They had always been on equal grounds, and Shadow knew it, even at the beginning stages of their rivalry when they both had asserted that they were the stronger, the faster, the more incredible hedgehog. With time, that knowledge became easier to swallow, as their rivalry held a friendlier edge to it, and especially so when their friendship and partnership had become more undeniable, and when those dumb, weird feelings started springing forward and…

And…

But with Arthur and his frightfully similar situation, Shadow’s empathy had hit him like a truck, and seeing him in so much concealed pain every day had turned into something too much to bear, and so, just for this one, Shadow decided he would be the man’s savior, even for just one evening.

They stopped in a meadow, far beyond the castle and away from the treeline where the forests began, and Shadow avoided looking at the exhausted king, unsure how to express what was in his head, in his heart, in his soul.

How was he supposed to tell him that watching him take all this weight, all this responsibility, was too much for him?

How was he supposed to say that he had similar issues, with G.U.N. and the people of the United Federation breathing down his neck and observing his every move, and that perfection was the bare minimum?

How could he express that they both deserved to live their lives without earning the right to exist without constant scrutiny, where one slip up meant everything falling apart, absolute ruin, the end of the world…

Shadow took in a deep breath, his mind spinning with thoughts and feelings he wasn’t sure he could put into words, but when he finally looked over to Arthur, the breath left him and wouldn’t return.

Arthur didn’t look angry or annoyed or anxious, even though Shadow had ripped him from his work that he couldn’t afford to fall behind on. Arthur didn’t look upset at all.

He looked grateful.

He looked serene.

Arthur looked directly into Shadow’s eyes, his own green ones reflecting the stars up above, and Shadow wanted to tell him everything, even though his body refused to breathe and his tongue refused to move.

The hand in his hold shifted, and Shadow felt Arthur squeeze his hand softly, just once.

He understood.

Chaos above, Arthur understood, and Shadow didn’t even need to say it.

Shadow swallowed, feeling overwhelmed, and Arthur seemed to understand that, too. Wordlessly, the blue hedgehog moved closer, his hand never leaving Shadow’s, and he leaned his body against Shadow’s, answering an unspoken need for comfort without smothering him, without trapping him in place with a hug or an embrace.

Shadow closed his eyes, hating how the gesture reminded him of one time Sonic had done something similar, a small shoulder check that had lingered a moment too long, and at his side, he felt Arthur breathe in deeply and hold it in, as though he were resisting the urge to sigh.

Shadow knew he was probably thinking about Lancelot.

Their hands both squeezed at the same time, and they both knew.

It was a strange feeling, as though both of them had lost a large piece of their lives, only to gain another to take its place. It was something that felt like infidelity, even though nothing warranting such a thing had been established with the other person on their minds.

Yet this closeness… this was something that Shadow had wanted for a long time, but had never been able to truly obtain. Shadow didn’t always know how to use his words, how to explain what he wanted or what he needed or what he was going through, and now here he was, with Arthur, a man who understood him without words. A man who he understood, who brought out his empathy to an almost painful degree, and Shadow wanted in that moment for nothing more than for them both to be happy.

As he felt the warmth of Arthur’s body and the beautiful comfort of being understood, even in a world that wasn’t his own, Shadow figured he might be on the right track.

Arthur… I don’t know how to thank you.

…

When Sonic first kissed Lancelot, it was after another battle, in which neither escaped without injury. Sonic could see Lancelot try his hardest to hold back his instinctive reactions, struggling to trust him and not place the blame on his shoulders, and Sonic looked out the window, knowing that life was short and uncertain and that any day might be his last.

He also did it knowing that waiting for Shadow was not going to help either of them at all.

He felt Lancelot tense up in shock, then relax, lifting his hands up to his head and burying them in his spines. Lancelot was pilant, willing, eager to receive whatever Sonic wanted to give him, and Sonic responded with his best efforts to make the kiss special, the sort of kiss that Lancelot deserved, after so many years of putting himself second. Whenever Lancelot made a noise that suggested he enjoyed what Sonic was doing, Sonic resolved himself to keep going, to deliver the indulgence that Lancelot had always been denied of.

It was completely different to how he always imagined kissing Shadow would be like. He had always imagined a competition, with both of them trying to one-up each other like they always did, but Lancelot’s sweet eagerness as their lips met again and again pushed all thoughts of Shadow from Sonic’s mind, and as they finally parted for air, it was Sonic’s name that escaped from Lancelot’s mouth.

…

When Arthur first kissed Shadow, it felt like a long time coming. The king knew he would need to take the initiative, with Shadow struggling to come to terms with his own feelings, and he felt the striped hedgehog become rigid in shock when Arthur’s hands landed lightly on his arms and he pressed their lips together.

He also did it with the knowledge that he might never see Lancelot again, and if that were the case, that Shadow was someone he couldn’t bear to let slip through his fingers as well.

When Shadow recovered from the shock, he kissed back, roughly and intensely, and Arthur found himself being pushed to keep up. It was like a battle, fueled by unspoken, deeply internalized feelings, finally being let loose until their heads swam with a lack of air and an overflow of emotion and the immeasurable feeling of connection without words.

Kissing Shadow lit a fire in Arthur’s soul, even as he felt Shadow start to calm down, finding enjoyment at being able to be vulnerable without pain for once in his life. Arthur could feel the heat flush off of the other’s face in waves, and when they finally parted, gasping for air, he was so, so glad that there was no visor or helmet to create a barrier between him and those eyes, softer than he had ever seen them, that he could read like a book.

#Smash speaks.#Avalon Series.#Stories From Avalon.#Lansoni.#Arthadow.#I wrote 80% of this today after months of barely touching it.#Hope you all enjoy!#I'm going to bed.

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spencersweetie · 3 years

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Coincidence (Spencer x GN!Reader Onseshot)

Category: Fluff

Summary: Spencer and Reader accidentally have a museum date when they run into each other.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: none <3

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“Y/N!” A familiar voice called your name. You turned around and faced a familiar man whom you’d met through your friend Penelope. Spencer stood smiling at you with his hands in his pockets. He energetically waved at you.

You grinned back at him. “Hey Spencer! What a crazy coincidence, us both being here at the same time.” You had spontaneously decided to visit the National Gallery of Art since you had a free day to yourself over the weekend.

“Totally!” He responded. “I’m supposed to have the whole weekend off so I thought I’d revisit the gallery. How are you?”

“I’m alright! You’re revisiting? How many times have you been here? This is my first time seeing the gallery.” You had been to other art museums in Maryland but never the National Gallery of Art since you had recently moved to D.C. a year ago.

Spencer chuckled lightly. “This would be my ninth time coming here. I saw the gallery for the first time when I was nine years old and couldn’t keep myself away from this place.

“Wow!” You exclaimed. “I don’t blame you, I’ve only seen the sculpture garden and the first few pieces in this wing so far and everything is gorgeous; I’m in love already.”

“You know what, I’ve got the building memorized!” Spencer eagerly informed you. “If you want, I could be your personal guide and show you the best parts of each exhibit and take you on the most efficient path through the museum! I mean, you don’t have to say yes, it’s up to you.”

“Spencer, that’d be awesome, I’ll totally tag along if you’re cool with that!” You beamed at him, trying to hide your excitement. You usually went on trips like these alone so it was nice to have someone who could enjoy the same thing as you by your side.

“Great, let’s go!” Spencer turned and gestured towards the next exhibit.

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As you and Spencer explored the museum together, you noticed how abnormally comfortable you felt around him. You two had never hung out without Penelope so this was a first for you both. Even without your mutual friend, you found that Spencer was both easy to listen to and easy to talk to. He of course knew a lot about the art in the gallery and thoroughly explained each piece to you but you appreciated that he never talked to you like you were dumb or lesser than him. He regularly asked if you were okay with his infodumps as well, which you completely didn’t mind. You could tell that he undoubtedly had a passion for the arts, and you liked that he was so enthusiastic to share that with you.

While you did certainly find Spencer’s interesting facts to be intriguing, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander as you looked at him from the side. He didn’t notice your looking as he faced the painting while he talked to you, completely occupied by the piece that was on the wall in front of him. You liked the way he spoke about the art that he showed you. Spencer was very animated, clearly demonstrating his excitement about whatever he was explaining in the movement of his hands. His face was quite expressive too. His eyebrows rose and fell as he talked and his eyes squinted and widened as he conversed with you. You hadn’t noticed how pretty Spencer’s eyes were until now, how his irises were brown but with little gold specks on the inside. You liked that when he wrinkled his nose in the middle of a sentence, his scrunch reached the top of his nose bridge between his eyes. His nose was a nice nose, you thought. It enhanced his side profile and turned slightly upwards when he smiled too. And his lips. Today you noticed that his lips were quite… pink. And full. And plump. You had to catch yourself when your eyes traveled down from Spencer’s eyes to his mouth when he spoke, then hope that he didn’t notice your distraction. You just liked that way he smiled, that’s all, you told yourself. He often kept his smile as he talked and continued to smile when you spoke to him too. You liked the way his lips puckered when his smile grew bigger as he finished his sentences. It seemed like an uncontrollable habit of his-

“Y/N?” Spencer interrupted your thoughts. He looked at you with his brows slightly raised.

“Hm, yeah?” Your mind snapped back to the present moment. “I’m sorry, could you say that again?”

“Are you okay? Am I boring you? We could stop here if you want!”

“No, Spencer- it’s fine!” You jumped to explain. “You’re good, I promise! I’m not bored, I just got lost in my thoughts for a second. Um, the only da Vinci painting in the U.S. right? Is this one here?”

“Exactly!” Spencer lit up and straightened his posture. “Da Vinci painted less than 20 oil paintings throughout his career; this one was bought for $5 million and arrived in D.C. in 1969!”

“Damn!” You exclaimed. “So that makes this portrait like, the Mona Lisa of the National Gallery, huh?”

“Absolutely!” Spencer agreed with you. “The gallery has other Da Vinci pieces displayed but none that are as rare and valuable as an oil painting of his. This one, Ginerva de’ Benci, is a portrait of a daughter of a banker, most likely commissioned when she was about 16 and just engaged. You know, the juniper bush is what’s in the background. Juniper represents chastity which was one of the most significant traits of a woman in the Renaissance era. It’s kind of a subtle little pun, including the juniper plant, because in Italian the plant is called ginepro.”

“Oh! Ginepro, Ginerva! That’s so cute, I love it!” You told him. “I like how there’s like no fancy jewelry or finery on her in this portrait too. It’s different from the Renaissance portraits of the other ladies that we saw.”

“Yeah, it’s a little bit of a surprise when it comes to a portrait like this that she isn’t completely dressed up! It doesn’t reveal her family’s wealth like portraits commonly do. I love that you noticed that.” Spencer’s lips turned at the corners in appreciation of your attention to detail. “Let’s move onto the next one!”

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You and Spencer moved on through the exhibit, then through the rest of the museum. You two enjoyed each other’s company for the day and were able to see all the art in three hours. As you exited, you found yourself laughing as you and Spencer recalled the events of the day. “I still can’t believe they kept trying to pay you for a private tour even after you insisted you weren’t a museum tour guide!” You laughed into your hand which was clapped over your mouth, trying not to draw attention to you and Spencer.

“Shut up!” Spencer jokingly rolled his eyes at you. “I hate that they were gathered around me too, attracting a crowd while trying to hand me money. I don’t even wear a uniform like the other employees!” Spencer cracked up along with you, shaking as he pictured himself standing next to you, explaining to a group of strangers that he was just visiting with a friend, not working for the gallery.

You shrieked with laughter, uncontrollably gasping for air as you tried to calm yourself. “Then when they said they would call the gallery and get you fired for denying customers!” Tears were coming out of your eyes from being unable to stop laughing. “And you just went ‘Okay!’ and walked off without me!” You missed a step and tripped, grabbing Spencer’s arm as you fell into him.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You were half still dying from laughing and half freaking out from your mistake. “I didn’t mean to grab you, I know you’ve got a germ thing! I think I just got a little carried away and wasn’t careful enough to watch my step!” You frantically apologized to Spencer. “Are you okay?”

Spencer grinned at you and dusted you off on your shoulders. “Relax, Y/N. I know you’re not germy; I’m not gonna freak out if you touch me. And I’m fine, you’re the one who fell!” He reassured you. “Are you okay? Do you need a second? You’re pink in the face, I don’t know if from laughing or from tripping on the step.”

“I’m fine, I’m good! Thank you Spencer.” You replied, still hot around your face. “Let’s just get out of here before I start to laugh and embarrass myself again.” You chuckled. “Are you free for the rest of the day? We could get something to eat if you’re hungry!”

Spencer smiled at you. “Yeah, I’m free! Do you like Indian? There’s this new place that’s about 10 minutes from here-”

A loud ringing cut his sentence off. Spencer sighed and apologetically looked at you before whipping his cell phone out of his pocket. “Yeah?” He spoke into the phone.

He listened for a few seconds before speaking. “I’m in D.C. but I’ll be there as soon as possible. Thanks, Penelope.” Spencer hung up and shoved his phone back into his coat.

“Got a case?” You asked.

“Yeah. I’m so sorry, Y/N, I know we were supposed to-”

“Spence!” You stopped him. “You don’t have to apologize, we didn’t even plan on hanging out today!”

Spencer’s eyes softened; he expected you to express disappointment before anything else and was surprised that you were understanding instead. He smiled and nodded. “Okay, but we could still check out the new Indian place another time, yeah?”

You felt butterflies in your stomach emerging. “Of course. Thank you for today, Spencer. I had an amazing time.”

“Me too, Y/N. I’ll text you when we get back!”

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Thank you for reading! Feel free to comment your thoughts or send anon feedback, anything is appreciated <33

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Stalker X Stalker, Part 8

First

Perma tag: @nathleigh @peachmuses

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades @jayjayspixiepop @blueslushgueen @fan-written @seraphichana @nerd-nowandforever @toodaloo-kangaroo

Tim woke up the next morning, because that’s how things work.

He fought back a groan as he slowly flexed each muscle individually, making sure that everything was still working. To his surprise, it actually was. His brain stuttered to a stop. Why had he been asleep, then? He was pretty sure it wasn’t his usual sleep day…

Then, he finally processed the fact that his face was pressed to something that definitely wasn’t his pillow.

He cracked an eye open. He was laying on top of Marinette, head resting on her stomach. She was still asleep, he noted, one of her hands was thrown over her eyes and the other tangled in his hair.

He vaguely considered just staying there. He could stay in that position forever…

Except he couldn’t. He had responsibilities. He was pretty sure that if he skipped both patrols and work his family would assume he’d been brainwashed in some way.

So, reluctantly, he pushed himself up and reached a hand out to poke Marinette awake.

She grumbled a little and caught his hand, blinking her eyes open. She looked up at him for a moment, uncomprehending in her sleepy state, and he couldn’t help but smile. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead before clambering away from their tangle of limbs so he could take a quick shower and get ready.

First, though, he started up the coffee machine. He’d known that she’d had coffee, he’d been there when she bought it... but, really, if she was worried enough to lie about it he’d at least try and alleviate those fears a little.

That done, he took a quick shower. He already had a towel and toothbrush at the house -- wow, Marinette really wasn’t joking, he had basically moved in already, oops -- so he used those.

Then he pulled on the outfit she’d made him. By the time he needed help lacing up the corset, Marinette had stumbled into the room in a daze.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hello?”

She held out one of two mugs for him and he was forced to hide his smile behind his cup.

“Could you help me with this,” he asked.

She nodded and downed her entire mug before walking behind him. He felt her forehead tip forward to rest against the back of his shoulder as she worked and he was very glad she couldn’t see his face because he was sure that he was beginning to get redder than their costumes.

She pulled the lace tight and tied it off and he had no clue if the tightness in his chest was because she had laced him too tightly or because of nerves but either way he didn’t really mind. He turned back around, pressing another kiss to her forehead.

“I’ll see you later?”

She smiled at him. “I’ll make some bacon for you to eat on the go. Don’t want you to be hungry.”

He considered saying no but, really, he didn’t see her all that often in the morning and he had to admit that it was pretty cute. “If you remember to make some for yourself then sure.”

She hummed a little and turned around to go make food. He’d check on her in a few minutes to make sure she hadn’t fallen back asleep while cooking.

For now, he absently checked his clothes over for bugs. It was an old habit from years of living with the bats and, had he been even slightly more awake, he wouldn’t have done it.

Except he did. And there, hidden in the cuff of his shirt, was a bug.

… he hadn’t even been this happy when Damian had bugged him for the first time. She cared about him and his well-being! He was accepted!

When he made his way back into the kitchen he made sure to give her a long hug.

Marinette was so tired. She had been working on attaching the diamonds to Cassandra Wayne’s dress and there were so fucking many.

So, when Robin climbed through her window, all she did was give a vague wave of acknowledgement.

“You need better window locks,” he informed her.

“Most people don’t know how to pick every lock in existence, kid.”

“But some do.”

She thought about whether or not she really wanted this to be the argument that took up valuable work time. The answer was no, definitely not.

She finally turned to face him, resting her cheek against the couch. She didn’t know Damian personally outside of messing with Tim when they were in their superhero identities, she wasn’t even completely sure that this was Damian (though he did match up with the measurements she had for his outfits), so there was no good reason for him to be there.

She squinted suspiciously at him. Now that she was paying attention, she could see that he had his hands behind his back.

“What do you want?”

“I saw on your lease that you are allowed to have pets in your apartment.”

Oh no.

“Please tell me you didn’t,” she whispered, her voice close to begging.

He slowly brought his hands out from behind his back to reveal a black cat with almost luminous green eyes. She rested her head in her hands, taking deep breaths to remain calm.

“I wish to coparent with you.”

“... your dad didn’t let you get another pet?”

(Yes, she knew about the pet problem. She had seen Batcow. She had seen the Batbats all over the cave that he had apparently taken in.)

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Possibly.”

She slowly lifted her head from her hands to glare at him. Unfortunately for her, he puffed out his little baby cheeks in a pout and, even if most of what she did was played up to mess with Tim, she was weak for little kids that look sad.

“Fine. But you’re paying for everything and you better actually help me take care of it.”

“She! And her name is Vanelope!”

“Van --?” She decided she didn’t care. She glanced at Damian’s still disapproving expression and rolled her eyes before leaning down to be at the cat’s eye level: “I’m sorry for calling you an ‘it’, Vanelope.”

He nodded, apparently satisfied by her begrudging apology.

“C’mon, put Vanelope down, we’re going to the pet store.”

Damian beamed. She pulled the front of his hood down over his eyes in retaliation for the dumb situation he’d put her in. Revenge achieved, she transformed and ducked out her window before she could get stabbed.

Scarecrow’s parties were always the best.

For one thing, there was the haunted house. Scarecrow took the whole ‘scaring people’ thing very seriously, it was his whole shtick, so you could always count on him to dream up the best haunted houses. Even better, he’d give out brownies laced with minute traces of fear toxin to make the whole thing just a little bit scarier.

Speaking of brownies: the food. Tim was pretty sure that some of the stuff served at the parties could rival the things Marinette and Alfred made.

Then there were the venues he picked. They had to get bigger every year, what with Bruce’s adoption problem and the Rogue’s ever-expanding roster. This year the man had rented out an entire park and the building nearby. The building had a dance floor and a kind of second floor that overlooked everyone. The park held all the people that the building could not.

Add in the fact that every single person was probably clinically insane in some way or another and you’d have the reason for why he was always excited to go.

Tim attended the party as a Red Robin employee. He had to, it was on brand.

Marinette raised her eyebrows when she saw him. She’d gotten there before him, which had been a little bit of a surprise. He’d thought she’d at least wait for a few vigilantes to come to make sure it was safe --.

Oh. Nevermind. He stifled a grin when his eyes landed on a blonde in an outfit he recognized as Cassie’s. He was pretty sure dressing up as Wonder Girl was betraying the bats but he wasn’t going to be the one to call Steph out on it. Cassie was pretty cool...

Cassie -- no, Steph -- was suddenly grabbed by the arm by an excited Marinette and pulled her over to him. Marinette was wearing a pirate costume and he suspected that the bottle of wine in her free hand was more than an accessory.

“Red Robin, yum~,” both women chorused.

He rolled his eyes. “They’ve infected you already. Soon you’ll be disappearing into the shadows without ending conversations.”

Marinette grinned, the corner of her mask (now tinted black in some places to mimic a pirate’s beard) twitching. “It’s about time you assholes got a taste of your own medicine.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Y’know, for someone who didn’t like the idea of the party before, you sure did get into your outfit.’

“Please, I put effort into all my outfits.”

“Except for the Ladybug one,” teased Steph.

She huffed. “I was on a time crunch --.”

Tim grinned. “That’s no excuse.”

“... you had thought about it for who knows how long and not only did you come up with the name Drake, but you also came up with an ugly brown outfit. You don’t get a say in this.”

Steph grinned. “And me?”

“Your outfits are okay,” said Marinette after a few second’s thought.

Tim gasped in mock offense. “And I thought we were friends.”

“Friends call each other out for their stupid fashion choices.”

Steph smirked and slung her arm around Marinette’s shoulders. “And, really, you need an intervention.”

When did they start ganging up on Tim?

“Whatever. This outfit is nice, so that makes up for all past mistakes.”

“It’d be nicer if you didn’t make the same joke every year,” Steph teased.

He huffed and pouted, but then something caught his eyes. Dick had arrived, Tim could see him perched on a second floor railing in his work clothes… of course, the name tag marking him as Nurse Grayson was gone, but it was still the same light blue scrubs.

He paled a little under his domino for two reasons. The first was the instantaneous worry about their identities; sure, Gotham had many medical workers, but who knows, Gotham and Bludhaven twitter both insisted that Dick had a very distinct body. The second was Marinette was going to end up liking Dick quite a lot -- she already looked up to him for his fighting style, there was no way she was going to be able to resist the signature Grayson charm that had won over every superhero, vigilante, and villain on Earth (and a few other planets as well).

He knew that, inevitably, Dick would win her over… but he was definitely going to stall it as much as he possibly could.

So, he pulled a grin to his face. “Oh, Ladybug, you haven’t gone in the haunted house yet, have you?”

She gave him a slightly wary look. “I don’t do good with scary things.”

He grinned. “I’ll protect you.”

She raised her eyebrows slightly before sighing. “Fine.”

So, they made their way across the park to the haunted house. Scarecrow had, somehow, built an entire house in the one month since he had broken out of Arkham. It looked like it had been torn right out of a video game, with the blackened, decaying, and peeling wood and rickety steps.

Jonathan Crane smiled when he saw the two of them approaching. He was dressed as a scarecrow, but the one from the Wizard of Oz instead of the creepy one he was usually dressed as.

“Crane!” Tim greeted.

Crane held out the plate of fear toxin brownies for them. “Nice to see you, Red Robin. And nice to meet you, Ladybug.”

Marinette blushed a little, her head tipping to the side. “I’d shake your hand but you haven’t set down that tray the entire time I’ve been here. Starting to think you can’t.”

He laughed a little. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

Tim smiled a little and popped a brownie in his mouth. Fear toxin tasted a lot like chili powder and, he had to admit, it was pretty good.

Marinette took a brownie with a lot more hesitance.

“Oh! Have you been exposed to fear toxin yet?” Asked Crane before she could take a bite.

Marinette looked a little worried about the use of the word ‘yet’.

Marinette shook her head, though. “No.”

“Then your immunity isn’t built up. I’d suggest just eating half of that.”

She nodded thoughtfully and broke the brownie in half. She held the halves in her hand awkwardly, unsure what to do now.

“I’ll take the half you haven’t eaten,” suggested Crane.

He set down the tray -- Tim swore he could hear a cartoon sound effect as the man struggled to unstick his hand to the metal -- and took her other half.

“Since it’s a lower dose it’ll probably take longer to take effect,” said Tim. “We’ll have to wait a bit so you can have the full experience.”

Marinette took a tentative bite and her eyes lit up. “This is really good. What’s your recipe?”

Apparently, Crane had once tried to replicate the taste with normal chili powder and had fallen short. Tim watched the two of them theorize what it could be that his attempts had been missing. It was clear that Marinette had missed living in a bakery more than she was willing to admit and, unfortunately, none of the bats were particularly good at even cooking basic meals, let alone the kinds of things she was able to do. Alfred was the only exception and, even then, Bruce wouldn’t let him near her most of the time because of Identity Reasons. Tim was glad that she had someone to talk to about it, he just kinda wished that that person wasn’t a Rogue.

Tim jolted out of watching them when Marinette started rubbing up and down her arms absently. Ah, the toxin must be setting in for her now.

“Ladybug, ready to head inside?”

She blinked and looked up from the conversation. “Oh. Sure. I’ll talk to you later!”

“I’ll try not to get thrown into Arkham by anyone else while you’re gone,” joked Crane.

Tim grinned and took Marinette’s hand, pulling her inside.

It turns out she actually wasn’t all that good with scary things. Or, at least, jumpscares. She clung to his arm, dull nails doing their best to dig into his skin.

On one hand, he kind of felt bad for telling her to come along. On the other hand he thought it was kind of cute, maybe the next movie they watched together could be a horror.

He would probably be able to enjoy it a little more if he wasn’t tripping out on fear toxin himself. There was a creepy little girl following them around and he wasn’t going to acknowledge her and her creepy little white clothes because talking to hallucinations is always bad.

But then, towards the end, she disappeared.

He didn’t like that either. It set him on edge. It shouldn’t, the fear toxin was just wearing off… but he didn’t feel like it was wearing off. He was still a little shaky and the buzzing under his skin was still present, so maybe she’d been real and something was up.

He got his answer when he heard the sound of little feet dashing overhead.

Marinette squeaked and her grip on his arm tightened, somehow.

When the end was in sight and Tim was waiting anxiously for the final scare, he heard someone running towards them. High pitched laughter echoed around them.

“Oh fuck no,” he yelped when he saw the little girl running towards them, arms outstretched, pretty white dress splattered with red.

Marinette seemed to agree with the sentiment. She nearly pulled his arm out of its socket as she pushed herself into a sprint. He stumbled awkwardly a few steps before catching his footing and returning the tight grip.

And then, like the vigilantes with nerves of steel they were, they ran from the child.

She tried to look calm when the door swung shut behind them. She was pretty good at managing her emotions, she thought (or, at least, good at pushing them down).

But it wasn’t necessary because, when they reached the safety of the outside, they were handed a framed picture of them sprinting away from the creepy little girl, horror written plainly on their faces.

She blushed, more than a little embarrassed.

Thankfully, she was quickly distracted from her embarrassment. Her eyes landed on Bruce, who was dressed as a vampire. She waved for his attention, intending to point out the similarities in their outfits to mess with him, only for his eyes to zero in on the wine bottle in her hand.

Marinette mumbled a curse.

She turned and pressed a ‘kiss’ to Tim’s cheek through her mask. “Gotta go,” she chirped, before promptly disappearing into the crowd.

Alright, time to avoid Bruce. Where is the last place she’d be? Actually, no, he’d probably check the last place...

Her eyes landed on where Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn were hanging out by the drinks.

Hm... a negative (people she was wary about) and a positive (drinks!) to balance each other out. A good middle ground.

She walked over and picked up a weird drink with a lot of different candies sticking out of it. She did not know why Scarecrow felt the need to sully the good name of alcohol with American candies but, since it was apparently the only option, she slipped a straw under her mouth to drink.

The drink was taken from her fingers.

She looked at her now-empty hand, brain struggling to catch up, straw hanging limply from her mouth. Then she spat out the straw and cursed.

She slowly turned to look at the person who had stolen it from her, expecting to see a disappointed Bruce, only to meet eyes with Poison Ivy.

(Ivy had dressed up as a stereotypical martian. Marinette wondered, vaguely, if actual aliens were ever offended when people dressed up like the movie versions of them.)

“I’d like that back, thanks,” she said, reaching for the drink.

She held it out of reach -- holy shit she was tall -- and raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her. “You’re a child.”

“I’m nineteen.”

“Exactly: a child,” she said.

Marinette rolled her eyes. Was this how Damian felt? Damn, no wonder he was always so angry about it… but, to be fair, Damian actually was a child. She was nineteen. She had a job and an apartment. Completely different.

But, since convincing Ivy she wasn’t a child wasn’t working, she had to come up with a new approach: “I’ve been drinking since I was six.”

For some reason, this didn’t seem to soothe the woman in front of her.

Thankfully, Harley Quinn -- who was wearing a knockoff Riddler costume -- decided to take pity on her: “Let her drink, Ives, Europeans drink differently than we do.”

Marinette and Poison Ivy exchanged confused looks. Marinette hadn’t gone out drinking with anyone properly in America outside of occasionally dropping into bars to trick old men into giving her drinks and then disappearing. Poison Ivy just, apparently, wasn’t aware of the difference.

“For them it’s a social thing, they don’t really get drunk like we do.”

Ivy hesitated. “You don’t get drunk?”

“I mean… we can get drunk,” she said slowly. She cringed visibly. “I did, once. The day I turned eighteen my mom told me ‘Just this once, to see what it’s like’... the pictures… they deleted them, but I will never live it down...”

She reached for the drink again and, this time, Ivy gave it to her. She was lucky she had her mask to hide the smirk on her face.

When Poison Ivy didn’t leave after that, Marinette knit her eyebrows together. The woman blushed (she blushed green?) and Harley pushed her towards Marinette a step.

“I would like to apologize for how we met…” Ivy said slowly. “Joker was an asshole in Arkham and I’d had a fight with Harley and I guess I just…” She snapped her fingers.

Marinette raised her eyebrows. “It’s fine. It’s not the first world-ending event I’ve had to stop because someone had had a bad day.”

Harley hesitated. “That’s… different.”

She shrugged. “New city, same shit… just sometimes easier, I guess. People are actually scared of Joker?”

“Now, that isn’t very nice!” Said a painfully cheery voice behind her.

She’d summoned him.

Marinette took a long, deep breath, before turning around to greet Joker and Punchline. They were dressed as circus clowns, because of course they would. “Hey! Still alive, I see.”

Joker smiled, like he always did. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Pretty sure you’ve died more than B-man over there,” said Harley.

“No clue why they keep bringing you back.”

Marinette’s eyebrows scrunched together. The man had died? And they had brought him back? Willingly? Weird.

“It’s ‘cause I’m Batsy’s favorite,” cooed Joker.

“Favorite punching bag, maybe,” said Ivy.

Marinette, wisely, decided to back up a step so she wasn’t between the two fighting groups.

“At least people pick him as their first choice,” said Punchline.

“You’d be the expert on what it’s like to be the second choice, I guess, since you’re just me but purple,” said Harley.

“I’m you but self-aware,” Punchline corrected her.

Ivy raised her eyebrows. “Some would say that’s worse.”

Punchline almost punched her.

She didn’t stop because of some amazing show of self-restraint, of course. Nightwing had just chosen that moment to drop down between the two groups. And then Nightwing, with his all-amazing powers of getting pretty much everyone on his side, got them to declare a truce and go to opposite sides of the room.

Marinette was a little disappointed as she took a sip of her drink. It had just started getting good.

But also: Nightwing!

“Is it true that you can do a quadruple somersault?”

Nightwing smiled widely.

Tim was beginning to think that maybe Marinette was so interested in Dick because she was secretly his long lost sister or something. They had the same ability to make even some of the worst people like them.

But, no. Dick having a secret half sister or something? How stupid would that be?

Still, Tim had seen her making friends with: all of his siblings that lived in Gotham, Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, Dick (damn it, he’d hoped he could keep them apart just a little longer)... the only people she hadn’t gotten to like her were Punchline and Joker, and even then she was choosing to annoy them, who knows what would happen if she actually tried to befriend them… and now she was hanging out with Riddler...

He sat next to them on their bench. “I’m beginning to think you can’t make friends with anyone normal.”

She grinned. “It’s a blessing and a curse.”

Riddler (dressed as the gameshow host he would probably be if he hadn’t gone off the deep end) looked over at Tim with barely hidden disdain. “Red Robin,” he greeted coolly.

Marinette frowned. “Why don’t you like him?”

“Him and all the bats… they always answer my riddles before I finish telling them.”

“Well, that’s an easy fix: Red, wait until he finishes telling the riddles before answering.”

He scoffed. “Why would I?”

“For the drama!” Riddler said in a tone that made it obvious he thought it was obvious.

“Half the time you have people’s lives on the line. Lower the stakes and maybe we’ll be more attuned to the dramatic tension.”

Riddler scowled. “You bats just don’t appreciate my art.”

“You’d think that they’d be all for drama.”

“Right? They have a whole brooding cave! But I want high stakes and suddenly I’m too concerned with the vibes of things.”

Marinette grinned and leaned towards Riddler conspiratorially. “They have more than a brooding cave. They have brooding gargoyles, brooding rooftops, brooding cars… I once caught Red over there brooding on his motorbike. Who can brood on a motorcycle? It’s a motorcycle!”

Tim huffed. “I thought we agreed to keep that a secret.”

“Sorry, darling, it’s just too easy to mess with you.”

Tim started to respond, but then he realized something.

‘Darling’?

That could mean one of three things. He needed to excuse himself from the conversation to figure out which was the truth.

He sent the two of them a halfhearted glare. “I will not put up with this bullying any longer.”

“Fine, fine. If you’re going to come back, bring me a cookie.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “If I must.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode off, a man on a mission.

After questioning all of the family she had talked to (she had yet to meet Jason, apparently), he determined that she didn’t use nicknames all that often. When she did it was usually just to make things quicker for herself. The only people outside of him that she ever used nicknames for were Bruce (‘B’) and maybe Damian (‘kid’).

And he had a nickname like that, too, of course. She called him ‘Red’ from time to time, probably just because she was too lazy to go through the hassle of saying his entire codename.

… but ‘darling’ was different. He had a pet name. In both identities, apparently.

Which meant one of two things:

a) he was special to her in both identities

or b) she knew he was Red Robin.

He was kinda hoping for the first one, but he wasn’t about to let emotions cloud his judgement. He sought out the world’s only accurate lie detector.

He found her surveying the crowd with Jason. They looked like they’d been transported directly from the renaissance, with her plague doctor outfit and his Shakespeare costume.

Tim grinned at them despite his slight anxiety. “Nice of you to bring a Green Arrow costume back from Star City, Flamebird.”

Jason touched the ugly goatee and mustache that both of them shared before sending him a glare. “And you all wonder why I don’t come home more often.”

“Really? I thought it was because you and Roy were --.”

Jason’s face reddened with either anger or embarrassment, Tim didn’t know and didn’t particularly care as his brother left them in a huff.

He couldn’t see Cass’s face but he could feel the disapproval.

“I just… I wanted to ask you something in private…”

Cass didn’t leave, so he assumed it was okay.

“Does Ladybug know our identities?”

Cass was motionless for a moment and he wished she didn’t have such a bulky outfit because it was hard to get a read on her…

And then she nodded, tapping the side of her forehead (the sign for ‘know’) to further emphasize the point.

He looked down at where Marinette was excitedly describing something to an enthused Riddler.

He’d been anxious about her finding out but, now that she had, he found that it was a huge weight off his shoulders. She knew who he was and she accepted it.

He leaned against the railing, a smile threatening to make its way across his face.

She accepted him.

#stalker x stalker #maribat #timari #timmari #shutterbug #timinette #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #tim drake #red robin #it isn't important but #duke went as miles morales's spiderman #damian went as batman #also pediatric nurse!dick grayson lives in my head rent free

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wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse · 3 years

Text

A Peculiar Hobbit (Pippin x Fem!Reader)

Word Count: 1857

Warnings: fluff, fighting

Requested: by anon

I thought this would be a fun write, and I had a lot of freedom with this one and it was fun! Short and sweet! Might possibly do a part 2, maybe super angsty, who knows?

You walked through the stacks of books, trying to find the right one for your research. “No no no, this isn’t right!” you talked to yourself, almost kicking a stack of papers in your frustration. “They must have gotten lost. These boneheads lost valuable information, they’ll have hell to pay.” This time, you kicked another stack of books, and it fell. It slammed down onto your legs, and you cried out in pain. You fell to the ground, and moved the books off of you, rubbing the sore spot it left.

“Um, excuse me,” You heard from the darkened corner. Whoever was speaking had a peculiar accent. It sounded like a male, but a young one. “I hope I’m not interrupting something. I was sent here to find something, and well, it seems like something happened?”

You rolled your eyes, you had a bad enough day already. Now you had to deal with actual people. “Well, I am fine enough. What can I do for you?” You tried your hardest to speak in a polite manner, but it came out a bit snappy. It was odd to speak to darkness in the corners anyway. Who could blame you?

“Miss, I truly am sorry for interrupting, if you just want me to leave, I will.” The voice stuttered.

You sighed. “I promise it is fine. Come in.” The fire was dwindling, so you threw some more kindling in, giving the stranger some time. When you turned around you saw a child looking at you. No, he had the height of a child. But he looked older. Clearly, you looked astonished, as the child thing started chuckling.

“Oh, you have never seen a Hobbit before. For someone that spends much time in here, you haven’t seen much outside. What is your name miss?” He spoke between his laughs. His cheeks were a merry red, and his curls framed his face.

But something about his statement rubbed you the wrong way. “Well excuse me, you know nothing about me. You don’t know whether I go outside or not, whether I spend all my time in here.” You spoke indignantly, after all, who was he to judge your lifestyle. This only caused him to laugh even more. “And for your information, I know exactly what a Hobbit is, I just have never come across one. Very well then, go find what you’re looking for. Also, my name is y/n, not that you need to know.”

“Ah, a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He grinned and began looking around, leaving you with your mouth gaping.

As he shuffled through the books and scrolls, you looked at him curiously, at his frame, his size. As you scanned him, you noticed things that made him look less of a child. His chest was broader, and his arms were bigger. His face still had a childish innocence about it, one that hadn’t quite been taken during these dark times. His cheekbones were beginning to hollow out though, and the light in his eyes was probably not as bright as they used to be.

He sneezed, making you jump, and you hurried over to where he was, making sure he hadn’t disturbed too much. You picked up some books, placed them on the counter, and began questioning him. “Now tell me, what is your name?”

“Peregrin. Peregrin Took,” he stated proudly.

I cocked an eyebrow, doubtful of that. He seemed to be too much of a jokester to have such a formal name like Peregrin. It was a nice name, no doubt, but it didn’t fit. “Peregrin hm? Are you sure?”

He looked down bashfully, but then looked up with a sly grin. “Ok fine, I go by Pippin. Now that you have seen a hobbit, your life is complete! Especially since that hobbit is me.” He winked, and you suppressed a smile, not wanting him to be egged on. “Anyways, I am the best hobbit for you to meet since I am the most handsome. I have the best smile, except maybe my friend Merry, he has a good smile. Oh also, my friend Frodo, he has good eyes.” His smile faltered for a second.

“Are you ok?” You questioned.

He looked up from the scrolls he was reading, the happiness he previously had slowly melted away. “Aye, I am alright. I am. But I don’t know about the rest of my companions.”

You grabbed two cushions and planted them on the floor. “Would you like to talk about it?”

He nodded and sat next to you. It became apparent how much he had lost during this time. He told you about his home, The Shire, and how he ended up on this journey. The encounters he had along the way. How they were in danger very quickly. He also told how he lost many friends, including the Captain of Gondor, Boromir. He teared up, telling the sacrifice he made to save them, even if it didn’t at first. It hurt to see such a fragile creature have the need to toughen up, to harden, to scar. He spoke of his friends leaving, how he was not sure where they might be. If they were still alive.

Once he was finished, you spoke. “Well, that is certainly a story to tell. And there will be more chapters to your book. I sincerely hope everything goes your way, a person as young as you should not have had to go through all of this.”

He smirked, his happy demeanor slowly coming back. “How young do you think I am? I am 29, a fairly good age if I do say so myself.”

You spluttered, surprised at that. You remember reading somewhere something about that, but you thought it was rubbish. “You must be joking. No way are you older than me!”

Pippin smiled and nodded. “Well, I hate to break it to you, no, I love to break it to you, I am 29. Not younger, not older.”

“Hmm, interesting,” You hummed, picking yourself up off the ground. “Well, we should probably find what you’re looking for.” You turned around, accidentally slamming into a huge pile of books. Something about that hobbit made you flustered and turned you into a clumsy mess. And this was not going to get better. The pile slowly teetered, and you stayed frozen, unable to move your legs.

“Y/n, watch out!” Pippin yelled, tackling you to the ground. Just in time, the stack made an earthshattering sound when it hit the ground, sending dust everywhere. Pippin laid on top of you, his head resting on your chest.

You coughed, and he rolled off, laying next to you instead. “Thank you,” you whispered, brushing some of the dust off of your clothes. Pippin’s curls were covered in dust, and he smiled wryly, brushing some specks off your forehead. You cleared your throat and he pulled away quickly, the slightest hint of pink warming his cheeks.

He sat up quickly, brushing the rest of the debris off of himself. “Well, this wasn’t what I expected when I decided to make my way down here, but it was better than I could have hoped for.” He helped you sit up and then planted a kiss on your cheek. “Until next time!” he joyously called, skipping back up the stairs. You touched where he kissed you, beaming. This was going to be a better day than most days.

Everything was going fine, and you kept on replaying the time you had spent with Pippin until you heard a large boom, shaking the entire city. You heard the war cry of thousands of orcs and realized very quickly that you were under attack. “Damn it! This is why I shouldn’t have holed up here!” You yelled, quickly grabbing your sword from the dustiest, dark corner. It was a gift from your father, that he had trained you to use, but you thought you would never need.

You sped up the stairs, reaching sunlight. You shielded your face, letting your eyes adjust to the brightness, before turning to the pathway. You jogged through, trying to conserve some of your energy, though it might all be in vain. Objects were being thrown at the city, tumbling buildings and humans alike. All was chaos, and it swept you into it.

You made it to a small alcove where you could see the army that had amassed before Gondor. The army that would bring the fall. Your sword hung loosely by your side, and you saw everything flash before your eyes. Memories forgotten, brought back, people you vaguely remembered. How much you had missed out on the world, hiding out in your book-hole instead. How much you could have seen if you had taken the chance. And now it was your time to go, just like that. You shook yourself out of that stupor, and raced on, trying to get farther up.

Soldiers were being rallied by a stranger in white cloaks, and you passed by, working your way up farther. Out of nowhere, a person turned the corner, slamming into you. You fell to the ground, your sword clattering. “I’m sorry,” you spoke hurriedly, picking up the sword and moving on.

“Well, are you really just going to run off like that?” Pippin asked in his strong accent. You turned back, your jaw dropped. You had never expected him to be part of a battle, but here he was. You didn’t have time to answer before another crowd of orcs attacked. You took down as many as you could, and heard a cry of pain from behind you. You turned to see Pippin’s sword cutting deep through an orc. He had some bruises on his face but otherwise, he was fine. You grabbed him, pulling him away from the chaos. A battle was no place for a hobbit.

“What are you doing?” He yelled, thrashing his arms about. You grit your teeth, finally at the citadel.

You sighed, turning to look at him. “I need you to be safe. If I know you’re out here fighting, it will only distract me.”

He crossed his arms, his face slightly pouted. All of a sudden, his eyes lit up, and a smirk grew on his face. “Fine, I’ll stay here. On one condition. Let me kiss you. Just once.” He laughed, and you looked astounded at his cockiness.

You had nothing left to lose though, so you agreed. “Okay, I will, but I am warning you Pippin, no tongue.” He grinned, and leaned in, planting a kiss directly on your lips. He didn’t linger for too long, his chapped lips creating a little friction. He pulled away first, leaving you a little dazed. You shook yourself out of your stupor and brushed your hair out of your face. “Goodbye, Pippin. I will see you soon,” you promised, even though you knew it was unlikely. He knew it was unlikely as well, you could see it in his eyes, but he still had a little bit of hope. And even a little bit of hope goes a long way.

#Pippin x reader #pippin #pippin x y/n #pippin x you #lotr #lotr writing #lotr oneshot

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love-and-monsters · 3 years

Text

Harpy Model

M harpy X GN human, 6,762 words.

This story is based on this post that I was tagged in by the lovely and talented @p-gretz. Thanks for the inspiration!

You fumbled with the camera equipment in your hands. The tripod kept trying to escape under your elbow, but shifting to secure it would mean losing the lens cap, and grabbing for that jeopardized the magnifier you had balanced against your collarbone. If people stopped dumping things on you at every given opportunity, you probably would have been alright, but being the lowest member on the totem pole meant your status was barely better than a self-propelled table.

The tripod slipped another inch down and you automatically grabbed at it. The sudden movement unbalanced the camera in the center of the pile. With a clatter of plastic, it slipped free, tumbling toward the ground.

A feathered hand snagged the camera strap, jerking it to a halt seconds before it struck the ground. “Need some help?” a slightly accented male voice asked.

“Thanks, but I got it,” you said. A total lie. You could not have had it less if you’d tried.

“Nonsense. At least let me take something so you can get better situated.” Before you could protest again, he had removed several of the objects, tucking them into his feathered arms.

Without the constant danger of dropping something if you so much as twitched, you were able to shift the pile in your arms into a better position. “Thank you. I’m sorry, I-”

You froze. It felt embarrassingly out of character for you to look at someone and freeze, but his face made something in your chest do backflips.

He was elegantly made up, with touches lengthening his lashes and emphasizing his cheekbones. His hair was pale and curling in little waves around his ears. Delicate feathers sprouted around his neck, trailing down toward his arms. They were pale white, with touches of pink. His tail was easily the most striking part of him. Long, green feathers made a train behind him that brushed the floor and gave him the impression of a trailing cloak. He stood delicately on bird-like talons, poised like a dancer.

Fortunately, your freeze only lasted a couple of seconds, and you disguised it by pretending to drop and recover one of your many items. “Sorry. I’m trying to go to studio, um. A12, so I’ll just be heading over there-”

The man laughed. It was more gentle than mocking, but you felt your stomach shrivel in embarrassment regardless. “Really? Then you’re heading in the wrong direction. I’m headed in the same direction. I can walk you there.”

“I wouldn’t want to bother you,” you said.

“It’s not a bother. You seem like you could use the help.” You blushed furiously, but the man didn’t seem to notice. He shifted the camera he’d taken from you into a more comfortable position in his arm. “Are you new here? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”

“Yeah. I’m, um. The new intern, basically. You’ve been here for a while?”

“I work with a few different photography places as a model. But I’ve had a contract here for some time.” He flicked his tail casually. “If you need help, I can show you around a little bit when we’re done. This place can be a real maze until you get used to it.”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose on you like that. I mean, you’re probably really busy and I don’t want to take up any of your valuable time-”

The harpy laughed. “My time is hardly the most valuable time here. And, if we’re being really honest…” He leaned in close to your ear. His feathers tickled as he put a hand up to his mouth. “I don’t mind making some of the people around here wait. They’re all really stuck up.” He leaned back and dropped you a glittery wink before strolling on ahead. “Come with me! It’s this way.”

You hurried after him. He had a particularly flowing, graceful way of moving. It wasn’t hard to believe he was a model- even if you hadn’t met him in the studio, you would have guessed it. He moved like he was always on a catwalk.

The studio was particularly maze-like. There were multiple winding halls with several doors each. Only a few small signs gave any sign of where anything was, and casual racks of clothes strewn around the hallway blocked more than half of them. The harpy, however, strode through the halls with a practiced ease.

After several turns, you finally came across a door marked Studio A12. The harpy pushed the door open and paused to let you through before stepping in himself.

“Revali! You’re late!” An impatient-looking woman glared across the room at him. You froze automatically, but he just put down the equipment he’d been carrying on a nearby table and gave you a wink.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” he said. You turned away from him as your supervisor approached you.

“You’re late too,” he said.

“Sorry. I kind of got lost.”

“I know it’s your first week here, so I’m not going to scold you for this, but being on time is important here. At least for the photographers.” He cast a disparaging look at Revali who was chatting cheerfully with the stern-looking woman. “Models get more leeway.”

“He doesn’t seem so bad,” you said. “I thought a lot of models here were kind of stuck up.”

“He’s not stuck up,” your supervisor agreed. “He’s got the opposite problem. He doesn’t take anything seriously. One of those types who float through life on nothing but their good looks.”

The photoshoot started right after he spoke and you were immediately swept up in the business of it all. Your job was essentially doing whatever anyone needed of you, and they needed a lot. You spent most of the time scrambling around, fixing lights, grabbing accessories, fetching camera equipment, and being a general gopher. The photoshoot lasted only an hour and a half, but you were exhausted by the time it was over.

You sagged by the door, waiting for your next task to be assigned. Revali was having some sort of conversation with his manager that seemed to be verging on an argument, at least on her end. Revali looked as casual as ever.

His manager said something stabbing a finger in his face. He didn’t even flinch. He just lifted one of his shoulders in a slight shrug and, with a flick of his tail, strolled away.

“Ready for the tour?” he asked as he walked over to you. He had a particular way of walking, like he was constantly on a catwalk. It really was more of a strut than a casual walk.

“I already said you don’t have to. And, um, I don’t want to get you in trouble.” You made a subtle head motion toward his managers, who was alternating between looking at her phone screen and glaring at him.

Revali tossed his head. “She’s not my mother. She doesn’t control me. I do what I like. And right now, I’d like to take you on a tour of the studio. Why don’t you come with me?”

You glanced back at his manager. Revali shifted in front of you, blocking her from your sight. “All right,” you said. “But it can’t take too long. I’ve still got other responsibilities to take care of.”

Revali nodded and gestured for you to follow him out the door. “Like I said, this whole place is kind of a maze. I swear, they designed every section to look as similar as possible. But, you can figure out where all the studios are because it’s broken into sections. The stairwells are always marked with the sections. Even numbers are always to the right when you get off the stairwells and odd numbers to the left. Here, I’ll show you how to get to a couple of the bigger studios-”

Revali was right- the entire place seemed to have been designed like a weird, spiraling maze. You ended up needing to take notes on everything he told you. When you finally came to a stop, you were almost dizzy from all the turns you’d needed to make.

“Where are we?” you asked, looking around. “I haven’t been in this part of the building before.” It was almost indistinguishable from the other parts of the building, with eh same florescent lights and powder blue walls, but there were larger signs next to every door and they were spaced closer together.

“Yes, you probably haven’t needed to come down here yet.” Revali opened one of the doors and stepped inside. It was a small room with a large mirror taking up most of one wall, a couch, a minifridge, and a few racks of fancy-looking clothes. “They’re the model rooms. Those of us who have long-term contracts here get our own little spaces when we’re not working.” He strode across the room and sprawled on his couch.

You stood in the doorway. One of the models taking an interest in you and then inviting you back to his personal room? It was hard to keep your imagination from going places. “Hey, uh. I don’t want to be rude, but if you invited me back here for some, uh, fun, I’m not really into casual flings, so-”

Revali shrugged. “Whether or not we have sex is entirely up to you. I’ve had a couple flings in here. Honestly, they didn’t do much for me.”

If he had been attempting to make you more comfortable, it had backfired. Great. Now you didn’t want to sit down anywhere. You remained in the doorway. “Why did you bring me here, then?”

Revali shrugged. “You seemed overwhelmed,” he said. “And it’s much quieter down here.” There was a series of thumps and cursing on the other side of the wall. Revali glared at it. “Mostly, anyway.”

You plucked up your courage and settled on the couch next to him. He grinned. “Also, it’s lunch time and I like eating with other people. I make way too much food all the time.”

Revali grabbed a few Tupperware containers out of his minifridge and lay them out on the table next to you. Most of them appeared to be some sort of meat covered in a thick sauce. Revali was looking at you eagerly, so you took the fork he was offering and took a bite.

“Oh!” you said. “It’s good!”

“Yeah?” Revali said. “I cook when I’m stressed, so I always have more food than I need.” You took a few more bites, enjoying the richness and spiciness of the sauce over the umami of the meat. Revali leaned back, watching you eat with a strange amount of intensity.

“Um. Are you going to have some?” you asked, gesturing to the food. Revali made a face.

“Can’t. I have my own lunch here.” He pulled out an uninspired-looking salad with a few strips of grilled chicken on top.

“You make food, but then you don’t eat it?” you asked. Revali shrugged.

“The life of a model. I do need to keep in shape,” he said. “But I’m always cooking, so you can come over any time you want. I’ll give you a free lunch.”

“You could try at least one bite,” you said. You lifted a piece of meat on your fork and held it out to him. Revali lifted a brow. “Come on. You made all this. I’ll feel bad if I’m the only one who gets to eat it.”

Revali’s brow lifted a little higher. “Well, if you’ll feel bad, I suppose I have no choice but to spare your feelings.” You had intended for him to take the fork from you, but instead, he leaned forward and picked the chunk of meat off the fork with his teeth. He sprawled back and chewed, eyes closing. “Mm. It is good.”

You glanced around the room. It was slightly messy, with clothes and makeup strewn all over the place. Nothing was dirty, but it was a little cluttered. “How did you get into modeling, anyway?”

Revali opened his eyes and pushed himself more upright. “It was a few years ago. Just started doing a few local things, then I got scouted by my current agency. It’s not the most fun, really, but it’s pretty good money. Better than flipping burgers at a fast food restaurant, at least.” He shrugged. “Never finished college, so my job prospects are pretty limited.” He eyed you. “What about you?”

“I finished college a month or so ago. Studied photography. I’m hoping that this internship will lead to an actual job in the future, because right now I’m kind of living off my savings.” You gave a weak chuckle. “I kind of wanted to do my own photography thing, but, you know. Better to have a stable job.”

“Don’t I know it. I’d love to do some more interesting projects, but these ones pay well, which is what my manager likes.” Revali checked his phone and grimaced. “I’m going to have to head to my next shoot in a few minutes. You can hang out here if you like. Just put stuff back when you’re done with it.”

“I should probably be getting back now anyway,” you said, standing up. “Thank you for the lunch, though. You’re a good cook.”

“Thank you. Come back any time. Like I said, I’ve always got food. Actually, let me walk you back to the photo area. Just to make sure you get there all right.” Revali held the door open for you as you stepped into the hall.

“I’m not that hopeless,” you said, starting to head down the hallway. Revali snickered and you stopped. “What?”

“You sure?” he said. “Because, uh, you are going the complete wrong direction.”

“Oh,” you said. “I. Um. That’s embarrassing.”

“You’ll get used to it. Eventually. Here, I’ll show you the way.” Revali linked his arm through yours. “This all right?”

“Sure,” you said. “Thank you. Again.”

“No problem at all! Now, we should probably hurry, so I don’t get yelled at twice in one day. My manager would blow a blood vessel.” Revali headed off at a rapid trot, forcing you to jog to keep up.

Meeting him for lunch became a regular practice after that. He usually had something new and interesting for you to try, and he seemed to enjoy your company. Every day, you would slip out of work and head down to his dressing room for at least half an hour. A few times, you lost track of the time and had to sprint to make it back to your next shoot.

“They’re really putting you through the ringer, huh?” Revali said as you collapsed on his couch. He was wearing the sparkliest blue jacket you’d ever seen. Whether it was actually for a shoot or not was up in the air- Revali was the sort of person who would wear it out and about.

“It’s all right. I wish I was allowed to do more than just menial labor, though. I knew I was going to get the tasks people didn’t like when I started, but I wish I had more learning experiences. I feel like I’ve barely held a camera for something other than handing it to someone.”

Revali stretched his arms over his head, wings twitching. It was always interesting to watch the way they moved. They were a combination of wings and arms, with feathers sprouting all along his arms and the wing tip and hands separating at the wrists. Whenever he wore long sleeves, he needed to cut slits for the feathers and tied the ends closed around his wrists. They were usually tied closed with some sort of bangle, so he nearly always jingled when he moved his arms. “That’s a bummer. Have you been able to take any photos at all recently?”

“Nah. I’ve been too busy. When I get home from work, all I want to do is collapse. And I’ve been having trouble getting inspiration. I’ve been trying to get out more and do some shoots in nature, because it’s a lot nicer than the manufactured settings we have here, but I’ve been having trouble finding a model.”

Revali sat up straighter. “Having trouble finding a model, hm? Well, isn’t is just so fortunate that I happen to have some skills in that particular department?”

“Are you sure? I can’t really pay you much. That’s part of the reason I’ve been having trouble getting some models. When your job isn’t paying you anything, you can’t afford to hire someone for an afternoon. And I’m just not connected enough to find someone willing to do it for free.”

“I think we can help each other out,” Revali said. “I do actually need some new photos for my portfolio, and I think it would be nice to have a more natural setting. Let me use the photos and I’ll do it for free.”

“You’d be willing to do that? And you’re not too busy? I know you’ve kind of been running ragged for the past few days,” you said.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. Like I said, it gives us both something we want.” He whipped a phone out of his pocket and started tapping on the screen. “Let’s see. I’m free Saturday afternoon, if that works for you?” You nodded. “Wonderful. Text me your address, I’ll stop by and you can take me wherever you want.”

Your phone timer dinged and you jumped to your feet. “Oh, shoot, I need to get going. Um, I guess I’ll see you then? And thank you!”

“Don’t worry about it, cutie. Just go.” He waved a hand at you. “I’d hate to see you get yelled at on my behalf.”

You scrambled out the door, waving goodbye to him once more before heading down the hall.

Waiting for Saturday became the highlight of your week. You deliberated over the best location, eventually picking a slightly secluded, riverside area. Revali had agreed to bring some of his own outfits, which he had allowed you to approve. They were simpler than the outfits he usually wore to work, with more natural colors, but he still looked good in them.

You spent a lot of time fussing with your cameras on the day of the shoot. It would be terribly embarrassing for Revali to show up and see you unprepared.

The knock on your door was startling. You carefully placed your camera on your table and hurried to answer it.

Revali was leaning against the doorway. “Hello, darling. Ready to go?”

He was wearing some fancy-looking gold and silver makeup and he’d done something to plump up his tail. It was long and fancy typically, but he’d added long lines of beads and fluff to his tail, making it look even more striking than usual.

“Wow,” you said. You were suddenly overly conscious about how messy your hair was and the fact that you’d just kind of thrown on the first clothes you’d laid your eyes on in the morning. Would it be weird if you made an excuse to go change? “Uh. Do you want to come in for a minute? I just, uh, need to finish something up.”

Revali stepped into your house. “Nice place,” he said, glancing around. You snorted.

“Please. I’m renting a house in the middle of nowhere that has, like, three rooms. Uh, make yourself comfortable. I just need to, um. Grab a jacket.”

“It’s nicely decorated, though. You have a good aesthetic sense.” Most of the stuff you had was from second-hand stores, but it did all sort of go together in a sort of farmhouse-chic way.

You hurried into your room and swapped your old sweatshirt out for a nicer shirt and one of your nicer jackets. The pants were staying, they were good enough. You hurried back out into the kitchen. Revali was examining a few of the photos that adorned your walls.

“You take these?” he asked. They were mostly nature shots, images of animals or flowers up close or landscape shots of rolling fields or mountains.

“Yeah. Most of them were for class. I just hung up the best ones,” you said.

“They’re nice. I like them. Do you like taking picture of nature better? Than of people, I mean.”

“Um. I mean. They’re both nice, just in different ways. There’s something really meditative about taking pictures of nature. It’s peaceful. Working with people can be harder, but it’s also kind of rewarding? Like, taking photos for a wedding is really nice. You get to capture a really great moment in someone’s life and then, when they look back at it, you help them remember the good moments. I like being able to do that for people.”

Revali looked at you. His eyes were bright, assessing. “Why do you work for the studio? It’s not any of those things you said, peaceful or rewarding. It’s mostly just stressful.”

“It makes money,” you said as you headed for the door. “Why do you work for the agency?”

There was a pause, long enough for you to get in the car. “Because it makes good money,” Revali finally said. “And it also means I get my face out there. I like being well known, you know.”

“I can’t imagine wanting that. I like being behind the scenes way more.”

Revali settled back in the seat and watched the fields roll by. “Where are we headed?”

“Um, there’s this nice little riverside area in a stand of trees. I thought it might make for some pretty photos.” You glanced at him uncertainly. “I hope that’s okay with you. I know you said you’d be okay with a nature shoot, but hope you’re not going to be too upset with a little dirt. I’ll try to keep you out of it, but-”

Revali burst into peals of laughter. You twisted your head to stare at him before realizing that you should probably keep your eyes on the road. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t laugh! It just struck me as very funny, but you had no way of knowing, of course.” Revali wiped a stray tear away. “Do you know where I grew up?”

“No,” you said. He hadn’t told you, had he? Revali seemed unoffended. He ran a hand through his hair, which somehow still looked artfully tousled. You were temporarily distracted by the way little tufts curled loosely around his ears. Hurriedly, you turned your gaze back to the road.

“I grew up on a farm,” he said. He fluttered his feathers. “I’m a cockerel harpy- I’ve got my fancy show feathers, but I’m not exactly a bird of paradise. It’s a family thing. I grew up working in the dirt and mud, and whenever I go home, I’m expected to do it again.”

“I never would have guessed,” you said honestly. He had the soft looks of someone who had never worked hard labor, but when you looked him over again, you could see how his smooth muscles might have come from farm work. “Your family didn’t mind, then, you going to be a model?”

“You think I have some sob story about running away from my strict farm father to pursue my dreams of being in the spotlight?” Revali smirked at you. “No. My father was disappointed, I think. He did want me to carry on the tradition. But I’ve got two younger sister who are much more invested in the farm life, so he didn’t have any fears about passing everything on and both my parents are the ‘follow your dreams’ sort, so they probably would have let me go anyway. I’m not sure they understand what I see in modeling, but they support me nonetheless.”

It was a short drive to the little grove. You parked out of the way and gathered your camera equipment while Revali looked around the area. “It’s pretty,” he said, inspecting a spray of yellow flowers. “You have a good eye.”

“Thanks.” You carefully placed the tripod. “Okay, first things first. I want to get some full-body portraits first, then we can move on to the up-close stuff.”

Revali was easy to work with, easier than you would have guessed from the number of arguments he got into with his manager. He posed gracefully, responded to your every critique thoughtfully and carefully, and even put up with your artistic considerations with far more patience than you would have expected. Even when you spent several minutes forcing him to hold a pose while you got the angle just right, he didn’t complain.

About two hours after you had started, you called a break. Revali shrugged his artfully-held jacket back on and lounged against a tree. “Can I see some of the photos?” he asked.

You considered for a moment, then handed the camera over with the same care you would with a baby. Probably more, really. “Just don’t break anything, all right?”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Revali said. “I’ve only ever dropped two cameras. And one of them survived with only minimal damage!” You stared at him in wide-eyed horror. “I’m kidding! I’ll be very careful.”

He clicked through the camera’s photo roll. You sat nearby, leg jittering nervously. His expression was inscrutable.

“These are nice,” he said after a few moments. “I mean, they’re quite good. Better than a lot of the shoots I’ve been to recently. I like the shadow and light here.” He tapped at the photo on screen. You leaned over to see which one he was talking about. It was one of the close-ups, where Revali was staring up through the trees. The sunlight dappled leaf shadows across his face and picked up the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.

“It’s just a photo of your face,” you said, a little embarrassed by the praise. “I mean, it’s hard to make you look bad.”

“Oh, you’re being too modest. A poor picture can make anyone look bad and my lovely face can only do so much. You’re the one who set up the shot and was all clever with the lighting and whatnot.” Revali gave a little wave of his hand. “Honestly, it’s better than a few of my modeling pictures. And you’re much better at giving direction than most of the people at the studio. I swear, the number of times I just get told to look pouty at the camera is ridiculous. Or ridiculously esoteric shit. ‘Think about your best friend returning after a long time away’ my ass. Just tell me exactly what to do with my face and I’ll do it.” He stopped and gave you a slightly embarrassed look. “Not to make this about me, of course. But yes, you are quite good. It’s a shame you don’t get more projects.”

You shrugged. “I’d like to do more independent stuff. But I just don’t have any connections and I’ve been having a hard time getting gigs and, well, it’s just hard when you’re getting started.”

Revali tilted his head to one side. “Things will get better,” he said. You huffed out a sigh.

“I hope so. I’m gonna go crazy if I don’t get to do something interesting in my actual job soon.” You fiddled with a few of the camera settings again. “Ready?”

“Certainly.” The photoshoot commenced once more. Revali seemed to be putting his all into the shoot, which you appreciated. He probably could have slipped by with just posing halfheartedly, but he was really putting effort forward.

You spent longer on a photoshoot than you had expected. Revali was nice to work with, cracking little jokes at every opportunity and being patient with any technical mishaps. The sun had started to sink toward the horizon by the time you were done.

“Sorry that took so long,” you said. “I didn’t mean to take up your weekend.”

“I’m really fine.” Revali flicked his tail, combing his fingers through the long feathers. “You apologize a lot, don’t you?”

“I just don’t want to come across as rude,” you said. Revali laughed.

“That’s one thing you certainly don’t do,” he said. “I enjoyed myself.”

“Still,” you said as the pair of you headed back toward his car, “why don’t I buy you dinner? It’s the least I can do.”

Revali looked down at you. His dark eyes glittered with interest. “If you’re offering, then I’ll certainly take you up on it.”

It took some driving around, but you eventually settled on a small café fairly close to Revali’s townhouse. He selected some sort of salad and you picked out a sandwich. Revali was right, the place was quite good. “I’ve never been here before,” you said. “I guess I haven’t been eating out for lunch as much, though.”

“I’m pleased my cooking is so good to you,” Revali said. He picked at his salad, moving the leaves around more than he was eating them. A knot started to form in your stomach.

“Hey.” Revali looked up. Your tone must have been strange because his expression became serious. “Um. You don’t, um. Eat much.”

Revali lowered his fork. “Ah. I did notice you staring during meals, but I suppose I was trying to flatter myself, thinking it was entirely my good looks.”

You felt hot. “I’m sorry, I know it might be rude to bring it up. But I’m just a little worried. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Hm,” Revali muttered. He put down his fork and shifted in his seat. His feathers rustled and ruffled. “I did have some trouble with eating well when I was younger. It never developed into a full-blown disorder, but I have always had a bit of an issue with maintaining my looks. I suppose my current representation isn’t helping with this issue.”

“Your manager?” you guessed. Revali gave a tight-lipped smile.

“Yes. I gained a pound the other week and got a bit of a lecture for it. Apparently, thin men are in right now. Harpies are usually fine boned and slender and all that, but I suppose it’s not quite enough for her.” A swell of anxiety crested behind his words.

You fiddled with a toothpick. “Can you get new representation?”

“Unfortunately, I can’t. She is the only available representative for the company I have a contract with right now. And even if I could switch, I don’t have any guarantee that the next manager would be any better. Extreme dieting is not exactly uncommon in the modeling industry.” He sighed, picking up his fork and poking at the salad a few times before spearing a large bite and shoving it into his mouth. “The contract actually expires in a couple weeks,” he said, swallowing the bite. “She’s not happy about it. She really wants me to sign on again, but I haven’t done it yet.”

“What’ll you do if you don’t sign on again? Try to go somewhere else?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been modeling for a few years now. I’m not sure what else to do. But I’ll admit, I don’t love the culture. It’s not great for my mental health, in all honesty. I just don’t know what else to do.”

He looked so despondent that you couldn’t help but reach across the table and take his hand. He stared at your fingers for a moment before lifting his gaze to yours. “I’m sure whatever you chose will be the right thing,” you said. “I think, if your modeling career is bad for your mental health, then you can quit. You’re more than just a pretty face, you know? You know more about photoshoots than you think you do. You’ve got a good sense for lighting and you’ve even got a better idea of colors than I do. And you’ve got a really great fashion sense. I think there’s a lot you could do.”

Revali blinked at you for a moment, then his face broke into a breathtaking smile. A blush stole across your face, blazing in your cheeks. He looked unbearably beautiful. It wasn’t just the features of his face, though they were all very good. It was the clear and genuine delight that the smile conveyed. “I don’t think I’ve had someone compliment me so sweetly in a long time! At least, not on something other than my looks.”

“Not to mention, you’re a kick-ass cook,” you added. Revali laughed and took a sip of his water. You weren’t sure, because he had quite a bit of makeup on, but you though you could see a hint of pink tinging his cheeks.

“If I’m looking for a less stressful job than modeling, I don’t think being a chef is a good choice. And I’m not quite good enough to be in the industry. But it is nice to have my skills complimented.” He took another sip. “But thank you. Being a model can make it so your looks are the most important part of your life. It’s good to be reminded they’re not the most important thing about me.”

You shrugged. “Hey, I’m not much in the looks department, so I’m pretty good at looking past that.”

“Now, now, don’t be modest. You’re quite cute yourself,” Revali said, dropping a glittery wink. You felt yourself flushing again.

After dinner, you returned home and bid Revali a farewell. You spent the evening examining the photos you’d taken. Most of them were quite good. At the very least, they would make good photos for your portfolio. You considered them for a few moments, then pulled up the bare bones of your website and started uploading the photos.

The next day, you joined Revali for lunch again. He was wearing more than his usual makeup, but even so, you could see the slight puffiness around his eyes. “Tired?” you asked.

“Ughh. My manager and I got into a fight last night, after I got home. Things were said.” He massaged his forehead. “Tell me something good, darling, I need it.”

“Um,” you said. “I set up my website last night? Or I started setting it up, at least.”

Revali focused fully on you. “Your website?”

“Yeah. Um, I hope you don’t mind, I put some of the pictures we took up there. I want to see if I can start freelancing, at least in my free time.” Revali perked up. The tired look slid off his face.

“I don’t mind. I’m used to having my pictures all over the place. So, you’ve decided to start doing your own thing, now?” He leaned toward you.

“At least a little bit. The hardest part will be getting clients. Once I build up a little bit of a base, I can start getting people by word of mouth and stuff. But it’s difficult now.”

“I’d expect so,” Revali said, but he appeared to only be half paying attention. His gaze had become a little unfocused, like he was thinking about something else. “You know what, my next shoot’s in a few minutes. You can hang out here if you want. I’ll see you later.”

You met for lunch a few times in the next couple of weeks. Revali’s mood seemed to have improved. He was much more cheerful and, to your great relief, he seemed to be eating more.

It was almost exactly two weeks after you’d had your photoshoot when Revali sought you out at work. “I was going to come by for lunch,” you said. “Is something wrong?”

Revali seized your hands. “No. Things are great! I just told my manager to fuck off!” He proclaimed it loudly enough that several people in the vicinity turned toward him. You ignored them.

“That is great! I’m so glad for you,” you said.

“That’s not everything,” Revali said. “I have a surprise for you.” His tail twitched and flicked with excitement. “Follow me!”

Revali tugged you through the building, down to his dressing room. “Okay. Remember how you were talking about having trouble getting clientele?”

“Yeah,” you said cautiously.

“Well, I’ve been a model for a while. Which means I have some connections and some favors.” Revali opened the door and tugged you inside. “So, I thought I’d call some in!”

The room did not look different. You looked cautiously at Revali. “Uh. What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“This!” Revali snatched a stack of papers off a table and thrust them at you. You flipped through them. “It’s the information of people who want to have photoshoots! There’s a couple of weddings, one person wants a pet thing, a couple of people want you to take photos for cosplays- I told them all that you were really good and you’re easy to work with and a bunch of people were willing to give it a shot.”

“You got me gigs?” There was a note of incredulity in your voice. “Like, paying gigs?”

“Yes! I told you, I have some contacts and some favors. I pulled a few strings.” Revali fluttered his wings.

“Thank you,” you said. “I don’t know what to say.”

“All the information you need is there. You can contact them all for more information, but it should have the basics.” Revali sprawled across his couch. “I figured that if I was going out, I might as well use my connections for good.”

“Going out?” you said, perching on the couch next to him.

“Yeah.” Revali rubbed at the back of his neck. “I told my manager to fuck off, remember? There’s a solid chance I’ll get blackballed for it, and even if I don’t, I don’t think I want to do this modeling thing anymore. It hasn’t been great for my mental health. And I’d like to be seen as more than just a pretty face.”

“You have plans?” you asked.

“No. I’ve got some money saved up. I figure I can afford to coast for a little bit. And if it really gets bad, I’m sure my dad would be happy to have me back on the farm.” He laughed, but you caught the slight downturn of his mouth. You ran your finger along the edge of the paper stack.

“If you’re interested, these are a lot of jobs. I think I could use a little bit of help,” you said. Revali blinked at you. “I can’t pay much, but it’ll be a little bit of money and if I start getting really good, I can hire you on full time. You’ve already shown you’ve got an eye for this stuff.”

“Really?” Revali said. He stared at you disbelievingly. “You’re willing to do that for me?”

“It would help me as much as it would help you. I mean, you’ve already been a huge help and you’re not even working for me yet. I think we’d make a good team.”

Revali looked enormously delighted. “Oh, thank you! You’re incredible!” With no warning, he ducked forward, his hands came up to the sides of your face, and he pressed his mouth to yours.

Your brain short-circuited temporarily. There wasn’t a single coherent thought in your mind. Just a bunch of sensations. Mouth. On your mouth. Kissing. Revali was kissing you. Passionately. His hands were on your face. His feathers were tickling you. His breath was warm on your face.

He broke away from you before you could gain enough sense to kiss back. Revali grinned sheepishly. “Oh. That was sort of supposed to be the grand finale. We were supposed to go out for dinner first. I just got excited.”

You pulled your thoughts together. “You were going to ask me out?”

“I thought you deserved something for taking me out a while ago. And I’ve been thinking about asking you out for a while. But you looked so cute there and I was very grateful, and I just couldn’t help myself,” he said. “I hope you didn’t mind too much?”

“No,” you said. “I didn’t mind. At all.” Revali smiled. You were drawn to the curve of his mouth, the fullness of his upper lip. “But, maybe just to make sure, we should do it again?”

Revali’s smile got bigger. “You know, I was thinking that I’m not going to have this dressing room much longer. There are a lot of things we could do in here. Celebrate our moving on and all that.”

“Let’s start with kissing,” you said, “and we can see where it goes.”

Revali leaned closer to you. “Start with kissing. I can do that.”

#exophilia #harpy #harpy boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster lover #his name is a reference btw #rooster harpy #male monster

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blackswaneuroparedux · 3 years

Text

Patton and Monty at War: Unbelieving the unbearable rivalry.

Monty is trying to steal the show and with the assistance of Divine Destiny [Eisenhower] he may do so.

- General George S. Patton, on the Sicily Campaign, private diaries 16 July 1943

So every week I play my usual game of chess over a glass of wine with one of my neighbours in my Parisian apartment building. He’s a retired army general but remains active as a military historian and speaker. He’s curmudgeonly but one warms to him quickly as he doesn’t suffer fools gladly. He’s not a fan of women in the military but reluctantly concedes he would make an exception for me (besides who else could he play chess with?). We get on really well now because of the Covid lockdown this past year. We often have long discussions about military history and current politics until the bottle of wine is completely drained.

On one occasion he invited me to watch the 1969 classic war film, Patton, about the life of one of America’s greatest iconic World War Two generals, George S. Patton. It’s been years since I’ve seen it and I almost had forgotten how great the movie is with George C. Scott as Patton and Karl Malden as General Omar Bradley. We watched it in English and then discussed many things that came out of the film.

Hollywood and history usually do not mix. It is quite common for filmmakers to take a historical subject and to distort it for their purposes and to dumb it down for entertainment purposes. In the case of the movie, Patton, there was no real attempt to distort the story of Patton. It was a fantastic and stirring Hollywood movie. Moreover it was an excellent study in character given Oscar worthy heft by the great George C. Scott as the crusty General George S. Patton. Francis Ford Coppola’s script was severely under-rated.

However there remain glaring inaccuracies such as Patton’s opening speech in the movie - admittedly a an iconic bit of cinema - but even this was based on his statements and captured the character of the man, something even acknowledged by the Generals’ family.

Much of the details of his role in the defeat of Germany are true. The only real omission was the lack of focus on Patton’s Lorraine Campaign, where he distinguished himself. There are some exaggerations in the movie and some minor distortions such as in the weather-prayer scene. In general, the movie managed to produce a great overview portrayal of the character and career of an extraordinary American leader.

The film does accurately relate the leading role played by Patton in the liberation of Sicily. His daring use of armour was crucial in the defeat of the German army on the island.

However long after the film had ended I did think about one thing that irked me. And this was how the movie seemed to linger on the belief Patton was motivated by the desire to do better than General Montgomery, the victor at El Alamein. Indeed the film probably reinforced the accepted conventional wisdom that these two driven and ambitious men hated each other.

There was a great personal rivalry between the two men. They were both driven and wildly ambitious. The movie suggests that the rivalry between Montgomery and Patton was the main feature of the Sicilian Allied campaign and was perhaps a factor in why it ended so quickly with a decisive Allied victory.

The rivalry was not as intense as the motion picture suggests and the two men worked together when needed for the good of the Allied cause.

Born two years apart, both were commissioned within a year of each other and both were wounded in France in the First World War. Both men encompassed very different but very valuable characteristics in combat: Monty-careful and meticulous, Patton-dashing and diplomatic. Despite the differences, both generals demonstrated striking similarities: commitment to their careers, a ruthless egotism, interesting when you consider neither held superior command. This did not impede their desire for the limelight and fame in warfare, arrogance and the manipulation of colleagues in high places to advance their careers. Both were machiavellian in their own affairs and self-interested in their own personal progression.

The great rivalries amongst the Allies that made a real imact were Marshall and Brooke over war policy, Nimitz and MacArthur over resources, Eisenhower and Montgomery over strategy; and then between Percival and MacArthur for incompetence, Patton and O'Connor for aggressiveness, MacArthur and Clarke for vainglory, (and possibly Clarke and Wavell for the stupidity of letting defeated enemies escape), were the issues that defined the war for the Western allies.

The idea that a competition between Patton and Montgomery was more important is cute, but naive. I am not even sure where the idea comes from.

Much is made of the bet between Patton and Montgomery over reaching Palermo in Sicily first, but in practical terms that was the only time in the war that Patton ever appeared on Montgomery's radar.

For the rest of the war Monty was so much higher up the food chain than Patton that he was unaware, or disinterested in Patton's opinions. Montgomery was, by 1944, an experienced general who very successfully fought extensively in both combat and staff roles for 4 years throughout World War One. (Patton got a combat command for a few weeks when the Germans were already collapsing.) Montgomery led a division very successfully through the Battle of France, and a corps through the crucial Battle of Britain training and rebuilding years. He led an army in combat for two years, through many successful battles both on defense and in attack.

By 1944 Patton had led a corps for a few months, and an army for a few weeks. For the very brief period of the Sicily compaign they were theoretically equals in command, but probably only in Patton's mind. Montgomery saw Patton as an enthusiastic if amateurish old man but respected his aggressive boldness. Montgomery saw his HQ 'betting book' as a bit of fun (and was delighted when bet a B17 by someone who should have known better).

When he and Patton met and co-ordinated the Sicilian campaign Alexander seemed not interested in co-ordinating, Monty saw Palermo as a similar bit of fun to pursue, no bigger or smaller than the hundreds of other bets in the book.

Patton saw it, as he saw anything relating to his persona, as the most vitally important challenge of his whole life...up until the next one. Montgomery lost a bet and moved on to the next challenge. Patton won but didn't. (Or at least that is what bad writers have tried to suggest. I think he moved straight on to the next challenge anyway.)

That was the last time Monty and Patton were in direct competition, no matter what revisionists or romantics would say.

The next time Patton was allowed in the field he was one of half a dozen army commanders in Monty's Normandy army group, and, familiarly, he did not arrive until the Germans in Normandy were already collapsing. Very soon afterwards Eisenhower split off Bradley's army group, and Monty had no control, nor much interest, in what Patton was up to thereafter.

The romantics like to suggest that thereafter Monty railed against Patton's supplies, and that Patton railed against Montgomery's caution. The truth is less foolish for both of them. In fact Montgomery railed against Eisenhower's broad front strategy regardless of which of the other sub-commanders was benifitting (to the point of Montgomery making an offer to serve under Bradley as long as someone got single control to pursue a single strategy). He railed against the diversion of resources anywhere not at the main point where a thrust might have achieved early victory.

Leaving aside whether that victory could have happened, Montgomery's beef was with Eisenhower first, his appalling chief of supply Lee second, fellow Army Group Commanders who couldn't control the excesses of their subordinates like Bradley (and to a lesser extent) Devers third, and only then with the several army commanders who each tried to do their own thing.

In practical terms Montgomery seemed more appalled by the negative effects of the incompetence of Hodges (1st US Army,) and the obnoxiousness of General De Gaulle's orders to 'his' army (French First Army), and perhaps even the ineffectiveness of his own subordinate Crerar (Canadian 1st army) , than he did by Patton's enthusiasms. There is hardly a mention of Patton in his diaries through this period, compared to several comments on Bradley and De Gualle, and endless ones on Eisenhower.

Patton too is being maligned by the pretense that his war was taken up with a vain competition with Montgomery. Patton, like Montgomery, was totally concerned with the main issue of defeating Germany. But unlike Montgomery, he did not have Brooke - the Chief of Imperial General Staff - to rely on for support against Eisenhower's broad front strategy.

Patton too was convinced that this was the wrong way to go, but to get his version of a thrust (with him at the front) happening, he had to be a bit more manipulative than Montgomery.

Every word Patton used to wheedle and manipulate support, or at least a blind eye to what he was doing, was designed to get more resources from his superiors. Indeed, if he couldn't get them from Eisenhower, he was willing to steal them wherever he could, and then get Bradley to pretend to not know what he was doing. In this he was quite willing to encourage Bradley's inferiority complex in relation to Montgomery, and to happily manipulate Bradley into tantrums to get what they both wanted, but it seems likely that Patton was more interested in getting his way by making his superiors compete with Montgomery, than in competing with Montgomery himself.

Patton is actually a more complex and clever character than the romantics give him credit for. His 'kill them even if they try to surrender' speeches in Sicily were part of his stage management of troops, not part of his innate personality. HIs 'us against the world' propaganda was more manipulative, not so much like Bradley's inferiority complex. He wanted to win, and he would use anything to get what he needed to win, even ramping up his superiors to distrust their allies. But his genuine competitiveness with Montgomery at this stage was less about him and Montgomery, and more about him and how he could maneouvre others to support him. He would have shown the same level of competitiveness, and the same willingness to undermine, any competitor at this point, British, French, Russian or even American.

Montgomery on the other hand only saw Patton as one more junior general syphoning supplies from an inadequate source. Montgomery was in competition with Eisenhower for control, and possibly with Bradley for resources. Minor army commanders in other people's army groups only registered on his horizon if he could get their armies assigned to his army group.

Just for amusement, it might be fun to consider how Montgomery and Patton might have worked together?

Montgomery was notoriously superb to serve under, no matter what your nationality. British, Australian, New Zealander, South African, Indian, Canadian, French, Polish, and American troops who served under him were all very happy to do so. So were their generals. Bradley certainly learned more about being a field commander from a few months of Montgomery's distant mentoring than from anything Eisenhower ever did for him in their much closer relationship.

There is no doubt that Montgomery preferred effective subordinates to ineffective ones, and it seems possible that Patton would have made a preferable subordinate to Crerar or Bradley in his mind.

As for Patton, he would have served anyone who got him what he wanted. Had Montgomery offered him the chance to spearhead the attack into Germany, there is virtually no doubt that Patton would have jumped at the chance.

Patton was not the racist that Bradley or Eisenhower were, and was happy to have black troops. He was not the American supremacist that Roosevelt or MacArthur were, and worked well with others (as long as they let him have enough lime light).

Had Montgomery been left as land forces commander, there is little doubt that he would have used Patton's aggression in a way that would have made Patton much happier than Eisenhower's broad front strategy ever allowed.

It is fun to imagine Montgomery as land forces commander using Patton's 3rd Army in conjunction with British 2nd to leapfrog ahead at top speed into Germany. The best British tactics were never the broad front strategy that the worst American's like Marshall and Eisenhower fancied. They were always the 'hold the enemy, crumble the enemy, breakthrough the enemy, and pursue with as much force as fast and far as possible' skills that had worked since the development of mechanised warfare in 1918. (As demonstrated by the Germans in Poland and France and Russia, the British and Germans in North Africa, the Japanese and British in Asia, and the Russians in Eastern Europe.)

Montgomery would have used his traditional two corps up, one back, one resting deployment, adapted to armies, to keep up the momentum. Patton's preferred tactics were almost exactly the same, and he and his 3rd Army would have fit it like a glove into Montgomery's thrust strategy.

Personally I think that the limited reality behind their competitiveness paid trumps in Sicily, and I wish that it had been repeated in France. Patton could not have been a worse Army group commander than Bradley was, and would almost certainly have been better.

It is amusing to think of Patton and Montgomery effectively conspiring to destroy the broad front strategy while they got on with winning the war in the best spirit of competition. Although I have a sneaking suspicion that one of Patton's biographers was right to suggest that by 1945 he had suffered a few too many hits on the head, there is little doubt that he would have been almost as valuable to the Allied cause in Bradley's place against Eisenhower's policies directly, as he would have under Montgomery's army group. That might have been a useful version of rivalry.

#field marshal bernard montgomery #montgomery #monty #general george patton #patton #us army #british army #second world war #war #warefare #leadership #history #generalship #tank #eisenhower #military history #general bradley #general eisenhower #personal

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teawaffles · 3 years

Text

There’s No Business Like Show Business: Chapter 2

The next day.

After finishing his work at the mansion, Bond headed to Whitechapel’s Leman Street, where Maya and her company normally held their rehearsals. [1]

Walking down the noisy street was not just Bond, but also three other employees of the Moriarty household. One of them was Fred Porlock.

“It would’ve been fine if only you came along, Fred…… But thanks for joining us anyway, you two.”

Bond directed that to Jack Renfield and Sebastian Moran, who were walking a little behind him.

As Fred was a master of disguise, Bond had asked him to contribute his opinion on the performance too when Jack and Moran decided to tag along. Now the four of them were on their way to the rehearsal — with Louis’ permission of course.

Jack roared with laughter.

“No, you don’t have to thank me. I’ve watched my fair share of theatre, so I thought I could help them out, even if it’s from an amateur’s perspective,” said the old butler, nodding as he reminisced about those good old days.

“You’re probably just after the young girls from the theatre company, aren’t you old man?” Moran said, half in disgust. “Bond said this Maya chairwoman is a dashing lady in her own right, so I came along to feast my eyes on—— Ow, that hurt!”

Jack had clapped Moran on the head, as a warning to not shoot his mouth off.

“The only one here chasing women is you. Really, you didn’t even finish your chores properly before coming here.”

“I did my part just fine. For once, I’m not skipping out on work.”

“Rubbish — I did a check before we left and found some cigarette butts in the hallway. Don’t you dare annoy Louis any further.”

“……W-Well, the more the merrier, right?”

“…………”

Listening to their usual argument at the back of the group, Bond smiled wryly, while Fred was silent.

Finally, they had reached their destination. Waiting in front of the theatre was Maya, and her little sister Mae.

“Mister Bond!”

“Hey, haven’t seen you since yesterday.”

Mae waved her arms up and down in excitement, while Bond greeted them with a smile.

“S—sorry. Normally, she would play with the other children near our place, but today she insisted on coming with me…… By the way, um, who might these, d—dignified gentlemen be?”

“Ah, they work at the same household as me. The short one here is Fred. The somewhat scary-looking one is Moran. And this dandy old gentleman is Mr Jack. If you’re alright with it, I thought you could use their input as well.”

As Bond introduced them, the three men also greeted their host. But Maya seemed a little perplexed.

“……Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come here in a big group,” Bond admitted, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“No, no.” Maya hurriedly waved her hands. “I—I’m really grateful to be able to, hear valuable feedback from, so many people. For now, let’s not stand here to talk, please come in……”

Maya guided them into the theatre, stooped in a self-abasing posture. Her faltering voice was much as the same as from their previous encounter, but today, nerves seemed to have crept in as well.

“She has a sort of shadow about her, but that has its own charm. Like the transient beauty of a young widow, don’t you think?”

“She’s pretty, for sure, but not really my type. More like the kind of woman who complicates things when you break up with her.”

“Um, sorry you two, but if you could just keep your voices down,” chided Bond, as Jack and Moran whispered about the chairwoman behind her back.

Right after the entrance was a cramped space. The box seats above them looked hastily constructed; in truth, the interior decorations made it seem more appropriate to call this place a playhouse, rather than a proper theatre.

But their guide had only praise. “The manager here is, a really nice person; whenever we say we want to practise, he’s always happy to lend it to us. There are performances held at night, so we can only use it during the day.”

“He trusts you, doesn’t he.”

Hearing her speak with such sincere gratitude, Bond was quietly impressed by her character. Perhaps her dark aura easily invited misunderstanding, but she was definitely genuine at heart.

“Speaking of which, Miss Maya, you said that you’re the director for this performance, but surely someone else is responsible for the sets and the arrangements at the other theatre during this time?”

“Another member is in charge of the sets, but the negotiations and the like, w—were handled by me. Even so, the manager of the larger theatre — a nobleman — had actually approached us to be the opening act for another company, and I just accepted his invitation.”

“Still, isn’t it great to be invited to perform on a bigger stage, even if it’s just as an opening act?”

“Yes; for people like us — a theatre company from the slums, we don’t have many chances to show the world what we can do, so everyone’s doing their very best.”

Saying that, Maya secretly clenched her fists. Surely the one working the hardest was none other than Maya herself.

There was no audience in the stalls, and on the stage were a number of men and women — likely the company members themselves — doing light warm-ups and vocal exercises. A few of the children he’d met yesterday were also frolicking about on stage.

One exceptionally tall man on the stage had noticed Bond and the others enter the hall, and spoke up.

“Oh, is that the rumoured theatre master?”

Moran whistled at this unusually grand title.

“Theatre master, eh. A fitting name considering your experience, Bond.”

“Fufu, I’m honoured.”

Bond accepted it with his innate courage and composure. Then, he went onto the stage with Maya, while the other three sat in the stalls at the far end, so as to not stand out and interfere with the rehearsal.

The company members each stopped what they were doing and lined up in wait.

“Everyone, this is Mr Bond, who will be watching our performance today,” introduced Maya.

Right then and there, her voice had become clearer and stronger. A little taken aback by the sudden change in her attitude, Bond took a quick look around the room.

“Hello to you all. I’m looking forward to what you have for me today,” he said solemnly, as he bowed.

“We’ll do our best!” The company members bowed their heads in unison.

From their greeting, Bond could feel the the quality of their bearing, and the strength of their cohesion. Not only that, the tension he himself once felt when he stood on stage came rushing back in waves.

He switched his frame of mind from that of a special agent, to that of an actor, and looked over Maya and her company with an earnest gaze.

“Well then, without further ado, please show me what you’ve got.”

“Yes!”

Even though his instructions had been given with no introductory remarks, they asked no unnecessary questions, and jumped straight into preparation. Even though they had only put up plays in cheap theatres, Maya’s company already displayed the high level of professionalism they had developed.

“Miss Maya, what’s the programme for today?” Bond asked, as he moved to the row of seats right in front of the stage.

Maya was also directing Mae and the other children to sit down. “We’re starting with ‘The Red Shoes’, followed by ‘The Little Mermaid’, and lastly, ‘The Little Match Girl’.”

“Hmm, fairytales, I see.”

The unexpected subject matter piqued his interest.

In a time when Shakespeare was all the rage, to perform children’s literature in a proper theatre, and a serious scripted play at that — now this was a bold move.

But as someone who liked to do things unconventionally, that was precisely why their play intrigued Bond. Yesterday’s playful rendition of “The Little Match Girl” was probably inspired by it as well.

Then, the tall man who noticed Bond earlier spoke up.

“Ain’t it interesting? Maya always makes sure to write plays that even us poor dumb folk understand. Today’s script is also entirely her work,” he said cheerfully.

“Weren’t you in charge of creating the play too? You should be able to write at least one decent line of dialogue.”

At the man’s self-satisfied tone, a woman beside him sighed. But he ignored her pointed comment and carried on.

“There were a bunch of people who’d always thought ‘Hamlet’ and ‘Macbeth’ and the like were plain boring; but after Maya broke them down into something easier to follow, they’ve gotten hooked onto Shakespeare.”

“Being able to interpret works in a way that everyone can understand…… A wonderful talent indeed.”

But if you were to put on a proper production of Shakespeare in an unregulated theatre like this, you would be caught by the censors. To avoid that, incorporating music and the like into their productions was a brilliant adaptation on their part.

Bond had said that last part out loud, and the man thanked him for his words of praise. The members of the company had shown their admiration for Maya, but the woman herself took in a deep breath, as if to hide her embarrassment.

In other words, in order to put on a play that everyone could follow, the answer she'd arrived at was “fairytales”. Although it may be the best choice given the short length of the opening act……

“I’m sitting next to Mister Bond!”

“Hey, no fair!”

Bond had been absorbed in thought about the contents of the play. Nearby, the children were scrambling for the best spots. Having won the seat to the left of Bond, Mae asked him a question.

“Mister Bond, do you like ‘fairy tales’?”

That pulled him out of his thought process for a moment, and Mae smiled.

“Yeah. I read them when I was a child.”

“I like them too, because Maya and the rest always read them in a fun way—”

“Me too!” The other children raised their hands and shouted. Reading stories aloud while acting out the roles was indeed a theatrical way of reading to children.

However, Mae immediately pouted in frustration.

“But I really hate that story.”

“……Why is that?”

“The little girl always looks so sad. I tried asking Maya to give it a happy ending, but she just said that we have to ‘respect the intent of the story’ and didn’t listen.”

Her words helped Bond discern the true nature of the incongruity he'd felt.

As Mae had said, all three stories had their protagonists fall into unfortunate circumstances and perish. It was true that many fairytales were cruel, but there were others with happy endings too. Was there some hidden intent behind these choices?

As Bond pondered the new question that surfaced in his mind, Mae leaned in towards him.

“Mister Bond, do you also think it’s important, what Maya said? No matter how sad a story is, can’t we make it happy on our own?”

She asked that question with clear eyes. Bond thought for a few seconds, before responding.

“It’s true that it’s important to understand the intention of the original story. If you change its contents haphazardly, the fans of the story would be upset. I think your sister is the type who would take that very seriously.”

Mae glanced down in disappointment at his level-headed answer, but Bond continued.

“However, if we were all afraid of criticism, then nothing new would ever be made. If you have something you really want to tell others, then I think it’s possible to add a new interpretation to a story. After all, one form of respect is to show the world how you would’ve done it.”

“……Oh I see!”

Mae brightened up, and Bond smiled. Her question was one that had always, and would continue to vex all interpreters of stories. But at the very least, he didn’t want to make a decision on which way was right.

Just as their conversation had come to an end, it seemed the preparations for the performance were now complete.

“Without further ado, let us begin.”

Standing on a platform, Maya gave a bow, and with that the curtain rose.

Footnotes:

[1] Leman Street is a little to the north-east of the Tower of London and St. Katharine Docks, and within walking distance of both.

T/N: Is this chapter some meta-level commentary on the series itself?! omg

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #forbidden games

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imaginejamesandsirius · 3 years

Note

Can we get like. A pirate AU where James is the captain of a ship and Sirius is like a Private in the Navy on a ship that James's crew attacks. But instead of killing Sirius James is like 👀 and Sirius joins the crew and they're in love❤️❤️?? You are doing gods work carrying this rarepair on your back.

((A/N: Warning for mentions of slave trade and past child abuse))

Sirius knew that he could've thought through his escape plan a little better, but he'd been desperate to get away from his family, by whatever means necessary. He needed to do something that they couldn't pull him back from. Joining the military had been the easiest, most solid answer that he'd been able to come up with. It was bad for their image if they pulled him out of that, but they could do it. Their reach was long and powerful, and Sirius knew that. Military wouldn't just be enough; he needed to get away.

So he joined the navy. Sailors spent all their time on ships, hardly ever in port. With no war on, they didn't even fight. They were little more than guards to merchant ships carrying valuable cargo, and Sirius didn't mind that at all.

He sort of minded being told what to do all the time, but he figure out that the better he got at his job, the less he was ordered around; there was no point in telling him what to do if he was already doing it, after all.

He kind of hated his fellow crewmates, but that wasn't a surprise. Sirius didn't get on with other people, and he was still content to be away from his parents.

Sirius wouldn't describe himself as being happy with his new life, but he'd never been very happy to begin with, so it was no real loss. He knew that freedom was a dream that could never be attained. He'd been born into a prestigious family, and while he'd reaped the rewards, he wasn't willing to deal with the consequences. His father had called him spoiled, and his mother had said he was being ungrateful. The truth was that Sirius was plenty grateful for what he'd had growing up, but not who he'd had it with.

He hadn't been a part of the navy for a full year when it ended. He'd always thought that if he was pulled out of service, it would be because his parents yanked him out, or maybe that he finally lost his temper and assaulted a superior officer. In a way, the latter is what happened. He just... didn't get discharged for it because there were bigger events at work.

Pirates attacked them, and that was around the time that Sirius learned the 'valuable cargo' they were guarding were slaves-- it suddenly made sense why a single ship had needed an escort, but it didn't make it any less reprehensible. They were under attack and the chances of any of them making it out of this were slim, so Sirius figured it was well within his rights to be the shite out of his captain.

Whether it was considered improper conduct or not-- which, to be clear, it definitely was-- Sirius was rounded up with the rest of the sailors that still lived when the attack was over. The worst they'd do was kill him; pirates didn't have time to be inventive torturers, and any way they could kill him would be quick. Even the more frightening ideas would only last for a couple hours before he died. That being said, he didn't want to die. He rather liked living. They were on their knees, waiting for the verdict as the pirates deliberated.

He could hear one of the pirates talking to his captain, but he couldn't hear what was being said. All he knew that was one second, they were talking, and the next, the captain was squat down in front of Sirius, peering at him curiously. Sirius met his gaze evenly. "You're not like the others," the captain said. "What's your name, love?"

Pirates were weird. Who called someone 'love' before killing them? "I'm pretty sure you don't need to know someone's name to kill them."

"Who said anything about killing you? I know I didn't. What's your name?" he asked again.

Sirius didn't have a good reason for why he refused to answer. Best he could figure was that he just didn't like being told what to do, and if he was about to die, there was point in being accommodating. This pirate captain could say as much as he wanted that he didn't plan on killing Sirius, but he knew that pirates didn't take prisoners; it simply wasn't feasible. He didn't want to answer, so he just stared into the captain's eyes and raised an eyebrow; if there was one thing he was good at, it was being annoying. According to Regulus, at least, but he had plenty of evidence to back up that claim.

After twenty seconds or so, one of the other sailors next to him muttered, "For fuck's sake," before saying, loud enough that the captain could hear him, "Sirius Black. His name's Sirius Black." It was one of the lieutenants, which meant that he'd almost certainly known about the slaves in the merchant ship.

Sirius had the urge to kick him, but he couldn't do it without falling over, what with his hands tied behind his back and all. He settled for glaring at the man. He didn't turn his head quickly enough to catch the spark of realisation in the captain's eyes.

Instead of the pirate captain saying anything about his family or the hefty ransom he could try to get for giving them back Sirius, he just said, "Like the star." Then his gaze slid over to the lieutenant and down to his shoulder where his rank was displayed, and his face hardened. He looked back at Sirius, his expression clearing again. "Moony?" he said, pointing at the lieutenant.

The next second, there was a sword sticking out of his chest and he made a horrible gurgling sound. Sirius flinched, and he wasn't the only one. The sword pulled back out, and he fell, lifeless and face first, on the deck.

"Don't worry, Sirius Black," the captain said quietly, like this was something just for the two of them, "that's not going to happen to you."

Sirius clenched his jaw. It wasn't the reassurance the captain wanted it to be. Going back to his parents and that sodding house was nothing short of a nightmare.

All the same, the captain was true to his word, and Sirius wasn't killed. The same couldn't be said for the rest of his crewmates, but a few of them did live to see the next day.

None of them were prisoners, and that was as strange as everything else about this had been. It made sense that they wouldn't have jailcells, but it didn't make sense that they let them roam free. That just wasn't safe. And it certainly didn't help that Sirius had no idea why he hadn't been killed. The captain had been dead by the time the battle ended-- and it had been a short lived battle-- and the rest of the higher ranked officers had been killed. All that was left of the original crew was Sirius and a handful of other privates. Did the pirates think they were harmless because they were new? But that theory didn't hold because from what Sirius had seen, these pirates weren't stupid. They had a reason for keeping these particular crewmen alive, and he wished he knew what it was. Sirius? He was obvious. Ransom, a grateful reward for transferring him safely, whatever they went with, that was smart. The rest of the privates didn't have those sorts of family connections, though.

Sirius had never liked being idle, and when he had more reason to be cowed, he had a tendency to act out-- or, as Regulus always said, act stupid. As far as stupid ideas went, this was harmless. He went on deck, and when he saw someone struggling to keep hold of the rope and get down where they needed to tie it off, he went over and said, "Want a hand?"

"Tie this off," they said, tossing the slack rope down to him. After he did, they gave it an experimental tug, then hopped down. "You must be Sirius," they said with a grin.

He blinked. "How d'you know that?" He hadn't met any of the pirate crew, and he certainly hadn't been introduced to them.

"You're not on our crew, and James only cared to mention one of our passengers to me. I believe the phrase he used was 'devilishly handsome'." Now that they were closer, Sirius could make out all the freckles dotting across pale skin. He guessed that some people tanned, and other people just freckled. He caught sight of coppery red hair tucked under their hat, and that explained the resilient paleness, at least.

Sirius blinked some more. "Who's James?"

Their grin widened. "He must really be in it if he forgot to introduce himself. He's the captain. I'm Lily. Normally, I would follow that up by saying that I'm available to someone like you, but I think James would get pissed with me if I even thought of stealing you out from under him."

"I'm supposed to think fondly of someone that kidnapped me?" Sirius said with a snort. "He'll be waiting a long time for that to happen."

Lily raised an eyebrow at him. "We kidnapped you? That's news to me. The way I see it, we saved your life. You would've been around slavers for years before they realised you weren't one of them. When that day came, they would've killed you."

"I find it hard to be grateful when I'm about to be delivered into the hands of my family," he said, even though he was grateful for the save; the Navy crew would've tossed him overboard.

"You don't miss them?"

"Not one bit," he said immediately.

She hummed, then glanced out at the ocean. "If you're going to be up here, you might as well help me. C'mon."

"You did what?" James asked, staring at her, dumbfounded.

Lily rolled her eyes. "It's not like I went into his cabin and pulled him out with my feminine wiles. And, in case you forgot, you never introduced yourself to him. He asked questions and I answered them. I wouldn't be surprised if he confronted you about it tomorrow," she said with a sly smile. She liked to meddle. Normally, James thought it was funny, but that was because normally he wasn't involved. It was so much easier to find her funny when it didn't effect him.

"Please tell me you're joking."

"Why would I joke about something like this?" Lily asked innocently.

James narrowed his eyes at her. He couldn't tell if it was genuine innocence or if she was faking. Knowing her, it could easily be either one. "You did not tell him that I thought he was cute. Right? Lily, tell me. I need to hear these words from your mouth, right now."

She cocked her head. When she had her hair down, it did a fair job of distracting him from the point. With her hair tied back though, James was not so easily deterred. "I thought you told me to stop lying to you." Definitely fake innocence.

"You are such a pain in the arse. Why do I keep you around?"

"Because I'm your second best swordsman." She crossed her arms and leaned forward. "Man to man, James. What're you planning on doing with the privates from that ship? We aren't going the direction we do to drop people off. We're going straight to the free colonies."

He looked at her for a moment, debating if he wanted to tell her or not. Eventually, he settled on not. There was a certain amount of push back he was willing to deal with, but it would be more than that if he told her the truth. "It doesn't matter what order we do it in, Lils. It's the same end result. I'll see you in the morning," he said, heading to his cabin.

As Lily had predicted, Sirius came up to him the next morning. It's what woke him up, actually, which meant he wasn't fully dressed when he stumbled to the door.

"What?"

Sirius's eyes tracked over him before flickering back up to his face. It was, admittedly, gratifying, but it didn't explain why he was here so early instead of waiting until after they'd gotten some food in them. "You have some questions to answer."

"Do I?" James asked, rubbing one hand tiredly over his face.

"Am I prisoner?"

"What? No, of course not."

"Then where are you taking us?"

"You'll see when we get there," he said grumpily, then he shut the door. He was not a morning person, and what he hated even more was getting woken up before he was ready. If it was an emergency, that was one thing, but this was decidedly not an emergency.

It took him about thirty more minutes of being awake to realise that he'd been an arse to the bloke he wanted to impress. Wonderful. He meant to apologise the next time he saw him, but Sirius glared at him before he could get close, and he figured some time to cool down might do him good.

James had made mistakes. In life, generally, but specifically he meant today. The way he'd started his day with Sirius had been getting off on the wrong foot, and it had only gotten worse as time passed. Sirius knew how to hold a grudge, that's for sure.

As much as James would like to say that it was an annoying aspect of someone growing up rich, he liked it. Sirius was bloody fit, and no amount of him glaring at James changed that opinion. In fact, he thought it might've made it worse. His crew respected him, and he was friendly, so there was a decent amount of smiling. As captain, his word was final, so there was a certain amount of distance. Even Remus and Lily, his closest friends, knew that there was a limit to how far they could push him. But Sirius didn't care; he didn't care in a way that didn't take away from James's authority, so it's not like anything had to be done. James had double-checked by telling him to do something, and all Sirius had done was nod and go off to do it. In hindsight, not his best idea, but at least he knew that he didn't have to turn on captain mode with him.

James was full of bad decisions, but he couldn't get himself to stop. He looked at Sirius, caught sight of his jaw or his thick black hair or his piercing grey eyes, and all rational thought left him. Sirius was hardly the most experienced sailor that James had met, but his competence was hot. He had big hands and he knew exactly how to use them. James knew that getting hot and bothered over one of his crewmen was a recipe for disaster, but he looked at Sirius and he wanted. He didn't know how to turn it off, and he wasn't sure he would even if he did know how. Fancying Sirius put a fire in his stomach that made him feel alive, like a reminder of all the things he loved in life.

After dinner, James was manning the wheel while Peter got ready for his night shift, and that was when Sirius approached him. He tried not to show how surprised he was, but he wasn't very successful.

Sirius didn't say hello or give any lead up. He just stomped over to him and said, "You're giving me back to my family, aren't you?"

"That was the plan," James said, even though he didn't want to and he normally wouldn't have bothered. If anyone asked-- and people had requested it before-- he told them that he couldn't risk it. Which was the truth. He wasn't putting his ship and his entire crew at risk to deliver someone right to their doorstep. Hell, even with Sirius, he wasn't bringing him all the way; he'd never make it back out if he did that.

"Is there-" Sirius swallowed thickly "-something I can do to change your mind?"

James blinked at him. Every point of Sirius's posture screamed that he was uncomfortable, but it sounded like he was propositioning James. And this, Lily, is why you should keep your big mouth shut, he thought. "I'd have thought that you wanted to go home," James said, ignoring what Sirius was attempting to offer. "Most people do." Even the people that no longer had homes. It wasn't something they could attain, but they wanted it all the same. It honestly hadn't occurred to him that Sirius might not want to go back.

The ship gave a long heave, and James braced his foot on the bottom of the railing. Next to him, Sirius put his hand on the bannister, moving easily with the motion of the larger waves.

"Do you not want to?" James asked.

"I'd rather die," Sirius said, his answer plain enough that James knew it was true.

"Then we won't bring you back," he said easily. "Was that all you needed?" The unease was gone from Sirius's posture now, but there was no chance that he wanted to stick around and chat with James. That being said, all he wanted was for Sirius to want to stay and talk to him. Talk on the deck, in the dying light of the sun, and feel like he was falling in love all over again. He didn't expect it though. He knew that Sirius would probably say yes and then leave.

"Yes," Sirius said, but he didn't leave. He didn't say anything further, not yet at least. He just stayed there, looking at James.

He'd always thought that he was pretty good at reading people, but Sirius's expression couldn't be described as anything other than closed off.

Sirius stayed there for several minutes, only leaving when Peter started making his way up the steps to relieve James. As he left, James was struck with the feeling that something important had transpired. Hell if he knew just what it was that had happened, though.

James's interest in Sirius had never been a secret onboard, and not just because Lily had told Sirius flat out that James fancied him. James always let his eyes linger too long, and the frequency with which his eyes strayed to Sirius made it quite obvious.

What came as a shock to everyone was when Sirius started returning that interest. It wasn't in any way that was as obvious as James's feelings, but it was there. No one was more surprised by it than James, to the point that even when Sirius was kissing him desperately and grabbing at bare skin, he almost didn't believe that it was happening.

"You like me," James said wondrously. It could've been a dream. He would've been convinced that it was a dream, actually, if not for the little details that dreams never contained. The swollen lips, the too-dry hands, and the fact that there was no amount of practice that made snogging someone new on a ship easier than doing it on land. Until they learned to move together, there was going to be a certain amount of awkwardness that they had to deal with.

Sirius grinned at him, happy and utterly unashamed. "What gave it away?"

"You used to hate me," James said, as if Sirius hadn't said anything.

"I didn't hate you," he denied, tugging James a little closer.

"It felt that way to me," James said. He wasn't judging. He'd killed a lot of people that Sirius had worked with during their rescue.

"I thought you were going to send me back to my parents," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "And you were acting like a total arse by ignoring me and acting like you were better than me."

"What if I am better than you?" he asked curiously.

"Don't worry. You're not."

James laughed, and then Sirius was kissing him, and thoughts about Sirius having hated him at one time was far from his mind. Even if he was right and Sirius had at one time hated him, it was a thing of the past, now.

"Potter!"

"Which one?" Sirius called down, leaning out from his perch with a shit eating grin. He wasn't holding onto the wood with his hands right now. He was prevented from falling only by his legs wrapped around the nest and linked together, and with the way he was hanging, it made his thin shirt cling to the taut muscles in his abdomen. From where he was standing, James could see a patch of familiar tanned skin because of the way his shirt fell. The spyglass he'd been using dangled from one hand as if carelessly, but they all knew he had a firm hold on it. James looked up at him and could only think of how much he loved him.

"You know damn well I meant the captain," Remus yelled back.

"Then just say captain!" Lily said from the front of the ship where she was looking through her own spyglass. "We do this every time!"

The crew amongst all of them laughed to themselves as they went about their jobs.

"You bloody well know why," Remus groused.

"Did you actually need something, mate?" James asked, even though he was always amused by these conversations-- and had been since the very beginning, when him and Sirius had gotten married. He continued working on strapping his sword on; they were preparing for a battle, after all.

"We're running low on gun powder. Unless you want to buy more from Rosmerta the next time we're in her bay, but there's no point when they should have plenty."

"We'll check on what they have and see how much cargo space we have available," James said. Fresh water was of the highest priority, of course, and it took up most of their space below deck. That they had to plan for any people they rescued didn't make it easier. The fact was that they didn't often fight in a manner that required gun powder, but if Moony requested it, then he'd check. Plus Rosmerta's blend was more powerful than what the British Navy carried, so sometimes it wasn't worth getting it for free.

Sirius winked when James glanced up at him again, then pulled himself to a normal sitting position.

"How's it look up there?" James asked Lily.

"Looks to be a barge, Captain." she said.

"Sirius?" he checked.

"Not seeing anyone guarding them."

"This'll be easy. Like finding rum in a pub," Remus said, and James couldn't help but agree. Stealing from the government, even when the ship in question wasn't running slaves, wasn't exactly something he would lose sleep over. And, he thought with another glance up at his husband, there was no one else he'd rather be doing this with.

#prongsfoot #marauders #fanfic #james potter #sirius black #lily evans #remus lupin #filled #no magic au #post hogwarts #getting together #pirates au #siriuslystarbucks #the-best-url-on-this-site

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fanficshiddles · 3 years

Text

Trust, Chapter 12

‘What are you doing?’ Loki drawled as Darcy crawled into his bed under the blankets beside him, her back to him.

‘Sore head. Tired. Feel like I’m gonna die. Supposed to be babysitting you. But I am not leaving a comfy bed, so that means we stay here.’ She said firmly, snuggling down into the pillow. ‘And we never speak of yesterday again.’

Loki chuckled. ‘Why-ever not? Your dance moves were rather spectacular, I must say.’

Even while drunk, he had been rather surprised when she started taking off her clothes to dance around. The alcohol had affected her very quickly. He may have drunk a lot to catch up with her, let loose for a while. It had been rather fun. Though Darcy seemed to certainly be suffering a lot more than he was.

The team had been shocked upon finding them. Thor ended up helping Loki back to his chambers in the late afternoon and Natasha and Jane took Darcy back to hers. The two had passed out in their beds for the whole night, but then Darcy woke up feeling like death.

‘Pity can’t say the same for your moves.’ Darcy teased. Though even drunk, Loki was pretty graceful.

‘I’m naked, by the way.’ Loki said flatly, thinking it would maybe make her change her mind about being in his bed with him.

‘As long as it doesn’t touch me, I don’t care.’ She grumbled, not opening her eyes.

Loki smirked. If it had been anyone else but her climbing into his bed first thing in the morning, he would’ve kicked them out instantly. But because it was Darcy, he let it slide. Besides, he felt rather warmed that she obviously trusted him enough to do such a thing. That she would also sleep in his presence, where she would be at her most vulnerable.

Even if her snoring was annoying.

He managed to get back to sleep for a while too, after conjuring up some decent earplugs that drowned out her noise.

When he woke later, Darcy was awake too and watching TV. So they ended up just chilling most of the day, getting snacks and bringing them back to Loki’s room to eat. It was nice, just being in one another’s company. Loki read for a while too. They found they had plenty to talk about, but at the same time they had comfortable silences.

A couple of days later, Loki was finally able to show the team that he was willing to try and redeem himself.

There was a mission and Thor wanted to take Loki with them. So after a brief discussion, they all agreed.

Loki was excited at the thought of getting to fight. His armour, with his cape and helmet formed on him as he grinned excitedly.

‘Are you coming, Darcy?’ He asked.

‘Nope. I would likely just run headfirst into the fight and get killed straight away, so it’s probably best I stay put.’ She grinned. ‘Good luck though!’ She gave him a pat on the shoulder before heading off.

Darcy decided she better head to the lab, see what Jane was doing and if she needed anything. When she entered, Jane looked over at her a little sheepishly.

‘Hey, Darcy.’

‘Hey. What you up to?’ Darcy headed over to her.

‘Thor brought me back a piece of the Bifrost. I’m just examining it.’ Jane said as she looked through a microscope.

‘Ohhh cool. Need a hand?’

‘No, I’m good. But if you could get me a coffee and something to eat that would be great…’ Jane then straightened and looked to Darcy. ‘But don’t lick or spit in it… I’m sorry if I haven’t been treating you right since we came here. It’s just been hectic and so incredible to actually be here with the Avengers, to have access to this kind of tech.’

Darcy rolled her eyes. ‘It doesn’t take any time away from science to say thanks.’ She spun on her heels and headed for the door.

‘Darcy. What’s gotten into you? Since Loki kidnapped you, you’ve been… weird. Spending so much time with him, have you two got something going on?’ Jane put her hand on her hip.

‘Seriously? You’re worried that you’re not the only one dating a God, is that what it is?’ Darcy snapped.

Jane clenched her jaw. ‘No… I just… He’s not right for you.’

‘One, I am not dating him, we’re just good friends. Two, even if I was, it is none of your business to tell me if he’s right for me or not. He’s paid me more attention than you and the others ever have. Tell me, did you all even bother to come up with a plan to come and rescue me?’ Darcy folded her arms over her chest and glared at Jane.

Jane faltered. ‘Well… We did. Thor tried to find you…’

‘He obviously didn’t look around the Universe for very long considering he was here when we returned. THREE DAYS later, on Earth time!’

‘Darcy… We couldn’t just give up the tesseract like Loki wanted.’

‘Were you even going to try anything to rescue me?’ Darcy asked firmly, wanting an answer.

Jane looked down, her face falling. ‘We wanted to… It’s just, with Loki it was a bit… complicated.’

‘I knew it.’ Darcy shook her head and continued heading out.

‘Darcy!’

‘Get your own fucking coffee from now on.’ Darcy said as she flipped her the finger on her way out.

When Loki returned with the team a few hours later, he had a few cuts on his face, but they were healing quickly. They’d been battling some Hydra modified animals in Latvia. Humungous vicious dogs and a gigantic gorilla that had six limbs. Not to mention a bunch of Hydra soldiers, too.

But Loki was riding on a high after the fight. He searched around, looking for Darcy. But there was no sign of her.

‘Has anyone seen Darcy?’ He asked the team who were heading to fill in what happened with Fury.

‘Nope. But you need to come with us, so we can tell Fury about the mission.’ Steve said.

‘No, I need to find Darcy.’ Loki frowned and teleported away from them before they could say anything else.

Loki was almost at his wits end when he couldn’t find her. Part of him was wondering why he cared so much about finding her, but there was a bigger part of him that knew why. Because she was the only person who believed in him from the start, it was thanks to her he was here in the first place.

Experiencing that high from fighting was incredible for him, and not that he would admit it but fighting alongside Thor again was quite nice. Especially when he had to save Thor’s ass not once, but twice, earning great gratitude from the fellow God was something Loki wasn’t going to forget anytime soon.

He checked her bedroom, all the public places including the library but there was no sign of her… Then it clicked, he had one last place to try.

Darcy was sitting on the roof with her legs tucked up under her chin, looking out across the countryside that surrounded the base. She could see the city in the far distance. It was just starting to get dark, so the lights were starting to come on.

Loki appeared behind her, his face falling slightly when he saw her body language.

‘Darcy?’ He said softly, stepping over next to her.

‘Oh, hey!’ She put on a smile as she looked up at him. ‘How did the mission go?’

‘It went really well, we defeated them, so you mortals are safe once more.’ He smirked and sat down next to her, but his smirk dropped. He could see there was something wrong.

‘What’s wrong?’ He frowned.

‘Nothing’s wrong. Tell me about the mission.’ Darcy tried to keep up the act.

Loki narrowed his eyes at her and took off his cape. ‘You cannot lie to the God of lies, Darcy.’ He draped it around her as he didn’t want her getting cold. But as soon as the cape was around her, she let out a small sob, but she tried not to cry on front of him. ‘Now you’re really worrying me, what happened?’

‘They didn’t even bother looking for me properly.’ She whined, hating herself for feeling so upset as the water works started. ‘Jane was making up half assed excuses.’

She leaned to the side against Loki, her head against his upper arm. Loki hesitated, but then slipped his arm around her and let her lean into his chest. He rubbed her arm and rested his chin on top of her head.

‘I am sorry, Darcy… Truly. They don’t deserve you, they really don’t. But please, do not let them upset you so much. One day they will realise how much of a valuable team member you are, I promise you that.’ He spoke softly.

Just having someone embrace her and someone to talk to that understood was a huge help. She already felt so much better. After a few minutes of silence, she sat up again and wiped her eyes.

‘If you tell anyone that I was crying I’ll be the one pushing you off here.’ She said with a slight smirk, making Loki chuckle.

‘Deal. We both have appearances to keep up.’ He grinned.

#Loki #Tom Hiddleston #fan fiction #darcy lewis #tasertricks #trust

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teamxdark · 3 years

Text

A WIP of the beginning of Mirror, Mirror, since it’s taking me longer than I’d hoped.

Sonic stared at the twisted heap of metal on the kitchen counter, bisected by a sword, and tried his hardest not to scream.

“Lancelot,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even, “that was a toaster.”

“That ‘scream’ was an alarm,” Sonic snapped, too tired and hungry to deal with this right then. “That means that the toast is done and we can eat. Which we can’t now. Because you attacked the toaster.”

Sonic let out his breath in a loud exhale. It was so easy to forget, still, that this wasn’t Shadow in front of him.

No one knew where Shadow was, or if he was ever coming back.

And now incidents such as these, with another appliance in pieces, were commonplace.

The knight started, one ear tilting to the side in confusion. “Why would I not? I swore to do so, did I not?”

“No,” Sonic deadpanned. “You didn’t.”

“But I didn’t knight you!” Sonic protested, at the end of his rope. “I’m not your king!”

He saw it in the same set jaw, as it trembled with the effort to keep everything held back. He saw it in the snarl, which was more dismayed than hostile. Most of all, he saw it in Lancelot’s eyes, red and wide and so very expressive without the visor to shield them away.

Sonic was so used to seeing those eyes guarded, cut off from him, with only the smallest of opportunities to peek inside before they closed him out again.

“You are him. You may not believe me, but I know it to be true. You are Arthur, my king, in this life and all others.”

He had never been looked at like that before…

Did memories truly make a person who they were? And if so… were Lancelot and Shadow truly two different people?

Are you him? Sonic wanted to ask as he was burned alive by those eyes, crimson and intense, focused on him and him alone. Are you who he could have been if things had been different?

He wasn’t sure, but at least he could kind of understand where Lancelot was coming from.

Lancelot… I think I want to know you, too.

#Smash speaks.#Come get your crumbs!#Lansoni.

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restapesta · 3 years

Text

The Tomato Thief

Enjoy this little something I wrote based on a prompt here on Tumblr. Feedback is always appreciated.

Words: 4.3k

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The first time Ian noticed his tomatoes half-gone, half-squashed from the small vegetable patch he had started working on when he and Mickey moved into the apartment complex, he chose to ignore it. Pretending as if the loss of his small, barely ripe cherry tomatoes was insignificant, he mentioned no word of it to anyone, making a conscious decision to simply start the planting process once again. So, in the past month, Ian, choosing not to get frustrated, but rather improve his skills, was trailing along the edge of a nervous breakdown, trying to get his little patch of land replenished. When he realized that the second time doing something he initially started as a hobby would be much more difficult than the first, he feared that what he intended to be relaxing would turn into aggravating. If it wasn't for the security business, he probably would've had a meltdown, very much hurt by the fact his poor tomatoes were gone, but somehow, he managed to power through it, luck being somewhat on his side, making the tomato-growing process faster than before. It was a long excruciating process, living with the secret that all of his previous hard work was now replaced by even harder work and determination, but the sight of his vegetable patch replenishing itself as if it were never ruined, along with the Westside growing even fonder to both him and Mickey, almost starting to feel like home, made it all sort-of worth it for Ian. His husband was happy, his home was beautiful, his business was expanding, and his tomatoes were finally turning a deeper shade of red, after being torn out the first time while they were mostly green. Ian was truly very much happy.

Until he woke up one Saturday morning, excited to start his weekend off by gardening, his way to relax from the crammed-up week he and Mickey had, both enjoying the little separate bubbles they created, together yet apart, Mickey with the pool he grew to love, and Ian with his veggies, working away in the Sun -- and found every single one of his tomatoes gone, neatly picked from their stems, as if done by a professional.

First, Ian had paled, his complexion turning impossibly whiter in the bask of the afternoon glow. Then, his left eye began twitching. Anger bubbled inside of his chest, and he finally understood his husband's urges to break chairs and signs, and throw tantrums -- Ian felt like murdering somebody. Wrapping his hands so tight around the neck of the person who took his tomatoes which weren't even ripe for taking yet, and squeezing until he saw the life leave their eyes. Scaring himself at the thought, he took a deep breath and then held it for a long period of time -- a questionable, dangerous, life-threatening period of time. He was sure that his neck and cheeks were even redder than his poor tomatoes were when he had last seen them. Exhaling quickly, he balled his hands into fists and made his way quickly to the vegetable patch to examine it better.

Crouching down, as if he were in a detective movie, he observed the soil, in case the culprit left footprints or accidentally dropped a valuable item Ian could use to identify them with. When he saw nothing helpful, but rather just his regular garden -- sans the lost reds -- he rolled over all of his options in his head.

It could've been an animal the last time -- a squirrel or a bird, considering how a lot of the tomatoes were simply just squashed -- but now, the precision the tomatoes were picked with... there was no other possibility. It was one of the other tenants, somebody who deliberately wanted to either get revenge on Ian or simply to eat the vegetables Ian had worked so hard on for himself and his husband. It was ironic how he saw red.

Breathing deeply, composing himself more with each inhale and exhale -- a technique he had been forced to learn in court-mandated therapy -- the ginger made his way from the garden to the manager's office, strides quick. Melanie, the on-sight manager, was in the room, along with her poodle when Ian knocked on the door.

"Hi." She chirped in greeting. "How may I help you?"

Ian forced a smile. "I was wondering if you perhaps had cameras in the garden area? I think someone stole something I left there, by accident." He lied, not wanting the woman to think of him as even a bigger fag for caring about dumbass vegetable-fruits. Much to his dismay, she shook her head apologetically.

"Sorry, no. Was it valuable?"

Yes, Ian thought sadly. "Nah. Probably just misplaced it. Thank you anyway."

She smiled again, "You're welcome. Say hi to your husband for me."

"I will." He waved goodbye and exited the office, closing the door behind him.

No cameras, no clues. He had no fucking idea how he could possibly catch the asshole who had the nerves to fuck with him. Suddenly, he understood what he needed to do.

Mickey was lounging by the pool, sunglasses on, looking hot as fuck, enjoying the day when Ian found him. Stepping in front of the chair Mickey was sitting on, Ian blocked the beams of light which were hitting Mickey's body, slowly giving him a nice tan. Mickey begrudgingly opened his eyes to stare at Ian, pushing his sunglasses down slightly, as if wanting to give Ian a better look of his 'why the fuck are you blocking the Sun' expression.

"What?" He finally asked, pushing his RayBans back up.

"Baby, I need your help killing someone."

Mickey's eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, assessing Ian's face for any sign of humor. When he found none, he blew out an exasperated sigh. "Why?"

"Someone stole my fucking tomatoes."

Ian could see Mickey's eyes close again behind the black glass. "Who?"

"I have no fucking idea. If I did, they'd already be dead. This is the second time, Mick!" He shook his head in disbelief. "First time, I let it slide. Thought it was a bird or some shit. So, I did everything again this past month, made sure everything was better than before, had a near fucking episode over the stress that shit caused me, and now, they get fucking stolen, again!" He was breathing raggedly now, even angrier than before. His shrink's anger controlling methods only worked for a short period of time, he guessed. "We need to kill them."

Ian sat himself down on the chair next to Mickey's, slouching back in defeat. His poor tomatoes. He felt his fingers intertwine with soft, warm ones, Mickey's thumb rubbing soothing circles over Ian's. "We can't kill them," Mickey started. Ian was about to respond how he knew that, how it still made him really fucking angry, but Mickey continued, softly, "without knowing who they are. Once we know who they are, we can slip rat poison into the tomatoes, and have 'em dead in a heartbeat. Can't even pin it on us, 'cause then they'd have to admit they stole it."

Ian's eyes widened slightly, amazed and terrified by his partner at the same time. "I forgot you were a murderer here for a second."

Mickey smirked at Ian's growing smile. "Parole for attempted murder, Red. Need I remind you? Did you forget how much that turned you on?" He was now inching closer to his husband, chin jutting out, seeking out a kiss. Ian complied, even in his angriest moments still horny for his worse half, moving his lips against Mickey's slowly and teasingly.

"We can't kill them." Ian voiced out after they broke apart, now much calmer.

Mickey snorted, settling back in his chair. "No shit."

"We can find out who the fuck it is, though."

"How the fuck you gonna do that? All your tomatoes are gone, right? 'S not like you can just make new ones appear."

Ian thought about it for a second, "Who says I can't? I have my ways."

Mickey nodded mockingly. "Sure, tough guy. Is this the moment I find out I've been married to a wizard?"

"Store-bought tomatoes, Mickey." Ian deadpanned.

"Oh."

"We plant those, and then go on a stakeout." He was already devising a master plan in his head. How they would buy the tomatoes at WholeFoods -- get the expensive ones so the bait was even more tempting, make it look as if Ian grew them himself (even though that was impossible by the rules of time -- but the person had to be stupid enough to steal from a Gallagher after all, so it had to work), and then, wait tonight in the garden, considering how his tomatoes couldn't have been stolen at any other time of day, and try to catch the thief. It was a good fucking plan.

"Why do you keep saying we?"

The voice interrupted his daydream. Confused, Ian looked at Mickey. "You're not gonna help me?"

"Not my problem, man. They're your tomatoes. I'm only here for the murder part, but you backed out of that, so... good luck."

Ian was about to argue, but he thought better of it. Maybe it would be easier to do this alone anyway. Leaning forward, he pressed one last chaste kiss on Mickey's lips, then swiftly got up. "Okay, then. Text me if you need anything. I'm going out."

"Where are you going?" Mickey straightened up for the first time since Ian got there. Ian felt a smile form on his face. His husband was very easy to read.

"Tomatoes, Mick. But, um, not your problem, right?" His voice was teasing and he knew his eyes were glinting with an unspoken challenge. "Don't know if I'll be home tonight. The stakeout might last a while. Guess I'll see you tomorrow. Keep the bed warm for me, would ya'?"

He turned to leave, but Mickey's hurried voice stopped him. "Hey, wait -- hold on a minute."

"Hmm?" So, so easy to read.

Scoffing, Mickey got up. "Let me get changed first. Then, we'll go catch the fucking tomato thief."

The smile Ian gave him was blinding.

----

"Tell me the plan again?"

Mickey was currently observing the expensive as fuck organic fruit in the WholeFoods store, gawking at the prices, but also simultaneously observing his husband as he picked through the best, reddest tomatoes he could find. Between the bitching and the sadness, Ian was all over the place -- it was hard for Mickey to understand why Ian was going so crazy over stolen tomatoes, but the thought of having Ian spend the day doing God-knows what kind of legal and illegal shit made him almost break out in hives. He would rather come along to control the hot mess than "warm the bed" as Ian had so casually put it. Fuck if he was gonna keep anything warm but Ian's dick in his ass.

Ian ignored Mickey's question and shoved a tomato at his face. "Do these look good enough? I want them to look natural, but also really good. What do you think?"

Mickey gave Ian an incredulous look, "Um... those look great... man, just pick whatever the fuck you want. This guy probably isn't very picky if he stole a ripe tomato."

Ian rolled his eyes. "It was a high quality tomato, Mickey." As an afterthought, he added, "Also, it could be a she."

"Maybe it's that fag with the big muscles? Maybe he has a thing for your tomatoes?" Mickey teased, only slightly bothered by the crush the blond guy in apartment 243 had on his tall redhead. It wasn't hard to glance over the sultry looks he gave Ian, or the flirtatious tone. Mickey liked giving Ian endless shit for it, just because of how defensive and uncomfortable Ian got when it was mentioned. It was pretty funny.

"Ugh, God Mickey. Seriously?"

"What? Am I wrong?"

Ian rolled his eyes so hard, Mickey was afraid he'd be shocked by the emptiness he found back there in a moment. Instead, Ian simply grimaced. "That guy really needs to back off. I literally couldn't have flashed the ring in his face more bluntly."

Mickey, using Ian being distracted by the guy, tied the bag Ian had been filling with tomatoes, discreetly moving them away from the spot they'd been standing in the past hour and a half, and towards the cash register.

"If he continues with that shit, I'll just start making out with you in front of him. Should get the point across."

Mickey only hummed in acknowledgment, content with the plan. He hated PDA but Ian made it so natural at times, there was no way he could say no to it.

"Wait, how did we end up here?" Ian glanced around him, only now noticing they were standing in line for the check-out. Mickey shook his head at his husband, who he had to admit was a himbo through and through. "Well, at least we got the tomatoes. The rest is easy."

"What is the plan, anyway?" Mickey repeated the question from before. Now, Ian didn't ignore him. He smirked at Mickey and told him not to worry about it.

"Not to --?" Mickey stuttered. "Ian, your ideas are not top-notch ideas. If I'm gonna try and catch a vegetable thief with you -- which may be the faggest thing I've ever said -- then I need to know the plan."

"Okay, fine." Ian huffed out a breath. "In short, we put these as bait, lure the asshole in, and wait to catch them in the act."

They stared at each other for a moment.

"...that's it?"

"What do you mean?" Ian smiled at the cashier as he took out a ten dollar bill from his pocket, paying for the overpriced vegetables -- or was it fruit? Mickey didn't really give a fuck.

"What do I mean? I mean, this may be the dumbest pan I've ever heard. I mean, sure, the tomatoes are good, but what, you just wanna have a stakeout the entire night? You do know the guy probably won't steal them straight away? We need to give it some time. Work out the suspect list, make sure we know who we're looking for."

Making it out onto the streets of Westside, Mickey was pleasantly greeted by the spring air -- he wouldn't admit it yet, but the Westside was something he was adapting to quite quickly. What used to make him uncomfortable when they first signed the lease changed completely in the past couple of months they'd been living here. It wasn't easy, but as the furniture rolled in, and as the apartment started feeling more like home, the whole "middle-class" life sort of followed. Both Mickey and Ian were still major fucking Southside trash. But now, they were Southside trash that lived in a pretty nice place that didn't have too many murders and attacks per day. That way, when they did happen, it felt nostalgic for Mickey. More special.

"I keep forgetting who you are. Takes a thief to catch a thief, I guess."

"I love how high of an opinion you have of me, Gallagher." Mickey replied teasingly, choosing to take it as a compliment.

Ian smiled, wrapping an arm around Mickey's shoulders, "The highest, baby."

Endeared by the nickname, Mickey blushed slightly. "C'mon man. Let's get back to the apartment. We got a stakeout that needs planning."

Ian nodded, but the arm stayed put the entire way home. Mickey didn't mind one bit.

----

"What about the lady from apartment 193? The one with the weird-ass dog?"

"Ian, she's, like, a hundred years old."

"I don't know, Mick. Seems kinda suspicious."

They were sitting on their newly-bought sofa in the living room, beers in hand, discussing the potential suspect list. Ian had his phone out, writing the names of the possible culprits down, attempting to uncover the thief by the way the crime was executed. It wasn't going that well.

Ian's suspect list was a mile long, all ranging from old women who had complimented his tomatoes months ago, to the weird guy who gave him the stink eye when they first moved in for no apparent reason. "He's out to get me, Mick. I know it." Mickey had told him to shut the fuck up, and presented his own suspect list.

His was a little more realistic, containing names such as Alan who most certainly didn't like the couple -- "maybe the reason for that is the tantrum, Mickey." "shut the fuck up, Ian." -- and the chick whose daughter had a massive crush on Mickey.

"Maybe she thinks I'm some sort of pedo. Not cool, man."

"She would have called the cops, Mickey, not stolen my tomatoes. Also, the whole thing is pretty cute."

Mickey blanched. "She's fifteen! And has a crush on me."

"She's cute, acting all flustered when you casually say "good morning" to her. She probably doesn't even know we're gay."

The girl, Courtney, lived in the apartment a couple doors down from theirs, and her apparent crush on Mickey was beyond adorable to Ian. She was amazed by his thug appearance, and she made it clear in the way she greeted him whenever she passed by the couple, ignoring Ian wholeheartedly. Mickey hadn't even noticed it until Ian pointed it out one night, and when he did, Mickey grimaced and groaned, muttering about how he really didn't need to be the cause of some kid's daydreams.

"Her mother is out to get me. And the way to get me is through you -- everybody knows that."

Ian's chest swelled at the probably insignificant sentence in Mickey's mind. "Aww, Mick. That's really sweet."

"I am sweet."

"It's not the mother. We have to come up with something else."

"Ugh." Mickey groaned. "Why can't we just do this the old-fashioned way?"

Ian simply raised an eyebrow.

"Listen, you already planted the bait when we got back, we have somewhat of a suspect list -- now, we just set up the camera."

"Camera?"

"Yes, Ian. A fucking camera."

"Where the fuck are we gonna get a camera?"

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Carl? He's probably got access to those hidden camera thingies at work, right? We just have him snatch one for us. We'll give it back." He then added as an afterthought, "Maybe."

Ian thought about it for a second and then sighed. "Fine, we'll do it your way."

"Better than crouching in a bush of roses in the middle of the night, Ginger."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Ian agreed, texting Carl simultaneously asking for the 'camera thingy'.

"Also, I'd probably never, under any circumstances, do that shit. Doesn't matter how much I love you."

"Uh-huh." Ian smiled at Mickey, amused.

"I'm serious." He affirmed. "Never. No fucking way."

---

"I can't believe you made me do this shit." Mickey grunted as he crouched behind a rose bush, eyes trained on Ian's vegetable patch.

"Your plan didn't work, so we're doing it my way."

"Well, I didn't really plan for the camera to get fucking broken!"

Their thief was way more skilled than they had initially thought. After they got the camera from Carl, Ian hid it well, making sure it caught the asshole on tape once they attempted to steal his goods again. And when, a couple days later, his store-bought tomatoes were ruined again, this time, squashed deliberately in the garden, he was so happy Mickey had the bright idea to record it.

Until he found the camera squashed along with the tomatoes. It still worked somewhat, and when Ian saw there was a video on it, his hopes had immediately risen, only to be squashed like the poor tomatoes when he saw the video got cut off in the middle of the night, right before the murder had taken place.

"We are gonna do this my way. And then, we'll kill them." He had told his husband.

"Sure, man. The red blood will fit right in with the tomatoes."

"Stakeout."

"No, Ian."

"The sex you'll get if you do this with me will be nothing like you'd ever experienced."

Mickey scoffed, "Sure."

Ian gave him a look full of mischief, and leaned into his ear to whisper his intentions. "Three words, baby: handcuffs, blindfold, tongue. As someone who claims he doesn't like ass-licking, you sure as fuck make some sexy, loud noises when I try it."

And that's how Mickey was there in the garden, at three in the morning with Ian, his dumbass husband, waiting for the thief to appear. Ian had planted another bait, and decided to have a stakeout that night, after loudly flaunting to the other gardeners how good his tomatoes had grown -- "They'll take the bait, Mikhailo, stop giving me that look."

"The ground is really fucking cold, man. Can't believe you convinced me to do this shit. No sex is worth this."

Ian, in response, pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Mickey's neck. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah..." Mickey sighed in content. When Ian tried pulling away, he muttered, "No. Don't stop."

"Eyes on the tomatoes. You'll get your prize later."

Just as Mickey was about to protest, a figure appeared, inching towards Ian's vegetable patch. The couple stilled, eyes squinting, trying to see who the thief was -- who the fuck was it that had so easily crushed Ian's dreams of becoming a gardener, and had forced them to sacrifice their Friday night, crouching in the bushes instead of loudly fucking in their bed.

When the figure stepped even closer, Ian gasped. The culprit's face wasn't even covered and when Mickey saw who it was, he couldn't help it.

He laughed.

He laughed so hard, tears streamed down his face -- he wheezed at the sight they were greeted with. Ian hit his bicep roughly, but it was too late.

The girl had noticed them. She jumped in fear at the noise and her eyes zeroed in on the two men. Her young face paled and her eyes widened in fear.

"You!" Ian accused, jumping up to his feet, not as amused as Mickey was.

The girl jutted out her chin in defiance, not scared one bit. "Yeah. Me."

Ian stared at the fifteen-year-old. He had once considered her cute -- the crush she had on Mickey being nothing more but sickly sweet to him, perfect teasing material. But now, as he realized she was deliberately sabotaging his tomatoes because of, what? Jealousy? Oh, he was pissed.

"Why, Courtney? I've been working hard on those vegetables."

"Fruits." Courtney replied and Ian gaped at her, as Mickey kept on laughing.

"Not the point. Why? Are you jealous or something?"

"Why would I be jealous?" She asked, still acting tough for a girl who had just been caught in the act.

"Then why are you doing this?"

"Because..." She glanced at Mickey who was still on the wet ground, observing the exchange. "Your tomatoes look better than mine, and I was planning on giving Mr. Milkovich my tomatoes but it wasn't gonna work if yours looked better. So, I took yours."

Mickey busted out laughing again. This time tears were actually streaming down his face, clouding his vision. "Mr." Wheeze. "Milkovich." Wheeze.

Courtney looked down, embarrassed. "Maybe I was a little jealous. I just wanted to be noticed."

"Stealing my husband's tomatoes sure got you on my radar, kid." Mickey muttered, still laughing loudly. Perhaps too loudly for three in the morning.

Courtney stilled. "You guys aren't just... roommates?"

Ian shook his head. "No, married."

Her mouth formed an 'oh' shape, and for a moment they stood in silence. Then she laughed, sheepishly. "Well, in that case... I'm sorry?"

Ian was still on the verge of a mental breakdown, but he chose to remain calm. "Just don't do it again, please."

"I won't. I swear." She raised her hands in the air in surrender.

"Go home, kid. It's three in the fucking morning. You're way past hour bedtime." Mickey pitched in from his seat on the soil.

She nodded once again, muttering a quick "sorry", and then ran out of the garden.

Ian turned to Mickey, still shocked. "The root of all of this has been you."

Mickey just smiled. "Not intentionally."

"She wanted to give you her tomatoes. So she ruined mine."

"Your tomatoes are the only ones I care about."

"This better not be a metaphor for my balls."

"Oh, I like those too."

Ian grinned at his husband. "At least we figured out who it was." He put his hand out towards Mickey. Mickey got the hint and grabbed it, pulling himself up.

"Yeah. It was the little girl all along."

Ian snorted, still a little angry.

"How about now, you and I go back to our warm, comfy bed where you can tie me up and fulfill your promise."

"You're not tired?" Ian raised his eyebrow at Mickey.

The smile Mickey gave him was genuine. "For you? Never."

"Maybe I could fulfill my promise. It'd get my mind of off the tomatoes."

"You can always use me as a distraction." Mickey wrapped his arms around Ian's neck and pulled him down, slotting their lips together.

"I'll show you how to handle your tomatoes properly." Mickey teased and Ian all but shoved him back to the apartment.

The sex that night was fucking amazing. Mickey realized he wouldn't mind playing detective again if this was the reward he got. Suddenly, Ian's wish to plant thise tomatoes was the best thing that could have happened to Mickey in the long run. He wasn't surprised, though.

Ian really knew how to make the most of everything for Mickey. It was probably why he loved him so much.

This was a night Mickey would probably never forget.

#gallavich #shameless #ian and mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ianxmickey #shameless us #shameless fic #based on a prompt #enjoy!!#i loved writing this

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imagine-loki · 3 years

Text

Trust, Chapter 12

TITLE: Trust CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 12 AUTHOR: fanficshiddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki kidnaps Darcy Lewis, in hopes of getting the tesseract in return for her. Imagine his surprise when he grows rather fond of the mortal, finding that she understands him better than anyone else ever has. RATING: M

‘What are you doing?’ Loki drawled as Darcy crawled into his bed under the blankets beside him, her back to him.

Loki chuckled. ‘Why-ever not? Your dance moves were rather spectacular, I must say.’

‘Pity can’t say the same for your moves.’ Darcy teased. Though even drunk, Loki was pretty graceful.

‘I’m naked, by the way.’ Loki said flatly, thinking it would maybe make her change her mind about being in his bed with him.

‘As long as it doesn’t touch me, I don’t care.’ She grumbled, not opening her eyes.

Even if her snoring was annoying.

He managed to get back to sleep for a while too, after conjuring up some decent earplugs that drowned out her noise.

A couple of days later, Loki was finally able to show the team that he was willing to try and redeem himself.

There was a mission and Thor wanted to take Loki with them. So after a brief discussion, they all agreed.

Loki was excited at the thought of getting to fight. His armour, with his cape and helmet formed on him as he grinned excitedly.

‘Are you coming, Darcy?’ He asked.

Darcy decided she better head to the lab, see what Jane was doing and if she needed anything. When she entered, Jane looked over at her a little sheepishly.

‘Hey, Darcy.’

‘Hey. What you up to?’ Darcy headed over to her.

‘Thor brought me back a piece of the Bifrost. I’m just examining it.’ Jane said as she looked through a microscope.

‘Ohhh cool. Need a hand?’

Darcy rolled her eyes. ‘It doesn’t take any time away from science to say thanks.’ She spun on her heels and headed for the door.

‘Darcy. What’s gotten into you? Since Loki kidnapped you, you’ve been… weird. Spending so much time with him, have you two got something going on?’ Jane put her hand on her hip.

‘Seriously? You’re worried that you’re not the only one dating a God, is that what it is?’ Darcy snapped.

Jane clenched her jaw. ‘No… I just… He’s not right for you.’

Jane faltered. ‘Well… We did. Thor tried to find you…’

‘He obviously didn’t look around the Universe for very long considering he was here when we returned. THREE DAYS later, on Earth time!’

‘Darcy… We couldn’t just give up the tesseract like Loki wanted.’

‘Were you even going to try anything to rescue me?’ Darcy asked firmly, wanting an answer.

Jane looked down, her face falling. ‘We wanted to… It’s just, with Loki it was a bit… complicated.’

‘I knew it.’ Darcy shook her head and continued heading out.

‘Darcy!’

‘Get your own fucking coffee from now on.’ Darcy said as she flipped her the finger on her way out.

But Loki was riding on a high after the fight. He searched around, looking for Darcy. But there was no sign of her.

‘Has anyone seen Darcy?’ He asked the team who were heading to fill in what happened with Fury.

‘Nope. But you need to come with us, so we can tell Fury about the mission.’ Steve said.

‘No, I need to find Darcy.’ Loki frowned and teleported away from them before they could say anything else.

He checked her bedroom, all the public places including the library but there was no sign of her… Then it clicked, he had one last place to try.

Loki appeared behind her, his face falling slightly when he saw her body language.

‘Darcy?’ He said softly, stepping over next to her.

‘Oh, hey!’ She put on a smile as she looked up at him. ‘How did the mission go?’

‘It went really well, we defeated them, so you mortals are safe once more.’ He smirked and sat down next to her, but his smirk dropped. He could see there was something wrong.

‘What’s wrong?’ He frowned.

‘Nothing’s wrong. Tell me about the mission.’ Darcy tried to keep up the act.

‘They didn’t even bother looking for me properly.’ She whined, hating herself for feeling so upset as the water works started. ‘Jane was making up half assed excuses.’

Just having someone embrace her and someone to talk to that understood was a huge help. She already felt so much better. After a few minutes of silence, she sat up again and wiped her eyes.

‘If you tell anyone that I was crying I’ll be the one pushing you off here.’ She said with a slight smirk, making Loki chuckle.

‘Deal. We both have appearances to keep up.’ He grinned.

#Loki #God of Mischief #Submitted fic #submission #trust #chapter 12 #fanfichiddles

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colourful-void · 4 years

Text

Amity is the Weakest Witch; A theory on magic ability

I was rewatching some episode of the owl house, and I had a thought.

I’ve seen people talk about how powerful Willow is and how much we see her do once she gets moved to the plant coven track. And thats 100% true, Willow is fantastic, but as I kept watching, I noticed, so was Gus. He’s just as impressive as Willow, if not more than. Which made Amity look pretty weak by comparison. That got me thinking, which lead to this theory.

I think that Amity is weaker than the other main kids, and possibly ever other Witch we’ve seen at Hexside, based solely on innate magical ability.

In this post I’ll go over examples of Amity being weaker, what being weaker really means, why that may be, and what this could mean for the story in terms of plot and parallels!

This one’s gonna be long so under the cut it goes. (tldr at the end!)

First off, let’s talk about Magical Ability.

As Eda explains, all witches have a sack of bile attached to their heart which lets them do magic. My assumption is that by having a larger sack of bile, a witch would have ‘more magic’ than someone with a small sack.

In comparison, let’s say it’s musical talent. If someone is born with perfect pitch and good rhythm, and other things like that, then you can assume they’d be better at music then someone who doesn’t have perfect pitch, and whose rhythm is a bit off. However, if someone trains and works hard for a long time they could become better at music than the person who was born with talent, based on merit of technical skill and dedication.

It’s a common concept, that hard work and dedication are more valuable than talent people are born with.

In the world of the owl house, I believe magic works the same way!

So what’s my proof that Amity is any less magical than the others? She is top student, after all (then again, post that episode the badge literally never comes up again, but for the sake of argument, let’s say she’s still top student)

Let’s compare some magic, according to what each character has done in their respective tracks!

Starting with Gus, some of the most impressive magic he’s done!

- Created an illusion with free will - Created three unique illusions of him and his friends - Created fifteen illusions of himself while running

That can’t be easy, Gus is really impressive with his magic!

Willow too, is very impressive! Despite being a late bloomer and being teased, she’s done a lot of great magic.

- Creating vines that took over the entire school - Making plants that look like people - and a bunch of other examples (especially in Wing it Like Witches, not to mention all of Hooty’s Moving Hassle)

Willow is really powerful, but powerful at plant magic. She can’t do abominations well at all. Keep that in mind as I move on to Amity.

Compared to what we’ve seen Gus and Willow do, Amity is kind of... underwhelming.

Amity’s top accomplishments include:

- Making an abomination that can follow instructions (twirling, carrying her, high fives) - That but bigger. - thats pretty much it.

While Abominations have their uses, in general they aren’t that impressive, or versatile. While it’s hard to compare different magic, when directly pitted against each other, Gus and Willow have more going for them.

If Gus, Willow, and Amity all got into a fight, Willow would probably win. In episode 3, Willow and Amity do ‘fight’ with Amity’s abominations (around 3-5 iirc) against Willows vines (huge, wrapping around the entire school, able to move and carry people independently of the other vines) and it’s clear who the victor is.

While it’s less clear who would win in a fight between Gus and Amity, (Gus’s illusions don’t seem to be tangible, meaning that a fight depends more on the circumstances (planning, trickery, etc) than pure magic.

When comparing Amity and Gus’s magic, the similarities are easy to see. They both create humanoids (however Amity is limited to only monsters while Gus can make projections and objects) that can fulfil tasks. However when we compare their differences, I think Gus comes out on top.

Gus’s Illusions: - free will and thought - can create several unique illusions at once - can form words, witches and humans, and more - can be defeated by being touched

Amity’s abominations: - follow instructions - can create a few at once - all look the same - can only create monsters - stronger than illusions

While abominations are better weapons, I’d say that illusions are more technical and creative, and have more effort in them.

So compared to the other witch kids, Amity is the weakest in terms of pure magic ability.

Now you might be saying ‘hey that’s not fair! Amity can do more than just abominations’ and you’re right! But there’s a few things to note.

a) we see amity using a training wand to create fire spells, and we can assume this isnt something new she just got. why would she get a wand to learn something new she wasn’t going to need. by need I mean,

b) witches are locked into a single coven, so they can only perform one type of magic. since amity is in the abomination track, unless she manages to get into the emperors coven (which considering current episodes, seems like a scam and impossible) she will eventually be sticking doing only abomination magic.

so the earlier point still stands, at least for the sake of argument.

Sub topic: what does it mean to be weak?

In the context, Amity seems to have less powerful magic then the other witch kids. Despite that, she’s a hard worker (hence being top student) and trains her magic ability to be better than the other students. When I refer to amity as weak, I mean that I believe she was born with less magic than the other students, and is working overtime to become more powerful.

I also have a theory that amity’s brown hair is tied into her having less magic, hence the dying of it and the symbolism in her drawings.

For those who don’t know, in every drawing Amity’s done of herself, her roots aren’t showing. If the green is symbolism of magic abilty (since the colour is associated with Azura, who can be seen as representing magic) then it’s telling that Amity’s ideal versions of herself include being naturally green haired, or in symbolism terms, naturally talented with magic.

moving on the the next part of this analysis: why is amity weak?

My guess is that Amity was just born with less magic. Maybe a smaller bile sack, or something like that. There’s also a possibly that Amity was cursed when she was really young (like sleeping beauty, just been born and got cursed young) by someone, further adding to the parallels between her and Eda.

I’d love to hear other people’s theories as to why Amity isn’t as magical as other characters, since theres a lot of reasons it could be.

How Does Amity Being Weak Affect the Story?

a few reasons!

first off, if Amity has less innate magic then the other witches, than Luz has no innate magic, which further gives the characters something in common and pulls them together

second, if amity’s parents care so much about their reputations as Blight’s then having a ‘weak’ child would be disgraceful, hence why Amity is seemingly pushed harder than her slacker siblings.

third, it explains a lot of amity’s behaviour. When amity and Luz make up in covention, Luz wins amity over by explaining that she’s working hard to be a witch. for someone that’s worked her entire life to get where she is, that would be the first time that Amity truly understood Luz, for a moment. it also lends a lot more weight to her line ‘Humans have no magical abilty, but I doubt that’ll stop you’

So what’s the point? (tldr)

Amity is likely weaker than the other witches for some reason, either by being cursed or born that why. Her magic is less impressive by comparison to Gus and Willow’s magic. This explains Amity’s commitment to hard work, and also brings her closer to Luz.

If you have any thoughts lemme know, this got a bit ramble and I have no clue if it even makes sense, but thank you for reading it all!

#the owl house #amity blight #toh #toh amity #the owl house amity #the owl house theory #amity blight theory #long post #I regret making this it took like 4 hours

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