#Alfred would be shacking his head | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

acemapleeh · 2 years ago

Note

Would ever you consider writing a continuation to frozen hope? Maybe some hurt/comfort?

I wasn't quite sure how to approach this but after sitting sadly listening to the RDR2 soundtrack, I attempted something. I hope this suffices. Here's a link to the original fic!

"Stay with me now. Christ, you've stayed alive this long, just keep your eyes open for me."

"Mattie," Alfred rasped, his own voice feeling far and not entirely his own. "I knew I heard you... I knew you'd come for me."

"He's still talking nonsense, are you sure you checked his head?"

"The poor boy's been stranded out in the snow for weeks. You don't need to have a lump on your head to be seeing things after being out in a blizzard like that."

"He's the luckiest son of a bitch alive I'll tell you that."

Alfred took a deep, rattling breath as he slowly opened his eyes and the world slowly began to filter in around him.

He was… somewhere.

Somewhere inside.

Out of the snow.

Still cold but warmer than he'd been in ages it felt.

He was laid out on a makeshift cot with a worn, wool blanket tucked tightly around him, almost pinning him in place.

He blinked at the ceiling of the shack.

Alfred's body ached fiercely, the tell-tale signs of death still lingering in his bones. He hadn't the foggiest how long he'd been alive but he could still feel the skeletal grip of Death's hand pressing his chest down.

He groaned quietly, hoping to muster the strength to sit himself up and figure out just where the hell he was.

“Think you ought to stay in bed son,” a gentle warning came to his side. Alfred's glasses were missing, his mind only making up a vision of the person nearby.

He felt the presence of his father seated beside him.

"Dad?" the word didn't feel right leaving his lips.

He wasn't sure if he should be comforted, alarmed, or ready for a fight.

There wasn't enough strength in his arms to even attempt to reach for the weapon at his hip.

Alfred squeezed his eyes shut as pain began to be properly delivered throughout his body, now that his frozen blood vessels had begun to thaw; a hand found the back of his head and lifted it slightly off the pillow, placing a metal cup to his cracked lips.

He wanted to pretend he was still asleep, like when he was a young boy and Arthur had come to check up on him for the night but his favorite storybook was hidden right below his pillow- eagerly awaiting for the next chapter to reveal itself to him.

One of the foggiest memories Alfred had held onto of his father from his earliest of days was of Arthur propping him up against his shoulder as his small chest turned concave with the effort of fighting off an infection. He couldn't remember much from that time other than he never left his father's arms until it was certain he was going to live.

Even still, it would be some days for Alfred to sleep in his own bed.

The hand in his hair was gentle, the drink being poured down his mouth warm and tasted strongly of herbs and alcohol. It was a calming enough taste to let him crack his hazy eyes open once more.

"It's not quite a hot toddy, but it'll do you good. Drink up now." Alfred couldn't recall a time when his father had any prominent facial hair or his blonde hair darkening like a winter hare in summer... nor the last time he was this tender with him since he became a young adult- but it was certainly a change for the better.

Even the Midwestern accent suited him well.

"How's that treating you?" another man who wasn't his father asked anxiously. Mattie... his brother. Matthew with brown hair and a square jaw didn't look quite right but he was certain that it was him.

"It warms me some," Alfred breathed out, taking another small sip and making a face at the aftertaste. "Better than nothing, thanks." It still hurt to breathe and he knew if he had been handed the cup, he likely couldn't have gotten a proper grip on it.

Despite his words, he was still shivering like a leaf in a storm. He had to remind himself shivering was a good sign.

His mustached father helped prop him up and ran a hand up and down his back as he let out another deep set of coughs. His eyes were growing heavy, sleep pulling him as though boulders were weighing him down to the bottom of a neverending stream.

He heard a baby cry in the room and wondered vaguely where in the world Arthur had gone to acquire this one.

"Rachel, quiet that girl before she wakes the whole camp. Erik, get the man his glasses so he can make sense of where he is," the older man barked, a hand lightly slapping Alfred's cheeks to prevent him from falling back into unconsciousness. "Stay awake now. Tell me son, tell me about this Mattie. He your kin? You didn't speak much about your family while traveling these last six months."

"Mattie? He's... he's not here? He... I saw him in the mountains. I swear to the good Lord above I saw him. He always comes. He came to me in '93 when I was... was sick with the plague. My father too. They shouldn't- they fought in the war and..."

"No one was out there Alfred. Some of our men stumbled across you while trying to find food, buried under a bank of snow," he corrected in that soothing voice that should only be used on children. "You were dead, nature buried you to be sure of it, but something told every single one of us to dig you out and bring you back here."

When the baby was asleep again, Rachel came to Alfred's side, wiping a warm cloth across his chilled cheeks. They must have healed at least somewhat from his time out in the snow for the welts no longer stung at the gentle touch. When he turned to look at her, her eyes were red and teary, and he couldn't tear his gaze away.

"I'm so sorry- I took you… took you folks from your home," he wheezed, the pang of guilt in his chest resurfacing. He thought of his own big, lonely, cozy home in Massachusetts that he left behind and had been spared from his brother's rage. Of the coals Father would tuck under his mattress before kissing him good night.

Of the winter nights he and Matthew would curl in the same bed together, their bellies full of pudding and cider.

"Shhh," she soothed and Alfred wanted to cry at the tenderness.

At his lack of memory of a mother.

At the too many memories of his father.

"I'm… sorry," he gasped out again.

Erik had done as told and returned Alfred's glasses, the hastily built cabin coming into focus along with the tired faces of those who had been tested by God too much in a lifetime. They were all bundled in scarves and shawls, seeming to wear almost every article of clothing they owned at once to keep the cold away.

"You promised you'd get us to our new home," Erik's father, Owen, reminded, his hand strong on Alfred's shoulder. "We're still keeping you to it, young man. You're some kind of miracle sent and if you haven't given up on us, we won't on you neither."

He saw several other families in the room nod in succession and he couldn't describe the relief he felt at seeing every face of the people he'd been traveling the last seven odd months with.

"Mr. Jones," the father of the only Irish family traveling with them spoke up. "We'll all still gladly follow you through to California. You didn't force none of us to go West- you're the only thing that's got us this far at all."

There was a collective 'here, here' that echoed in the room.

"Davies, Tayor, and the others will be back with help," Owen continued, hand still firm on Alfred's shoulder. "We just gotta stay strong till they get back or this snow melts some."

The longer he was awake and the more words of hope flowed into him, the clearer Alfred's head became. His joints were still stiff but he knew he'd be back up on his feet in less than no time. These people needed food and someone to guide them. He couldn't allow any more time to be wasted on worries and woes of the past.

"Mattie- my brother, he was... he's a trapper up in Canada... writes me all the time the things he does. I ain't nearly as good a hunter as he is but our father taught us both to be mighty fine." Slowly, he tapped his fingers against his thumb, moving one digit at a time as the feeling in the tips began to return. "California ain't above our bend yet."

The cheers were louder than before, Alfred's now focused vision spotting grins and rosy cheeks among his people.

"Your father must be a good man raising two strong, young men like yourself," Owen assured. "He plan on heading out west with you someday?"

"My father? No, he's one of them Anglomaniacs you can say. You wouldn't catch him heading out this way in a hundred years," he scoffed, shaking his head. "My old man was as drunk as a fiddler’s clerk and highfalutin ass to boot. I'm the estranged son trying to find a new life out west is all; my brother's the good son and loyal to a fault. They'll keep each other company plenty."

Alfred finished what remained of his almost hot toddy and laid back in the bed, and though his energy was renewed and strong, his body was still fighting off the last bits of Death's unwelcome embrace.

The night was calm, and the wind was calm and still, leaving nothing but the sound of gentle breath and shuffling cloth to fill the dark space.

Hope slept soundly in her mother's arms.

Alfred's dreams brought him peace.

#hws america #alfred f jones #ace writes

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dibs4ever · 3 years ago

Text

Midnight drink

17-year-old Barbara Gordon tossed and turned in the bed. It wasn't that she couldn't sleep, she was staying the night in one of Wayne Manor's many guest rooms so the bed was more comfortable than her bed at home.

She felt fine, patrol was actually fairly slow tonight.

Maybe that's what it was, perhaps the lack of getting out all her pent-up energy was keeping her awake.

Ultimately she decided to head down to the kitchen and grab a drink. Perhaps that would aid her in drifting to sleep

Sliding out of bed she paused to glance at herself in the mirror, having decided at the last minute to just shack off at the manor instead of heading home she didn't have a change of clothes. Also once she’d had gotten out of the bat cave showers the guys had already retreated upstairs for the night. With nothing on but a towel, she had snagged one of Dick’s old t-shirts he kept in the cave and tiptoed upstairs to her guest room. Unnoticed by the residents of the large house.

Barbara shrugged, Bruce never came downstairs after retreating for the night and Alfred's wing of the house was equipped with anything he may need til morning. Leaving Dick. Barbara chose to take the risk and go downstairs. Hoping to come back unnoticed.

She tip-toed into the kitchen, opening the large stainless steel fridge. Scanning her eyes for what suited her quench

Ultimately deciding on a small glass of cranberry juice

As she reached for the bottle she felt eyes on her.....crap.

Turning she was met with the eyes of Dick Grayson across from the dark kitchen, only lit by the glow from the refrigerator light and the overhead microwave light.

He stood, leaned against the wall in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hung loosely on his hips.

“Hey there, whatcha doing?” he asked. A smirk was evident on his face.

Barbara shrugged “Well, I was Umm thirsty” she held up the juice bottle, turning.

She and Dick’s friendship had still been great since their summer of being friends with benefits. But still ever since they’d stopped doing the -do, 3 months ago, it was at times awkward in situations like this.

He walked further in “Oh yeah “

Barbara smiled “Yeah.”

She continued backing up, as he stocked forward till finally her back hit the counter and he cornered her in. Both hands on either side of her. She watched as he leaned up, reaching into the cabinet he pulled out a small juice glass handing it to her. Barbara turned slightly, still between Dick’s arms, and poured herself a glass taking a sip before turning back to face him. Dick’s arms grazed hers. She watched as his eyes danced over her body “You look good.”

Barbara rolled her eyes “You’ve seen me in less.”

Dick bit his lip “ doesn’t change the fact that you look cute in my shirt.” He quirked playing with the hem of said shirt. Which reached her mid-thigh. This was normal for them, ever since summer ended they become way more flirty and touchy than ever before. But still insisted that they were ‘just friends. If it was okay to still say you were that even though you spent 7 weeks banging each other's brains out.

She felt his hand move upward toward the counter. Her breath caught “You gonna finish it-“

Finish? Barbara thought

Dick caught onto her hesitation “Your juice, you gonna finish the glass? I’m kinda thirsty myself mind if I?”

Barbara looked down at the half drank glass in her hand “Oh no Umm here” she mumbled passing him the glass. Watching as he swallowed down the juice

Her mind wondered, how easy would it be if he just picked her up, set her on the counter, pulled her.....

Nope, those days were over. They had an agreement

“I better get to bed,” she said softly

He looked down at her and smirked “Yeah, guess you better. Wouldn’t want Bruce or Alfred to come down here....might get the wrong idea, eh?”

With her just wearing his shirt and his sweatpants, he had a point.

Barbara bit her lip nodding “Goodnight Dick.”

He bowed his head, kissing the top of hers “Goodnight Babs.”

#dickbabs #dick grayson #barbara gordon #batfam headcanons

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the-witches-you-couldnt-burn · 3 years ago

Text

It started with a whisper

I originally wrote ‘Like I did with you’ as a one-shot but people wanted a sequel. This turned out to be waaaaay longer than expected (4.7k word count). Inspired by Everybody Talks by Neon Trees. I hope you lot enjoy!

Ao3

(Also this is Mari’s new outfit, all credits go to the original artist)

————

Two teens stood upon the balcony of a large banquet hall, exposed to the midsummer night air. The sky was a lilac blanket that hung over the Parisian buildings, speckled with glowing stars. The moon, with it’s crescent smile, beamed down of the young couple.

Hey, baby, won't you look my way?

Marinette’s eyes were closed as she rested her head upon his shoulder, relaxing after the night’s rapid escalation. Tonight she had arrived at the ball with the intent to be there for her friends, but somehow she found herself within the arms of Gotham’s (and probably Paris’) Ice Prince. She had overheard his nickname from the Gotham students, one of which being Jon, who was in the middle of mocking the young Wayne. She had never considered that nickname as suitable; sure he was temperamental & had a tendency to snap, but icey to the core? No.

I can be your new addiction

Damian was calm. For the first time in his life he felt like he could take a breath. His exhale was carried off by a small gust of wind, the bush over hanging the stone railing rustled. With his inhale, the scent of Marinette’s perfume became present once more. Mixed with the crisp night’s air, her usual scent of pastries was mixed with what could only be described as ambrosia. His phone vibrated within his pocket, it was never on volume due to the potential risk it caused during his heroic activities.

“Shit.” Notifications covered his screen, multiple tweets, Instagrams and Tiktoks in which he had been tagged in. But the alert came from his family’s private messaging chat. The whole thread was a shit storm, Grayson and Todd’s messages were completely capitalised (he learnt years ago this meant ‘to yell’ in writing form) and both had multiple ‘keyboard spasms’. Drake, like the thorough detective he is, had combed through the images and videos, investigating their validity. His honorary sisters had replied with ‘awwwww’(s) and ‘Omg we MUST meet this girl! I need to know how she tamed the demon!’. He could practically hear Brown’s shrill voice from across the ocean.

Hey, baby, what you gotta say?

No reply from his father or Alfred. The two of them were the only semblance of ‘normal’ paternal figures he had within his life, after the sham of a relationship he had previously held with his grandfather. Their silence unnerved him.

Marinette had noticed his attention had shifted to his phone, her own mobile was buzzing away within her baby pink purse. Messages, notifications of account tagging and comments galore. A sigh left her lips when she saw her parents seemed to be none the wiser. Good, she didn’t need to deal with future adoration for ‘The boy who swept our daughter off of her feet’ (or something along those lines).

Her cheeks regained some of the warmth they held before as she thought of her parent’s reaction. Scrolling through her Twitter she saw her friends had posted multiple images of the night’s events, majority being her shared dance.

Chloé Bourgeois @TheBestBourgeois

what kind of Disney shit is this? (Insert video of two teens dancing around an mostly empty dance floor.)

Alix Kubdel @Sk8trGirl

Replying to @TheBestBourgeois

I KNOW RIGHT?! THEY WERE FUCKING FLOATING!!!

All you're giving me is fiction

She was thankful that they hadn’t tagged her but she hadn’t been spared by others in attendance. Her post thread had blown up, thousands had commented and even more had viewed the evidence. There was no way she would come out of this unscathed.

“Has anyone been on Twitter today?” The blonde of the family asked as she walked into the dining room. Her eyes focused on her scrolling screen, brows furrowed in confusion. “Actually has anyone seen what’s happening on any of our socials?”

It was early in the afternoon and the family had recently returned home after a straining stakeout. The Joker had broken out of Arkham and the Batfam had to deal with his minions. Dick’s arm was in a sling (sprained from a grapple gone wrong), Jason was icing his hand, Alfred was stitching Bruce’s chest wounds while Tim and the girls escaped without severe injuries. All were still recuperating and finally able to recharge.

Alfred always enforced a strict ‘no devices at the dinner table’ rule; no matter how urgent it was, it could wait until after sustenance was consumed. Tim strongly opposed this, but there was no arguing with Agent A. This all surmises that probably no one had seen the crap storm on social media.

I'm a sorry sucker and this happens all the time

Bruce sighed, bringing his free arm up to rub his eyes. Tilting his head back to look at Steph, “Who was it this time?” Barbara quickly took out her phone to see what Stephanie was talking about, all the while glancing accusingly at Dick and Jason. Both of whom held up their arms (or in Dick’s case arm), declaring their innocence.

“It wasn’t fucking me!”

“Jason! Language!” Dick shot a glare at Jason and was met with one in return. “It wasn’t me either.”

“Then who-“ Bruce started before being cut off by his most rambunctious daughter.

I found out that everybody talks

Stephanie with a squeal, exclaimed that it was Damian. Visions of what the Wayne brat could have done flashed through the heads of everyone in the room. He had been sent overseas before the quarantines and lockdowns hit. During Damian’s first month in France he had been forced into online schooling and then finally when he got to go to in-person classes he hated it. Described the class as a kindergarten with petty and vindictive toddlers.

Had he broken someone’s arm? Was that person of such importance that it had spread over multiple social media platforms? France’s government had announced on June 15th, that teens were now being inoculated so him having COVID-19 was doubtful. Had he insulted the wrong person? Had he taken over the government? He certainly had the potential.

Everybody talks, everybody talks

What they saw stunned them, even Steph as she watched it for the 7th time. Damian Wayne was dancing. But not only that, he was dancing with a girl.

It started with a whisper

“What is this shit?”

No one verbally objected to Jason’s outburst but he was sent a harsh glare from Alfred, Dick and Bruce. Their focus soon returned to the images and videos before them. Babs’ and Steph’s phones were returned to them as the others ran to grab their own devices. They all met back at the table, comparing the posts and comparing their notes.

I can hear the chitchat

“There’s no way this can be real.”

“Jesus Tim,” Barbara rolls her eyes, “have you seen the amount of posts there are? You’d be an idiot to think otherwise.”

Take me to your love shack

“I’m with Tim, how do we know this isn’t some skit. I mean, Demon Spawn almost looks normal. That’s a matter of concern.” He almost dry heaved when he agreed with Tim. Damian couldn’t be capable of naturally exuding that amount of humanity unless there was something in it for him.

Mamas always gotta backtrack

“I was just saying Babs, that we should check the credibility of these images. For all we know they could be gorilla glued together and trying to get unstuck.” Tim cringed at his own reasoning, he really needed to either sleep (probably not going to happen anytime soon) or find his favourite coffee brand (which had been one of the first to vanish after the covid hoarders appeared).

When everybody talks back

Dick was too busy freaking out and spam messaging the youngest Wayne, to defend Damian’s humanity. The family saw this and followed suit, wanting to get information from the source.

Chat name: Alfred supremacy

BigBird: AHHHHHH DAMIAN!

BigBird: YOU LOOK SO CUTE!!!

BigBird: HAIFJDNDNFI

LittleWing: WTF HAPPENED DEMON SPAWN YOU LOOK ALMOST HUMAN

Babs: who knew the city of love would influence the brat

Blondie: they are so cuteeeeeee!

Blondie: We HAVE to meet her!

Silent-but-deadly: agreed.

Timbo: YO DEMON

Timbo: Apparently the videos are legit

Timbo: are you being blackmailed?

And it just devolved into more chaos from there, fueled by the fact that they saw Damian’s ‘Blood Son’ account appear online before vanishing once more. Dick shrieked, “I FOUND HER ACCOUNT!”

The family gathered around the eldest son, peering over his shoulder to view his iPhone 12max screen. They saw a young girl’s Instagram account. It was locked but they could see her profile pic, the girl had black hair and looked to be if Asian decent. They compared it to the videos but it was hard to see due to the hall’s lighting and the minimised facial features of the pfp. Alfred suggested that they search up her username and see who has tagged her, some might have other photos of her.

After research for awhile, the family began to get frustrated with lack of results.

Hey honey you could be my drug

You could be my new prescription

“Come on!” Jason complained, “What kind of teenage girl doesn’t post her life online?” He ignored the girls glares and went back to researching. How had the account by the name of ‘mariiiiinette’ to managed to prevent the entire Wayne clan from accessing it? Damn Instagram privacy settings. He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, “We are fucking stupid. Why don’t we just use the Bat-computer? It would be so much fucking easier.”

“It shouldn’t be used for civilian issues-“

Too much could be an overdose

“The girl could be a meta for all we know! We aren’t safe until we know who she is.” Jason points a finger at Tim, his paranoia flared up and even though he would never admit it, Jason would do anything to protect each member of his family (although Bruce is still debatable).

All this trash talk make me itching

Barbara and Tim took their usual positions as Oracle and Red Robin (who had been banned from patrol due to lack of sleep). The rest of the Batfam stood behind them either with arms crossed or still failing at researching.

Oh my my shit

“The account is owned by a girl called Marinette Dupian-Cheng. She is French-Chinese and her parents own a popular bakery. Also if it wasn’t already obvious, she goes to Collège Françoise Dupont, aka Damian’s French school.” Tim begun informing his nosy family, “But this account has been inactive for the past 6 months, which is strange due to her frequent posting schedule before hand. It seems she probably has a second account and this is her old one.”

Everybody talks, everybody talks

“Not only that,” Barbara interrupted. “There are unopened messages from other accounts that accuse her of being a bully. There is a whole Facebook page about this girl and how she has been hurting her old friends, but neither side seems reliable. The so called victims seem to be twisting the truth but there is barely any information about Marinette so we can’t disprove it either.”

“Read out some of the messages.” Bruce took a cup of coffee from Alfred and sipped it.

The main screen of the bat computer displayed a Facebook group with the banner picture being a photo of Marinette. “They are mostly complaints expected of teen girls when there is a girl they don’t like; ‘Marinette is such a know-it-all’, ‘She is constantly insulting Lila’s intelligence’. They go on to talk about how Marinette was briefly expelled from the Collège before being reinstated by the principle for a reason unknown to them.”

Everybody talks too much

“Her school reports up until this year were good. The newest one states, ‘While Marinette is a wonderful and bright student, I encourage her to settle her disagreements outside of class. This seems to only be a recent occurrence and I implore her to go to the guidance council if she is in need of help.’” A beat of silence echoes through the cave, Tim sighed. “Jason’s meta theory could be correct. She could have just recently started exhibiting her abilities and using them to get what she wants.”

“Bruce what do you want to do?”

“We’re going to Paris.”

She opened her eyes to the blaring morning light that streamed through the blinds. Her lashes still painted with mascara that refused to leave. She felt a pang of sorrow when she was removing her makeup and dress last night, she never wanted the night to end. She shuffled down the stairs to the kitchen, covering her mouth when she yawned. She greeted her mother as she entered the kitchen to get breakfast.

She glanced at her phone and there was the chaos that was started hours ago and it was still occurring. It was the weekend, she wouldn’t need to deal with her classmates until Monday. But she would still have to survive her parent’s interrogation. Out of the corner of her eye she caught her mother smirking at her.

Everybody talks

“Nadja told me some interesting news about last night.” Marinette held her breath, glaring at the toaster, willing it to hurry up so she could escape. “Well,” Sabine patted her shoulder before rubbing Mari’s back. “I know you didn’t want to go but I hope you had fun.”

With that she exited the kitchen, probably going to help her father in the bakery. The ravenette stared after her, eye widened in shock, jumping when the toaster went off. Buttering her toast she went over the conversation, her brows furrowed in confusion. She had expected a ‘When do I get to meet the oh so famous prince?’ or ‘Should I be expecting a new guest sometime in the near future?’ or at least a ‘Who was that young man, Bǎozàng (宝藏 it means treasure)?’ But she said nothing.

A small smile was plastered upon her face as she changed and went down to help her parents in the bakery. Her father didn’t say anything either, he gave her a knowing smile before continuing to kneed the dough. She sat at the the store front as the cashier whilst her parents were busy making ‘Paris’s Finest Pastries’.

Her musings slowly faded as she was brought back to reality by badly hushed whispers. Two young preteens were by the bread roll casing near the door. She had seen them come in before with their parents, the girls went to the prestigious international school over in the 16th arrondissement. The one with purple hair kept whispering to the brunette, both ‘subtly’ glancing towards her. Using her enhanced hearing she listened in on their conversation.

“That’s her, I swear that’s her in the video.”

The blonde’s face soured likes she sucked on a lemon. “No, it wasn’t good lighting there is no way he would dance with someone like her.”

Everybody talks

Marinette had tough skin but their words had an impact, only a small one due to her defence mechanism of repressing emotions. She stopped listening and went back to drawing in her sketchpad, she was in desperate need of a new school outfit.

The two girls eventually came up to the counter, goods in hand. Marinette rung up and bagged their items (paper because save the turtles sksksk) in a tired daze. A phone was shoved into her face, her eyes barely adjusted to view the screen before the blonde spoke.

“Is this your instagram?” She asked in a tone so snobbish that it should be illegal from a person her age. Marinette finally was able to view the screen that was barely an inch from her face. Her old Instagram ‘mariiiiinette’ was displayed on screen, she hesitantly nodded, gaze flicking back to the two in front of her.

The blonde’s nose scrunched up and the purple goth girl squealed in delight. They soon after left the store, their conversation had devolved into ‘See! I told you’ and ‘Yeah, yeah. You were right.’

Walking to school on Monday, she had finally come down from cloud nine. She still rode the tail end of her high as she rushed along her path to her campus, she wasn’t going to be late but she sure wasn’t going to be early. She had spent the better part of the weekend designing and sewing a brand new outfit. Her new look was composed of a black cropped singlet (L'amour gagne hemmed into it and it’s straps), paired matching peach plaid cropped overshirt and a-line miniskirt. Her hair was down, ballet flats were worn and her makeup was the usual with the added edition of a rose gold eyeshadow.

Even though her face was covered in a black and gold mask, she looked hot.

She reached the campus and the whispers started again, people were still buzzing from Friday night. Her classmates, the majority of her grade and the younger years seemed to gossiping before class about the formal’s events. She couldn’t spot any of her friends or the two Gotham transfers, so she was stuck listening the the chitchat. Why couldn’t she have been late like usual?

Damian had a fowl disposition and it showed in multiple icey glares (and that was before he even reached the collège). His family had made their appearance known in Paris at 1am Sunday morning. He could have used his dorm to escape but his family didn’t have the word ‘privacy’ within their vocabulary. He didn’t want to have to pay for a lock replacement due to his brothers’ (most likely Todd with Drake & Grayson laughing at him) lock picking habit.

The Ice Prince was back with full force. He had just been... influenced by all the other couples. Yes he did respect Dupain-Cheng and he appreciated her company & pleasant conversations. He would struggle to hide a small smile at the memory of the dance, even if he denied himself the happiness of normality, he felt content when reminiscing.

“Ooo the Ice Prince is here, did he have a fight with his princess or something?” The voice seemed to mock him.

“The Disney Magic is gone. The demon is back.”

Everybody talks

At the second jeer he shot a glare at the perpetrator. Jon held his hands up in an ‘I surrender manner’, laughing as he joined Damian at his side. The two entered the school’s large foyer and looked to see if any of the classes were open yet. Sadly they weren’t, before he was wrong and the his class was plain torture but this was truely hell.

He saw Dupain-Cheng sitting alone on the stairs, drawing within her sketchpad. He wondered how a girl like her, who always seemed to be involved in other’s lives (for the better) was ignoring all of the comments about her. She felt his focus centre on her, eyes flicking up to meet his, she provided him with a small wave before continuing to draw.

Jon nudged him with an elbow to his ribs and dragged him off to the side, into the boy’s locker rooms. Jon scowled at the door, “It’s a mad house out there. You’ve heard what some people are saying right?”

“Why would I care about these imbeciles?”

Jon jabbed Damian in the chest, causing the demon to stumble. Green eyes darted from blue eyes to the tan finger. “You care when lies hurt people you care about.”

The day began to rapidly decline once the two dance partners took their seats, next to each other. They had both been placed up the back of the class and them sitting together hadn’t been a problem until now apparently. She wasn’t even safe when the teacher started their lecture, whispers and glances were cast towards them. Once the two got to biology it was better, Ms Mendeleiev was a strict teacher and was able to control the class.

Everybody talks

But the recess came. When the bell rang she slowly started packing up her equipment, Alix and Max (who she shared biology with) waited for her; she watched as the Ice Prince left through the door. She knew she didn’t need to be concerned about her friends joining in with the gossiping, if anything they would dispel people and tell them to ‘Mind their own fucking business’ because this whole situations is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.

She did receive some slight teasing from Alix about being a Disney princess, but Marinette quipped back about the skater’s fairytale story being ‘Pinknette, the Geek and the Beast’. The three met up with the other two of their group, they had just come from geography. Kim was complaining that Argentina was a state in America.

“That’s Arkansas you idiot!” Chloe shrieked, lightly hitting his arm with her white handbag. Max held his head in his hand as he approached, how had his tutoring sessions failed so badly?

Chloe turned to Marinette, a smile forming from her glare. The blonde examined the designer’s clothing, nodding. “You look like you are about to have a hot girl summer.”

Marinette’s face burned, the tips of her ears coated in red. Alix chuckled and nudged her shoulder.

Everybody talks

“Look at her, she is so desperate for his attention that she probably copied those designs.”

“Why do you think he danced with her anyways? Maybe she has something on him? I mean, she forces him to sit next to her in class, who knows what else she has done.”

What. The. Fuck.

Chloe glowered towards Lila’s posy. “We have a fucking seating plan, those cretins-“ She made a motion to storm over but was caught by the ravenette, looking back to Mari, her rage decreased from a boil to a simmer.

“No Chlo. It’s fine, it’s not worth it.”

Everybody talks... back

The group walked out to the school’s front steps, it was a mad house... a mad courtyard? Students sitting on the stairs, on the grass and standing around mingling, all of them now were staring at her. She held her backpack close to her chest (she had swapped her signature coin-bag purse for the pastel pink bag), pretending its a shield. Her friends circled around her becoming an obstacle to prevent their stares. If people were afraid of a scowling Kim then they don’t know the scorn of Chloe or Alix’s bite. And Max, sweet quiet Max.... you better hope he doesn’t have blackmail on you (he probably does), he can dismantle your life with a single anonymous post.

Rushed footsteps approached them. The group was broken apart by a rude Wayne boy, he swept Mari away from the school and the gossip crowds within. Her four friends shouted at him and he kept walking, shooting a glare at them in response. He kept pushing Marinette forward with a hand placed on the small of her back, her backpack was now swung over his other shoulder.

They ended up in her favourite alcove. She had brought him here with the other Gotham transfers for a native’s tour of Paris. It had always been her safe place to be creative.

It started with a whisper (everybody talks, everybody talks)

“My apologises for our rushed departure but you seemed to want to get out of their anyhow.” His gruff tone danced through the silence, his head still peaking around the corner; watching for any unwelcome guests.

“Thank you.” She whispered, her voice almost being carried off by the gentle wind. A genuine smile illustrated upon her face.

“We weren’t able to converse after the events of the other night. I would like to formally apologise once more for my actions causing this adverse reaction. If I had kn-“

“You don’t need to apologise!” She squeaked, hiding her eyes behind her fisted hand. Her shoulders curled inwards as she tried to make herself seem as small as possible, a side effect of her common use of her secondary miraculous form: Multimouse.

“I chose to dance with you, you don’t need to apologise for my own actions.” He stared at her with confusion. He had taken the blame so she wouldn’t need to do so herself; but she had taken it anyways. He had given her an out. Why does she always take the blame, even for things out of her control?

“But if I hadn’t danced with you then you wouldn’t have been the focus of the entire school.”

Marinette stepped forward, her eyes hardened and blazing. “Damian Friday night I went there out of obligation to my friends, I didn’t want to be there. But dancing with you? That was the highlight of my week, probably my month too. I enjoyed our time together.” Her face softened, lips twitched downwards ever so slightly. “I don’t regret anything about that night, but do you?”

He was bad at comfort. Everyone in his family avoided him when they were in need, he plainly didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t visibly upset but he sensed that she is disappointed that he apparently didn’t share the same opinion of the night. The only thing he regretted about that night was letting Jon call him a coward, but then again if he didn’t he never would have danced with Dupa- Marinette.

He picked up her clenched hand, the tension in her body alleviated at his embrace. He remembered how Grayson would apologise to Kor’i or how his father interacted with Ms Kyle. He brought their hands up and placed a kiss upon her knuckles.

And that was when I kissed her (everybody talks, everybody talks)

“I do not regret anything either—“ he cleared his throat, “In fact, I’d appreciate if we would be able to interact more, especially outside of that cesspit.”

Was he...?

It didn’t matter.

She smiled the same dazzling smile she gave him at the dance. She nodded while laughing, “I’d love that.”

Everybody talks

The two stay talking, hidden within their secret alcove for the rest of the day. She texted her parents to say she was with a friend and would be back later that night. Damian didn’t bother texting his family, Marinette knew he had to be back soon due to his dorm’s curfew.

The sun was setting at they walked back together, he did the gentlemanly thing and dropped her off at her bakery door. She could see her mother behind the register inconspicuously looking over at the two of them. Damian’s lips quirked upwards, she was satisfied with his kinda-smile.

He walked back, hands in pockets and a neutral expression upon his face instead of a scowl. He reached his door and took his keys, he found that it was already open. Damn.

His family was splayed out within his two roomed dorm. Todd and Drake were fighting over a place to sit on his bed, whilst his father sat at his desk, watching the commotion. The three of them turned to him as he enter the room, they were the only family members able to attend on short notice; Cain had a ballet audition, Gordon & Brown had concert tickets for tomorrow, Grayson had to take care of Mar’i while Kor’i was on Tamaran and Alfred stayed to ensure no one died during their night time activities.

“We need to talk Damian.” His father stood, leaning onto the desk chair. “The school called and said you had an unexcused absence for half the day. Where were you Damian?”

Damian stared into his father’s eyes. He was fifteen, almost an adult, but was treated like he was ten again.

“I was with a friend.”

“Probably the girl from the dance. Marinette, right?” Todd mocked him. Damian snapped his head in the direction of his bed, glaring at both his brothers.

“That’s what I want to talk about with you Damian. Now I don’t know her personally but from what we’ve discovered through our investigation we have some concerns. What’s happened Damian?”

The youngest Wayne’s glare shifted off of his brothers to the floor, and then finally to his father; his family sitting in wait for his answer. Straightening his posture, his shoulders clicked as he rolled then back. His statement’s tone was sure and steady, “Everybody talks father.”

Everybody talks... back

#maribat #marinette x damian #mlb x dc #batfam salt #batfam is concerned #Daminette #the aftermath of ‘Like I did with you’#everybody talks by neon trees #max kante has blackmail and will use it #Alix will bite if provoked #dc x mlb #damian wayne x marinette dupain cheng #Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a meta?#supportive Dupain-Cheng parents ❤️

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mandelene · 3 years ago

Note

≣: hand holding — a 17 year old Alfred is a pedestrian in a bad hit-and-run accident and is brought into Arthur’s ER. Arthur doesn’t find out until they’re wheeling him into the OR.

Love and Rage

Word Count: 1243

“Seventeen-year-old male en route to trauma – should be arriving any minute now. Hit and run on the corner of Lexington and East 39th Street. Patient was walking to the subway after getting food with friends at Shake Shack. EMS says vitals are stable but the patient was briefly unconscious and there’s suspected head trauma – bleeding along his hairline from when he hit the concrete. Patient was also complaining of shortness of breath and feeling dizzy. Bruising and swelling around his left side where he was struck, including his hip, thigh, and knee. Ribs tender to touch on the left side as well.”

Arthur sucks in a breath through his teeth as he overhears the trauma team receive report. Seventeen—that’s the same age as his boys. How devastating for the teen and his family. How could someone hit a child and then drive off? The thought makes him shudder.

He continues his charting, turning his attention back to his own patients. They have a level one trauma center—the boy is in good hands at least and has an entire team of doctors waiting for his arrival.

He doesn’t pay it any more mind…

Until he sees the bruised boy being brought in on a stretcher.

Arthur’s body goes cold and stiff. His knees weaken. He thinks he might vomit or faint, or both. He stands up from his chair on wobbly legs and grips the edge of the counter of the nurses’ station, trying to confirm if his eyes aren’t deceiving him.

The boy on the stretcher is Alfred.

He is reminded of the conversation he had with Alfred two nights ago—he had asked if he could go to the city with friends after school...

For three entire seconds—the longest seconds of his life—Arthur is paralyzed. He watches helplessly as Alfred is rushed into the trauma bay.

And then, he drops everything and runs.

“Alfred,” he gasps as he reaches the trauma team and pushes past them. “Alfred!”

His son’s blue eyes are glassy as they shift over to him. Splotches of red and purple hematomas are scattered across his face and chest, the left side of his forehead is dirty with sticky, dried blood, and he appears dazed and confused.

He takes Alfred’s hand and squeezes it. It suddenly feels so small and fragile—so easily breakable. “Oh, Alfred…It’s going to be all right, love. I-It’s going to be just fine,” he manages to say despite the sudden incredible ache in his heart.

One of the emergency medicine doctors on the team touches his shoulder and says, “We’re going to need you to wait outside. I’ll find you as soon as I can, okay?”

Arthur swallows against the lump of grief in his throat. Of course…He’s just going to be a distraction—too overwrought to be of any use to Alfred right now anyway. Treatment first, emotions later.

He gives Alfred’s hand one more warm squeeze and kisses his forehead before excusing himself from the trauma bay. When he exits, everyone at the nurses’ station is staring at him but trying their hardest to seem discreet about it.

He retreats to the doctors’ lounge and calls Francis.

That’s all he can do right now.

And he hates himself for it.

--------------------------------------

They wait an agonizing four hours before they’re given the full list of damage. Three fractured ribs, a concussion—but no bleeding in the brain, which is a huge relief—fractures to both his patella and tibia with displacement (requiring surgery), a dislocated hip (also surgically treated), and a collapsed lung.

But he should be fine with rest, monitoring, and supplemental oxygen.

It takes all of Arthur’s strength not to break down when he gets the news. He hugs Francis tightly outside of the pediatric ICU, shaking.

“We can go in and see him,” Arthur rasps in a hoarse voice, glancing over at Matthew, who is sitting in one of the chairs in the waiting area and looks so pale he’s matching the shade of the wall behind him.

Francis murmurs, “I’ll stay here with Mathieu for another few minutes. It’s…It’s going to be difficult to see him, and I think we both need a moment to prepare ourselves.”

“Okay, I’ll go then. Only two visitors at a time are allowed anyway,” Arthur says, steeling himself. He knows he’s seen worse in the past, but seeing his own child suffering is a different beast entirely.

He alerts Alfred’s nurse of his presence and then enters the boy’s room, inwardly pleading with himself to hold back the intense sorrow washing over him when he sees the oxygen mask on Alfred’s face and the chest tube creeping out from under his hospital gown.

He knows the boy has been through a great deal of pain, and he hopes the painkillers he’s getting are strong enough to at least grant him some reprieve.

Alfred’s eyes are closed at first, but he opens them halfway when he hears his footsteps. He’s still a bit woozy from anesthesia and the cocktail of pain medication—that much is clear.

“…Dad…?” Alfred asks very quietly. A few tears roll down his bruised face.

“I’m here, love,” Arthur replies, hastily taking up the chair by the bedside and grabbing hold of Alfred’s right hand. “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through…But you’re going to be all right, and that’s all that matters right now…Don’t cry, poppet. Shhh…”

Arthur carefully pets the boy’s head and wipes away his tears. “I know, darling. I know…”

Alfred rolls his head to the side wearily, and Arthur holds him against his chest very gently, doing his best to console him without causing him any additional pain.

“You’re going to be all better with time,” Arthur promises. “I won’t let anything happen to you, and I wish I could have protected you today…I’m so sorry.”

Alfred sniffles and bites back a sob so as to not irritate his ribs and his lungs. “I’m so tired…And scared.”

“Close your eyes and try to rest. Don’t be scared—I’ll be here should anything else happen.”

“It hurts…”

Arthur can feel his heart being torn in half, straight down the middle. “I know, love,” he sighs, placing a hand against Alfred’s forehead and holding it there—a steady warmth to calm him. “Your Papa and Matthew are going to come in soon. They’re very worried about you. We all are. But we’re also going to do whatever we can to help you get well soon.”

“Are you gonna leave later?” Alfred asks, voice quavering.

“No, no. Of course not. One parent is always allowed to stay. I’ll be here all night. I won’t let you out of my sight.”

“…Promise?”

“I promise,” Arthur replies without hesitation, combing a hand through the boy’s hair. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving. Do you think I’d be able to sit at home without you? Worrying sick about you? Never,” he assures.

That’s the thing about children—they never understand how much you love them. How you would give up your entire world for them. How everything falls apart when something happens to them…How you can’t imagine yourself living on without them…

If he could find the driver who did this, he would kill them. Would wrap his bare hands around their neck and make them feel the same pain.

The rage inside of him—it’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before.

When Francis and Matthew take his place by Alfred's bedside, he goes to the men’s restroom and cries.

#hetalia #hws face family #hws america #hws england #hws france #hws canada #drabbles #hurt comfort #hit and run

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mca-attack21 · 4 years ago

Text

The Case of the Killer Lightbulbs

Hi guys! This mini-series is based off an episode of criminal minds called ‘Amplification’. You can find more of my writing on my Masterlist here.

Working alongside Sherlock and John had put you in numerous compromising and even dangerous situations. It was not a rare occurrence to find yourself in harm’s way, but that never discouraged you. The way you had always viewed it was that John and Sherlock had gotten on fine before you, and they would continue in that fashion if for some reason you were incapacitated. Furthermore, you felt that there was no nobler way to die than saving/protecting the lives of others, especially those you cared about. This mindset of yours never faltered, even during “The Case of the Killer Lightbulbs” as John named it on his blog.

You were at the market when you got the call informing you to stop what you were doing and go outside where a car would be waiting for you. You were used to it by now, Mycroft was known to be the dramatic type. The ride was long and you wondered what the nature if thus case would be: Murder? Blackmail? Theft? National Security? Or, was it just Mycroft trying to get information on his little brother again? Whatever your thought process was during that car ride, it did not prepare you for what was coming next.

You were taken to Scotland yard which was swarming with various officials from detectives, to the military, to the CDC. You were led through to a room where Mycroft, John, and Sherlock sat.

“Okay, you may go now, shut the door on the way out,” Mycroft said to your escort.

As she did, he passed a folder to you, Sherlock, and John and began debriefing, “Yesterday 24 people checked into local area hospitals, all of them with the same symptoms, all of them had been at the same park around 4 pm yesterday. Now at just after 8 am, 14 of the 24 are dead. Lung failure and black legions among a myriad of other symptoms.”

“Anthrax?” John asked.

“Anthrax doesn’t kill this fast,” you replied.

“Unless it has been genetically altered,” Sherlock surmised, “What do we know about this strain?”

“The spores are weaponized, reduced to a spiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs. They are both odorless and invisible. The normal antidote is not effective against this strain,” Mycroft explained.

“Why exactly are we here?” John asked.

“We believe that this was a trial run, but don’t know what for. An outbreak in London would be detrimental, so we’ve called you lot in,” Mycroft replied, “You have full access to any resources you deem necessary,” he added handed you special badges, “Finally, here is Cipro, we don’t know if it’s effective against this strain, but it’s worth a shot. I wish you the best of luck.”

You, Sherlock, and John downed the pills and were left alone in the office as Mycroft had to step out.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” you said, still trying to get your head around the idea.

“It isn’t the first time, and most definitely won’t be the last,” Sherlock replied.

“So, where do we even start?” John asked.

Over the next two days, the three of you visited the hospital and spoke with remaining victims, analyzed the strain in the lab, located a second but smaller attack that happened weeks ago but only affected 4 people, and started to narrow in on a suspect list. You also created a list of possible targets, however it was too large to do any good. The three of you had come to realize that you were looking for someone with a significant background concerning biological agents. You knew that the person you were looking for most likely was in cohorts with the military or CDC and had a relation with the bookstore that was the target of the first attack. It wasn’t long before Sherlock had discovered who was behind it all.

This led you and Sherlock along with a team from the CDC to the home of Alfred Wilson to further investigate. John was at the hospital lending his medical assistance. And Mycroft and his men went to Wilson’s workplace and other known frequented locations. You and Sherlock stood outside as you waited for the all-clear.

“While they are doing that we should probably take a look around,” Sherlock decided.

The two of you walked towards the back of the house looking for anything out of the ordinary. Sherlock was distracted by a phone call from Mycroft explaining that the lab was clean and Wilson was still MIA. Sherlock turned to inform you of this news but realized that you had wandered off.

“Y/n?” he called and looked for you. He found the path that you must have followed. “Y/n,” he called again. He saw the shack and darted towards it, “Y/n!”

That is when you came into his line of vision, “Sherlock get back! Get back, get out of here!” you shouted frantically locking the door.

“Y/n? What are you doing? I don’t-” he started, but then he saw the broken container of white powder and the ventilation system. This was where Wilson had developed and even tested the strains. And you had already been exposed, which meant that if the Cipros was ineffective as it most likely would be against this mutated strain, you had less than 24 hours.

He called Mycroft who got the necessary people there. They wanted to get you out and to the hospital as soon as possible, that was not your plan though.

“Y/n, the CDC is here, they are preparing to extract you,” Sherlock explained through the phone.

“There’s no point, I’ve already been infected, I might as well work to solve the case,” you argued.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mycroft interjected.

“Sherlock, take me off of speakerphone,” you ordered.

“Alright, tell me what you see,” Sherlock humored you.

“Alright, well first off Dr. Wilson is dead, so we can rule him out. There are two workspaces and two sets of handwriting on the papers. So he either had a partner or protege,” you paused as a fit of coughing took over, “I’ve read through everything in here, the cure isn’t here. But maybe they can take the spores and reverse engineer them.”

“Okay, Y/n. Is there anything else that sticks out to you?” he asked.

You were going to continue but the coughing took over again. You hung up the phone to spare Sherlock. By the time you caught your breath John was entering in an orange hazmat suit.

“Orange is not your color,” you joked, “On a serious note how are the patients at the hospital?”

“Right now, let’s focus on you,” he redirected, “how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” you replied.

“Are you sure? I could give you something to ease the pain,” he explained.

“I’m fine and I don’t want to take any narcotics,” you snapped.

“Okay, no narcotics, got it,” he confirmed, “how can I help?” he asked.

“I read through all of the papers and none of them talk about the cure, but I think that it has to be in here somewhere. Probably hidden considering that Dr. Wilson was a former military scientist. He was paranoid and most likely tried to protect the cure from his partner. So look for something innocuous, something that you wouldn’t expect,” you explained, starting to feel slightly light-headed. That is when your phone rang again.

“Yes Sherlock?” you answered.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“That is irrelevant, why’d you call?”

“Mycroft said that Wilson’s co-workers were unaware of him having a partner. Is there anything else you can tell me about him?”

You went over to the desk again scanning for what you missed. It was like it was on the tip of your tongue, but your brain was too foggy to see it.

“Just list off everything that is on their desks,” Sherlock said wishing that he was in there with you.

“Wait, I’ve got it,” you replied, “Dr. Wilson was a professor. He has syllabi and a framed picture of him teaching. I even read a paper that he graded, or so I thought. He wouldn’t let just anyone into his lab but clearly,” you started before being interrupted by a wave of painful coughing, “he valued himself as an educator. What if the second desk wasn’t a partner, but a student? And the paper, it was formatted like a thesis. See if Mycroft can crossmatch the list of Wilson’s students and/or students at the university that Wilson taught at with past employees or customers of the bookstore.”

“Okay, will do,” he said hanging up.

“Y/n, you did good, now we need to get you to the hospital,” John tried.

“Okay,” you conceded knowing that there wasn’t anything else you could do there. A couple of CDC workers came and took you to a decontamination shower that they had set up, with John close behind.

“John, go help Sherlock,” you instructed.

“I’m gonna stay here and see you off to the hospital,” he insisted.

“I am about to be stripped down and bathed, my pride can’t take the thought of you witnessing that. Besides the way I see it, you can either stay here and watch me die or go out and prevent it from happening.”

“If you’re sure,” John replied, feeling torn.

“Go on,” you reassured him.

———————

Tags: @fanfictionsilove @delightfulheartdream

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list :)

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock x y/n #sherlock imagine #sherlock imagines #bbc sherlock imagines #bbc sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock #sherlock fic #sherlock holmes imagine

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friendlyneighborhoodspider-man · 4 years ago

Text

Broken Promises (pt. 3)

A/N:

If you haven’t already read parts 1 and 2, you can find them below. I definitely reccommend reading them prior to this because this probably won’t make much sense if you don’t.

part 1 part 2

There were a lot of directions this could go. I had a lot of people ask me to write it different ways, but in the end, this is what I felt. I am debating continuing this storyline with drabbles between the reader, Jason, and Roy (and possibly Zatanna or Dick?) Please like, comment, and send me suggestions/asks!

Love, Z

~~~~~~

It wasn’t until a month later that you were able to go back to the apartment to clear out the rest of your things. The affair had completely derailed your life, but it was nothing compared to what Dick was going through. After the word got out to the press about his cheating scandal, his name was pretty much toast. The only person to reach out to you to apologize for the whole mess was Alfred, but you had a feeling that for the most part no one wanted to confront it.

Jason and Roy on either side, you stepped through the threshold, memories sweeping over you like a wave. The living room that the two of you had painted together in fits of giggles and kisses now felt cold. Memories of lazy Sunday mornings spent on the couch eating waffles and watching the news, and long nights spent wrapped in each other and a blanket watching Netflix were tainted by the afterimages still burned in your brain of him and your best friend consecrating the apartment in their own special way.

Zatanna had had the common sense to break things off with Dick after seeing how his good name was being dragged through the mud-- and she hadn’t spoken to you since the night of the Wayne Enterprises Gala. You knew that one day the time would come to hash out all that needed to be said between the two of you, but today wasn’t that day.

Roy flopped on the couch, “Take all the time you need, sweetheart.” He covered his eyes with the hat he had been wearing and wrapped his arms around himself to doze off.

Jason’s hand touched your shoulder and you turned to look at him. “Do you want me to help, or--”

“Stay here.” You said, looking at the bedroom where you knew Dick was waiting. “I have some things I need to say.”

“Whatever you need, I’m here.” You left his side to pick up the boxes you had brought with you and brought them into the bedroom with you.

“Please look at me.” Dick spoke from the edge of the bed. You stared at him.

“What.” You said harshly.

“Can we--” he wiped tears off of his cheeks, his eyes red rimmed from what you were sure were hours of pity party tears-- “can we please, please, just try to talk this out.”

“Okay. Fine. Let’s talk.” You turned to the dresser and opened your drawers up. “You fucked my best friend. I asked you if there was anything going on with the two of you. You lied. You promised me that there was nothing and there would be nothing. I gave you four years of my life and you threw it away. I was going to marry you. I was going to have your children. You broke my trust and you broke my heart.” You spat at him as you threw the contents into an open box. Whirling around to face him, you started again. “I never asked you for anything other than your honesty, Dick Grayson. I resigned myself to a life knowing that I would always come second to the mask, a life where I would be nothing other than a choice. But I knew that at least if we were honest with each other, if we could always be each others number one confidant and best friend, we would be unstoppable.”

You paused to wipe the tears threatening to spill out of your eyes. “You ended us. This isn’t my fault. If you want someone to blame, someone to question, someone to ask for forgiveness--” you pointed directly at him “--look in the mirror.”

He was staring at you, cheeks red and eyes blazen with something-- anger, disappointment, regret, you couldn’t tell. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else you want me to say.” His voice broke, and a part of your resolve broke too. You went and sat on the edge of the bed by him.

“This is where we end.” You said softly. He choked back a sob.

“I-- I know I can’t take it back, and I know you deserve better-- just let me sh-show you--”

“No.” You took his hand from his face and took it in both of yours. “I loved you with everything I had, and you threw it away. A part of me will always love you, but I can’t do this anymore.” You leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I hope you can forgive yourself.”

After grabbing your few items from your nightstand and keepsakes from the safe under the bed, you left the room.

“Y/N,” Dick called out after you. You stopped in the doorway, box on your hip, and thought.

“Y/N?” Jason called from the living room.

And that was your answer.

You went in to find he had collected your items from the rest of the apartment and packed them up for you already. “I didn’t want you to have to-- if there is anything missing I figured I can come back and get it for you, or I can make Dick bring it, but for now--”

“Thank you, Jay.” You whispered, overcome with emotion.

“Oh, Y/N, don’t cry. Shhhh…” He wrapped you in a hug, while Roy slept obliviously on the couch. “It’s okay.”

“I’m not crying because I’m sad, it’s just…” you cried harder into his chest while you tried to breathe “it’s just so much, you know?”

And he did. You had made a life here, prepared for a life here, and with Dick, for the past four years, and now you were leaving it all behind. It was overwhelming, and you needed someone to hold your hand through it all. While for a while you had thought that Zatanna would always be the one to be your rock, you knew now that it was the two men here with you that would always be there to catch you when you fall.

“Y/N, no matter what, you always have me. I promise.”

“Thank you, Jay. For everything.” You said into his chest and he buried his face in your hair. “Can we go?” You said after a moment, and he laughed.

“Yeah, of course.” He shook Roy awake. “Can you help Y/N carry these boxes out to the car? I have something to take care of before we go.”

“Of course.” Roy picked up the heavier of the three and you left one for Jason to take with him. You shot him a questioning look before you shut the door, and he turned to the bedroom and walked in.

“Here to gloat?” Dick glared through bloodshot eyes. “You always wanted her, admit it.”

“I never said I didn’t. But Y/N is not some prize to be won.” Jason leaned against the doorframe. “You threw it all away-- and for what? For a good lay? Jeez, man, I don’t even know that I want to call you a brother anymore. Not after what you did to her.”

“It was a mistake--”

“No, it wasn’t. A mistake is forgetting your keys in your car, or accidentally texting the wrong person. What you did was a conscious decision, one that took effort, and you did it multiple times. Then you tried to throw it all back in her face at the Gala, and for what? To prove a point? Point taken-- she deserves so much more than you and all you will ever be.”

Jason walked up to Dick and pressed a finger into his chest. “And just so we are clear-- if Y/N ends up with me, it’s not because I poached her, or because I took advantage of her. It’s because she knows I’m the better man. It’s because she wants me. She is moving in with Roy and I and we never want to see or hear from you unless it is necessary. Got it?”

“Fine.” Dick stared directly at him. “You win. It’s not like Y/N wants me anyways. I don’t blame her. But if you think for a second she is going to stoop to the likes of a lowlife vigilante like you, you have another thing coming.” He chuckled harshly. “See you, bro. Now leave my place before I make you.”

Jason turned on his heel and picked up the box from the floor in the living room and met you in the car.

“I don’t want to know.” You said from the backseat, head in your hands. “Can we just go home?”

“Of course.” He turned around in his seat and gave your hand a squeeze. “Let’s go home.”

~~~~~

It was Thanksgiving when Jason pulled up to the Wayne Manor on his motorbike, you clinging to him like a spidermonkey. “I still don’t get why we couldn’t just take a car.” You grumbled as you got off, your leather jacket wrapped tightly around you as you looked around the place you had come to call home at one time. Now it seemed dark and cold, and you wondered if it had always been this way or if you had just been blinded by love to the point you didn’t notice before.

“You have to admit, babe,” Jason unclipped your helmet and smoothed down your hair, kissing the top of your head endearingly as he did, “the bike makes everything seem more rock and roll.”

“Got me there,” You joked, and linked your arm with his as you walked up the front steps. Alfred greeted you at the door, and nodded.

“Miss Y/N, Master Jason, right this way.”

“I’ve missed you Al,” You stopped him for a hug, which he of course returned. “We have to sit down and have tea sometime soon.”

“Of course.” He smiled. “We’ve missed you around the Manor...well, at least most of--”

“Y/N.” You heard Dick say before you saw him. It surprised you that you didn’t hurt seeing him as much as you had anticipated-- it was down to a dull ache as opposed to a burning fire. “Fancy seeing you here. I see you’ve shacked up with my brother.”

“Go to hell.” Jason said from behind you protectively.

“After you,” Dick bowed at him condescendingly.

“Both of you, back off.” You shouted. “Seriously. I just want to enjoy one fucking holiday without someone trying to kill someone or having to fight at the dinner table. Or both.” You glared between the two of them. “I’m sure Bruce would appreciate that as well, so if we can all just ignore each other for a few hours it will be fine.”

“Fine.” Dick snapped at you, and disappeared.

“The melodramatics in this family never cease to amaze me.” You sighed sarcastically.

“If you want to go, we can just get takeout and watch a movie at home. I swear. I won’t be upset.” Jason whispered in your ear.

“Let’s give it an hour before we bail.” You whispered back, and laced your fingers through his.

As you walked through the halls of Wayne Manor, you felt nostalgic. “Before we go see everyone, actually--” you stopped, and turned to the staircase-- “I want to go see your room.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Because, I just realized that in all the times I’ve been here, I’ve never seen the inside of your room.”

“I literally haven’t been in there in months.” Jason deadpanned.

“Humor me.” You laughed and started.

“Woman, you will be the death of me.” He followed.

“You love me.” You joked.

“Yeah, I do.” He said, and you were hit with the sense that he really meant it. Like truly, deeply, meant it. While it should have felt weird… it didn’t. You began to realize that maybe, just maybe, you and Jason were becoming something real. You used to think that you’d had that with Dick, but it had all been smoke and mirrors. Living with Roy and Jason showed you what things should have been like if he was really your number one-- never on the outside of plans, never keeping secrets, as open as a book could be. And sure, yeah, you were practically attached at the hip with Jason, but that was because you were becoming each others best friends-- right?

If you were just ‘best friends’, then why did his hand fit so perfectly in yours, and his hand set perfectly on the small of your back when you were walking anywhere? Or why did you fit together like a puzzle when you fell asleep on the couch or in his bed together watching a movie?

You shook the thoughts aside and grabbed his hand in yours as you started up the rest of the stairs. Today was not the day to confront those feelings, you decided.

He guided you to his door, right across the hall from Dicks, and pushed it open.

It was cleaner than you expected. You didn’t know why you expected it to look like a tornado had run through it, but it was actually very well kempt. The walls were navy and his bed was grey with white pillows. He had a black desk and black bookshelf with a white chair, and a grey sofa to the side. You walked around and touched everything, picking up the books on his shelf and the picture of the Titans team on his bedside table.

“This is me.” He shrugged, taking a seat on the sofa. “It’s not much-- I don’t stay here super often anymore.”

“It’s a lot different than your room at the apartment.” You joked.

“Yeah, well, living with Roy will do that to you.” He laughed. You went and sat by him, then noticed the picture sitting to the side of the couch on a table.

“Who is this?”

“That’s my mom.” He said, and took the frame from your hands. “I don’t have a lot of pictures of her-- this is one of the only ones, really.” He traced the outline of her face and sighed. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if things had ended up differently. If she was still around.”

“I’m sorry, Jay.” You covered his hand with yours, and he took it, setting the picture down.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He ran his other hand through his hair. “Look-- I know you’ve been through a lot lately, and I know you’re still healing, but I need to know-- is this real?” He looked you in the eyes, and the feeling from earlier returned. “I have never felt like this before. And you have no idea how shitty it makes me feel, knowing that you were just with my brother, and that he hurt you, and that we are friends and I really am not trying to take advantage of you in any way, it’s just--”

“I feel it too.” You placed a hand on his cheek and looked into his eyes, searching for your words there. “I-- I have just been worried that I’m going to mess things up with you. Because I care about you so, so much Jay; not just as a friend, but as a partner, and as something more, and that scares me. I don’t know if I know what love really is anymore, and I just don’t want to screw everything up again.”

“Y/N,” he grabbed your face in both of his hands, and kissed you firmly. It was unexpected, and you opened your eyes before relaxing and closing them, deepening the kiss. Kissing Jason was like something you’d never experienced-- it wasn’t fireworks, but it was like finally feeling whole. He brought a hand around to your lower back and brought you closer to him, pressing your upper halves together. You fit like a puzzle, you and Jay, and you felt a warmth building inside of you right as you realized--

You pulled away abruptly. “I think I’m in love with you.” You told him.

“I know I’m in love with you, Y/N.” He grinned, and pushed a stray piece of hair out of your face. “I’ve been completely whipped ever since you kicked Dick’s ass in training at the Titans tower when you came for a visit.”

“That was, like, three years ago.” You said.

“Yeah, it was.” He laughed.

“Promise me.” You said suddenly.

“What? Anything.” He took your hand and pressed it to his heart. “I’ll give you the world, baby, just tell me what you need.”

“Promise me you won’t break my heart.” You whispered, and it felt stupid once it came out of your mouth and your cheeks went red. “Just-- please”

“I, Jason Todd, do solemnly swear that I will never break your heart, even should my life depend on it.” He said.

“Thank you.” You said, and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Lets go eat.” He said and pulled you to stand with him. “I’m starving.”

“How long do you think it will take for your family to notice we are together?”

“I give them until Christmas.” He winked at you as you went down the stairs together.

“The end of dinner.” You argued.

“You’re on.” He grinned and the two of you headed to what you were sure would be the most eventful Thanksgiving yet.

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shewhowillnotbenamed1 · 5 years ago

Text

Snowed In

-Hey! From the prompt list Dialogue 41 & 42, Situation 100 & 101 & 105 and as a setting I was thinking about an accommodation on the mountains :) -Omg... I am the anon with the make up sex while stuck in a snow storm... I forgot to say the pairing: Damirae💜💜

-----

Over an hour and still, she hadn't moved.

Raven sat on the cream-colored leather couch in the Great Room, staring aimlessly out of the A frame window. Not far beyond it, towering pine trees stood perched on the mountains where they continued to amass a heavy coating of frost. But Raven was hardly admiring the foliage in an illustrious winter landscape. With her head nestled in her hand and eyelids drooping, she had to be dozing off.

Damian's heavy footsteps creaked on the hardwood floor to little reaction, so she was definitely asleep. He brushed her shoulder, and she didn't budge an inch. "Raven." He murmured as he nudged her. She let out an incoherent mumble. "I know..." Damian said softly, staring at her sleeping face through half-lidded eyes. "But, you can't be comfortable sleeping like that..." Gently, his fingers plucked at the zipper to her coat.

Suddenly, she blinked, sitting up, ramrod straight. Promptly, she gathered up her coat around her body. "What exactly are you doing?" Raven asked accusingly.

It was an electric shock - so abrupt it was like a switch had been tripped.

"I was trying to help, that jacket was practically suffocating you," he grumbled. Through emerald slits, he regarded nothing but suspicion in her narrowing amethysts. "Don't get excited." As he drew back, he half considered retreating to the other side of the room to avoid the bursts of icy wind she blasted his way. But then, he took another look outside the window. "Raven, the storm is getting pretty bad out there. I don't think..." He saw her eyes flicker, in understanding.

"Jaime, Jon, Kori... They're not coming...?" She confirmed carefully. "Are they?"

"Well according to the weather reports, no." Damian answered, with a long pause to inspect his phone, glancing at an influx of warning messages and weather alerts for the area. "At least not today, they're not."

"I see..." Raven sounded worried. "We really are snowed in..."

"So it seems," he said, his tone taciturn. "You should at least make yourself comfortable." Damian shrugged. "Unpack?" He added under his breath.

"I'm comfortable here."

Damian frowned. "The chalet is hardly a shack." His vert orbs flitted over the high beams ceilings and A shaped walls of windows. "You don't have to confine yourself to the couch." He sighed. "But, since no one else is here yet... you can get the first pick of all the rooms." This seemed to appeal to her, as Raven immediately started to wrestle with her suitcase. "I can help you with that," he offered.

"I've got it." Raven continued, her back to him. Undismayed, he reached down for the handle. "I'm okay - thanks." She yanked her bag up from the floor and marched away in the opposite direction without another word.

Had he offended her without knowing it?

Damian could attest to feeling discomfited. Watching those tall black boots retreat was like watching a painful burn singeing and etching its way through flesh. His chest felt constricted each time she pulled away from him.

The way she had acted, as if he had played some part in arranging and orchestrating the whole thing as some sort of convoluted plot to get her alone.

Damian ran a hand down his face in defeat.

It was shaping up to be a long afternoon leading into what would undoubtedly be a long night.

------------------

Begrudgingly, Damian shut his laptop and decided to see how Raven was settling in. He knew he was hardly being a gracious host, but she wasn't exactly making it easy on him.

They were stuck together in a snowstorm, for an indeterminable amount of time, but it could be worse. Raven was hardly someone to let out endless strings of complaints or run herself into the ground with horrifying hypotheticals. No, there was no fear of that with her. She was rational and level-headed to her core - everything one needed in a crisis.

But it also meant she didn't need him.

The way she had recoiled from him... He had never known his heart or his head could be so unbidden to the laws of gravity. The hollow that carved into his chest when Raven walked away without a second look - it was a new level of unnatural. No, there wasn't much fear of anything with her. Their present situation had rendered her general level of apathy.

Why did all that apathy extend to him?

As Damian stared down the endless hallways of the chalet, he realized he didn't even know which room she had selected.

Maybe, he was a bad host after all.

Just around the corner from the corridor of windows, the answer arrived. Remnants of steam escaped before evaporating into the air above an open door. In the second largest bedroom, Raven sat on the bed in a white robe, her legs bare, black polish on twiddling toes, and an open book in her lap.

Oh, Gods.

He had found her - all of her.

Here Raven was barely dressed in bed and still so distractingly damp from the bath. By the way he was practically zeroing in on her heat-signature through the fabric, the green laser-beams had to be scorching her.

It was a minute before he realized he was there to check on her. He was not supposed to linger in her doorway uninvited, staring at her for longer than appropriate. Of course, Raven in a state of indecency was something Damian couldn't just tear himself away from. This storm was surely testing the limits of his survival.

"Hey." He rapped on the door frame gently. "You look relaxed..." He managed tightly. "I presume you've settled in?"

"Oh, Damian..." Raven closed her book and leapt up. "I'll just be a minute." She rose quickly to close the door.

Damian's hand twitched. This was the second time. For the second time today the sight of him or their proximity made Raven flinch. An electric impulse fired straight to his synapses - something in him snapped.

"No, you won't..." He heard the dangerous utterance from his lips, barely registering himself saying the words. And in a flash, the wood was barred firmly behind his rough palm.

Briefly Raven looked fearful, but it went away as quickly as it had come. "Damian...?" Her brow furrowed in frustration. "What is this?"

The time for politeness and niceties had elapsed. His tone had gone harsh. "We've been here for hours and you've barely said a word to me."

"That's not true," Raven said quickly. "Besides, that was just seven." She corrected him.

Unbelievable.

"You're incredible." Damian leveled her a blank stare to match the sarcasm. "I know you don't like me." Her lips parted and his curled. "Tch." He held up a hand. "You were silent for hours, so I'll talk." Sharpened icicles hurled his way, pitched off of a bone-chilling glare. But, it barely pierced his hide and he continued. "You think I'm arrogant, or emotionally stunted - whatever." Raven's usual sullenness shifted to annoyance. "But, it doesn't matter. We don't know when this storm is ending or how long we'll be stuck together."

"Way to state the obvious..." Raven muttered under her breath.

There was no doubt Raven thought he was a bad host now, if she hadn't already. And while hosting her was exceedingly difficult, Alfred would haven been ashamed of him regardless.

"Look, we have all the same friends... shouldn't we be able to get along? Or try?" Damian offered more gently. "I feel like I don't know you..."

Raven released the huge sigh she had been holding in. "You're right." Damian felt his stomach drop and all that previous frustration became misplaced. He hadn't actually wanted to be right. To be here and know that Raven would rather be anywhere else - with anyone else. It was more painful than endless bites of arctic wind. "Although...only about some of that." Raven murmured, rubbing her shoulder. And then, she frowned. "But mostly, that - you don't know me."

"What...?"

"You don't know me." Raven said again. "Not aside from the fact you think I would make baseless judgments. And about someone I don't know... Or at least someone I don't really know..." She shook her head. "You and I... we've never spent any real time together, certainly not like this." She gestured to the snow covered windows.

That sounded like a challenge.

"You think...I don't know you?" Damian cocked his head, his green eyes boring into her. "So, let me. We've got time." The husky undertone his voice took up was involuntary. "We'll see if you're right..."

Raven's eyes darted between the muscular mass of man and the door, apparently not anticipating that turn. "Damian, I...don't know if that's a good idea right now."

"Why not?" Damian pressed. "We don't exactly have anywhere to be." His ire began to rise. "You've been acting like you don't want to be around me since we got here. And I want to know why."

Damian angled his body to her own, fixing her with a darkening glare of his own. And this time she broke the electric webs of their connection, seeking solace in the hardwood floor.

Raven huffed. "Fine." In a very low voice she spoke. "Sometimes... I'm emotionally stunted - too..." She crossed her arms. "It's not you." She sounded strained.

This was why?

"Oh..." Damian's lips started to quirk up in a half-smirk. But wait. "I thought you hated me."

"No..." Raven sank down onto the bed, her legs folded under her. "You make me nervous."

"I do?" He scoffed. Damian shook his head. "Well, you're the one who's intimidating..." He could see rose creep up her cheeks out of the corner of his eye. "You froze me out way worse than the weather out there by the way." She made him second guess everything. Like staying at the chalet was subpar and not up to her standards.

"Pfft." The purple orbs rounded the ceiling, as if it was child's play to practice that level of stoicism. "So says the man who just took over the board of Wayne Enterprise." Raven quipped. "It is a very nice chalet, by the way - a present from your daddy, perhaps?"

"Oh, I see." Damian began, crossing his arms and leaning closer. "You do know how to joke. I knew it."

"Go ahead." Raven flushed mid-glower. "Tell anyone you want, no one will believe it. Or that this conversation ever happened."

"I don't care about that, or what anyone thinks. I like this side of you... I always knew it was there." Damian said bluntly. "I actually wanted to give us some time alone on this trip, to get to know each other." No denials, no filter, Damian told her.

"You - did?"

"Yes." This time, Raven didn't flee and he sat down across from her. "But at a restaurant or a late night movie... At the top of the ski lift." Damian avoided her gaze. "I didn't mean for it to be in a blizzard..." His shoulders sagged and he trailed away. "But if something aligned in the universe to make this happen, I'm glad to be with you..."

Raven's eyes shone and she granted him a smile. It was the most stunning and sincere smile he had ever seen; Damian hadn't known her face could even move that way. "I suppose it could stand to be worse..." His hand playfully brushed the ends of the sash holding up her robe and Raven's cheeks burned brighter. She cleared her throat, as if suddenly realizing what was happening. They were sitting in her bed together and she was half dressed. Raven flew to her feet, and they both eyed the door. "This was great - you're great, but I should change... Really..."

"Don't..." Damian rose slowly, moving tentatively to her. "Not just yet." Suddenly, he was irrationally afraid that if she closed the door to change - she might change. Raven's walls would be replaced and this conversation forgotten.

He fingered the neck of her robe as she stared at him. "Damian, I..." Seconds after he closed his eyes, he felt two hands press hard into his chest. "Stop." Damian froze, feeling foolish. And somehow, this exceedingly was worse than before.

"Raven, I thought...you were done avoiding me..." Blinking jade orbs glanced around at the room. "What just...happened?" He asked. It was unclear whether he meant the change in lighting or her...

It certainly was peculiar. Evening was approaching, but it wasn't as dark a few moments ago.

Was it?

Raven answered his thoughts. "The lights." She flipped the light switch over and over. No feedback. No flicker or spark. Just darkness. She shook her head worriedly. "I think the power went out." Quickly, Raven turned on her phone's flashlight.

"Oh." Damian watched her search through drawers and closets for flashlights and batteries, or any emergency supplies. "Look, I'm sorry -"

Raven ran a hand through her hair. "Where do you keep your candles?" She asked, not bothering to bemoan the circumstances that were decidedly less than favorable. Her survival instincts had kicked in at full-force.

Damian slowly came back to his; he knew the place better than she did. He would take care of this and salvage things as best he could. "The matches and candles are in the kitchen. I'll get some supplies - flashlights and blankets. And then, I'll find you. For now... Wait here." He brushed her shoulder. And Damian disappeared with a glowing phone screen lighting up the hallway of a suddenly cavernous chalet.

Raven called after him. "Where would I go?"

------------------

Damian shuffled the split birch logs onto the fireplace and prodded them with iron tongs. After the fire was adequately tended, he shut the glass door and sat down to watch the flames. "It should start to heat up in here soon." He called over his shoulder to her. "You should join me in front of the fire." He patted the fur rug. "With the power off it's going to get cold in here fast."

"I'm not cold." Raven eyed the spot next to him with disdain.

"Raven, there's no way you're warm in that." Damian gestured to her robe.

"I feel fine - and I'm fine here." She crossed her legs on the couch.

Damian blinked in disbelief. There was a harrowing storm outside and she preferred to suffer in silence rather than be anywhere near him. "We can't be doing this again... Are we back to that?" He spat.

"Back to what?" Raven countered lackadaisically.

"You're avoiding me," Damian volleyed pointedly. "Aren't you?" His finger jabbing the air before falling to his side.

"I'm not avoiding you - we're in the same room." She glanced around at the living room.

Damian stared blankly at the glass encased fireplace before him. "And you couldn't be further away."

Unexpectedly, Raven rose to her feet. She marched over to him, with her chin high and her arms folded over her chest. The molten glare she wore rivaled the burning logs in the hearth.

She stood in the center of the candles she had placed around the room. And as she did, Damian tried not to think of how the glowing purple reflected the firelight, or the shapes and shading sliding, flickering their way across dewy skin.

The fireplace.

And Raven before the blaze.

The smoky smell of logs aflame was a drug of vetiver and earthiness of the deep forest. Even a thousand cold showers wouldn't quell Damian's head or cool his body; he would have to stand out in the storm for any chance to alleviate the burning in him.

"We're not doing this, Damian. You owe me an explanation, and not the other way around." She swallowed sharply. "What was that in my room? Before...what were you trying to do...?"

"You know what it was." His jaw hardened. "Don't act like you don't."

"I mean..." Raven hesitated. "Why would you want to do that...with me?"

"You don't know why...?" Damian frowned. He had told her everything, and she was giving him nothing. "Tch..." He clicked his tongue. "I don't know, Raven, why would I want to touch you - or spend time with you...?" He threw up his hands. "Why would I say those things or try to kiss you?" She blinked, turning away. "Of course, all that and still - I'm the last person you want to be stuck here with."

"Stop," she ordered. "Just, stop." Raven settled down next to him. She didn't speak for a moment, instead she licked her lips and parted them. Mulling over her thoughts to select her next words carefully. "Damian, you're not."

He shook his head, refusing to look at her. "Raven... Don't. Unless you mean it." Damian drew a palm down his face. "Just, don't." He couldn't bare much more of the back and forth - the cruel sport.

"You're not...the last person," she whispered. Raven placed a firm, comforting hand on his black turtleneck. And when his back went rigid, she crept over in front of him to replace that hand on his chest. This time it was not to push him away, but to caress him. "Hey... Damian." She jostled his shoulder, until he glanced up. "Look at me, please."

Raven was kneeling before him on the rug with her knees disappearing into the ivory fur. The robe was so loosely tied, he could see a satin strap. Then, it gave way to an edge of a lace cup. An unrestrained warmth rose up inside him. His pants tightened, the heavy viridian stare darkened around the sight. "You ought to fix that." His voice was raspy when he spoke at last. Damian crooked his head in warning. "Unless you want to...give me a little show..."

Raven held his gaze for an everlasting breath, before she reached down. "What would you do if...I did?" Pale fingers deftly tugged the sash, allowing it to fall open completely. The crackle of flames licking up logs faded away. The snowflakes fell in slow motion. Time stood frozen. Raven's robe was draping off her, fabric bunched up on her arms, exposing her in ways he had only dreamed of. "Isn't this what you want?"

Damian breathing became labored, his body tensed from the strain. It was as though prying his eyes away from her would cause physical pain.

All that coursed through him was a need to feel her against him. It was surging through his soul and possessing him. Suspending his thoughts and taking over every action. It was overpowering and all too much - just as it was not enough.

No more layers or barriers between.

It was exactly what he wanted.

"Yes... And you...?" He growled low under his tongue.

"Yes, Damian."

At last, his lungs became functional as he resumed a normal intake of air. The need to touch her would splinter him to the core.

"Tell me... how you feel - I need to know."

It was brief, but her body trembled. "I..." Her teeth caught her bottom lip. "Don't want to be here with anyone else. Or stuck with anyone else," she murmured in an echo of earlier. "Just you..." She was open. For him. "I need you..." Those words sent shivers down his spine to his shaft. The space between them had become too vast.

Damian longed to rise to the mountain summit with her, he wanted to be out there on the peak before they plummeted together into a pit of madness.

He couldn't take it.

By the way she was sweeping locks off her neck, Damian surely would weaken from exposure.

The column was bared, almost in beckoning. At last, Damian cursed in Arabic, taking hold of Raven, his hands gripped her shoulders, and pushed her body backwards onto the rug.

Lashings of hair splashed out to stain the pure white fur with purple.

It was more breathtaking and more stunning than the snowflakes descending from the sky. More flawless than the untouched landscape outside the windows, a winter wonderland crafted from brush strokes by the hand of Thomas Kinkade. The pure white of the snowfall beyond the chalet held no candle to Raven's miles of opalite.

Before him was the inconceivable, a fantasy of snow-colored skin framed by a mauve colored bra with lace scallop edges in plum. His pine eyes lingered on the bow in the center of her matching panties. A shudder wracked through him and it was the wild call of the raven. Damian desired nothing more than to answer her. To consume her with his heat, his mouth and his hands. Damian dragged his fingers to her collarbone and the tops of her breasts, splaying a hand across her hammering heartbeat.

Little more than thin scraps of satin stood between him and her skin.

All those layers.

He'd had enough of the layers and the walls.

No more.

Frenzied fingers ripped the robe clean away. But, there was still too much space and too much fabric between them. He needed her bare. A haze lifted from Damian and dark fingers dove for the hook to shed her of the balconette bra. Unbound, at last, her chest rose and fell like tides.

If there was anything on this Earth that he had ever found so captivating...

The cream color of her flesh blurred beautifully, bleeding into the rug. Save for pink lips, mouthing frenetic little nothings and her nipples, red and hard, it was almost difficult to tell where it ended and she began. His cock pained at the confinement. Pupils enlarging at the sight, he was voracious and evidently, she was breathless. He traced the spaces his hand had occupied with his mouth. His lips and tongue circled around her neck and chest in spirals. Over and over.

Damian ignored Raven's gasps and hisses, he teased her and nipped everywhere but at the stiff peaks. Pleading, liquid purple seared straight through him. By the needy grunt of his name, the tug of his hair - Raven needed him.

This is exactly how he wanted her.

Damian's hand smoothed down her shapely legs, drawing his eyes up and down her figure.

The firelight was casting on them a mesmerizing glow. The setting sun was starting up more shadows around the room to accompany all the flickering shapes from the candles in tiny glass jars. It was hypnotic. He had gotten his alone time with her. Despite nature's intervention, it couldn't have been more intimate if he had planned it himself.

Damian was unable to resist, threading his fingers through the silk of her hair. And at last, his teeth caught a nipple, rolling it between them. Raven moaned heatedly and amethyst eyes had become molten, her hips were turning. Each nip from his mouth and every brush of his fingers sent a rush of pleasure, a cacophony in a cyclone slipping across her skin and over her center. All the sensations were heightened by the luxurious fur lapped along every naked curve. Damian shifted their bodies onto their sides. Raven's leg started slinging up over him, coming to rest at his hip.

He rumbled low in his throat. Raven had curled her leg tight to bring him right up to her core. Their pelvises ground in circles, in fraught intimation of the act they frantically desired. They cradled each other close, while their bodies clamored to meet each other's heat. Raven's eyes squeezed shut, no doubt watching a motion picture, the whirlwind of her pleasure behind her eyelids.

Oh. This.

He had longed to claim her forge himself with her firelight.

Immerse himself in her hearth.

Lust was taking her over, Raven was grabbing his shirt with one hand with the other threaded through his belt loops, yanking hard. She wanted his pants off. But when he wouldn't yield, she wrapped another leg around his waist as though to tell him she wanted him on top of her.

His dark chuckle gave way to grunts. A frantic rocking of her hips sent him prickles of pleasure. The hardness brushing softness. Like a match striking his skin where he needed it most, Raven drove her barely covered core over Damian's length in his jeans.

"You like this..." She let out a little noise that was all the affirmation he needed. "Oh I know you do. You can't deny it any longer..."

Raven nibbled her lip. "Do you, Damian...? Just as sudden you know how I feel -" And Damian turned her chin back to him.

"You like being here with me -"

Defiantly, she seared him with his eyes. "I haven't anywhere else to be." They fluttered to close as he drew his lips to her sensitive neck to bring forth the shudders of her body vibrating its betrayal.

"You like...my hands all over you..." His hand flew to her breastbone. The midline of her chest, down her abdomen, it dove between their bodies in search of wet and warm. Damian's fingers ran over the front of her soaked panties. Up and down.

"Oh, Gods..."

Raven's body twisted and twitched, pulling at the sweater she held tight in her fist. "And you..."

"Damian, I -"

"You like me..."

They disappeared under the side of her underwear to dive straight for her hearth. And all was lost, to the sea of sensation, their minds had gone hazy, clouded over with pleasure from the frenzy of his fevered touch. Damian tried to steady his thoughts.

"Oh, you're soaked." Raven was reckless, moving wildly, she rocked her hips into his hand, while his thumb reached up, rounding the pink pearl. Over and over, dizzying, electric in ovals. Circling, until brilliant green, orange and red blurred in her eyes and she couldn't control her body or the noises escaping her.

"Fu-ck." She burst out. It was so uncharacteristic, a smirk started to slide straight onto his face. But, little mattered, because she was close. Very close. A well of pride began surging up and swelling in his chest at the pleasure Raven was receiving by his fingers, their push into glorious pink. "Mmm-"

Yes.

In a rush, he had caught her plump mouth against his own. Her body shuddered like she was on the verge and he too was shaking, on the brink of losing his body to the wilds. The wind had swept his sanity away from him ages ago. They were out in fierce zephyrs, a storm of their own creation, they never wanted to resurface from.

Not even to come up for air.

Raven and Damian grasped each other fiercely, desperate, nearing drunkenness in their mutual hunger to share heat.

He hissed when Raven gripped his back. His hair. His forearm. Indented skin under her iridescence. Delicious pale folds were lifting from the floor to meet his hand in time. Ascending - rising up to mountains and descending - dipping down into valleys. Raven cried out - her chest thrust out each time her hips bucked down.

Damian felt her core clenching his fingers and drenching them, shivering, savoring the sweetest release. He needed more than warmth or heat - he needed hers. Damian captured Raven's lips in another kiss, tongue seeking tongue, fierce, needy and wet. In the fervent exchange, he marveled at everything around him.

He and Raven were weaving themselves together into something he barely recognized, but he wanted it. All of it - the messy, the vulnerable, the raw...

Everything.

This was just the tip of the iceberg of what he wanted to do with her. To be with her.

"No, don't stop -" The sentence ended in a high pitched shriek.

Yes.

A full-fingered jerk of his hand sent her falling into him, her face buried straight into his shoulder, breathing heavily on his neck. A zenith on the horizon. Raven was right on precipice, begging for relief. Another curve upward, and at last. Her body's climax sent streams of syrupy sweet down his hand.

And with it visions. Oh, how her sacred water sent him visions.

They formed, crystalline behind his eyes like the surface of a snowflake at its microscopic core.

Before him was the opportunity to get to know Raven in the best way.

Wholly and completely.

To stay up all night talking and feeding each other imported macaroons as they lay in bed. This was only of course, after they were sufficiently sated from earlier activities and basking in the afterglow. Surely they needed to spend adequate time getting acquainted with each other in the sheets.

In the morning, they'd take an extended dip in the indoor pool and then, in one of the outdoor hot tubs. And there, he would finally pluck the knotted string of her drenched black bikini. When they overheated, their skin reddened from the hot water and steam, they would run out onto the mountain. And none but the wilderness would see the shapes engraved into the snow from where their love-making had dissolved the powder around their bodies.

Damian hoped the snow storm wouldn't die down for another day or two or three. Then, it would be him and Raven alone. Exploring each other. Tasting each other. Making love. Damian could pleasure her until she lost all control, screaming out to mountain tops, purple eyes alight with showering stars that sparked off into the night. And when the waves subsided, her black polished fingernails would retreat from where they had dug lasting impressions in his back.

One didn't have to leave the chalet to know they would be the most memorable souvenirs from the trip.

But if she wanted to see stars he hadn't created behind her eyelids. They could sit beneath them, out there on the deck, on the mountain. Here, away from the city lights in Gotham, they could find clarity in an unobscured night sky.

Raven would whisper the names of constellations and mythologies into Damian's ear, her low rasp, like sin and the filthiest dirty talk. Her arms would drape his neck, as she sat in his lap, nestled into him. In counter, Damian would whisper back tales of corvus, watching her stunned expression morph into delight. She would stroke his cheek and seal her mouth to his. And with every kiss, their breaths would mingle together as one.

Damian delved a finger into his mouth for a taste of Raven's sumptuous glaze. It was intoxicating, with the creamy flavor causing his eyes to close in pleasure.

At this, he could see them, in matching robes. With their hands, pink from the chill, they would clutch mugs of the darkest, drinking-chocolate, hand-cut marshmallows and dollops of thick whipped cream. And when, Raven licked her finger, the corner of her mouth would tug about as Damian fought off a knowing look.

They would have found themselves back where it all began - in front of the fireplace, and Raven in a robe. Such sentiment wouldn't be lost. And Damian would begin to press her back onto the rug, and reveal her bare body. He would spread her legs apart and start lifting her thighs right up to his face.

With the hot chocolate abandoned, Damian would drink her down until his craving for rich, decadence was properly sated. Those strokes of a silver-tongue, would embolden Raven's wantonness, while her body wracked with wave after wave of a maelstrom. Before finally, wrenching her fingers through his dark hair, screaming wild abandon to the mountain.

Damian's thoughts swirled, blowing, scattered snow, thinking of all they would be.

All they could be.

Everything and anything - possibilities seemed absolutely endless.

The chalet, this night, it was theirs to explore. Together.

Damian traced the bridge of Raven's collarbone, inhaling the spiced plum and lilac. He whispered lovingly in Arabic, pressing the seam of his lips along her chest, as they trailed downward.

Whatever the universe had wrought brought them to this. It wouldn't end - this was only the beginning of the storm and what was between them.

A flash of bright lights overhead was sudden.

The muffled sound of a generator and the heat began to pour in.

The power was back. The storm must have started to die down. Damian and Raven sprang apart. Purple eyes widened, as Raven stared at his body, completely covered while she lay half-naked. Fighting off a furious blush, her arms quickly surrounded her chest. Oh Gods. The lights were fixed, the storm was ending - the spell was officially broken. All that was left was for their friends to burst through that door for normalcy to resume.

And if they did, would she pretend this never happened?

Damian wasn't sure he could handle it. "Raven...?" He tried tentatively. She wasn't looking at him, her body in an instant had gone rigid and cold. It had little to do with temperature, it seemed to be a reflex where Damian was concerned.

She lifted her eyebrows to his confusion. "Well, this turned out all wrong, didn't it?"

He hadn't been sure what she would say next, but he wasn't expecting this. "We both... I thought we both wanted this." Damian let out a frustrated noise, not bothering to mask his hurt. No. Why would she bring him paradise, just to rip it away? "You can't believe that... It wasn't wrong."

It was beautiful and at the very least he wanted to maintain it that way in his memory.

"Yes, I do." He opened his mouth in protest, but quickly stopped. A pale hand snatched up the hem of his shirt, and began to raise it, revealing the set of deeply tanned abs. Raven cocked her head at his shocked face. "It is... if I'm the only one naked."

The only thing that could truly make him cold was if she disappeared from him.

"Raven..." Immediately, he lifted his sweater overhead and Raven smoothed the static from his hair. "Just... don't do that again." And Damian affixed his mouth straight to her own.

No more layers. No more distance.

Just him and her.

And the chill was but a faint memory.

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mischiefandspirits · 4 years ago

Text

Gone

Barbara Gordon was targeted. Richard Grayson disappeared. Jason Todd ran away. Tim Drake was kidnapped. Stephanie Brown crashed. Damian al Ghul was killed.

Hawkfire rose from the ashes. Nightwing soared through the sky. Red Hood hunted the streets. Red X found the trail. Spoiler haunted her targets. Renegade vanquished his foes.

Batman watched over them all from the shadows.

Followed by Black Bats

Deleted scene

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Barbara Gordon was fourteen years old when she was targeted by Pamela Isley. Pamela, calling herself Poison Ivy, blamed Commissioner Gordon for the accident that resulted in her chlorokinetic abilities. She launched an attack on the Gordons’ home that landed the commissioner in the hospital then proclaimed she would reward anyone who could take down the commissioner's daughter. When word got around, it was a free-for-all. The commissioner tried to get Barbara protection, but faith dwindled after a corrupt officer sold information that resulted in the girl taking a gunshot that nearly paralyzed her. Then Barbara’s security detail was attacked by an unknown assailant as she was being escorted out of the hospital. When the girl failed to reappear, the city mourned. Isley was questioned, but she had been locked up at the time and, according to her, no one ever came forward to claim her reward. The commissioner was realistic due to his years in the force and didn’t try to push the searches past the routine timelines. When asked, he would say that they would likely never know what happened if no one came forward with information and he could only console himself with the knowledge that she was likely in a better place now.

Richard Grayson was nine years old when he disappeared from the circus he’d been born and raised in while it was stopped in Gotham. The Gotham police searched, but there was never any sign of him. Commissioner Gordon reached out to Batman, but nothing came from it. After two months the search was called off. There was too much work on GCPD’s plate for them to be putting so much of their focus on one missing child, no matter how publicized the event had been thanks to quite a few of Gotham’s elite seeking to help the poor boy. The Lost Gray Son of Gotham, they called him. His parents remained in Gotham in hopes to find their lost child, but they never succeeded.

Jason Todd was twelve years old when his father reported that he’d run away. Willis Todd, owner of the luxury casino Solitary Wing, reported that his son and an associate had been traveling to the casino together when the boy suddenly leaped from the car while it was at a stoplight and disappeared into the crowd. Despite Willis using his connections to keep it going, the search didn’t last more than a month. Runaways were just too common in Gotham for the police to put much work into it. Willis paid men to keep looking, but after a year all they could come up with was a sighting early on of a boy vaguely resembling Jason disappearing into an alley with a tall man so Willis had to give up. He and his men continued to keep an ear out for the boy, just in case, but nothing ever came of it. The closest thing was a small conspiracy theory about how a boy killed in Ethiopia by the Joker and former Gothamite Sheila Haywood a few months after his disappearance matched Jason’s description, but the theory quickly faded into obscurity.

Timothy Drake was eleven years old when his parents called in his kidnapping. The boy had been home with his nanny when someone snuck into his third-floor bedroom and stole him away. The figure was nothing more than a shadow on the cameras, long and lithe. Every one searched for the young heir, police, Batman, and civilian alike thanks to the hearty reward the Drakes offered, but the search had to be called off after a year passed. His parents continued to offer the reward for any honest information, to no avail. All that appeared were a few claims of people seeing the boy stalking the streets at night with a camera in the years leading up to his abduction, but the Drakes waved it off with the assurances that the boy’s nanny never would have allowed that.

Stephanie Brown was fifteen years old when she and her mother disappeared. Her father reported that his ex-wife must have absconded with the girl after she’d lost custody in their divorce due to an addiction problem. Three months later, Crystal Brown’s car was dredged up from the bottom of a river in Burnside with bags filled with clothing belonging to her and her daughter. The police reported both had died due to the crash, which was likely caused by Crystal’s drug habit. Stephanie’s father continued to search after he discovered their bodies were not located, but he never found them.

Damian Tate was ten years old when he was killed. He had come to Gotham with his mother to meet his father Bruce Wayne for the first time. He was taken days after their introduction by an unknown group. They held the boy for ransom, but when Wayne paid, all he received in return was a video of the boy’s death by a gunshot through the head. When police tracked down the shack he’d been held in, all that remained was charcoal and a few bits of DNA. His parents grieved, even as his mother left Gotham.

Six stories ending in grief.

This is what the news told you.

Hawkfire was the leader of the Birds of Prey, a team of heroines who operated out of Platinum Flats, California. She’d made herself known when she, Black Canary, and Huntress had teamed up to face down the Daughters of Platinum. Instead of having powers, she utilized a belt of gadgets as well as extraordinary computer skills and pyrotechnic gear.

Nightwing was the leader of the Titans, a team of outcast heroes who operated out of Jump City, Florida. He’d made himself known when he led a group of teens against an alien invasion threatening the city. Instead of having powers, he utilized a belt of gadgets as well as extraordinary acrobatic skills and escrima sticks.

Red Hood was the leader of the Outlaws, a team of antiheroes who operated out of a hidden island in the Caribbean. He’d made himself known when he and Artemis of Bana-Mighdall clashed over a job. Instead of having powers, he utilized a belt of gadgets as well as extraordinary strategic skills and an assortment of firearms.

Red X was the leader of Young Justice, a team of teen heroes who operated out of Happy Harbor, Rhode Island. He’d made himself known when he, Wonder Girl, and Impulse freed Subject 13 from a Cadmus lab. Instead of having powers, he utilized a belt of gadgets as well as extraordinary investigative skills and a Bo staff.

Spoiler was the leader of the Outsiders, a team of covert heroes who operated out of Steel City, Washington. She’d made herself known when she and Beast Boy helped save Raven from cultists. Instead of having powers, she utilized a belt of gadgets as well as extraordinary stealth skills and invisibility technology.

Renegade was the leader of the Teen Titans, a team of legacy heroes who operated out of San Francisco, California. He’d made himself known when he learned that certain young heroes were being targeted by the Demon's Fist. Instead of having powers, he utilized a belt of gadgets as well as extraordinary martial arts skills and a katana.

Oracle was a powerful computer program, one utilized by Batman in his war on Gotham’s underbelly and occasionally brought in to help on Justice League cases. Some theorized it may be a form of artificial intelligence, but none have ever been able to confirm it.

Black Bat was an urban legend, a shadow sometimes said to be seen at Batman’s side as he worked in Gotham. There was no proof of their existence except the whispers. No one could agree if they were child or adult, male or female, short and stocky or tall and lithe.

Six stories of hope and power, one story of logic, and one story of rumors.

This is what the news told you.

What the news won’t tell you?

Hawkfire’s teammates know her as Babette "Betty" Kane, but her family calls her Barb, Barbara, Mistress Barbara, Babs, Barbie, Babsy, and Kane. She was the first Oracle. She was the second to stand as Black Bat.

Nightwing’s teammates know him as Dixon Malone, but his family calls him Dick, Master Dick, Pixie, Dickie, Flyboy, and Brother. He was the first Black Bat. He was the second to work as Oracle.

Red Hood’s teammates know him as Jace Knight, but his family calls him Jay, Master Jason, Redjay, Little Wing, Red, Scrappy, and Knight. He was the third to work as Oracle and Black Bat.

Red X’s teammates know him as Alvin Draper, but his family calls him Tim, Master Tim, Shortie, Timmy, Timtim, Chipmunk, and Draper. He was the fourth to work as Oracle and Black Bat.

Spoiler’s teammates know her as Carrie Kelley, but her family calls her Steffi, Stephanie, Mistress Stephanie, Shadow, Stepstone, Stepher, Steph, and Kelley. She was the fifth to work as Oracle and Black Bat.

Renegade’s teammates know him as Terrence Malone, but his family calls him Damian, Master Damian, Dames, Dami, Demon, and Terry. He was the sixth to work as Oracle and Black Bat.

Batman to most was Gotham’s Dark Knight. A few of his Justice League companions know him as Bruce Wayne, but his family calls him something else. For Alfred, he was Master Bruce. For Barbara, he was Uncle Bruce. For Dick and Tim, he was Dad. For Jason and Stephanie, he was the Old Man. For Damian, he was Father. For all of the kids, he was their protector.

The news will tell you a lot, but they don’t always know what’s going on behind the scenes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If anyone's confused, Barbara comes first because I like The Batman (2004)'s timeline of Batgirl coming before Robin. It kind of eases Bruce into both having a partner and being a parent before Dick shows up in all his traffic light glory.

All their aliases are references so see if you can figure them out. I think Jason's is the most obscure, but we'll see (No, it's not Arkham Knight. I only remembered that connection after I'd settled on the name).

#batman #batfam #witness protection: vigilante style #fanfiction

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thatsamericano · 3 years ago

Text

Magnus and the Football Team in this Fic

So, I am thinking of beefing up the presence of Magnus (human Denmark) in this fic, because I picture him as Alfred’s closest friend on the football team, so he’d eat lunch with Alfred and his other friends and do things with him occasionally the way his other friends do. In my head, Magnus was this huge, tall freshman playing another sport in the spring of his freshman year, and the football coach saw him and was like “okay, this kid could make an amazing defensive tackler.” He starts trying to recruit him, and Magnus is like “That’s very flattering, dude, but I just moved here from Denmark and don’t know anything about American football.” He plays on the JV level the next fall after doing a lot of intensive training, likes it, and is good enough to make it onto the varsity squad in his junior year. Right now, he’s a senior and one year older than Alfred.

The reason Alfred and Magnus became friends is that they’re both outsiders on the team. Magnus is from another country and really likes American football now that he’s started playing it, but he wasn’t into it his entire life the way most of the guys on the team are. Alfred was into football his whole life and is a very good player (he’s the head quarterback in his junior year after the previous guy graduated), but he’s also a huge frickin’ math and science nerd. I might not get into Magnus’s sexuality in the story, because it doesn’t really matter, but Alfred is clearly not interested in the cheerleaders or popular girls most of the guys on the team are, so it’s generally assumed he’s gay and just not out yet. Some guys on the team might be a little homophobic, but they don’t actively say anything to Magnus (if he is into guys) or Alfred, and only a couple would ever get weird about stuff like showering or changing in front of them. For most of the team, they don’t have an issue with their sexuality, but it’s another way Alfred (and/or Magnus) might not fit in with them. Most of the team are friendly to Alfred and Magnus during practices and games, respect their skills on the football field, and will invite them along to all team hangouts like the one some guy named Bryan was talking about in the story before the asshole OC revealed he was going on a date with Savino that night. But Alfred and Magnus are not someone these guys would choose to hang out with socially or have lunch with.

About the asshole OC: Dylan is openly gay, and that might gross out some of the guys on the team, but he’s also the coach’s son, so he’ll get suckups trying to be his friend just because of that and get more leeway from the guys who are kind of homophobic because of who he is. He’s basically a stereotypical asshole football player from a high school movie, except that he’s gay. He treats the guys he hooks up with like shit (and is predatory in that he generally goes after naive freshman when he’s a senior and makes it seem like he’s super into them but then ghosts them and hooks up with someone new within a week), bullies less popular students for the hell of it, and tries to con “nerds” like Kiku (who he might have tried to do this with because he is smart, quiet, and Japanese, and this dude might be low-key racist too) into doing his schoolwork and cheats when he takes tests so he won’t get scholastic probation. He also takes credit for whenever the football team does well like he “won the game” all by himself and is quick to blame other people when they lose. A lot of people on the team, including Alfred and Magnus, don’t like him because he’s a jerk to them and an all-around asshole to other people. They also resent how the coach, teachers, and the principal let Dylan get away his BS because of who he is and don’t like the way he’s presenting a bad, stereotypical image of a football player to the entire school (especially the nicer guys, like Alfred and Magnus, who are actually friends with the so-called nerds and losers he bullies).

How I see Magnus factoring into the Romerica plot: Right at the beginning of December in his sophomore year, just before Alfred started to figure out he was into Savino in a non-friendship way, Savino showed up in the stands at a football game wearing some replica jersey with Alfred’s number that the school sells. Alfred got so distracted by seeing Vinny in “his jersey” that he just stood there with the football like a dumbass and let himself get tackled instead of completing the play he was supposed to. The coach called a timeout and yelled at Alfred to “get his head in the game,” and he was really ticked off because this was their last game of the season and Alfred was filling in for the first-string quarterback who had gotten injured. Magnus was on the sidelines because he’s a defensive player, so he got a pretty good view of why Alfred was distracted. At this point, he’s known Alfred since the first football practice of the year, when Alfred was like, “I saw you on JV last year and you were really good. I’m glad you made it onto varsity this year.” They chatted a little, Magnus may have mentioned something about being from Denmark and not fitting in super well with people on the JV football team because of that, and Alfred is like “Come hang out with me and my friends at lunch then, ‘cause you’ll fit right in. There’s a couple Europeans there and a guy from Japan.” They start eating lunch together and hanging out outside of school occasionally, and then Savino starts eating lunch with them shortly afterwards (because Alfred had to pester him into it since he met Savino by accidentally hitting him with his locker, so Savino really didn’t like Alfred based on that first meeting). Magnus just assumed Alfred was being friendly to Savino like he’d been friendly to him, because apparently Al is just super nice and welcoming to people from other countries. But then after the jersey incident, he thinks Alfred has a crush, and his suspicion is confirmed once Alfred starts acting weird around Savino as he’s figuring out his feelings. He doesn’t say anything to him about it, because Alfred and Magnus have a more casual “bro” friendship than he does with Tolys and Kiku, and they wouldn’t talk about their deeper emotions with each other like Alfred might with Kiku or Tolys since he’s known them for much longer. Magnus also doesn’t say anything when he sees Alfred pining while Savino is dating Emma, but he does feel bad for him. When Alfred tells him Savino is his new stepbrother, he might be complaining about something else related to this (like his dads shacking up with this other dude all of a sudden). Magnus is like, “Damn, bro, that sucks,” but he’s thinking what really sucks is that Alfred is now stepbrothers with a guy he’s been super into for at least seven months.

Magnus might say something to Alfred about his feelings prior to where I am now, and it will be in October when Alfred is acting crazy jealous over Savino going on a date with the asshole OC. He was there in the locker room when Alfred referred to Savino as “my Vinny” and silently trying to console him/keep him from attacking Dylan when he was talking about Savino in a crude, very sexualized way and taunting Alfred for being jealous. (Dylan didn’t know for sure, but he may have picked up on something, and Dylan is such a jerk that he wants to antagonize Alfred any way he can, and this would clearly work even if Savino is just his very close friend.) Magnus had to pull Alfred off Dylan when Dylan made him snap and break Magnus’s hold by using the word “Fredo” on him mockingly, which is Savino’s and his family’s nickname for Alfred that always makes Alfred happy when he hears it. Magnus tells him to let it go and that Dylan’s not worth it, because he doesn’t want his friend to get in trouble for beating the crap out of the coach’s son, which is what Alfred clearly wanted to do. Alfred waits until Dylan’s gone to finish changing and wants to immediately confront Vinny at home about going out with this guy Alfred and Magnus have both complained about occasionally at lunch because he’s such an asshole and they hate having to deal with him all the time and play nice with him because he’s the coach’s son. Before he leaves, Magnus catches up to Alfred and is like, “Bro, I’m sympathetic to the fact you’re in love with Vinny and he’s going out on a date with a total shithead, but try not to go nuts on him when you get home.” (He might want to ride to Alfred’s house with him to help reiterate the point that Dylan is bad news to Savino and keep him calm, but it would change things too much if Magnus heard the “at least he wants me” line, so I’ll say that he has some thing he needs to do after football practice and can’t go with Alfred.) Alfred is shocked he knows and starts to panic like he always does, and Magnus explains how he knows and reassures Alfred that he doesn’t care about the stepbrother thing because Alfred is his friend and because he knows that Alfred liked Savino for months before he found out that Savino and his family were going to move into Alfred’s house. The conversation is pretty short, since Magnus has some urgent thing to get to, but he warns Alfred one last time to not go nuts on Vinny. (Which he does, just like he did in what I’ve already written.)

Magnus will have a presence during the lunch scenes, and his most important role in those scenes will be during the lunch right before Savino goes out with the asshole OC and Alfred and Savino are sniping at each other over it. He’ll look at Alfred like “dude, I told you not to go nuts on him” and help reiterate how Dylan is an asshole and Savino shouldn’t go out with him (maybe stealing some dialogue that was originally Alfred’s). I also picture him maybe looking concerned after Savino storms out of the cafeteria but letting Tolys console Alfred since Tolys obviously knows what’s going on. He might skip the football team party to hang out with Alfred the night Savino goes out with Dylan, because he knows his friend has got to be feeling like shit, and he’ll be in the room trying to console Alfred before Savino gets home and explains that he didn’t have sex with Dylan and that Dylan was such a jerk he won’t be going out with him again. When Savino explains what happens on the date, he’ll be like, “Vinny, why were you going out with that dude anyway? You knew he was a piece of shit who would want to fuck you as soon as he was done seeing a movie.” Savino says some BS about not wanting to be a single loser, but Magnus didn’t have much of an idea of his feelings prior to this because he was closer to Alfred through football. He starts to think that maybe Savino likes Alfred too, because something is not adding up about the fact that Savino randomly went out with this asshole both he and Alfred have complained about yet is acting disappointed with the fact that Dylan acted in a very predictable way. He doesn’t say anything to Alfred about his suspicion because he doesn’t want to get his friend’s hopes up if he’s wrong. He does tease Alfred when Savino wears his bomber jacket to a game in November and he’s looking up at the stands all starry-eyed, and it’s a short comment because they have to go out and play a game. After Romerica get together, Magnus can sense that something happened between them because they act goofier around each other than they were before, and he’s glad Savino liked Alfred too and that they’re together now. But he doesn’t say anything to them, because they haven’t publicly announced it yet and seem to be under the delusion that their friends who eat lunch with them have no clue what’s going on.

The day after Christmas, Alfred calls up his friends from school to chat with them and so he can thank them for the small presents they’ve exchanged with each other near the end of the school year but agreed not to open until Christmas Day. (I’ll be adding this in as a small mention before they go on the trip.) Alfred has been busier than usual with his Roman holiday, so he hasn’t kept in touch with his school friends like he normally would, and since he’s not dating them he didn’t make an effort to regularly Skype with them the way Matthew does with Katya. Since Santa Stefano in Italy is traditionally a day for people to go visit their friends after a huge family holiday, Alfred might be at Nonno Vargas’s house (to have a conversation with him about Romerica that I’d planned for a long time to occur right after Christmas), and people are just going in and out and doing whatever they feel like. (Some people might stop by a church to give a charitable donation, which is also a tradition on this day.) Alfred calls up Magnus to thank him for his present, which was a Lego space-related model kit (because I think it’s funny if Magnus likes Legos since they’re from Denmark, and he knows how Alfred likes space-related model kits a ton and won’t think he’s too “mature” for a simpler one that may technically be designed for younger people but Magnus could afford to get for a friend from school.) They chat a little, Magnus asks if he got any other space related stuff for Christmas, and Alfred starts rhapsodizing about the telescope from Savino and going into details Magnus may not be able to get (because I’m thinking he has a scientific interest too, because of the famous Danish scientist Niels Bohr, but it’s not space specifically). Magnus interrupts his friend to go, “Hey, Al? I didn’t want to say anything in front of other people since you were trying to keep it a secret, but I’m really happy for you that you got with Vinny sometime after Thanksgiving.” Alfred is surprised Magnus knew, but it’s not angsty since he knows Magnus would be okay with it (like Tolys, who also mentioned Alfred’s feelings before Romerica got together). Magnus explains how they were acting really sappy with each other at lunch in late November/early December to the point he thinks Feliciano’s boyfriend Ludwig might know what’s going on even though he knows Alfred and Savino peripherally through his boyfriend and isn’t close to either of them. But nobody cares, and it’s all cool. Alfred might tell him some vague things about his dads getting suspicious and freaking out over a hickey Savino had during Christmas Eve dinner, but he doesn’t get emotional or go into the level of detail he would with Katya, Kiku, or Tolys since he and Magnus are friends, but not the kind of friends who get into deep, emotional conversations with each other. Magnus is like, “It sucks you had to deal with that. If you guys ever need a break from your parents, you can always come chill at my place. You know how huge my house is.” I’m thinking one of Magnus’s parents is a Danish architect, and he lives in a nice, very large contemporary Scandinavian home and maybe some/all of the Nordics Magnus knows from somewhere other than school (because I don’t want to worry about adding them to Alfred’s friendship group) are there when Romerica runs away and goes to his house on New Year’s Day. If the other Nordics find out about Romerica being stepbrothers in a romantic relationship who had to run away from home when their parents found out, they might think it’s a little weird but not say anything because Romerica are Magnus’s friends and they don’t want to piss him off (and the other Nordics are just not confrontational like this). Eduard might show up after Romerica start to get comfortable because he’s going to visit his best friend/possible boyfriend Timo, and when they see him Romerica are very tense around him because his initial reaction to them is the reason why they didn’t even consider going to Tolys’s house. If he’s there, Eduard gets to explain that he’ll probably always be uncomfortable with the idea of them because of his family situation, but that he didn’t say anything to anyone after Tolys told him not to and gets that it’s not creepy the way Tolys and him hooking up would be. He won’t give them crap about it anymore if he sees them around school or if they’re at Tolys’s house visiting their friend, and he was never so much of a dick that he would be mean to people who just ran away from home. Because Eduard is uncomfortable around them, he might go hang out with Timo somewhere else while Romerica is around.

#this got long as hell but i really need to flesh out magnus more #realistically alfred would have at least one friend from his sports team i think #i don't want to invent too many ocs so i came up with this explanation for why a danish kid is playing american football #it's pretty much off screen except if magnus vaguely references he wasn't into football before the coach recruited him #and even that initial convo with alfred would take place off screen since it has nothing to do with romerica #so if it's in the story it's a reference of a reference lol #also i do want to redeem eduard a little because he's not an asshole just a guy who is uncomfortable with step sibling romances #and it's because of his stepbro he thinks of as his bro #tolys is uncomfortable with step sibling relationships in general but not romerica because he is their friends #and because he witnessed all the pining and understands the circumstances better than eduard did when he was like that's weird man #romerica stepbros au #tw stepcest #hetalia #hws denmark #hws estonia #romerica #hws america #hws romano #hws south italy #aph america #aph romano #aph south italy #aph denmark #aph estonia #fic spoilers #my writing #original post

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anunvalidcritic · 5 years ago

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TITANS: sn2 ~ ep1

(DISCLAIMER: MY OPINION IS MY OWN AND CAN BE DEEMED INVALID TO THOSE WHO DON’T CARE FOR IT.)

I hope you sons of bitchies are ready for this fucking season!!!!!!!

TRIGON

I really do miss CYBORG being a part of the Teen Titans squad.

they better fix STARFIRE and RAVEN’s hair because I will be mad af if not... but I’ll give them a few episodes to fix this dilemma...

You RAVEN’s hair actucal looks decent in the first episode...

The woman plays ANGELA looks different

Who’s playin’ that loud as music?

Ofc it’s fuck JASON and ofc he fell off that fucking bike.

HAWK wild af lol he didn't have to disrespect BATMAN in his own house

But would he have done it if he was there??

JASON about to get his ass knocked tf out for referring to DOVE as “Babe”.

BITCH STOP USING YOUR FUCKIN’ POWERS AT NIGHT!!

THANK YOU, DONNA!

“So what the fuck is going on here?” - HAWK

AFTER BEING TOLD WHAT’S GOING ON >> “She should’ve asked us to get fucking SUPERMAN!” - HAWK

I still can’t believe that his parent’s really named their child DICK smdh

“Maybe we can get through to him” - RAVEN

DICK *proceeds to punch a hole into the door*

WHAT The FIGGety fuck!! That portable opened like it was nothing!

I think we all known their all going into their own little fantasy world...

DAMN STARFIRE really chockin’ this girl out and then burnt her to a fucking crisp!

DAMN now DONNA’s DAD is burnt to a crisp as well!

who else is gonna be burnt to a crisp?

OHHHH FUCKK!!!!!!! THAT DUDE IS OUTTA THERE!!!!

oh shit, it’s a fight between the ultimate sidekicks....

ROBIN V ROBIN MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!!!!!!!!!

DICK is on JASON TODD’s ass like white on rice!!

I swear to you spitting on someone is the most disgusting thing someone can do.

“The gun that killed BRUCE’s parents. You don’t really think he keeps it loaded do you?” - DICK

“No, but I do.” - JASON

RIGHT IN THE ufkcONG HEAD!!!! HE KEEPS THE FUCKIN’ GUN LOADED!!!!!

Dang GAR you’re really gonna let them fuck you up like that?!?!

DICK better not give him th final blow!!!

OH FYUCK NO BABY!!!!!!

RAVEN lookin’ like she about to fuck everybody up... *all she did was scream and break some glass*

OH fuckK HE TOOK HIS own DAUGHTER’S HEART!

TRANSFORM TRIGON!!!!!!!!!

YEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSS FINALLY SHE HAS THE CRYSTAL!!!!!!!

wait why does he only have four eyes instead of six??

nvm he just snapped his baby momma’s neck

Yeah, they fixed the wigs because STARFIRE’S hair was a lot longer in the first season.

ol’ Nagini lookin’ snake

oh shit it’s just GAR

“I’ve been dreaming about this since I was twelve years old.” - DICK

dang he really wanted BATMAN dead that bad?

LOL he let her fall

nvm

Welcome back DICK

I said it before RAVEN!!

ooo she told that bitch to stay there!

I think they should’ve made TRIGON a bit taller with his 6 eyes and tone it down on the voice modification.

That black goo looks like some nasty shit

Amazing how that blast just woke everyone up...

How tf did her hair get curled after the blast??!!?! I mean ig I can understand the light color change but it’s whatever honestly her hair just looks a lot better and I’m glad about that.

“TITANS ARE BACK BITCHIES!!!!!!” - JASON

I swear JASON TODD is the man my dudes.

“Bye KORI send me a postcard from your planet.“ - GAR

Alright whose out here living in a shack...

...is that....nah it can’t be...

OH FUCK IT’S HIM!!!!!!!

oh this season is gonna be good af

This dude has a whole arsenal filled with weapons

His fucking SUIT!!!!

Who is this man that DICK is staring at?

that’s BATMAN?!?!?

highkey looks old enough to be ALFRED; no cap real talk

I understand that BATMAN can’t stay young forever he has to age.... but goddamn my dude... god...damn

Ol’ BRUCEY and DICK are having a little heart to heart.

“I’ve been thinking about San Francisco.” - DICK

FUCK YEAH TITAN TOWER

“Only on one condition...” - BRUCE

WONDER GIRL, HAWK, and DOVE had a whole little spinning montage

RAVEN looks much better after her father ripped her heart out of her fucking chest.... you know just the usual

__________________________

I have to say that I am quite surprised by the first episode of the second season. Don’t get me wrong the surprise is a very good feeling. Moving on I just wanted to say that I would’ve posted this sooner but I went to the movie theater to go see “IT: Chapter 2” but alas remember that EVERYONE’S A CRITIC WHEN THEIR OPINION MATTERS THE LEAST…

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 5 years ago

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Chapter 6 - Champagne et Chocolat

La Patisserie de la Rose by George deValier

CHAPTER SIX Champagne et Chocolat

Francis could not say what was worse about this waiting. The freezing cold; the tight anxiety in the pit of his stomach; the entire surreal reality of where he was and what he was doing. He'd spent the last three days organising this, had blown his entire savings doing it, and he still could not quite believe he had managed it. But at the same time, he did not regret it. After all, what better way to prove to Matthew that Francis was serious about him? To prove he loved him and understood him and wanted the gorgeous Canadian in his life? But if Matthew said no… if he walked away… oh God, if he laughed at him… Francis took a deep breath and tried to stop his self-sabotaging imagination from conjuring up even more awful possibilities. He twisted his hands together and focused on the positives – hey, if all else failed, at least this was a good business opportunity. Francis shifted on the horribly cold, uncomfortable bench, and glanced sideways through the dim light. Actually, he did know the worst part of this cold, nervous waiting. The man who was keeping him company.

"Having fun yet, darling?"

Arthur sneered over his needlework. He was rather violently knitting what looked like a bright pink tea cosy. "Don't darling me, frog. I'm only here as moral support for Matthew when he inevitably rejects you."

Francis couldn't help laughing. It was comforting how some things never changed. "How I've missed your particular brand of vicious, gut-stabbing optimism, Arthur."

Arthur shot him a derisive glare. "How I wish I could return the compliment. Oh wait - no I don't."

Francis just shrugged, tapped his feet on the ground, and glanced again around the dark, barren, damned freezing hall. His stomach twisted in knots, and this silence was driving him mad. He needed a distraction. "So, what are you up to these days, darl- Arthur? Besides shacking up with the most famous quarterback in America?" Francis gave a tiny salute. "Well done, by the way."

"I own a bookshop." Arthur returned the gesture without looking up. "And cheers."

"A bookshop?" Francis nodded thoughtfully and drummed his fingers on the bench. "Lovely. Appropriate. Do you still own that massive collection of Victorian pornography?"

Arthur's hands fumbled and his knitting needles slipped. "Those books are for historical research purposes only!"

"Research," Francis repeated doubtfully. "Nothing… personal, of course."

"Of course not!" Arthur was quickly turning a rather interesting shade of red. "And the collection isn't massive at all!"

"I seem to recall an entire bookshelf full," Francis replied innocently.

Arthur's knuckles were white as he gripped the needles. "It was never an entire bookshelf!"

Francis bit back a giggle. Oh, this was too easy… "Heavy, well-thumbed tomes jam-packed with virgins and incest and lusty, well-hung British gentlemen, conquering and deflowering and…"

A needle snapped. "RESEARCH!"

Francis smirked. "There's no need to be embarrassed, darling, we all have our kinks."

Arthur peered fiercely sideways, reaching into his bag for a new knitting needle. "Sailors, wasn't it?"

Francis' smirk fell immediately. So much for distraction. "If I hear one more word…" he muttered irritably.

More uncomfortable silence, but for the furious clacking of Arthur's knitting needles. Once again, Francis' mind started to turn. It took him five minutes to realise he was chewing on his perfectly manicured nails. "This is crazy, isn't it?" He wasn't even sure whom he was asking. "Tell me, honestly, this is mad."

Arthur paused his knitting. "Honestly?"

Francis' heart sunk. "Yes."

"This is mad."

"Merde." Francis dropped his head despondently into his hands. "What would you do, Arthur? What would you do if someone did this for you?"

"This?" Arthur looked around pointedly. "After barely knowing the bloke a week? I'd freak out, naturally, and run like hell."

Francis felt sick. "Dieu au secours..."

Arthur stayed silent for a moment more. "You're nervous," he said finally. He sounded incredulous.

Francis threw his hands up in the air. "Of course I am nervous! What if Matthew does not believe me? What if he simply turns and leaves? Why am I even asking you this, qu'est que c'est… What if he spits in my face, Arthur?"

Arthur looked much too pleased by that last scenario. "You'll get over it, old chap. Besides, look on the bright side - everyone will be much better off. Besides you, of course, but that's of little consequence."

"You are such a little shit."

"And you are an arrogant, swaggering Lothario." Arthur spat the words viciously. But then he let out a deep breath and tilted his head, his eyes narrowed appraisingly. "Well, most of the time. Which is why this nervousness is so surprising. You actually love Matthew, don't you?"

Francis simply gestured around the enormous room, at the lengths he had gone to for his radiant Canadian. "And you realise this now?"

Arthur wrinkled his forehead curiously. He almost seemed apologetic. "It is a hard thing to fathom that you could care for anything but your next shag. Perhaps I underestimated you."

This conversation was becoming far too amiable for Francis' liking. He had to break the mood. "Having regrets, Arthur? You're not still upset that…" Francis gestured between them. "That this didn't work?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and sneered angrily. "Oh, come off it, Francis."

Francis wagged his eyebrows. "Admit it, the sex was good." Arthur eyed him doubtfully, and Francis felt immediately indignant. If nothing else, he knew he was good in that department. Francis was a blasted God in that department. How dare Arthur insinuate otherwise! "What?"

Arthur rested his knitting in his lap, leant back on the bench, and fixed Francis with a penetrating stare. "Tell me. Have you ever actually slept with someone you were in love with?"

"Uh…" Francis had to think about that. He thought about it for a very long time. He was almost embarrassed to reply… "…no."

"Oh, Francis." Arthur looked far too smug as he shook his head and laughed. "Just you wait."

Sleeping with someone he loved. With Matthew... The thought of it sent Francis' blood firing downwards and he had to bite his lip. Best not to think too much on that subject right now. He changed it to something suitably horrifying. "You do realise that if Matthew takes me back, that will basically make us brothers-in-law."

Arthur's features changed from smug to horrified in an instant. "Oh, bloody hell. Can you imagine Christmas?"

Arthur drinking all the cooking brandy, Francis' beautifully baked Christmas cake splattered against the wall… "All too easily," Francis groaned.

"I suppose all we can do is hope for the best. He probably won't take you back."

Francis laughed, slapping Arthur on the back with perhaps the slightest bit too much force. "I hate you, Arthur."

Arthur grinned, though it may have been a snarl. "You too, darling."

Alfred had been sleeping on Matthew's couch for three days now. Not that Matthew minded, really. It was actually nice to have something help take his mind off things – even if it was coming home to find his bathroom repainted, or his kitchen walls coated in deep-fried grease, or a small collection of paparazzi photographers on his doorstep. At least Alfred's daily exploits added some sense of life to Matthew's otherwise dull, listless, heartbroken days. But even with these small diversions, Matthew still could not stop thinking of Francis. His warm, sexy smile, his teasing voice, that perfect, blissful sense of belonging Matthew felt in his presence. Nothing, no one, had ever impacted his boring life so much. He was almost at the point of finally caving in and running to the patisserie to beg for some sort of hope or closure or who even knew what.

Because, well… what if Matthew did have it wrong? What if he'd jumped too quickly to the wrong conclusion? What if Francis really had liked him... had more than liked him... and everything Matthew had heard to suggest otherwise was simply a misunderstanding? But those questions were pointless. Nothing more than desperately wishful thinking. That bright, brief romance was over, and the sooner he came to terms with that the better.

It was Wednesday morning when yet another diversion barrelled into Matthew's bedroom, whistling tunelessly and flinging open the curtains and tossing a heavy snow jacket onto the bed. "Dress warmly, Matt!"

Matthew rolled over clumsily, batting the sheet from his head and blinking his way to awareness. "What? Huh? Who… Wha?"

Alfred was fully dressed in a thick jacket, snow boots, and oddly enough, a bright pink knitted beanie. He grinned down at Matthew with that daftly cheerful look of his. "We're going out. I've got something to show you."

"Show me? What are you on about?" Matthew brushed the hair from his face and squinted at his alarm clock. "It's 6 a.m. I have to get ready for work soon."

Alfred scoffed as he threw open the closet doors, grabbing random handfuls of hanging clothes. "One day off won't hurt you. Come on, you've been totally boring since I got here. It's time you cheered up a bit, dude."

Matthew groaned and threw the blankets back over his head. Maybe he wasn't so grateful to have his brother here, after all. "I don't want to cheer up. I want to go to work."

"No you don't, you never want to go to work." Matthew yelped indignantly when Alfred pulled the blankets off him. "Now get up, get dressed…" Alfred winked and threw a balled-up shirt at Matthew's chest. "And trust me."

Matthew's stomach lurched at the words. This could not be good.

"Alfred, I'm seriously starting to freak out a little here..."

Matthew was also seriously starting to regret letting Alfred talk him into this. The walk had seemed fairly innocent to start with, until the unexpected turn into a narrow, quiet street in the older part of town. Matthew's apprehension had only grown at Alfred's insistence they enter this large, abandoned building, only to find that it was dark, empty, deathly silent, and utterly freezing. A faintly damp, dusty smell hung in the air. Matthew was used to Alfred talking him into this sort of thing when they were kids, but they were far too old now to be traipsing around building sites. Matthew could barely see Alfred in this darkness, but his obnoxious laughter echoed through the vast silence. "Like I said, Matt - trust me!"

Matthew scoffed loudly at that. He almost tripped over a broken beam as he tried to keep up with his mad brother. "Trust you?! Where the heck are you leading me? This is really stupid, Al. I know you've been trying to take my mind off things lately, but really..."

Suddenly, a single overhead light flicked on up ahead. Matthew broke off and halted, staring in surprise at the vertical beam shining down through the gloom. The solitary spotlight illuminated a single object: an old-fashioned lamppost, wrought in wood and iron, with a small sign hanging from its side. Matthew's stomach twisted in a strange mixture of excitement and wariness. He stared for a moment more, stunned and intrigued, before curiosity overcame him and he hurried towards the startling image.

The bizarre polished sign hung at eye level. An intricate red rose was chiselled into the wood, beside four elaborately carved words: La Patinoire de la Rose. Matthew's heart leapt in his chest; his throat went dry. Those words and that symbol were too familiar, too reminiscent of something he had tried too hard to forget. Except for that one word… Patinoire…

"Ice rink?" As soon as he said the words, an entire ceiling of overhead bulbs flicked on and flooded the room with light. Matthew had to blink a few times before his eyes adjusted to the brightness. Gradually, he began to make out features of a large, open hall around him: a few rows of stadium style benches, a high, slanted ceiling, cracking white walls. His sense of wariness quickly started to overwhelm his brief excitement. If his blasted brother got him arrested again… "Alfred? Seriously, what's…" Matthew glanced around for his brother, only to find, with a sinking stomach, that he had disappeared. But right at Matthew's feet…

Matthew froze. Everything seemed to slow, and stop, and turn upside down. His skin began to tingle and his breath to quicken. No wonder it was so cold: the floor stretched out before him was covered entirely in ice. But Matthew did not wonder where it had come from, or how he had taken so long to notice, or how this pool of ice could possibly stay frozen inside this old, broken, obviously abandoned building. All he could see, with a soft gasp and a wild rush of understanding, was that the ice was covered in a light red layer. A layer of rose petals. "Oh my God…"

Matthew looked up slowly, his eyes widening and his head going light. At that very moment, a figure emerged between the dark benches opposite and skated onto the ice. Matthew's heart stuttered. He could not move, could hardly think, could barely believe that this was happening and not some dream from which he would wake at any moment now, upside down on the couch and covered in maple syrup.

"Francis." Matthew whispered it, the word falling unbidden from his lips, breathless and stunned.

Francis was almost unbearably handsome, perfectly poised, and frustratingly sexy as he skated easily towards Matthew; his jeans low-slung and his blonde hair falling on his cheeks and, of course, a single red rose held in his hand. It seemed an eternity before he finally skated to a stop at the edge of the ice. He held the rose out to Matthew, cool and warm and smiling. "Bonjour, darling."

The breathtaking sound of Francis' lilting, teasing voice sent Matthew's stuttering heart racing. It was hard to believe it was only three days since he'd seen him. It felt like a lifetime. "Francis…" he whispered again, as though to convince himself.

Francis' chest rose and fell swiftly, though his handsome face was as calm and playful as ever. "Mathieu," he said with a wink.

Matthew had to bite his lip when Francis spoke his name in that familiar, sensuous accent. His traitorous hand shook with desire to reach out and touch him. But he quickly pulled himself together; quickly broke himself from this stunned, honeyed haze. "Francis, what are you doing?"

Francis looked down and tapped a skate against the ice. "Skating, darling. It's a lovely day for it."

Matthew felt incredulous laughter rise in his chest. "Skating? How did you manage this?" He gestured in confusion at the ice. This building was obviously not intended as an ice rink.

Francis' dancing blue eyes stared at Matthew like they were devouring him. It was all so achingly familiar, as though that awful Saturday fight and the following days of grief had never happened. Matthew could almost smell the sweet, delicious scent of cakes in a patisserie, or pasta and wine by a river. Francis shrugged. "It is amazing what one can accomplish with a sporting celebrity and a friend in the destruction industry."

"Sporting celeb…" The words snapped Matthew back to attention. He again glanced around for his absent brother. "Alfred helped you with this?"

Francis nodded. He still held the red rose before him, as though waiting for Matthew to take it. "He's been amazingly helpful. Besides the constant demand for cupcakes, of course."

Matthew paused briefly. No wonder Alfred had been so distracted these last few days… he'd been helping Francis. This was huge! This meant that Alfred trusted the Frenchman, which was an enormous accomplishment on Francis' part. This also meant that Alfred had gone behind Matthew's back, and Matthew was going to kill him. "But… I don't…" Matthew's brain was firing too fast and too madly to keep up. And Francis' gorgeous smile was not helping matters. "Wait, destruction? This building is being torn down?"

"It was. Until I rescued it." Francis lifted one shoulder and shifted slightly on his skates. Matthew was rather impressed at how easily he was managing on them. "I have been thinking of expanding the patisserie, after all."

"Expanding? Wait, you own this place?" Matthew had to stop to breathe. He had spent the last few days trying to forget Francis. After all, the last time they had spoken Matthew had turned and stormed away, certain their brief flirtation was over. Now, he was not so sure. "Francis, what's going on?"

Francis took a deep breath, dropped the rose, and carefully took Matthew's hand instead. Matthew's skin burned at the touch. With Francis standing before him, Matthew could only now realise how much he had missed him. And it was stunning. He could not think of a reason to pull away. "Do you see that little room in the corner?" Matthew looked where Francis pointed, to a small glass-walled room built into a front corner of the hall. "A little café. With good French coffee and velvet cupcakes and the best éclairs in town. And this -" Francis tapped the ground with his bladed boot. "- of course it will be bigger, and properly enclosed, but..."

Matthew whispered. "Patinoire…" What he had always wanted; what he had told Francis last week by the river. A little skating rink, somewhere friendly, with hockey and dance lessons and a little café by the rink… Now Matthew was beyond stunned. He was utterly astonished. Had Francis had done all this for him? Bought an ice rink for him? Surely not… that was crazy…

"Oui. La Patinoire de la Rose. An extension of la Patisserie. A brilliant business idea, no?" Francis continued before Matthew could respond. "However, I actually know very little of business. And nothing at all of ice."

"You skate well." Matthew was too bewildered to think or say anything else.

Francis lowered his eyes and gave a tiny shrug. "Darling, you flatter me. I learnt this morning."

Matthew suddenly felt very warm despite the frozen air. "You'd make a brilliant hockey player, I'm sure."

Francis leant forward, his very warmth misting around Matthew and enveloping him. "I see myself as more of a figure skater, personally."

"Of course." Matthew smiled slightly, losing himself in that warmth and that smile and those dancing blue eyes. "With feathers and sequins and a truckload of glitter."

Francis gasped, his eyes flashing. "Fabulous, darling!"

Matthew let out a breath of laughter. Oh, this came back so easily. And how much he'd missed this, missed Francis, missed the way he made Matthew feel… but as much as Matthew wanted to fall into Francis' arms, he could not completely forget the events of that awful Saturday night. Matthew shook this bewildered, teasing fog from his head and tried to look angry, or hurt, or at least confused. "But, what has this got to do with me? Do you want business advice, or tax breaks? I thought you were done with me, Francis. I thought this was over."

At that, Francis paused. His hold on Matthew's hand was light, yet so strong... Matthew wondered why he did not pull away. Francis' smile fell and his expression turned determined. "Forget this, Matthew." Matthew's eyebrows flew upwards, but Francis continued unfazed. "Forget the ice, forget the café, forget this madness and just listen to me." Francis looked intense and hopeful, apologetic and wonderful all at once. Matthew had no choice but to listen to his simple, earnest, honest words.

"I want you, Matthew. No one else. You. From the first moment I saw you walk into my patisserie, I knew I had never wanted anyone more. Mon Dieu, Mathieu..." Francis closed his eyes, opened them, sighed like he did not know how to express this. Finally he simply repeated the words, spoke them like they were obvious. "I want you."

How did Francis make it so simple? Matthew could only half-heartedly ask an explanation. "At Gilbert's place. They said…"

"Charlotte - Antonio, Gil..." Francis turned his head sharply, his expression drawn between pain and laughter. "I will always be honest with you, Matthew. Yes, I have had a lot of sex. I won't deny that. But, in my entire life, I have never once been in love." Francis caught Matthew's eyes in an honest, head-spinning gaze. "Not until I met you."

Francis' words melted the last of the freezing cold. Instead, Matthew felt a tingling heat spread through every part of him. Was he supposed to be angry? He could not even remember why. He could only feel relief, and belonging, and Francis' hand like fire in his own. He could only believe him. "You say you want me…" Matthew let the words trail away.

Francis' lips were so close. Matthew's hands, his blood, his very bones ached for those lips to be closer. "Yes. In every way. Not as a game, or a conquest, or a joke. Not as someone to use and throw away. Not what you were no doubt thinking the other evening, after hearing those horrible things, those things that meant nothing. No, Mathieu, I want to know you. All of you." Francis reached out a hand; Matthew almost fell forward when he brushed his cheek. "I want to know what makes you laugh; what makes you cry. I want to know how you sigh, how you moan, how you taste." Francis' lips turned up slowly, softly. "I want to see how you look when you wake up in the morning. And I want to spend forever finding out."

Matthew's blood fired and sent his head spinning. All his concerns melted to nothing, dispersed like his heavy breath misting into the frozen air. He could see no lie in Francis' eyes. This might be too slow, or too fast, but it was everything he ever wanted to hear. And maybe it was stupid, and maybe he was wrong, but maybe this was the most important moment of his life, and maybe Matthew just had to believe. So Matthew gave in. He fell forward, reached for Francis' collar, and pulled him into a desperate, perfect, at-last embrace.

Francis breathed a small gasp of surprise. It took him a moment to respond, and when he did it was more intense than Matthew could have ever hoped or imagined. Francis practically devoured Matthew's lips as he kissed him, grasped his arms and his head and his waist, breathed in sharply and pulled him as close as he could possibly manage. He obviously forgot he was on skates, however, and promptly stumbled, until Matthew had to struggle to hold him up. Wild laughter met between their lips. The familiar scent of lavender and spun sugar sent a delightful, shivering wave across Matthew's skin. It felt incredible to touch Francis again, to be held in his arms, to be pressed together from chest to thigh. It felt right; it felt like home.

Francis laughed against Matthew's hair, his eyes bright and relieved and overjoyed. "Should it be this easy?"

Matthew shook his head, mad joy bubbling through every part of him and turning his head light with the perfect bliss of this perfect moment. "I don't know. I've never done this before."

Francis winked. "Are we doing it right, do you think?"

"I don't know. Does it matter?" Matthew did not wait for an answer. He just pulled Francis into another kiss, all the comfort and belonging and easiness of Francis' arms falling into place around him.

Francis' lips were soft and steady and smiling, his frozen hands pressed to Matthew's heated cheeks. When he broke the kiss, his breath tickled Matthew's cheek, and he attempted to look serious. "No, it doesn't matter. What matters is that you understand." Francis ran his thumb over Matthew's parted lips. "Matthew, I've never felt for anyone what I feel for you. Please give me a chance to prove that to you."

"Prove it?" With a jolt of reality, Matthew remembered just where they were standing. An ice rink, a café… His throat tightened; his chest soared. "You're asking me…"

Francis interrupted, as though in a rush to explain. "You said to me, last week by the river. That you wanted a small ice rink." Francis grasped Matthew's arms tightly, gazed into his eyes earnestly. "This is for you, Matthew. This is for us. La Patinoire de la Rose." Francis looked up at the glowing ceiling, over at the wide, peeling walls. "Give this a chance, mon cher. Give me a chance."

Matthew shook his head in amazement, his eyes wide and his heart racing. Francis certainly knew how to surprise him, but at least this remained the same – he always knew how to make Matthew feel special; important; adored. "This is the biggest, craziest, most unbelievable thing anyone has ever done for me."

Francis looked briefly uncertain. "So it's a bit much?"

"Of course it's a bit much." Matthew lowered his eyes and laughed softly. "But that's just you, isn't it, darling?" He glanced up through his lashes, breathed in Francis' presence. "Francis, I can think of nothing better than being business partners."

"I can." Francis placed his hand at the base of Matthew's back, leaving trails of fire with heavy fingers. "How about just... partners?"

Matthew reminded himself to breathe. "The term is a little impersonal, don't you think?"

"Darling, I completely agree." Francis tilted his head, so his words were almost a whisper in Matthew's ear. "I always preferred 'lovers,' myself."

Matthew fought back a moan. He realised now, he had only ever doubted Francis because Matthew doubted himself. But the truth had been there all along, from the first moment. Francis wanted him. Francis loved him; and Matthew felt the same. What more was there? This time when their lips met, it was with the promise of a future between them. Matthew's life turned and changed and started in this single moment, in a single, brilliant burst of colour. And while Matthew knew it would be different now, he also knew that it would never be dull and grey again.

"Champagne?"

Matthew raised a single eyebrow, and Francis started to feel a little unsure. The afternoon had passed in a colourful blur. Gliding slowly on the small pool of rose-covered ice, hands clasped and eyes locked; an easy, peaceful afternoon spent laughing and touching and planning a future together. Matthew was so graceful and strong on the ice, all his delightful shyness and brilliant sarcasm washing away the last of Francis' doubt and anxiety. Francis was simply filled with pure joy and relief that Matthew had accepted his words; had understood him. And now they were back where they started: in La Patisserie de la Rose, although this time in Francis' luxuriously decorated bedroom above the patisserie. It felt like a threshold; like all their moments spent together had led them here, and to what lay beyond this.

Francis hadn't been sure how Matthew would react to the deep red velvet and black silk of his bedroom décor. And now he wasn't quite sure where to go from here. He'd had dozens of men in this room - he knew how to do this. But he also knew it was different this time. And without an idea how to act in this new situation, Francis clung to his same-old methods. He just shrugged lightly when Matthew stared at the champagne bottle. "Apparently it is the done thing."

"Well, you'd know."

"Ouch, darling. So, no champagne?"

Matthew shook his head and closed his eyes. When he opened them they almost seemed to blaze. With his lip between his teeth he took a single deep breath, brushed the hair from his neck, and sent Francis' blood pumping downwards. The air fairly crackled with sudden tension between them, their eyes fixed by an invisible thread. Francis' palms started to sweat, his breath quicken, his muscles tense. Then Matthew walked slowly across the room towards him. "I don't want champagne. I don't want roses. I don't want fancy words and grand gestures. It's exactly as you said to me today, Francis - I only want you."

Francis did not know how to respond. It took him a second to realise that he was nervous. How utterly ridiculous - he wasn't supposed to be nervous! He was the confident one, the one with all the words and all the moves - the one who did the seducing. He wasn't supposed to feel his hands trembling and his neck burning; to feel like his fragile heart was about to pound through his skin. He was suddenly aware of just how different this really was. No one, in all his years, had ever made Francis feel like this.

Matthew reached him, and for the briefest second, Francis was uncertain as to where this was leading. But then those blazing eyes blinked, and lowered, and Matthew was his shy Canadian once again. Francis practically gasped in relief. He slammed the champagne bottle into the bedside ice-bucket, took Matthew by the waist, and kissed him deeper and more thoroughly than he'd ever kissed him before. Just like that, Francis was certain again, and there was absolutely no doubt where this was leading.

Matthew returned the kiss with equal intensity and quickly receding shyness; pressing his hips to Francis' and grasping his arms with surprising strength. By the time they fell onto the wide, silken bed, lost in the throes of each other, the champagne was forgotten. Then Francis felt everything that came before simply wash away, and this was like the first time.

Because when Francis lost himself in Matthew's heat and breath, it was more than just their bodies that connected. This was more than the fast, frantic madness Francis was used to. This was taking the time to learn Matthew's body - what made him sigh, what made him cry out. The way Matthew moved with Francis, against him and around him, like their bodies were made to fit together. This was losing himself in the breathiness of Matthew's sighs, the softness of his skin, oh God the sounds he made. This was the culmination of all those glances, all those touches; it was the destination, and it was the beginning.

This was the first time – because it was his first time with Matthew. Francis had never experienced sex like this. It was the first time there was nothing dominant, and nothing submissive about it; Francis had never felt this equality, and those words did not apply. It just stretched on forever, over and again, and it wasn't about who was where and it wasn't about control. This was about sharing themselves and being with each other and, really, it didn't matter a damn who ended up inside the other.

The night passed in a light, intense haze of touch and scent and sound, in another world where nothing existed but Matthew, and nothing mattered but him. By the time they lay tangled in the sheets, sated and breathless, the light through the windows was already turning grey. Their lips still moved lazily, laughter rising easily between them. Their fingers still traced light, grounding circles on sense-heightened skin. With one arm firmly clasped around Matthew's waist, Francis grabbed the champagne from the ice bucket and took a long sip.

"Well."

Matthew squeezed Francis' side. "Well."

So that was the difference – sleeping with someone he loved. It was more than Francis had ever dared imagine. He laughed softly. "What do you know. He was right."

"Huh? Who?"

"Oh, just something Ar..." Francis stopped himself. Not something he wanted to think about in this golden moment. "Nothing." He kissed Matthew's head, the edges of his hair damp with sweat.

Matthew just hummed lowly and pressed a kiss to Francis's skin, draped lazily across his chest. Francis doubted he even understood the words. But then he suddenly gasped, his eyes widening when he noticed the tray on the bedside table. "Oh, Francis... You've got chocolate as well?!"

Francis glanced at the small tray of specialty creations he'd placed there earlier: little heart-shaped spirals of dark chocolate, each topped with a different coloured peak. He had spent three days designing them, using only the finest ingredients and the most stringent methods. After all, he needed something to replace the éclairs. "The done thing, darling."

Matthew reached eagerly for the tray, but Francis handed him the champagne and picked up a piece first. He lifted it to Matthew's lips, smiling, a warm glow filling his chest. Matthew laughed breathily, his lips slightly swollen, his cheeks still flushed and gorgeous. "Really?

Francis winked, though his heart was practically convulsing. After hours beneath the sheets, he still only wanted more of Matthew. "Leave me some of my silly romance."

Matthew rolled his eyes, but his lips could not stop smiling. "I love your silly romance." He took the chocolate with his teeth, then his eyes fluttered closed. He gave a faint moan as he tasted it, grasping Francis' hand and rolling his tongue over Francis's fingers. Francis' already heated skin burned with a familiar stirring. Matthew's eyebrows shot up and he glanced down smugly. "Again?"

"It's your fault, my dear!" Francis felt practically giddy. This was like being a teenager again. He tapped Matthew's lips. "Now, you must tell me what you think."

"Delicious, darling." Matthew smirked and bit Francis' fingertip lightly. "But perhaps a slight rest is in order."

Francis groaned and gave an exaggerated frown. "But only slight, yes?"

Matthew pushed his shoulder and laughed. With the champagne in his hand he fell back against Francis' chest; their sweat-dampened skin starting to cool and their bare legs tangled together beneath the sheets. He sighed contentedly. "I could get used to this."

Francis could spend a lifetime getting used to this. He could not imagine anything more wonderful. He ran his hand over Matthew's bare chest and whispered against his neck. "You'd better, mon cher."

Six months later…

"Hahaha! I told you you couldn't keep up with me, Arthur! Arthur? Why do you keep turning in circles?"

"Because I can't stop oh bloody hell whose brilliant idea was it to put men on ice this isn't natural bugger bollocks shit shit shit…"

"Let go of the railing, Lovino… here, hold my hand. I will not let you fall!"

"I'm not going to fall, bastard! Stop holding onto me! I know what I'm do… don't let go!"

"Hey, Roddy baby, look at this! Look at me jump! Ha, wasn't that awesome?! Roddy, baby, are you watching?"

"Yes, yes, Gilbert, I'm still watching. That's very nice. Now, why don't you go off and race the loud American?"

"Ludwig! Catch me! Spin me! Lift me! Turn me! ARGH LUDWIG HELP!"

"Mein Gott, PLEASE watch where you are going, Feliciano… Entschuldigung, Lili…"

"That's okay, Ludwig, everyone's smashing into me today. I got totally slammed between Gil and Roderich earlier, and Arthur's had me over the railing twice. Eliza, where are you dragging me..."

"Come on, Lili dear, you're about to give poor Ludwig a stroke."

"What did I do?"

Matthew was floating on ice. He smiled serenely as he glided through his small group of friends, shouting and racing and taking advantage of having the rink to themselves. Although Kiku and Herakles preferred to keep Francis company in the corner café, where Bruce and Lars were currently concocting God knows what in the kitchen. La Patinoire de la Rose had just seen its first mad, hectic, jam-packed day open to the public. Matthew was pretty sure Alfred's attendance and Roderich's afternoon concert in the café had helped to attract customers, although Francis' new heart-shaped chocolates had walked out the door and Matthew's junior ice hockey lessons were already fully signed up. All in all, opening day had been a wild success.

Alfred raced up from behind and tapped Matthew's shoulder. "Race ya, Matt!" It was a familiar cry from years of winter holidays spent with his brother, racing along frozen rivers and in ice rinks colder than this one. Matthew grinned back and raced to close the head start Alfred had given himself. He passed him easily: this was one place where Matthew could always beat his brother. He raced past Antonio holding a scowling Lovino by the waist, turned around Lili and Eliza coming to Arthur's rescue, and dodged Gilbert hefting Feliciano into a lift while Ludwig and Roderich watched and rolled their eyes. Then, up ahead, Francis suddenly appeared; a bottle and glass in his hands, handsome and sexy and smiling brightly as he leant against the railing. Matthew's heart leapt and spurred him to skate even faster. He flew up to Francis, steadying himself against the railing, ignoring his brother's cries of outrage from behind. Francis leant over and gave Matthew a quick kiss, a wave of scented caramel wafting from his hair. "Congratulations, darling."

Matthew shrugged modestly in response and took the offered plastic cup of champagne. Matthew was filled with elation and pride for what he and Francis had accomplished in six months. La Patinoire de la Rose was unlike any ice rink Matthew had ever seen. The high ceiling was studded with lights encased in ornate silver designs. The once cracking walls were now replaced with a wooden finish, decorated with carefully glass-protected artworks. Bunches of roses sat in pots around the hall, specially bred for the cold. Everywhere he looked, colour burst, while the warm, delicious scent of baking pastry wafted from the nearby café.

Matthew only managed a small sip of the champagne before Gilbert skated up beside him and snatched it from his hand. "Awesome! Time to christen this baby! Give me the bottle, Francis."

Francis' expression twisted in horror when Gilbert wrenched the bottle from his hand. "If you break that, Gilbert…"

Gilbert just stuck out his tongue. He took a swig from Matthew's glass, handed it back to him, then raised the unopened bottle in the air. "OI! Attention!"

The group drew closer to the railing, coming to a slow stop on the ice. Arthur continued in circles for a few moments until Lili and Eliza helped him to a halt. Feliciano broke into applause. "Yay! Speech!"

Matthew shook his head firmly. "No, Gilbert, you really don't have to…"

Gilbert ignored him. "Now, I'll be the first to say that I never thought I would see our Francis settling down."

Francis groaned loudly. "Is he really doing this?"

Matthew rolled his eyes, but couldn't help smiling also. He was incredibly grateful for the amazing help he and Francis had received from everyone - including Gilbert. This small group already felt like a family. "Yeah, he's doing this."

"How can we stop him?" asked Francis.

"Got a gag?" muttered Ludwig.

Antonio giggled. "Ask Roder… OW! What? Come on, it never gets old!"

"BUT," Gilbert continued, unperturbed, "I will also be the first to say, he couldn't have settled down with a nicer guy. And, although an ice rink is sort of freaking weird…"

"And bleedin' insane, bloody hell…"

Lili giggled as she held Arthur by the shoulder. "Arthur, it's not as hard as you're making it! Just spread your knees, bend over a bit, and make your strokes longer…"

Eliza patted Arthur on the back as he was hit by a sudden coughing fit. "Lili, darling, try and think before you speak..."

Gilbert continued again, unfazed. "…the thing is, people say a lot of things are freaking weird, so whatever. This is Francis and Matt's thing. And if it's their thing, and it works for them, then that's all that matters." Gilbert winked at Roderich then glared pointedly at Antonio. "Whatever some boring, vanilla people might think."

Roderich shook his head and muttered, "The vulgarity…"

"He's right, you know," said Alfred loudly. "I've tried telling Arthur that he shouldn't care what people think about his freaky old porn books, but he still keeps the entire bookshelf hidden in the basement."

Francis snickered. "An entire bookshelf, was it?"

Arthur made a strangled sound somewhere between a furious growl and a frustrated scream. "You JUST WAIT until I get off these bloody skates, the BOTH of you!"

Feliciano clapped his hands together and cried, "I don't think the ice rink is weird, I think it's fantastic! It's almost as cool as those brownies Bruce and Lars gave me earlier!"

Silence fell for a moment. Ludwig managed to stomp away angrily on his skates, heading for the café and muttering something about Dutch stoners and their Australian accomplices.

Francis took the opportunity to cut in. "Lovely speech, thank you, Gil…"

"Oh, I'm not done…"

Roderich smiled forcefully and squeezed Gilbert's shoulder. "Oh, you're done, Gilbert."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever. I suppose nothing remains then, but to say..." He grinned and raised the bottle. "Here's to Francis and Matt's awesome new business venture, to their awesome new life, and when the inevitable happens, I call Best Man. To La Patinoire de la Rose!'" Gilbert shook the bottle furiously, popped the cork, and Matthew jumped back in shock when he sprayed the golden bubbles across the assembled group.

"You GERMAN BASTARD!" Lovino shouted furiously as he received the main brunt of the drenching wine.

Antonio cried out indignantly, "So unfair, Gilbert, I want to be best man!"

"Champagne showers, ve!" Feliciano held out his arms and spun circles in the spraying champagne, while Arthur looked utterly horrified.

"What the bloody hell are you doing, you blasted Kraut, I could've drunk that!"

"Hahaha!" Alfred laughed wildly. "Look, Arthur, if I open my mouth I can catch some of it!"

Lili gave a sharp cry of surprise, shaking the champagne from her hair and running a hand down her neck. "Ohhh, now I'm soaking wet!"

Eliza stifled a groan. "Lili, sweetheart, now you're going to give me a stroke…"

Shrieks and laughter filled the air as the small group dispersed, spreading out onto the ice to escape Gilbert's frenzied yet surprisingly skilled champagne attack. Matthew turned into Francis' arms, accepting his valiant attempt to shield him over the waist-high barrier. "Well," said Francis, laughing, his warm lips against Matthew's ear. "I suppose that makes it official. Welcome home, Mathieu darling."

Matthew felt his chest swell at the words. The last six months had been bright and colourful, beautiful and marvellous, more wonderful than Matthew could have ever imagined. Every dream he had never dared to dream had burst into reality. Matthew had once thought his life was dull and boring: the same old grind, day in, day out. But Francis had changed all that. He had brought the colour into Matthew's life. This was home now, and it was incredible how a place so cold could feel so warm.

Matthew smiled into Francis' blue eyes, bright and warm and dancing, and felt that familiar delicious tingle in the base of his spine. "Why, merci, Francois. Everything's perfect…" Matthew winked and squeezed Francis' hand. "…darling."

The End.

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#la patisserie de la rose chapter 6

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