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girlwiththenegantattoo · 2 years ago

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Let Me Help You

So I got this idea from a Golden Girl episode where Rose (RIP Betty White) is addicted to pain killers and the girls stay up with her throughout the night.

This is the first thing I've written where it literally feels like a bunch of "and thens" but I already went through all the trouble of editing and posting.

Warnings: Smut and mention of drug use/addiction

Tagging @plainlo-inthemorning and @everythingbutresolved

“The bishop may move as many squares diagonally as you wish, so long as it is not blocked by another piece."

"I heard what you said but it doesn't make any sense" you snapped feeling instantly guilty for doing so. Letting out a quiet grunt you all but slammed your elbow on the table and buried your hands in your hair. This wasn't working and you were only 2 hours in.

You just have to make it until the morning.

"What's troubling you, my child?"

Father Paul asked as he sat down next to you at the end of the only pier in Crockett Island. How he came to find you in that particular spot had surprised you. Especially because you went there to be left alone. If you truly had to guess you’d guess it was Struge. The man looked burly and intimidating but was a devout follower and a regular at St Patrick's. He probably alerted the local priest as he watched you make your way to the pier, by yourself, for the 8 consecutive day. Though such an act can be seen as a healthy, daily routine, you were sure it was the staying for hours on in that had brought the most attention to you. Knowing very little about Father Paul you were hesitant to speak, even if deep down you were appreciative of someone lending their ear and knowing they wouldn’t cast judgement.

"Have you ever...struggled...with something and people look down on you for it? You eventually asked.

Father Paul thought for a moment before he spoke. "Maybe they aren't looking down on you. Maybe they are just worried."

"Even if it's not hurting anyone?"

"It could be hurting you." Father Paul replied, his gaze still fixed forward, onto the water when you turned your head to look at him.

"Yea well I don't think that's an issue."

That day he'd offered to have NA meetings with you. Although he wasn't sure what all went into them he could easily find out. Plus, he was already doing AA meetings with Reilly and surely it couldn't be much different. At the time you scoffed at the idea, because unlike Reilly you hadn't done anything to affect others life and you figured it was just your paranoia that made you feel like you were drawing people’s attention to your 'habit'. Although, your lethargic speech and lopsided smiles were surely enough to draw some suspicion.

When you heard his second idea you thought it was more absurd then the first. He had suggested that you could stay over for a night. Being at the rectory would offer you less temptations than your home and would be strictly used to keep an eye on you. The small space would give the perfect opportunity to speak with him while distracting yourself from the outside world.

"I don't do the Bible thing. I'm mad at a-lot of people in my life and he is at the top of the list."

Father Paul nodded in genuine understanding and made a mental note to come back to that on a different day. He continued to intently look at you, waiting patiently to hear, what you were now sure he knew, was another excuse.

Why you agreed to any of it was currently, completely last on you. Two hours into what was to be the longest night of your life and your withdrawal symptoms had already started before you knocked on his door. Paul promised you that you would just have to make it through the night and after that everything would be downhill.

Bouncing your knee up and down under the table you finally looked up to see Father Paul looking at you in sympathy.

"We can do something else if you'd like.

How was he being this calm?

You had chills, body aches and an irritation level that was through the roof. You had offered him nothing but impatience and anger since you arrived, even being downright crass. Yet he sat by waiting attentively. Willing to do whatever he could to help.

Your chair made a loud scraping noise against the wooden floor as you quickly stood up.

"I can't do this...I mean I'm fine really. I gave you my medication so I'm just going to go home."

As you headed for the front door Father Paul spoke. "You know if you leave this will never stop."

You knew he was right, but that fact wouldn't help your discomfort end any sooner. Turning the brass doorknob Paul spoke again, this time his voice was more assertive.

"Y/n"

Father Paul hadn't known what came over him in that moment, but he did know he promised that he would help you and he was going to make sure he followed through.

"I want you to go sit down on the couch."

You had every chance to turn the doorknob, step outside and make your marry way back to your home but there was something about Paul's sudden change in demeanor that transfixed you to your spot.

Your eyes never left each other as Father Paul stood by the small table and watched you take your seat. Walking over to stand in front of you he made sure that he had your full attention.

"I told you I'd help you. So please...Let me help you."

Although his voice and demeanor had changed to something softer now there was a darkness that looked to be clawing its way forth. Father Paul sat down to the right of you, his knees touching yours. Taking his right hand, he gently caressed your cheek and turned your head to face him.

"I think I know what you need. What you really need, but I want to hear you say the words"

The man constant change of demeanor was starting to severally confuse you, yet you knew exactly what he was asking. You hadn’t had the energy to weigh the pros and cons, but since he told you to stay, you hadn't thought once about any of your withdrawal symptoms.

Opening your dry lips, you softly said "I want you to help me, Father."

It was eerily quiet before Father Paul let out a relieved sigh, suddenly crashing his lips into yours.

Opening your mouth to grant him access, your tongues danced together as his frenzied hands worked to find the bottom of your shirt when he abruptly stopped. Looking over the couch he gestured to his bedroom.

"Let's make you more comfortable."

You followed him to the room where all you could hear was your own heartbeat. He stopped and stood next to his patchwork covered bed, his hand reaching out for yours.

"Lay down for me, will you? I'm going to take all of your pain away." He whispered against your ear sending a shiver up your spine. Slowly following his command, you awkwardly laid in the middle of the bed. You watched in complete aw as Father Paul remove his clerical collar while deft fingers undid each button on his black shirt. Tugging the bottom out from under where he kept it tucked in his jeans, he pulled at his cuffs to remove it from his arms and off his body. His mahogany brown eyes were now blow wide lust, something of which you had never seen before.

"Forgive me Father, for I am about to sin."

The bed dipped as he placed one knee on the right side of your body, swinging the other over you and straddling your upper thighs. His large frame on top of making you feel caged in, but only in the most wonderful way. His lips collided with yours again, becoming madly intoxicating as you wondered how many times he's done this before. Trailing his lips from your mouth to your neck, Father Paul used a finger to pull down your shirts collar so he could run his mouth over the smooth skin of your clavicle.

"Let's get this out of the way, hmm."

It hadn't been a question; however, you weren’t sure you would be able to answer him regardless.

Father Paul all but ripped the thin material of your shirt up and off your body before sitting back and studying you. His features now looked animalistic, a predator waiting to jump on his prey. All signs of the faithful, caring man were now long gone. Running both hands up your torso his thumbs traced the outline of your rib cage before reaching behind you to undo your bra. Even though you still wore your tattered jeans you now felt so exposed.

Moving down to your legs he made quick work of your button and zipper, sliding off your pants. Bringing his focus back to your face his brows furrowed. While he had been distracted with your lower half, you'd covered your breast with your left forearm and hand.

"There is no need to hide yourself. You are absolutely perfect as you are." Father Paul's tone was soft and genuine leaving no room for you to feel like he was lying. As you hesitantly removed your arm, he lowered himself over your chest and ran his tongue over one of your peaked nipples.

A low moan crawled out from your throat as your back shot up from the mattress and you arched your body into his. Lifting his head Father Paul palmed your other breast, softly tugging and rolling the other harden nipple between his fingers. The way you were writher underneath him was something he hoped he would always remember.

"You're so responsive for me y/n"

Moving back up to your lips Father Paul began to undo his belt, the metallic jiggle of the material setting your core on fire. You reached down to cup the erection that sat painfully confined behind his jeans when he pulled away from you again and slowly shook his head. "This is not about me. I want you to lay back and let me take care of you." Paul hadn't missed the slight look of disappointment that covered you face.

Wasting no time, he ran a finger over the cotton materiel that covered the junction of your legs causing you to let out a gasp.

"Is that it?

He sounded as if he was fighting a battle inside his head. A side wanting to completely destroy you and the other wanting nothing but to make you truly feel loved.

Removing your last article of clothing Father Paul's long fingers exploded your fold. "So wet too" he all but growled working the pads of his fingers over your sensitive bud. Very few words were needed as he went off your body’s reactions of each touch. Using two fingers he circled your opening before working them inside and setting a gentle pace. You weren't sure if it was the care Father Paul was putting into his ministrations or if he was just finding the perfect spot, but you were beginning to come undone and fast.

"I can feel you holding back, just let go" he whispered while speeding up his movements. Your hips bucked on their own accord and your body convulsed with a loud cry that was ripped from you.

"I know, Angel." Paul soothed as he slowed his fingers. Riding you through your high he then pulled his fingers from you and gave you another fervent kiss. Sitting back on his knees, frantic hands undid his jeans button and zipper, hastily pulling them and his briefs down to his lower thigh. The sheer size of him had caught you off guard but you hadn't had time to stare for he was laying back down between your legs.

Resting a hand on the side of your head Paul used his other to caress your cheek. "Are you ready?" Biting your lip, you eagerly shook your head as you watched him trail his hand down your body and grab his shaft. With one swift thrust of his hips, he had buried himself to the hilt as his body began to tremble.

"Is this, ok? It's not too much is it?" He rushed as he opened his eyes to intently search yours.

"I'm ok...please...don’t stop."

There was something that switched in him again as his facial expression intensified. When he finally moved, he drew his hips back and slammed them into you. His movements were fast and rough and the grunt that fell from his lips were turning into growls. The bed creaked with every harsh contact of your hips, sending you inching up the mattress. His touches felt like they were everywhere all at once. Grabbing ahold of his back, you felt his muscles flex divinely under your hands.

"I’m close" he uttered almost embarrassingly, his lips leaving yours only long enough to speak. You hadn’t expected for him to last long in the beginning, and you wanted to let him know that it was ok. Taking both of your legs you wrapped them around his hips using your calves to push him further into your heat. It only took 3 more thrust after that before he came with a guttural moan, his hips coming to a stuttering stop.

There were many things that happened that night that you've never experienced before however, the way Father Paul looked into your eyes at that exact moment, was an experience that you were positive, you would never get anywhere else. Father Paul collapsed down beside you and pulled you to his chest. The fast beating of his heart was all you cared to listen to as you both tried to catch your breath. He had returned to his gentle nature, combing your hair out of your forehead and behind your ear. Rubbing the arm you slung over his stomach he let out a quiet single laugh.

"Hmm?" You hummed basking in the aftermath bliss.

"Look out the window," he whispered into your hair. As you lifted your head, a smile covered your lips. Just past the little 4 pane window with the small white curtains that hung above, you could see the sun rising from behind the clouds.

You had made it and he helped you every step of the way

#hamish linklater #midnight mass #father paul #father pruitt #monsignor pruitt

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mandos-sluts · 3 years ago

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The Payment

The Mandolorian x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 2.8k

Warnings: Smut, fingering, vibrator usage, bondage, dubious consent

Summary: The Mandalorian detains your criminal boyfriend you barter for his release

A/N: Please message us or comment if you want to be on our tag list!!

You’ve been tailing the Mandalorian for about half a mile, keeping a long enough distance behind him so that he doesn’t know he’s being followed. He and his bounty finally reach his ship and enter the open hatch. Once he disappears behind the walls, you sprint to the ship and tip toe up the ramp. You’re lucky he didn’t close the door as soon as they entered.

“Let him go.” You say holding a blaster in the air with two hands. It’s pointed directly at the Mandalorian’s back. He jumps and turns around quickly, reaching for his blaster on his hip. Once he lays his eyes on you, however, his stance relaxes and his hands fall back to his sides.

“Who are you?” The Mandalorian sighs in annoyance.

“Let. Him. Go.” You say as confidently as you can, staring him down, arms straight out in front of you. Why isn’t he alert? Why isn’t he trying to get you to drop your blaster? Ugh, why isn’t he intimidated by you?

“He your boyfriend or something?” He returns casually.

“I’ll say this one more time.” You state slowly. “Let him go, or I will shoot you.” Your arms begin to shake.

“Listen sweetheart, your little boyfriend is already in carbonite, and I'm wearing beskar, so good luck shooting me.” The Mandalorian says in a condescending tone.

You lower your blaster in irritation. This is not at all what you had envisioned this playing out. You thought he would at least be semi threatened by you?

“How much do you want for him?” You ask bluntly.

The Mandalorian let out a chuckle.

“Come on.” You say. “The bounty on his head can’t be that high. How much do you want?” You honestly weren’t even certain the exact reason for the bounty. It was probably embezzlement or fraud or something involving the illegal methods he used to amass his wealth.

The Mandalorian is barely paying attention to you. He’s unloading and his blaster, or organizing his blasters, or doing some trivial task in his weapons armory. “I’m not gonna let him go, I don’t care how much money you offer.” The Mandalorian says without lifting his head. “But consider yourself lucky.” He turns to look at you. “Now you can go off and find yourself a real man. Someone who can actually satisfy you.” He turns back to whatever it is he was doing.

“Excuse me?” You say, crossing your arms. The Mandalorian doesn’t respond or look up, and you stand there in silence for a moment. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but my boyfriend satisfies me just fine. Now...how about two thousand credits.” You ask awkwardly.

“That pretty boy?” He asks pointing at the carbonite chamber, not acknowledging your offer. “Ha. The fight he tried to put up was laughable. There’s no way he can fuck you good.” The Mandalorian says with ease. “Which is a shame, because you seem like you need a good fuck.”

“I–”

“I’m gonna depart now.” He cuts you off. “So unless you wanna go to Nevarro, I’d get off my ship.” His voice is deep and unsympathetic.

Who does this Mandalorian think he is? Why does he think he knows anything about your relationship? You feel like you should feel insulted, but it’s your boyfriend he’s insulting, not you. In a fucked up way, he is sort of complimenting you– implying that you deserve better than your boyfriend. You have a feeling the Mandalorian knows exactly what he was doing.

You open your mouth but pause for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. “Five thousand credits.” Is all that you can think to say.

“Little girl.” The Mandalorian exhales. “Your credits are worthless to me.” He says peering at you. “...but...” He pauses as he considers if he actually wants to do this. The Mandalorian is a highly respected professional bounty hunter after all, and proposing this kind of trade is anything but professional. Yet at the same time, you are one of the most beautiful women he has ever seen; he’s never wanted to fuck someone more. And he just apprehended your pathetic and weak boyfriend, he knows you haven’t been properly taken care of. He knows he can take you to a level you’ve never been to before and give you the best pleasure you’ve ever felt. That concept in and of itself fills the Mandalorian with arousal.

“...but perhaps we could arrange a different form of payment.” He says taking big, slow steps closer to you. *see gif*

“….A different form?” You say hesitantly as he continues to approach you. You can’t believe what you are hearing. You’re well aware of the reputations that Mandalorians boast, and you would never guess that one of them would propose something so risqué. To be honest, you’d be lying if you said that a small part of you wasn’t really turned on by the situation at hand. The Mandalorian was the opposite of your boyfriend. Sure, your boyfriend was conventionally handsome, but he is cocky while the Mandalorian is confident. The Mandalorian is big, strong, and tough, and your boyfriend has been waited on his entire life.

You’re frozen where you stand and your heart is racing as the Mandalorian creeps into your personal space. He puts his gloved hand on the bottom of your chin and pulls your head up so that you’re looking directly into his visor.

“Let me fuck you, and I’ll let this loser boyfriend of yours go.” The Mandalorian says in the deepest, sexist voice you’ve ever heard. But snap out of it! Your attraction to him doesn’t matter. You’re here to save your boyfriend.

“Fine.” You say, trying your best to project a neutral demeanor. “But I’m not going to pretend to enjoy it.”

The Mandalorian lets go of you and presses a button on the wall. “You won’t need to.” He says removing his gloves as the hatch closes. He sits on a bench and leans back, spreading his legs. He has an unmistakably large bulge that he’s not at all trying to hide. His arms stretch out on either side of him to rest on the back of the bench. You’re standing a few feet away from where he sits, and his helmet is glued to your image.

“Take off your clothes.” He commands in a flat modulated voice.

Your heart has fallen to your stomach. The idea of this was hot, but now that it’s actually happening, you’re terrified. What have you gotten yourself into? Why would you agree to have sex with a Mandalorian? Mandalorians are ruthless. They are feared across the galaxy for a reason!

You shake with fear as you struggle to get your shoes, pants, and shirt off your body. You discard your clothes on the cold metal floor and are left standing in just your tiny thong.

The Mandalorian stares at you for what seems like forever. “C’mere.” He says sitting up straight.

You walk over to him and he pulls you to stand in between his legs. You look down at him with what you hope is a poker face. He runs his bare hands all over you. His hands are so big wrapped around your waist, you feel like he could snap you in two. He gropes your ass and your tits and pulls you even closer. Your skin is so frikin smooth against his rough hands, and the Mandalorian can’t get enough of it.

“Fuck.” He spits out. “You’re so fuckin sexy. I can’t believe you settle for such a coward. He must be loaded or something.” He maneuvers one of your legs over his.

“Why you with him, huh?” He asks in a patronizing tone.

“None–”

“Doesn’t matter.” He interrupts. “I’m gonna show you what you’re missing.” He says as he lifts his thigh to meet your crotch. He begins rubbing his thigh between your legs, and the friction against your clit feels amazing. You bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from letting out a little pathetic moan.

He removes one of his hands from your butt and brings it to his belt. All of the sudden, he clasps handcuffs on you, binding your hands in front of your body. Your body tenses up. “What are you doing?!” You exclaim. Any arousal you had is now overridden by fear. If you were nervous before, you are petrified now. The panic you feel is written all over your face.

“Don’t worry, little girl.” The Mandalorian says in a low, soothing voice. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” He says as rubs your cheek with the back of his hand. Then, he abruptly stands up and throws you over his shoulder.

“Ah!!” You scream. That’s it, you’re pretty sure you’re gonna die. He carries you deeper into the ship. Your ass is in the air, and your handcuffed hands are swinging down by the Mandalorian’s legs. “Wha– what are you doing?! Where are you taking me?!” You shout as distress pulses through your veins.

Without responding, he enters a room, and gently lays you down on a bed. Then he reaches over you and attaches your handcuffs to the head of the bed frame. You lie on the bed with your hands bound and stretched up above your head, completely naked except your panties. The Mandalorian loosens the handcuffs and lengthens the cord between your hands so as to spread your hands further apart from each other.

You take a deep breath and begin to feel a little bit better. Although the position he’s put you in screams danger, you for some reason feel safe with him. Your body still trembles, though.

The Mandalorian can sense your unease. “Relax, pretty girl.” He says with his modulated voice. He’s standing on his knees with one of your legs between his on the bed. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you. Just breath.” He says quietly as his hands travel down your sides. He alternates between softly caressing and aggressively kneading your body. The way he’s touching you, the way his visor is swallowing every part of your body, it makes you wet. You feel so small as he kneels over you, you can hear his breathing, and you can tell he’s holding back.

The Mandalorian is holding back. He can tell that you’re scared and shy, and he knows you’re inexperienced, so he’s trying his best to be gentle. He’s restraining himself from treating you like the whores he fucks the shit out of in brothels. The Mandalorian scoots back and runs one of his hands up your thigh before dancing his fingers on your clothed cunt.

“Fuck. You’re already leaking through your panties.” He spits looking up at you. You say nothing in response and try to give off an uninterested look. The Mandalorian moves your thong to the side, exposing your glistening pussy. “What a pretty little cunt you have.” He says as he drags his fingers through your wet folds.

The feeling of his fingers trailing through your pussy sends shocks through your body. You let out a high-pitched breath and bite your lip to stifle any more from escaping your lips. You really don’t want to give the Mandalorian the satisfaction.

The Mandalorian slyly reaches under the bed and grabs a small, roundish cylinder-shaped object of metal, of which you could tell is beskar. He gently pushes your thighs apart, and repositions himself in between them, your legs laying flat on the bed. He flips a switch on the object and it begins vibrating. He brings it to your groin and starts circling the vibrator on your clit.

You gasp and bring your knees into the air and plant your feet on the bed. Your back arches and your legs impulsively open up wider, almost inviting the Mandalorian in for more. You can’t even attempt to look inexpressive anymore. Your breathing picks up and your exhales are laced in moans. His other hand is on your thigh, and his thumb is stroking your skin. You close your eyes.

“Open your eyes. And keep them on me.” The Mandalorian orders, squeezing your thigh. He wants you to be looking at him as you come apart at his will. He wants you to see the things he’s doing to your pussy. He wants you to have to face the fact that he is bringing you such immense pleasure. The Mandalorian flips another switch and the object begins vibrating faster. You clench your teeth down on your bottom lip as you try to keep your moans as small as possible. Your pussy is so wet you can hear its gushing sounds over the vibrating.

“You like that?” He asks.

“N–no...” You respond. You wish that was true. It should be true. You’re handcuffed to a bed on a dirty old ship, forced let this vulgar Mandalorian fuck you to save your boyfriend. You should not be liking it.

He scoffs. “Your mouth is telling me one thing, but your pussy is telling me another.” Your denial of the obvious truth just turns on the Mandalorian even more. He loves watching your pathetic struggle to hide and contain your reactions. It makes him all the more determined to break you; he loves a good challenge.

Keeping the vibrator on your clit, he teases your entrance with his middle finger before pushing it inside of you. “Fuck.” You mutter out between breathy moans as he starts thrusting his long thick finger in and out of your hole.

“Of course you’re tight as shit.” The Mandalorian says under his breath. “Tell me, baby girl, have you ever cum?” He asks in his deep voice.

“I– I don’t know.” You respond as he continues pumping his finger and circling your clit with the vibrator. Frankly, you didn’t even know if you could cum. You know that it's possible for women to orgasm– you’ve heard your friends speak about it before. But you're fairly certain you’ve never cum before.

“Awww, poor girl.” He says in an arrogant tone. An “I don’t know” is a “no” and both of you know it.

Suddenly, he starts circling your clit and thrusting you even faster. He adds another finger and this just about sends you over the edge.

Alright, you don’t have the energy to pretend anymore; you’re over trying to put on this charade, which you know isn’t fooling him. Now all you care about is chasing this high you’re feeling creeping into your pussy. Your body has never felt this way before, you can feel the pleasure pulsing in your cunt. Your heaving breathing is now unapologetic moans.

You can tell you’re approaching a climax. Your legs are twitching and your back is arching so much. But then the Mandalorian begins slowing things down, though still persisting.

“Plea–Please.” You moan out, looking at him with puppy dog eyes. If you could, you would grab his arm and guide him to finger you faster, but your hands are still bound above your head.

“Please what?” The Mandalorian inquires. “You want me to stop? Or you want me to keep going? Be a good girl and use your words.”

You wrap your legs around him. “Keep going. Harder. Fas–Faster. Please!”

The Mandalorian lets out a satisfied grunt as he grabs one of your legs and brings it on his shoulder, opening your pussy up even more and affording him a better angle. He cranks up the vibrator’s speed and his two fingers pump you with unmatched rapidity. Your mouth is open wide as your chest heaves. Your eyes fall shut as you can feel your orgasm on the horizon.

“I said, eyes on me.” The Mandalorian orders with a stern voice. “I want you looking at me while you cum for the first time.” You force your eyes open and glue them on his visor.

He watches you scream out and come apart on his hand. “Ahhh!! Mando! Fu– fuck ahhh yes Mando! Yes!!” You cry, maintaining eye contact with his visor. Your entire body is shaking as your orgasm rips through you, a sensation you’ve never felt before.

“Good girl.” He says, pushing a strand of hair out of your face. “You look so pretty when you cum.”

“Mando, I– I want your cock.” You stutter out, coming down from your orgasm.

“Oh yeah?” He asks caressing your thigh.

“Can you let my hands go, please?” You ask in the most begging-little-girl-voice you can.

The Mandalorian sighs out. “Sure...You’ve been a good girl.” He says taking your handcuffs off. You bring your hands down and sit up while you move your hair behind your ears. You take a deep breath and move your hand down to cup his bulge. You’re so turned on that you’ve completely forgotten why you’re here. All you want to do is release the Mandalorian’s cock and pleasure him the same way he did to you.

TO BE CONTINUED

The Payment Part Two

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Masterlist

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Taglist:

@pinkninja200 @raspberrymama @stevie75

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars smut #mando x reader #pedro pascal smut #mandalorian smut #star wars fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin smut #star wars x y/n #star wars x you #star wars x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #mando x you

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 4 years ago

Text

Love Cuts Deep

Chapter 1- She Ran With Wolves

Bucky Barnes x powered (f)reader Series Re-write (Civil War, Infinity War/Endgame, TFATWS)

Summary: You’re a survivor, always have been and always will be. After narrowly escaping the clutches of Hydra years ago, you’ve been keeping to the shadows for as long as time allows. With Hydra suddenly exposed and your secrets in the open, you’re on the hunt for the last part of your past, but is he ready to see you again?

Warning: angst, talk of violence, some fluff mixed in (a little); way more to come

Masterlist

Side note- This is a TFATWS Series Re-write!!! Obviously lol, anyways. Readers powers are heavily inspired by a certain Marvel badass and I just thought her powers would work so well for this. Also they’re cool as fuck.

September, 15th 2013

Location: S.H.I.E.L.D Headquarters, Washington D.C.

This recent project Fury had sent her on was beginning to make itself quit the annoyance for Natasha this past of couple weeks, granted he always gave her the toughest assignments, understanding that no one else can dig up as much dirt as the Black Widow can.

But this? This was different, the target in question was practically a ghost, a legend among the ones lucky, or possibly unlucky enough to have been made aware of this dangerous individual. But no matter how much she asked around from her various secretive resources on the problem in question, this mystery person was simply just rumor to them. Or perhaps too much of a sour subject to seek into any further. Although one thing was always prevalent, people were scared.

But why?

The assassin leans back in her chair, a thoughtful expression crossing over her features as she stares bitterly down at the top secret file gifted to her by Fury himself. Suddenly a door closes, she shuts the file in an instant, only to be greeted with the apologetic face of Steve as he walks past her.

“Sorry. Fury told me you would be in here.” Begins Steve as he takes the nearby couch, something small and metal in his right hand, “Said you were assigned some impossible case. How’s it going so far?”

Letting out a jaded sigh, she shifts her gaze over to the window, “The absolute vagueness of this person is....frustrating to say the least. All I’ve been able to gather is that they’ve been part of some top secret experimentation on pregnant women. Somehow they’re involved with it....I just, gotta figure out how.” She adds with a conflicted expression dancing across her features.

Steve hums in thought, “Sounds complicated.”

“You have no idea.” Mutters Natasha unenthusiastically as her green irises shift back down to the annoying little file.

Steve palms the object in his hand before gaining his friends attention once again, “Here. Fury told me to give this to you.” Her brows furrow in thought as she reaches over and quickly accepts the strange hard drive looking object, “I think this will help. It has the location of the target and who they are. That’s it.....Well, the last reported location.”

“How did he?” She wonders aloud, face suddenly breaking out into an irked grin, “Fury you son of a bitch, about time I found a legitimate lead.”

——

Sitting on her comfortable apartment couch, Natasha sifts through the various encrypted files from the hard drive that’s currently plugged into her laptop. So far she’s spent about two hours breaking through the various encrypted file blockers and now at long last has finally made some real progress.

Studying the brightly glowing screen, she moves her finger, clicking another coded link that reads -V13X11- she’s immediately greeted with a black screen and the slightly blurred picture of a woman’s face who’s looking rather stoic and fearless against the camera flash. Her eyes are set and hard as stone, dark and almost angry behind lips that show the ghost of a forced smile. She’s noticeably an overall attractive woman, in kind of a terrifying and intimidating sort of way, like looking at a fierce lioness standing valiantly against a foe; nonetheless she stares defiantly at the person behind the camera.

Her eye color, weight, date of birth, and presumably patient number, that's printed in big bold letters 00X13 on the glowing screen, right below her squared portrait. Furrowing her brows, Natasha scrolls down to see about a paragraph long of personal information given about the woman. Including, to the red heads tremendous surprise, a birth name, Y/N Valerious.

Oddly enough, the name indeed sounds a tad bit familiar, though she can’t quit place from where.

The file states that she was raised in a facility on the outskirts of Surinda, Russia; someplace in Siberia, close to the heart of the mammoth country. Trained by the organization Hydra and summitted into inhuman experimentation by the specific facility that held her, however the rest is all encrypted and impossible to translate into something comprehensible much to Natasha’s utter disappointment.

Huffing in frustration, she slips out the hard drive before shutting down her laptop and slamming it shut. The room is darker by now with the sun gone, and tomorrow it appears that Natasha will be off to Sweden to confront this woman, Y/N, in hopes of gathering valuable intel into the people who created her, and any important information regarding her troubled past.

If she’s willing to comply.

——

Closing your laptop, you stand and wander over to the opened window to stretch before taking a deep breath of freshly brisk winter air. The land here in Uppsala, Sweden is more beautiful and peaceful then you could have ever imagined since renting an apartment two months ago. In fact, this is probably the longest you’ve ever stayed in one spot since abandoning the life of an assassin many years ago.

Though you know it won’t be much longer until you leave again, but you can’t just yet, there happens to be a certain agent on her way to find you. Fury unknowingly received your encrypted hard drive with opened arms, foolishly under the impression it was sent from an old friend when he reached out for answers into your complicated history. Then when the Black Widow eventually clicked open your link, bam, you could see everything she was nosily sifting through. Everything you wanted her to see. You honestly wouldn’t be surprised if something dramatic happened to the people over in D.C. at this point, idiots, all of them.

For the past couple years S.H.I.E.L.D has become sort of a troubling snooping nuisance for you, constantly delving their way into your relatively uneventful lifestyle every couple of months, meddling around to figure out if you’re still currently active for Hydra and if not, are you willing to pay for your crimes or to join them like she did. Definitely not on your to do list any time soon.

Watching as a small black bird zips by, you quickly shut your window and close the dark colored curtains to block yourself from the rest of the chaotic world. Hastily making your usual rounds about the apartment to be absolutely certain all the possible openings are locked. Soon after you head for bed, ready to face the ex-assassin whenever she arrives in the following days ahead.

Seated at your kitchen table, you casually sip at your steaming hot tea while watching security footage from downstairs from when you hacked into their system, the same night you began renting the place. As expected, the notorious red head slips her way into the building and up the four flights of stairs until finally a light knock is heard at your old wooden door.

So she wants to do this cleanly.

Switching off the device, you stuff it in a nearby drawer before calmly walking down the tiny hallway over to the frontdoor and opening it, lock off and all. Her green eyes blink in curious surprise as you show her no indications of aggression; she’s about your height if not maybe slightly smaller, thick scarf and a winters coat about her person as she holds a normal sized black bag in her right hand. No doubt a gun concealed somewhere close, a light precaution in case things go south from here.

Trailing your wary gaze from her travel bag to her pale face, you raise an intrigued brow, “I assume you’re here for me?” You ask with the tinge of a confident Eastern European accent as she slowly nods, eyes calculated and calm as she studies your mellow yet slightly defensive stance.

Pursing plush lips together, she casually shrugs with a light hearted smile, “I only realized you must have sent that hard drive when I arrived in London...”

“Well I’ve gotten rather bored running away from your persistent bastards over in America.” You interrupt before opening up your door even wider, gifting her an open invitation instead of a fight, “Come in. I assume we have much to discuss.”

Following you to the table, she sets her bag on the closest chair as you take another sip from your tea. Cautious eyes trained on her every move as she shifts a bit uncomfortably in her chair, “So, I assume you’re not here to sell me that pretty bag of yours. Not that I’d want it.”

She smirks at your blunt sarcasm, pleased to know you’ve at least got a sense of humor after all you’ve endured, “No. I’m here to learn about who created you and if there are any more. Y/N, I’m well aware of how dangerous you truly are...but given the fact that you’ve had time to adjust, and let me into your home willingly. I came seeking answers. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Folding your hands together, you tilt your head at her thoughtfully, “Well that’s good. I didn’t really want killing the Black Widow on my conscience, though I’d speculate a few would be relieved.” You quip with a playful smirk before your face turns serious again, “I’ll tell you about the fuckers who made me. Then you leave and never bother me again. Understood?” You add in almost a growl.

Handing you a polite smile, she nods in agreement, “Of course. You have my word.” You take another sip of your tea as she reaches into her bag, a beige file suddenly plants itself atop your kitchen table. “This is the only surviving file on you. It’s enough, but there’s too many cracks that need to be filled. I need to know how they conducted the experiments and who else survived them. This is important for the safety of S.H.I.E.L.D and the rest of the world. Y/N, we’re trying to make sure something like this can never happen again. And well, any secrets on Hydra always helps.”

Setting your cup down, you smirk, “This should be filled with liquor if I’m going to be spilling some top secret Hydra business of this velocity.” You muse, setting aside your mug, your face quickly shifts to a more serious expression. “For starters this isn’t a very heartwarming story.”

“Neither is mine.” Begrudgingly admits the ex-assassin.

“Well, at least we have something in common then, Black Widow.” You assert with a pointed look before leaning back against the barred wood of your chair, thinking of where to start first. Your eyes trail over to the window as you begin your story, “This place, where they kept us. The scientists working for Hydra wanted to test out special DNA altering serums on the embryos of willing participants. Well, we weren’t willing....but they targeted the poor, feigning a program that would pay these mothers-to-be thousands if they participated. Plus a comfortable place to stay for awhile.” You reveal before taking another sip of your tea, “You see, I’m not originally from Russia, my home was some nameless village in Eastern Europe that I’ve forgotten the name of by now, it was so long ago. But anyways, I guess fate has a funny way of administering it’s business to the ones seeking safety in times of struggle. So my mother...” You take another sip of your tea to help clear your throat and head a little bit, God you hate talking about this.

Setting it down again, you continue, “Mine accepted. They took her and twenty-two others to this facility deep in the woods. This place was practically a paradise for them...” You chuckle miserably, “soon enough the scientists pumped them full of drugs and began their altering of the embryos DNA, genetic codes, and whatever else they saw fit to mess with. Nine months later we came into this world kicking and screaming.”

“Shit.” Mutters Natasha in astonishment, fully engrossed in your story as she starts to realize maybe her upbringing wasn’t as fucked as yours.

“They monitored us for the first few months, waiting to see if anyone acted strange....nothing, to their utter disappointment. Soon they drew blood samples and as it turned out, we all had altered DNA from the serum. Just as they’d planned.”

Her brows furrow in puzzlement before she asks, “How’d you get your powers then? I don’t think I missed anything.” Insists your guest questionably as you shake your head.

“You didn’t. But you have to understand that as we grew older, all of us basically became tiny super soldiers as fucked as that is, not only did they change our genetic code for meddling with later on when we got older. But this serum was so well developed that it completely fused with the fetuses genetic code, only causing us to grow stronger as we aged from toddlers to three-year-old's and up. Testing even revealed that it slowed down our ageing process just like with Captain America. But it wouldn’t be effective till we reached our mid to late twenties.”

Natasha takes a moment to process your words before she nods in acknowledgment, “Y/N. It’s my understanding that this is a buried secret from the organization for good reason, it’s just....what year did this all take place? It’s not in any of the records I was able to dig up, not even in yours, nothing except for your date of birth.” States Natasha curiously, stopping you before you speak of anything else.

Nodding you lean your arms against the wooden table, leaning in a bit closer now, “1953, after World War ll when people where still recovering from the heavy aftermath while the Cold War was still raging on when well, you know.” Giving her a lopsided shrug, you glance from an old faded picture on the wall then back to her, “Lets just say Russia wasn’t exactly having a stellar time, nor was my mother for that matter.” You Conclude before aimlessly pursuing your lips together, “Which yes, makes me at around 60 years old. Don’t I look pretty.” You add, voice dripping in sarcasm.

Natasha’s eyes concede silent astonishment as she blinks back surprise, “Even after all these years doing what I do, meeting the people that I have. I’m still left speechless every once in awhile. Y/N I can’t even imagine what you’ve seen.” Reveals the red head honestly as her green irises flicker from your file then back up to you, a conflicted expression dancing across her features, “How did they...how did you gain your powers, aside from what the serum gave you in the process?”

An apprehensive sigh escapes freely from your lips while you lean back into the creaky old chair, a troubled look darkening your features as you avoid her intrigued gaze, “They waited until we were twelve before testing us....in the meantime we lived as normal children; learning, playing, and training to survive. You know, the typical stuff.” You add with a small breathy laugh, though no humor finds your eyes, “We had our mothers until a year before they began the experiments. But it wasn’t that terrible of a loss since they trained us to adapt to our environment and never fully depend on anyone but ourselves.....it’s sick. And I’m not even sure what they did to them, I guess I never will.”

She nods as you make a disgusted face, an acidic hatred rising in your chest at the thought of your childhood, “I’m sorry, I can’t even imagine how traumatic that must have been.”

“Oh believe me, it gets better.” You joke bitterly, “In pairs of two they tested us, putting us into rooms where two doctors would strap us down and stick a needle into our skin. After that, they waited until something dramatic happened. Oh, and it sure as fuck did.” You conclude with a sneer.

Biting her lip anxiously, Natasha asks anyway, “How many survivors?”

Scoffing, you shake your head in revulsion for what those doctors did to everyone, an angry expression soon crossing your features, “One.” You sourly mutter, “All my other friends died of the new serum they gave us, either right then and there on the table, or in the following days. You see, it was supposed to blend with our altered DNA to create something powerful out of it, something beyond humans normal capabilities. It just ended up horribly mutating everyone except for me.” You whisper, clear sadness and hatred coating your very words.

Your eyes stare sharply at the peeling table top paint, a frown on your lips as you take in a deep breath before continuing, “What they did to me....no one should have to go through something so goddamn agonizing, I was only a child, just a little girl in a terrible place whether I knew it or not....and you know how it affected me?” She slowly shakes her head no as you smile miserably, your brows furrowed in pain, “I was gifted with bone claws that retracted out of my knuckles and one from each of my feet.” You confirm, eyes suddenly darkening in fury, “And you know what those goddamn bastards did to me afterwards? Like I hadn’t suffered enough from the pain of it all, they pumped me full of liquid Adamantium. Turning my claws to solid metal, the fucking strongest material on earth. Right in the body of an eleven year old child!” You shout furiously as she flinches back at your outburst, blinking hard, you let out a heavy breath before leaning back into your chair in defeat.

Calm down, Y/N. It’s just a memory now.

Strong brows dent her clear skin in thought as you await a response, after a few long moments does she soon gather her racing mind, lacing her fingers together she raises a brow at you, “That doesn’t explain how you’ve survived so long. The years working for Hydra, they turned you into a weapon....yet you’ve escaped and haven’t been killed yet. Not even a scratch to be found.....well, at least that I can see.”

Turning to face the puzzled assassin, you give her a lopsided grin, your chill composure coming back to you quickly enough, “I didn’t just get claws from the enhanced serum that fucked with my genetic make-up, it completely heightened my humanly abilities. Suddenly I was stronger, faster, and all my senses felt like they were on overload. Best of it all, I came to realize I had accelerated healing capabilities. Who would have thought that their shitty inhuman experiments would have gone so horrendously, yet with the one miracle of an exception. Me.”

“I had figured that branch of Hydra was meddling on dangerous ground, I hadn’t realized the extent of what they were doing. Did they try making any more like you?” She wonders.

“I was the last. Since I was the only compatible vessel, they didn’t want to waste anymore time or money on others who could possibly fail.” You explain with a shrug, “I became one of their most treasured assets.”

Pursing her lips together, she gives a slight nod before revealing a different file from her bag, you watch as she pauses for a moment before opening it up, you quickly take notice of the many white papers pinned together. Some with encrypted symbols and words while others are in plain English. Your brows furrow as she flips the first page to reveal...

“I know I came asking for answers about classified information, but this won’t be a complete mission if I don’t ask you about your time with Hydra.” Proposes the red head cautiously while she studies your face for any hostile reactions, not getting anything but skepticism, she continues, “I understand you were very important to them. It’s recorded you’ve completed about three dozen kills over an active period of about thirty-seven years.”

You scoff before muttering, “So it would seem. They gave me my first mission in 1971...when I was 17.”

“Right, but that’s not exactly what I’m seeking.” Her eyes immediately trail down to the files, “I assume you must have seen this man at least once...” She flips another page over and pulls out a playing card sized photograph, she turns it around and slides it closer to you. Instantly you recognize who he is, but how did she?..

“I haven’t seen him in years, nor heard of him for that matter.” You mutter, though your tone shifts to a more aggravated one.

Noticing this difference, Natasha continues, “That’s the look of someone who has met him for less then friendly reasons. What happened to the Winter Soldier?” You take a long moment to study his stoic face of icy blue and white, and black; its when he was in the Cryostacis chamber, the place where they would freeze him to keep their Winter Soldier locked away until he was needed for a new mission. All that you can fully witness is his sleeping face, though you know exactly what he looks like up close and with no ice crystals in his dark hair.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you slide the photograph back over to her folder, “I met him when I was 25 in 1979, Hydra needed us for a duel mission somewhere in South Africa, they needed their best. We were tasked with locating and stealing some precious metal which we later learned was Vibranium, because apparently they had used the last of the Adamantium on me.” You reveal with a casual shrug, “It went relatively well as expected...and well, we worked with each other many times after that, until I escaped and he was sent to kill me in 2009.”

“You knew him for almost twenty-nine years. Do you know where he might be now?”

Scoffing, you almost laugh, “Even if I did, you’d never get him. But if I’d have to assume, he’s probably frozen in some cryo tank somewhere in the middle of Russia. Waiting to be let loose again so he can take out a new enemy of the state.”

“Right.” Nods the Black Widow as she closes up her files, her green irises quickly on you again, “Thank you for your time, and for the heavy material you spoke of.”

“It was a long time ago, someone else should remember what those fuckers did to innocent mothers and their children. No one in this entire world knows except for me, you, and the doctors I haven’t killed yet.” You growl with venom lacing your every word.

Soon you watch as she swiftly rises to her feet, as you do the same, “I wish you well then.” Affirms the Black Widow as you follow her lead to the door, she stands on the other side for a moment before asking, “Is there any way I could find you again?”

Leaning against the door frame, you break out into a knowing smirk as she stands waiting expectantly, “If you’re lucky, you’ll never see me again. Goodbye agent Romanoff.” And with that do you gently close the door, leaving her in the hallway with a plethora of useful information, but still nothing significantly useful on the Winter Soldier, now only time will tell if he ever happens to show up on her radar again. Hopefully not, she thinks doubtfully before turning on her heels and sauntering off down the hallway.

——

Almost two whole years had passed since last you’ve spoken to the assassin, in that time you’ve watched her speak on live television when Hydra had finally been exposed to the world and all their secrets let loose for the prying hungry eyes of the public.

Even some of your own information had been leaked, the world knew who you were now, what atrocities you’ve committed for the organization during your time with them and that you’ve been M.I.A since 2009. Now you’re on an international watchlist. Fantastic. Apparently some very important leaders of the world and other prestige family members alike aren’t very fond of yourself for murdering their adversaries or filthy rich husbands.

But it’s not like you had a choice, Hydra would always alter your memories when they shocked you into forgetting who you even were; thus you’d complete a mission and a couple days or so later would your mind stitch itself back together again the best it could from the electrical trauma. Only the killing part would be a dark and fuzzy memory, thus revealing itself to you in bits and pieces at a time. Soon everything blurred together and you just complied or face getting electrocuted multiple times a session, until your eyes remained empty and dangerous.

Considering you’ve been on the run since that information was released, in this time, you’ve tracked down past agents and doctors alike who had wronged you, considering you now had full access to their recent history. Hence increasing your body count as you went from one country to the next, making the world a tad bit lighter with their darkness whipped from existence.

Although soon enough you became unsettled with the loads of information expunged from Hydra, your mind inevitably making a one eighty back to a certain broody super soldier from your complicated past. He must be in the world somewhere, living as a secret civilian or whatnot. He has to be. And you’ve decided to find him before someone else does.

Maybe it was curiosity, or the fact that he was like you and shared a bloody history with Hydra, but your instinctual drive to find the Winter Soldier eventually drew you the beautiful city of Bucharest, Romania. Although he didn’t make finding him effortless in the slightest, after endless days hacking into network databases looking for even a snippet of information. You found a lead.

Turns out airport security footage is very useful, even more so, footage from around the city’s grant center; and from there you were able to track him to Romania. Eventually after a couple of days in the city, you were able to catch a glimpse of him at the local market place and thus followed him to his little shitty apartment without him as so much as noticing.

Once he left again, you slipped inside and began your wait for his eventual return. But will he even want to speak with you? Does he even remember you? Your memories hadn’t been continuously whipped like his were, granted you were forced into cryo more then once and electroshocked into forgetting your memories. It eventfully stopped once they realized your mind would just heal itself into remembering again, so instead they threatened you with a tracking device deep into your skin tissue that would blow up if you tried to run.

Clearly you eventually found a way around this, as terrible of a memory it gave you.

——

Looking out the window, your ears suddenly pick up the sound of boots stealthily walking down the hallway, they’re incredibly light against the tiles outside, perhaps he somehow knows you’ve been following him. A moment later the scent of a man fills your nostrils and you know he’s inside the apartment. You could barely hear the door.

He’s silent as a mouse, nothing indicating he’s even there except for his rapidly thudding heartbeat that pounds anxiously against his strong chest; you slowly turn to face him. His hat from earlier is gone, dark blue eyes stare warily on you while soft breaths emit from his slightly parted lips. He’s not afraid, but he is nervous.

Folding your arms over your chest, you take a glance around the room, “Nice place.” You confirm casually, eyes back on the Winter Soldier in a second as the corner of your lips pull into a humored half grin, “I’m not here to complete some personal Vendetta against you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Then why are you here?” His voice is more curious then cold, maybe he can be reasoned with after all.

Taking a step forward, you shrug, “Wanted to make sure you aren’t still on their side.”

He keeps silent for a moment as you watch him watch you, “I’m done with them.” Mutters Bucky, disgust dripping off his words. That’s exactly what you wanted to hear. Progress.

“Good.” You add with the tiniest of smiles before motioning towards his little kitchen table, “Mind if we sit and talk? As, well...I guess civilians now.”

Studying your face for any indication of falseness and hostility, he’s pleasantly surprised when he finds none. Bucky takes off both of his gloves and sits, metal hand shinning in the low lighting. A threat or a precaution? Maybe he just wants it off?

You follow his example, and soon the two of you sit not even three feet away from each other. Both yourself and Bucky hold an awkward silence for a long moment as the tension in the room rises, shifting your gaze from the counter behind him, you don’t really notice as he trails his eyes over your face, “I remember you.” Reveals Bucky to your great surprise, your eyes falling onto him in an instant, “They sent us on missions together, until you left and they woke me up to kill you for it.”

Smiling, you let out a humored breath of air, “Turns out you didn’t miss me after all. I gave you a nice scar for your troubles though, you still have it?”

Bucky purses his lips into the tiniest of shadowy grins, although no real joy is shown, “It’s a thin little line across my left rib cage. Just barely reached my bone.” Yeah, and I would have if you didn’t punch me in the eye socket first, you think to yourself from when the Winter Soldier had tracked you down. But that’s a long story.

“Glad it’s healed and they didn’t have you come after me a second time. I don’t think I would have let you live again.”

He thinks hard for a second as he processes your words, “You let me live? The first time?”

“Well,” You serenely admit, “I couldn’t exactly kill you...I guess, well....I don’t really know why I didn’t kill you when I had the chance. Guess I’m not as ruthless as Hydra wanted.” You mumble with a conflicted frown, the two of you keep silent before you break the odd tension, “Doesn’t matter now. I heard about what happened in D.C. just like the rest of the world. Gotta say, I was wondering what everyone over there had been getting themselves into.”

“They leaked everything.” Mumbles Bucky with a knowing flash of insight within his dark restless eyes.

“I know.” You add with a slow nod, “I’ve been traveling more cautiously for the past year and a half now. You’d think they’d let us live in peace, of course not. But I guess it means the world knows what a piece of shit organization Hydra is. So that’s something.”

“Yes.” Agrees Bucky, eyes trailing from your fingerless gloves to your face, of course he remembers what hides beneath, “What happened to you since you left?

Fumbling with your fingers as they lay against his table, you turn you head to the window, the ghost of a smile dancing across your lips, “Surviving. You?”

He shifts his gaze back down to his metal hand as you turn to face him, “About the same I’d say.”

Leaning back against your creaky wooden chair, you hand him a small yet friendly smile, “Well then. What of us now? Two ex-assassins alone in the world. With nothing but our wit and fists to keep us afloat.” You add with a low chuckle, he doesn’t crack.

Losing your smile, the two of you keep silent as ghosts for a long moment before Bucky shifts uncomfortably in his seat, “I got some tea.” Replies the admittedly handsome man now since you have a moment to really look; the briefest hint of a grin revealing itself against his lips for only but a flash of a second. But you still see it.

Fumbling with your fingers you give him a pursed lip grin, “I like tea.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x y/n #the winter soldier #marvel imagine #marvel x you #marvel x reader #marvel x y/n #series rewrite #bucky barnes #tfatws

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capricornwriter5 · 3 years ago

Text

Always on time - Chapter 3

Pairing: Jooheon x female OC

Genre: childhood friends to enemies, enemies to friends, friends to lovers, smut (later chapters), fluff, angst, slow burn, idol AU!

Warning: mentions of violence

Words: 6k

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Chapter 3

Jooheon didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t the reencounter he expected, not after so long of not seeing who, time ago, was his best friend. But that didn’t matter, Jules was in front of him and the cold greeting could be because of the nerves, right? After all, more than six years had passed since they saw each other the last time, it was normal for the first interaction to be different from what it had been when they were close, right?

“How have you been?” he asked again. Jooheon was trying to make eye contact with Julianne, but she avoided looking at him in the face.

“I’ve been good” she responded.

Since it looked like she wasn’t going to add anything else to that statement, Jooheon kept asking more questions to see if one of them sparked the conversation.

“I’m glad,” Jooheon said with the most honest smile he had shown all night. “You look amazing. Although, if I’m not mistaken, you had sword war to dresses back in elementary school”.

“Yeah, well, it’s been long since then”. And with that phrase, Jooheon’s intention to make a joke faced a cold rejection… another one.

Julianne looked more and more uncomfortable and nervous, and Jooheon’s hands had started to sweat because of his anxiety. He was running out of ideas to start a conversation, but he wasn’t going to give up so easily, not without trying everything he could to speak to Jules.

“Thanks for sending me the invitation” Jooheon tried once more. “I’m happy I came, is good to see everybody”. And with that, Jooheon took a step towards Julianne in an attempt to close the distance between them, but she took a step to the side and turned around to sit in one of the chairs of the bar.

“Yeah, well,” said Julianne finally “I didn’t send it, it is Areum who you have to thank. I erased your name from the guest list some time ago, you never had time to come to these events, anyway”.

If Jooheon had been nervous a few minutes ago, he was now on the edge of an anxiety attack. Did he say anything wrong? Was it wrong for him to come tonight? What was the deal with the silent treatment and the coldness?

“Yeah, the company keeps us very busy. We almost don’t even have time to breathe, but I’m here tonight” the rapper said while he sat alongside Jules. He kept his distance this time, something told him that if que pressured her too much, the small conversation he was having right now with Jules wouldn’t last long.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Jooheon decided to try and say something, again:

“You organized all of this, right?” the rapper said as he expected for the girl to, at least, raise her sight from her drink. Unfortunately, Julianne only nodded, eyes fixed on her hands. “In the invitation, it said that we could contact you in case we had any questions regarding the reunion. It is incredible what you did, really. Although, you were always good for this type of thing”.

Jooheon chuckled, but he still had no answer from Julie. The rapper was starting to lose his temper and was two seconds away from asking Julie directly if there was any problem when she turned her head to him and said, seeing him in the face for the first time this whole time:

“You know, now that you mention it, I have something I need you to do for me. Areum asked me to take everyone to the pool since there is going to be a surprise, so I need to make the announcement, but I’m not that good at speaking to large crowds, and more than half of the people here are already drunk, so they probably won’t listen to me. Would you mind doing it for me? I’m sure they’ll listen to Lee Jooheon, the star of the night. What do you say?”

Jooheon was silent for a couple of seconds. He needed that time to process Jules’s sudden attitude change, who passed from having her lips sealed to asking him a favor in a voice an octave higher than usual. Well, at least it was some sort of progress.

“Ehhhh, yeah, sure” he answered. “What do I have to say?”

Jules stepped down from where she was sitting and took Jooheon’s elbow making him do the same.

“Just go and say that there is a surprise by the pool and that we expect everyone to go,” the girl said while pushing the rapper towards the corner where the sound equipment was placed.

Once there was enough distance between Julianne and Jooheon, she turned around, grabbed her drink, and finished it in one go.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, a million times shit.

Why? Things were going smoothly; she had succeeded in hiding from him the whole night. Why did everything have to go to hell in a matter of seconds? But that didn’t matter anymore. Julianne had managed to kill two birds with one stone: she had gotten rid of Jooheon and she didn’t have to make the announcement anymore. Everything was good again… sort of. Now, she only had to take advantage of the crowd who would leave for the pool, hide among the drunk guests and go up to her room. She would text Areum telling her that she didn’t feel good and that she needed to rest; her friend would understand.

“Soundcheck, 1, 2, 3, soundcheck” Jooheon’s voice was heard in the whole salon. When the guests had identified who was speaking, they started to make noise and scream in excitement.

Julianne couldn’t help but roll her eyes. The reactions were unnecessary, especially because none of those people had been that close to Jooheon in high school, none of them had been by his side like she… ¡NO! No, no, no… Julie was not going to finish that thought.

“Are you guys having fun?!” Jooheon screamed using his broadcast voice. He received his answer in the form of whistles and more screams. “Good, good! Personally, I love I came today and everything thanks to the hard work of the event committee, right?!?!”

Again… more noises, screams, whistles… Julianne couldn’t believe it. These people thought they were in a concert or what? What the hell were they doing?

“And the best of all” the rapper continued “is that THE NIGHT IS YOUNG! That is why we have to go to the pool area because THE BEST PART OF THE NIGHT AWAITS! LET’S GO!” and that was the signal for everyone sober enough to understand what was going on to run to the entrance of the room hoping to be the firsts to arrive at the pool.

Julie did not believe what she was seeing. Sure, they were drunk, but FOR THE LOVE OF GOD… WERE THEY FIFTEEN OR SOMETHING?! Julie was going to have to apologize to the hotel management the next day. Luckily, she and Areum had foreseen that something like this would happen and had reserved part of the budget to pay compensation for damages or complaints.

Anyway, she would deal with that tomorrow. Right now, she had to get out of there, and fast, because she could see Jooheon was searching for her in the crowd.

In a matter of seconds, Julie got into the mass of bodies that were going to the pool. She planned to make a turn halfway through and walk to the elevators that would take her to her floor; the problem was that she did not have the strength to fight the current of bodies and ended up in the main recreation area of the hotel where there were two semi-Olympic pools and about seven jacuzzies.

Julianne couldn’t believe her eyes. Areum had surpassed her expectations. Thanks to her job, she had worked with different entertainers and artists: idols, DJs, MCs, comedians… as well as producers, artistic directors, designers, and so on. Some of them owned her a few favors, so she collected them and put together the display Julie had in front.

In one of the extremes of the pools, there were floating platforms on top of which there were two DJ stations, ten or twelve giant speakers, and light reflectors of different colors. In the middle, there were four giant trampolines on whose surface there was phosphorescent paint, so when someone jumped, he or she got completely covered with paint and splashed those who were near. In the pool, there were several floats that could hold about three or four people at a time. On the sides, there were stations with games and drinks, and in the zone of Jacuzzis, there was a station of cocktails and another one of body paint.

Julie needed a couple of minutes to process what her friend had done. It was amazing. The spectacle almost made Julie forget about Jooheon. Almost, because at that moment, Julianne turned around and saw the rapper going through the entrance of the recreation zone.

Shit.

Julianne decided that the best would be to put some distance between her and Jooheon so she could think about how to get out of there. She walked towards the DJ platforms and she found Areum there; her friend had a wide smile on her face that showed how proud she was.

“And… what do you think? Mind-blowing, right?” Areum had to yell to be heard on top of the music that was already playing.

“It looks incredible, Areum-ah, you outdid yourself,” Julie said. She tried to sound happy, but her mind was somewhere else, figuring out how to avoid Lee Jooheon. She kept looking everywhere to check if he had seen her already or not.

“Are you looking for someone, Julie?” Areum asked. “Everything good with Jooheon?”

Those two questions took Julie by surprise.

“What do you mean?” Julie said in a tone a little rougher than what she had intended.

Areum grabbed her arm and took her to one side of the pool, further from the speakers so they could talk more comfortably.

“Nothing in particular, it’s just that you haven’t seen him in five or six years and you have avoided him all night”.

“That’s not true” Julie argued. “I’ve been busy supervising other things and greeting people, that’s all”.

“Don’t lie, Julie, not to me. I saw him going to talk to you when I left the main salon and, girl, a marble statue would’ve moved more than you at that moment”.

Julie was reaching her limit. Yes, she had avoided Jooheon all night, but that was her decision. No one had any right to question her, not even Areum. However, Areum was not to blame for anything, so Julie closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath before she answered her friend.

“Look” Julie started with her eyes still close, “more than five years have passed, I don’t know him anymore and he doesn’t know me. He made his life and I made mine, we were close once, but that was a long time ago. People drift away, friendships end and, if I’m being completely honest, I’m not interested nor do I have the energy to catch up with someone who will be way too busy in the morning to even remember my name”. With that last statement, Julie opened her eyes and looked Areum in the eyes. “The fact that he is here today doesn’t mean anything. He’s alive, he looks healthy, and if the radio proves anything, he has a successful career. What more do I need to know? Nothing”.

Areum was silent. She didn’t know how to respond to that and she knew that Julie didn’t want to talk more about it, but she was definitely not fine. That’s why when Julianne told her she was going upstairs to their room because she wasn’t feeling okay, Areum offered to go with her.

“No, Areum-ah, stay in the party,” said Julianne. “You put way too much effort in this and it looks great, it’s not fair that you can’t have fun because I’m not in the mood. I’ll be fine. I’ll go watch some drama and plan how to make the hotel forgive us in the morning”.

Then, Julie turned around and walked through the side doors of the pool which led to the inside of the hotel. She didn’t care anymore if Jooheon saw her or not, she was exhausted. What Julie didn’t know was that Jooheon not only saw her going inside the hotel but that he saw the whole conversation with Areum from afar.

After giving the announcement and putting the microphone in place, Jooheon looked for Jules among the crowd, but could not distinguish her from all the people who were leaving the salon. Once at the pool, he looked at her once more and saw her talking to Areum near the DJs tables. He started walking in that direction but was stopped by some drunken ex-classmates who asked him to take a picture with them. He did as they asked and saw that Areum and Jules were now far from the party, talking. He started to walk that way and saw that Jules was tense by the way she lowered her head just like when she was stressed and needed to calm down. He slowed his pace and at that moment Areum made eye contact with him and shook his head.

Jooheon understood immediately, so he stopped in his tracks and stood there watching the two friends talk. He then saw Jules enter the hotel with her head still low and gave an interrogative look to Areum, who only shook his head once more and headed back to the DJs' tables.

If Jules needed her space, he would give it to her. Jooheon began to think that he was the cause of Jules' stress and anxiety, but why?

The rapper was about to turn around and leave the party since he had nothing else to do there when he saw Kim Kyug-Bok going in the same direction that Jules had gone. He was drunk, so Jooheon thought nothing bad would happen, but something inside told him to follow him, so he did.

He saw him go into the elevator where Jules was. She had her eyes fixed on her shoes, so she did not notice when Kyug-Bok entered the elevator nor did she see Jooheon running, trying to stop the doors before they closed. The last thing the rapper saw was Kyug-Bok winking at him.

SHIT!

*****

The doors of the elevator opened on Jules’s floor, she got down and started to walk to her room but she hadn’t taken even two steps when someone grabbed her arm. The girl turned around just to see Kim Kyug-Bok in front of her… a little too close for her taste. He reeked of booze.

“Julie-ah, wait a minute,” he said. “Uff, I think I drank more than what I should have but what a nice reunion. I wasn’t expecting less of you, to be honest”.

“Good night, Kyug-Bok-ssi,” said Julianne in a strict tone. She had had enough of idiots for one night.

Julianne managed to set her arm free from the guy’s hold and started to walk to her room at the end of the hall. Since Kim Kyug-Bok was drunk, he needed a couple of seconds to react and recover his balance in order to follow her. Julie was almost at the door when he reached her and grabbed her by the wrist, his hold stronger this time, and made her turn around and face him.

“Wait, waaaait, Julie-ah, I’m not done talking,” said Kyug-Bok, only this time, as he spoke, he moved his eyes up and down Julie’s face and went down to the cleavage of her dress. “You look beautiful tonight; did anyone tell you that?” he asked with a voice that Julie could only define as slimy. “Well, I suppose Jooheon-ssi could have told you that, though I don’t know if you’ve given him the chance”.

Julie was silent. She didn’t know what to respond and Kim Kyug-Bok laughed at the girl’s reaction and continued talking:

“Tell me, trouble in paradise? Or is it that you finally manage to get over that childish crush of yours? Poor guy, he spent the whole night looking around to find you, not realizing that you spent the whole night hiding from him”.

That made Julie react.

“Let go of me” she ordered.

“Easy, beautiful. You don’t have to be nervous. Your secret is safe with me” he said whispering in her ear.

“You either let me go or it is going to hurt for, at least, a week”

“Uuuuuuuuy, feisty. I like it” said Kyug-Bok laughing. “Now that I think about it, maybe Jooheon never got the hang of how to handle you, give you what you need, please…”

Kim Kyug-Bok could not finish the sentence because of the pain he felt at various points of his body. In a matter of seconds, he went from standing in front of Julie to kneeling on the floor. Julianne had gotten out of his grip on her wrist while she had elbowed him in the abdomen. She then knelt him in his crotch and used an arm lock that forced him to sit on his knees looking at the floor.

“Listen to me, asshole,” Julie whispered, “I had my share of idiots tonight and I don’t plan on spending any more time with someone as pathetic as you. Do yourself a favor and disappear, understand?”

Julie let him go and Kim Kyug-Bok lay on the floor. His foot hurt and he had trouble breathing both from the blow to the abdomen and from the attack on his manhood. He also felt his arm asleep from the lock Julie made to him, which almost dislocated his shoulder.

Julie entered her room and Kim Kyug-Bok heard her locking the door. He began to curse her in a low voice when a pair of very expensive shoes appeared in front of him. Kim Kyug-Bok looked up and ran into a very, very angry Jooheon.

“Jooheon-ah, my friend,” he said, trying to sound friendly as he stood with difficulty. “What’s going on? I was on my way back down, there are still some pretty girls around, huh? Some of them might want to do you a couple of favors”.

“Ah, Kyug-ah,” Jooheon said with a cold smile, “how about we have some fun?”

He grabbed the former team captain’s shoulder and headed with him to the elevator. They went down quietly and Jooheon never relaxed the grip on Kyug-Bok, who was feeling increasingly intense pain in his back and arm.

Once they arrived at the pool area, Jooheon spoke again:

“Tell me, Kyug-ah, if I remember correctly, you were afraid of the water, weren’t you?”

“Ah? Ah, yes,” he said with a nervous laugh. They were both getting very close to one of the semi-Olympic pools and that made him anxious.

“Ah, too bad. You can’t have all the fun. Wait for me here for a moment, will you?” Jooheon said, standing inches from the edge of the pool and forcing Kyug-Bok to do the same.

“Ah? Ah, yes, sure, okay”.

Moments later, Jooheon climbed onto one of the platforms where the DJs were, grabbed a microphone, and yelled:

“ARE YOU HAVING FUN?!”

Even if his outburst was unexpected, the rapper got an answer from the crowd in the form of screams. Come on, a little more.

“I DON’T HEAR YOU! ARE YOU HAVING FUN?!”

Now, the screams came with whistles, jumps, and even a howl. That’s it, perfect.

“THAT’S THE SPIRIT!! LEY NOBODY SAY THIS GENERATION DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO HAVE FUN”

More screams.

“And guess what... THIS ISN’T OVER YET!! I’M SO HAPPY TO SEE ALL OF YOU THAT I DECIDED TO MAKE A DYNAMIC WITH YOU!”

At this point, everyone, including Kim Kyug-Bok, paid attention to what Jooheon was saying.

“Before I tell you what you have to do to win, I’ll tell you the prize. WHOEVER WINS WILL BE ABLE TO COLLABORATE WITH ME IN THE PRODUCTION OF MY NEXT SOLO ALBUM! WILL APPEAR WITH ME ON TV, HAVE PRODUCTION CREDITS, AND HAVE PART OF THE OVERALL SALE ROYALTIES! WHO WANTS TO PARTICIPATE?!”

Even more unintelligible screams echoed throughout the recreation area.

“Okay, okay, now I’m going to tell you what you have to do to win. Pay close attention. We all deal with fears and pressures, right? We are human, after all. But today I want to help one specific person overcome his fears. A person who opened my eyes tonight. My friend there by the pool, Kim Kyug-Bok!”

At that moment, Kim Kyug-Bok’s face turned as white as paper. What the hell was this?

“Do you see him?” asked Jooheon to a very excited crowd.

“YEEEES” everybody shouted in unison.

“Well, you remember he was afraid of water?”

“YEEEES”.

“Okay then, on the count of three, the person who gets Kim Kyug-Bok to lose that fear before the party ends WILL BE THE WINNER!”

At this point, all eyes were on the former captain, who looked like the prey of hungry wolves as he saw Jooheon with a face of disbelief.

“ON THE COUNT OF ONE... TWO... THREEEEEE!”

And with that, hell itself broke loose. Kim Kyug-Bok ran for his life but was surrounded. Everyone at the party, at least everyone who was sober enough to understand what Jooheon said, wanted to win, so they started chasing him trying to catch him.

Jooheon had no interest in seeing the show. So, he got off the platform and ran into a very, very upset Areum.

“What the fuck was that?! They’re gonna kill him!”

“I couldn’t care less about that asshole and you shouldn’t either”, Jooheon replied.

“Excuse me?”

“Go with Jules. Now” said Jooheon with a serious face that made Areum have goosebumps.

“What happened?” asked Areum understanding the situation. “What did that son of a bitch do to her?”

“Nothing, Jules knows how to defend herself, but she needs you now. To hell with these idiots” Jooheon snapped as he passed Areum to leave.

The place was a disaster. Thankfully, the majority of the guests were too drunk to pay attention to Jooheon’s words or to keep up with the game (some threw up after a couple of seconds running after their prey) so the situation was relatively manageable for the security team Areum had brought alongside with the entertainment. However, some people were chasing after Kim Kyug-Bok all over the place; the ex-captain could barely avoid them while shouting obscenities and threats in an attempt to make them leave him alone.

Areum saw Jooheon disappeared inside the hotel, but he turned to see Kyug-Bok one last time with a look that displayed the biggest hatred Areum had seen in anybody’s eyes. After that, the girl turned to talk to the chief of the security team and gave him instructions to control the situation and to call it a night as soon as possible. Once everything was settled, she went up to the room she shared with Julie.

Areum opened the door and found Julie sitting on the bed already with her pajama on and with wet hair. When Julianne saw her best friend entering the room with a heavy breath, she jumped and went to her

“Areum-ah, what happened? Are you okay? Something happened downstairs?”

“I should be the one asking you if you are okay” Areum stated while hugging Julianne. “What happened? That idiot of Kyug-Bok is going to pay if he did anything to you, I swear! I know a lot of people, I have savings and…”

“Hey, hey, easy, what are you rambling about?”

“Easy my ass, WHAT HAPPENED?”

Julie stood still for a moment trying to decipher how Areum had learned about what happened in the hall not more than thirty minutes ago.

“Nothing happened” Julie sighed. “The bastard went up with me in the elevator and try to overstep his boundaries, but I still remember some moves from my training. It wasn’t hard to knock him down, really”.

“THAT IS DEFINITELY SOMETHING!!” Areum shouted. “God, Julie, of course it is something… no wonder he was so upset”.

“Yeah, well, I imagine he was upset” Julia added while turning around “he saw, or well, felt the end of his virility”.

“What?... No, no… I’m talking about Jooheon”.

Julie got tense once more.

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” Areum started saying, not sure of how to tell this to her friend, not after what she had said earlier. “Out of nowhere, Jooheon grabbed a mic and announced that the first person that managed to throw Kim Kyug-Bok to the pool would have production credits in his next solo album. You know that idiot was always afraid of water and, well, some people started to chase him like crazy just to win the prize Jooheon offered. I don’t think Kim Kyug-Bok has felt so much fear in his whole life”.

Julie didn’t say anything, she just sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her feet. Areum didn’t push the subject any further, they’ve had enough of guys for one night. It was girl time.

“Alright, you choose the drama and I the wine, deal?” Areum stated.

“Sorry?”

“What? You thought that just because we are in the room and not at the party we wouldn’t get wasted? JA! No, missy. Come on, you have fifteen minutes to decide which drama to watch while I call room service… if you don’t decide in that time, we’ll spend the night watching sexy music videos”.

Julie couldn’t do anything else but laugh. Areum always knew how to cheer her up and right in that moment wine sounded like man’s best invention. Thus, 15 minutes later, the two friends had, each one, a glass of wine in hand and about seven different dishes from which to choose, selection of Areum; they only had to settle down and enjoy the comedy that Julie had chosen. Hopefully, the headache the next day would make everything look better.

*****

Sunday morning arrived faster than expected. Julie’s headache was unbearable but every drop of wine had been worth it; it had been a while since the two friends had that much fun together.

After turning in bed, Julie opened her eyes and realized that Areum was not in there. He called her name a couple of times, but there was no answer, she probably had gone down to have breakfast. At that moment, Julie’s stomach roared with hunger, which was what made her finally get up and go to the bathroom to wash her face and dress up a bit to be minimally presentable. Once she had finished and changed her pajamas for daytime clothes, Areum entered through the bedroom door.

“Good morning,” she said in a hoarse voice. “I think we outdid it yesterday”.

“You think so? I feel like there are smurfs drilling inside my head, everything hurts”.

“Yeah, well, the price of getting old”.

At that moment, someone knocked on the door. Areum went to check and seconds later came in with a cart with two plates of hangover soup.

“I got up a little early and went down to see how everything had turned out,” Areum explained. “The security team I hired managed to keep the disaster to a minimum, to the extent of their capabilities, and I already talked to the hotel manager; we already agreed on a compensation price and I will make the transaction in the afternoon. It’s all settled, so sit down and eat”.

“Arg, Areum-ah, what would I do without you?” Julie said hugging her.

“Have a very boring life, for sure,” Areum replied laughing. “Come on, have breakfast before it gets cold. We don’t want to be late”.

“Late? To where?”

“I booked us some appointments at the hotel spa: mud masks, relaxing pedicure, and a session of decontracting massages. All to get back to being the fabulous women we were before we had three… maybe four bottles of wine in less than two hours”.

“Oh, that sounds great, but I don’t know if I can do it all, Areum-ah. In the afternoon I have...”

“... a coffee/tea date with your mother-in-law,” Areum said, interrupting her friend. “Don’t worry. I asked for the mud masks and the pedicure to be done at the same time, so we can finish everything before lunch and you can go to your appointment with plenty of time. Come on, dude, do I have to remind you who you’re talking to?”

Julie hugged her friend for the second time that morning and started eating her breakfast. At that time, Jooheon’s theme was a very distant point in her memory, almost like an isolated event that could soon be forgotten.

______________________________________

That Sunday afternoon, Julie felt like new. She had recovered from the hangover halfway through the pedicure and all the stress of the last few weeks had disappeared thanks to the spa session Areum had reserved for them.

She arrived at his mother-in-law’s apartment just in time for their afternoon appointment. She rang the doorbell and within seconds Mrs. Park was receiving her.

“Julie-ah! Good to see you” she said with a smile. “Come in, come in, make yourself at home”.

“Thank you, Mrs. Park,” Julie replied as she took off her shoes and put on the slippers arranged for the guests. “Is that... lavender what I smell?”

“Yes! Doesn’t it smell delicious? Recently one of the start-ups in which I invested started to develop a new line of aromatherapy and I am testing several of the products. The aroma comes from organic candles that I helped develop myself. Look, these are the testing samples”.

Mrs. Park continued to talk about the product for several more minutes and Julie paid attention to every word she said. She was impressed by his mother-in-law’s energy and creativity, always innovating.

“Arrggg, aunty, again with your candles” interrupted a voice coming from the kitchen.

Julie turned to see the person who owned that voice: Park Eun-ji.

“If it bores you that much, Ji-nah, you can go. You arrived unannounced anyway, dear niece, and, as you can see, I already had plans”.

Julie hadn’t seen the other members of her boyfriend’s family in months. She had never had problems with any, but she wasn’t close to them either. Many saw her over the shoulder because she did not come from a wealthy family. Actually, her mother-in-law was the only one she felt she shouldn’t be on her toes 24/7. Well, her mother-in-law and Kang-Dae, of course.

“Julie-ah!” Eun-ji shouted, acknowledging Julianne’s presence for the first time. “I haven’t seen you in ages, where have you been? You’re not avoiding us, are you?” the girl asked with a malicious smile.

“Hello, Eun-ji-ssi. Good to see you,” Julianne replied.

“Oh, come on, Julie, stop with the formalities. Anyway, how much have you been doing that you couldn’t even go to my dearest aunt’s awards gala?”

“Should I remind you, Ji-nah,” Mrs.Park intervened before Julie could respond, “that Julie, unlike you, works and has responsibilities. You wouldn’t know this, but having a work ethic is still valued in this society”.

After Mrs. Park’s statements, there was a moment of awkward silence in which Eun-ji only rolled her eyes at her aunt’s comments. Julie didn’t know if she should intervene to alleviate the tension but, once more, her mother-in-law bet her in doing so.

“Well, enough of that,” Mrs. Park said again. “It’s coffee time, come on, that’s why you came”.

“Kang-Dae won’t join us?” Julie asked.

“He’s supposed to,” Mrs. Park sighed. “I warned him that he had to be on time, but you know how he is, he has no head but for business. He will surely arrive in a while”.

And with that, the three women went into the kitchen.

*****

Two hours later, Mrs. Park’s apartment door opened and a Kang-Dae, dressed in a golf shirt, appeared in the kitchen.

“Hi, Mom, sorry I’m late,” Kang-Dae said.

“It’s not me you should apologize to, son,” Mrs. Park replied.

“Yes, I know. I’m sorry, Julie,” Kang-Dae said as he approached his girlfriend. “I tried to get here early, but the investors wanted to play all 18 holes”.

“Don’t worry, I understand. The important thing is that you are already here”.

“Disgusting, stop both of you,” Eun-ji interrupted. “What’s up, cousin? No greetings for me?”

“Ah, Ji-nah, I didn’t know you were coming,” Kang-Dae told her.

“Ah, that’s my specialty, surprises,” Eun-ji said with a malicious smile. “And speaking of surprises... I went shopping with Kang Mi-suk yesterday, remember? She was your best friend in school”.

“Sure,” Kang-Dae replied, “I even introduced her to Julianne a few years ago. We went out several times on double dates, but I haven’t had time to talk to any of my old friends in months. What’s new?”

“Not much”

And with that, the two cousins started talking about old friends and acquaintances, some of whom Julie already knew and others who she didn’t. Both Mrs. Park and Julianne were left out of the conversation, each with a cup of coffee in hand. Neither of them had much to contribute, either because they didn’t know the people they were talking about or because they didn’t have anything good to say about them.

“Ah! I have an idea,” Eun-ji said out of nowhere. “Julie-ah, how about we go to lunch with Mi-suk next week? You know her, so it’ll be like two old friends catching up, what do you think?”

Julie moved in her seat and took the cup of coffee to her lips before answering.

“Emm, that would be nice, but...”

“GREAT! I’ll tell Mi-suk and...”

“... but I don’t know if I can, Eun-ji-sii” Julianne finished. “We are closing the last exhibition in the gallery and soon we have to start planning the next activity. I don’t know if I have time to...”

“Come on, Julie-ah” this time it was Kang-Dae who interrupted her, “for one day nothing will happen. I remember that Mi-suk liked you very much and I’m sure they will have a good time. What do you say?”

“I say you two forget that Julianne is a busy woman,” Mrs. Park said, placing the coffee cup on the table with more force than necessary. “From personal experience, if she says she doesn’t have time, it’s because she doesn’t have time. You should understand that very well, Kang-Dae, and stop insisting”.

“No problem, Mrs. Park,” Julie jumped, trying to lighten the tension in the atmosphere. “I guess I can ask for an extra hour for lunch on... Tuesday? And go out for a while.”

“Perfect! It’s a date,” Eun-ji said with a winning smile. Moments later, he got up from the table and went to call Mi-suk to tell her the plans.

Kang-Dae also apologized and left to change his clothes, so Julianne was left alone with her mother-in-law.

“Julie-ah,” said Mrs. Park when everyone was gone. “You have to stop doing that”.

“Ah?... Ah! I’m so sorry, you defended me, and I...”

“That’s not what I mean. I can see it in your eyes, dear, that you can’t stand my niece. And you haven’t stopped moving your knee since Kang Mi-suk’s name was mentioned, so that meeting doesn’t excite you either. My son may be slow in those things, but I’m not”.

Julianne didn’t know what to say. She feared that anything she said would offend her hostess, so she just lowered her head and stared at her empty cup.

“Look into my eyes, Julie-ah,” Mrs. Park said. “It’s not a claim, my dear. I’m telling you this because you remind me of me a few years ago. Always pleasing others. The problem, honey, is that women like you don’t reach their potential by being complacent. My son is very lucky that you’ve put up with him these past three years and I appreciate how understanding you’ve been to him and the rest of the family, but I think it’s time, Julie-ah, for you to take your place, don’t you think?”

Julie could only stare her mother-in-law in the eyes. She couldn’t articulate a word. What had just happened?

“And don’t worry, dear. I know you have a hell of a temper behind that kind smile and when you’re ready to let it out and demand my son the treatment you deserve, I’ll back you up”.

Just when Mrs. Park finished speaking, Kang-Dae came back into the kitchen, now in another outfit, so Julie could do nothing but give Mrs. Park her complicit gaze back.

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captainkurosolaire · 3 years ago

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~ Mass Update ~

Mainly going into future plans and intents alongside ideas below cut.

Ton's of things I've in store this will prove difficult to vent it all out. But here we go... First off rehashing and appropriately learning to tag and organize things better on my blog. Each category will have their own corresponding content, I seek to bring or share. [Tales of Goldbrand] -- I intend this to carry a Compendium of all my writes soon that'll have everything neatly in-order including a glossary, so it'll have highlights of stories that even matter or the best stuff. I've written here for a very, long time, there's been many shifts. I want to make it more accessible. While coloring what matters for people who want to learn Captain or his Crew with less chapters. While also giving choice to find it all easily. This is essentially a step-above master-lists. I'll be doing that after the Saga I have going on, right now is done. [Captain] -- Will provide you strictly with Captain screenshots, gifs, photo-sets. This is still his blog despite the Crew thing's will sort of make this a scuffed Multi-Muse blog. I've few more things to edit and tag fix to get all his stuff though. [The Wild Crew] -- Afterwards this story is done Immortal Age Saga, It's something that I mainly wrote as a passion project within three days to get my warm-up process fixed. It's to allow me to get a feel for all his Crewmates and casts, in combat, in-general, to feel their presences. While also giving a bit of their backstories. At any point, I can go back and polish or tweak things in. They're NPC's but... not entirely. All will have their own 'Dreams' and their own 'Disapproval's' they have their own missions even. These things will factor eventually, they might set seeds, to betray or disagree with something, but that's all angst and more stories to be created, but overall, they'll probably always be Crew, eventually. -- I plan on making character-profile sheets of them and putting them in this Tab, it'll have their screenshots, their likes/dislikes. Some RP partners or people can also be shipped with them, but they'll all be monogamous and originally start off probably Pan. This allows them to figure out what they like on their own stories. I've always been someone who likes organic-flow. Although this one story contain all 16 characters or more, the rest will probably be shortened to a Squad of 4 and dispersed when on adventuring missions. Until I do a War Arc, that's my main goal to build too. [Roster] -- Will contain this Crew in just screen-sets dedicated to them, I'll probably randomly produce those. I've PC players among this Crew too. I may not be done either adding more, but this Crew is mainly built around Quality. Most pirate crew's mainly, have hundreds, thousands. Even Fleets. This Crew has personalities, monsters, people who are living life's that exist with piracy. He's an particular leader that had PC players the same way, he's had split-personality serial killers aboard, tribal chieftains, succubus, all sorts of various people once on a Crew. It's often an outcast style, pirates default are chaotic in nature, so this really isn't any different, it's a Fantasy version of it. There's humanization characters aboard too though, so this cast is really decked, everything and person is vital, they matter because they remind or covet something that others can draw upon. If ever played (Three Houses or Mass Effect / Dragon Age Origins) A lot of things like that are relatable too this structure and format. Which, Is something I want to be able to give when RPing. I want a genuine feel of this new world someone else's muse will be the main-character too. Depending on what's interacting everything they'll be scale appropriately to follow the genre they're in and environment even. [Aesthetics] -- Already explainable what you'll find here. [Asks] -- Same thing. [Prompts] -- Trivial things I was tagged too, I plan on compiling later. [Writing] -- Another alternatively to randomly go-down and it works right now. [Logs] -- Will have more individualistic master-lists and posts there, my poems from Sheik Sphere the Bard, etc.

Things of that nature, I'll probably add still. It's where a lot of my creative writing is summed. [Gems of Hydaelyn] -- My main #tag for other characters and artists, creationist. Lot of amazing people easily to find their zones or follow them optionally if you like. Ton's I intend to support and bolster, be a lot less unspoken. I'm never the type who's been strictly inclusive. But I'll do that when I've time to even explore the dash, I'm always still planning ahead with things and projects. [CKS] My original character-sheet it's outdated on something's but not too terrible. I'll give him polishing someday, I swear? [21+F-List] -- Just purely degenerate stuff of Captain. I'm a pirate blog. I will represent that with openness and furthermore. I'm never projecting you some false-image. I started off a smut-writer by stripping that, I no-longer represent the same aura and identity. But those are strictly his stuff and kinks, I'm effective in executing them but they're not all relatable to me OOC. This blog will always be 18+ containing crude or dark material sometimes, romantic things, this Captain is blunt, will literally put his cock on the table in conversations. Swearing and being censored would be too uncommon and displace most of him, but there's more about him then all this. [Other] -- I pay homage to a lot of characters, I originally am a Concept Designer. Which mean's I make characters and ideas like my addiction. Bad characters / villains or other little things I like to share in designs, I'll put there. Some villains might get little photo-sets, even if they died. Just cause I like their design, or maybe I'll give them an AU, where they won. When I've wrapped up things. [Collabs + Ships] -- Is a new project idea. This isn't going to be something limited too romantic only ships. It'll contain, platonic, romantic, friendships, rivals, frenemies, family, PC Crew, all ships. I am desperately working on improving my gif, screenshot, posing game so I can supply 'Screen Stories' this is not only a way to RP that's accessible with even people who are upon time-crunches from work, It gives visual-representation. To impactful stories shared with others and establish bonds. That are all-valid and impactful matter. Lot of people take a lot of their characters attributes into them and are them dialed up, I work with that and bit more, differently. I'm disconnected from my characters and they'll get hurt and injured and killed by me, that's my duty as their Author to give them conflicts and struggles. I'm their major antagonist, but that doesn't mean at-all, it's always SET that way. The characters I like to make have their own life, they live in this setting and are abide by it, they're often nothing, nobodies, and by the interacting with others, they slowly gradually building, more... Through emotional impacts, they alter, these are REAL people by all their beliefs. Each person they come in-contact with are legitimate and treated like that too. They've always impacted or given them insights to grow, or represent more. Otherwise it'd be criminally disrespectful if I allowed any emotional I felt OOC be the grudge to something IC. Captain in-particular is set on defying me. I cannot have that. ...But I can't stop him. He's met and encountered so many people and lived so many scenarios based on the actions of others, he's giving a chance right now to actually do things a lot further than impossible. The more people he meets and encounters, experiences, the more I lose. These stories are emotionally interactive where everything is a factor and adds to the dice, where the other people are the one who get to roll the dice for him, not me. That's something I want to color in. People range in emotions, they have their down's, ups, their own wholesome-grounding people, spending time with your favorite people, there's nothing more cherishing than that, being in your own comfort-zone or 'safe-space' these are all treasures that we live under, today. Contrary if what people assume of me, I'm not another 'blogger' that's came

before, who's wanting to force a harem, then constantly is bewildered when that falls to pieces cause of selfishness or a lack of communication, or the skeletons they have in their closets and beliefs they hid behind and swindled fooled everyone. I'm not looking to be popular or anything really, I just create stories and want to share in those, and I want to also boost others included, upward with me, especially those who make me. There's no ego in anything I do, this is purely love. I've never cared about being replicated or duplicated, I've had stalkers, I've gone through more then anyone would imagine, I've been used OOC and abused, just for my writing and cold-harshly told, i'd never amount to anything other then that or vice-versa. --------------------------------------------------------------------- Passion. That's all I got and am anymore. --------------------------------------------------------------------- Passion is the hardest thing to keep. It's something that can be stolen, quite effortlessly. Few words of discouragement, a bad negative representation, a lack of confidence, or small amount of time, there's many thing's that can put that flame out. Once you lose it. The difficulty to reattain is hundred-times harder than climbing any mountain for real. I've watched the greatest creators crumble from under the pressure, from beaten down by others. I watched many of them do it to themselves because they put a grand vision of needing validation of another and once lost, felt uncompelling to press onward. But passion also can be given BACK and drawn. It can be shown and encourage others, with a soft-triggering, that pushes them. That motivates, that constantly sticks to it. There are many that fuel me. If I ever quit, I let them down, I spit in the faces of people who're better than me in every-way. Or people who've came and given me their precious Time. That have given their character's or dedication to the abundant stories and community-driven things I've done. There's ONLY things you can do, create, give and provide. It cannot ever come to life without YOU. This is a fact. ...I swear, If you let your creativity soar, you'll be amazed by the heights you get. Constantly polish and learn and hone the best you, challenge yourself day after painstaking day, to draw better improvement on something, no matter how trivial or unfamiliar you are. You'll find a confidence only you can give yourself. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Future Plans --------------------------------------------------------------------- For me, I've got so much more stories to give and also explore, I might be taking up soon some other artists and more skilled people from community and hire them for some of my future writes, to up my game or cause something thing's can't be done in-game cause no background carries it. I also got a lot of-set up things and more angst stuff I want to practice, plus I'm adamantly on that grind to produce screen-sets with the intent's to some sort of improving daily. Additionally more people I'll be reaching out too soon for these collab's ideas and things. I look forward to shaking your hands, giving some hugs, show you my respect and admiration, then creating some enchanting stories and giving plots light. Feel free to reach out to me, I get scattered-brain but I'm working on getting better about it. Eventually will get to you though, my goals, if uninterested just say so when I poke, no bites, unless you kinky. Anyways, cheers hearties.

#ooc #update #future plans stuffz #ToG #Work on thinking of daily practice now

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urban-homesteading · 3 years ago

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Hey do you know what kind of tools I should buy if I want to move into a house? It won't have a yard yet, but fingers crossed for the future. Thank you!

Congratulations on the new house! Since you said that there's no yard yet, I'm going to focus only on tools I use inside my house and ignore gardening and lawn maintenance.

What tools should you have around your house?

So here's a pretty simple list that will cover most minor problems you will encounter.

Hammer

Cordless power drill

Screwdriver set (grab one with the ten basic sockets)

Drill set

Adjustable wrench

Level (bubble works, but I upgraded to laser and it makes life so much simpler)

Tape measurer

Utility knife

Flashlight

Extension cord

Step stool

Spare batteries

Toolbox (or even a cardboard box, just make sure you have somewhere to return your tools or they will escape to the four winds)

So how to acquire these tools while maintaining zero waste?

1) Start with your research

If you are completely unfamiliar with tool brands and the features available on tools, do a little research. Visit the websites for Sears, The Home Depot, Lowe's, Menards, True Value, Ace Hardware or any retailer that sells tools, and take a look at their new selections. Most websites organize tools in a straightforward way so you can easily find what you're looking for.

Head to a local store to get a firsthand look – many tools will be on display and out of the box so you can actually pick them up. You'll see the most-recent models, from low-end to top-of-the-line. Make notes on the prices and available features (especially relating to safety). This is your base from which to work when evaluating prices.

The next step is to look at online auction sites, such as eBay, to get an idea of prices for used tools. This gets a bit tricky because you'll need to really look at the age and condition of the tools as described by the seller. But again, make notes for a range of features and prices. Don't try to list everything you see – just make a list of price ranges for the tools, with notes on the variances in relation to brand. For example, for circular saws that range in price from $30 to $60, jot down what separates the bottom-priced tool from the top.

Head over to pawnshops as well. Pawnshops only buy items they know they can turn around and sell, so they won't have tools that don't work (everything they purchase is tested), and a pawnshop won't carry poor-quality brands. Also, the prices will accurately reflect the current value of tools in the marketplace. Make sure you visit operations that are members of the National Pawnbrokers Association, as these businesses abide by a code of ethics established by the association.

2) Name Does Matter (For the more expensive tools)

Now that you have an idea of what you'll expect to pay, it's time to consider how you'll evaluate and decide what to buy.

It used to be that if a name brand was good, it was good. But I have found that the ‘good’ name brands have been sold so many times that most manufacturers are coasting on their reputation and they are the same quality as the ‘cheap’ tools. Even worse, manufacturers will have different quality tools that are sold by different stores. For example, a DeWalt power drill sold at a Home Depot will be better quality than a DeWalt Power Drill sold at Walmart because DeWalt will have two different manufacturing plants and they will send the lower quality ones to Walmart, since Walmart demands that DeWalt sell them to them at a cheaper cost or else they won’t buy from them at all.

My personal rule of thumb is buy cheap for the first one, then if you use it so long or so much that it needs replaced, buy expensive quality the second time. This prevents you from spending hundreds on tools you’re only going to use a couple of times.

3) Where To Buy

You can start your shopping by revisiting some of the places you accessed when doing your research. Clearly you'll save money on shipping if you go to a local operation or an individual. Remember to test and examine tools closely no matter where you shop.

Pawnshops As mentioned earlier, pawnshops are a good bet for buying tools. You're going to find better-known brands that are probably on the higher end of the quality and price spectrum. Although, you're going to have little to no negotiating room on price compared to if you were buying from an individual.

Thrift Stores A thrift store may be a little less reliable for quality, and you'll probably find a lot less availability, especially at a thrift store that obtains its wares through donation. However, those that aren't donation-based aren't going to want to develop a bad reputation by selling inferior items.

Live Auctions Check local notices for potential auctions in your area. You may have a good chance of finding quality tools, but “auction fever” may set in, and you could wind up overpaying if you are bid up. These may be a good source for large equipment.

Garage Sales You could score the best deal at a garage sale, as the seller may be less likely to know the value of the tools being sold. Sellers will also be more open to price negotiation, and you can offer a bundle price for several items. Quality is going to be your biggest concern, so look these tools over really well.

Flea Markets These are similar to garage sales when it comes to negotiating, but the seller at a flea market will probably be more knowledgeable on price. Some flea market vendors have access to surplus or closeout suppliers, so you could see a potential mix of newer and older tools that haven't sold well at retail.

Classifieds Search online or newspaper classifieds under the equipment and tools categories. You may see a set or combination of tools listed as one price, which can be a good deal. As with garage sales, look these tools over carefully.

Online Websites offering tools are almost too numerous to mention, but eBay is certainly one that comes to mind. Check the seller ratings and reviews when shopping on auction sites. You'll also want to take a look at Amazon, which offers a lot of items, both new and used. Overstock.com, for example, has surplus items and may be a good source for refurbished items. You can often get limited warranties.

Retail Speaking of refurbished items, you may do well by looking at the clearance aisles at hardware stores and home centers. Sometimes they will heavily discount tools that have been returned. Check the reason for the return because it can be merely cosmetic.

4) Be an Inspector

On corded power tools, examine the electrical and basic mechanics of the tool. Aside from plugging it in and turning it on, thoroughly inspect the cord. Look for any visible defects, such as a crimp (what looks like a big dent), or if the cord is bent at a severe angle. A thick wad of electrical tape will be a big tip-off that something might not be right. Also take a look at where the cord meets the tool to see if it's heavily worn or loose. Closely examine the prongs of the plug. A slight bend on one of the prongs isn't a big deal, but if the metal looks heavily worn at the bend, it may be close to failure. And don't forget to check out the switch to see if it is loose or cracked.

Cordless tools present their own challenge. If you've ever looked at the price of replacement batteries, you know they can be quite pricey. Some are very expensive in relation to the cost of a new tool and can be as much as half or more of the cost of a new tool. Plus, it's hard to tell if the battery will hold its charge for any length of time. Sure, it may work fine in the short time you test it, but it's difficult to determine if it will hold a charge for longer than a few minutes. Only opt for cordless tools that you know are at most a couple of years old. Refurbished units are your best bet here.

With both corded and cordless power tools, be sure all the parts and guards are there. It's a bonus if the case and operating manual are included (although you may be able to find a copy of the manual on a tool manufacturer's website). You can easily find replacement accessories, such as saw blades, for many tools because the standards for accessory sizes are pretty consistent.

While you can't exactly take a small screwdriver and dismantle a power tool to look at its inner workings, you can search for a few telltale signs that all may not be well. Be prepared to use all five senses.

Take at look at the motor vent area of the tool (which looks like little slits in the housing). Ideally, you want this to be free of any sort of dirt, grime or buildup – a tall order for a used tool, but a good indication of how well it has been maintained. While inspecting this area, look for any burn marks or smoke trails (take a peek at the switch area as well). These would be clear indications that there's been an electrical problem. But just in case the evidence of a fire has been cleaned up, give the vent area the old sniff test for odor of smoke.

Keep the focus on this area and turn on the tool. You don't want to see smoke or sparks emitting from the housing. Notice how the tool feels in your hand while it's running. Look for intermittent operation or jerkiness. Yes, a power tool will vibrate in your hand, but you should be able to control it. If it feels like the tool could jump right out of your hand, there could be issues. Listen to the tool. Is it making erratic sounds or grating noises? Think back to other tools of the same type you're inspecting. Does the used tool sound significantly different?

You can look for specific things such as the movement of the blade in a circular saw or table saw. With the tool off and unplugged, move the blade around to see if there is a significant wobble to its motion. An old blade may be the culprit, but the arbor (the metal rod on which the blade is attached to the saw) may be bent. It would be difficult to replace and not worth purchasing the tool.

These tools will be a pretty good head start and will enable you to repair most minor work around your home.

#tools #homestead #house #home #DIY #zero waste #reuse #reduce

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caterpellas · 4 years ago

Text

munich nights • harry styles

summary: touring inseparably as best friends and musicians, yours and harry’s relationship takes a cruel turn in munich.

warnings: smut (oral m recieving)

genre: bestfriend!harry, friends to lovers(?), angst, smut

pt 1/? (two is here) word count: 4k

a/n: this is my first time writing in like a year so some feedback would be amazing, pls be kind and show some love to my crumby attempt lol

chapter playlist :D

harry.

he was sort of your anchor. unspoken, of course, that he had taken such a high profile role in your life. he didn’t need to know, to know. you were certain it worked in reverse, that you grounded him just like he did for you.

you’re not sure of the timestamp on the beginning of your friendship, sometime 3 years ago after mindlessly chatting in a shoreditch bar, at the sort of venue you were both cackling over after a couple of overpriced gin and tonics.

“i’m not sure why i came here, it really isn’t my scene,” you said after calming your laughter down.

“me neither. i’m not all that into £18 cocktails made with organic fruit juice,” he jested back, although you felt a hint of sadness in the next, “it makes me miss home.”

after that you clicked instantly.

you both bonded over being musicians; your styles contrasted entirely though. his band, who you met a few occasions later, were the antithesis to yours. mitch and sarah looked and sounded like they were fresh from a 70’s pop rock band, whilst your bassist and drummer, both twins, had buzzed heads and black dr martens on 24/7. the differences between you and him didn’t matter in the slightest. which is why, after 18 months of building the strongest friendship you’d had in your life, he asked you and your band to come on tour with him.

touring with your best friend and now biggest fan was the single greatest experience of your life. you would admit to the apprehension you first felt about opening for harry as your music wasn’t exactly in keeping with his genre- you were a little grungier then his soft style. i suppose the opposites between you is what enhanced everything about your relationship, musically and personally. in articles harry was always praised for his effeminate fashion choices, and since gaining some recognition as his opener, the articles were now mentioning how you dressed too, hyping up your more boyish, ‘can’t be bothered’ clothing taste you’d developed over your years in the band. your shoes were always chunky and platform, your top or bottoms usually oversized and always with the same thick chain around your neck. to some, your style seemed intimidating but it couldn’t be further from the truth. harry knew that best of all.

3 months into the tour now, you had made it to munich for the 1st night of your european portion of the tour. you and harry were sat next to one another on the plane, sharing an earpod each, playing music from your playlist titled “h”. you hadn’t been able to sleep on the overnight flight, after reading a particularly disturbing article about harry’s recent paparazzi shots. “harry styles’ player ways making a comeback?” it read, and pictured him with a couple models you’d met in new york together after going out for the night. you couldn’t place why but the article made you feel sick. you put it down to seeing such a close friend’s name slandered in the press, and you hoped he hadn’t read it yet. harry was often disheartened after reading the gossip people like to spread about him, occasionally involving you as well.

“you seem very deep in thought.” harry’s morning voice could be heard over the sound of steely dan in your ears. turning to him, one of his eye’s peering at you, you reply, “not really- just thinking about the set list.”

“you need to switch off your work brain sometimes,” he grins up at you, “have a little more fun! munich will be great, lots of beer to try.”

“of course that’s what you look forward to most. you know munich is filled with some beautiful architecture and history right?”

“that’s great and all, but you know what else they have?” harry questions you and you shake your head.

“oktoberfest.”

you arrived at your airbnb not long after- harry’s band and yours all preferred staying in a large house or apartment then some posh hotel that didn’t feel quite as welcoming. harry’s manager picked the place out, opting for a villa that sleeps 10 people, filled to the brim with oak panelling and a big fire place in the centre of the room. there was a hot tub outside that would probably never be used in your short stay there. the kitchen had a large island in the middle and a big aga keeping the place warm in the late september weather. his manager really outdid herself this time.

“this is place is so beautiful,” you still weren’t over all of the beautiful places this tour had taken you, the short time you’d been travelling had been a sensory overload.

“you’ll really like munich, y/n,” harry said yawning, grabbing both your shoulders from behind. his touch took your mind back to the article.

“harry,” you started, reluctantly turning to face him, “i know it’s none of my business who you, you know- fuck, but i was just wondering what happened with those models after i left?” harry’s calm expression never faltered as he answered, “me and camila kissed in the taxi but then i went back to the hotel. why?” you didn’t have the strength to answer honestly, and tell him it was because the thought of him having a threesome with two supermodels made you physically wretch, but you felt an obligation to give him a somewhat truthful answer.

“i saw an article about it, the paps caught a glimpse of it,” you white-lied. if you were going to be honest with yourself, the reason him with people like camila and gina bothered you so much is because of the way you compared yourself to them. you were overall confident, you were proud of your style and “gives no fucks” attitude you’d built up over the years, but these were literal models. women who were paid, like paid a lot, because they were beautiful. harry’s dating history has had a lot of women you could never measure up to be as good as and that was a real confidence breaker.

“well anyway, are you ready for tonight’s show? we were thinking it would be cool if you guys came on with us and...”

harry, as per usual, performed with all of his heart and soul and yet again amazed you. he had been doing this for three months, playing at least three shows a week and his energy levels were still unmatchable. you were back in your dressing room, taking off your stage clothes and putting on an almost identical outfit, wiping the sweat off your brow and upper lip. the monitor in your room played harry’s set, and you had to find any way you could to distract yourself from his performance before you ended up fantasising about the way his sweaty curls cling to his neck and how you wished he was sweating like that just for you, for an entirely different reason.

“thank you so much munich!” you hear harry’s accent through the small tv, and look up to see him panting and grinning, before running off stage. you had no idea why, but tonight there was a small amount of nervousness about you. since reading the article, you’ve had to address the gnawing idea that you could possibly have feelings for harry that were more than just your deep set friendship. would you act differently about the man you loved more than anyone in this world? you didn’t want things to change- they were perfect with him. he’d jest with you when you became too much of a perfectionist about your latest song, telling you to stop thinking so hard or you’ll have an aneurysm. if people commented on his style or yours, he’d laugh it off and tell everyone he’s “the woman in the relationship” sarcastically, and you’d be in awe at how he essentially said a huge “fuck you” to gender norms. he made you comfortable being you and you coveted his ability to be so happy being him. the thought of this bond being broken frightened you to your core. the knock at your door was a good signal for your thoughts to end.

“you coming y/n?” the group of you were all headed to a german beer bar, since harry was so eager to try the world famous pilsner. finding a large lounge space with sofas inside the bar, you all sat and ordered a round, celebrating a good night’s work.

“to the first night in europe,” you toasted, “cheers!” all your glasses clinked together and the nervous feeling started to fade finally. sat next to harry, you discussed the tour so far, he told a story about being in one direction and it reminded you of a hilarious story from when you were 15, when you used to listen to emo music and swore how much you hated one direction, and they all laughed at the irony. if you had told your 15 year old self this was where you’d be at 21, you’d have snorted and laughed till you cried. but life works out in strange ways and you wouldn’t change it for a second. a few drinks in and any of those nervous feelings about what harry was to you had evaporated like alcohol till you eventually had to remind yourself that whilst your hand was on harry’s knee, it meant nothing. and the way he leans forward to you as he laughed at your not-so-funny joke. but those reminders were getting weaker the more his touch started to linger after he went to go and grab his pint the same time you did.

“we really must stop meeting like this,” he jokes as your hand rubs against his for the 50th time that might and you laugh at him because your afraid if you don’t play it off as a joke you’ll lean over and kiss him. you find yourself in need of a distraction from his low buttoned shirt and endless black ink drawn across his chest that you can see in high definition when your this close to him.

“i’m going to get another round,” you exclaim dramatically, telling yourself more than the rest of the group. making your way over to the bar, you can feel harry’s vision bearing into your back as you lean against the counter to get service.

“another round of pilsners on the table’s tab please,” you ask as soberly as you can. you’re not off your face yet, but the alcohol is definitely present, surrounding the corners of your vision.

“i’d rather by you a drink.” a slightly german accent crowds your ears and you look over to see a man, not all that different to some of the guys in harry’s band, smirking at you.

nervous, you reply, “no you don’t need to do that we have a tab here.”

“i insist.” afraid to be impolite you quietly thank him, and turn back to the bar. you can’t even think of chatting to guy at a bar whilst the man you love is sat so close by. even though it’s not returned, the pain of giving him up to flirt with a stranger is too much to bare.

“so what brings you to a local’s bar like this one?”

“me and my friends are working here for the night.”

“just here for the night? such a shame,” his smile, although attempting to seem unthreatening, is making you uncomfortable. the bartender seems to be taking forever with your order.

“i’m staying in a hotel a few minutes away, come and join me and their bar for a real drink?” your heart was pounding. you rarely got hit on so you were a little out of practice on how to deal with persistent assholes like these ones.

“i can show you how the germans like to do it.” that was it- he’d gone too far and you were so embarrassed by this point you were too humiliated to even reply to him. your neck was getting hotter and you could feel your cheeks reddening.

“you okay?” harry’s voice took you out of your panic-stricken state, “you were taking a while.”

turning to harry and preparing to tell him how this man won’t get the message, the german creep pipes up, “she’s fine mate. we were just discussing a date.”

“listen mate, i suggest you back off. alright?” harry grabbed your hand, tightly, and guided you out of the bar.

“harry where are we going?” you could barely comprehend what had happened in the last five minutes to even realise he was hailing a taxi.

“back to the house. i’ll text the others.”

“harry i’m fine honestly it’s no-“

“who said i was fine? i wanted to leave and i thought maybe you did too.” he was angry, which wasn’t something you saw in harry often. he was a happy guy, and optimistic about most things in life.

“is this because of that guy?”

“of course it is y/n.”

“i’m sorry i didn’t realise he’d be an assho-“

“why’re you apologising?”

this shut you up. you didn’t know why. this wasn’t the first time a guy had been slightly predatory towards you and you doubted it would be the last. after the first couple times your in situations like this you tend to see yourself as the problem and not the guys doing it.

“i don’t know, harry.” you climbed into the cab together and harry gave them the address, seeming somewhat cooled off from earlier. your head was buzzing from the alcohol and the fact that harry had essentially rescued you from what could have been a scary situation.

“harry?”

“yeah, y/n?”

“why did you kiss camila?” alcohol had made you more outspoken and you asked the question that had been driving your nervous energy all night.

“why are you asking?”

a little more honestly then last time, you answered, “i’m just curious.” harry shifted in his chair, slightly unnerved by the question. his whole demeanour had shifted entirely from earlier. he was close and warm with you, the friend you’d become addicted to being with. now he was closed off and moody- a rare sight for anyone who knew him well. you could have picked a better time to ask the question, of course, but you had to know. you had other questions too, like why he was so angry right now, and why did he care that i was chatting with a guy at the bar, even if he was a creep.

“because she wanted to kiss me and i wanted to kiss her. the same reason most humans kiss,” there was a slight element of humour back in his voice now.

“and that was it?”

“yep.”

“hmm.” you tried to ponder this, but your attention span was limited when you were this inebriated. your thought process had quickly moved from harry’s sex life to harry in general and his outfit of the evening- a personal favourite. he’d worn white cream trousers with a vest top and an unbuttoned short sleeve shirt, along with the necklace you’d given him last christmas. you could see his two swallows peaking from the straps of his wife beater and your mind wandered to the thought of having your mouth against them. against all his tattoos, individually placing a kiss on each and everyone that you had grown to fall in love with.

you remembered the memory of harry coming with you to get your largest tattoo, a greek statue on your upper arm.

“harry you know this isn’t the first one i’ve gotten?” you laugh at how hard he was clutching your hand in the chair next to your seat.

“i know but i’m so excited for you. i want you to know i’ll be sat here the whole time to hold your hand,” he squeezes your hand to emphasise his point.

“harry i’m getting another tattoo not going into life-altering surgery.”

but inside, you were squealing at his words.

“y/n?”

harry’s less chipper current voice took you out of your memory and back to the cab in munich.

“you’ve been staring at my chest for a couple minutes,” his brows were furrowed as he studied your face.

“i want to lick it.” if someone had asked you why you answered with that, you genuinely couldn’t give them a good answer. alcohol didn’t do much to you, except allow you to have fun, and lose any sense of a filter. now was a perfect example of the effects. harry’s eyes widened at your candour- and so did yours. his calm expression only faltered for a few seconds though, before it returned to his neutral, warm face.

“what else?”

“i-uh- what?”

“what else were you thinking about?” your heart was beating so loudly you were sure harry could feel it across in his seat. why was harry asking this? you didn’t want him to know about your thoughts- they were far too embarrassing and far too private.

“i was thinking about all your tattoos,” you confessed.

“i was thinking about yours too.” you thought about all of your tattoos and remembered the dog rose you had on the back of your thigh, as well as the koi carp on your hip bone.

“which ones?”

“the flowers and the fish.” you gulped, knowing he was thinking of your most risqué tattoos.

harry, unusually, was completely serious as he said, “i thought about licking yours too.” you didn’t know where you stood with harry now. you were sat in a taxi, having the conversation with him that you thought would never happen. he wants you the same way you want him. he may not want you the same way a nagging voice told you. he could just be looking for an easy fuck, and you thought to yourself that even if that was all he wanted, you’d still give yourself to him.

“harry-“

“maybe we shouldn’t talk anymore, yeah?” you felt like you could cry- how could he not want to talk, and you were on tour together? this was the most gut wrenching feeling to have him tell you not to talk anymore. harry studied your face as you lip began to quiver, “jesus y/n i meant about the current conversation. of course i want to keep talking to you, i love you- you know, like a friend.”

“like a friend?” you couldn’t ever begin to describe how your heart felt like it fell to the pit of your stomach whilst the acid slowly burnt it away. friends is it. harry isn’t yours to have and he never will be, he just had to remind you in words of this.

“well we’re both a little drunk and clearly turned on- maybe just this once it could be more than friends? just for tonight, i mean?” harry’s clear green eyes didn’t stop looking into yours, and he seemed, i’m not sure, hopeful? as if on cue, the taxi took you back to your villa which was warmly lit from inside and you felt a nervous excitement crawl up your arms and legs at what could possibly come next. harry gave the driver the cash and you dashed quickly to the door of the house, the cool september air cutting through you both dressed inappropriately for the time of year. it dawned on you that your outfit- a big vintage men’s shirt with your oldest and favourite pair of dr martens with sheer tights- wasn’t the wisest choice. harry fumbled with unlocking the door and opened it to find the fire lit and the lights dimmed. it was more romantic than either of you would ever mention out loud but it felt like the house was routing for you. you weren’t sure where harry wanted this to go next, the air beginning to stiffen and feel awkward.

turning to face him, you started, “harry i-“ his lips met yours in an instance and any of the awkwardness left in the room had been dissolved by harry’s soft kiss. he tasted good, despite the beer you’d both been drinking and had you not been intoxicated by the pilsner and harry’s gentle touch, you’d probably care about things like breath. harry grabbed you by the shoulders, much like he did earlier that same day, and guided you into the room further, finding the large sofa and pushing you onto it. falling back, you glanced up at his towering figure. harry was already tall, but his powerful presence added a less literal height to him, and his shadow looked over you. you couldn’t help but stare at him as he shrugged his shirt off his shoulders, exposing some of your favourite tattoos of his. you got to your knees so that you were closer to his body and you finally relaxed in his presence, touching all the places you’d dreamed about. your hands raked up his torso to his chest and his head leant down to kiss you again. his lips were perfect and seemed made to be against yours so tightly, and made for the crook of your neck as well as they kissed and sucked there too. the fire in the corner of your eyes illuminated the small amount of gold in harry’s hair and he looked as angelic as he always did in your dreams.

“am i better than him?” harry murmured against your neck. the question caught you off guard. he’d only known one other person you’d had a sexual relationship with since you two became friends and that was a sound tech from one of his old touring groups that you had a small fling with. him and harry never got along and harry even accused him of purposely messing his sound up during a performance once. harry has walked in on you giving him head in your dressing room once and it was incredibly awkward but you both moved past it.

“who are you talking about?”

“you know, that arsehole sound tech from the american tour. do i kiss you better than him?” you could hear the layers to his voice- he was asking with a confidence that you felt straight in your core, but there was another layer to it- insecurity.

“god yes,” you gushed, he had to at least know how he physically made you feel even if you can’t admit your feelings, “you kiss far better then he ever could.”

an idea came into your head at this, “in fact, i bet you’ll feel better in my mouth then he did.” harry jaw slacks slightly and you give him a shy smile. talking like this wasn’t something you ever tried when you were having sex, but harry made you want to be honest. it was the closest you could get to confessing your love to him, and you’d take what you could get from harry right now. stunned into silence, you continue to undress harry, removing his vest to expose his lean stomach and small trail of hair from his belly button, that you kissed all the way down. he let out a sharp breath as soon as you got to the top of his pubic bone, and you finally noticed just how hard harry already was. with a little fascination, you dared to take it to the next level and cupped his length through his trousers, causing harry to groan at the contact. he felt big in your small hand, you couldn’t wait to reveal him, impatiently struggling with his zipper.

“woah, y/n, slow down,” harry puts a finger under your chin and you look up under your lash at him, knelt below him. his smile is a classic harry smile and for a brief second this feels like more than a casual fuck.

“you’re still wearing too much clothing.” harry bends slightly to get to the bottom of your shirt and speedily pulls it over your head, revealing your black cotton bralet and tights. harry’s mouth watered at the sight of you in nothing but your underwear and boots, your long hair falling in messy waves around your minimally tattooed arms. your sure your black eyeliner is smudged and your gloss practically jin existent but harry’s eyes make you feel like he wants nothing more then to fuck you.

“that’s much better,” he smiles again at you, and you take that as a good cue to continue on his member. eagerly, your hands go straight back to his flies, rapidly undoing them and letting his loose fit trousers fall from his hips, exposing his form fitted boxers and you get a much better idea of just how big harry’s cock really was. without realising you mumble, “i want you in my mouth so bad,” under your breath.

“fuck say that again.”

looking under your lashes again, you repeat, “i want your cock in my mouth so bad.” harry groans as his eyes roll back, his words almost being enough without your touch. but your hand still went back to his dick, pulling it out from the restraint of his boxers. it was thick and bigger then you had been with before. without missing a beat, your hand pumped him a few times, and his hips reacted instantly. as if beckoning for your lips to surround his cock, his hips thrust towards you again, and you obliged, licking and then parting your wetted lips for the head of his dick. the pre-cum touched your tongue and it urged you to take more of him further, swiping your tongue on the underside as you push more in. harry moans, gripping your scruffy hair in his large hand, and had to restrain from pushing your mouth around his whole length. as your mouth got acquainted with him, you started to move up and down the length, as harry’s moans got higher and louder.

“y/n your mouth is fucking magic.” the praise went straight to your clit and your underwear was dampening at the knowledge of the dirty things your mouth was doing.

“can you- fuck- can you grab my balls?” you responded immediately and cupped them lightly whilst continuing to bob your head on his cock.

“didn’t know you could you use your mouth for such dirty things, y/n. do i fill you better then he did?”his jealousy fuelled you to go even quicker, this time switching up to concentrating on his swollen head, your tongue lapping against it feverishly, whilst your hand pumped the rest of him. the combination of your hand and mouth was enough to drive harry insane.

“you do so good y/n, i’m gonna cum soon okay?” you release him from your mouth, and keep stroking him, eager for him to orgasm. you couldn’t describe the desperation you had to see the way he looked as he climaxed. if you were to die after this, you knew you would die happy, if only to have seen harry in that state of euphoria that only you could bring him to.

“fuck y/n i’m gonna cum,” harry pants, his thighs tensing and his eyes glazing over. you aim him over your chest and feel his load fall all over your breasts, soaking your bralet as he lets out a breathy moan. his breathes are loud and aside from the fire crackling are the only noise filling the space of the living room. you let his now soft cock go and fall back onto the sofa, too tired to think about all of what just happened, the only thought on your mind is of harry’s moans on repeat. your chest is sticky but you’re too exhausted to care. harry has slowly crept over to sit next to you on the sofa, and you’re unspokenly thankful he hasn’t distanced himself afterwards.

“i need to clean you up.” harry disappears as quickly as he arrived and comes back with a warm flannel. wiping your chest, you watch his face as his brows furrow delicately on his forehead and his mouth is slightly crooked in concentration. you loved every single portion of his face, and suddenly it meant something different. you had seen his face at it’s most real and vulnerable and you had that memory forever.

unfortunately moments like the one you and harry had finally shared don’t last forever, and once harry’s done wiping your breasts off, he leaves a kiss on your forehead, grabs his clothes and leaves you on the sofa.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #one direction #one direction fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #friends to lovers #bestfriend!harry #fine line album #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles icons #harry styles one shot #writing #one direction smut

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alloftheblackwidowfeelings · 3 years ago

Note

Consider Natasha helping Steve break their friends out of the Raft, and seeing the way Wanda was restrained and treated like a weapon more than a human, after having just dealt with all this renewed Red Room trauma.

Gee, thanks, Satan.

I love that we have official canon confirmation that Nat was part of the Raft breakout (although, honestly, Civil War not making that clear from the get-go was a fucking PROBLEM but I digress), but like, honestly? Let's just go through the list of pain that we now have context for.

Let's start with the whole group. Assuming they have no more information than the audience, they have no idea where Nat is.

--Oh no. They probably don't even know what side she's on, right? She helped Steve escape with Bucky but the only people who saw that were Steve and Bucky, and then the people on Team IM, who think she betrayed them. The people she put herself out there for don't even know she put herself out there for them.

And now they're in extrajudicial sea prison and- if I'm remembering the third act of CW correctly, which to be fair I may not be because I usually quit after act 2, and I assume someone will correct me if I'm wrong- while they wonder about whether Steve might come save them, no one even considers Nat would. Because they think she was on the other side? Because they think she wouldn't care? Because they know she's a regular human being and that makes it damn hard to take down governments? Because they assume she'd keep her circle small? Like every single possible reason behind that assumption is a world of pain directly contradicted by the events of BW, which they will never know about. Which hurts.

And at the beginning of the movie, she didn't seem to want to break them out! Like, she kept insisting she was better without a team. Obviously, she was denying her emotional attachments to make things hurt less- and obviously she has a lot of baggage around what it means to be a team and what it means to be family and whether any of them would look for her- but she was in fact actually kind of being the person they thought she was. Like it sucks when people have a bad view of you but it sucks in an entirely different way when their negative view of you is based in reality. It's a brutally harsh look in the mirror.

(And I think this is where the events of BW most change Natasha; I think that any belief she might have had that if she could get out of situations anyone could if they really want to got a rude awakening when it turned out her escape from the Red Room directly led to the other women not being able to, and I think that's shock to her system that she desperately needed. This movie more than anything showed me some of Nat's flaws and I love it for that.)

And then you have to consider that, at least 2 weeks before this (because the jet scene was 2 weeks after the Red Room takedown), she broke Alexei out of the gulag. Like, she did what she had to to take the Red Room down, there's absolutely no faulting her for that, but imagine seeing all your friends stuck in high-security prison and knowing that you had the capacity to break people out of those, in fact did it less than a month ago, but left them there. Again, this is not me saying that she did the wrong thing, but imagine the guilt on her end!

We have Wanda, who's about Yelena's age, the only woman on the Raft, being forcibly restrained far more than any of the men are- how does that not conjure up memories? And then on the other hand it's Wanda, who has the ability to manipulate memories and impulses, who is basically the organic version of what Dreykov did! AND she's the one who brought back Red Room memories Nat clearly didn't want to deal with during Ultron and clearly hadn't processed by this point! How fucking confused must Nat's feelings about Wanda be at this point? She's simultaneously what Nat wants to protect and what Nat wants to protect from, and she's sitting there immobilized in prison in a fucking straightjacket.

And then we have Clint and Scott, which, OKAY. I was talking to @sidewaystime about which Avengers Alexei and Melina mirror (it was an EXCELLENT conversation, it gave me a lot of feelings, but I digress), and she pointed out that Alexei considered himself trapped during the assignment with Nat and Yelena and was complaining about how terrible it was even after (we assume) over a decade in a literal Russian gulag, while we know that Steve and Nat rescued Wanda and Sam but Scott and Clint were both willing to stay behind and deal with the government because they'd rather risk jail than not see their kids again. Like repeatedly through the MCU, Clint and Scott explicitly and repeatedly choose family over everything, immediately after Nat had to confront the people who threw her and Yelena away two decades ago and also had to confront the fact that she essentially did the same thing to Yelena. And here's Scott and Clint representing exactly what she wishes had been done to her, and/or that she'd done!

And all of this, all of this, is stuff none of them know. Given that in Endgame both Steve and Clint assert her only family was the Avengers, she never let them know the foundation of her world had been this shaken and they were all embodying parts of that to her! And she was presumably just putting those feelings in the Feelings Box where we work very hard to pretend they don't exist, while she's piloting a plane and waiting for a group of superheroes to re-board it from the prison, which has to bring back feelings from both Yelena holding the plane while she gets Alexei and from when she was fucking ten years old flying to Cuba with her dad surrogate on the wing with a gun and her mom surrogate bleeding out.

Even Sam, who probably prompts the least trauma for Nat (his closest mirror is Yelena, not Alexei or Melina) and who has the best idea of how to interact with other human beings, who would probably be respectful of triggers, has no idea she even has these triggers! So it's not like anyone can protect her, because she's not giving them the necessary information to do so and so it's all just ENDLESS MINEFIELDS.

Literally everything from the end of Civil War hurts more now!

Just imagine if any of that had been intentional.

#allofthereplies #Anonymous #Black Widow movie spoilers #BW spoilers #Cap3 spoilers #The Raft #Natasha Romanoff #Cap3 critical

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not-majestic-bluenicorn · 3 years ago

Text

Cravity’s League of the Universe Theory UPDATE

Season 3 Hideout: Be Our Voice & The Awakening: Written in the Stars

Hello! My name’s Ori and I write k-pop theories and fanfics and today I’m revisiting my Cravity theory cause apparently I didn’t update for Hideout Season 3 even though I thought I had lol This is going to be a mini update since there isn’t much to add, but let’s get right into it.

Arc 1: Hideout Season 3 Main Plot Points

During the prologue of Season 3 we finally get to see more about Woobin, Seongmin and Minhee. At the beginning they hear their names being called by Wonjin, who’s probably using his power to convince them to meet the others. Then we get to see a little of their private lives.

First Woobin is studying in his room when he spots a dead butterfly and revives it. He then tries to take the elevator to leave his apartment building but he ends up getting too scared and gives up; the instagram account also confirms his fear of elevators. He then presumably leaves to spend some time at the arcade. From Minhee, we get to see how carefully he cleans and takes care of his room, making sure even the smallest object is in place, before his alarms sound and he has to get ready to leave.

[Gif: Woobin picks up a dead butterfly, the scene cuts and we see the butterfly flying again.]

Seongmin is at the bus stop at night, waiting for it. We know from the Instagram posts he doesn’t want to go home so ends up choosing to go to the arcade and he forgets his cellphone. Minhee finds the cellphone and upon touching it discovers Seongmin’s plans and goes to meet him there. At the arcade, Seongmin struggles to play with the dart, but when he closes and opens his eyes again, suddenly he’s nailing every single shot.

[Gif 1: Minhee picks up Seongmin’s cellphone at the bus stop and has a vision of Seonming playing with darts and failing all his shorts.

Gif 2: Seongmin is at the arcade playing darts, he closes his eyes and after he opens them he does a perfect shot.]

Minhee arrives during this and gives Seongmin his cellphone, which is when they notice they both have similar stones. Woobin also notices this and joins them. They notice Seongmin’s injured hands and Woobin heals him, revealing his power to them.

[Screenshot: Woobin standing with his back to the camera. His arm is up as he shows Seongmin and Minhee his stone.

Gif: Woobin grabs Seongmin’s injured hands in his and his hands start to shine as he heals Seongmin. The scene fades to white with the light coming from his hands.]

After a cutscene, we see the other six at their hideout. Wonjin is explaining that Seongmin and Minhee are a year younger than them and that Woobin is his and Hyeongjun’s classmate. He also mentions already calling them and Allen adds that he’s dreamt of them as well. Finally, the three of them arrive and introduce themselves.

[Instagram screenshot: A picture of a table with pictures of Minhee, Seongmin and Woobin sprawled on it. The caption reads “The friends from Allen’s dream that he talked about. Friens that Allen introduced to me. I’m sure they could hear my voice will they? Finally today! #photo taken by Hyeonjun

Screenshot from Epilogue: The nine members sitting around a table in their hideout.]

In the epilogue, they’re all spending time together at the hideout. Wonjin and Taeyoung are talking. Seongmin is repairing something for Hyeongjun. Serim, Jungmo and Minhee are with Revue when Jungmo tests Serim’s power by asking him what is the color of the third cloth in his wardrobe. Serim correctly guesses it’s a purple hoodie. We also confirm Jungmo’s ability to communicate with animals. Finally, Woobin is asking Allen if he can predict which team will win tomorrow’s game, to which Allen responds that’s not how his power works, before they’re interrupted by Seongmin asked to be healed by Woobin.

The scene cuts to them playing a board game. Taeyoung tries to cheat by freezing time but Hyeongjun discovers and stops him. Suddenly, Allen looks up and all the lights around them begin to turn off before they look at the camera and the final light goes out. Then, Allen wakes up to Woobin calling him. Finally, in the Hidden Film we see all but Seongmin and Minhee celebrating their graduation.

[Gif: The members look around as the lamps they were using for light start to turn off on their own.]

What is happening?

Before we update the character profiles let’s talk a little bit about what’s going on. First of all, they’ve finished reuniting and Hideout is over just as we had predicted. This means the stasis stage of the story is over and now we need a trigger. While I think that The Awakening: Written in the Stars is sort of a little break while they work on the next part of the story, because we didn’t get any films or updates on the Instagram account, I also think that the title has more meaning to it than that.

First of all, the simple phrase “the awakening” already feels like a trigger because the word itself alludes to the start of something. I also think it might be literally referencing Allen waking up from the vision he has in the Season 3 Epilogue. Yes, I’m pretty sure the whole last scene is a vision, and while it’s a little different, it does preserve that 4th-wall-breaking aspect we’ve seen in some of his visions before, so it’s not a stretch.

What does this mean for them? Well, simply put, danger is coming, and whether they like it or not, they might have to start learning real soon how to better use their abilities. To be honest, I’m still not sure Starship is gonna go full superhero on them, because most of their powers are very passive, but we’ll see!

Updating the profiles

Now that we know a bit more about our last three characters, let’s summarize what we know and then make a list with their powers.

Minhee

He is an extreme perfectionist, to the point that every single thing must have its place and it seems that he has a very detailed routine to keep order in his room. We can also see that he has quite a lot of alarms that establish the order of his day. He doesn’t seem to have an adverse reaction to disorder though, and simply seems to enjoy the act of keeping his space clean and perfect, because we don’t see him do that with the hideout.

[Instagram screenshot: A picture of a perfectly organized shelf with the caption “Neat and tidy. Finished cleaning up my room.”]

Seongmin

Seongmin hates being home, to the point we don’t even get to see his house in any of the videos. He doesn’t mention it in the videos but he’s pretty verbal about it in the Instagram posts. It is quite likely he has a bad relationship with his parents and he seems to wander around a lot. He is also extremely prone to getting injured apparently. Someone help the lost puppy.

[Instagram screenshot: A picture of Seongmin sitting on a bench at a bus stop with the caption “Not yet... don’t wanna go home like this, should I go there again?”]

Woobin

Woobin lives in an apartment complex and he seems to be a good student. The one thing that definitely stands out about him is his fear of using the elevator. It’s still unknown if it comes from any particular elevator-related trauma or if maybe he has major claustrophobia caused by something that isn’t specifically related to elevators. However, he’s pretty terrified of them and although he’s been trying to overcome it, it hasn’t worked for him at all.

[Instagram screenshot: A picture of Woobin’s hand as he presses the button to call the elevator with the caption “Please, just for today...”]

The powers

Finally, the list:

Serim - People-focused psychometry, he obtains information about others, seemingly by accessing their knowledge and memories. So far his ability has only been seen with the members.

Allen - Precognition through dreams, he has dreams in which he’s able to see the future. All dreams seem to be tied to the members so far.

Jungmo - Animal Telepathy, he’s able to understand and communicate with animals.

Woobin - Accelerated Healing, so far we’ve seen him heal small injuries and bring back to life small creatures.

Wonjin - Telepathy, he can communicate with others through the mind, even if they’re far away. So far his ability has only been seen with the members.

Minhee - Future-focused psychometry, this one is still in doubt since we’ve only seen him use it once, but he seems to be able to see the future of the person who last touched the object.

Hyeongjun - Legit, no idea, what is your deal, child?

Taeyoung - Time stopping, he’s able to completely stop time for everyone else except Hyeongjun. He can continue moving and doing things normally when he does it.

Seongmin - Enhanced accuracy and precision, again this one is still in doubt since we’ve only seen him use it once, but he seems to be able to perfectly nail every shot he makes.

Conclusions

Cravity might actually be in danger, depending on what Allen’s vision meant. One thing is for sure though, the story is starting to move forward. On the other hand, someone help me with Hyeongjun, I accept suggestions.

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sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 3 years ago

Text

Once again, I’ve done that thing where I get progressively more annoyed the more I think about a scene in a comic book (yes, this blog really deals with the important, hard-hitting issues), and that’s how I now feel about this scene.

Under a cut, because I have too many thoughts.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that Pyro is getting some small taste of character development, and maybe the beginnings of a redemption arc. I’m all for that! I appreciate this line being in there. But it’s clunky dialogue for both Iceman and Pyro, and for Pyro, especially, it comes out of nowhere. Bobby has at least had some build in in earlier issues showing that he’s starting to become more vicious, especially the scene in Savage Avengers (during King in Black) and his revenge-for-Kate maiming of the soldier.

There has been no indication up until now that Pyro has any kind of regret over his past actions (at least not in Marauders, although he did show back regret when he was dying of Legacy), or that he’s starting to learn some kind of “better way” from the X-Men. There have been no little suggestions of Pyro starting to embrace the Marauders’ mission, or to start to realize that you don’t have to kill people to win. (He does say that in the Storm-centered issue, while relating a flashback of something that we didn’t actually see happen in the books originally). Pyro has just been bopping along with the group, merrily burning things and getting into fights and drinking, and he suddenly announces that he’s been rethinking his old ways. It’s actually kind of odd that Marauders is the group that leads Pyro down this path, because they are generally more vicious than X-Men usually are – you’ve got Lockheed maiming people, and Kate solidifying a rifle through two soldier’s legs. In fact, given the maimed soldiers coming after them as new Reavers, and Verendi continuing to cause trouble, I’d expect Pyro to be arguing that mercy doesn’t actually work – their enemies keep coming back strong than ever.

So I don’t know where Pyro’s change of heart is actually coming from? It’s like this character development has been happening in the background, and Duggan suddenly gave us a little glimpse of it, rather than actually showing the readers what’s been happening the entire time. Like I half expect Pyro to also suddenly announced that he, Iceman and Bishop are now in a three-way poly relationship, and also they all helped Shinobi deal with his father issues while beating up Fenris, so that’s why Shinobi is so friendly and cooperative with the group. You didn’t actually get to see it happen on panel, but trust me, it happened!

And the idea of Pyro and Iceman on opposite character arcs, with Bobby becoming more aggressive and no longer holding back, while St. John learns restraint, is potentially very interesting! But we’ve barely seen any of this in action. As I’ve said before, Pyro’s supposed role as the loose cannon of the group is mostly an informed trait, he hasn’t really been shown getting out of control or crossing the line. It would have been interesting to contrast Bobby and Pyro’s different fighting styles, to show how they are rubbing off on each other (yes, innuendo intended).

Actually, I have a whole list of little ways that Duggan could have seeded Pyro’s “redemption arc” far in advance, so that he doesn’t just awkwardly blurt out things like “I think this group is bringing out the best in me.”:

- Pyro actually getting out of control in battle and having to be reined in, not just being frequently reminded of the “no kill” rule. Obviously he couldn’t step too far out of the line without being kicked off the team, but something like Pyro starting to indiscriminantly torch a building, only for Emma to stop him because she senses that there are civilians hiding inside. Then Emma can mentally yell at him for being careless. Pyro maybe reflects and feels a little bad, because he will happily kill the hell out of soldiers, but he doesn’t want to accidentally kill bystanders.

- Storm (or even Callisto) having a “talk” with Pyro about restraint, and how he can work more effectively in battle by using his fire to carefully target enemies rather than just flame-throwing all over the place (although sometimes his “shock and awe” method works, too).

- Someone like Emma or Bishop actually talking to Pyro about his tendency to jump straight to “kill” when he’s angry. When Pyro wants to kill Yellowjacket and burn the Verendi kids, he just comically dismissed by both Magneto and Emma. It would have been interesting to have someone actually talk to him about it. I’m not looking for a therapy session, but something like Bishop pointing out that leaving Yellowjacket alive to “escape” will be more effective in the long run, etc. etc. Instead Emma just leaves Pyro standing there, just to reiterate how unimportant he is in this book.

- More contrast between Bobby and Pyro’s fighting styles, especially near the start of the book, with Pyro obviously more vicious and aggressive, while Bobby is holding back. Maybe have let the boys talk about the use of violence, and whether it is justified. This doesn’t have to take up much room, it could be like one page of after-battle discussion, or even little comments during battle. Then we could also see their styles gradually change as they come to like and respect each other.

- Pyro actually having to face some of the horrifically burned victims that he has maimed (or family members of those that he has killed). I know the Reaver confronting Bobby was part of Duggan’s “Bobby is turning into a badass” arc, but I think it would have been meaningful to have one of the Reavers be a soldier that Pyro has burned. (In fact, none of the Reavers seemed to be soldiers that Pyro, specifically, had injured, which is odd given his status as the supposed “violent loose cannon” of the group.) Duggan could have actually done both, and contrasted Bobby and Pyro’s reactions. Bobby is defiant at maiming a soldier that he thinks had a hand in killing Kate. Pyro is confronted by a soldier that he burned (maybe while the soldier was even trying to surrender or run away), and reflects that he may have gone too far.

- Pyro giving some indication that he is starting to care about the Marauders’ mission beyond just a job, and a fun excuse to drink and fight. You’d think Pyro might have some warm fuzzy feelings about delivering medicine to people, given his slow, painful death from illness. And maybe feeling empathy for sick humans would show Pyro that he can feel some greater empathy for humans in general. We do see Pyro put a comforting arm around Proteus when the Moira McTaggert hospital is unveiled in Madripoor, so I’ll give Duggan that (even if that gesture also feels like it came out of nowhere).

- Pyro receiving praise from people that he has rescued, and basking in the attention. Pyro has in the past been written as a show-boating attention hog (and Duggan even reflects that in his “funny” fantasy of Pyro being greeted by an adoring crowd on Krakoa, not that I think Duggan actually put the research in). During his Freedom Force days, Pyro seemed to get into the idea of being a “hero,” and is very cocky and cheerful when saving Longshot and some kids from a dinosaur. I think Pyro likes being perceived as a hero, and getting attention, even if he isn’t really a very heroic person. So show Pyro getting thanked by a mutant child or a little old lady that he’s saved. Show Pyro feeling touched and gratified by that, since he spent so long as a bad guy.

- Pyro talking about saving Senator Kelly. Does he regret it? Does he stand by his actions? Is he completely disillusioned by Kelly’s death shortly afterwards? Or is he happy that he at least managed to change Kelly’s mind. Pyro probably wouldn’t bring it up himself, but I’m surprised that no X-Men have said anything to him about it.

- Pyro talking to his old Brotherhood pals about his experience on the Marauder, maybe showing how his way of thinking is changing, arguing that the X-Men aren’t so bad, and that their “non-violence” can actually get things done.

This sounds like a lot, but even a few little moments or bits of dialogue could have gotten slipped into fight scenes to build up to Pyro’s changing attitude, rather than just have him announce it out of nowhere.

Of course, the series isn’t finished. Duggan might have some really interesting development planned for Pyro in future issues! But I hope that if he does, it’s actually seeded early on and develops organically, rather than coming out of nowhere. 21 issues in, I’m not optimistic. The sad thing is, I like some of the “funny” things that Duggan has done with Pyro. I like him gambling with Bishop, Shinobi and Bobby at the Gala. I like his bet with Storm. I even like him biting Batroc. I just wish he would treat the character as something other than an afterthought, and I wish we saw more of Bobby and Pyro’s newfound friendship and development, because it could be genuinely interesting if they actually got some proper time in the spotlight!

In conclusion, I should change my URL to @constantlysaltyaboutmarauders, because that’s all I talk about these days.

#pyro #st john allerdyce

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cinaja · 3 years ago

Text

Before the Wall part 53

Masterlist

A/N: It's been four weeks since the last chapter. I'm sorry for the delay. Life kind of got in the way, but hopefully, I'll have more time to write now.

----

Dear Kiko,

I hope you won’t mind me writing to you out of the blue. We hardly know each other, after all, but Drakon said you wouldn’t mind.

I have a request, and since you study magic at the university, I thought you might be able to help. I was wondering if you might know a way for someone to contact the deceased, or if you might know where to find something about it in one of your libraries or elsewhere.

All I would want is one conversation. A few minutes, that would be enough. I realize that this is an unusual request, but it would mean a lot.

For obvious reason, I would appreciate your discretion on the matter. I hope we’ll be able to meet in person again some time. We never did actually get the chance to truly talk to each other.

Yours,

Miryam

PS: Drakon says hello and sorry for taking so long with his reply to your letter. The Alliance is keeping us both quite busy at the moment, I hope you understand.

----

Dear Miryam,

I hope you know that this is my tenth attempt at writing this letter, mainly because I do not know how to address you. I hope I’m not being informal, but, well, you’re married to my best friend, so maybe this is fine. If it’s not, I’m sorry.

Regarding your request, I am afraid I will have to disappoint you. There is no way to talk to the deceased, and if there is, I never heard of it. All I have been able to find records on in the library were resurrections, and even for that, information is scarce. Most of what I could find was more myth than fact, and as for the little bit of concrete information, there was nothing I could recommend to you. I realize I am in no position to tell you what to do and I hope you don’t see this as me crossing any lines, but I urge you in the strongest way possible: Stay away from resurrections. There is always some price attached to that sort of thing, and I do not think you want to find out what it is.

I am sorry for your loss, I truly am. And I understand why you might want this. But some things cannot be undone – you just have to learn to live with them.

Yours,

Kiko.

PS: Tell Drakon not to stress himself over the letter. You’re all very important and very busy, I get it. Since I’m far less busy, though, I might come visit for your Autumn Festival, then we can talk in person.

And seriously. Stay away from the resurrections. They are a very bad idea.

----

As it always does, the world moves on with dizzying speed, carelessly forgetting any tragedy within days. For all that Miryam wants to scream, wants to rage at the world for forgetting about Jurian so quickly, she can’t stop it. And loathe as she is to admit it, she, too, simply doesn’t have time to dwell on past tragedies. Not when there is the end of a war to organize.

The war is truly moving towards its end now, and there seem to be a million of things to be done, all of them immediately. The Loyalists seem to be reluctant to surrender, although their defeat seem unavoidable now, and the Alliance is currently trying to end the war with as little casualties as possible. Miryam sincerely hopes she won’t end up being one of those casualties, but all she has time to do about that at the moment is to do her job as well as possible and hope it will be enough.

Today, that means trying to find a way to get the Spring Court to surrender without a fuss. It should be no hard task, given that the Alliance managed to completely isolate Spring on Prythian in the past months, and Hybern, its biggest ally, is too busy dealing with internal struggle to assist. Unfortunately, Miryam has yet to meet a single Loyalist country that surrendered easily. Besides, Miryam still has the humans left in the Spring Court to consider, and make sure that they won’t end up caught in the crossfire. Shey and most of the other Fae don’t seem to care much about that, but Miryam does.

Standing on a lush green hill, Miryam looks down at the pretty white manor below. Roses are growing in the gardens surrounding it, all in full bloom. Miryam would have considered the land beautiful if she hadn’t been able to make out the figures working on the fields surrounding the manor. Human slaves.

The anger rushing through Miryam at that thought is unproductive, so she pushes it down.

“Disappointed that there are no mountains for you to blow up nearby?” Helion teases. He got chosen as her escort for today, mainly because the council felt it would be good to have someone from Prythian there for the negotiations. “But don’t worry, if it’s necessary, you can just settle for the manor.”

Miryam rolls her eyes at him, but the comment does manage to summon a smile to her gace “Are you ever going to let that go?” She asks as she starts walking down the hill and towards the manor. Their guards – the council’s reaction to the incident in Tehne and Prythian’s general disregard for Continental rules – follow a few steps behind.

Helion grins. “You nearly dropped a mountain on me,” he says. “I’d say I deserve some teasing.”

Miryam already has a teasing reply ready, but by now, they are in hearing range of the guards at the manor’s gates, and she instead schools her face into neutrality. The guards at them as they approach, and Helion replies with a cheerful wink at them.

Miryam settles for a smile that falls somewhere between polite and cold. “I believe your lord is expecting us,” she says. “Would you be kind enough to lead the way.”

The scowl of the nearest guard deepens, and as he inclines his head, he looks like she asked his to jump into a bucket of piss. He complies without a comment, though, turning briskly and stalking over the white gravel pass towards the manor. Miryam follows after him, Helion falling into step next to her.

High Lord Cadell of the Spring Court is waiting on the steps leading up to the manor. He’s dressed, thematically fitting, in spring green with golden embroidery, his blond hair adorned with a crown of flowers. His face is tight, mouth pressed into a thin line. Miryam offers a polite smile and the barest nod, even though she isn’t exactly in the mood for politeness.

“High Lord,” she greets.

He doesn’t return the greeting and only gives Miryam an accessing once-over, then turns her attention to Helion.

“Lord Helion,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

Helion offers a small smile of his own. “Not long enough for you to learn manners, it seems.” He turns to Miryam. “Your Highness,” he says, “meet High Lord Cadell of the Spring Court. High Lord, Princess Miryam of Erithia, leader of the Alliance.” He pauses, as if considering, then adds in an exaggerated fake-whisper, “I know Continental politics aren’t your strong suit, but you ought to know that she’s pretty important there. You should probably treat her like it.”

Cadell’s pale cheeks turn a furious red at the implication that his impoliteness was simply ignorance of Miryam’s station. His green eyes dart back and forth between Miryam and Helion, as if he is trying to come up with a reply but failing miserably.

Behind him, Miryam can see the manor’s foyer. Figures are standing by the walls. Human slaves, Miryam realizes, waiting for and order by their owner. A tight knot forms in her stomach as she turns back to Cadell.

“Are you planning to make us negotiate your surrender standing on these steps?” She asks.

Cadell’s hands curl into fists, and Miryam is sure he desperately wishes he could hit her. Being talked back to by a human is probably a new experience for him, and he doesn’t appear to be enjoying it.

“Come on in, then,” he snaps, voice biting. Without waiting for a reply, he spins around and stalks up the stairs and into the manor.

Miryam leaves all but two guards behind as she follows him, and the two guards that do stay with her and Helion are more for show than anything else. Helion has a shield firmly in place around the two of them, and should it come to a fight, Miryam is confident she can beat Cadell.

The High Lord leads them to a small, private study. He doesn’t have any advisors with him – apparently, he doesn’t want anyone around when he has to surrender to a human. Three chairs have been set out, and Helion pulls Miryam’s out for her before she can. She nods her thanks to him as she sits down. Cadell, still scowling, sits down on the opposite end of the table.

“Let’s get straight to the point, then,” he says.

By all rights, he should have first thanked Miryam for taking the time to meet with him and then followed it up with some pleasantries before slowly approaching the point of the meeting. He didn’t even offer refreshments. On the other hand, Miryam doesn’t particularly care for false pleasantries from a slave owner. At least his insolence sets the proper tone for the meeting.

“Of course,” Miryam says. “I assume you received the letter where I notified you of the terms the Alliance demands.”

“I did. And to make this clear right off the bat: I will not surrender part of my territory, most certainly not to these mortals.”

“Won’t you?” Miryam asks lightly.

“No.” Cadell leans forward on his table, face red. “These mortals are citizens of the Spring Court, and this is where they will remain.”

“You mean they are property,” Miryam corrects. “If they were citizens, they would be allowed to refuse work and leave the court as they please according to Prythian law.”

Cadell scowls, unwilling to meet her eye. He doesn’t manage to hide how much it irks him to have this discussion with a mortal. “If the Alliance insists, I will free them. But only under the condition that they remain here, in Spring, as workers.”

Miryam arches an eyebrow at him. “You realize that changing the label on slavery won’t make me like it any more, don’t you?”

“Your preferences aren’t high on my list of priorities,” Cadell snaps in a brilliant show of failed control. “I’m not going to let these mortals leave, much less just hand them part of my territory, and if you don’t like it, I suggest you get used to it.”

Helion snorts softly but leaves it to Miryam to reply.

“You seem to misunderstand the purpose of this meeting,” she says in a too-soft voice. “This isn’t a negotiation, you don’t get to make demands. You are surrendering because you don’t have a choice, because you are hopelessly outnumbered and backed against the wall, and I am here to accept that surrender.”

“But without my agreement, there won’t be a surrender at all,” Cadell shoots back. “You need me, and if you want me to play along with you, you better meet my demands.”

Miryam allows herself a smile. “That’s where you’re wrong,” she says. “I don’t need you. The Alliance doesn’t need you. We’ve already won the Spring Court, and there are more than a few people on the council who think it would be easier to simply kill you, kill your sons and put that youngest boy of yours – Tamlin, isn’t it? – on the throne. A seven-year-old would make a wonderful puppet ruler, don’t you think?”

Cadell is gaping at her like he can’t believe what she is saying. His face turns from red to white startlingly quickly. Then, inevitably, he turns to Helion, as if he is expecting help.

Helion merely shrugs. “Why are you looking at me?” He asks lightly. “I’m not even on the council. If you want to save your ass, High Lord, it’s her you should turn to.”

Miryam could have hugged him. It’s not unusual for the Loyalist Fae to try and ignore her in favour of whichever Fae accompanies her. It also happened when she was sent to Xian last week – only then, the Fae who had been sent along with her dismissed her just as much as the enemy leader did, which certainly made it more difficult for her to assume authority and get Xian to accept the surrender.

Cadell turns, unwillingly, back to Miryam. “You can’t kill us,” he says, more outraged than worried.

“Oh trust me, we can.” Miryam gives him a small smile. “But I don’t want that, don’t worry. I don’t like unnecessary death – which is your luck, since the council won’t choose to kill you without my say-so.”

In fact, the council won’t choose to kill him at all, with or without Miryam’s say-so. Killing the royal family of the Spring Court was never even up for consideration. The entire council – Miryam included – agreed that it would be unwise to have the leadership of a surrendering court executed this early on. Smarter to show leniency, make the remaining Loyalists realize that if they only agree to end slavery and play along with what the Alliance wants, they will get favourable conditions for their surrender.

Miryam is bluffing. She is bluffing with incredibly high stakes, because for all the self-assured act she is putting on, if Cadell doesn’t agree to her terms, she won’t have a sure way to get the humans out of Spring safely.

“And what is it you want,” Cadell asks, each word biting, “in return for your generosity?”

Miryam turns to Helion, who snaps his fingers and makes a contract appear on the table between them. “First of all, I want you to sign this,” she says. “It includes your official surrender to the Alliance, as well as an assurance that the Spring Court will never again own humans as slaves. All slaves currently in the Spring Court will be officially freed, compensated and then sent on their way to a new territory that will be formed on Spring Court land and is to be under independent human jurisdiction.”

Cadell laughs. “And you think I’m just going to agree to this?”

“Since I assume you are rather fond of being alive: Yes, I think you will.” She smiles slightly. “So that we don’t misunderstand each other: You are useful to me for precisely one reason, and that is that I assume you’ll be able to ensure that the humans here will be able to leave your territory and settle into their new homes safely. If you aren’t able to do that, I have no use for you, and I’ll tell the council to have you executed.”

Cadell tenses. Miryam thinks it might be the threat of execution, but his problem seems to be something else entirely. “Of course I can assure that if I want to,” he snaps. “I’ve got my country perfectly under control, I’ll have you know that.”

Miryam exchanges a glance with Helion, whose mouth twists into the barest hint of a smile.

“That’s good to hear,” Miryam says. “Then I can assume that you will be able to make sure the humans in your territory will be able to leave it safely. Should one, just one of them, die, I will assume it was intentional on your part and see you executed.”

Cadell tenses. “What?” He asks.

“Maybe your oldest son will do a better job. If not, then he dies and his brother gets to try his hand. And if he doesn’t manage that, then I am sure whoever the council decides to put in as regent for your youngest boy will manage. We were considering Helion – that way, he’d get some practice at running a court before one day taking over Day.”

Thankfully, Helion doesn’t show the surprise he must surely be feeling, since there was never any talk of handing Spring to him. “Sure,” he says with a dazzling smile. “I told you: Just skip the formalities and put me in charge right away.”

Cadell looks between them, mouth slightly agape, like he can’t believe what he is hearing. “You can’t…” he stutters, clearly enraged at the notion of having his court given to the heir of the Day Court. “You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?” Miryam asks lightly. She leans forward on the table and tilts her head to the side as she watches Cadell. “Tell me, My Lord, do you beat your slaves?” She asks. Her voice echoes throughout the room. “You seem to be the type who does, the type who punishes even the slightest mistake and delights in the suffering you inflict on others. Why would I, who grew up surrounded by monsters like you, not want to see you dead?” Miryam holds his gaze for a moment longer, then leans back in her seat. “You might wish to provide me with an answer for that question,” she adds. “If you make me think about it for too long, I might come to the conclusion that there isn’t one.”

Cadell doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything for a nerve-wreckingly long time. He simply stares at Miryam. For want of better things to do, she stares back.

If this bluff doesn’t work out, she will be done for. She needs him to agree to the contract now, or she will be left emptyhanded and looking stupid. It will become clear that she doesn’t have the power to have him executed whether she wants to or not, and then, she might as well hand the negotiations over to someone else because her credibility will be damaged beyond repair. Not to mention how the council will react if she returns without anything to show for, or what it might mean for the humans here if these negotiations go wrong.

“The High Lord is also close personal friends with Amarantha,” Helion adds into the tense silence. “His sons fight in her army.” He winks at Cadell. “You know how Miryam feels about Amarantha, don’t you?”

Cadell’s eyes widen in something like panic, and Miryam sees her chance. “You know what,” she says to Helion, “you are right.” She reaches out to grab the contract. “We’ll do it your way.”

Her fingers barely brush the paper of the contract before Cadell all but rips it out of her hand. “Wait!” He shouts, then lowers his voice. “Boiling Cauldron, I’m signing. I’m signing, alright?”

For a moment, Miryam wishes she truly had the power to have him executed. He would deserve it, she is sure of it, and she hates that she will have to allow him to remain in charge of his court.

“Wonderful,” she says, hoping he doesn’t hear her racing heart. That was close. Far too close. “In blood, please. It’s binding.”

Miryam is the one to tell the humans working in the manor. They don’t seem to believe her the first time around, something which Miryam understands all too well – she certainly wouldn’t have believed it in their place. If she remembers correctly, she only fully realized that Drakon was letting her go after he had left her alone in the desert.

“You’re free,” she repeats, over and over again, squeezing hands and patting people on the shoulders. She doesn’t know what else to say, and it’s all that really matters anyways.

Eventually, her words seem to register with the listening humans. Some cry. Some fall into each other’s arms, others drop to their knees. Miryam walks around, pats shoulders, tries to find words of reassurance. She stays for a few hours, talking to people, helping the humans choose their leaders and instructing them on what the next steps will be. She would have stayed longer, but they are, as Helion reminds her, on a schedule. The Alliance came up with clear rules for this visit: Three hours, and if they aren’t back after that, it will be an army that goes looking for them.

So Miryam says her goodbyes, including a sharp reminder to Cadell of what she will do to him should any of these people be harmed. Any anger she felt over him getting away unscathed has been momentarily eased by seeing the people she just freed, a reminder of what it is she’s fighting for.

With one last look back at the humans who are standing in a tight group in the centre of the foyer, Miryam turns and walks out of the building.

As they walk over the gravel path towards the border of the grounds, Helion grins at Miryam. “Congratulations. That was a damn-near perfect surrender you achieved.”

Miryam returns the smile. “Thank you,” she says, and does her best to ignore the voice in her mind that whispers that it won’t be that easy with Ravenia.

Bluffing her way to the Spring Court’s surrender, or getting the Xian empress who had lost one child and had the other taken prisoner only days before, had been easy. But Ravenia won’t fall for simple bluffs, and there won’t be any personal tragedy to ease her resolve.

“Nice bluff, by the way,” Helion says, before her thoughts can spiral further into worry.

Miryam winces slightly. “Sorry for the lack of warning. It wasn’t my original plan.” Helion waves her off, and Miryam adds, “I’d appreciate if you kept silent about my strategy during that negotiation, though. It would be best if the council didn’t find out about that detail.”

“It was a bluff,” Helion points out. “They’d understand.”

“Probably. But I’ve had some trouble with people misunderstanding my actions lately.”

And she really doesn’t want to see how certain members of the council would react to her pretending that she has the power to simply order the execution of an enemy royal no matter what they might want. Maybe they would understand it was a bluff – or maybe they’d see it as her assuming authority she doesn’t have.

They have reached the edge of the manor grounds now, and as soon as they pass the edge of the wards. Helion winnows them and their guards back to Telique. They land in one of the palace gardens, and Helion turns to face her.

“Do you want to go out for a drink?” He asks. “Celebrate your success.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” Miryam says. “The Autumn festival is today. I’ll just report on our success to the council, then I’m off to Erithia.”

“Oh, a party. Nice.” Helion grins. “You’ll like the Autum festival. The food is great.”

“I’ve heard.”

“Well, then. Have fun.” Helion winks at her.

“Will do.”

Strictly speaking, she won’t be at the festival for fun. Her presence is a political requirement, and it will likely involve lots of small talk with basically everyone in attendance. Still, she is looking forward to it. Most members of Drakon’s court – her court, too, now – are pleasant to be around, and what she heard of the festival does sound like it will be fun. Besides, it’s the closest she comes to an afternoon off since… well, since her marriage day, come to think of it.

Miryam makes it back to Erithia by midday, with an hour to spare until the festival begins. If she still had to change clothes, it would be too short a timeframe, but fortunately, she was smart enough to already put on her dress for the afternoon for the negotiations in the morning.

She finds Drakon in his study. He is also dressed for the occasion, clothes red and gold and brown like a forest in autumn. When Miryam enters, he is bowed over a table, frowning down at the documents strewn out over it. Miryam reads the worry on his face easily.

“What’s wrong?” She asks.

Drakon nods towards the papers. “I don’t like how some of these armies are moving.” He jumps to his feet and walks over to the map table. “Here, look.” He points first to part of the Black Land arms stationed at its northern border, then at Vallahan’s army, currently further east. “They are both on the move.” He picks up the figures and pushes them towards each other.

“Many soldiers,” Miryam says. Thousands. Ten thousands, actually.

“And close to our border,” Drakon adds. “Call me paranoid, but with the Black Land involved in this…”

“Yeah.” Miryam frowns down at the map. Expending soldiers to attack a single country at this stage of the war seems stupid, and she has never known Ravenia to be stupid. On the other hand, she has never seen Ravenia actually losing, and therefore has no idea how she reacts to that. Maybe her way of reacting to failure is to completely throw all sense to the wind. “We should bring it up with the council,” Miryam says. Frowns. “Tomorrow. Today, we can’t do anything about this either way.”

Well, they could do something, but Miryam would have to call an emergency meeting. The council would likely have her head over making a fuss without any concrete reason and the people of Erithia would be concerned over them missing the festival. Needlessly concerned, probably, since the odds are that this is just her and Drakon both being paranoid.

Miryam absentmindedly runs her fingers over the red embroidery on her sleeves. Red embroidery. That’s what she gets for not being able to talk her wishes for her dress through with the seamstress. (It wasn’t even her fault she missed the appointment, an emergency meeting with the council got in the way.) Just a month ago, she wouldn’t have cared either way, but lately, red embroidery always makes her think back to Jurian’s funeral.

She shakes her head, trying to chase the memory away. Fun. She is supposed to have fun today. It’s her first afternoon off, and she will enjoy it.

Drakon seems to have come to the same conclusion. With a sigh, he looks up from the map. “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask: How did Spring go?”

“The surrender is signed,” Miryam says. “Cadell agreed to let each and every one of his slaves go – with any compensations of their choosing – and sign a contract guaranteeing that Spring will never own slaves again.”

“That’s wonderful.” Now, he smiles and squeezes her hand.

I’m worried it won’t go like this for the other countries, though. Certainly not for the Black Land, Miryam thinks but doesn’t say it. For one afternoon, she will let her worries be worries and simply live.

She forces her thoughts into a different direction. “The other humans were so happy when I told them.”

She takes Drakon by the hand and together, they walk through the palace. As they do, Miryam tells Drakon about what happened during her negotiation with Cadell. By the time they reach the field just outside of the city gates where the celebration will be held, Miryam is done with her account of what went down in Spring and her mood has become significantly better. Some things probably just feel far better looking back, once the stress of the moment is gone.

The field is freshly harvested, only little stalks remaining of the wheat that grew her. Another tradition, as Miryam has been told. Since the Autumn Festival is kind of a harvest festival, it is usually held on wheat fields. Of course, it is also a festival for Daín, who is one of the Fae’s most important religious figures. Miryam finds the connection a bit strange, but she isn’t exactly well-versed in faerie religions, so there might be something she is missing.

Up until a month ago, she didn’t even believe Daín existed – or the Mother, for that matter. Having been to Cretea and met the man who killed Daín, she had to change her mind on that, but that still doesn’t mean she’s about to start worshipping them as gods. Still, as long as it’s not being used as an excuse to enslave her people or sacrifice them to the gods, she doesn’t actually mind Fae religion. At least what she hears from Drakon seems pretty decent.

“What does Daín have to do with a harvesting festival again?” She asks, leaning in to Drakon so that the people surrounding them won’t hear the question.

She is nearly certain that he told her already, during one of her nightly sessions where he tries to explain all the things she needs to know as Princess of Erithia. The problem with those sessions is just that they are, well, at night, and sometimes, they are both tired enough that they hardly manage to keep their eyes open. If Miryam remembers correctly, she was particularly tired the night they covered Fae religions and her memory of the conversation is sketchy at best.

Drakon doesn’t seem to mind. “The Mother was inconceivable. And, well, she created this world for the creatures living in it, so that they might live happily, but that doesn’t mean that the people could easily understand her intentions.” He shrugs. “But Daín, he was Fae at first, and after he became the Mother’s consort, he set to work on making the world understandable for its inhabitants. He came up with the calendar and the measuring system, and –“ he points at the field surrounding them – “he revolutionized agriculture.”

Miryam grins. “Hence the connection to harvest.”

“Yep.” Drakon takes her by the hand and pulls her towards the long table that has been constructed right on the field. It is near-bursting with all kinds of dishes, most of which Miryam has never even seen before. “And hence the brilliant food.”

----

One of the things Drakon likes best about the Autumn Festival is that for the duration of the celebration, everyone is exactly the same. There are no class divides, no protocol to watch out for. In fact, people are actively encouraged to mingle with people they don’t usually get to talk to.

Drakon ends up sitting next to a baker from the city called Shili. They are a bit flustered in the beginning, but get over it quickly enough. It turns out their wife is working as a captain in Sinna’s army, and that some of the cakes on the table today were created in their bakery. Shili doesn’t seem decided on which fact makes them more proud.

They pick up one of the cakes, red and shaped like a flower, and hold it out to Drakon before putting it down on their plate. “The dough needs to be kneaded and folded a hundred times,” they say, and when Drakon looks surprised, they start explaining the process.

After a while, a blacksmith sitting on the other side of the table joins the conversation and soon, the topic turns to the art of creating Seraphim steel. Drakon does his best to talk to each of the people sitting close to him at least for a bit, but after a while, most people are done eating and start moving around, so his conversation partners keep changing on their own.

Drakon quickly loses track of time. He only notices how late it already is when Miryam sits down on the bench next to him, making him look up and realize that the sun has already fallen almost behind the tips of the nearby mountain range. The people around them incline their heads to Miryam in greeting, some even jump to their feet and bow. Miryam returns the greeting with a nod and a smile.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she says, turning to Drakon, “but I was wondering if you’d like to go for a dance.”

Indeed, people are already dancing on the fields all around and in the air above. Several hours ago, musicians started playing at the far end of the field, and they kept at it for most of the afternoon.

“Of course,” Drakon says, getting up. He inclines his head to the people surrounding them. “It was wonderful to talk to you. I hope we’ll get the chance again sometime soon.”

He links his arm with Miryam’s and together, they walk over to the dancing floor.

“I was going to ask an hour ago already,” Miryam whispers, nudging him in the side, “but you were so deep in conversation I didn’t dare interrupt.”

“Sorry,” Drakon says, although he doesn’t think Miryam actually minded. She is smiling so brightly her eyes seem to sparkle. Drakon smiles to himself, glad that she actually seems to be enjoying herself.

The musicians are currently in the middle of a fast-paced song, and Miryam pauses by the side of the dancefloor. “Not quite my pace,” she says.

Drakon nods. Miryam is a good dancer, but some Fae songs are written for people with Fae speed, making it impossible for anyone who isn’t fully Fae to keep up.

The next song is slower, though, and together, they step out onto the dancefloor.

“I was speaking to one of the priestesses earlier,” Miryam says, voice lowered slightly. “We ended up talking about Daín and she mentioned how he got murdered by one of his closest friends.” Drakon nods and she continues, “And, well, I didn’t want to ask the priestess because I didn’t want to start a discussion, but I was wondering if there was any reason you know of.”

“Ambition, I think. And arrogance,” Drakon says. “Gh – I mean the witcher who killed Daín was a follower of the Mother before his betrayal, and him and Daín were close friends. But over time, he became arrogant. He started looking down on the Fae and thought himself above them because of how close he was to the Mother and Daín, and he began to want more for himself. He was no longer content with simply serving a goddess and instead wanted to become a god himself. He thought it was his right, and so he used Daín’s trust in him to steal his sword and kill him.”

“And that was his only reason?” Miryam asks. She doesn’t bother to conceal her doubt.

“It’s the way the stories tell it.”

Even as he says it, the words feel hollow. He’s known Ghost for several years now, and he doesn’t seem to be greedy the overly ambitious type. And he doesn’t much like the Fae, yes, but not because he is arrogant. Besides, given Ghost’s stance on slavery, Drakon has been wondering for quite a while if there might not have been more to him stealing the sword than meets the eye.

“Did you ever ask?” Miryam asks.

Drakon shakes his head. He wanted to, but it isn’t exactly easy to discuss these things with Ghost. “You could try, though,” he says. “He’ll be more likely to answer if you ask.”

Miryam nods. “I will,” she says.

They keep dancing through the next three songs, and conversation turns away from Daín and Ghost. The third song just ended and they are both catching their breath when Nephelle appears between them.

She grins at Miryam. “Can I steal you for a dance or two?” She asks.

“Sure.” Miryam squeezes Drakon’s hand once before letting go and stepping back onto the dancefloor with Nephelle just as the musicians start playing the next song.

Drakon lets himself drop down to a bench and reaches for a glass of blue juice. He has just taken the first sip when someone sits down next to him forcefully enough that he nearly spills his juice. Drakon barely manages to keep his glass steady and turns around to the newcomer.

“Kiko!” He grins. “I thought you said you weren’t going to make it!” At least that’s what he said in his last letter, and Drakon didn’t know anything had changed about it.

“I’ve only got an hour,” Kiko says. “My parents aren’t exactly pleased that I bailed out on them on such an important occasion, but they could do little to stop me, and I promised I’d be home in time for the services. But we haven’t seen each other in forever.”

Spontaneously, Drakon throws his arms around Kiko and hugs him. “I’m so happy you’re here,” he whispers.

They haven’t seen each other since the wedding, and then, they hardly had time to talk. There are letters, of course, but Drakon rarely finds time for those, and anyways, letters aren’t the same thing as talking face-to-face. Before the war, they met at least once a month – and before Drakon became Prince, they saw each other daily. He misses that.

“How are you doing?” Kiko asks. “You look tired.”

Drakon shrugs. He looks around to see if anyone is in listening distance, but the seats around them are deserted. Chances are the other guests are keeping a distance on purpose, not wanting to intrude on a private conversation. Drakon turns back to Kiko. “It’s just a bit stressful at the moment,” he says. “Getting everyone to agree on a treaty is a mess, and trying to come up with what will happen after the war is worse. But at least everyone agrees that it will only be a few months, maybe half a year now.”

“That’s good,” Kiko says. He reaches across the table and picks up one of the sweet coconut cakes. “This war has been going on for too long already. I don’t know how much longer I could take this.”

Why? A very small, very petty part of Drakon thinks at that. It’s not like you are fighting. But that’s a stupid thought, ridiculous and useless, and he pushes it away. It’s not like the only people affected by a war are the ones fighting in it, and he never held it against Kiko that he didn’t volunteer to fight. Kiko and fighting never did fit together. (The same goes for Drakon and fighting, but it’s not like there was anything to be done about that.) The annoyance vanishes as quickly as it came, and Drakon thinks that he really must be getting too little sleep if he got worked up over something like this.

“Yes,” he agrees. “I just want it all to be over.”

Kiko nods. He takes a bite from his cake. Chews on his lower lip. He is unusually quiet, and Drakon is a moment away from asking what is wrong when he finally breaks the silence.

“I wanted to talk to you about…” He winces. “Well, first off: I didn’t get to tell you in person yet, but I’m sorry about Jurian. Truly. I never met him, but he sounded like a great man.”

“He was.” Drakon tries hard to ignore the weight that suddenly seems to press down on his chest.

Kiko nods again. “I hope you are doing alright,” he says. “And, well… I hope you and Miryam aren’t pursuing any… less-than-smart plans. Particularly in regards to any resurrections.”

Ah. So that is why he’s being so jumpy. Apparently, he didn’t find Miryam’s reply to his letter convincing enough.

“We aren’t. No need to worry.”

Kiko still doesn’t seem particularly reassured, which is strange since they both know that lying isn’t exactly one of Drakon’s talents. “I’m serious,” he insists. “Even if you should manage, there is always some kind of price to this sort of magic. Resurrections are not something you should just mess around with.”

“We aren’t,” Drakon repeats. “I would lie if I said we never considered it, but…” He shrugs. “We didn’t know if Jurian would have wanted to be resurrected or not. So we couldn’t…”

It had been Drakon who had come up with the idea, three days after Jurian’s funeral. It had been a rash idea, not really thought through, and Miryam had been quick to find the flaw in it: Even if they could resurrect him, which is far from certain, they might not be doing him any favours. Human culture views death different than faeries do, they are far more accepting of it and far less inclined to mess around with it. Miryam said that she probably wouldn’t mind resurrection herself if it was done almost right away, but neither of them knew how Jurian would feel about it, so it was off the table.

“I’ll admit, this was not the reasoning I was hoping for, but at least you’ll stay safe,” Kiko says.

Drakon does his best to chase the thoughts of Jurian away and almost succeeds.

“What makes you think we wouldn’t?” He asks, trying to steer the conversation away from Jurian. “Have you ever known me to be anything but reasonable?”

“Not you, but…” Kiko hesitates. “Please don’t take this as an insult, Miryam picked a fight with the most influential country on the Continent at what – eighteen? That kind of excludes being particularly reasonable. And that’s even without taking into account the stories they tell about her.”

“What stories?” Drakon asks, suddenly curious. He never bothered to find out what rumours are circulating about Miryam or him, but now that Kiko mentions it, he wants to know.

“Oh, lots of them.” Kiko grins. “Did you know that some of the Loyalists claim that she sold her soul to some ancient monster or god in exchange for her power.”

“Well, that’s just petty,” Miryam says from behind them.

Kiko yelps. Drakon, who felt her approaching a moment before she spoke, merely grins and shifts to make space for her on the bench.

“Hello Kiko,” Miryam says and smiles at him as she sits down. For once, she seems genuinely happy, and he is glad that she didn’t hear their conversation about Jurian. “I’m glad you could make it.”

Kiko’s red skin is quickly moving towards purple. He glances frantically between Miryam and Drakon. “He asked,” he says. “Drakon wanted to know…”

Drakon grins down at his hands. He can count the times he has seen Kiko this nervous on one hand – once, he thinks, after he accidentally set fire to the hem of the principal’s coat. But come to think of it, he has never seen Kiko having to interact with one of the high-ups in Continental politics, either.

Miryam waves him off, grinning. “Oh, I don’t mind,” she says. With a wink, she adds, “But for the record, I did not sell my soul to any higher power, good or bad. If you ask me, that’s just a bunch of Loyalists trying to talk themselves out of the fact that they are being defeated by a human.”

“Probably,” Kiko agrees. He already seems to be back to his usual confidence, now that he remembered that Miryam actually likes him. “This isn’t even the most outlandish of the rumours about you, though.”

“Oh, I know. I think a couple of years ago, people in one of the western Loyalist countries – I don’t remember which – were claiming I wasn’t a person at all but some evil spirit that was trying to wreak havoc on the world.” Miryam shrugs. “People come up with the wildest tales.”

Kiko nods and Drakon abruptly decides he doesn’t want to know what other stories people might be telling about Miryam. Or about him. It is kind of funny to listen to those stories knowing they are wrong, but it gets far less amusing when you realize that there are people who actually believe them.

Maybe Miryam feels the same way, because she changes the subject to Kiko’s life at university. Kiko promptly launches into a story about the project he is currently working on and how his professor nearly blew up the classroom during a demonstration.

“Of course, he didn’t get into any trouble at all for it,” he adds, “Apparently, magical accidents are only a problem when they happen to me.”

“Or maybe there is a small difference between almost blowing up a classroom and actually blowing up the new laboratory,” Drakon suggests.

“Traitor,” Kiko mutters and Miryam laughs.

Kiko’s allotted time for the visit is up far too soon and he has to excuse himself to return home. “I’d stay longer,” he says, “but you know how my parents are about services. If I’m late, they’ll be angry for at least a month.”

He hugs Drakon goodbye, and, after a moment’s hesitation, turns to hug Miryam as well.

“Come visit again sometime soon,” Drakon says, clapping Kiko on the shoulder one last time. Kiko nods, waves at them and walks off through the crowd.

Miryam leans against Drakon’s side. “Do you miss university?” She asks.

Drakon hesitates for a moment, then nods. Yes, he misses it. He misses the lessons and discussions, and the free afternoons spent on grounds with the other students. But most of all, he misses the lightness, the carelessness. Back then, he never knew to properly appreciate it, but looking back, it was a privilege to be able to live without any kind of responsibility.

“It was easier,” he says. “Less pressure.”

Of course, there were assignments to complete, but those were usually fun and it certainly wasn’t anything like being in charge of an entire country during a war.

“But with everything that’s going on, I don’t think I could have kept studying there either way,” he adds. “I don’t think I could have… I mean, it’s not judgement of the people who are still there, I understand, but I think I would have wanted to do something to help with the war.”

Miryam nods. “I understand, I think,” she says. “I also miss working as a healer.”

A few hours later, the festival begins to slowly calm down. The music stops and a crowd forms around the huge pyre that has been erected towards the edge of the field. Loud laughter and talking are replaced by quiet conversations, people shuffling closer together to make space for everyone.

Drakon stands at the very front, Miryam on one side and the Erithian High Priestess on the other. Neither him nor Miryam will have any active role to play in the following services, but tradition gives them the place of honour next to the priestess.

Once the crowd has fully settled, the High Priestess steps forward. She is wearing a red dress, the colour so deep it seems almost brown and woven out of the bark of a rare tree growing towards Erithia’s centre that makes it glow in the beginning dark.

“My friends,” she begins, “today, we have gathered here to celebrate the end of another successful harvest season, and to give thanks for what we were blessed with by the Mother.”

Drakon glances over at Miryam. She has her hands clasped behind her back and is watching the priestess intently, head tilted slightly to the side.

“This has been another year of war,” the priestess continues, “another year of struggle. The harvest has taken losses, but it is still enough to fill the storages, and so we thank the Mother for creating this world that gives us all we need to for living, and we thank Daín for giving us the knowledge to use it.”

The speech continues on for half an hour. Then, the priestess reaches for the torch that has been planted in the ground next to her feet. Next to Drakon, Miryam flinches ever so slightly, the movement only noticeable because she is standing to close to him. Drakon digs his fingers into the fabric of his coat as the priestess steps forward and holds her torch against the wood of the pyre. Drakon watches the flames lick up the wood and tries not to let his discomfort show. As a child, he used to love it when the pyres were lit, but these days, it only ever makes him think of death and funerals.

“Now, to honour Daín and all he did to catalogue this world,” the priestess continues, “let us each give one important date of the last year over to the flames so that it may be remembered by history.” With that, she pulls a folded paper out of the hem of her robes and throws it into the flames.

Drakon goes second. Slowly, he takes the piece of paper he prepared in the morning out of his pocket – it seems to weigh far more than any piece of paper has a right to – and throws it into the flames. Miryam follows his example. Then, they step back to make space for the next.

People begin to form a long line, stepping towards the flames one after the other to throw their papers in, each containing a note about one occasion in the last year that they hope will be remembered. Miryam seems to have already caught herself; her face is perfectly composed as she watches the proceedings.

“What did you write about?” Drakon asks softly without turning to face her.

“Jurian,” Miryam answers. She is still watching the people who are throwing their papers into the flames, and her face remains politely curious, but there is no mistaking the sadness in her voice. “You?”

“Me too,” Drakon says.

The pyre ceremony marks the official end of the festival, but many of the attendees stay long past it. As soon as the last person threw their paper into the flames, the musicians started playing again, and people returned to their dancing and eating. In other years, Drakon stayed past midnight, too, but today, it only takes one shared look between him and Miryam for them to agree that they will retire early. The pyre ceremony brought with it far too many memories of Jurian and left neither of them in a very festive mood.

Arms linked, they slowly walk away from the celebrations and back towards the city. Their guards follow several feet behind, well out of hearing distance.

“I don’t think I feel like going to bed already,” Miryam says.

Drakon nods. By all accounts, he should be tired since he barely slept the last few nights, but right now, he wouldn’t be able to sleep either way. His last conversation with Jurian is replaying in his mind, and it will just get worse if he lies alone in bed.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” He asks. “Somewhere quiet.”

Miryam nods. “Our usual spot? Then we could also use the chance to visit our friend there.”

“Good idea,” Drakon says. They had planned on visiting Ghost yesterday, but they had to cancel their plans because Miryam had to prepare for her meeting with Cadell and Drakon went over his proposal for the council together with Andromache. “I’ll go clear it up with the guards.”

“You’re back earlier than I thought.” Ghost’s voice appears a moment before he does. His dark hair falls almost to his shoulders today, and his eyes stand a bit further apart than usual.

“We needed a break,” Drakon says, glancing over at Miryam. Her mood seems to have lightened significantly since they arrived on Cretea. “And we had some time. It’s the festival of…” He trails off awkwardly, remembering a moment before he says the name that Ghost was the one who murdered Daín. He winces slightly. Well, this is awkward. “The Autumn Festival,” he finishes somewhat lamely.

“Ugh,” Ghost says, wrinkling his face in a way that doesn’t quite manage to replicate an actual grimace. It looks more like a piece of paper is being crumbled. “You’re still holding festivals for him? Don’t you have better people to celebrate?”

Drakon frowns at him, but doesn’t know what to say. Of course Ghost, who murdered Daín, didn’t like him. He could have figured that much out himself. It was stupid of him to bring up the topic.

“Who would you celebrate, then?” Miryam asks. She sounds genuinely curious, and Ghost immediately seems appeased. He really does like her.

“There was a woman I knew once,” he says. “Her name was Rashida. She would deserve a festival in her name.”

Drakon never heard that name before, and now, he is curious as well. “Rashida?” He asks, hoping Ghost will explain who she was. If Ghost knew her personally, she must have lived many millennia ago.

“Yes.” Ghost smiles at Miryam. “You would have liked her, I think. She was just as stubborn as you are.”

“I prefer determined,” Miryam says lightly. Drakon laughs. “What was she so stubborn about, then?”

Ghost smiles, almost fondly. Whoever this Rashida was, Drakon realizes he must have genuinely liked her. “Oh, many things,” he says. “She was Queen of the Black Land, you know?”

Miryam tenses immediately. “Very funny,” she says in a tone that makes it very clear that she finds this anything but funny. Drakon frowns at Ghost. It is unlike him to make such tasteless jokes.

Motions jerky, Ghost lifts his hands, as if in surrender. “She was human,” he says.

Both Miryam and Drakon freeze. Miryam catches herself more quickly than he does, and echoes, “Human? But…” She shakes her head. “The Black Land is Fae. It has always belonged to the Fae.”

That was Drakon’s understanding as well, and he always made a point to know as much as possible about the early days of their world, if only because of his family’s involvement in that time. But because of this, he also knows that the historical records of those days are far from complete, and that the past has the unfortunate tendency to be coloured by the interests of people in the present. So what Ghost is saying is… well, it certainly isn’t impossible.

Ghost lets out a harsh laugh. “Nothing in this world,” he says, gesturing vaguely, “has always belonged to the Fae.”

----

Miryam’s head is spinning. She heard what Ghost said, but she doesn’t quite manage to process it. The implications are too big, too world-changing. Miryam spent her entire life hearing that the current state of the world is natural. That, ever since that Fae’s goddess created the world for them, the Fae ruled and the humans were property. But now…

A human Queen of the Black Land. The world not always belonging to the Fae. It changes… Well, in the grand scheme of things, Miryam supposes it changes nothing at all. Even if this world had been made for the Fae, she would still fight for her people’s freedom. But it is still a validation of sorts, to know that her people have as much of a right to this world as the Fae do.

She turns to Drakon, grinning. He smiles back at her and squeezes her hand.

Still, she needs certainty. Needs more information.

“What do you mean?” Miryam asks. Her voice sounds raw and scratchy.

“Let’s just say that the Fae weren’t always kings and queens of this world. And humans certainly weren’t always slaves,” Ghost says. “But Rashida lived in a time when slavery had already spread throughout most of the Continent.” With a wink at Drakon, he adds, “And yes, Étaín was still around at that time. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions from that.” Drakon’s smile dims a little, but Miryam still has her full attention on Ghost as he continues. “Rashida was a slave herself for several years, until she escaped. She united the human states in the area that is now the Black Land and became its first queen.”

Miryam tries to imagine it – a Black Land ruled by humans. But no matter how hard she tries, all images that will come to her mind involve Fae parading through their beautiful palaces, humans in shackles, humans bleeding and dying. She feels a stab of pity for Rashida, whose country some ancestor of Ravenia’s must have stolen and turned into the nightmare it is now. She wonders if Ravenia knows that her country is built on the bones of a human civilisation, that her precious ancestors are no more than thieves.

Maybe she’ll tell her one day.

“When was that?” Drakon asks. He seems almost as excited as she is. “In the year one thousand? Two thousand?”

“I’m surprised you don’t know,” Ghost replies lightly. “Her and your ancestors had dealings with each other quite frequently. Although I suppose ‘dealings’ is a pleasant way to put her storming Erithia and chasing your ancestors out of the region for the next couple of centuries.”

“What?” Drakon asks.

“Well, that’s what happens if you try to own people as slaves, right?” Ghost shrugs. “Rashida wasn’t any happier about it than Miryam is, and I believe she did show your ancestors just that.”

Drakon doesn’t reply. He looks shocked, like he can’t quite belief what he is hearing. Miryam doesn’t entirely understand what is so unbelievable about it, but right now, she has bigger concerns.

“You said she united human states,” she says. “How… I mean… Would you tell me?”

Ghost nods and begins to talk. Miryam listens, trying to commit each word to her memory, still not quite believing that this is real. This is her history. A history that goes beyond death and suffering and slavery, some precedent of humans fighting against Fae and succeeding.

Only in the end, they must still have lost. “How long did it last?” She asks softly, not quite wanting to hear the answer but knowing that something must have happened to make things to change from the world Ghost describes to the one she knows.

But Ghost’s form darkens at those words. “I don’t want to talk about that,” he says. Then, without giving her a chance to reply, he vanishes.

Miryam stares at the spot where he was standing until a moment ago, shaking her hand. “Still, thank you for telling me,” she tells the empty air. She never quite figured out where Ghost goes when he disappears, but maybe he still hears her. “It truly means a lot.”

Then, she turns to Drakon. He looks… well, he looks like he’s unhappy about something, but trying hard not to show it. It confuses Miryam. She supposes she understands that it’s not pleasant to hear a story where your people are the villains, but it is still strange for Drakon to react like that. She had thought he’d be as excited as she is about the news about human history, not moping around because the Fae were once again the bad guys in the story, or because his country got an apparently well-deserved ass-kicking several millennia ago.

It is unlike Drakon to react this way. And Miryam doesn’t like it. But maybe she’s misreading.

“Do we want to go outside?” She asks. “We could take a walk. Give Ghost some peace.”

Drakon nods, not quite meeting her eyes. “Sure,” she mutters.

By the time they left the cave, door closed safely behind them, Miryam decided that she was indeed wrong: Drakon isn’t acting strange because he is upset over what Ghost said, but because he somehow seems to expect her to be upset with him. No matter how hard Miryam tries, though, she can’t figure out why he would think that.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, because it’s probably better to clear this up right away instead of leaving whatever-this-is standing between them.

“What?” Drakon asks, flinching slightly.

Miryam sighs. “If you were upset, I could understand why.” Although she certainly wouldn’t like it. “But you are acting like you expect me to be angry with you, and I really don’t get it.”

Drakon starts tapping around on his leg. “I’m sorry,” he says, which just confuses Miryam more since she has no idea what he is apologizing for. “I didn’t know.”

“I never thought you did,” Miryam says. She is getting more bewildered with each moment. How would Drakon have known that the Black Land was originally human?

“Yes, but…” Drakon shakes his head. “I just… I didn’t know my ancestors… I thought they were…”

Miryam blinks. Does Drakon really worry that she is angry with him over something his ancestors did almost ten thousand years ago? She knows that the Fae put a lot of stock into ancestries and who is related to whom, but even knowing that, this sees rather outlandish.

“Drakon,” she says, shaking her head slightly, “I am never going to be angry with you over something that happened ten thousand years ago, no matter whether the person who did it was related to you or not.” And she can’t help but feel that the only reason why they are having that problem is that Drakon can even trace his family back that far. Most people simply wouldn’t know if some asshole who lived millennia ago happened to be related to them. She sighs and reaches for his hand. “You aren’t a good person because your ancestors were. Whether they were saints or monsters has no bearing at all on what kind of person you are.”

Besides, she never thought that all of Drakon’s ancestors were good people. She gets that he did – pretending your ancestors were generally on the right side of history seems to be a thing most royal families do – but she never had any such illusions. She always thought that Erithia was likely involved in slavery at one point in history, and even if they weren’t, standing by and allowing it to happen elsewhere isn’t that much better in her eyes. And then there is the matter of Drakon’s father who was, as far as Miryam can tell, definitely not what she’d consider to be a good person. She isn’t going to bring that up, though, not when Drakon is just beginning to look a bit less stressed.

“Oh.” He runs a hand through his hair and smiles, clearly relieved. “I thought you might mind. Because you married into my family and all.”

Miryam is about to say that no, of course she doesn’t mind, but then, that wouldn’t be entirely honest. “If it had happened in living memory,” she says, “I think I would have minded. Not because of your ancestors specifically, though, but because I wouldn’t have wanted to rule over a country of former slave owners.” She hesitates, considering whether she needs to say something comforting or not. “You’re alright?” She asks, just to be sure.

“Yes of course.” Drakon shakes his head. Now, he seems angry with himself. “I’m sorry. You really don’t need to comfort me about this, that must be awkward for you, I’m…” He throws his head into the air. “Sorry,” he repeats.

Miryam doesn’t entirely feel like he needs to apologize this much, but at this point, it seems best to just change the subject. Fortunately, that’s what she wants to do anyways, since Drakon’s ancestors ten thousand years ago having been assholes was honestly the least interesting part of what Ghost told them.

“Alright,” she says. “So, about the rest of what Ghost said…”

“Yes.” Now, she finally gets the reaction she had been hoping for earlier. Drakon grins and reaches for her hand. “As soon as we are back, I’ll ask for some books from the library. Maybe we’ll find some historical records on this Rashida, or anything about that time.”

“If there were any, don’t you think we would have heard?” Miryam asks. Her heart is beating giddily fast and it takes quite some self-control to keep from jumping up and down in excitement.

“Well, not necessarily,” Drakon says. “There might be some historical documents or ruins that have been deliberately misinterpreted by Fae historians. But if we know what to look for, we could find something. And if we do, we could pass it on to some historians, see it published. And when news get out…”

“It would mean so much,” Miryam finishes for him. “I mean, the Loyalists would probably deny it, but for us…” She smiles, shaking her head. “It would mean to much,” she repeats.

----

A/N: I feel like I could say this after every chapter, but once again: A huge thanks to @croissantcitysucks for their help with and contributions to this chapter. Rashida was their idea, as well as large parts of the entire Ghost/Daín/the Mother story and the culture surrounding it and Before the Wall wouldn't be the story it is without out conversations about it❤

#the next chapter will be up more quickly #i hope #before the wall #miryam #jurian #drakon

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the-ghost-king · 4 years ago

Note

Let’s!! Play!! A!! Game!!

I have developed a new personality typing system— are you a Piles Person, or do you live with someone who makes piles of their stuff?

Now, sort the PJO characters into Piles Persons or Lives With a Piles Person and Genuinely Hates It.

I'm a pile maker, I feel like this is a callout (I only pile clothes and art supplies, and everything has its place, but I still do it sometimes); also sorry I took some time on this I was thinking and it was a decent bit to write out

Percy -> He's a pile maker; he mostly only makes piles when it's school work and clothes. His school work goes in 2 piles, "done" and "not done" and whenever he has to move his pile for some reason, the piles get stacked together with a piece of paper in between so he can keep them separate and return them to their place on his desk or the dining room table when needed.

His mom doesn't really think much of it, sometimes she gets after him about his clothes piles but usually those are kept in baskets of "clean" and "not clean" so she doesn't worry too much. Paul just kind of got used to the piles (he's a bit of a pile maker too), Paul doesn't think the piles are too bad since Percy is a good kid and he's not dirty just a bit cluttery at times; if a kid who has saved the world multiple times is a little cluttery, so be it. Annabeth isn't bothered at all by it, she's a pile maker too; she'll sometimes fold Percy's clothes when it bothers her but only because he hates that part of the chore and she likes it.

Annabeth -> she's a pile maker; Annabeth also just makes piles of clothes and work, again she sorts into "clean" and "not clean" and she sorts by "done" and "not done" as well. Unlike Percy, her clothes piles are usually folded, but she hates washing clothes (Percy does that part because he doesn't mind). Her work is significantly messier though, her piles are all over the house, on the kitchen island, her desk, and the coffee table.

Her dad and her step mom don't have many thoughts on the situation since whenever Annabeth lived at home she spent her time trying to make herself as small of a nuisance as possible and therefore didn't make piles in order to avoid arguements. Percy doesn't mind except for when her architecture papers are all over the kitchen and he's trying to cook; then Percy just sorts her stuff into smaller piles on the dining table or something so she can just move them back to the kitchen and resume her work later.

Jason -> Not a pile maker, typically; Jason only really makes piles during his work time. Whenever he's working on something he'll move things in and out of various piles during his work, there's no organization system as an outsider looking in but he says there's some sort of process everytime.

His organization process doesn't affect anyone and even when making piles he's very neat, he's probably got file cabinets for literally every aspect of his work; and since he cleans up after he's done there's no reason to be bothered by anything he does. Thalia appreciated Jason's cleanliness when she was raising him, and Reyna appreciated how quickly it made the Senate run.

Piper -> She only makes small piles; Piper doesn't make piles to any large extent and there's no things that she constantly keeps in piles. For example if she's wearing jewelry and takes it off she might leave it in a pile on her dresser or nightstand for a few days but it does get cleaned up within a week or two depending on the items and her stress level.

Her dad doesn't care much because overall Piper is a good kid and little messes aren't really a big deal, sometimes if it's a large quantity of stuff in a shared space he'll ask her to clean it up but if it's in her room he doesn't care much. He's never really upset with her over the situation because after one or two reminders the stuff gets cleaned up.

Hazel -> She's not a pile maker; if Hazel makes piles it's just because she's cleaning something out and putting it somewhere else, or it's art supplies she's currently in the process of using. She's fairly cleanly overall, and she only occasionally makes piles, whenever she does it's similar to how Piper does so people aren't really bothered by it.

Hazel is known for being pretty organized and on top of things, she's very good at color coordinating, she keeps nicely organized binders with information she needs to hold onto, and she's really cleanly as well; that's honestly probably her downfall if anyone is bothered by her, she's a bit too clean about things sometimes. Anything she gets out is put away before she goes to bed at night.

Nico -> He makes some piles; his pile making process and extent is heavily dependent on his mental health, the worse of a place Nico is at mentally means the more piles he makes, but when he's in a good place mentally he doesn't make hardly any piles. When he's in a worse place mentally his pile process resembles Percy's, "clean/not clean" for clothes and "done/not done" for work and it tends to just make Nico's mental space worse since he generally dislikes clutter. When he's in a good place mentally he falls somewhere on the scale between Piper and Hazel, he leaves small piles of hodge-podge stuff for short periods of time but typically he's known for his organization and cleanliness as well, is he has any piles they're going to collect on his nightstand.

Whenever he's not doing so well and starting to make more bigger piles, Hazel, Reyna, and Will often step in to give him a helping hand with stuff so he doesn't get overwhelmed because having a cluttered space only tends to stress Nico out more and make him feel worse. When he's in a good place his piles only ever really bother Hazel, and that's really only because she is so on top of things, they form some sort of agreement that Nico's small piles on his nightstand and desk are acceptable.

Frank -> Doesn't make piles; Frank's pile style works pretty much like Jason, he only keeps piles whenever he's in the process of doing anything. Sometimes when he's being casual he'll make small piles like Piper, just little things here or there that aren't a huge deal.

Just through spending time with Hazel, Frank eventually stops making piles, she doesn't really make him or anything he just finds her level of cleanliness contagious in some manner. They end up developing really similar organization styles which means over time they tend to help one another clean up, it's one of those small acts of care that people show each other overtime, kind of like splitting an orange.

Leo -> He makes piles in certain situations; in his cabin/house he has some small piles of projects he's working on, it's a mixture of tutorials, research papers, and blue prints... Sometimes he stacks tool boxes or the little knick-nacks he owns, but for the most part he's very kept up. He especially keeps a close eye and is very organized when working in the forges, being messy in the forges could be dangerous so you've got to keep a close eye on all of your stuff (kind of like a chemistry classroom) in order to make sure nothing bad happens and goes wrong.

Overall Leo doesn't make piles and is generally well kept in comparison to most of the people around him, so nobody gives him a hard time over it. Calypso finds his small piles endearing because she spent so much time alone and his little collections of things and his piles of work remind him that she's not along anymore; sometimes if he makes a pile that happens to be in her way (this rarely happens) she can get a little bit annoyed but he's very good about cleaning up quickly when asked.

Reyna -> small piles are her guilty pleasure; sure, Reyna is super organized and very on top of her things and she takes good care of her stuff, but sometimes it's late and sue decides to take the easy route and be a little lazy. Perhaps instead of hanging her cape on a hook or folding it neatly she just throws it over the back of a chair for a few, she might set a dagger and her bracelets on her nightstand table instead of putting them in their appropriate drawers. Overall she's neat and organized, but she can sometimes have an attitude of "I'll deal with it in the morning".

Most people don't really know she's like this, she tends to have space to herself where people aren't normally at so there's no reason for them to know, she doesn't try to hide this aspect of herself it's just one of those things there's no reason for anyone to know. Nico knows about it only because they spend so much time together, but it doesn't bother him because Reyna is almost always neater than he is. Her and Hazel have spent a good amount of time together via Nico over the years, and her habits don't really bother Hazel either. Hazel is usually asleep before she makes her small messes, and if Hazel is up before her then her little messes are cleaned up before the day is over so it's chill. Jason wasn't ever really aware of Reyna's little messes, Octavian was but only because he was extra nosey.

Will -> (I'm adding him to the A-list fight me) he's not really a pile maker; Will doesn't make many piles, he's worked in the infirmary so many years... In medical situations even just a small mess can be a matter of life or death, so it's very important to him that things are kept neat and orderly. Although he tends to be fairly laid back about piles he can sometimes rival even Hazel in his need for cleanliness, he doesn't make a pile for anything.

He could probably bother some people with how neat he is, but most people try to cut him q little slack on the situation since it's a trauma response for him (the idea that he always needs to be doing more and doing better). The only person who Will doesn't mind being a little messy is Nico, Nico helps will relax a little bit on his cleanliness in a positive way where he's not stressed about everything being perfect constantly. The only time Will can get a little stressed with Nico's messes is when they get bad, but he's always really understanding and helpful of it because he knows Nico doesn't let things get messy unless he's not in such a great place so Will is capable of picking up the slack if Nico needs a few days, they're a good parallel for one another in that way.

#pjo #hoo #nico di angelo #hazel levesque #percy jackson #piper mclean #jason grace #will solace #frank zhang #reyna avila ramirez arellano #leo valdez #annabeth chase #asks #Headcanon #rethinkthesituation

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years ago

Text

Like My Mirror Years Ago

Hey, hi there, that gif doesn’t really have anything to do with the story! So, a couple days ago @shireness-says sent me this post and was like, “You know what you should do? Write some domestic Enchanted Forest with Killian unlacing Emma’s dress.” And I was like, “Yes, this seems like a good idea.” Only then, I didn’t write it. As I am apt to do. Instead here is some season 5A Camelot divergence set at some point between 5x02 and 5x04 with a conversation I have wanted to write forever, but didn’t originally plan on writing until I started typing it yesterday. And we do get to the unlacing, but first: angst in the form of nearly 5.3K.

Also, it should be known that the Google doc title of this was [Insert Hozier Lyrics Here] so if you’re looking for a soundtrack.

————

She knows the exact moment.

As soon as his breathing shifts ever so slightly, a hint quicker than it is when he’s actually asleep and, if nothing else, Emma supposes his inherent inability to lie is something of a victory. To her. Specifically. Or them. Collectively. Or that pesky future that feels as if it’s begun to drape itself across her shoulders.

That might explain the near-constant ache between her shoulder blades.

She resolutely refuses to accept any other reasons.

“You suck at that, you know,” she murmurs, not taking her eyes away from the piece of curved wood in her hands. Killian scoffs, and she doesn’t have to turn to know when he props himself up on his elbows either.

The creaking mattress helps.

Everything creaks a little in Camelot, another metaphor Emma isn’t particularly inclined to spend too long thinking about, but she’s got the growing suspicion that most of this kingdom is prone to making noise. As if it’s shattering right in front of her, tiny cracks that she’s not able to prevent, but that also might just be a commentary on her sanity at this point and—

She’s holding her breath.

Letting it out in a huff she tries very hard to make quiet, Emma knows she fails. Spectacularly. Another sweeping commentary.

“Unparalleled observational skills,” Killian says. With a smile. Smirk, probably. Emma still doesn’t bother looking, can hear the inflection in his voice and already knows how forced the even tone is. Seeing the inevitable arch of his eyebrow will only make it worse.

“Get me in a crow’s nest or something.” “What do you know about crow’s nests?” She shrugs, fingers still moving and the buzzing under her skin hasn’t ebbed much since she started, but there was something almost oddly peaceful about the pattern of Killian’s breathing when he was asleep.

In and out. Over and over. Simple and easy and consistent. Steady, even. Something about the tides or another nautical joke Emma isn’t willing to make.

The mattress creaks again.

As do the floorboards.

And she doesn’t shudder when his hand lands on her shoulder. She doesn’t stop this twisted arts and crafts project, either. She leans back, though — another passing victory and momentary return to normal, relishing the solid feel of his chest behind her.

Killian takes a deep breath.

“How long have I been asleep?” “Not long,” Emma replies, and one of the muscles in her neck isn’t all that appreciative of the current twist it’s in. She doesn’t move, feels as if it’d be admitting to something far bigger and she can’t imagine how he’s still so warm.

Like magic.

Not at all like magic. At least not the kind she’s used to now.

“Awfully vague,” he mutters. Accusation doesn’t particularly hang from the letters, but Emma hears it all the same. Can see it in the way Killian’s fingers tighten ever so slightly, like he’s trying to hold onto more than just her and her tension-filled shoulder blades, and he’d never unbuckled his sword.

Or taken his hook off.

He always took his hook off. Before. When they were—

Safe, Emma supposes. Emma supposes they aren’t that anymore.

“There was no point in you staying up just so you could stare at me with those sad puppy dog eyes and all of that palpable concern.” His fingers loosen. For the best, probably. Since it appears the laces of Emma’s latest Camelot-provided gown, which she hasn’t bothered taking off, are tightening. Enough to threaten several of her internal organs.

Laughter echoes softly around them.

Her.

Only her.

Reaching for another string that she’s only a little worried she’ll snap before she can use, Emma barely moves her arm before there’s metal around her wrist, and anger runs red-hot down her spine. She snaps her head around quickly enough to do damage to several other neck muscles, but Killian hardly flinches at her expression.

He lifts both eyebrows, instead.

So, there’s something to be said for a change of pace.

“We’ve a variety of things we can talk about,” Killian says, more forced lightness that grates on every one of Emma’s nerves, “Although I’ll admit I’m always partial to discussing the fascinating colloquialisms you’re in possession of.” “Can I possess the language?” “The knowledge of it’s—what’s the word? Slang?” Emma rolls her eyes. “That, at least.” “Oh, yeah, I'm the smartest person around.” “In this realm, certainly.”

Emma snorts, not any real humor in the sound, but her lungs work a hint better once Killian pulls his hook away from her. Licking her lips, she spins and neither one of them mention how close she comes to kicking him in a variety of potentially painful locations when she tugs her legs towards her chest.

His lips twitch as soon as she rests her chin on her knees.

There’s an absurd amount of fabric involved in this dress.

“What do a dog’s eyes have to do with the overall force of my worry?” Killian asks, and it’s not exactly funny. Just like whatever noise Emma makes isn’t exactly a laugh. Not when it scratches at the sides of her throat, and the tip of her tongue and honestly screw Camelot.

No ChapStick in other realms.

She keeps twisting her lower lip between her teeth.

“You shouldn't have let me fall asleep.” Her current eye roll rate is going to give Emma a migraine. Maybe Dark Ones can’t get migraines. That’d be something at least. “There really wasn’t any reason for you to be awake,” Emma says. “And I—” Killian tilts his head when she cuts herself off, something stupid like open book and knowing her and they might both be horrible liars. “I know you’re worried.” “Seems a given in this situation, don’t you think?” Another shrug. No eye roll, though. Small victories and whatnot.

And Killian has to readjust his sword to crouch in front of her. Emma very nearly laughs again. Or cries. She’s having trouble distinguishing emotions at this point.

God, but she’s exhausted.

Metal finds her wrist again, cool on her skin, but Emma’s mind barely has a chance to recognize temperature before she’s wholly preoccupied with Killian’s ability to cover both her hands with one of his. It opens up some fairly romantic ideas, all of them fluttering around her skull and under that same magic-prone skin, a slightly different energy that makes her feel light and heavy and—

Her neck gives up.

Leaves her head falling forward and crashing against Killian’s and he still doesn’t flinch. Even as he exhales again, air brushing Emma’s cheeks and the edges of her lips and she could come up with several better ways to use those lips. Something stops her.

Quite possibly the laughter.

That only she can hear.

“You’ll give yourself a coronary.” “Sounds unpleasant.” Emma doesn’t smile. Quite honestly, she’s not sure the muscles in her face are capable of doing that anymore. Still, something in the center of her flutters traitorously at what might be the most twisted instance of flirting they’ve had in their relationship.

Although there was that sword fight. And handcuffing him to the hospital bed. And him unlocking himself from the hospital bed. The Jello thing, too.

Emma figures that all counts as pre-relationship.

“I can’t imagine it would be,” she agrees. “But, uh—” “—Oh, if you say what I think you’re about to say, I will be very frustrated.”

It’s her turn to lift her eyebrows. “Will you just?” “I understand why Regina asked you to do what she did,” Killian starts, and it’s not the last thing Emma expects to hear, but it’s at least somewhere at the bottom of a list she hasn’t made yet. “And I understand even better why you did it. I also—” “—God, how much is there?” He nips at her nose, more out of place flirting that soothes some of...her, really. “This is it, I promise. I understand what it would be to feel that sort of desperation for someone you love. To be terrified of what will happen if you don’t act. Don’t do whatever you can. To fix all of it.”

Her throat collapses.

Her lungs disappear.

And there’s no more disembodied laughter, but the silence that stretches in the minimal space between them is almost worse, thick with unspoken meaning and heavy-handed allusions and Emma’s fingers are moving again. Before she’s entirely rationalized it. Brushing away strands of hair that’s almost getting too long, Killian’s eyes flutter closed at her touch.

“That’s not your job,” Emma whispers.

“Isn’t it, though?” “Falling asleep is not a failure, babe.” He scoffs, a quick click of his teeth and Emma hasn’t moved her fingers. He leans into her hand. “And yet here we are. At an impasse, of sorts.” “I thought we were having a conversation.”

“Not a very focused one.” “Ah, well you’re tired.” “And you’re a very good distraction,” Killian argues, not the insult Emma briefly hears it as. Even so, something almost like fear ripples across her skin. Latches onto the base of her skull and whatever neurons are clearly unstable and irrational and it only takes him a few moments to realize his mistake.

“I know that’s not what you meant.” He hums, nosing at the inside of her wrist. “What are these things you’re making, exactly?” “Dreamcatchers.” “Sounds nefarious.” “No, no, the opposite, actually. Legend said—well, God, it’s kind of shitty that I’m making them, actually. But, um...they’re supposed to keep nightmares away.” “Is it working?” “I’m not the one asleep,” Emma points out. “And repeating my question seems redundant.” Sticking her tongue out is quite possibly the least mature thing Emma could possibly do — particularly when she’s at least seventy-two percent positive the churning in her stomach is actually magic, but she does it all the same. If only to ensure that Killian’s lips move again.

She might be staring at his lips.

Might be is another very bad lie.

“Now you’re just trying to make me swoon with your own knowledge of the language,” she mumbles. “How’s it working?” “Better than it should.”

His lips move. Directly towards hers. Only to deviate at the last possible second, and Emma isn’t totally disappointed by that. Killian kisses the edge of her mouth. The curve of her chin. The bridge of her nose. Directly between her very pinched eyebrows.

“You know, I thought you were dead.” Strictly speaking, Emma has no idea where that particular string of words came from. The depths of her soul, probably. Some dark — or darker — corner where that very specific terror lingers. The way she swore her heart stopped, and breathing was secondary and part of her might resent him.

For making a joke of it.

“That wasn’t a real reality, love,” Killian breathes, and Emma can’t imagine how his knees are dealing with any of this. He’s ancient, he can’t have the best joints. In this realm or any other.

“Still happened, though.” “Aye, it did. And I’d—” “—Nope,” Emma interrupts, lips popping on the word like that will turn it into some kind of decree. Technically, she’s a princess. It should work like that. “I absolutely do not care. At all. Like, at all. I stood there and watched you die and—” Crying is apparently something she’s not capable of doing anymore either, and that’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to her, but it does leave her blinking faster than she’d like and she’ll have to come up with another colloquialism for the look on Killian’s face.

Abject devotion seems a little over the top.

“This is my fault.” Killian blinks. More than once. “How the hell did you get to that conclusion?” “You died, babe. I—I stood there and watched, and it was...it was you, but it wasn’t you and it didn’t even matter because it’s always been you and—” She’s rambling. Words spill out of Emma without her explicit permission, which seems kind of unfair all things considered. Nearly absolute power should allow her to be a better conversationalist than this.

The more things change, or whatever the saying is.

“The point is, we found Regina after that. Henry and I and...she wasn’t going to do anything. Was going to let Robin marry Zelena. But I—well, I told her that I’d just—” He doesn’t look away from her. Emma isn’t sure if that’s good or bad, far too much blue in his gaze even as the candles around them burn to the base of their wicks. She licks her lips again. Still chapped. “I told her that love was a part of all happiness. That...that she had to fight for it because I’d just—” “—Watched me die?” “Not as much fun when you interrupt me.” He makes a noise, a low rumble that tickles Emma’s cheek. “Apologies, my lady.” “You think you’re very clever.” “I think you’re the most incredible lass—” “—Oh, call me lass one more time and see how that works out for you.” “It’s a compliment,” Killian mutters, almost entirely into her skin and the few strands of hair that have come loose. “And you’re being rather distracting again.”

“Still waiting on the compliment parts of this, honestly.” He finally stands up, both of his knees cracking in the process. And Emma hardly opens her mouth to make some sort of misplaced joke about that before Killian is shaking his head and tugging her out of her chair and they don’t lay down on Camelot’s noisiest mattress.

They sit on the edge. Thighs pressed together and Emma’s fingers gripping his hook like some kind of lifeline, which it very well may be because they should have talked about this before, but there wasn’t time before and— “I love you.” Full-body shock, Emma finds rather quickly, is not nearly as uncomfortable as she assumed it would be. She’s imagined this going a lot of ways, loathe as she may be to ever admit such a thing. Most of the time they’re tangled in very soft sheets, or tucked into the questionably comfortable cot in the captain’s quarters of the Jolly, his fingers in her hair and that one specific smile that she’s only ever seen directed at her.

Not once has she imagined it like this.

Stuck in a different realm with a king that does not live up to the legend and something about the air in Camelot reminds Emma of Boston Harbor in the summer.

Salty and a little stale.

Her mouth goes dry and her pulse noticeably slows, turning her head to gape at him. That’s not romantic. That’s insane. This whole thing is absolutely and entirely insane and she can’t quite come to terms with the precise way he glances up at her.

From underneath those stupid eyelashes, that are both kind of dreamy and even more offensive and Emma doesn’t object when he pulls both her hands up. So he can kiss the bend of her knuckles. Like some goddamn pirate prince.

That helps a little bit, actually.

“What?” “I love you,” Killian repeats. “In a variety of different realities, it seems.” “No.” “No?” “No,” Emma echoes, resisting the very real urge to jump up and start pacing. Possibly cast a few spells. That’s the crux of her problem, though. So she does the only reasonable thing. Stays frustrating still and yells at her boyfriend.

Who doesn’t seem all that put out by this turn of events.

“Where do you think I should start?” “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about,” Emma admits with a snarl. “I...there is no way that deckhand version—” “—Oh, that’s also a little insulting.” “You’re telling me that you were in love with me in a fake reality?” Killian shrugs. It’s absurd as when Emma did it. “I’d hardly die for anyone, darling.” “Really way too confident in your ability to—” “—Ensure swooning?” “I will kick you,” Emma warns, but the sentiment lacks any real threat and she’d like to hear him say it several times over again. The I love you part, not necessarily guarantees of swooning.

“Please don’t do that.” “I’d have to stand up.” “Aye,” Killian laughs, “that is true. Although we are deviating just a tad now.” “From?” “How much I understand.” “Overblown confidence.” Tangling their fingers together doesn’t do much to help the state of Emma’s shoulders, but Killian’s hand is so warm and he’s so warm and, shoulder notwithstanding, every inch of Emma wants to curl against him and close her eyes and let him proclaim every ridiculous thought that has ever crossed his mind.

Regarding her. Specifically. And them. Collectively.

“An appropriate amount of confidence,” he corrects. “In regards to you, at least. Because it wasn’t the right reality, but...finding you, believing Henry, knowing that you could save all of us, that made sense to me. In a world where not much else did. That’s been the case from the very start, in fact.” She doesn’t reply. Knows she should, should say something else that proclaims a whole variety of things Emma isn’t sure she can follow through on, but her mind has already started to drift, eyes moving back towards the window and the dreamcatchers there and—

“Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you.”

“Happily ever after,” she sighs.

Killian squeezes her fingers. “A work in progress. But the fact remains that I am wholly,” he kisses the back of her palm, “irrevocably,” the side of her wrist, “completely,” her tattoo, “in love with you. And if you are going to believe anything, then I need you to believe that.” “Need?” “With my entire heart, Swan.” “Oh, that was good, actually.” He doesn’t pull away from her hand. Just looks back up at her, and Emma isn’t sure if she’s blushing or simply burning from the inside out, but both options seem feasible at this point. “She was desperate here because I told her she should be,” Emma says, “Regina, I mean.” “That wasn’t your fault. Love has a tendency to—” “—Make you desperate.” “And that wasn’t a question.” Emma makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat, more scratches and marks that she knows are far more metaphorical than literal and she should probably say something back. To Killian. About loving him.

Saying it under duress likely doesn’t count.

She meant it, though. And in the alternate reality. And every time she thought it before that.

She’s thought about it quite a bit.

“Suppose it didn’t have to be,” Killian muses, dropping his head to press a kiss against Emma’s neck. No goosebumps, that time. “I’m sorry that you didn’t know before.” “Ah, I kind of did.” “Still. It’s—” Pulling back is also at the bottom of that list Emma hasn’t made, but it isn’t often that she hears him quite so tongue-tied and there’s something oddly endearing about the red at the tips of his ears. “It’s something you should hear, as often as possible.”

“You’re on a roll.” “I’m serious.” “I know,” Emma nods, “and I—you know, for like a solid half second I was totally pissed at you when you showed up in the loft.” “What? Why?” “Making jokes.” To his credit, Killian does look more than a little scandalized. Wide eyes meet Emma’s, and his skin is paler than it was a few seconds before, but that might also have to do with the candles and their inability to burn for an entire night.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. ��I can only tell you I know so many times before it starts getting annoying, I just—I’m not entirely sure what I would have done if it was true. Torn the world apart, probably.” She’s not surprised by the sincerity in her voice. Conviction and another promise that seems to rattle the windows and Emma’s bones in equal measure. Killian’s eyes don’t return to their proper size.

“If you’re not careful, Your Highness,” he says, “I'll be the one swooning soon.” He catches her before she can swat at his chest.

“Idiot.” “Less so now, maybe. But I understand the sentiment. When you were—Gods, it’s entirely unfair to do it like this, isn’t it?”

“This?” He rolls his eyes that time. Emma appreciates the symmetry. “Despite assurances otherwise, I’m not a fool, Swan. I knew you wanted to say something in your parent’s loft and I remembered some of that alternate reality. But then, as always, another disaster. Another problem. Another reason for you to sacrifice yourself. And then words I’d waited to hear for far longer than I’d care to admit, but you were gone and it was—” Killian grits his teeth, a muscle jumping in his jaw, and Emma is an idiot. The biggest idiot. Supreme idiot. She should have realized. “Like a nightmare come true,” he breathes. “Staring at the spot where you were, like I could will you back. Like I could tell you how I loved you more than anything else. No matter what else would happen.”

Lunge is not the best word, but at some point Emma lost any previous control she had over the English language and she’s far too busy relishing Killian’s gasp of surprise when her mouth all but slams against his to be worried about anything else.

She tilts her head. Closes her eyes. Forgets to breathe. Emma forces herself into this moment and this feeling, lets it wrap around her and sink under her skin until it times up with the beat of her pulse and—

The magic in her veins shifts. Rushing from the top of her head to the back of her heels, the kind of power that leaves her dizzy and overwhelmed and greedy for more.

Killian’s tongue traces the seam of her lips.

“They don’t want my help.” “With?” Killian asks, not bothering to pull away from her. Emma’s grip on the back of his hair probably doesn’t help much. “Getting Merlin out of the fucking tree.” “Ah.” “Sound more surprised next time. Have they been talking to you about this?” “Not as such, no. It does not appear that I am part of the inner-Camelot circle.” “Is there one?” “Eh,” he grunts. Disentangling their limbs isn’t all that easy, but it does end with Emma flush against Killian’s side and she supposes beggars can’t be magical choosers. “It seems as if your father is rather taken with having another royal in his midst. Can’t have a notorious pirate captain join them on their perilous quest.” “And how exactly does this notorious pirate captain know about such a quest?”

Suggesting that his eyes actually sparkle at her is entirely absurd and inherently fairy tale, and Emma could not begin to care less.

She can’t hear anything but Killian’s answering laugh. “I’m afraid that’s a rather closely guarded secret, my love.” “Oh, that’s absolutely—” Emma nearly bites her tongue in half. Because it’s not a huge change. Might not even be a change at all, but she latches onto it all the same and the ends of Killian’s lips quirk up. She’s got to find something else to stare at. “Is it super selfish to be glad you’re not going on some perilous quest?”

He shakes his head. It makes the ends of his hair shift, threatening to brush over eyebrows that are far too expressive. “Possibly, but I also can’t help to be anything except glad that you aren’t using more of your magic. I suppose we’re on even ground.” “Not the worst ground to be on.” “No,” Killian agrees, and that’s a strange way to do that. “It’s not. Let Her Majesty work out Merlin’s riddle, she’s got Belle doing research. That’s more help than she deserves.” “High praise. Just,” Emma huffs, “I hate sitting here. There’s too much—” “—Magic?” “Sounds shitty like that.” “Sounds understandable like that. And while I understand what Regina asked of you at the ball, using that power is dangerous.” “I know that,” Emma sneers.

Killian still doesn’t flinch. “I’m not suggesting otherwise, all I’m saying is that we are all here to help, Swan. Some more than others.” “You?” It’s another memory. Another moment her mind has conjured up, a string that connects her to the past and the present and his goddamn eyebrows, Killian staring at her with something that feels like longing and even more like—

Dedication, maybe. Love, definitely.

Emma’s not sure she’s ever been looked at like that.

It’s the worst lie she’s told herself yet.

“Me,” Killian says, and there’s no room for doubt between either one of the letters. “How’d you learn to make the dreamcatchers?” “There was no magic involved if that’s what you’re getting at.” “I wasn’t, in fact.” “No?” He shakes his head. Kisses her forehead. “No.”

And Emma doesn’t deflate, so much as she sags against him. Some of the fight leaves her, pleasantly surprised to find that it also doesn’t leave her feeling hollow. Rather like there’s space for something new there, possibility and potential and her fingers curl themselves into the charms hanging over his shirt.

Another metaphorical anchor and cool metal, helping to temper the myriad of emotions twisting between her ribs.

“I didn’t really learn,” she admits, “just kind of remade them from memory and the supplies Guinevere agreed to give me. Should have seen the first one, it looked like garbage.” Chuckling into her hair, Killian’s hand dances across Emma’s back, grazing the laces she’d almost forgotten about. “You think we’ll ever get to go to a ball on our own terms?” “You mean without time travel or Arthur the worthless king involved?” “It’s a good name.”

“You flatter me,” Killian grins, and Emma doesn’t double check that time either. It’s easy to hear. “And I certainly hope so. I have quite a number of thoughts about you and gowns.” “That so? How many thoughts are we talking?” “Vast.” “That’s not very specific. And I don’t know, babe. As nice as the dancing is, getting dressed for balls is kind of overrated. Half a dozen lady’s maids showed up to tie the laces for me and my mom and then they came back to stuff a gazillion pins into my hair.” “Gazillion also sounds rather vast.” Emma’s eye roll gets her yet another smirk, so she figures that’s a fair trade even if there does end up being a migraine involved eventually. “Did you not think about magic’ing the laces loose?” He says it soft enough that Emma can barely hear him — half concern and even more trepidation, crossing a line that hadn’t been there before and shouldn’t remain there now and she shakes her head. “Didn’t even consider it, honestly. Just kinda resigned myself to a crushed spleen, I guess.”

“Sounds painful.”

The metaphors are stupid now. They should go back to declarations and unfounded promises that Emma wants desperately and she’s not entirely prepared for the first tap of Killian’s finger.

Or for him to mutter, “Turn around for me, love.”

She does. Despite the confusion and the flutter of butterfly wings that have suddenly appeared in her stomach, Emma does as instructed. Something — someone — chafes at that, hackles rising and defenses lifting, and her nails dig deep enough into her palm that they leave tiny crescent shaped marks in their wake.

“No need to get anyone else to help,” Killian says, “when I’m perfectly capable.” Emma must nod. Her neck moves, so that must mean she nods. Speaking however, seems impossible at the moment. When her tongue is taking up too much space in her mouth and the butterflies are threatening to surge out of her and it really is easier to breathe when the laces aren’t quite that tight.

Killian makes quick work of it all. At least Emma assumes, still twisted away from him and staring at the mess she’d left on the desk. She’s not sure why there’s a desk in this room.

“Should I be jealous of your talents in this particular area?” He laughs, kissing the side of her neck again. “Part of me finds that very appealing, actually.” “Which part is that?” “The bastard who wouldn’t mind you claiming me entirely as your own.” “Not into that possessive kind of stuff.” “Ah, it wouldn’t be much of a fight,” Killian argues, and Emma’s breath shudders out of her. In a distinctly swoon-like manner. “I think I’d rather willingly surrender.”

“You’re avoiding the question.” “Aye, I suppose I am.” He kisses her again. Emma hopes it helps. “Milah used to—she had these outfits. Full of laces and buckles and there weren’t any lady’s maids on board the Jolly. It became something of a routine. Dressing in the morning, getting on deck, picking a heading. Anywhere and everywhere, right at the tips of our fingers. But it was a bit easier, then.” Emma’s muscles are never going to recover from this conversation. She turns anyway, straining her neck to meet his gaze and barely-there smile and it doesn’t take her long to figure that out either. “You’re resourceful,” she says, “I bet you’d even be able to figure out how to lace me back up.” “Suggests you’ll be here in the morning.” “Quite a royal scandal, sharing a boudoir with a notorious pirate captain.”

Killian’s smile stretches. Not by much, but enough and, for now, that’s enough. “I love you.”

He’s waiting, Emma can tell. For the response. The answer. The words that she swears are going to snap her tongue in half, weighing it down as they are.

She doesn’t say anything.

Pulling in a deep breath, she moves her hands instead and shimmies until the gown she only sort of likes pools around her waist, leaving her in nothing but a slip. And magic, the kind that hangs in the shadows and festers in the corners of her soul.

Emma wraps her fingers around the brace at Killian’s arms. Buckles and leather, some of it a slightly different color than the rest from years of use and magic of a different kind and she’s only a little worried she’s inadvertently frozen him there.

Until his eyes shift, tracing over her face with that same reverence that she’s come to covet in the exact possessive way she’d always wanted to avoid.

Bastard, indeed.

“Your turn,” Emma says, and her voice doesn’t crack. Another victory.

Killian doesn’t object either. Lets her flick and flip and tug, as lightly as she possibly can, twisting the hook off eventually. That last part seems like overkill, but Emma’s always enjoyed the way it clicks off — almost as if she’s flipping a switch on some other part of her, giving into the vulnerability she can see in Killian’s eyes and she’s going to fix all of this. If only to avoid her melodramatic commentary.

“Come on,” she mumbles, tugging him down next to her as she shoves off the rest of her gown. These sheets aren’t as soft, unfamiliar when Emma pulls them over both of them, but Killian’s arm curls around her waist all the same and her cheek always fits very well against the crook of his neck.

He flinches. “What? That’s—are you—” “Fine,” Killian cuts in. “Just tickles, is all. When you exhale so dramatically.” “God.” “Close your eyes, love.” “I’m not going to—” “—I know, but you can still stay here. With me.” There’s more to those words too. Fraught with hope and even more want, and Emma can’t ever remember wanting this as badly as she does now. So she doesn’t move. She doesn’t close her eyes, either. But she stays still, listens to the steady in and out of Killian’s breathing and—

Laughter.

Creeping across the floor and inching up the stone walls, circling either one of Emma’s ankles until it slams into her chest and takes root. She shifts — not quickly, but determined, careful not to wake Killian as she avoids the other face she knows is hidden just out of sight.

Magic makes her fingers itch. Makes her skin crawl. Anticipation clings to each of her vertebrae.

With her gown still on the floor, and a pirate she knows would tear the world apart for her still asleep, she sits back down at the table and starts again, anxious to catch the nightmares before they can linger for too long.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs fic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #laura writes canon #this is all devon's fault so blame her for any and all angst #i also refuse to accept any blame for timeline inconsistencies #we write what we want and what we want is characters to acknowledge their trauma

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ellana-ravenwood · 5 years ago

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“What it means to be a big brother” - by Damian Wayne (Batfam x Fem!Reader)

I wanted to write a story with Damian as an older brother, and how he came to learn what it meant to…well, basically the title haha. And since quite a few of you lately asked for more Thomas, here we are. I hope you will like it :

My master list : @ella-ravenwood-archives . Links to stories where Thomas appears (for those who do not know who he is) in the author’s notes at the end of the story.

__________________________________________________

Right there, with his new little brother in his arms, standing in front of his family...Damian didn't dare to move an inch.

There wasn't a muscle in his body that wasn't tense.

In this exact position, things were going well, so he wasn't about to move. Staying like this forever sounded more and more like a good plan.

Because if he did move…There was a chance he’d drop him.

"You don't have to be so stiff you know ?"

Tim said, amused.

He was the one that was holding the baby just a few minutes ago, and was clearly not as stressed as Damian about it. He was also the one that laid little Thomas in his brother’s arms, and therefor was the cause of the “full body lockdown” Damian was going through.

Slowly, Damian turned his head towards Tim (he couldn't move too fast, because there was a risk he'd drop the baby !) and said through gritted teeth :

"Yes I do. If I don't, I might drop him !"

The word “drop” was resonating in Damian’s head, and it was the only thing he could think about.

Drop. Drop. Drop drop drop drop.

It was starting to lose it’s meaning, and only the fact that it would be terrible if he “dropped” something stayed in the boy’s head.

But then the baby moved, and Damian looked down instinctively.

His eyes fell upon his new little brother’s face and...He felt his heart drop.

What was this feeling ? Why, all of a sudden, did he feel overwhelmed and full of...something ? An emotion he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

It kinda made him want to cry.

His eyes glued to the little body in his arms, trying to understand this intense surge of emotions, he finally raised his head after a few seconds and said, a hint of disbelief in his voice :

“I’m-I’m a big brother.”

And boom. There it was.

Up until now, you had managed to keep your cool, looking at your sons and daughter holding Thomas in turn, and beaming at him happily.

But here, that bewildered look on Damian’s face, and that smile he probably didn’t even notice he had on, was a little too much for your heart.

Damian was the one you were most worried about, when it came to meet baby Thomas. You weren’t sure how he’d react.

All along your pregnancy he was doing fine, and seemed excited about the prospect to have a new brother. But at times, when nobody was looking at him, you noticed the worried look in his eyes, and it frustrated you to no end to not be able to know for sure what your son was thinking.

You’ve always been good at deciphering the Waynes’ emotions, sometimes even better than them themselves. But in that case...You couldn’t quite put your finger on what kind of worries were assaulting your boy.

Was he afraid you’d love his little brother more ? Or that he wouldn’t be the “baby” anymore ? Maybe afraid not to be a good enough role model ? Or to simply to not find a way to bond with him ?

So many questions, and no answers.

Maybe it was a mix of all of that. But you just couldn’t decide. And it was an immense source of stress for you.

But here, right now, as you witnessed Damian smiling widely and whispering “Im a big brother”, your own worries suddenly vanished.

You turned to your husband who was right next to you, and put your head against his chest, muffling a "awwwww" sound that you feared might put Damian on the defensive. Instinctively, Bruce wrapped his arms around you (this called for some “I know, I know they’re cute” support).

God forbid anyone would catch your little buddy being so sweet. Haha. He hated when you called him that.

Sweet.

But he truly was ? He just didn't know it yet.

You were sure no one ever told him he was "sweet".

But he had all this little attentions for you, his father or siblings.

He might think of it as nothing, but you all noticed. You noticed all the drawings he’d left in strategic points for all of you. Or how meticulous he was in preparing pop corn or hot chocolate for movie nights. Little things, that when added, became grand.

You noticed everything. All of you.

Most importantly, you noticed the big changes in him.

Damian was 12 now.

He came into your life two years ago and, after quite a while of him refusing this little family his father made for himself, and making life difficult for everyone…He came around. He understood.

And you never blamed him for being difficult at first, on the contrary. You were the most understanding of them all, scolding your kids or Bruce himself, when they were too unforgiving or frustrated too fast !

It was a team work, to make Damian feel like he was finally home.

Feel like he was amongst his family.

Like Dick, Jason, Tim and Cass were his siblings, and although you weren’t his biological mother, you saw him as your own son too.

It was a learning experience for everyone.

Bruce did a great job at being patient, and teaching him about his own values and such. Forgiving him when he took the wrong decision, all the while still being strict. It was a balance of understanding, softness, forgiveness, and yet still putting important boundaries. Damian never really experienced any of this...

Your kids had some practice at being older brothers, and only Tim needed an acclimating moments...But he was a fast learner. After the first initial bad meeting, they became close. Although of course, they still bickered from times to times. After all, they were little/big brothers. Everything couldn’t always be perfect. Life wasn’t like that.

As you looked at Damian and Thomas, you wondered...Would Damian, just like his siblings, find his own way to become a big brother ? How would he proceed ? He had, after all, a lot of role model for this. But would he decide to take the same approach ?

The future was more unknown than ever, but as you looked at your family surrounding you, and this new beaming little life that entered yours, you had quite the high hopes.

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

"July 15th 20?? (I’m not putting an exact year cause ya know, it wouldn’t stay accurate). Thomas : three days old.

I am starting this logbook to understand. I got the idea from Grayson, whom I think got the idea from mom ? I always see him write in that journal of his. I think when he was younger, after he lost his parents and just started to live with father and mom, she suggested to him to write his feelings down. And so he started journaling. He has a bunch of filled notebooks in his room. I saw them a few times, but I never looked. Mom says it’s his thoughts, I would never intrude (okay maybe I “intruded” once. Or twice.).

That’s not the point of this anyway. According to both him and mom, writing down their feelings help a lot. So I asked Grayson if he could give me a blank notebooks, since he always has some in advance. He gave me a stupid bright pink one that sparkles and light up in the dark...But oh whatever, at least like that, nobody will know it’s mine, and will open it.

Now, what is the point of this exactly. Laying it out is suppose to help so, here goes nothing : in this logbook, I am planing to “write down my feelings” so I can understand. I’ve never felt that way before. Love is very new to me, people actually caring about me is very new, having a sort of freedom is new, being happy is new. I’ve come a long way in two years, and I still find it difficult to put words on all the things I feel. Hence, this book.

More precisely though, I will record in this “logbook” (not to confuse with a journal or something), my journey as a new big brother. I think it will help me, to write things down. The idea doesn’t sound as stupid as when I first heard it two years ago. On the contrary, I already feel like my brain is getting more organized about my feelings, just by writing this down. Like now, I understand that what I felt as I held Thomas for the first time was love. And a need to protect him. But it was so instant, as soon as I truly saw him, that it made me wonder...Why ? And How ? Is this what it is to be a big brother ? A sudden instinct coming out of nowhere ?

I will implement my studies of becoming the best big brother (notes for self : competition = hard, have to work very hard), and understanding what it actually means to be one, as it’s a first for me.

My life now is full of “firsts”. But in this logbook, I will mostly talk about being a big brother to Thomas, because that’s the newest and most intriguing thing yet. After two years, I think I know what love is, and what it isn’t. It isn’t praising me for being the best, but encouraging me to always do my best. It isn’t training me and being proud of me when I’m perfect, but accepting my flaws unconditionally. Yes. I think I got love down. It’s in little gestures, like when father goes to the other side of town to get my favorite take away. It is in small (and sometimes big) affectionate things like calling me pet names, ruffling my hair, or making sure I am alright. Love englobes a lot of things (my feelings for Thomas being in it). It took me a while to understand it, and I think if I had a logbook to write my findings down, it would’ve been easier.

So here I am. Starting a new journey of discovery. But with the knowledge I already have. How my brothers and sister are with me. How my parents are with me. How my friends, are with me. What love truly is. I’m not starting this new canvas blank, but with already a large array of color. What I need now, is to make this painting my own.

*There is here a drawing of himself standing at the front of a large pirate boat, ready to start this “new journey of discovery”, with the annotation “I think Grayson would enjoy this analogy of being captain of my own boat, as in of my own destiny. He always enjoyed pirates”*

A plan : 1. Get books on babies. 2. Hanging out with Thomas. 3. Observing how the others are interacting with him. 4. There is no 4 yet. But there will be as I come along, I suppose.”

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

It all happened so fast.

Bruce and the kids were about to go on patrol, when you started to scream at him that it was time. In a panic, you rushed to the hospital, leaving behind your children who anxiously waited for some news.

Hours went by, and no news were given.

Everyone slowly started to freak out, but Damian was the one who was touched the most.

When Jason dared to tell him : “Hey buddy, no news mean good news, right ?” in an attempt to comfort him, Damian went on a rant about how this expression was idiotic and made no sense.

No news meant a lot of things ! Like, maybe their father RECKLESS driving got them into an accident, or maybe there was complications with the babies, or they ran in any kind of troubles that prevented them to give news !

No news meant “no news” ! And was in no way, in Damian’s eyes, a positive thing !

It’s as Damian was going on and on about what could’ve gone wrong that could explain the lack of news, and starting to freak everyone out, that the phone finally rang.

“Ah, see ? No news did mean good news.”

Jason said ruffling his little brother’s hair. Although his apparent confidence was only a facade, because Damian’s list of “what could’ve gone wrong” really got to him too (he’d never admit it but Jason was quite the worry wart).

But everything was fine now. He could joke, and tease his brother again. Because...

It was official, there was a new member in the family.

Thomas Clark Wayne was born, on a sunny July day.

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

Damian didn’t know how to feel. Or rather, didn’t know what he felt.

He knew that day was going to happen, he saw his mother’s belly grow. He touched it, and couldn’t help but share his parents happiness...but it all seemed so surreal at the time ?

Like the baby would come in a very long time ?

He wasn’t an idiot. Plus, he was already 12 now. He most definitely knew where babies came from (ew) and how they came to life (double ew).

But even with this knowledge, he just hadn’t been able to visualize having a baby brother ?

So when he found himself in the hospital corridors, following after his older siblings, running a little to keep up with their hurried pace, he wasn’t really sure what to feel.

What would he find in that room ?

Probably his mom and father, smiling at him, and holding a baby in their arms...

It was weird. Because Damian had always been the “baby” of the family. Was this spot now his brother’s ? How did that make him feel ? What was his place now, then ?

He didn’t know. He didn’t know !

Did he still have a place ? How was he suppose to know what it was ?

So many thoughts were rushing through his head, he didn’t have time to process any of them that they already were in the room.

The first thing Damian saw wasn’t the newborn, as his brothers gathered quickly around his mom and father while he stayed a bit behind with Cass (who rolled her eyes a lot, whispering : “boys” every two seconds).

No. The first thing Damian saw was his father. His smiling father.

Given the looks his older brothers gave in his direction, Damian gathered that Thomas was in their fathers’ arms. And Bruce was smiling so widely.

It was pretty rare, to see him smile. It only happened when he was with his family. You made him smile a lot, even more so when you both thought nobody was looking at you.

Damian thought that it was the first time he saw this specific smile of his father.

Thomas’ existence had created a new awe induced smile...

Bruce was looking down at his tiny son in his arms, and was just smiling widely and...sort of like a child ?

Like even when he smiled to his wife, or to his kids. Those actual genuine smile he gave them, not the fake "Brucie Wayne" persona ones. They were always very him ? They always had his past in it. When he smiled at them, they could see they meant a lot, because he was able to smile even through all his pain. And they were the one that brought his happiness forth.

Bruce’s smiles to his family were grateful, full of pure joy, and recognition. With a hint of sadness, however. Of traumas he could never forget.

But here, as he held Thomas, it was like he forgot everything, and was carefree for the first time since he was eight.

Of course, it only appeared like that to Damian because he wasn’t quite sure yet about how he should feel. Happy, or jealous ? He never noticed the many times his father gave him that exact pure child like happiness and awe too.

Bruce wasn’t always the best at showing his feelings, a lot of time, he would smile softly, full of love, in the way he was right now, only when he was sure no one was looking.

He most definitely smiled that way to all his children, they just never had the chance to witness it due to Bruce’s own self-consciousness, and not being sure how to handle his own feelings at times.

In that way, Damian and his father were very much alike. You often said so. They sometimes had great trouble expressing themselves.

Which could cause great misunderstanding, like right now.

As Damian witnessed his father smile this way for the first time ever, and wondered...

Wondered if..If Talia gave him to Bruce as a baby, would he have smiled the same way ?

…Probably not.

It made Damian feel all sort of things, to realize that.

Strangely, the emotions he felt weren’t negative. On the contrary, he was glad that his little brother was lucky enough to be born into this family he thought amazing, and would grow up immediately loved and never alone.

Sure, Damian wished it would’ve been the case for him too. But you told him once that the past was the past, and it did no good to dwell on it (he was pretty sure you misquoted Dumbledore from Harry Potter but never said anything), and it really stuck with him.

He would never be a baby anymore, hurting himself and his feelings thinking about what could’ve been was useless. It would only bring him misery. While thinking...Thinking about his new brother having this chance...Well, it made him very happy.

He was glad, times were changing.

“Do you want to hold him ?”

You asked him, taking him out of his reveries about how he realized he only had positive feelings about this new life coming into his.

Good feelings yet, but not enough to dare hold him. Panicked, he took a few steps back and said :

“No ! No no, I’m good !”

You tried to hide your disappointment, and instead gave the boy to your oldest son, Dick. You kinda wished Damian would’ve accepted to take Thomas into his arms. After all, his reaction was the one that worried you the most...

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

It’s only as he witnessed all his sibling holding their new brother, and beaming brightly at him, that he felt like he wanted to do that too.

He felt like he was missing out, because they all seemed to thoroughly enjoy holding Thomas ! And he felt like he was building unnecessary boundaries between him and his new baby brother.

What if Thomas thought he didn’t want to be his brother ?

Of course, right now, being only a few hours old, Thomas couldn’t think about that yet. But Damian read somewhere that infants could feel this sort of things. And so he turned to Tim, who was the one holding the baby boy at the moment, and said :

“Can I-...Can I ?”

Of course, Tim understood, and did not hesitate to put his little brother in his other little brother’s arms. He explained quickly to Damian how to hold him, making sure Thomas’ head was all good, and let go (later, he’d admit that he watched YouTube video to know the proper way to hold a baby).

And the rest was history.

“I’m-I’m a big brother.”

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

“Friday, October 16th 20??, Thomas : 4 months old.

I found books about babies. Many of them. 36 to be exact. They were in the library, I suspect father bought them to read up on how to take care of a baby. After all, he never had one, since we all arrived around 8/10.

I put in practice what I got from them, and was very successful doing so. Thanks to them, I was able to refine my studies on what it truly means to be a big brother.

(...)”

“Damian ?”

Bruce was looking for you, and guessed you were in your office, which, just like the bedroom you shared with him, was right next to the nursery. Of course.

He knew you must’ve been there at this time of the day because it was your “writing time”, but also Thomas’ “nap time”. In your office, you could make sure to be there for him quickly.

Bruce had just come home and as usual, looked for you immediately. He had a tough day at Wayne Enterprise, and you always were his respite.

But as he walked in front of Thomas’ room (where he was planning on going after seeing you), he was stopped in his track by the door being open, and quite an odd vision.

Damian was standing next to his brother’s crib, an arm reaching out in it. As Bruce, intrigued, approached them, he noticed that one of Thomas’ tiny hand was wrapped around one of Damian’s finger.

Before he could ask what was happening, his boy whispered, as to not wake his little brother up :

“I read somewhere that babies need physical contact so their brain can develop well. A baby that nobody ever touches just doesn’t speak much, and isn’t as advanced as one who received affection. So I’m holding his hand.”

Bruce’s brain went blank, as he looked at the extremely cute scene of his youngest son sleeping peacefully, holding his older brother’s hand. It was too much for his heart, trying to not sound choked up, he asked :

“How long have you been here ?”

Damian looked up, thinking, before he answered :

“A couple of hours ?”

“A couple of-That long ?!”

“Ssssshhh. Father !”

Damian whispered scolding his dad for his loudness. He gave a worried look to Thomas, afraid he woke up, and then turned to his father again saying :

“I heard him cry, and recognized it as being his lonely cry. So I came. Mother fell asleep on her desk, I think she was just too tired to even realize he was crying. I know neither of you have been sleeping very well lately, so no one can blame her. You two work tough jobs, then do the vigilante thing, and have to take care of a baby who doesn’t sleep through the night yet. It’s understandable, to feel very sleepy. So I came.”

Bruce felt it through his entire body. This warm, fuzzy feeling. The same one that he forgot for so many years, until you and Dick came into his life.

“How did you hear him ?”

“I rigged his baby phone to my phone, so it would give me alerts if he cries. Tim helped me develop a sort of app for that.”

This specific feeling he only felt when looking at you or his children. A sort of serenity filling his entire body. Peace.

“I rocked him a little bit. He smiled at me a lot, and cooed too. And then he felt back asleep, but as soon as I put him in the crib he cried again. I figured he didn’t wanna be alone, so I stayed and held his hand, and he eventually fell back asleep. Now I’m too afraid to wake him up if I leave, so I’m here.”

“So you’re here...”

Pride was in Bruce’s heart now. A beaming, strong, huge pride. Pride of having such a sweet little boy. Ah. Who would’ve thought, over two years ago, that Damian Wayne would stay two hours near a baby in fear that if he left, he would wake him up ?

Feeling inspired, Bruce bend down and kissed Damian’s forehead affectionately. This took the boy by surprised, and he literally gasped !

It made Bruce feel a little guilty. His sometimes odd way of loving made it so that he reserved those forehead kisses only when his kids felt bad, or when he through they were asleep (though they never were). Moments of distress; or moment he was sure they wouldn’t notice.

Sometimes, Bruce just wasn’t too sure how to react with his children. Except on definite moments, like them needing him, or them being too cute for him to resist a forehead kiss (they were always adorable, sleeping).

Or, in this instance, his boy doing something so sweet he felt the urge to kiss him with all the love and affection he had.

Now though, a little embarrassed, he took a step back, and ruffled his son’s hair again, saying :

“You’re a good brother.”

And then he left awkwardly, going to your office so he could pick you up and go take a nap with you in your room. Yes. This surge of emotion he felt, as he saw his two youngest children together, definitely called for a nap in your arms. You always had a knack, to calm him, even unconsciously...

Damian stayed in Thomas’ room, a huge smile plastered on his face.

His father just said he was a good brother !

“(...) Continuation of the previous entry (October 16th). I put in practice what I got from them, and was very successful doing so. Thanks to them, I was able to refine my studies on what it truly means to be a big brother.

Now, after four months of studying Thomas’ behavior and such, I came to realize that he has different kind of cry. They are as proceeded : 1. High pitch continuous noise = he’s hungry. 2. When he makes a series of loud “heh” = he’s too cold, or hot, or wet. It’s his sign to express a discomfort. Usually means dirty diaper, if no dirty diaper, means something else and then you have to look for what is bothering him. Example : Yesterday, the bird outside his window chirping was annoying him and keeping him from sleeping soundly. 3. Loud screams punctuated by pauses = He’s lonely. The pauses are him listening in to see if someone is coming to get him. 4. Almost silent cries, when it’s so loud it becomes quiet = he didn’t burp properly after eating and desperately need too. A few light tap on his back will make him feel better very quickly. 5. When he whimpers, it’s usually because he has gaz. Putting him a little straighter helps him...evacuate.

I put this directly in practice today, when I realized he was doing his “lonely cry”. I went to his rescue, and I didn’t mind staying hours with him even though he’s still a little baby and doesn’t do much. He smiled at me a lot, I think he recognized my voice. And my singing (note for self : make sure no one is around when such occurrence happen, almost got caught by father today). Then it felt like he didn’t want to let me go, so I stayed.

Is that what it is, to be a big brother ? Being needed ? If it is, it actually feels nice. It would certainly explain all the time Dick, Jason, Tim and Cass came to my own rescue. Wether help for my homework or to comfort me. But, I do that too, as a little brother ? I comforted them too many times. And I witnessed Jason, Tim or Cass comforting Dick and vice versa and in all ways. So, this means it’s a sibling thing, not quite a big brother thing. Need to keep studying to know what “big brother” is exactly.”

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

"Saturday, December 9th 20??. Thomas’ first Christmas/6 month old.

I started to build his gift. I think he will like it. I-”

“What are you doing, Damian ?”

You asked him, walking towards him as he busied himself at the gadget station in the Batcave. You saw him jump in the air slightly, and put away a bright pink notebook quickly.

And then he saw you had Thomas in your arms, and when Damian saw him, he hid whatever he was doing as fast as he could.

“Mom, you’re gonna spoil the surprise !! Get Thomas away !”

Surprised, and without thinking about it, you went to your husband who was typing away on the computer and put the baby in his arms.

Bruce was about to grumble that he was busy and brush the both of you away (he could be a jerk sometimes), but you didn’t gave him a chance, shoving your son in his arms. And when he looked, annoyed, at his baby and how the little one seemed the happiest of them all as he just recognized his father. Bruce’s mood lifted all of a sudden.

He smiled softly, realized he was being an asshole and was going to apologize to you but you were already gone back to Damian. Your husband and baby son exchanged a curious look, before Thomas got very interested in his father “Bat” logo and started to try to grab it, while Bruce smiled softly again and, holding his son in one arm, continued his work.

Balancing family and night activities had been hard for him to get and do, but he had it covered, nowadays. Well. Almost.

Meanwhile, you were back next to Damian, and with a sigh of relief, your son uncovered his project.

It did all kind of things to your heart...

“Damian, is that-”

You couldn’t finish your sentence, too touched. Your son, proudly, said :

“It’s a mobile to go above his bed ! I think he doesn’t like the one he currently has. So I’m making him one with things he’ll like ! See mom, that’s you. Do you recognize yourself ?”

Damian seemed worried about this, and you nodded. It definitely looked like you. So. Your son wasn’t just good at drawing, but also at sculpting...

“It’s for Christmas.”

He said, smile wide. And as you grabbed him and crushed him against your chest, he got a little confused...

"Saturday, December 25th 20??. Thomas’ first Christmas/6 month old.

*There’s here a drawing of Thomas beaming at his mobile above his bed that Damian build for him*

I knew my present would be Thomas’ favorite. After all, it represents everything he likes. I put everyone from our family (Father, mom, Alfred, Dick, Tim, Cass, Jason, and of course, me), and a few of his favorite animals (I used Ace and Titus for the dogs, Tommy is very fond of them). And it makes music, which he seems to enjoy a lot. Especially when our mom, dad or anyone from the family sings to him. I recorded all of them secretly when they sang to him, and made it so he just has to push a button on the side of his crib to turn the mobile on.

I wasn’t even worried that he wouldn’t understand how to make it work. He’s only six months old, but he’s already very smart and curious (I think the physical contact we all gave him is a lot to “blame” for). So when I put the mobile above his bed, and pushed the button to start the voice of our mother, he moved his little arms and legs excitedly and smiled at the mobile widely ! I only had to push the button a few times more, and for our father, Dick, and Jason’s voice to be on for him to notice the button, and to push it himself. Or rather, to kick it or throw himself on it as best he could. He is still not that coordinate when it comes to movements. But he’s smart. He understood that, to have the music, he had to push the button.

He didn’t pay attention to all his other gifts, but mine he loved. It’s because I made it with everything he likes. So of course, he loves it. Is that what it is, to be a big brother ? To know your little sibling and be the best at giving him a gift ? No. That doesn’t sound right. Tim, or Jason, already gave me absolutely useless terrible gift, and yet it still made me happy to receive them, and that they thought about me. Mmm. The researches are still on.”

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

“Thursday, March 7th 20??. Thomas : One year and a half.

Father and mom entrusted me with babysitting Thomas today, as everyone was busy. I was very happy to be trusted with such responsibilities. I thought it would be easy, at that age, they're easily manipulated. Well...I was wrong"

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

“NO NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOO.”

Thomas was screaming, while Damian was trying to be heard :

“Thomas, listen, you need to put your pants on or-”

“NOOOOO !! NO DAMDAM NOOOOO !!”

“No”, was one of the first word Thomas pronounced. Right after “mama” and “dada” (the jury was still out on which words he said first, and was source of endless bickering between you and your husband).

Then he started to try and pronounce his siblings’ name, although he wasn’t quite there yet. Damian being the youngest and still at home (Dick and Jason had their own apartment by now, and Cass and Tim were starting to be very busy with college), he was able to sort of say his name first.

“Damdam”. Close enough.

But right now, Damdam really wasn’t having a good time.

It started rather smoothly. Thomas was a pretty calm child, so Damian (wrongly) thought it would be all good all day.

Only, it was the first time he was taking care of his brothers for so long. A couple of hours there and there. He made sure to be with him at least once a day, for at least two hours. Most of the time, it was more.

They really started to be very close, sometimes, Thomas would choose Damian over you or Bruce...it vexed the both of you, but you had to put yourself in the shoes of your young son.

Damian only had the good times with him. Playtime, and bed time stories, and such. While you and Bruce had to be strict with him sometimes, and give him boundaries (like no jumping on his bed, or no pulling the dogs’ tails).

Bruce once mentioned that Thomas most certainly inherited your petty side, given the fact he always went to Damian when you scolded him. But when you smacked him on the head, vexed, he said he was joking (although we all know he wasn’t).

In any way, Damian, in that year and a half, only had the good times with his brother. And today, as he had to take care of him all day long, he realized that...it wasn’t always that easy.

Proof : the morning had gone well, but now, it was over, and it was time to put some close on. Problem : Thomas didn’t seem very keen on putting pants, today.

It started slowly, as if it was a game.

Thomas ran around the room, laughing, repeating : “no ‘an’ !” (which probably meant “no pants”). Up until Damian tried to take his father’s strict tone and said :

“Ok Thomas, enough now, you need to put your pants on.”

Well. That didn’t play well in Thomas’ book. Frowning, he said :

“No.”

“Yes, Tommy. It’s day time, you need to put pants on.”

“No.”

“Yes. Come on, I’ll help you.”

“NO !”

Thomas ran away from Damian’s grasp, and your son was so surprised that he wasn’t able to catch him right away. He caught up to him though as Thomas was climbing a couch, sure that he’d be out of reach at its top (probably not understanding that Damian wasn’t as small as him...).

Once on the top of it, he sad down and put his hands in front of his eyes, clearly thinking he was hidden, now.

“I can see you Thomas.”

“No.”

“Stop saying no, I can see you.”

“No.”

“Come on Thomas, I’m not playing anymore, I can see you, and you need to put some pants on.”

“Noooooooooooooooo.”

“Tho-”

“NooOOooOOoOOoOOoOoo noooooooo.”

“Thoma-”

“NoooOOoOOoo no no no no no no no !!!!”

Damian realized trying to talk it out wouldn’t work. His brother was probably too young to be reasoned with. Quickly,he scratched his head to find a solution.

Maybe making him laugh again ? Like Dick did with him at first.

It felt like such a long time ago, but there was a time when Damian was a really big brat. He still was, sometimes, he wasn’t perfect of course. But he improved a lot.

Regardless, one of the way Dick would make him stop being bratty, was making absolutely awful jokes and trying to make him laugh by doing stupid things. Ok. Here we go then :

“Hey hey Thomas look, look !”

“No no no no...No ?”

Ok. Good point. Thomas was now watching Damian doing backflips and running around. Beaming, the little boy smiled widely and clapped his hands.

YES ! Damian most definitely won. He stopped doing his acrobatics and turned to his little brother, saying :

“Ok, time for pants now.”

But Thomas frowned again, as if vexed he fell for the show, and gave Damian a definitive :

“No.”

Well. That was a fail. What did Jason do again, to stop one of Damian’s own tantrum ? Oh. Right. Um. That probably wouldn’t be a good method with such a young kid. Skipping that one.

Tim ? Tim would talk to him about his favorite things. Video games, or whatever. And blackmailing him a lot (as a good big brother). Damian wasn’t too into blackmailing, but he was kinda running out of ideas.

This was the first time Thomas was being difficult with him, it was too new, he needed more data to know exactly how to react !

So, blackmail it would be.

“If you put your pants on, we’ll watch your favorite movie !”

This seemed to peak Thomas’ interest. He looked at the Tv, then at his pants. Then at the TV again and...oh...Ooooh...Damn it ! Damian could see he almost got him. But it didn’t work, his brother shook his head “no” so strongly he almost fell of the couch.

Ok. What were the options left ? What did Cass do ? Mmm. She would hug him and tell him things would be alright. Which worked for him, given his past, but Thomas was a little over one and had a normal happy childhood so far !

They couldn’t relate to their past, like Cass and him did.

Ok. What would his mom do ? Well, with his mom, Damian had the intimate feeling that Thomas would’ve put on his pants without a word. He knew she wasn’t joking around. He’d never pull this sort of things with her.

He would though, pull that with his father. And what would Bruce do ? Either let it go, or, if he was in a bad mood, be very strict and force him to put his pants on. Nobody said his father was perfect...His mother, neither. She could be implacable in her way of educating her son.

Thomas was a calm boy, and was of course allowed to have tantrums. Their mother was mostly understanding. But if she was tired, she’d be less patient...It wasn’t always easy, raising kids. And the gods knew the Waynes had a LOT on their plates, at times.

MMm. Damian didn’t want to force him to do anything, or to lose his patience.

And then it hit him. The solution was right in front of his eyes. Of course. It was so simple !

"(...) Continuation of last entry (March 7th)

New observation after today’s babysitting : toddlers sometimes focus on one thing so much they don't know how to react, and therefor, explodes with feelings

I found that my siblings tricks to calm me down would not work on Thomas, because he isn’t me. We don’t have the same personality, or background. I never even noticed before, how Dick, for example, used different methods to comfort all of us. Adaptability is key. Like how father gives us all different trainings, according to our own needs. Little brothers are the same. When mad, they need to be calmed in different ways. Thomas is such a calm kid and has so few tantrum, I feel comfortable doing what I did.

Which brings me to my next point. Being an older brother sometimes mean being the bigger person. Giving up, and letting them do what they want. I never realized how many things Tim, Dick, Jason or Cass gave up for me. But it now becomes very apparent to me. They switched things around in their lives to be convenient for me. Like, Tim used to love playing video games on his own, yet he let me come and play with him even as he doesn’t like multiplayer modes. Jason is afraid of snakes yet took me to Gotham terrarium where there’s one of the largest concentration of snakes in the US when I asked him. Dick gave up on ever taking many hoodies I stole from him back. Etc etc.

Being a big brother means being the bigger person sometimes, and letting the small one have their ways. Dick, Jason, Cass and Tim did it all the time with me, and it’s my turn to do it with Thomas. Unlike our parents, I don’t need to be the “police officer” of the house. I can have only the good times, and when appropriate, just let go.

Today was the first tantrum I witnessed Thomas having, and I decided to let it go. After than, it went all smooth. And honestly, he’s just a bit over one. It’s ok, if he doesn’t wear pants...”

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

Their parents found them both asleep in front of Thomas’ favorite movie.

They were still both in their pyjamas.

“No pants” day became a thing, for the two brothers.

**********

“Wednesday, April 19th 20??. Thomas : 3 years old.

Today, I learned a new lesson. I kind of already knew it before, by observing Dick, Jason, Tim and Cass. But it only became obvious to me today : A big brother is here to help his little sibling walk his own path. And discover the world.”

Damian was looking at his baby brother toughtfully. Mmm. Seemed like the kid liked animals too. Maybe they could bond further over this ?

Your boy remembered that that's how his own siblings handled him. They found common ground on which they could understand each others.

With Dick, Damian learned how to perfect his flips and other acrobatics. They enjoyed the creativity and yet physical training of this “game”.

With Jason, he used to spew all his frustration at him, and Jason would nod and say things like : “that’s right little bird, you tell ‘em !” and just agree with him on everything, even when he was wrong. They could particularly agree on how sometimes, Bruce could be a jerk...And yet wouldn’t wish for any other father.

With Cass, they’d do artistic things. Drawing, or dancing. Sometimes sitting in silence for hours, back to back, while they painted. It was nice. Relaxing.

With Tim...Well, Tim was a big advocate of this definition of sibling, that he made up himself : “The only people who will pick on you for their own entertainment, and beat up anyone else who tries.” So they’d bicker a lot, but then if anyone else was trying to rile Damian up, Tim would appear out of nowhere to give them a piece of his mind.

Yes. Yes. As Damian was observing little Thomas hug and smile at his stuffed animals, and thought that this could be quite the approach.

After all, he really loved animals too.

"'Ook Damdam, ook ! SIMBA !"

Damian had become an expert in his brother's baby talk, and knew this meant : "Look Damian, Look ! A lion"

"No Thomas, not a Simba, a lion. Not all lions are called Simba, just like in the film."

Patience was key. Damian was pretty sure he already told Thomas that exact same thing a hundred time, but for some reasons, the boy stayed stuck on his Disney knowledge.

But today, something different happened. Things clicked in the boy’s head.

Thomas looked at his stuffed animal for a while, and then asked :

"…Nala ? Girl ?"

"…Wether it's a boy or a girl, their names aren't simba or nala, they're lions. And lionness. Simba and Nala are characters in a movie."

The boy looked at his brother, confused, then looked back at his plushy lion and asked, to make sure :

"…Not Simba ?"

"Lion."

"…'ion ?"

"Yes."

"That, not Nemo ?"

OH ! They were making progress ! So far, Thomas didn’t really listen to Damian when he tried to teach him animal names, and just gave them names of Disney characters !

Now, he was pointing at his stuffed clown fish, asking wether he was a “Nemo” or not ! PROGRESS !

Damian smiled internally. Thinking it was cute, you and Bruce never did much to correct your son, which Damian found frustrating. But here they were, him finally gaining grounds !

“Right, not Nemo. Clown fish.”

“On fish.”

“Clown. CL-OWN”.

“O-N.”

“K-K. LL. AON. Repeat after me Thomas, Clown.”

“...Cl...cl...clnown ?”

“Clown.”

“CLOWN !”

“YES !”

“CLOWN FISH !”

Thomas said proudly, showing his plushy. And Damian felt a rush of pride.Yes. That was it. Clown fish. He learned a new thing. And...And he probably wouldn’t have learned it yet if it wasn’t for him ?

Oh. So a big brother also kinda had the role of a teacher. Interesting.

And as Thomas ran to his father and screamed “CLOWN FISH” at him, Damian couldn’t help but being proud of him. Even though their father was clearly confused, as the little boy now was running to Alfred to show him he knew what a clown fish was, and didn't give further explanations to Bruce.

“Clown fish ?”

The big scary bat repeated, utterly confused. By a three years old. What was it again ? Best detective in the world ?

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

“GWAYSON !”

“No Thomas, no, I’m Dick, not Grayson !”

“...Dick ?”

“Yes ! Damian, stop teaching him that my name is Grayson ! Ugh. I swear, he hangs out wayyyyy too much with you. I need to spend more time here...”

Damian grinned slyly, and Dick rolled his eyes. Thomas was growing up fast, and it made sense that he sometimes seemed closer to Damian, whom he saw the most.

Dick and Jason had their own place, and both Cass and Tim were busy with college. Damian was still in high school, and a lot home.

Although they weren’t seeing each others as much as he wished, the youngest Wayne and the oldest one still were extremely close.

In fact, Thomas was very close to all his siblings. They almost were all like second (or third, or fourth) father, and mother. They were so much older than him, of course they’d have this sort of status at time.

Their parents would take a lot care of him, and he was also very much a “daddy’s and momma’s boy” (like all his siblings really, though they’d never admit it).

But Thomas did spend a lot of time with Damian, and wether it was on purpose or not, he took a lot after his mannerism and such...just like Damian used to copy his older sibling mannerism, and so on and so forth.

“Gwayson” though, he could avoid.

Dick rolled his eyes again, and smirked at Damian, before returning to play with Thomas.

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

“Thursday, July 23rd 20??, Thomas : 4 years old.

Today, father and mom told me I was to take a night off and not to go on patrol. And that was a very big inconvenience. I had things planned, to prove my valor. I was about to sneak out anyway when (...)”

Damian, his costume on, made sure his parents were busy before starting to come in action.

First, he had to wait for his father to go on patrol, and join his other siblings out. And for his mom to get in front of the Batcomputer to monitor everything.

Then, he had to wait for Alfred to put Thomas to bed, and to go himself sleep, the baby phone near him, just in case, even though Thomas was already 4 now and had full nights. The butler would never just leave him like that, even if his room wasn’t too far.

Finally, he'd just have to sneak out by...

“DAMDAM !”

Damian jumped in the air, surprised, and turned around.

His little brother was right there, in front of him, smiling widely.

“Thomas ? How did you get here ?”

“I jumped out of bed, and walked.”

Thomas said the most natural way ever, as if it was obvious how he got there, while it was almost 1 am and was supposed to be in bed.

“It’s way past your bed time buddy.”

“I can’t sleep. Mama and daddy awe not hewe. Cassie and Tim either. Alfwed is sleeping !”

“Well you should be sleeping too !”

“But I can’t ! I just told you !”

There was a short silence between the two, and...Oh. Oh he dared.

Thomas was giving his older brother his world famous “puppy eyes” (a method he directly stole from Damian, of course). And as usual, it worked.

Damian took his mask off, sighed and said :

“You want a bed time story ?”

“YES !”

And without invitation, the boy jumped on his brother’s bed, slipped under the covers, and waited patiently for Damian to go fetch the book they were currently reading.

“(...) Continuing last entry, (July 23rd)

And then Thomas fell asleep in my lap, and I realized something. I guess it was good, to have a night off. If I went out, I would’ve never made this important discovery : Tonight, I have learned that to be with the ones I love is enough. And that I do not need to chase after anything else to be happy.

It’s a discovery I thought I made long ago, but as I felt more big brother than ever after reading him a story, it truly hit me. Being me, and being with them...It’s enough. I don’t need to have more. And maybe, maybe being a big brother means to simply be there when you feel lonely ? Like Thomas, tonight, as our parents were away, and none of our other siblings were there. Like me too, when I had nightmares and went to hide in Cass, Dick, Jason, or Tim’s bed...whoever was available when mom and dad weren’t.

Mom and dad. They do their best. And their best makes them the best parents anyone could wish for. But they have a lot to do, wether in the day or at night. So sometimes, it comes to me. Or to my older siblings, to take care of each others. To take care of Thomas. We have to be there for each others, always. Being a big brother means taking the time to be there. Simple.”

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

“Look Damian, it’s a freakin’ elephant !!”

“Um, what did you say ?”

“It’s a freakin’ elephant !!”

Damian looked around at the disapproving looks he got, and couldn’t care less. Of course, he wasn’t particularly thrilled about his little brother using “freaking” but oh well. It was to be expected, when everyone around him used it (and in some cased *cough* Jason and you *cough* used even worst).

But as Damian came towards his little brother, he realized something. Something that made him burst out laughing.

Thomas was starting to read on his own now.

It was exciting, to witness Thomas’ progress as he slowly but surely learned how to read. And it felt so nice, to participate in said progress. To be there every steps of the way.

Damian shared the pride Thomas felt whenever he showed his parents how well he’d gotten at reading.

And it was so nice, to see his mom and dad congratulates both of them…Thom because he really started to read well, and Damian for helping him out.

Far were the frustrating days when Thomas was a stubborn toddler that refused to call animals by their “actual names”.

Damian spend many hours trying to explain to his younger brother that no, mice weren’t called “Mickey” and elephants “Dumbo” !

Nowadays, the little boy knew what the animals’ name actually were. Which didn’t mean no incident ever happened…Like today.

It was Thomas’ sixth birthday and he asked to go to the zoo (Damian definitely had an impact on that boy).

“Look Damdam, it’s a freakin’ elephant !!”

The boy said excitedly, pulling his brother’s sleeve and pointing at the elephant’s massive enclosure. Damian shook his head, slightly shocked.

Not because his brother just called him “Damdam” (it was the nickname Thomas gave him long ago, when he couldn’t pronounce things quite right, and it just stuck), but because Thomas’ words were very much unlike him.

Their parents were a bit further, being disgustingly cute together, holding hands and all, and trusting Damian to keep an eye on Thomas (they knew he’d never let that kid out of his sight, plus Damian was almost an adult, now, he was responsible…sometimes).

“What did you say, Thomas ?”

“It’s a freakin’ elephant !”

The boy seemed so proud of himself. Damian knew elephants were some of his brother’s favorite animal, but he just couldn’t get over the fact that his precious little brother just used the word “freaking”, even if it really wasn’t a bad one.

That’s when Damian noticed it. The plaque giving informations about which kind of elephant it was. …His laughter resonated in the entire zoo. Both you and Bruce went to see what happened, and were face by a son shaking with laughter, and another little one that seemed very confused. When you asked what happened, Damian barely manage to say, pointing at the enclosure next to you :

“It’s a freakin’ elephant !”

And there, there came the laughter.

Yes. Yes it was an “freakin’ elephant”…Or, for those who weren’t as new at reading as Thomas was, an “African elephant.

Damian later shared what just happened with his older siblings, and they in turn gave him many occurrences of him being naive or such sometimes.

Like that time Jason made him believe that the hays in fields covered with white plastics were marshmallows’ fields...But instead of being vexed, Damian laughed with them.

Because that was what being a little sibling meant. And being the older one meant to see the evolution the small one went through, witness it all, and help out. Be there.

Finally. Finally Damian felt like he truly understood, what it was to be a big brother ?

**********

“Saturday, July 12th 20??, Thomas : 6 years old.

It took me six years, but I think I know now. After countless study and experiment. After spending hours and hours with Thomas. I think I know what it means to be a big brother.

First I had to understand what being a sibling meant. And that was easy. I had good model. Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass. They’re the best older siblings you can wish for (after me, of course). They helped me understand so much...Thanks to them, I finally got what it was, to be a sibling. And here it is :

Being siblings means our bond is stronger than any outside force, and we always have someone to lean on. It means late night pillow talks, awkward phone conversations, and insane laughter. It means calling each others over for no reason other than to sit in silence or talk for hours about nothing. One minute I'll be talking to one of my brother about Harry Potter, and the next I'll be talking to my sister about the newest music we're listening to.

But being an older brother...Being an older brother goes beyond just that. When you’re the youngest, sure you’re there for them, and you help out. But most of the time, you’re the one being helped, and having the most support. While still having fun ?

Being an older brother, it's keeping that balance between letting out my inner child (which I didn’t even know I had for the longest time, and was let out thanks to my older siblings at first) but still looking out for my little brother.

Basically, it means having a free therapist and the greatest confidante you could ask for. I went to my older brothers and sister many times, in time of need. And Thomas comes to me often, too. When it’s things we can’t tell our parents, you know ?

Being an older brother means being there for your little one through thick and thin. There were many times I had to stand up for Thomas even when it was difficult, whether it was to our parents or someone else. And there were even more times when Dick, Jason, Tim or Cass stood up for me.

But it also means being a little strict at times. I came to realize that when Dick told me to do something, or Tim, or any of them...It came more from the fact they wanted me to not get into trouble than anything else, and that...That I realized with Thomas. Sometimes, you have to tell your little sibling what to do. But some other times, it’s totally ok to let go.

Being a big brother means loving and supporting your little sibling no matter who or what they choose to be or do. That’s what my brothers and sister showed me, and my parents too. And that’s what I discovered with my own little brother. So what if we didn’t have all the same interest ?

Being a big brother means celebrating individuality and being proud of the fact that your little brother/sister is a part of your family. I’m glad we’re all different, with my siblings. And I’ll never make Thomas feel bad for that. It’s good, that he’s the calmest out of all of us, and had a different kind of life.

Maybe being an older brother means that occasionally, I take advantage of the fact I can tell Thomas what to do (and how easily he listens to me), but...I am his biggest fan. If he falls, I will always pick him back up (right after finishing laughing, like Jason would say).

Yes. It took me six years, but I think I finally know what being a big brother means. I’m glad, because this is the last page of this logbook.

One day, I think I’ll give it to you, Thomas. Just in case. If you’re going through a tough time, or you’re not sure of who you really are. To remind yourself I went through the same thing.

To remind yourself I had to write, for six years, certain important interactions I had with you so I would understand a simple concept such as “being a big brother”.

And that Dick did too. It wasn’t easy for him to go from a circus life with his parents to Wayne Manor with mom and dad, who were both rather young at the time, and inexperienced.

Jason came from the street, rejected by everyone. Do you think it was easy for him to acclimate to a life where he could finally be at peace ? Nope. And then, when he died and came back ? Ask him, and you’ll know.

Cass came a long way. Now, she speaks a lot, especially to you. But she used to be “mute”. And had a hard life. You should ask her, sometimes.

Tim struggled with being ignored all his life, and then he came in and suddenly had siblings, and “real” parents. Then I came along and fucked things up a bit (don’t swear)...but he came through, understanding what a big brother was supposed to be.

We all came through. Mainly because we had each others. So please Thomas, if you ever feel down, just come to me. Or to them. To us. We’re your older siblings, and that what it means.

I’m here for you. We’re here for you. Forever.”

The end

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So, y’all know I was very nervous about posting this. I hope it wasn’t a total fail and you enjoyed reading it ? Thank you for reading, and as usual, if you liked it and all, comments and reblogs are always more than welcomed :). Here we go. See you next time with another story. Now, I’m going to go hide in a whole out of fear that you guys will hate this and how different it might be from other stories (as it’s mainly Damian/Thomas centric).

For those who do not know who Thomas is and are curious, here are the stories from my main Batmom timeline in which he appears : The Great Mall adventure, Master of Diaper, Shaky steps and bad teaching, Polichinelle, “Go away, you’re confusing my baby”, How do you make babies ?, Wild Child 2, “We want them back” and After Batmom’s death

CLICK HERE FOR ALTERNATE ENDING

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