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hisunshiine · 4 years ago

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Money Heist | knj | Part 1

moodboard 1 | moodboard 2 | playlist | Netflix ReImagined BTS Masterlist

↳ #NetflixReImaginedBTS: Kim Namjoon x Reader starring in a bank robbery au

↳ M-18+, implied sexual content, major character deaths, bank robbery actions (violence, use of weapons, deciet)

The Professor’s Rules

Rule #1 - No real names Rule #2 - No falling in love Rule #3 - Absolute trust Rule #4 - No games Rule #5 - Follow the plan, throughout Rule #6 - No taking lives, no civils Rule #7 - Low profile Rule #8 - Memorize the plan Rule #9 - Codes, escape routes Rule #10 - Blend

Prologue: Dread was not the right word to use to express how I felt. Every waking moment was an uncertainty. Every passing day I had to look over my shoulder. Senses on high alert, heart-pounding fiercer, I had to stay sharp. All I had to rely on was my intuition, rationality, the rush of adrenaline as it pumped through my veins as it guided me to safety.

There was no room for fuckups. Rules were set in place before, during, and after the heist. The Professor made sure of it.

Everything was methodically thought out. There was zero tolerance for anything that steered from what already was part of the Professor’s plan. Every detail was thoroughly calculated, gone through numerous times until perfected, and every possible scenario or turn the heist could go, the Professor had already considered it.

When I met him, I guessed him to be someone who was reserved. That initial thought, however, remained throughout the months I spent and got to know him. Regardless of my attempts to loosen him up, he grew more inward. A timid and quiet man, one I could not quite figure out despite my intuitive bullshit radar. My instincts told me otherwise. The Professor was someone I could trust. Moreover, he was someone who had my back if the going ever got tough.

Even after I had broken one of his sacred rules, he kept me around.

He stated it was solely because of my natural blend-ability. In other words, I was the type of person who could go unnoticed and get away with things. Although originally offended, one of the Daegu brothers – during our first meetings – mockingly pointed out my pretty privilege, claiming it was a universal thing to bend the rules and show favoritism to people that society deemed as attractive.

It bothered me to my core but despite it – and as the only woman on the team – I had to admit, I could complete missions and do things the others were not able to. Because of this, I was an asset regardless of how many rules I broke.

I was aware of it being careless, stupid even. It was not something that was planned, it was merely something that happened beyond my control. It occurred and I did not regret it one bit.

Love always seemed to happen at the least likely places. It was not a foreign concept to me, neither were relationships. In fact, I cherished everything about love and my language of expression was forever limitless.

When I was introduced to the other members the Professor carefully handpicked for the heist, I was taken aback by their charms and charisma.

They were handsome, all six of them; each with their own styles and skills to assist the Professor and his master plan. Some of them knew each other from rumors or past jobs and others did not.

I worked alone, always had and always would.

The day the Professor recruited me, he had asked to meet him at Chateau de Foix, a castle in France. He had sneakily placed a note in my jacket as I was scouting a Chanel store intending to rob it days later. I was not sure what I was getting into but before even meeting him, he assured me with his note that he could make me wealthier than I could ever contemplate. So, I met him at Chateau de Foix.

I was interested. He caught my attention.

He did not disclose much until he was certain I was someone who he could trust. Honestly, I could not blame him. Partners were not my thing, especially partnering with a man. There was something about them that made my skin crawl. When it came to men and money, there was always one certain thing; they would fuck you over.

The Professor laid out pieces of his plan and as obscure and ambitious as it was, I kind of felt intrigued by his nerdy appearance, his hesitation to look me in the eye, how well-spoken he was and how greatly he sold his plan.

Again, he caught my attention.

Luckily, he had informed me where the next meeting would be and that I was the only woman on the team. He requested I thought it over and I did. I flew to South Korea. That was where the plan had to take place.

At first, I could not escape the futile catcalls or misogynistic remarks. The Professor was too much of a beta to control the dominant thieves who thought they knew better than most.

The worst one was the man with the effortless beauty and striking features. At first glance, he did not look Korean. GC as we called him, or Geochang County as the Professor had dubbed him. Younger brother to Daegu and quite frankly, a little too handsy for my liking and too excited to see a pair of tits on the team. So, I did what I had to ensure my survival and role as well as what I did not tolerate.

He did not appreciate the sass and the chokehold on his intimate part as I stood my ground.

Since then, no one had attempted to try my patience. In fact, all the teasing became just that, teasing … with zero malice or ill intentional comments. They were guys around me, sure, but they became mindful, more tolerable. Exactly how I preferred my men.

For months, I spent time with the six guys including the Professor as we prepared to rob the Bank of Korea. I got to know them individually and I had to admit they were starting to feel like family.

The Professor had set us up at Jindo, a remote island known for its parting sea during the spring season. He had rented a beach house and from there we listened as the Professor disclosed his plan, made the necessary preparations such as getting familiar with the bank, its routines, staff, and much more.

Busan, Seoul, and I would often get paired when a trip to the Bank of Korea was presented.

Busan was a mastermind in human behavior and expertly designed profiles of everyone that worked at the bank; from cleaners to CEOs. If you ever wondered or had questions about anyone going in and out of the bank, Busan was the man to call.

Despite his small size and soft features, he was a man who could not tolerate disadvantages. Knowledge was power he would often say especially during a heist and he would stride for perfection.

He was smart.

I did not think of making profiles for the law enforcement that would be called to deal with the hostage situation we would inevitably have to take to secure our survival. But Busan did. He knew exactly who the bank would call, their past, their marital status, the number of kids, he knew everything.

He was an asset.

Seoul, however, possessed something that completely went over my head. Technology. At first glance, I guessed him to be an assassin of some sort.

He was the quietest of the group and the hardest man to get close to. Despite his big eyes and tattoos, he was extremely fun to be around. Once he opened up, I realized my instincts about him were a tad off. Although a part of me questioned my abilities, I came to the realization that looks could be deceiving. Seoul was someone who did not open up as easily as the rest and had to assess his environment first.

I was much like him and because of this, he and I became the closest.

The technology was not my strongest suit but it was his. Every trip we made to the capital, he gained more knowledge about the bank and the software they used including hacking their system, so we could gain access to the security cameras.

The Professor was beside himself when he received the live footage of the bank. This meant we did not have to expose ourselves by making those trips to the capital but could spy on everyone from the comfort of our beach house.

I was relieved. Unlike Busan and Seoul, I had to be the one to risk everything and use my abilities and go inside the bank. The Professor had bought wigs and often I would rotate them with each trip but that did not stop my heart from beating faster than it ever had.

A thief afraid of getting caught, Busan would joke often in my earpiece but the Bank of Korea was something far greater than the high-end stores I used to steal from. It was a different level and the consequence of getting caught was larger than a meaningless brand shop.

Once the dust settled and we gathered some information, part two of the Professor’s plan could start. Breaking in the bank and taking hostages as leverage was the easiest part. Once inside, we had to establish some kind of order. The Professor would be on the outside helping the rest coordinate from within while being the voice of the heist.

I caught him blankly staring at the vision board he often used like a teacher standing in front of his class, deep in thought as his eyes wandered across the whiteboard, “Can I help?”

“No, I’m thinking.”

“Need help thinking?” I teasingly suggested the wine bottle I was drinking from.

“Once inside, what is your job?”

“The hostages with GC.”

“Why?”

I shrugged as I took a sip. The Professor ripped his gaze from the board and glared at me. He was not in the mood for my games. Something was bothering him. So, I sighed, “We both can handle a gun, GC isn’t afraid to use it. By having one of each gender there, the women will feel safer and the men won’t try anything.”

“And?”

“And we are the calm and order. Our job is to keep them quiet and put the fear of God in them.”

“And you?” he murmured as he placed his index finger on the bridge of his nose, keeping his glasses from falling, “I am sure there will be arguments and disagreements once you get inside. There’s no going around that fact. All of you have some kind of experience but most of you are hot-headed. Who will put the fear of God in you? As you eloquently said. Who?”

“Gwacheon is the oldest.” The Professor stood up after my answer. I watched him as he began to collect his things from the desk before he excused himself, “Where do you plan on going?” I asked as I followed him to the front door.

“I’ll be back in a couple of days.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” He reached for his jacket and told me to trust him and take a break until he returned before leaving for an unknown mission.

A couple of days turned into a week. The Professor was gone and some of the other guys grew agitated. Some questioned him and his plan while others, including myself, did as he had asked and took a break.

Gwacheon, the oldest and the most level-headed person on the team, was lounging by the bonfire created for the dinner he was preparing. Loyal to the Professor as I was, he went ahead and took his suggestion.

Everyone was desperate for a break. It had been months of planning and thinking of every detail. A break was welcomed, needed.

Gwacheon had planned a dinner for the team and was thrilled to have some downtime. With beers in the cooler, the sun setting beyond the horizon, and a cozy fire, he began to season the beef as he hollered for me to start the music. The Professor was on my mind. So, in honor of him, I played ‘Bella Ciao’ by Manu Pilas. He was far from home as was I and although he was not around at the moment to enjoy the festivities with us, I knew he was with us in spirit.

I tapped on Gwacheon’s broad shoulder and he shot an amused smile. The Latin vibes of the upbeat song made me dance with soju in my hand. Allowing the Spanish words to energize and elevate my mood as I poorly attempted to sing along. He laughed at my dance but could not help swing his hips along to the beat.

My eyes then caught Daegu’s as he was assembling a gun. He smiled and shot me a quick nod to sit by him.

I eyed him as he began to pick the L85 apart before placing it in front of me. I raised an eyebrow at him, he chuckled while gesturing I gave it a shot. Proclaiming it was better to be prepared for a situation rather than a situation unfolding and remaining oblivious.

From the moment I met him, I knew he was the real deal, even heard rumors about the great mastermind who stole the Hope Diamond. When questioning him in my drunken state, Daegu simply flashed me a gummy smile. I was not too sure what that meant but I was certain he was someone who was legit and that I could potentially learn a lot from. I did.

Daegu was the kind of man who kept to himself, quiet and reserved like the Professor but he did not shy away from passing down his experiences and knowledge. I often caught myself wondering how polar opposite he was from his brother, GC. Daegu struck me as someone methodical with his approach while GC was spontaneous. But as the Professor ensured, GC had something most in the team did not have; quick thinking, unique perspectives, and the kind of smarts that could never be taught.

“Go ahead,” Daegu said as GC came into view with Gwangju carrying bowls of rice, kimchi, and steamed vegetables.

I grabbed the disassembled parts and attempted to assemble them to my best capabilities. Daegu grinned and GC approached the table. He waited a moment and watched as I struggled with the parts until he groaned and grabbed the gun from me.

Swiftly, he assembled the gun while casually counting in his native tongue, “Samshipil,” he announced as he slid the gun back to me, “31 seconds.”

“That’s a record,” Daegu smiled at his brother.

“I don’t know what the Professor was on but I doubt you’ll get any hostage to take you seriously if you can’t even do that.”

“Don’t listen to him. He’s a prick,” Daegu shot his brother a glare, “We have time,” he began to disassemble the gun once more, “Try again.”

I was grateful for Daegu’s patience. Although I had some knowledge of firearms, I tended not to use them during my ventures. A small pocket pistol was always in my bag and I could operate it. However, these types of guns were far from anything I had experienced, bigger too.

Luckily though, Daegu was a trained assassin and this was his specialty. He along with Gwacheon and Gwangju had pulled off heists before; together as well as separate. In other words, they were the experts on the team.

Daegu and Gwangju had a friendship like no other and had often saved each other from dire situations. They had worked multiple jobs together and relied on one another in admirable ways. For a moment, I was envious of their friendship and loyalty to each other.

Although Gwacheon had worked with them before, he often carried out small heists on his own. Much like myself, he preferred not to have a partner but made me realize that sometimes they could be useful, especially when it came to bigger jobs.

He was a lone wolf when he had to be. He told me to remember that. And I did.

I did not see the appeal. In fact, humans tend to be unreliable and oftentimes selfish. I could not trust it, anyone for that matter. It was one of the first things I learned from my father. His partner had sold him out, so he could reduce the sentence the authorities were threatening him with. Since then, I did not seek the help of others.

It was always me, myself, and I. However, the Professor managed to find a group of people whose company I actually enjoyed. Despite being thieves and some of them murderers, they were a group of men I had grown to like and trust.

Gwangju sat opposite me as I struggled with the L85. He clinked his soju bottle with mine and I grinned before giving up, “Look me in the eye as you take the first sip,” I ordered.

“Cheers,” he said and grinned, “Does that mean something where you’re from?”

“Means you’ll have bad sex if you don’t.”

“Well in that case,” he clinked his bottle with mine once more, “We don’t want that.”

He shot me a big and pearly smile before he began to assemble the gun. I studied his prominent features for a moment, admiring his natural beauty and olive skin before directing my gaze down at the heavy firearm as he explained which parts went where.

Fully focused on his words and his handle of the gun, I felt Busan’s presence behind me. He climbed between Daegu and me, “What’s up?” I asked when I caught his eyes.

“After dinner, we should get lit and go to the festival,” his suggestive demeanor forced a smile from me. Out of the six men, he was the one who actively sought my attention, persistent fucker.

He was interested in me, I could sense it. And although it would have been easy to spread my legs for him or any of the others, I was only interested in collecting my end of the robbery. Completing the heist unscathed was my sole concern and these little horny thieves were not going to stray me from my goal.

“Low profile,” Gwangju spat as my eyes were on Busan’s, “We can’t be seen together. Rule number seven.”

“Screw the Professor and his rules,” he responded without taking his eyes off mine. Busan studied my features as my gaze shifted from his plump lips to his dark eyes, “Besides, we deserve a little fun,” he directed his attention to Gwangju, “What the Professor doesn’t know won’t kill him.”

“He did say we were on a break until he got back.”

“Do not encourage him, London,” Gwangju warned after finishing the assembly of the gun.

“A little fun didn’t hurt anyone,” Busan voiced as his fingertips caressed my bare shoulder.

“Careful there, brother,” GC sat beside Gwangju with soju in hand, “You do not want her claws piercing your ballsack.”

“London wouldn’t be that mean to me,” Busan’s eyes wandered between mine and then my lips as he leaned closer, “Would you?”

I felt the hot air from his parted lip brush against mine and I could not help but meet him halfway. With a cocky smirk, I reached down for his clothed manhood, digging my sharp nails in the jean fabric he wore as a sudden groan escaped him, “Don’t get too comfortable, kiddo,” I whispered against his mouth as he hissed and cursed under his breath.

“Told you,” GC grinned, and soon after the rest began to laugh at Busan’s failed attempt.

➰

Busan convinced GC and Seoul to join him at the spring festival. Every year on the day of the parting sea, locals would celebrate the event by throwing a massive street party. The island was known for its festivities and attracted a lot of tourists. I could not visit South Korea and not experience what Jindo had to offer. So, I went, and as reluctant as Gwangju was, he joined us as well until Gwacheon decided to make it a family affair and convinced Daegu to join the outing too.

South Korea had always been a country I wanted to visit. It was known for its rich culture, delicious food, and its kind people. So far, I enjoyed everything I had experienced.

Despite the intention of the visit, I was grateful to be here and be amongst native men who could guide me and translate if needed. Sadly, one of the Professor’s rules was to blend as much as we could and not draw any attention to ourselves. Knowing him and the stick up his butt, he would not have been too pleased to know that we were lounging with the locals, getting drunk until late, and essentially making a mockery of his rule system.

Close to midnight, Daegu wanted to head back to the beach house and he did along with me and Seoul who had to prepare to monitor the bank in the morning. He was close to hacking into the internal security system, the one that allowed us to view everything on the inside.

Freshly out of the shower, the house was painfully quiet with most of the others still enjoying the festivities. I danced around with a pair of headsets blasting music in my ears, enjoying the alcohol that roamed in my system as I shimmied into my undergarments. ‘All That’ by Emotional Oranges came on and I sang along as I smeared lotion on my body. Soon the music captivated every inch of my body and I began to dance when suddenly I caught a glimpse of a man watching me by the door.

A loud gasp came out of me, but as startled as I was, my body knowingly eased, assessing the situation as I stared down the stranger without showcasing any fear. I had not seen him before and I wondered how he had gotten inside of the beach house.

Seoul had explicitly explained that the place was safely secured.

The man leaned against the doorframe as a small sigh evaded his plump lips while he unapologetically allowed his gaze to travel down my body, “The Professor didn’t say anything about a woman being on the team.”

“The Professor?”

He eyed me momentarily, “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m Ilsan. What’s your assigned city?”

“London.” I nodded as the realization came over me. He was what the Professor was searching for. He was the mission he had mentioned; the team’s leader and the one to instill the fear of God in us.

Just then did it occur to me that Ilsan had to be someone the Professor trusted completely. He was almost obsessively calculated with everything about the heist. For our safety and his own. Everything had to be planned. And he was right. We were hot-headed, argued, and disagreed many times. Everyone had their own styles but for the heist to be successful, it required that we all moved as a team. The Professor knew this, knew once we were inside, he was limited in terms of guidance. Although communication would be out of the question, he needed someone on the inside that would make sure the proper steps would be taken.

I eyed Ilsan and sensed why the Professor had chosen him. He had an authoritative aura. I was sure he was the kind of man who inserted his dominance well. The Professor was a beta but based on first impressions, Ilsan struck me as someone who did not mind and preferred - despite the pressure and responsibility - to be the top alpha of the team.

“London,” he sang, “That's a pretty name. I have been there. Wet country.” I attempted to hold back the appearing smile that the comment accurately described about my home city, “Did you choose it or did the Profess--”

“You got your sneak peek,” I hastily voiced, not interested in his small talk and especially with lack of clothes on, “Fuck off. I’m getting ready for bed.”

He chuckled into a low hum as he crossed his arms, resting his head against the doorframe, “You usually have a party before bed?” I caught a glance of his smirk and the dimples that came along with it. He was a flirt, much like Busan, and I was not having it. Ilsan did not know that I was someone not to be messed with. But he would soon. I walked over to the door and shoved him backward by his chest before slamming the door in his face.

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vikingpoteto · 4 years ago

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middle children must unionize

read on ao3 ______________________

my contributior for @batfam-big-bang

Summary: Jason realizes no one is taking care of Tim - not even Tim himself. He decides to do something about it.

Notes: I can't stress enough how grateful I am for joining this event. First of all, stan the mods. Stan my beta reader team, @timmydrakewings, @stormleviosa and @sun-lit-roses. Stan my artist team @houser-of-stories, @reese-haleth and @anicomicqueen To all of these amazing talented people that, for whatever reason chose to help me with this story, I can't stress enough how grateful I am. ________________________

Jason doesn’t keep in touch with the Bats after Bruce’s gone.

Batwoman only trusts him as far as she can throw him. Dick is not easy to avoid, but Jason keeps their contact to a minimum nonetheless. Ninja girl doesn’t speak with him. Replacement… Well. Jason does have a weird professional relationship with the kid. As professional as you can get with someone you tried to kill. Barbara will probably never forgive him for making Dick cry so many times. Brat girl will probably never forgive him for trying to kill Replacement. The other one, whatever his name is, is low-key/high-key terrified of Jason. As for the gremlin... Well, he’s like 10? 11? Jason doesn’t hang out with children, not even assassin ones.

So yeah. Not on friendly terms with anyone in the Wayne family.

However he is an instigator at heart and, while whatever they’re doing in the Batcave is none of his business, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t finish one of his rare visits by stirring things up a bit.

Dick usually makes sure he doesn’t do anything too outrageous, but a distraction comes in the form of Gremlin, who shows up demanding to know why Dick is late for their training session or whatever. The brat sends Jason a scathing look but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge him. Dick only smiles patiently and waves Jason goodbye, leaving Replacement unsupervised. Before heading out, Jason approaches Replacement, who’s sitting by the batcomputer.

“So,” he starts. Jason notices when the kid flinches a little. Your regular guy wouldn’t, but Jason was once a bat too. “How does it feel to be replaced, Replacement?”

Replacement’s shoulders go stiff for half a second.

When he turns to face Jason, however, his expression is empty.

“Predictable,” he says.

Jason quirks an eyebrow up. “Meaning?”

“I was only a Robin because I was, how can I put this, a coworker?” Replacement turns his eyes back to the computer and starts typing. “It was a no-strings-attached sort of deal. Bound to end at some point.”

That’s… new.

“You’re legally adopted into the Wayne family,” Jason hears himself reminding him.

“Yeah, ain’t that a pickle,” Replacement laughs. “Can you guess who forced Bruce to do that? My money was on Dick, but now I think it was probably Babs or Alfred.”

Jason stares, unsure what to make of that. Before he decides, the kid stands up.

"I have always been a patch job, so being dismissed is to be expected. I'm just overstaying my welcome at this point."

“You can get dismissed? I thought this was an until-your-untimely-death sort of gig.”

That was not how Jason expected this conversation to go, like, at all. He had never seen Replacement looking so… worn out? Lifeless?

“I don’t know, man,” Tim frowns as though he made himself confused. “God, I’m sleepy. See you around, I guess.”

And Jason watches him leave the cave with his shoulders hunched and an empty stare. Dick and Gremlin are so preoccupied with their sparring session that they don’t seem to notice. Jason sticks around for a few more seconds, stunned, before he realizes what he’s doing. He goes home.

Jason can’t stop thinking about what the kid said.

It’s not that he didn’t think something of the sorts, especially when he was angriest at Bruce. He had thought about how Batman trained his children to be soldiers and, like soldiers, they could be easily replaced. After all, what was one more problem child joining their broken family? What’s another deadly brat being thrown at some creeps wearing literal clown costumes?

He did think of them as Bruce’s kids though.

Not that Batman had any expertise in healthy parenting techniques, but Jason didn’t have any healthy son experiences to compare so it didn’t matter much. They were Batkids for the better and mostly for the worse, and if something happened to them, well, the crusade must go on.

He never thought of Robin as someone that could be sent home out of the blue, like your average GC Pig. A disgrace to the family? Sure. See, kids, we don’t talk about cousin Jason. He got himself killed and came back all crooked. That’s what happens if you kill murderers or forget to brush your teeth. Still, the idea of being dismissed for no reason never occurred to Jason. It was absurd, because, as far as Jason knew, his replacement was the perfect little soldier. Why would he walk away?

Dick fought with Bruce. Jason… well. You know. Brat girl had to move cities or whatever? Or she died, but got better? Jason doesn’t really know anything about the chick. Either way, he knows she became Batgirl soon after. Tim, however, had nothing stopping him from staying masked. Why would Replacement talk about being Robin as if it was a summer job?

Does that mean that the wimpy kid Jason has been bullying was really that cold and detached?

He thinks about it until his head hurts and he starts remembering times with Bruce and Dick and Alfred and suddenly he doesn’t want to think about it anymore.

It’s a good thing Jason is good at compartmentalizing, because that’s what he does. He pushes thoughts of Batman and Robin to the depths of his mind and forgets about it.

He doesn’t find out until weeks later.

He’s not visiting the manor because he wants to. It’s just that there is this stupid encrypted information he needs for a case and he isn’t exactly tech savvy. He doesn’t think Barbara would do him a solid - she’s still ignoring him for… whatever. He doesn’t even know. Probably something about hurting Dick’s pwecious feewings or eating the last cookie Alfred made. Either way, Jason first tries contacting Replacement directly. Only when the kid doesn’t pick up he forces himself to go to the cult headquarters.

He needs that data, dammit, and whoever called programming logic, was out of their damn mind. If true, execute commands 1, 2 and IV, it said. If what was true? Jason read and read and still didn’t get what it was referring to. And why would someone name the commands regular numbers then just… throw a fucking roman number? Just to spice things up? Whoever wrote that damn code should get a bullet in the foot.

“Jay!” Dick grins at him, although he looks unamused by the fact that Jason is coming in through a window on the second floor. “You do remember that we have a door, don’t you?”

“I like to keep ‘em guessing,” Jason says. “Which room is the kid’s? I have a job for him.”

Dick tilts his head to the side, confused. “Damian is at school?”

And then there’s that. A lot to unpack. First, Jason is deeply offended that Dick thinks he would ever go there after Gremlin, the child that likes to criticize Jason's skills despite the fact that a) Jason was trained by Damian's father and then b)Jason was trained by Damian's mother. Second, Damian Wayne. Going to Gotham Academy. Does he wear the uniform? Does he have homework or does he threaten the teachers with a sword until they quit? Did anyone explain to him the concept of playing tag before he murders a bunch of 9 year olds? Jason has so many questions. If only he had time.

“I said the kid . The human one, not the imp.”

“Oh.” Dick seems taken aback. “Oh, he... Jason, Tim isn’t in Gotham. You didn’t know?”

Jason groans. “Are you kidding me? You annoyed him into leaving the planet with his alien friends again, didn’t you?”

“No, he… I actually don’t know where he is now.”

Jason blinks in surprise. So Dick didn’t pick Bruce’s habit of microchipping his kids?

“What do you mean you don’t know? How do you lose a whole Robin? The uniform is basically a traffic cone.”

Dick sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Jason had seen Bruce do just that so many times he forgets for a moment whatever stupid joke he was about to make. When did his older brother become the dad?

“He left a while ago. He barely spent any time here at the manor after I gave Robin to Damian, so…”

Jason freezes. After I gave Robin to Damian, he says. Being dismissed is to be expected, the kid said weeks ago.

“Dick. What the fuck did you do?”

Dick looks surprised at the raw anger in Jason’s voice, even though he shouldn’t fucking be. Jason remembers the distant voice on that day. He did think that was oddly cold for Replacement, even if he was a calculating nerd. Except that wasn’t him being cold. That was him lying to himself.

Jason would know. He spent most of his childhood telling himself he didn’t need a loving father. A good part of his teenage years telling everyone that would hear that he didn’t care at all that Bruce kept holding him to the standards of the perfect son that went away. It’s a lot easier to pretend you didn’t care because it makes it hurt less when things are taken away. Jason was a fucking pro at that technique, so much he wonders how the hell he didn’t notice earlier.

“I did what I had to do,” Dick says, defensively. The way he does when he’s second guessing himself, but still in denial about it. “Tim’s a hero of his own right and he’s capable enough that…”

“That you fucking fired him?” Jason barks.

“Damian needs Robin, Jason! He’s just so lost and being Robin gave him a sense of purpose, allowed him to actually be a child.”

“No shit Gremlin is a child! What about Replacement? He’s, what, 15?”

“He’s 17, how do you not know your own brother’s age?”

“Whatever! He’s just a teen and you basically just told him to fuck off.”

Dick sighs. “Look, I tried to help Tim. Tim’s friends tried to help Tim. But he’s a mature person and he wanted some time for himself.”

Ain’t that a familiar song. A good dose of leave me the fuck alone while still wearing a goddamn bat on his chest and making sure to make enough noise to draw attention. He doesn’t like how close it hits to home, how Dick, who’s supposed to be the best of them, ends up being just as shit as recognizing emotions as any other Bat. Jason laughs without any humor.

Incensed, Dick’s jaw sets in challenge as he adds: “I trust Tim and I respected his choice to leave on his own mission, because he knows what’s right for him.”

“Keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night,” Jason says. “You’re right. Give the demon what he needs. Replacement is a grown ass adult because you respect him so much .”

“Jason, I didn’t say that…”

“He was never a kid here, Dick, even I know that. You all keep throwing shit at him, messes for him to fix ‘cause it’s fine, it’s little Timmy, he’s so fucking capable, he can take it. Have you ever considered that he was always an adult because you all are the fucking children?”

I have always been a patch job sounds awfully similar to I’m here because he got lonely after you left.

But apparently Dick is done exercising his brotherly patience and Jason hit a nerve.

“What do you know about him? You never bothered to talk to him, to spend time with him. You don’t know shit about Tim.”

Jason scoffs. Dick’s face grows unevenly red.

“You don’t, Jason! You were busy trying to kill him. Remember that bonding experience? Must have been fun for him. Having the hero he grew up admiring trying to murder him?”

Jason throws the first punch. Dick easily dodges, the motherfucker, the damn superior Robin.

Screw it, Jason thinks as they start yet another classic Robin Brawl that would only end when Ninja Girl mysteriously dropped from the ceiling and kicked both of their asses.

Jason doesn’t hear from the cave for a while. His phone gets a weird virus, so he guesses Oracle heard he pushed Dick down the stairs. He just tosses the whole thing away and decides that screw his stupid case with the weird code, screw detective work. The biggest detectives aren’t around anymore. He'll just call Kory and convince her to help torch the place up and hopefully the new Batman and Robin will have to deal with the aftermath.

The next time Jason hears from his brothers, it’s a frantic call from Dick that makes Jason’s blood turn into ice: freaking Ra’s Al Ghul is in Gotham doing his whole Head of the Demon thing. He grabs his bike and he’s still on the comms with Dick as he heads to the manor because Alfred is in there.

“What did Gremlin do?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Dick answers and Jason can barely hear him over the wind. He’s probably swinging around Gotham as he speaks. “It was Tim. Tim’s back and Ra’s is after him and everyone he cares about.”

Fuck. This is the kid Dick trusted to go out alone on a self-discovery journey or whatever. Jason wonders what the hell he had been up to get that much unwanted attention.

In the end, everything works out, kind of. No one on their side dies, but Tim does get thrown out of a window. Of a very, very, veeery tall building. Jason still thinks he got off too easy. As smart as he is, Tim shouldn’t have survived a run in with Ra’s.

Jason is curious enough about it to stay in the cave after the fact. He and Dick sit near Tim’s bed while Leslie works her magic. Dick doesn’t take his eyes from his little brother’s pale face for even a second.

“We almost lost him,” he whispers at some point. “Again, we… I almost lost him.”

“But you didn’t,” Jason says, voice flat. “You saved him.”

Dick bites his lower lip hard enough to break the skin. Jason punches his shoulder to snap him out of it.

“Jay, about last time…”

“Ugh, don’t apologize, you freak. Why can’t you just bottle up your emotions and pretend nothing happened like the rest of this stupid family?”

That makes Dick give him a weak smile. If not for the bottling up part, for the part in which Jason admits they’re a family.

“You were… well, not right. I still think Tim shouldn’t be treated like a sidekick anymore,” Dick continues, despite Jason’s disgusted noises. “But he shouldn’t be left alone either. No one in this family should.”

Jason pretends to be gagging long enough that Dick gives up on trying to be a sensible adult and returns to silently watching over his brother.

After that, it’s a matter of stalling and by stalling he ends up watching the other Bats. He finds from Alfred that Ninja Girl isn’t looming over Tim’s bed because she’s in Hong Kong. Brat girl comes and goes the whole night and Jason doesn’t understand why she can’t simply sit down and wait as a pile of nerves like Dick is doing. At some point, she reads the morning newspaper and starts making so much fuss the one Jason doesn’t know the name - Dave? Dylan? - takes her upstairs to calm her down. Damian is nowhere to be found

In the end, Jason manages to be there when Replacement wakes up. Everyone is busy celebrating, too elated that Replacement is fine, so much they forget Jason is still lurking around. No one sees when his face goes pale and he feels like he’s going to puke.

“How did you know I was going to catch you?” Dick asks.

Tim gives him a tired smile. “You’re my brother, Dick. I knew you’d save me.”

Fuck.

Fuck. It’s like looking into a goddamn mirror, except Tim is so much better at this than Jason ever was. So much that he might even be fooling himself.

But he can’t fool Jason. Dick wants to believe in the best of them, he wants them all to be sane and safe and happy - as much as a Bat can be, at least - but Jason is more of a realist. He knows no one can plan that far ahead. He knows Tim went to a meeting with the Head of the Demon fully aware that he would most likely be carried out in a coffin. Considering Dick’s misstep from a couple months earlier and the fact that Tim had already assigned him and Damian a task, Batman was the last person Tim was expecting to show up.

Of course Dick would save him, any of them. Despite his issues with Bruce, Jason had his hero worship towards his brother restored pretty fast. Dick, the golden boy, the perfect son, loved him no matter what and Jason loved him back. Knew now that Dick had love enough to go around for all of them - all of them. But did Tim know that?

Tim finished his little mission, wrapped it all pretty with a bow, making sure no one kicked the bucket. Except for himself. Timothy Drake-Wayne was the contingency plan for Batman’s contingency plan, but he didn’t care enough to make a plan for himself.

Bruce is gone. Dick is painfully blind. The Drakes are dead. Alfred has his hands full. The Behemoths or the Little League, or whatever the hell the super kids call themselves now, were just that. Kids. Jason curses to himself, because, if no one else will watch out for Replacement, it’s none of his fucking business.

It’s not.

However…

Jason doesn’t know how to put his not-plan in action. He can’t exactly walk up to Tim and say hey, I think we’re not so different, you and I, so I’m worried for your safety. I know I tried to kill you, but that like... two years ago, get over it. Let’s be friends.

Before he figures it out, he hears that Bruce is back. The real Bruce.

He doesn’t know how to feel about it, so he decides to put some distance between him and the family one more time as he takes some weeks to process. He goes out of town to hang out with his friends. He is done with Gotham bullshit for a while.

Unfortunately, Jason finds himself facing his worst enemy: the damn encrypted data.

He hates that dealers now do their thing through the internet. Who the fuck buys marijuana online? Where is the poetry in that? The class of being friends with the sketchy guy that lives around the corner and hangs out with you while you smoke? If they’re gonna sell oregano online to rich white kids, fine, but they’re selling heavy stuff to people that live in his territory and there is a thing bigger than just drugs, if Jason’s hunch is right. He could confirm it by cracking the numbers he stole from their stupidly unguarded computers.

Except the encryption is too complicated for him to access the files.

Well, isn’t that the perfect excuse to take a visit to the kid’s apartment.

Because that is the situation right now. The kid is emancipated, controlling Wayne Enterprises and living by his damn self. There is so much to unpack that Jason wants to throw away the whole suitcase.

He should probably do just that, or at least that’s what he thinks when he climbs to Tim’s balcony (in his head, he hears Dick’s voice going what do you hate about front doors, man?) and he is immediately pushed to the ground.

He is wearing his helmet, sure, but it doesn’t make it less painful when someone fucking stomps on his head, forcing his face against the floor.

“Fuck,” is all Jason thinks of saying.

He then kicks his assailant in the shin and is satisfied when they tumble backwards. Unfortunately for him, they - she - doesn’t fall over the railing, she just stays away long enough to give him time to stand.

A bald girl wearing a distasteful crop top glares daggers at him. She is already back on her fighting stance - one that looks way too familiar for Jason’s taste - ready to strike. And strike she does.

Her movements are similar to Jason’s - fast, strong, unpredictable, unfair - but she has the advantage of being more slender and having more freedom of movement in the small space. All Jason can do is defend himself and not get tossed over the edge. Who the fuck is this girl? Why is she attacking him? Doesn’t she know he is the freaking Red Hood? He just wanted the damn-

“What on Earth are you guys doing on my balcony?”

The girl freezes. Jason does not. He lands a punch straight on her nose and she falls backwards, her mouth opening in pain even if no sound comes out.

“What the hell, Hood!”

Tim rushes to the girl’s side.

“What the hell Hood?” Jason parrots, indignant. “I just got here and she attacked me!”

Tim frowns and turns to the girl. “Is that true?”

Instead of answering, the girl holds her bloody nose and glares at him. She uses her free hand to show Tim four fingers. Tim sighs.

“I know it’s the fourth time you’ve had your nose broken,” Tim gives her a wry smile. “But the three other times you had it coming. And maybe even this time. Why did you attack Red Hood?”

She makes the gesture of someone walking with two fingers then points at Tim’s balcony door. Jason doesn’t know a lot of ASL, but those don’t seem to be the same signs Cassandra uses.

“She attacked me because she thought I was trying to break in?” He asks. “You have a bodyguard now?”

Tim stands and holds out his hand to the girl. She begrudgingly takes it and lets him pull her to her feet. “Why don’t we all go inside before someone notices the Red Hood on my balcony?”

Jason grumbles in annoyance but does make his way in. Tim is right behind him and Jason can’t help but think he’s acting as a shield in case the girl wants revenge for her nose.

“Come here, Pru, I’ll get something cold for your nose.”

Jason takes a look around. As they cross the living room, he notices it looks like a shiny rich person apartment you’d see in a magazine. Jason wasn’t sure what he expected of Tim’s new crib, and he knows the kid just moved in, but the fact that the place looks like a hospital’s reception makes him feel some sort of way.

Fortunately, the kitchen is a bit better. Not much, but it’s something. There are papers spread across the table, dirty glasses in the sink, a mug full of black steaming tea, Tim’s laptop open on top of a pile of books, and there are pictures on the fridge. Jason remembers vaguely Dick mentioning that one of the kids had a thing for photography and another liked drawing. He has to assume Tim is the photographer as he takes a good look at them: one of Brat girl’s grinning face with a big heart magnet, one of Tim and Cassandra sharing the same reading chair, one of Bruce in one of those fancy sweaters he used to wear at home, one of Dick and Cassandra doing handstands, one of a red head kid, behind him Tim, a muscular girl and an even more muscular guy. Jason doesn’t need to be a detective to figure those, even without the uniforms, are Impulse, Wonder Girl and Superboy.

“So,” Tim starts. He hands the girl a pack of frozen peas and shrugs at her dirty look. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Without ceremony, the girl takes a seat by the table and tries to steal a glance at Tim’s laptop. He casually closes it and smiles at her. She scoffs.

“First, you explain the bodyguard,” Jason says, gesturing to the girl.

“Right. Where are my manners? Pru, this is Red Hood. Hood, this is Prudence.”

He doesn’t turn to her so she can read his lips or use gestures to speak, so Jason figures she isn’t deaf, only mute. Maybe it’s something like Cassandra?

“Really? Prudence? That’s ironic. ”

She shows Jason her middle finger. Definitely not deaf then.

Unlike Prudence, Jason doesn’t make himself at home. When he crosses his arms and doesn’t say anything for a minute more, Tim reads his silence correctly and adds, “We’re working together for a while and there are a lot of people that want us dead, so you’ll have to forgive her. She saw a suspicious guy trying to get into my place and she assumed the worst.”

Jason quirks an eyebrow. Tim can’t see his expression behind the helmet, but he sighs nonetheless.

“Come on. She couldn’t know I sometimes work with the Red Hood too.”

I sometimes work with. Ouch. Jason supposes that’s fair, though. Tim hasn’t exactly been informed of Jason’s newfound empathy or his protective streak.

“How did you know where I live, by the way?” Tim asks.

“Alfred told me you moved,” Jason says. “I got your address from Cassandra.”

Tim’s brows disappear under his messy fringe. “Really?”

Jason nods. “Took a lot of convincing before she believed I didn’t want to kill you in your sleep.”

At that, Tim snorts. He’s still grinning when he asks, “What did you want it for then?”

“Tech support,” he says as he fishes a small flash drive from his pocket. “I was hoping you could crack some files for me.”

Tim takes it and nods. “I’ll check it out. I’ll send the results to you as soon as I have them. Anything else?”

Again… ouch. Apparently imprudent girl is welcome to kick back and hang out, but Jason is just a fellow associate that came to hand in an assignment and promptly piss off.

Then Jason realizes that that was exactly what their relationship was like before Tim went around the world to fight Ra’s al Ghul. Damn.

Well. It’s not like he can take off his helmet and stick around when there is a stranger in there, especially when Tim carefully introduced him as the Red Hood instead of good ol’ Jason Todd. He just wanted to check on the kid and he did. No need to get all clingy. That’s Dick’s thing, not his.

It isn’t until much later that Jason realizes how pointless the visit was. He wanted to see if the kid was okay. He suspected he wasn’t, but it wasn’t like he had any idea of what to do about it.

Lucky for him, Tim looked a lot better than last time. Less dead eyed, more like he has some sort of purpose. The fact that Dick is included in his little photo collection must mean they made amends. Whether it was because Jason’s whooping Dick’s ass or in spite of it he’ll never know. Based on what he knows about Tim, the kid might have just worked everything out by himself and forgiven Dick on his own terms.

Despite his decision to take care of Tim from then on, Jason is definitely not great at it. He doesn't think he lost the rights to admonish Dick for not talking to his brother. The fact is Jason isn't great with words. He wants to help Tim through actions.

Still the question remains: how?

(And Tim emails him the files he needed 8 hours later and Jason worries that the kid didn’t sleep, which… great. This is just great.)

Less than two nights later, someone gets into Jason's frequency. He's about to head out for patrol when a creaking sound inside his helmet precedes a familiar voice slightly twisted by static.

"Red Hood, this is Red Robin. Do you copy?"

Right. He goes by Red Robin now.

"What you want, rep… kid?" Jason inwardly winces at his misstep.

There is a moment of confused silence before Tim mercifully decides not to ask what that was. "I'm pursuing a lead in your territory."

Jason hums. "What's it? I'll handle it."

"No!" Tim says too fast. "I mean… it's my case. I just thought you could take the night off? Please?"

This is supposed to be the smart Robin, right? He does know that Jason isn’t a complete moron, right?

“What’s in it for me?” Jason asks.

If this was Damian, he’d get a colorful death threat. If this was Dick, a winded speech on how brothers are supposed to have each other’s backs and he's just asking for a tiny favor, Jason, don’t make me make my ex-girlfriend hack into your phone and block Netflix again. Tim, however, knows that everything has a price and has an answer ready.

“You owe me for those files I decoded for you.”

Straight to the point. No bullshit. Jason is starting to really like this kid.

“Fair enough. You go follow your lead and I won’t murder you for being in my territory.”

“Always a pleasure doing business with you, Hood.”

Jason didn’t say anything about taking the night off, though.

Jason knows that, if he was working alone, Tim wouldn’t ask for permission. He would let himself in and out of Jason's territory assuming Jason wouldn’t even notice - he’d done it before as Robin, and Jason did notice but pretended not to. He can’t track Red Robin as easily, but the fact that he doesn’t want Red Hood around means there is something or someone he can’t control tagging along… and who’s the one person even Tim Drake can never control?

“Brat girl,” Jason mutters to himself, a cocky grin spreading on his face. One of his informants just confirmed he saw Batgirl driving whatever the fuck that is that capsule vehicle into an empty building just south of Jason’s place.

Oracle is probably out of town again, otherwise she wouldn’t allow her precious not-daughter to be messing around with Tim in Jason’s territory. But then, if most of the rumors are correct, even Barbara can’t quite control the new Batgirl.

He wonders what the duo are up to as he lets himself into the abandoned place through a hole in the ceiling. Red Hood walks on the rafters in the dark until he can hear familiar voices. He stops on his tracks when he notices that Red Robin and Batgirl aren’t alone. Wonder Girl and Impulse stick out like bright red sore thumbs against Gotham’s darkness.

Red Hood hears enough to know they’re planning on saving someone - one of Impulse’s friends? - from a local group connected to Black Mask. Their plan is solid, but it’s hardly a task herculean enough to warrant the presence of a speedster and an amazon. Red Robin makes it sound like it’s absolutely necessary nonetheless, assigning each of them a role that fits their powers and going over every little detail. It’s the first time Hood sees the kid in a position of leadership and he thinks it suits him. He seems extremely at ease.

Actually… that’s not quite it. He’s not as wary of the world as he is when he’s with the Batfamily. Not Batman’s perfect mini-detective, not Nightwing’s model little brother, not WE CEO. He’s still very much a hero, a Robin, but it’s possible to see he’s seventeen under the cowl. Even his posture changes, his shoulders relax and he allows himself to be… God, himself. That must be the first time Jason sees Tim completely in his element, no tension, no (metaphorical) masks.

Real Red Robin stays close to his friends. Very close. Hell, Impulse is almost sitting on his lap, his arm firmly wrapped around Red Robin’s waist as he points at some sort of map his wrist pad is showing. Batgirl is clinging to his other side, her chin resting on his shoulder using the excuse to see better what he’s showing. Hadn’t those two broken up?

Then Red Robin says something so softly not even Hood picks up. The other three teens get tense. Impulse nods and disappears in a gust of wind as his friends wait in silence.

Half a second later, something hits Hood’s back at a very alarming speed because of course Red Robin noticed someone listening and sent his speedster friend to get him. He curses while he falls, barely managing to roll fast enough to avoid serious knee damage when he lands.

“Jason!” Red Robin whines not unlike an embarrassed child crying out mom, not in front of my friends!

“Maybe check who’s spying on you before sending a child bullet careening into their back, will ya?” Jason complains.

Wonder Girl frowns. “Is that…”

“The Red Hood,” Batgirl confirms in a flat voice. “Yup.”

“Isn’t he a criminal?” Impulse asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.

A facepalming Red Robin groans. “He doesn’t do crime anymore.” Under Batgirl’s skeptical glare, he corrects, “He doesn’t do bad crimes anymore. What are you doing here, Hood? You said you were taking the night off!”

“I said I wouldn’t shoot you for being in my territory,” Hood corrects. “But I didn’t say anything about your super friends, because I didn’t think you’d be breaking so many rules in so little time. Really? Bringing metas to Gotham?”

Red Robin simply shrugs. “What Batman can’t see doesn’t hurt him.”

Batgirl snickers and Hood grins a little under his helmet.

“Little Timmy,” he gasps, resting his hand on his chest in mock shock.

“Shut up, why are you here?”

“What, you can’t tell me there is a case and expect me not to follow up.”

The other three kids look from Red Hood to Red Robin. It’s obvious that whatever Tim’s verdict is, they’re going to accept it. Even Stephanie. And she knows Jason (sort of).

“Fine,” Red Robin groans. “But no shooting anyone.”

“No promises.”

Wonder Girl and Impulse are obviously wondering whether they’re joking or not. Knowing they’re completely serious, Batgirl makes a face and pokes Red Robin’s cheek. He frowns at her and the two of them seem to have a conversation consisting of weird mouths and head shakes for a moment. Jason would know. He and Dick used to do that all the time. Finally, whatever face Red Robin is making convinces her and she lets out a defeated sigh.

“Well then, ladies,” Batgirl deadpans, “let’s get this bread.”

Despite Dick’s best efforts, Jason never quite fit in with the Titans. With Tim and Stephanie, however, he can work.

Breaking into one of Black Mask’s hideouts is a piece of cake, if not outright fun. He has to hand it to Stephanie. She is not as cunning as Barbara or as deadly as Cassandra, but the girl can blow up a marijuana deposit like no one else.

Sure, the smoke makes them at least 30% high—all of them except Impulse, whose metabolism won’t let him get intoxicated, to which… Just R.I.P. you funky little man, Jason really feels for him.

Even with the little diversion, there were still plenty of crooks to fight. Wonder Girl takes care of most of them on her own— amazons, man —and soon enough Impulse comes running, carrying a dark-skinned boy wearing power-dampening cuffs who keeps yelling at them in Spanish. At that, Red Robin announces they’re retreating.

Tim looks a lot more comfortable with his peers than he is with the Bats. Part of Jason wonders if he could’ve been like that. If he would have ended up differently if he had actually stayed with the Titans and made friends like Tim had. He tells himself not to go down that path, because he is who he is, he certainly doesn’t make friends in that teen sitcom way and you can’t change the past.

He is genuinely glad that Tim has those friends, though. He’s glad that he can feel that way despite the hint of jealousy.

As they leave a ruined hideout behind, Wonder Girl and Impulse are drowning Red Robin in hugs and cheering so loud one would forget they’re still in Gotham. Their friend laughs with them even with the stress of being so rambunctiously rescued. Batgirl slaps her arm around Hood’s shoulder and admires the Titans being loud as if congratulating themselves on the job done.

If all of them— all of them—are still smiling themselves silly as they leave, it’s only 50% because of the marijuana.

Jason quickly learns that Tim doesn’t like owing people. When Jason asked Tim to crack some encrypted documents, he just needed the damn files. He didn’t expect the kid to show up to tear down the place when Jason decided he had enough reason to dismantle the operation.

“What, you can’t tell me there is a case and expect me not to follow up,” Red Robin quips as he nudges a goon with his foot. The man groans, but doesn’t get up. Seemingly satisfied, Red Robin crouches down and starts cuffing the man to another by his side.

“Remind me to never ask for your help again,” Red Hood says.

Red Robin glowers. “I saved your ass from getting stabbed about three times.”

“I shot the kneecaps of four guys trying to murder you, so don’t expect me to thank you.”

They hear sirens. Red Robin stands. “Well, guess our job here is done.”

Hood nods. It’s been a while since he fought side by side with a fellow Bat, just him and another Robin and... it was nice. Roy and Kori are great partners and all, but they don’t have the same training a Robin does. They don’t get the specific maneuvers and the subtle secret signs. The fact that it had been so fun fighting side by side with Red Robin makes Jason feel like his not-plan of taking care of the kid was finally going somewhere.

Then Red Robin stretches his arm to grapple his way out of there and gasps.

“Red?”

“Uh…” He is now pressing his hand to his side.

“Is… is that blood?”

“Uhhhh…”

“Did you get stabbed and didn’t notice, you freaking idiot?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groans, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes over the cowl. “Why me?”

Red Hood sighs. “Relax, kid, it doesn’t look that deep.”

“I’m gonna have to call Batman,” Red Robin whines. “A’s gonna kill me.”

“Over a tiny stab wound? Don’t be a pussy, I’m sure you can stitch that yourself.”

“The stitches aren’t the problem, it’s just the medicine…” Red Robin says, making vague hand gestures. “I have no spleen.”

And then there’s that.

“I’m sorry. You what?”

Red Robin pulls a guilty face visible even under the cowl. Jason wouldn’t blame Alfred for killing him. He has no spleen and he just… decided it was a good idea to bring a staff to a gunfight at one of the grimiest places of Gotham.

Tim Drake-Wayne, everyone, smartest Robin to date.

Jason, however, decides not to kill Tim for his stupidity. He recognizes that particular frown. It’s the I-messed-up-and-I-don’t-want-dad-to-find-out face.

The GCPD sirens are getting closer.

“I’ve got a big collection of antibiotics back at one of my safehouses,” he mentions casually. “I could patch you up so A doesn’t have to.”

Tim’s wide eyes are evident. Jason wonders if this is him being able to read the kid too well or if Tim straight up sucks at hiding his emotions. It’s probably a bit of both.

“You know. As thanks for helping me.”

“I thought you wouldn’t thank me.”

“Don’t push it, kid.”

By now, they can see the red and blue police lights.

“Lead the way.”

He rolls his eyes and drags the kid to his bike. He really hopes the pigs didn’t see them, because it’s bad enough that a hero showed up to Red Hood’s bust, he doesn’t need any cops thinking that he kidnapped Red Robin or any shit like that.

“Are we going to the one behind the new theater or the one around crime alley?” Tim casually asks.

Jason freezes halfway through mounting his bike. “How the fuck do you know about those?”

“I know the location of all of your safehouses,” Tim admits.

“Batman knows about my safehouses?”

Tim quirks an eyebrow. “Last time I checked, I’m not Batman.”

...oh.

That’s… nice. Kind of. A confirmation that he can trust the kid to have his back.

“Smug nerd,” Jason mumbles.

Tim only chuckles in response. They set off to Jason’s place.

The rest of the night is peaceful. At least for a Bat’s standards. Jason helps Tim disinfect his wound and stitch it closed while Tim raids Jason’s medicine stash until he finds the ones he needs. Jason promises to hook him up with his supplier so he doesn’t have to rely so much on the cave. By the time they’re done, Tim’s lips are permanently curled upwards.

When he starts shuffling awkwardly as if looking for a way to say goodbye, Jason nonchalantly announces where he can find clean towels and clothes, as if this is a thing they do everyday. Tim seems baffled, but thankfully he doesn’t call Jason’s bullshit and obediently heads to the bathroom. By the time he’s done, Jason is fixing a meal for the two of them and some stupid movie is on TV—never the news, god, Jason hates watching the news.

Like a skittish stray, Tim is unsure of what to do with himself at first, but he catches the cue fast enough. He sits on the couch all stiff and restless until something on the screen grabs his attention.

“You like Wendy the Werewolf Stalker?” Tim asks, eyes wide.

“Do I like fucking what?”

Jason just needed the background noise to avoid freaking out about how weird he’s being right now. Apparently, that was the wrong answer. Tim launches a rant on how amazing Wendy is and half of it goes over Jason’s head. He just gets that apparently Tim and Superboy both have a crush on this werewolf hunting chick and they used to spend hours watching her instead of doing actual work at Titans Tower.

He also manages to actually eat the food Jason made, which is a win in Jason’s book.

It’s a nice night, overall.

It becomes, not a habit, but a thing. Tim sometimes shows up to one of Jason’s safehouses needing a stitch job or medicine. Jason doesn’t know how he nails which one Jason is at currently or if he just goes to every single one still bleeding until he finds Jason. Or even if he just lets himself in and takes care of his wounds without any help. If so, Jason wouldn’t blame him. He’d choose his crappy hideouts over Tim’s soulless apartment any day.

On the third time it happens, Tim isn’t hurt at all. He just wants to bitch about Vicki Vale stalking him and his supposed ex-fiancée that he's actually trying to date. Jason feeds him real food, as usual, and listens to what he has to say, as unusual. They end up on the couch watching A Nightmare on Elm Street, which, oddly enough, has Tim getting overly enthusiastic about going to bed because he’s curious about the magic behind Freddy Krueger. Jason tells him to let him know if any dream demons show up when he leaves Tim dozing off on the couch.

Tim starts texting Jason. At first, it’s all very professional. Messages like 1 of the stupid crooks in your territory almost killed robin yesterday do smth abt it followed by I don’t care that he’s a demon in a kevlar vest Hood you didn’t have to deal with nightwing crying afterwards!!! Then they slowly shift into something more casual on the lines of is dis u? An d attached a picture of Elizabeth Bennet wearing the red Power Ranger helmet which… What sort of context led to that meme being created?

Jason pretends not to care, but he preens with pride when Tim laughs at his dark jokes. Stupid gallows humor that would have made Bruce call an expensive therapist and Dick squirm in discomfort have the kid snorting coffee out of his nose.

It’s like they’re friends.

Part of him sometimes toys with the idea of them being normal kids —or as normal as you can be in Gotham—and he realizes that he would’ve made friends with Tim so fucking fast. Dick is the golden child and all of them would end up worshiping him and respecting him as their older brother, of course. Tim would be added to their family and Jason, not-murdered, regular problem-child Jason, would resist him at first, but he would soon see that he wasn't just an annoying nerd. He was a fun, annoying nerd. They would gang up on Dick, as younger brothers ought to do, and Jason would protect Tim from bullies and Tim would use his good son credit to get Jason out of trouble with Bruce.

This, however, may be as good as it gets for people with their fucked up upbringing. Jason already knew Tim wasn’t your regular spoiled rich boy and they bond over having shit childhoods even if they don’t talk about it.

All in all it feels nice to be looked up to. To have the kid come to him when he’s in trouble. To have someone looking at him with a shine in his eyes like the one Jason has when he looks at Dick. It makes Jason feel like he’s worth something. He sees Tim get comfortable with him after weeks of acting like a stray cat and he knows the kid feels the same. It’s a new feeling for both of them.

It’s like they’re really brothers.

Being part of the Red Robin fan club, Jason finds out, gives him good credit with the Bats.

Bruce and Dick are always going to be concerned about Jason’s slightly loose moral compass. Gremlin is always going to hate him because he’s a Gremlin. Barbara tolerates him at best.

Stephanie, however, shows up unannounced to one of Red Hood’s busts and laughs it off when he complains about Batgirl ruining his rep. She then invites Jason to watch a movie with her since they finished early. He thinks that’d be very weird, so he refuses. Unbothered, she says an airy “Maybe next time” before leaving.

He thinks a shadow once told him to come by the manor more often, almost giving him a heart attack. He thought Cassandra was in Hong Kong, for fuck’s sake; when did she come back?

One time he texts Tim for tech support and no one but the Signal shows up at Jason’s doorstep with a codebreaker and a list of instructions from Red Robin. Duke doesn’t look as wary of Jason as he once was and the two quickly fall into friendly banter, complaining about Tim’s nerdiness.

Jason knows if he asked Steph about it, he would never hear the end of it. Cass isn’t the easiest person to hold a conversation with. He guesses Duke is decent enough not to dwell on it, so he asks,

“Why are y’all suddenly okay with me?”

Duke quirks an eyebrow at him. Fortunately, he’s smart enough that Jason doesn’t need to explain further. “Tim trusts you,” he says simply. “Tim is the holder of the one brain cell of this family, so long we follow his cues, we’re golden.”

Jason doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Why, you don’t want us around?”

He mumbles something about it not being a big deal. Duke shrugs it off and changes the subject. Jason knows he’s doing it for his sake, because Duke might be the kindest person in their whole messed up family. Jason feels bad for refusing to learn his name for so long.

So it seems like two-thirds of the Batgirls and Signal were always less worried about Jason’s past than they were about his rivalry with Robin III.

And, fine, Jason does get a little jealous of that but he’s mature-ish enough to take what he can get. Plus Stephanie is funny as shit and it’s always fun to annoy Barbara by getting Batgirl involved in his fights, especially when Red Robin is around to back him up.

Everything is sort of nice now.

Sometimes, however, Jason wakes up in a cold sweat with the taste of copper in his mouth and a nightmare gunshot still ringing in his ears. He tried to kill Tim. He could’ve killed his little brother. He’s thankful for the times the nightmares come when Tim is sleeping over, because he can walk to the living room and check on the kid. Remind himself that Tim is alive and breathing under the old blankets and that he’s forgiven Jason. When he isn’t around, Jason is absolutely not above calling him in the middle of the night, making up a stupid case he needs Tim’s help with. For all his smarts, Tim never seems to realize Jason’s true motives.

Now that he thinks about it, he notices that Tim is on good terms with a lot of people that tried to kill him. Jason. Damian. That Prudence girl. He doesn’t find out the details, but he does hear something about Stephanie fucking him up and she’s now his best friend. Jason is more than a little concerned about that forgiving side of his.

Red Hood hates a lot of things. If he were to make a list, it’d take days to write it all down. He knows for sure that on the top of that list would be clowns. There is nothing he hates more than clowns.

Scarecrows are a close second, though.

Definitely close to a tie as he watches Red Robin stumble. “I think…” he mutters. “I think my rebreather is broken.”

“ Shit.”

Red Hood has to think fast. Fear gas is every-fucking-where and he lost sight of Scarecrow three canon-fodder crooks ago. He doesn’t have an extra rebreather, because he’s wearing his helmet and that does the job. He’s used to fighting alone. Not that having another rebreather would do them any good now that Red Robin has already breathed the nasty toxins.

In the end, Hood decides to take the defeat for what it is: a defeat. He throws a smoke bomb on the ground and grabs Red Robin by the waist, ignoring the startled squeak the boy lets out. They need to get out before Scarecrow’s goons realize what they’re doing.

“Stay with me,” Red Hood hisses. “Whatever you’re hearing or seeing, it’s not real.”

They’re five minutes away from his nearest safehouse. It’d be faster to take one of their bikes, but he can’t risk it in case Tim starts hallucinating halfway there. They can make it there swinging, he can keep his brother out of danger.

“I’m fine,” Red Robin says. The way he’s limp in Hood’s hold, says otherwise. “We’re going home. We’re safe.”

“We’re going home. Close your eyes. Focus on my voice.”

He does it.

“It’s just us now,” Hood reassures him. “We’re on the way to a safehouse where no one can find us and you can rest until the toxin is out of your system. Safe, easy.”

“Steph is fine, Bart is fine, Cassie is fine,” he chants, “Cass is fine, Alfred is fine, Dick is fine, Tam is fine, Pru is fine.”

He keeps listing people that are fine, because of course his fears are all about his friends being hurt. Surprisingly, Hood recognizes all of them. He’s heard Tim talking about all of them repeatedly and he knows their names and personalities, even if he doesn’t have all the faces to match. He isn’t surprised that his friends come first then their family.

“That’s right, kiddo,” Jason encourages. “Who else?”

“Dad..” Tim’s eyes shoot open. “Dad’s gonna kill me. Dad, Dad will know I’m Robin, he’s- He’s gonna take Robin away from me, I can’t- This is the first time I’m being useful.”

Fuck.

“Your dad isn’t here. And you’re not Robin, kid, you’re Red Robin,” Jason reminds him.

“That’s… that’s right. I failed him. I failed Dick, so…”

Double fuck.

“That’s bullshit,” Jason says, but it’s hard to keep the conversation going while he’s carrying Tim’s weight.

They’re two minutes away from safety before Tim starts struggling to get away from Jason. He doesn’t say anything else, which may be more concerning, he just grunts with the effort and squirms. Jason really hopes no one was paying attention enough to notice what looks like Red Hood kidnapping a terrified Red Robin.

“Shit- Stay put, Red, we’re almost home,” Jason says.

Tim’s breath catches and returns, erratic, and Jason can’t bear to look at his horrified face, he hates to see the utter fear that has his brother’s already pale complexion turn ashen, his lips pressed into a line so tight it has got to hurt. Jason starts listing the names of the people that are supposedly fine and that catches Tim’s attention long enough that Jason can swing straight to the fire escape of the abandoned building where he set his hideout.

He sets Tim on the dusty mattress on the corner in a hurry and tosses his helmet aside. He starts undoing Tim’s safety measures so he can remove his cowl. Unlike Jason, he doesn’t wear a domino mask beneath it and Jason makes a mental note of talking to Tim about that later.

“Almost there, Timbers,” Jason says. He rips off his own domino without caring about the sting, hoping a familiar face will help. “I’m here. Now, where do you keep your fear gas antidote? I know you carry some around.”

Tim unconsciously reaches for a particular capsule on his bandolier. That’s enough of an answer for Jason, who pushes his hand away not as gently as he should and reaches for the small vial inside.

“Jay,” Tim whines. “Jay, you’re okay, right?”

Jason blinks, confused. “Of course I’m okay, Timbers. I’m right here.”

And as he rushes to grab the first aid kit under the sink, Jason starts to freak out. This gas isn’t causing hallucinations as much as it’s making Tim feel paranoid, it seems. What if it’s a new formula? What if the antidote doesn’t work? What if Tim keeps having anxious thought after anxious thought, until his heart gives in and-

“Jay!” Tim calls, desperate. “Jay, we have to get Kon! He’s- He’s in danger.” He starts getting up.

“Nope!” Jason pushes him right back into the mattress. “Kon is fine, he’s invulnerable, remember? He’s probably doing superdouche stuff in Metropolis.”

“He’s not, he’s- He’s gonna kill himself, Jay!” There are tears welling up in his eyes and Jason feels like someone just punched him in the gut. After all the shit they went through, he had never seen Tim cry. “He’s gonna sacrifice himself to save everyone, I can’t lose him, please, I’ll do it instead. He’s- No! Please, don’t do it!”

There we go. There are the hallucinations they all know and hate. Tim stretches out his hand as if he’s reaching for an invisible Superboy, so Jason takes the opportunity to start rolling up his sleeve and cleaning the inside of his elbow. Lucky for him, he always has a sanitized syringe. Now he just needs Tim to stay still.

What if it doesn’t work? What if I make it worse?

“Kon El, no,” Tim gasps. “KON EL! CONNER!”

Jason had never seen Impulse going full speed. But he did meet Barry Allen back when he was Robin and he never forgot the deafening noise of someone breaking the barrier of sound. More familiar is the noise of his freaking wall exploding. Before Jason realizes, he’s being ripped away from his screaming brother. He hacks and struggles, but there isn’t a lot he can do when a kryptonian steel arm presses against his throat, effectively pinning him to the wall.

“Give me one reason not to kill you,” Superboy growls, his eyes already glowing red.

Jason would be impressed with the boy’s ability to look murderous if he wasn’t about to have his head melted. He struggles a little more. Superboy doesn’t even seem to notice. Jason then pathetically raises the syringe in his hand and manages to choke out:

“A-antidote.”

Superboy blinks once. His eyes return to the regular shade of blue. He blinks twice. His expression shows only confusion when he releases Jason, that promptly falls on his knees. Jason coughs, touching his throat as if to make sure it’s still intact. Damn clone.

“What happened to him?” Superboy demands.

Tim isn’t trying to get up anymore, but rather convulsing on the same spot, screaming wordlessly in horror, tears streaming freely down his pale cheeks.

Jason coughs some more before he’s able to say something. “A-ask that first next time, will you? It’s… it’s fear gas.”

“And, what, am I supposed to believe you were helping him?” Superboy snarls.

Jason groans. He doesn’t have time for this. Tim has his eyes firmly shut and every scream, every time his voice breaks, it feels like someone is slashing at Jason’s chest, robbing him of air almost as effectively as Superboy did.

“I was about to do that before you interrupted,” Jason shows him the syringe again. “What do you think?”

Superboy squints at him, unhappy with his response.

“We don’t have time for that,” Jason snarls. “At this point, he’s gonna have a heart attack. I need you to hold him still.”

Superboy bites his lip in hesitation but Tim screams his name again and he winces as if the sound is kryptonite for his ears. Finally, he nods and crouches down by the mattress.

“It’s okay, Rob,” he says. “I’m here now. I’ve got you.”

At that, Tim miraculously relaxes for a second. Jason kneels by his side again and holds the outstretched arm Superboy is keeping still.

“Don’t hurt him,” Jason warns. Judging by the look Superboy gives him, the only reason he’s not getting the laser eye treatment is because he’s the only one around capable of helping Tim.

“No,” Tim whines. “Not Jason…”

Jason freezes. Superboy’s eyes start to glow again.

“Not Jason, not again,” Tim continues, delirious, his expression twisting in pain. “Please, please, don’t, help him, HELP HIM!”

Jason stabs the needle into his pale skin and it’s a miracle that he does it right, because he is shaking. Fuck this. Fuck Scarecrow. It’s wrong, it’s horrible to hear Red Robin begging like that. He hates the way the kid startles with the needle. He’s thankful that Superboy makes sure Tim stays put, because he doesn’t think his trembling hands could do that now.

“It’s okay, Timbers,” Jason hears himself saying, “it’s over now.”

“Please,” Tim sobs again, “I- I’m gonna solve this.”

God. Jason grabs his hand. “You did enough, baby bird. You solved enough already.”

Tim whimpers, but finally starts relaxing. It seems like the antidote is working its magic and the boy falls right asleep.

Superboy refuses to leave, much to Jason’s chagrin. It doesn’t surprise him, though. Conner is Tim’s favorite conversation subject when he’s in a good mood and apparently the clone is ready to just fly to Gotham if he hears Tim’s voice.

“You know, metas aren’t allowed here,” Jason reminds him.

Superboy has been stomping back and forth around Tim’s mattress. He's so angry that Jason is worried he’ll break the floor any minute now, but he stops to give Jason the biggest, meanest glower of the night. He doesn’t look anything like the mental picture Tim painted of him. Even with his ripped skinny jeans and 90’s leather jacket and dumb earrings, Superboy looks absolutely murderous.

“I’m not going anywhere until I see that Tim’s fine,” he says.

Jason sighs.

“Why are we here?” Superboy snaps. “Why didn’t you call Alfred or… or Batman or…”

“Because we don’t do that,” Jason cuts him. “Red Robin is not Batman's sidekick. If we can solve shit without involving Batman, we don’t involve Batman.”

It’s their unspoken rule, Jason knows that since the first time they fought side by side - the first time they had a sleepover - and he brought Tim home to patch him up. They don’t call dad or their older bro if they’re in trouble, because that’ll lead to them being in more trouble. They simply watch out for each other as much as they can.

Superboy isn’t happy with that explanation, but, before he can murder Jason for real, Tim stirs.

Jason and Superboy are kneeling by his side at the same time, which says something, since Jason doesn't have superspeed.

“Timbers?” Jason calls.

“Jay…?” Tim mumbles and his voice is still a little raw from all the screaming. He blinks and his eyes set on his best friend. “Conner? What are you doing here?”

“You called,” Superboy says simply. “I told you all you had to do was call my name.”

“How’s the head?” Jason asks. “You're still smart, right? You can’t afford to lose your brain cells, Timbers, with your ugly face they’re all you have.”

Tim snorts. Then groans. “Fuck off, Jason, don’t make me laugh.”

Jason smiles at him and he doesn’t notice the weird look Superboy is giving them.

“Rob? Do you remember what happened?”

Tim starts to sit up and Superboy is faster than Jason in wrapping an arm around his shoulders to steady him. He helps Tim rest his back against the wall and the grateful look Tim gives him makes Jason frown a bit because he feels there is something there he’s missing.

“Hmmm… We were fighting Scarecrow,” Tim says. “Fear gas, broken rebreather...” He looks at Jason as if seeking for confirmation. When Jason nods, he continues, “Jay got me out of there and the rest is… Wait. Where is Scarecrow? Did he escape?”

“That should be the last of your worries, Timothy, you almost died of fear,” Superboy scolds.

Tim sighs. “Oh, to be a young vigilante in the XXI century… passing away of fright.”

Superboy doesn’t get it, judging by his expression, but Jason does and he laughs out loud. He doesn’t miss the way Tim’s lip quirk up.

“See, baby bird, this is why I wear a helmet and so should you,” Jason says.

“Okay, but have you considered that we’d look stupid if we were all the man in the iron mask?”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “God forbid a whole family fighting criminals in leather fursuits look stupid. We wouldn’t fucking want that.”

Tim laughs, even if his voice is still a little hoarse, and Jason is relieved.

He is so relieved to see his brother fine that he doesn’t pay attention to the fact that Superboy still has his arm around Tim’s shoulders. That Superboy’s eyes get all soft when Tim laughs. That Superboy looks a little hurt when he offers to fly Tim home, but Tim refuses, saying that he’d rather spend the rest of the night here.

“I mean, if that’s fine…?” He glances at Jason, reminding him of those first sleepovers, when he was still unsure whether he’d be welcome or not.

Jason is so done feeling or letting his brother feel like an outsider. “The mattress is big enough for both of us, I don’t see why you’d go back to your own apartment when you can just sleep on a perfectly good mattress on the floor.”

“Hm. Cool then,” Superboy says, but instead of flying out through the giant hole he made on the wall, he shifts his weight from one foot to another awkwardly, clearly stalling.

Both brothers notice it. Neither has a problem interpreting Superboy’s fidgeting. Jason finds it annoying, but Tim gives him a pleading look. Jason sighs.

“You can stay too, big guy, but you gonna have to sleep on the floor.”

Superboy’s face lights up and he definitely doesn’t look like he wanted to melt Jason’s head just a couple of minutes ago. He rambles that it’s all good, he just needs to text Ma Kent to let her know where he is and he’s used to sleeping on the floor of the barn with Krypto and the cows (Jason would find that more upsetting if he didn’t know there is a cow somewhere in the Wayne manor too and Damian sleeps in the cave with it all the time).

In the end, Tim bullies Jason into giving Superboy the thickest blanket he has around. He tries suggesting he should sleep in the blanket and let Jason and Superboy share the mattress, but shuts up mid sentence under their glares.

It’s probably the most awkward sleepover so far, but Tim grins at Jason, grateful, and turns his back to him to be able to talk to Superboy in hushed whispers.

Jason tunes out their conversation and focuses on the fact that he did it. He saved Tim. It doesn’t make up for the times he fucked up in the past, but it sure makes him feel better about the present. He’s also thankful that Tim stayed instead of going to his own place. Hearing your little brother scream in fear for your life isn’t something enjoyable and Jason is sure he would have nightmares about if it wasn’t for the fact that Tim was laying right there in front of him. It’s the sound of his brother’s muffled laughter, mixed with Superboy’s, that lulls him to sleep.

Jason should have noticed then. But he didn’t.

For an intelligent guy, Jason can be really stupid sometimes.

The thing is… Jason is smart. He’s not Tim Drake smart, but he’s still a good detective. He’s also fairly sociable. Or at least he used to be, before he, you know, died and went through all the trauma, etc. He is no Dick Grayson, but he can hold a good conversation, pick up the right social cues, all that crap.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t mess up sometimes.

You see, months go by. Red Hood and Red Robin don’t often go on the field together, after all it’d do a number to both of their reputations, but, when they do, one of them always ends up injured and the other carries him home. It’s like a curse, the universe telling them to stick to their off-patrol partnership. Then a couple of weeks go by and they miss the feeling of fighting side-by-side and there they go again.

Tim keeps showing up at Jason’s place whenever he feels like it and he even hangs around Jason’s visiting friends sometimes. Kori adores Tim from the first time she puts her eyes on him. Roy takes a little longer to warm up, but even he can’t resist the kid. Jason likes it. He likes having his brother around. He likes that they get on like a house on fire.

So much he forgets Tim is a master of hiding shit.

On the week nearing Tim’s 19th birthday, Jason goes to his apartment. He doesn’t realize until he’s halfway there that he hadn’t been to Tim’s place since the night he met Prudence, which is odd, because it’d been basically a year and a half. Still, Tim goes over to Jason’s place all the time. The fact that Jason doesn’t repay the favor has everything to do with the fact that Jason hates Tim’s magazine apartment and nothing else.

Right?

Instead of going for the door, Jason uses his signature move and just swings to the balcony. The door is unlocked - Jason really has to have a talk with Tim about security, they’re in Gotham, for fuck’s sake - and he lets himself in.

To Tim’s credit, the place looks more well lived in now. There are mismatched pillows on the couch, a forgotten mug and a couple of books on the coffee table. Jason recognizes his copy of The Count of Monte Cristo and makes an annoyed sound noticing Tim’s bookmarker is still somewhere in the middle of the book even if it’s been weeks since Jason let him borrow it.

“Tim?” Jason calls. It’s half past nine, a little early for vigilante standards, but…

He hears the sound of someone sputtering and coughing from the kitchen. There he is.

Jason heads there and finds Tim desperately grabbing paper towels to clean coffee he apparently just spilled on his bare chest.

“J-Jason!”

“Jumpy aren’t we?” Jason comments. “What’s up, baby bird?”

It’s clear that Tim had just woken up, judging by his messy hair and the fact that he’s wearing nothing but red sweatpants with Superman’s symbol all over. His mildly terrified expression is weird, though. Tim is usually slow in the morning, but not that easy to startle.

“What are you doing here?” Tim whispers, clearly panicking.

The fact that Jason never visits Tim’s place suddenly comes to his mind. The possibility of him not being welcome hits him and it’s surprisingly painful. He thought they were doing well, that the kid liked him. All this time, was he being arrogant?

As his brain scrambles for something to say, something to think, he notices a sound that he hadn’t registered before: the shower.

Suddenly Tim’s rapidly reddening cheeks and doe wide eyes gain a new meaning. Jason forgets the hurt and a sly smile stretches on his face.

“Oh my god. Oh god, this is priceless. Baby bird, do you have a lady guest from last night?��

Tim makes a weird choking sound and this is too good, Jason is too delighted, look at little Timmy go, already getting it. (Jason would’ve chosen different pants for the morning after, but alas.)

Then a voice calls out: “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

A male voice.

Tim’s face becomes three shades darker, now perfectly matching his pants. Jason’s grin is now frozen on his face, his eyes wide with the realization.

The shower stops.

“Tim?” The voice calls again.

“I’m fine, Kon!” Tim responds and his voice is surprisingly even, considering he looks like he’s having an aneurysm.

That’s a bat for you. Master of hiding their emotions.

Sort of.

Kon, Tim said. Jason realizes that Tim isn’t wearing Superman merch. The sweatpants are Superboy themed.

Jason still remembers Superboy’s protective streak all those months ago and the fact that he woke up to the two of them holding hands - at the time, he thought nothing of it, because it had been a stressful night and he didn’t blame either boy for wanting to make sure the other was okay - and he thinks of all the subsequent times Tim went on and on about Conner and how a couple of weeks ago Tim just stopped mentioning Conner altogether.

God, Jason is the worst detective ever.

Tim pushes Jason out of the kitchen and towards the living room, presumably farther from the bathroom where his boyfriend with super hearing was showering.

“Fuck,” Tim mutters, “ fuckfuckfuck… ”

And he looks and sounds so distraught that Jason loses all the eagerness to tease him, concern quickly replacing any initial surprise he might have been feeling.

“Look,” Tim murmurs, looking anywhere but at Jason’s eyes, “it’s not… we’re just…”

Tim scrambles for words and this is so unlike him - Tim always has a plan, always knows what to say - it takes a moment for Jason to catch up on why he’s a stuttering mess. Jason had been so excited to find out his little brother had a boyfriend he forgot he lived in a world where homophobia was a thing.

“Timbers, chill out.” Jason grabs Tim’s hands from where they’re still resting on his shoulders. “It’s just me.”

Tim dares raise his gaze to meet Jason’s and it hurts a bit to see still a little fear in his blue eyes. Jason gives him an encouraging grin.

“I can’t believe you officially bagged a kryptonian. Way to go, kid.”

His shoulders slouch in utter relief right before he starts blushing again. What a cute kid.

“You keep calling me kid. You’re not that older. And don’t say it like that,” Tim mumbles.

“Like what? Like you’re snogging Superboy?” Tim punches him on the shoulder and Jason laughs. “Now I know why you were in such a hurry to leave the manor, you wanted your own place to bring your boyfriend over…”

“That’s not why I left and who said anything about a boyfriend? Maybe this was just a one night stand.”

Jason gives him a condescending look. “Timbers, I might have not realized you’re gay, but I do know you. You’re a boyfriend kinda guy.”

Tim rolls his eyes and mumbles something about assuming shit. “I’m bi,” he says.

“Cool,” Jason says, a shit-eating grin never leaving his face.

“Fuck,” Tim groans and lets himself fall on the couch. “How do you de-escalate an emotional situation so fast?”

“It’s a Bat thing, and you know how to do it too. All of us are trained to avoid emotions like the plague.”

“I was not prepared to come out when I got up this morning,” Tim admits.

Humming, Jason finally realizes that Tim doesn’t want to skip the emotions for this one. He sighs. The things he does for his brothers.

“It’s not a big deal, though,” he says. “I mean, you’re happy right?”

“I’m never happy.”

“Don’t quote Zuko. You started the real talk. You don’t get to bat your way out of it now.”

A sigh. “I’m happy. Conner is… the best.”

Jason nods. “Then it’s all good. I’m sure all the others would say the same.”

“You can't tell them!” Tim snaps, his eyes suddenly wide with panic again. “Seriously, Jay, you can’t-”

“Calm down, kid,” Jason cuts him off. “When did I make a habit of spilling your secrets to the B-man? It's none of their business.” Tim visibly relaxes and Jason adds: “Actually… Want me to make your house Dick-proof?”

“...what?”

“I mean, not kryptonian dick, you’re clearly into that,” and he ignores it when Tim pops him on the back of the head. “I mean Dick Dick, our brother. I could set up a better security system so you don’t have to worry about one of your siblings walking into something scarring, especially the clingy one.”

“No security system can stop Dick’s clinginess.”

“How do you think I keep him off my place?”

That’s when their little pow wow gets interrupted by more kryptonian skin than Jason ever wanted to see as Conner walks in with nothing but the smallest of the towels wrapped around his waist.

“Babe, what is--” He notices Jason and slips on literally nothing, barely catching himself before falling on his ass. “ Shit- I mean, nothing, I mean, we were just binging Wendy!”

Jason doesn’t say anything, but he does give Tim a look that says it all. He wasn't judging earlier, but he is now. Tim gives him a look that definitely means shut up.

In the end, Jason stays for breakfast.

It’s only mildly awkward, because he and Tim fill the silence talking about the latest case Jason’s working on while Conner makes them pancakes. Judging by the fact that he’s getting the ingredients from a bunch of plastic bags, he must have brought all the food with him. If anything, Jason is grateful that he and Alfred are no longer the only people trying to get Tim to eat actual food.

When Tim turns to Conner for his opinion, leaving Jason to enjoy his coffee, Jason looks around and notices that there are new pictures on the fridge. There are some of those disgustingly cute pictures of Tim and Conner, their cheeks pressed together as they make weird faces for the camera. There is a picture of Conner by himself and, again disgustingly, he is smiling at the camera as though the most precious person in the world is behind it. Both pictures are held by a sun magnet. There is a new candid shot of Cassandra, one of Alfred-Alfred holding cat Alfred, a new one of Dick and even Damian is in there.

And, his heart stops for a second, because now there are pictures of Jason as well.

They’re carefully placed far from each other, but there are three different pictures. There is one of Jason wearing his Lord of the Rings shirt, eating cereal on the couch, a confused expression on his face. He remembers when Tim took that picture, because Tim waited until Jason had his mouth full before calling hey Jay? and snapping the picture right as Jason looked at him, his cheeks like a chipmunk's. The second picture is a candid of him smiling, leaning against the rail of some safehouse balcony. The shot was carefully framed to not show anything distinct of the surroundings, just Jason and Gotham’s sky.

The third one is a selfie. In it, Jason is asleep, his lips parted and face relaxed, his head resting on Tim’s shoulder. Tim has a shit eating grin on his lips as if there is nothing funnier to him than his giant older brother falling asleep on him in the middle of movie night. Tim had the decency of drawing a mustache on Jason’s face to decrease sappiness, but that effect is ruined by the fact that the picture is held by a magnet that was clearly Iron Man but Tim had painted it red to look like Jason’s hood.

Jason had sworn off killing, at least for a little while.

But he would gladly kill again for his little brother.

As he gets ready to leave, he turns to Conner and deadpans, “I don’t have to tell you that I can and I will make kryptonite bullets, do I?”

“Jason!” Tim scolds.

“What? I’m the first of the family to find out. Least I can do is taje care of the shovel talk.”

“Stop threatening my boyfriend.”

Conner blushes profusely and mouths the word boyfriend with marvel and ugh. Just… ugh . Jason is happy that Tim is happy, but he and Conner are apparently that kind of couple and Jason wants to have none of it.

“So, first we kill Damian,” Jason starts.

“No,” Tim says.

“Aw, come on, you didn’t even consider it!”

Cassandra waits until they decide their plan of action (it’s probably going to be Tim’s) and keeps her expression carefully neutral as not to show which one of them she agrees with (Tim).

The thing, Jason realized, is that all of them have favorites in their family and knowing that makes it easier to tear them down. Dick can fuck off with his I love you all equally bullshit, because he clearly always favors Damian. Damian swings between Batdad’s little boy and Nightwing’s murder baby. Tim will easily lose focus whenever Steph is involved. Steph is oddly protective of Duke, for some reason. Cassandra is mostly neutral. She’s everyone’s favorite, including Bruce’s, but she’s also the deadliest of them all so she is no one’s weakness. She does, however, have a soft spot for Tim over any of her brothers. Since Jason became close friends with Tim, he entered Cassandra’s selective protection bubble and he’s now, by all definitions, untouchable.

Or at least that’s how he felt when she chose him for her team right after Tim.

“We kill Dick first,” Tim knocks down the little Nightwing action figure on the carpet. “Cass, you’re the only one who can take him down. Jay and I distract the others while you do the job. Damian will get personally offended by that and will grow reckless.” He knocks down the little imp figurine. “I can take care of him then. Steph will be hiding somewhere ready to strike. She is best in close range combat. Jay, I need you to take her down before she gets too close.” He pushes down the Barbie doll someone dressed as Batgirl, because apparently they couldn’t find blonde Batgirl merch and they were very offended. “Then we win.”

He may sound impressive, but the whole time he’s speaking he has his head resting on Cass’ lap and she is carding her fingers through his hair as a villain would do to their evil pet cat.

“Can’t I murder the demon brat?” Jason complains.

Tim glares at him - again, not very intimidating while he’s basically lying on his sister’s lap.

“You know Steph would wipe the floor with me. You’re the only one I can trust to get her.”

“Unless…” Jason turns around. “Du-”

“No.”

“Come on, I’ll give you ten bucks.”

“Jason, we’re all rich, you can’t buy me.” Duke doesn’t even raise his eyes from his book. “Plus last time I let y’all drag me into this shit, Steph knocked off one of my teeth with Tim’s staff.”

“If you hadn’t killed me, then she wouldn’t have taken revenge,” Tim argues.

“And yet you’re planning to kill Dick counting on the fact that Damian will try to avenge him.”

“Wet blanket,” Cassandra says.

Tim and Jason go into a giggling fit as Duke sputters, too indignant to put his thoughts into words.

In the end, Duke still doesn’t join them.

As they expected, the enemy was listening to their plan - Jason is sure Dick was against it, but Stephanie and Damian are definitely not above spying - nonetheless they still played their parts as expected: Steph and Damian tried protecting Dick first and foremost, but not even the two of them combined could take Cassandra. Not with Jason and Tim backing her up.

Cassandra knocks Dick down and sits on his back. The large yellow paint splash on his chest proves that he’s dead. Rather than being upset, Dick starts doing push ups with his sister there as the rest of his siblings and Steph fight to death.

Unfortunately, Damian wasn’t as angered by Dick’s demise as they expected and is still a good match for Tim. Until Tim gasps and goes Titus, don’t eat that! It was an obvious ploy, but still got Damian to let down his guard and whip his head around looking for his precious dog. Tim shoots him without hesitation and Damian goes on a rage soliloquy.

Jason would appreciate it if he wasn’t having such a hard time with Stephanie. Apparently Barbara has been feeding her steroids, because the girl is now as quick as a ninja. She hits Jason in the kneecaps with Tim’s staff - they’re not even in the same team this time, how the fuck did she get Tim’s staff??? - and shoots him point blank in the chest. And damn, that shit hurts. He bets it’s purple under his shirt too.

Steph is mid celebration when her victory whoop turns into a pained groan. Twin splotches of red and yellow bloom on her back as Cassandra and Tim lower their guns.

“Fuck,” Jason complains. “Couldn’t’ve done that before she killed me?”

“We win,” Cassandra says.

“Shouldn’t you be fighting to the death now?” Dick asks. Now that Cass is off his back, he’s lying on the side like one of your French girls. Jason wishes Cass would shoot him again.

“I would never betray Cass,” Tim says.

“We rule together.” She walks to him and stands on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead.

Tim grins a wicked grin because he knows he is Cassandra’s favorite and everyone can die mad about it.

Steph and Damian start shouting their complaints at the same time while Dick laughs his ass off. From his lawn chair, Duke is glaring at them as if he can’t believe he’s legally related to any of these weirdos.

His gaze meets Dick’s and his older brother looks absolutely elated with pride even though all of their siblings are yelling about paintball.

Jason simply smiles back.

#jason todd #tim drake #red hood #red robin #batfam #batfam big bang 2020 #poteto writing #red bros #collab

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parachutingkitten · 4 years ago

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Season 5 Analysis

STANDARD DISCLAIMER: I am going to be applying the concept of criticism to a TV show you presumably love and adore as much as I do. If you do not want your idea that the show is immaculate to be challenged, I would not advise reading past this point.

Additional Disclaimer: This includes criticism of Nya’s arc, so if you’re the type of person to get catty about this subject, turn back now.

Mood for this season: It’s spoopy time.

You don’t need to, but if you are interested, and haven’t seen my analysis of past seasons, you can find those here:

Pilot - Season 1 - Season 2 - Season 3 - Season 4

You can also find all of these, and future installments, on my blog using the tag #analysis

Hey everyone! I’m still doing these things! Let’s see, when was my last one? Over two years ago...? Yikes, I owe y’all an apology. I really didn’t mean to put these off that long. Anyway, get ready to hate me, cuz although (for the most part) this seems to be the fandom favorite season… I think it’s overhyped. I know, don’t kill me. I’ll explain myself. I don’t think it’s bad or anything, it’s very well structured, but I definitely wouldn’t rank it among my favorites. First, for a little context, I am making a one second of every ninjago episode video right now, so I’ve been binging the series and all it’s shorts back to back, so I think I’ll have a bit more to say about connective tissue between seasons, and hopefully you guys can look forward to more of these analyses between now and the new year when I’m releasing that video. I’m also officially a film major now so… sorry if I come of as extra pretentious or get too deep. Anyway, let’s jump into the thick of it, shall we?

Plot

This is probably the area I have the fewest number of complaints about. This season has a breakneck pace and it keeps everyone busy. I think that’s why people like it. Everyone’s favorite has something to do. Which brings me to the question… which ninja’s season is this? Lloyd is on a lot of the promotional stuff, but he’s possessed and out of the picture for over half the season, so that can’t be right. Cole turns into a ghost, and the season is a ghost season, but that can’t be right cuz I don’t know that I’ve ever heard anyone claim it was his. Nya reaches her true potential, maybe it’s hers? Well, she does have a large b-plot, but she is consistently not a part of the a-plot. Kai has a whole thing with being protective of Lloyd, he has his fear of water, maybe it’s just another Kai season? Thing is, it’s no one’s. It is an ensemble season, and I think that’s a healthy thing for ninjago to keep doing. The more we label certain seasons for certain ninja, the more complaining we’ll get about who’s turn it is for screen time that we’ll miss out on telling a good story. Also, If the season is focused on a ninja you don’t like, you are less likely to like the season (see my next analysis for that can of worms). Again, this season tells it’s story really well. Morro directly ties into the ending of last season, and Nya’s getting water powers was foreshadowed the season before. That’s some cool connective tissue to start. The opening episode establishes the three different things the ninja will be looking for, and for once they’re actual tools instead of a series of weapons, blades, masks, whatever. I like that. Jay has some really good humor, Zane has his speech changes, Kai has his irrational fears and protective instincts, Cole has his ghost angst, Lloyd has to deal with his father’s passing, Nya is a new water ninja, Wu has a shop to run and a student to reconnect with, even Ronin has an arc about developing morals and gaining friends. There’s the mystery about how to deal with the ghosts, what the rules are, there’s the leader subplot, the ninja’s money situation, and lore of the different realms, they even worked in Skylor and Borg, there’s a lot of cool stuff going on. This is a tightly woven script that manages to include a lot of new concepts that you get pretty quick. I don’t feel like there’s even that much fat to cut. The opening is a little slow and strange, and the cloud kingdom episode feels a little unnecessary, but I do like the idea of visiting a different realm early in the season so the audience isn’t caught off guard in the climax. Again, the plot all works for me, it’s the other stuff I find myself pretty meh on.

Characters

Ronin

I’m pretty sure Ronin is the only new (non villain) character introduced. I like him a lot. Ninjago needed a true wildcard to shake things up and be unpredictable. I also think he’s pretty nicely woven into the action of the plot. I think his introduction is a bit strange. Like, the ninja already know him, but we’ve never seen him before? Just the way they talk about him sounds like they’re quickly recapping who this guy is for those who missed previous episodes. It’s fine if the ninja already know him but either 1) Introduce or foreshadow him a season earlier or 2) Introduce their dynamic to the audience before it becomes plot relevant. Maybe the ninja are grumbling about him being a nuisance while tea shenanigans are going on or something. Or maybe you have a scene of him stealing the scroll and making snarky remarks about the ninja while he does it. Idk. just something so his sudden plot relevance isn’t out of nowhere. Also, I don’t hate his and Nya’s dynamic, but I know a lot of people love it, and I’m just not totally here for it. Is he supposed to be a father figure for her? Mentor? Frienemy? Just plain friend? (love interest???) it’s not super clear and I could have used some clarification. I also like his use and tie to the next season, so overall, well integrated character.

Nya

I’m adding in Nya here cuz she goes through a major character change, and how she’s handled is one of the things that rubs me the wrong way about the season. A lot of people will probably disagree and/or hate me for this section of the analysis so… here we go! The thing she has to get past to reach her true potential is fear of failure (supposedly) and the solution to that is to just… not care as much? First of all, I know this isn’t supper important, but the fun thing about the ninjago elements is that every elemental master matched up personality wise with their element. Jay is the energetic master of lightning, Kai is the hothead master of fire, Zane is the calm and calculating master of ice, Cole is the strong and dependable master of earth, Lloyd is the literal child master of energy. This especially goes for all the new season 4 masters. So what qualities are often associated with water personalities? Well, serenity, control, flexibility, elegance, patience… calm. You know, like a Zane type character (the element directly adjacent to hers). These are things that Nya isn’t - or at the very least don’t define her. (there’s also something to be said about water and its ties to more feminine qualities, which Nya has been actively shown to reject, but I won’t go into that rant here.) She was designed as the fire master’s sister, and when you try to fit a fire personality into a water shaped character mold… it doesn’t exactly mesh well. It doesn’t make sense. But, like I said, whatever. Maybe that’s the point? Like she has to change her personality to be more in tune with water? Sure. But let’s talk about this fear of failure thing. Because that’s the stated thing that dialogue tells us she needs to overcome. But when has Nya ever been afraid of failure? Fear of failure means avoiding doing something because of fear. Nya is ridiculously persistent, always has been (you know, fire personality). She tries training when no one tells her to, she makes her own alter ego to try and be a hero and save the people who would constantly tell her she wasn’t ready. Wu says she only wants things that come easy, but that’s never been her character before now, she has carried the team with her tech, research, and covert ops that no one forced her to do, all things which are not easy. Fear of failure is usually characterized by what if questions. If Nya is so afraid of failure, why don’t we hear her saying stuff like “but what if I’m not strong enough, what if I can’t save them in time, or worse, what if I lose control of my power and end up hurting people?” Cole shows much more of a fear of failure this season surrounding his insecurity about being a ghost. He wants to sit out from missions because he’s not sure he’ll be able to do it - he’s afraid of failure. But whatever, the writing isn’t clear at expressing her true setbacks, but she does display a real problem that a lot of people have and I think could have been well done if set up correctly. She shows an undying persistence that gets her too close, and makes her increasingly incapable. She lets her frustration hinder her progress (again, fire personality trait), and I think that’s interesting because I don’t think ninjago has done this character arc yet. The supposed solution to this problem is that she just needs to… care less? And yes, I kind of see where they were going with this, we sometimes cloud our natural potential by thinking about it too much, but saying “you need to stop caring” is the absolute wrong way to word it. Caring is not her problem, the problem is her control over the emotions that come from her caring. Caring is a good thing, and teaching kids that if you’re ambivalent about your problems, they’ll go away is not a good message. What she needs to do is take a step back. She needs to take a break, stop to think, and look at the big picture instead of hyper focusing on the roadblock directly in front of her. The usual and much better wording of the moral I think they were going for is “stop overthinking things”. Teaching kids to look at a problem from a different angle and give themselves time to cool down is a great thing. And just think of it, in the climax she could have this ah-ha moment where she steps back and looks at the bigger picture - the whole town, surrounded by the ocean - and gets the idea to sink the preeminent into the water, you could even easily tie that back into the bucket exercise, and that’s what triggers her true potential rather than the current… I’m honestly not sure what. Random flashbacks and the end of the season approaching quickly. Alternatively, you could tie it more directly into samurai x, and make her struggle with letting go of the past and allowing yourself to give up something good in your life to progress to something better. Anyway, I don’t think this was a bad decision long term, she needed to be solidified on the team as a full fledged ninja, I just think this season doesn’t handle the transition that well. Anyway, whatever, I’ll be waiting for your hate comments in the notes.

Romance

Um… there’s none this season? Like there’s a few Wusako moments that are still as weird as they were in season 2, but they’re really not prevalent. There’s also the Jay seeing the future thing which has some weird implications next season (again, some interesting connective tissue between seasons), but that’s about it. Maybe that’s part of why I don’t love this season? Like where’s the pixane? Lol, I’m kidding. But maybe that’s why a lot of people do like it. If you don’t like the canon ships… this is a nice little safe haven for you. Rare for a majority of the series.

Villains

So Morro is a good idea… in theory. I know he’s the fandom’s favorite edgy boy, but idk I think the brand of angsty teen they ended up with was more of an angsty 13 year old than 17 year old. His voice is really grating and I always want to yell at him to just… go get some cough drops. Stop throat screaming, use your diaphragm man! Also, everyone goes on about his last minute redemption, but as far as season 5 goes, he has like half a second of a change of heart. Literally, when Wu comes over and he’s drowning, he’s still being a persistent little idiot like “you never cared about me nooooo!” and it’s only at the last possible second that gives him the crystal, and even that he does it kind of saltily. The preeminent is pretty cool, I like her concept, her design, all that. All the other ghosts are fine I guess. Nothing super memorable out of them, although their aesthetic, especially when there’s a bunch of them swarming around is pretty cool. One last thing was I never understood how Morro “becoming the green ninja” worked and what exactly it was that… did for him? Like he didn’t actually get the power of energy, right? I don’t remember him using it. Did just him defeating Lloyd make him the green ninja? How does that transfer work? And why did he need it to take over the world or realms or whatever? Like I get that it’s supposed to give him more power and what not but idk, it wasn’t super clear. That’s a minor thing though.

Climax

Pretty cool. I like the ATMOSPHERE. Green light is a hard thing to use and justify correctly, but it works really well here, especially with the dark kinda gray blue sky complimenting it. When the preeminent starts walking into the ocean, it’s genuinely terrifying, but you understand exactly how it works and why she’s strong enough to do it. Nya’s true potential is again a little out of left field and could have had some better motivation put behind it. Like what is it Nya learned in that instant? To not be afraid to protect people? She’s… been doing that. Idk. I’ve hit on that enough for now. Overall, there was good variety. I like the green ninja fake out, I like the realm hopping, I even like the little Garmadon visit and Lloyd getting the robe. I feel like we didn’t need a part one and two, you could have had different titles. I mean come on. But hey, now we know, if Pix had only been there, the whole climax would have been wrapped up in like 10 minutes apparently. Pix for the win.

Humor

Really good. Like I’m surprised how much I laughed. Jay wasn’t annoying humor, it was good stuff, there were some good running gags, there’s a solid fourth wall joke about who the lead ninja is at the beginning of the season. Overall, I am pretty impressed. My favorite joke was perhaps the bit where Jay is sarcastically positive, the voice acting is just really solid. Then again, there’s also the whole Borg scene where he roasts half the ninja, that’s solid stuff right there. There’s just some really solid character interaction this season and the humor feels a lot more natural and less forced.

Drama

Okay, we’ve got a lot this season. Y’all know how I feel about Nya’s arc by now. It does not work for me. Ronin’s relationship with her is alright, but kind of comes out of nowhere. Ronin’s solo plot about kinda working for the ghosts works. Cole’s ghost angst works for the most part, although I wish he would have actually skipped a mission and then gone in to help save his friends once they can’t do it without him. That was probably the most solid drama of the season. The other main thing we have this season is Kai’s whole… fear/protective streak. This also doesn’t really work for me. Like, I get that Lloyd and Kai are friends and stuff, like his whole true potential was centered around Lloyd. But like, why does it have to be framed so weirdly? Sometimes in trying to make it seem like Kai is protective of him, it seems like the other ninja just like… don’t care about him? Not all the time, but there are some weird vibes. Also, it doesn’t really go anywhere. No one learns anything about themselves from this subplot, nothing comes of it, there isn’t really a payoff. Also, Kai has yet another irrational fear, this time of water, which really comes right the hell out of nowhere. They try to explain it away like “Oh, Kai feels powerless and so water can get to him” but like… what? That’s the exact situation he was in at the end of season 2 and he seemed perfectly content to literally swim across the ocean (which um… what do you mean the sworn protector of ninjago can’t swim?). Where is this coming from?! Again, it doesn’t really go anywhere, there’s not a point where he has to learn to confront it or he grows because of it. It’s just pointless stuff added cuz the writers like giving Kai vague trails to try and develop him. The cloud kingdom is kinda cool. That last minute twist about them working with Morro is… stupid and unnecessary though.

Spotlight Episode

I really like the Spinjitzu master tomb episode. Some cool riddles, I like the first two rooms a lot. I do think the third room is a bit strange. Like, the clue was “don’t look ahead” and the solution was to look beneath them, which is the exact same solution as the previous room. Like, you already have magic ice that shows the future, why not play into that? Don’t look ahead could maybe mean don’t look to the future, the opposite of that being the past. Maybe they have to draw on their past adventures to solve it somehow? Learning from the past is a good lesson, right? But overall, I really like it. Some real solid humor this episode. This episode has the sarcastic Jay optimism, Kai totally stalling for time, Zane dealing a pretty sick burn on Cole, just a lot of fun stuff. I like it. It just has great energy and nothing feels like it’s drawn out for too long.

Misc

The aesthetic this season… can be inconsistent, but the main ghost vibe displayed in the opening theme is really solid and I really like it

Speaking of the opening, Ghost wip is great and the opening in on par with last season’s (which is my fav) for sure

Ice age references… okay.

Chima references…. OKAY...

Okay, but like Deepstone can… kill ghosts? Or not? Is it just something ghosts can touch? It’s supposed to be like water in weapon form, right? Like that’s how I understood it when they first introduced it. Wouldn’t the deepstone bars kill Ghoultar then? And then like, Cole’s bike is made of deepstone. He uses it as a weapon. Wouldn’t it kill him? It kills other ghosts when they touch it. How… how does it work?! I need answers!!!

The captain of the steam boat says they’re going as fast as possible, but later Ronin comes in and cranks it up like twice as fast… that always bothered me like, why would he lie about that? Who is this captain and why is he so chill about everyone’s lives?! And then later Wu cranks it up yet again, like the ship had slowed down to it’s previous speed. What the hell is happening with the controls of this ship???

So pissed that the nasty CGI nightmare cloud monster that chases the ninja is named Nimbus. Totally forgot about that. I have an OC with a cat named Nimbus… I promise, there is not going to be a stupid twist bout the cat being the monster thing in Mists of Fate. That would be very stupid.

I was all excited that season 13 gave us minecart chases, but I totally forgot season 5 gave us one first. I really like the return to the caves of despair btw, good reuse of a known location.

How many times this season did we do the:

Kai: Oh, I don’t like water, I can’t do it uwu Cole: ...You serious?

Thanks for reading! And if you got this far… I don’t know. I would love to hear your thoughts if you have any! These are just my opinions, so don’t think too much of it if you disagree.

-Kitten

#ninjago #analysis #ns5 #ninjago possession #parachuterants

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scarpool-gmk · 3 years ago

Text

Title: Godly Marine: Killed Author: Scarpool Fandom(s): NCIS, Percy Jackson & the Olympians Pairing(s): Gen Rating: PG/K+ Summary: Chapter 2 (3/13) — Staff Sergeant Michael Kahale, Marine Corps Mechanic and Son of Athena, was murdered. Annabeth Chase is determined to find out who did it and why. She, along with Percy Jackson, Grover Underwood, and Clarisse La Rue, infiltrate NCIS where they team up with NCIS Agents Leroy Gibbs, Anthony DiNozzo, Timothy McGee, and Ziva David. Complete Genre: Fanfiction, Mystery, Drama, Humour, General, Action Warnings: N/A

"Staff Sergeant Michael Kahale, aged twenty-one, born on March 15, 1988," said Tim, pulling up Kahale's I.D. on the plasma screen. "Joined the force when he was sixteen. Signed up as a machinist. Clean service record, and absolutely spectacular performance remarks."

"Background?" Gibbs asked.

"Uh…" Tim looked at Tony for help. Tony shrugged at him. Prick. "There wasn't really anything…"

"I think what McGee means to say," Tony said, exasperated, "is that there are barely any records before he enlisted. No high school. No college. Not even a sports club."

"Not even the car was his," Underwood piped up, getting off of his laptop. "I just ran the number of the car. It's a rental. Marko's High-Performance Cars of East Maryland run by a Mr. Marko Tarsibo."

Tony smiled, and Tim prepared to roll his eyes.

"Marko? Ah," Tony tried on his best Russian accent, "'It reminds me of the heady days of Sputnik and Yuri Gagarin when the world trembled at the sound of our rockets. Now they will tremble again - at the sound of our silence.'" He looked around expectantly, grinning, and was about to speak until Lima responded.

"The Hunt for Red October," she said. "Captain Marko Ramius."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow, and Tim smirked as Tony blinked away his surprise. "That's right. 1990. Sean Connery. Directed by-"

"John McTiernan," Lima finished for him.

"Nice," Tony said, "Are you a-"

"DiNozzo," Gibbs said. Tim swore he saw his boss flash a look at Lima that was far from gratifying.

"Right," Tony continued and snatched the remote out of Tim's hand. "The only records we could find were family members and profiles of his first six elementary schools."

Tim raised his eyebrows and turned to Gibbs. "Six schools in five years. Kindergarten to fourth grade. Looks like a troubled kid."

"Or a troubled family life," Gibbs said.

"The changes were definitely not about his grades," Jackson said with a grin, flashing his eyes to his boss who, to her credit, did not spare him a glance.

"Very true," Ziva said. "Kahale passed all of the knowledge evaluations with close to perfect scores getting maybe one or two wrong."

"Passed all of the Military's written exam bars with such great scores he was able to skip some basic classes. Guy's like the next Einstein, Boss," Tony said, "Genius."

Gibbs nodded slightly. "Anything else? Was there a missing child report?"

Tim looked at him, a bit anxious to persist with the bad news. "None, Boss, and it's like I said. No other information at all between his fourth-grade year and when he enlisted. It's like he didn't exist for about six years."

"Well, he had to have been somewhere," Ziva said matter-of-factly.

"And what could he have been doing?" Tim wondered. "Possible that he could have made enemies during this time, Boss?"

"And then went to hide from them by joining the corps?" the burly girl, La Rue, if Tim remembered correctly, asked skeptically and crossed her arms.

Ziva grabbed the TV remote from Tony. "The Sergeant's family lives in Baltimore."

"Mr. Johnathan Kahale, the father, is an esteemed lawyer for the private company, Lowe's Consultancy," La Rue stated, "His salary is two hundred eighty thousand. His step-mother, Patricia Kahale," Tim heard her voice turn a bit bitter, "is a salesperson for an insurance company. They have three kids together."

"Absolutely no information on his biological mother," Underwood said, albeit a bit nervously casting glances to Lima.

"Let's work our way through both of these missing timelines. Clarisse," Lima ordered, "go to the car rental. Get all the info you can, and find who gave him the car."

Tim saw his boss eye the young special agent. "DiNozzo," he said, "go with her."

Lima glanced at Gibbs with careful, calculating eyes. "And Percy, talk to the parents." She looked back at Gibbs, waiting for him to interject again.

He didn't say anything at first, and Tim held his breath for a second. Why is it always so tense?

"Ziva," he stated. Ziva nodded. Nobody moved. "Well? Move!" Everybody started scurrying to their assigned task.

Tim tried not to show how startled he was when Gibbs whispered at him. "Do a background check on them. I don't like not knowing who I'm really working with."

Tim nodded. Of course, Gibbs didn't trust the Long Island team.

"Lima!" Gibbs called, going up the stairs. "Come on."

And so, Tim was left alone with Agent Underwood, who had plopped himself on Tony's desk and was typing on his laptop.

-Λεον-

Was it him, or did his paperwork triple since yesterday? The director groaned, pulling a hand over his face, and glanced at a packet that had something to do with the FBI. It was huge, and it was just one packet in a mountain. His secretary swore that she has no recollection of it coming into his office. Leon glared at the pile conspiringly. Honestly, she probably had such a traumatic experience just by looking at the amount that her brain wiped the memory of the entire moment to spare itself. He hoped this was just some nightmare, but no…

Not to mention, he got a late notification this morning telling him of a joint assignment with the NCIS branch of Long Island. Which meant they were paired up with Gibbs. Which meant Gibbs was going to barge into his office like he owned the place and throw a hissy fit. Which meant his headache was going to get 10 times worse! Maybe Gibbs wouldn't drag in the Agent in charge of the Long Island team, so Vance didn't have to mend another relationship between agencies.

And just like that, his door was thrown open, and Gibbs sauntered in. "Speak of the devil," the director grumbled. At the corner of his eye, he saw a notification pop up on his computer screen, most likely his secretary apologizing again about Gibbs's intrusion.

"Good morning to you too, Director Vance," Gibbs said with a smile.

Leon Vance felt the blood leave his face. It was still morning? Aw, he swore it had been hours since- wait, Leroy Jethro Gibbs calling him by his given title? Oh no. And then he saw her. Blonde, lean, professional, young…a bit too young. He straightened up and looked her in the eyes, a startling grey. How interesting.

"Director Vance," the girl nodded in greeting.

Leon returned the nod, taking a side glance at Gibbs's fake smile, and offered his hand. "Yes, and you are?"

"Special Agent Anne Lima," she replied as she shook his hand, firm, meeting his eyes, confident, determined.

"Ah, from Long Island, yes?"

"That's right."

"Director," Gibbs said, "My team can handle this case."

Blunt as usual. "Well, Agent Gibbs," Leon quipped, "Extra hands are always a help and appreciated."

"Why wasn't I notified about this when I was told about the case?" Leon saw Gibbs's eye twitch.

"I just got the e-mail this morning, and unfortunately, wasn't able to see until later. But Gibbs, working with the Long Island branch opens a way to connect to our other fellow agents," Leon said sternly but kindly shot a smile to the girl. She raised an eyebrow.

Gibbs took that as a sign to interrogate the poor girl. "Why is Long Island interested in the Staff Sergeant?"

"Michael was stationed at a ship currently docked in Northern New Jersey. He also had other matters that had him in Long Island," Lima replied smoothly.

Gibbs was ready to grill her some more, but his cell phone rang. 'Thank God.'

He gave Agent Lima another distrustful glace before glancing at the caller ID. Gibbs opened his flip phone. "Yeah, Abbs?"

'Yes,' the Director thought, 'Leave it to Ms. Sciuto to save us.'

"Yeah, we'll be right there." He clicked his phone shut and headed for the door. "Come on," he ordered Lima. The girl glanced at Leon with an unimpressed look, before heading out the door Gibbs was holding open.

Leon stopped Gibbs before the man could leave. "I didn't appreciate you turning my office into an interrogation room; don't do it again."

Gibbs tilted his head in response and left.

Alone again, Leon allowed another sigh to escape him as he rubbed his temples. Gibbs was being Gibbs, and although he had to admit the toughness of Agent Lima to yet be unmoved by the man, Leon worried that her stubbornness would be too much like Gibbs. Just added stress…

Speaking of stress, Leon looked at the mountain of files on his desk. Gathering himself up, he picked one up. He opened it, made a face, and put it back down.

"I need a coffee," He muttered, 'Or something stronger.'

-Ζήβα-

Ziva decided that Jackson had a very likable personality. The two rode together to visit the Kahale family, and Ziva had opted to drive, receiving no argument from Jackson. However, she had not been able to get much information on the NCIS Long Island branch than what Lima had already told them.

"Well, I think your mother and I would get along very well," Ziva laughed as she walked up to the door of the house, locking the car behind her with the remote key. She knocked on the door, quickly assessing her surroundings. She saw Jackson casually glance through a window. She caught the grin he sent her way. No visual problems from the front door, then.

A couple seconds later, a woman's voice came through the door. "Who is it?"

"NCIS!" Ziva shouted through.

"IDs, please."

'So,' Ziva thought, 'this woman is one of those.' She and Jackson brought their Federal IDs to the peephole. They heard the click of a lock turning, and the door opened to reveal a young woman. Ziva recognized her from the rundown on the dead Sergeant. "Patricia Kahale?"

The woman stared at them through the parted gap of the doorway. "What do you want?"

"I am Agent Ziva David, and this is Agent Jackson. We are here to inform you about your son-er-stepson, Staff Sergeant Michael Kahale."

"What about him?" Mrs. Kahale asked tersely.

Ziva resisted an urge to sigh in exasperation. "If we can converse indoors, Mrs. Kahale," she said politely.

For a moment, the woman didn't move and only observed both of them. 'A suspicious woman?' Ziva noted. After supposedly deeming them trustworthy enough, she allowed them in her home. The dwelling was telling of an upper-middle-class family. There were pictures of the Kahale family among the house for display. They featured mostly of Patricia's and Johnathan's three kids, two boys and the youngest, a girl. Not one showed the face of Staff Sergeant Kahale. As Mrs. Kahale led them into the living room, Ziva found the house to be impeccably clean and organized. She remained standing, and so did the two NCIS agents. "What is it you wished to tell me?" the woman asked.

Ziva made a show of turning her head as if looking about. "Where is your husband and children, Mrs. Kahale?"

"Out," she said curtly, "Johnathan took the kids on a visit to the beach."

"Do you know when they'll be back?" Jackson asked bluntly.

"No," The woman eyed him, "Aren't you a little young to be a federal agent?"

Ziva caught Jackson stiffen. "Just look like it."

Ziva tried not to frown. Mrs. Kahale didn't seem to believe it.

"You never answered my question. Why are you here?"

Ziva sighed. "I regret to inform you, ma'am, that your step-son, Michael, was found dead this morning."

Patricia Kahale closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Michael? Michael is dead for sure?"

"We are sorry for your loss," Ziva consoled, even as Mrs. Kahale was shaking her head.

"I didn't really know him. I didn't even know he joined the corps. I haven't seen him for years."

Jackson nodded. Ziva stared at him to see if he was going to ask any questions. She internally sighed when he remained silent, looking just a bit awkward- and kind of dumb, too, just standing there.

"We noticed that your step-son disappears on record for a period of nine years. May you explain why that is?"

"I think that is a question for my husband."

Ziva raised an elegant eyebrow at the quickness of her response. "Oh, why is that? Does your husband know where his son went?"

"No." Mrs. Kahale started to head for the door, "He ran off years ago, now I think you should leave. I don't have anything more to say about the boy."

Ziva took the hint but took her time to rattle off a couple more questions, "There was no report of the disappearance."

"We did report it, we were never contacted," the woman responded, as she held the door open for them.

"We will also need someone to confirm the identity of the body, Ziva said as she went back outside.

"Call us," Mrs. Kahale all but shot back.

As Jackson passed the lady out the door, he said, "Thank you for your time."

The woman grunted and shut the door. The lock clicked back into place.

"What a nice lady," Jackson lamented.

Ziva scowled at him, "What was that?"

"Looks like she didn't like us much."

"Obviously. No, I'm talking about you. You weren't much help!"

Jackson had the gall to look surprised, "You had it!"

"Well, someone had to," Ziva shook her head, feeling disappointed. "Anyway, I have a feeling that Mrs. Kahale does not care much about her step-son, and from the way she threw us out- it seems she might be hiding something."

"Did you see the knife?" Jackson asked, acting nonchalant.

Ziva was thrown off guard, "What? Where?"

"The table by the entrance," Jackson said, "It's probably nothing, just forget about it."

Ziva wasn't deterred, "Really? On the table?" Ziva tried to remember. She may have seen something shine in the light, but she must not have noticed it. Was she getting rusty? "What is it doing there?"

"Nothing, probably just a fancy envelope opener."

Ziva sent a look at him.

Jackson shifted on his feet for a bit. "So, what do we do now?"

Ziva sighed, thinking about what she had to tell Gibbs, "I must report back to Gibbs and then call Mr. Kahale."

"Let's go then, I'll drive."

Ziva's brows furrowed into a small frown as Jackson practically raced to the car. He was hiding something. But what? And what was the significance of the dagger? She had a strong feeling these agents from Long Island were not telling them everything.

-Κλαρίς-

Clarisse did not enjoy her car ride. Her first opinion on this 'Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo' was that he was a complete doofus. And he was, but it was made clear why he had gotten to be a top agent. His tactic was to play the completely dumb chatterbox, and boy could he talk like a daughter of Athena in a museum, but that was just a ploy to get others to talk to him as well. This was an interrogation. And Clarisse had gotten pissed off. She did not like being interrogated by some snobby, stuffed up Agent. And she especially hated how he had done it. If Clarisse La Rue was to be interrogated, then let it be straight up. No descendant of the Ares was going to tolerate such a petty approach.

So, she had told him to 'shut up or else.'

Ah, sweet silence.

DiNozzo broke that with a whistle of appreciation as they finally drove into the Rental estate. It wasn't hard to figure out why. Rows of high-performance sports cars were displayed for customers.

"Wow!" Agent DiNozzo exclaimed as he parked the car. Clarisse rolled her eyes as she saw him slide on some sunglasses dramatically and walk up to a sleek, red Ferrari. "Wow!" He repeated. He checked his reflection in its tinted windows. Clarisse frowned slightly as he pulled his phone out to take a selfie.

"Come on," she huffed at him, "We're supposed to interview why Michael was here, not take selfies of cars we can't afford." She looked at a description of a Lamborghini, "Besides, what are you going to do with 600 horsepower, go from one red light to the next red light?"

"Ah, it's about the display, the comfort, the thrill on the highway, the style." DiNozzo lifted an eyebrow and grinned at his phone, most likely looking at his newest selfies. "Besides, you got to learn how to take a break from time to time."

Clarisse scowled and led the way into the dealership building, leaving the older Agent to trail behind her at a slow pace still taking in the sights. She entered the building and breathed in the cool air. Though once the door closed behind her, she tensed and didn't move a muscle.

DiNozzo charged through the door still talking. "You know, taking breaks during work is suggested. It can be a stressful job and-"

"Sh!" Clarisse snapped.

DiNozzo blinked in surprise. "You know, I think we started off on the wrong foot," he began.

"No," Clarisse whispered, "It's not that."

DiNozzo frowned, "Why are we whispering?"

"Do you hear that?" Clarisse asked.

Clarisse's ears rang a little as DiNozzo took a couple seconds to listen. "I don't hear anything."

"Exactly."

"Manager could just be in his office?" DiNozzo mused, but even still, he nodded.

"Hello?" He called out. "Mr. Tarsibo?"

Clarisse moved towards a glass window, facing the street. They were right by a busy street intersection, too.

An office door opened as a man pushed his way out and quickly shut the door behind him. "My apologies, I had a customer to attend to."

Clarisse's senses prickled, "A customer?" she asked, glancing around the empty building.

The man smiled, "Yes, he was otherwise engaged and did his business through call. I am Marko Tarsibo, by the way," He held his hand out, "How may I help you?"

"Mr. Tarsibo," Agent DiNozzo replied as he shook the proffered hand, "I am Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo from NCIS, and this is Agent Clarisse La Rue."

"Federal Agents," Tarsibo acknowledged, his shake strong and confident, "What seems to be the issue?"

"Unfortunately," DiNozzo explained, "Your car was found in a crash site."

"Crashed? How horrible! But no worries, I have procedures in place for such a situation. The renter does sign a form and all that jazz. Come and sit, and I can give you any additional information you want."

He directed them to the front desk.

"Yes, thank you," DiNozzo said, "We would like to confirm the lessee of the car."

"Of course, I hope the person was not critically injured by the crash. Do you have a plate number or anything I can go by?"

DiNozzo brought the plate number and other such identification numbers up on his phone.

As they sat there, Clarisse observed the area of the main desk. It was pretty bland except for the assortment of mini flags. She was able to identify the American flag as well as the French and even the Greek flag. There were a couple more she really didn't recognize- maybe that one was Finnish. She saw another with a horse and rider. She tilted her head a bit. Did that one have Greek words on it? Before she could read it, Mr. Tarsibo exclaimed, "Yes! Here we are. A Mr. Michael Kahale was the client. I remember him. Yes, a marine, was he? Is he alright?"

"He did not make it," DiNozzo responded.

"We are currently investigating his death," Clarisse added, "How did you know he was a Marine?"

Mr. Tarsibo directed his smile to her, "We have a discount for members of the service and veterans here. Proper ID is required."

"Can you tell us about your interaction with Staff Sergeant Kahale, Mr. Tarsibo?" Agent DiNozzo asked.

"It was very brief," Mr. Tarsibo said, "He was simply looking for a quality car for his time here. Nothing out of the ordinary at all."

"When was he here?"

"Two days ago. Sometime in the afternoon. Let me give you the time from the sale."

Mr. Tarsibo quickly printed out a log and handed it to them. "Will there be anything else today, agents?"

"No," Agent DiNozzo said with a smile of his own and offered his card. "Thank you for your time, and please don't hesitate to give us a call if you remember anything."

"It was no problem, and if you ever need to rent a car, I would be happy to offer discounts to federal agents as well."

Mr. Tarsibo's warm smile led them all the way out.

The blast of noise when Clarisse stepped outside was welcoming. She took a deep breath of fresh air.

Agent DiNozzo walked up behind her. "What was up with you and Mr. Smiles in there?"

Clarisse glared at him. "I don't trust him. He's slimy. I don't know what it is; maybe he's not sharing everything or something.

"I understand the distrust. But he is a car dealer. It is natural to feel that, but maybe try not to be so aggressive next time."

"Whatever," Clarisse growled. She snatched the car keys out of his hands. No way was she just going to sit in a car for another two hours doing nothing.

"I'm driving."

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#scarpool #fanfic #fanfiction #Godly Marine: Killed #NCIS #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #PJO #Crossover #gen fic #PG/K+#Writing #Complete

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drkineildwicks · 3 years ago

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Even more on that BH6 Sibling AU:

(You know, that one where Obake and Cass are siblings)

And now, a little bit about the elder Akens, AKA Mr. and Mrs. Aken

(they need first names still working on that)

Basically picture Mr. and Mrs. McGuire from Lizzie McGuire mixed with the parents from Kim Possible and the Sam Raimi version of Aunt May and Uncle Ben

Maybe a mix of the parents from Dharma and Greg too

Mr. Aken worked with numbers (accountant/actuary) and was most likely who got Obake started on number-crunching

Was also a square, straight-laced dorky nerd and very much owned it

Real George McFly/Arthur Weasley sort of guy

And yet is banned from most casinos because he likes crunching numbers for fun and ends up gaming the system easily

Without even meaning to, it just Happens, he’s tried turning it off but it’s not like there’s a switch

They were only able to play cards with someone once before people figured it out and started making excuses

No one wants to play pool/billiards with him either because he calculates trajectories pretty well too

No one expects him to be such a game shark so apparently Hiro gets that from his grandpa

And unlike most parents in his age group, Mr. Aken was into video and computer games

Not playing them, per se, that was the kids’ thing, but he liked the fact that lines of code and numbers all came together to make this thing that a little child could play, figure out, and beat while still being engaging

Obake started learning how to access and interpret code because Mr. Aken was very curious about how it worked and yet had limited success with computers on his own (he can work spreadsheets, that’s the extent of his knowledge)

They cracked open a copy of Pokémon Crystal and after figuring out which code went to what Mr. Aken was able to calculate, off the top of his head, the chances of getting a shiny

Obake did more poking to find the codes that increased those chances and they spent an afternoon figuring out how to trip those while playing

Elaine was very confused when she came home from school that day to find that she had several brand spanking-new shinies in her PC box

Money might have been tight but Mr. Aken would always put change away for a new game for Christmas because they all shared that interest

The family computer was in the living room in the TV so the parents could keep an eye on what the kids were watching/playing, Mr. Aken’s work desk was in the living room too so he could keep an eye on them then

Although most times when the kids were playing some point-and-click adventure game he’d sit in on it because it intrigued him

The kids bought him Myst once and taught him how to play and then Mrs. Aken had to re-organize the computer schedule AGAIN because MOOOM, Dad’s hogging the computer again!

This also prompted Obake to rebuild a computer from scratch for his own room

Mrs. Aken, in contrast, was more of the outdoorsy activist hippie type

And was into disco there’s a reason the kids are all named after ABBA songs

She liked growing her own herbs and veggies and doing volunteer work in her spare time she was the one who really encouraged the kids’ free-range habits

Basically it’s nice outside, go play and don’t come back until dinner

Cass and Elaine’s active tendencies came from her and Elaine especially would go with her on her volunteer work when she was little which really shaped her growing up

Cass also got her love of cooking from her there was much agonizing when she was getting ready to open the Lucky Cat of is this as good as Mom made it?

(it was but there’s always that thought)

Mrs. Aken’s day job was secretary work and organizing for the local municipality the kids got their silver tongues from her

Basically, she knew how to word things in ways that made them look good while still staying in the truthful range

Speaking of games people didn’t want to play with the Akens, no one wanted to play word-based games like Scrabble with Mrs. Aken she was scary-good at that

She also kept schedules at home and kept everything organized since she did that a lot at work too and was just Used To It

And yet they weren’t really into organized sports and didn’t encourage that in their kids either

They both also had the distinct habit of treating children like Small Humans instead of Children as some do, which made the Aken kids hard for other people to handle because they were not expecting this *gestures at the kids*

#bh6 #big hero 6 #big hero 6 the series #big hero six #big hero six the series #au #sibling au #that AU where Obake and Cass are siblings #the Aken/Hamada Collective #Mr and Mrs Aken #who are also based somewhat on my own parents #and my experiences growing up #Mom and Dad are scary-good at scrabble and pool respectively #and are also not in the mindset of treating children as Separate from adults

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fizzingwizard · 4 years ago

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So I watched Enola Holmes!

As a long time Sherlock Holmes book nerd, I... didn’t actually know if I was going to bother watching it. I pretty much avoid any published Sherlock Holmes fanfiction. It’s not because I think it’s all wrong or bad (there are some pretty famous successful ones out there after all). It just those stories always makes me wish I was reading the originals, I think because my own vision of that world is so strong.

But I also like Millie Bobby Brown, and also, honestly, I just wanted to see what a Henry Cavill Holmes would be like. Because as much as I like Henry Cavill, he’s very much not the guy I’d cast as Holmes.

That’s point number one: Sherlock Holmes is not that important in Enola Holmes. He’s a prop that holds up her story, but not much more. That was clear from the trailer, so I wasn’t expecting him to be anyway.

I also didn’t know that Enola was based on a book series, though I did assume so because of the way they have Enola address the audience directly or sometimes just stare into the camera. It seemed like a way to stylize a first person novel that has a lot of exposition. I haven’t read the books, and I’m not going to, so maybe I’m off on how its written, but anyway, I was right that the movie is based on books.

So as I started watching, I quickly felt concerned over these questions:

Why Sherlock Holmes at all?

Why make Mycroft such a bad guy?

Will Enola be interesting by herself or am I expected to find her interesting just because she’s a Holmes and a feminist?

Where is John Watson?

Now understanding that the movie is based on books, the answers to all these questions are obvious. But I didn’t want spoilers, so I didn’t look it up. Fortunately, the movie answers each question itself anyway.

So I can say it was a fun little movie. Millie Bobby Brown did a really good job. It’s not going to be the next blockbuster, but the quirky Holmes women, as well as the other quirky characters, were more than just entertaining to me. And I enjoyed the specific way they painted the backdrop of the women’s suffrage movement. In school you’re pretty much taught that it happened. It’s things like these - books and movies, etc - which may take creative liberties with history, but also showcase the details and grittiness that textbooks wash out.

And I did like Enola for herself. She’s like Anne of Green Gables if her hobby were puzzles instead of daydreams. I liked The Boy too (sorry I can’t be bothered to type his name! let’s call him Tooks). He was pleasantly ridiculous while being any teenage girl’s dreamboat. Does he qualify as a himbo?

The relationship between Enola and Tooks was cute and didn’t distract from everything else. I loved the framing of Enola’s injury tryng to rescue the sheep with her trying to rescue Tooks. At first, it was just sweet, but that scene at the end where we find out that she succeeded at rescuing the sheep totally cinched it for me. Although it’s the typical thing for a young heroine to do - go against her mother’s advice because she hasn’t experienced life enough to become so careful and calculating, and do the selfless thing - it also meant that Enola’s not just her mother’s puppet, she makes her own choices.

We’re seeing the dynamic of competent-woman-idiot-male-sidekick a bit more often, and the thing that always stands out is how rarely the male sidekick is ever really an idiot. Like Tooks, usually they get chances to be cool. So it’s not quite the same as the old trope of “hero rescues damsel in distress.” But honestly, nowadays, who’d want it to be? A totally passive character is boring. You rarely remember the damsel, only that the hero won her. Women actually like romance, we want to like and remember the love interest. :P And even then. The true hero/damsel trope appears rather historically that people think. Because, guess what, most writers like to write characters, not tropes.

The flip side of all this is that there is also a theme that’s becoming more and more common about feminism where the woman still ends up in a relationship, and it still being feminist. Like the recent Little Women movie, where Jo has to suffer and wrestle with herself for so long in her journey to achieve her dreams and in the end discovers marriage is part of her dream. None of this is wrong, but it is interesting how we see “lone feminist” as someone cold and sad about being alone, and are so quick to embrace the feminist who wants to be in a romantic relationship with men. The feminist can’t be whole if she’s sacrificed her ability to love for feminism. Meanwhile, in Enola, Sherlock Holmes, a man, is right there, being unmarried and uninterested in love and happy anyway.

None of this is Enola Holmes’s fault, it’s just a trend that I keep seeing in modern, uncomplicated feminist stories.

In sum, I liked Enola, I liked Tooks, the movie didn’t blow me out of the water or anything but I wasn’t expecting it too... I’m pretty sure this is for kids? In which case it’s fun and interesting the way Matilda or Pippi Longstocking are fun and interesting. As for the other questions...

Why Sherlock Holmes? Because he’s Sherlock Holmes. If you want to write about a female detective, and you want to do it against the backdrop of women’s suffrage in Victorian England, I think it’s only natural to make her a Holmes. That being said, Henry Cavill... is great, but not Sherlock Holmes. Bahaha. He has way too much chin. Who was that person, not Sherlock. RDJ was a more convincing Sherlock (and RDJ is not a convincing Sherlock!). That doesn’t mean I didn’t like him (I like RDJ too), it’s just a reminder that this is not a Sherlock Holmes movie. That’s why he doesn’t act much like Sherlock Holmes. Inspecting some coal dust does not a Sherlock Holmes make.

Why make Mycroft such a bad guy? Because Mycroft represents England. In the same way the assassin Enola kills says his employer is “England,” Mycroft’s job means the way he feels about Enola reflects the way England feels at the time about what a woman’s role should be. Why they made him such an idiot compared to Sherlock, though... Even after I answered these questions, I sometimes couldn’t help feeling “but it all feels so pointless when you’re just going to change so much of canon!”

Where the heck is John Watson? This one stumped me, but it is answered in the movie as well. I missed it because it wasn’t answered in a way I found satisfying. Pretty much, there’s no Watson because Holmes in Enola hasn’t met him yet. This makes no sense in terms of canon - timewise they’d have met a couple years ago, but canon Waston isn’t the best with dates, so I could overlook that - but Holmes is becoming popular. Holmes is becoming famous. Watson does that. Before Watson, Holmes is well known at Scotland Yard, but he’s more infamous than famous, and he’s not in many headlines partly because he makes an effort not to be. So Enola Holmes shouldn’t be well known at all if there’s no Watson praising him from the hilltops. I was half-expecting the movie to end with “pssst... Enola is the real Watson!” but I’m glad it didn’t. It sounds like Watson is a background character in the books so all of this was just “we couldn’t think of anything for Watson to do so we cut him.” But as weird as it is to ever see Holmes without Watson for me, if he’d been included he probably would have had like a couple stupid pro-patriarchy comments to make and that’s it. The Sherlockian me is baffled, but the wiser me thinks his absence is for the best.

#sherlock holmes #enola holmes

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iamtheblondestblonde · 5 years ago

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Slides and Serendipity

Part Three (4.3k)

Part One Part Two

AN: Here comes part three. Are you happy with the lengths of the chapters or do you think I should split them up into smaller parts? Feedback is appreciated as always and enjoy

Warnings: Language because Tyler is Tyler

The next morning I woke up with a pounding head. Even chugging water before going to sleep had not helped to prevent the hangover that was now haunting me. I didn’t even want to imagine how Tyler felt as he’d had way more to drink than I did but least he had the day off.

A cold shower and changing into a comfortable outfit made things better but I still would’ve loved to stay in bed all day.

Yogi didn’t care about my headache of course and wanted attention as soon as I stumbled into the living room downstairs. After throwing his favorite ball a few times in the backyard I could at least convince him to come cuddling with me on the sofa.

At that point my mind went back to the previous night and the way Tyler had looked at me all evening. On a whim I pulled my phone out to shoot a text to Tyler.

Me: Are you up yet?

I didn’t have to wait long until he sent back a picture of himself buried under Gerry on the couch, similar to my own position. Even sleepy he looked hot as hell, which was definitely not fair to everyone else on this planet.

Tyler: Barely.. My headache is so bad I didn’t even manage to make breakfast yet

I hadn’t gotten that far yet either so I suggested making breakfast together, mostly because I was too lazy to do all the work by myself and also because even though I had only seen him a couple of hours ago, I wouldn’t mind looking at this fine male specimen again.

I wasn’t really in the mood for walking and I definitely shouldn’t be driving in my stage so I decided on the easiest option, putting on roller skates and having Yogi pull me over to Tyler’s house. Perks of having a Husky mix. We had done this a couple of times over the last month and each time I had to do less work in my skates. Yogi was growing up so fast and his genes made him the perfect partner for stuff like this, in a couple of weeks I could probably stop skating altogether and only yell directions.

Tyler waited for me at the front gate to his house and started laughing as soon as he saw Yogi dragging me across the street. He opened the iron gates and then filmed us as Yogi kept running to his front door.

“Before you accuse me of anything, he loves this!”, I yelled over my shoulder as we passed him but I had to laugh as well. I knew we probably looked ridiculous but at least it was great exercise for the dog.

“Do you think I could get one of mine to do this with me?”, Tyler asked as I took of the skates in his doorway, letting Yogi off the leash.

“No way. Cash and Marshall are too lazy and with Gerry you’d end up flat on your ass in five seconds. One squirrel is all it’d take to ruin your day but you’re welcome to come with us sometime. I think you’re too heavy for him to pull though, he can barely do me.”

His pout made me laugh, which kind of didn’t make my headache any more enjoyable but he knew there was absolutely no way Yogi could pull him the way he’d just pulled me.

“You make it sound like I’m fat, this is all muscle baby”, Tyler joked, pulling up the hem of his shirt and flexing. I already knew that he was definitely anything but fat from feeling him up the day before, but I wasn’t going to turn down or interrupt the show he was currently giving me so I kept giving him unimpressed looks.

“You still probably weigh twice as much as I do so that’s too much for Yogi but I could probably do it, it’ll be a great workout for me”

With the way his face lit up at my idea nobody would have been able to guess that this guy probably spent half his life skating around and actually enjoying it, no matter if on or off the ice.

“I’ll definitely take you up on that but let’s do that sometime when I don’t feel like there’s a techno rave going on inside my head”

With that we moved on to the kitchen and Tyler put on some music as background noise for our cooking. Yogi was outside, happily chasing Tyler’s dogs around and taking full advantage of the pool. Rifling through his fridge I pulled out some fruits for smoothies and to snack while he prepared everything for ‘The Best Hangover Breakfast’, aka grilled cheese sandwiches. I was cutting up some watermelon and humming along to the music when Tyler spoke up.

“My friends and teammates have all been texting me nonstop about you, they probably like you better than me already”

His comment made me smile but I was unsure what to respond for a moment. As much as I enjoyed my time with him, I knew what everyone else said about him and it was stuff like this that could cause lots of problems for me in the future if I wasn’t careful.

“That’s because I’m way nicer than you are but they’ll probably never let us play beer pong together again”, I deflected, desperately trying to keep things at a platonic level where I felt comfortable.

“How are you so good at that by the way? I didn’t really peg MIT students as the type of people who would be good at frat party games”

“You’d be surprised really, you’re constantly under so much pressure that you need a way of blowing off some steam and smart people usually have the dumbest ideas. In my junior year for example we were throwing a party in our dorm and calculated the exact number of toilets we needed to flush in order to break the plumbing system. We didn’t really think far ahead though, because we had to use the showers and toilets in other dorms for over a week after that”, I told him and he burst out in a giggle that would have most sorority girls proud, gripping the counter so he wouldn’t fall over. His ridiculous laugh was so infectious that I had to laugh as well, still immensely fond of all the crazy things that had happened during college.

“Sometimes I wish I could’ve gone to college as well, from what I’ve heard most people have a blast there and I feel like I’ve missed out on a lot”, he told me after he’d calmed down, now turned around so he could look me in the eyes.

“I don’t know about that, you kinda got the best of both worlds. You didn’t have daily mental breakdowns during exam season and still got to attend frat parties and stuff. You also get to do something you love for a living, so your life doesn’t look too bad if you ask me”, I responded softly, getting the feeling that he truly did feel like he’d simply skipped over an important part in life. He smiled at me and we dropped the topic, instead continuing a more lighthearted conversation and taking our breakfast outside.

“I’m going to miss having all this time to myself soon. I still have two more weeks until my self-imposed deadline but I need to start buying stuff for my office and take care of all these other things”, I sighed, leaning back on my chair and closing my eyes to shut out the sun. I looked forward to being productive again, but I also really loved doing whatever I wanted whenever I wanted.

“I get what you mean. I have all those workouts and practice still but it’s nothing compared to when the season starts, especially when we want to make the playoffs again. I love hockey and I can’t wait to play again but it’s just a lot sometimes”, Tyler responded and I nodded understandingly.

“For you it’s worse because you’re in the spotlight all the time. If I fuck up that’s on me and reflects only on myself and maybe the people that I’m working with. People blame you for things you have no control over most of the time and get mad all the time”

He nodded and was quiet for a while after that, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. We were simply both lost in our thoughts but still enjoying each other’s presence. Eventually the pounding in my head subsided and Tyler must have felt better as well because he offered to show me around the house.

I was wrong about the waterslide into his pool being as extra as one could get because I hadn’t noticed the small lake with a goddamn fountain and private tennis court the day before.

“We’ll have to play sometime, I’ll wipe the floor with you”, I said after he told me that he didn’t really play that much. It was a mystery to me why he would need a private court in that case but that’s athletes, I guess. I wasn’t even that good myself but I was determined to beat him. He promised to end me in basketball in turn and he was probably right, because that sport had for obvious reasons, mostly my height and tiny hands, never been my forte.

The way he was proudly showing me all of his hockey related belongings was incredibly endearing and his comments were super cute. It was clear that he loved the game and that nothing could stop this passion and I admired him for it.

Quite a while later I made my way back to my house, Yogi almost not wanting to get out of the humongous pool. Once I had the roller skates back on, I got in the mood for it and for the next hour we casually continued skating around, although this time I didn’t let him do all the work. I really needed to stop slacking and look up nearby gyms soon or I could kiss all of my hard work on my body goodbye.

The rest of my Saturday afternoon was spent texting Katie about lunch and in front of my tablet, facetiming the girls so I could relay the events of the day before. Safe to say there was constant screaming, squealing and lots of questions being shot at me. Lisa was incredibly pleased with herself because her plan of getting Tyler’s attention had worked but Emily was worried that it had worked a little too well while Mara kept saying that I was living her dream.

“You need to tone it down a bit, I think. You said you didn’t want to risk your friendship through sleeping with him right now, so you need to make sure that things don’t get this heated again or you’re going to get hurt”, she said softly and I knew she had a point. Keeping my hands off of Tyler for now would be the only way to avoid unnecessary drama. I knew his type and while I usually didn’t mind hookups, famous athletes weren’t the best choice in that department.

“From what you’ve told he sounds incredibly sweet but don’t forget that that could all be an act to get you to sleep with him. Don’t shut him out completely though, just kinda slowly test the waters but stay in the shallow part if you know what I’m getting at”, Mara threw in and started wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. I wasn’t entirely sure I knew what she meant but I also didn’t know if I wanted an explicit explanation on what she considered the shallow part to be exactly.

“And if you really need to get laid to get it out of your system, I have some people in your area I can hook you up with, literally”, Lisa threw in and if there wasn’t a screen between us, I’d have smacked her across the head.

I decided to not have a lazy Sunday for once, as I’d literally had lazy days for almost two weeks straight. Instead I grabbed measuring tape and walked into the second living room, soon to be my office. For the next three hours I was busy measuring everything and slowly putting together a plan on my tablet while also cursing the US customary system of units. I had lived the last seven years in the US and while I had gotten used to the seemingly random numbers over time, I was still convinced that it was only implemented to fuck with people.

The room was thankfully big enough to fit a medium-sized conference table that I’d need and my own desk without feeling crowded. The big windows weren’t optimal because of the computer screens, but they were facing north at least. They would also help to not make this room look like a bunker once I finally had everything I needed.

Happy with the work I had done I finally relaxed on my couch with Yogi curled up on top of me. I was full on prepared to spend the rest of my day with him like this, but Tyler had other plans. We’d only met half a week ago and seen each other every day since, mostly out of his initiative and today would apparently be no different. He asked me if I wanted to watch some movies ‘with the children’ and I invited him over to my place along with the dogs.

Ten minutes later he was standing at my door in shorts and a deliciously tight t shirt, the dogs excitedly circling his legs before greeting me enthusiastically. Afterwards I leaned up to hug him while he joked that I only liked him for the dogs.

“It’s a big part I’m not gonna lie”, I teased and ushered him inside where our children were already running around and playing with each other. They got along so well and it was a very cute sight to see.

“Your place looks really beautiful by the way, you have a great taste for this stuff”, he commented, picking up a throw pillow from the couch to inspect it further. It wasn’t the first time he’d been to my house, but last time he had only really focused on the kitchen because we were both really hungry.

I took him on a little tour around the house and pointed out different things along the way while we updated each other on any possible news.

“This is going to be the office but it doesn’t look like much right now, I have to go and buy all of the stuff that I need sometime this week so don’t judge me”

“I’m not judging but if you need some help I can come with you. I think I have a noon practice when you’re getting lunch with the girls so you can come with them to the arena after and I can take you”, he offered and I mentally had a slack jaw out of surprise. This was nothing like the Tyler that was always portrayed in the media, but I wasn’t sure if it was an act like Mara said or if he was being genuine. I needed to be careful but at the same time I really wanted to figure out why he bothered being so nice with me.

The dogs were following us around of course and I picked up Yogi and carried him upstairs, explaining to Tyler that he was scared of stairs for some reason. He insisted on getting to carry Yogi back downstairs because he thought it was cute. We also kept stopping because he asked me all kinds of questions and demanded stories to most pictures so by the time we finished the tour my stomach was already announcing that it was time for dinner.

“What do you want to eat?”, I asked him once we were back in my kitchen.

“Don’t tell on me but I’ve been craving pizza all day”, he responded and I laughed because he might be 27 but from what I’ve learned so far he’d have the eating habits of a five year old if he could.

“Am I going to get you in trouble if I make us some?”, I asked, already mentally checking if I had all of the needed ingredients in the house.

“You’re going to make me pizza? I was actually thinking of just ordering some but now there’s no way I’m turning that down so it’s going to have to be our secret, I guess”

“I’m not going to make you pizza, we are going to make pizza for the both of us because I really think it’s about time you learn how to make anything besides grilled cheese”, I chided him on his terrible cooking skills. It was a mystery how he’d survived so long without barely any basic knowledge in the kitchen, but I was planning to change that from now on.

I was currently both enjoying and regretting that decision at the same time.

I leaned against the kitchen island next to Tyler, trying not to drool over the way his big hands were working on the dough. I could see his muscles working under that tight shirt and honestly kneading pizza dough should not be this sexy, but Tyler somehow made my thoughts go in directions that were anything but appropriate.

“Can you get my hair out of my face? There’s this one strand that just keeps fucking with me”, he cursed and I laughed, softly reaching up to help him out. He wasn’t wearing a snapback tonight and his hair was all over the place by now, which was kind of cute but also definitely kind of hot. At this point my body didn’t know how to react anymore.

I was taking pictures of him ‘to commemorate these first steps’ and while I couldn’t exactly post any on social media without causing a shitstorm, I sent some of them to the girls, making the groupchat explode with messages. Tyler made me film him and add it to his insta story so he could show off his new skill to the world

Gerry and Yogi joined us on the couch while we waited for the dough to rise. Cash was sprawled out on the floor and Marshall had made himself comfortable on Yogi’s bed. I let Tyler pick out a movie while trying to make myself comfortable next to him. He had one arm resting on the back of the couch and I gradually found myself snuggling closer as the time passed. I had just put my head down on his shoulder when my timer reminded me that we had food to attend to.

I showed Tyler how to properly roll it out and then let him take over. His first try was so terrible that I found myself documenting everything again but the second time around he was doing much better already. With some help from me we soon had two near perfectly round pieces of dough ready to be turned into deliciousness.

Tyler had called me an European pizza snob when I’d told him that I didn’t have any peperoni because I didn’t like the greasy fake taste of the sausage but he let me pick out substitutes for him to add instead. Soon the smell made waiting even harder and I couldn’t concentrate on the film anymore but Tyler rubbing circles on my back probably played a part in that as well.

“You might be a snob but you know how to make pizza like damn”, he exclaimed after taking the first bite and I smiled proudly. America had much to learn when it came to pizza and I was more than happy to broaden his horizon in that department.

“That’s why I try to avoid most Italian restaurants here, the food there doesn’t taste the way it’s supposed to and American lasagna is a disgrace to the Italian masterpiece “

“Like I said, snob”

Afterwards we were cuddled up on the couch again and Tyler let me pick out the next movie. I desperately tried to avoid anything with romance or sex in it because I wasn’t sure I could handle that with him so close to me right now. I was leaning against the armrest and this time Tyler was using my lap as a pillow. I tried to stop myself but eventually gave in and started to weave my hand through his hair, softly stroking his head.

He let out a low hum of pleasure and I couldn’t help the direction my thoughts were now going. This much sexual tension was not normal, was it?

“Now I know why my dogs like you so much, you give the best head scratches, especially with those long nails”, he said and I laughed softly, not knowing what to respond instead.

Halfway through the movie I fully lied down and Tyler put his head right below my boobs, wrapping an arm around my body. Now we were both fully reclined on my couch and he had to rest some of his weight on me so we could both fit but I didn’t mind. I kept my hand in his hair at first but eventually moved downwards, slowly and lightly raking my nails across his back the way I knew guys loved.

“Fuck, this feels so good”, he murmured against me and my mind went straight back to the gutter again. How could it not when he was saying stuff like that?!

By the end of the movie I was close to passing out and Tyler wasn’t any different. He slowly untangled himself from me and then called for his dogs, who had fallen asleep already. He thanked me for the pizza and everything else and then he was out the door, leaving me to fall into a peaceful slumber, my dreams filled with images of him.

On Monday a package arrived for me, even though I hadn’t ordered anything lately. I was suspicious to open it but was rewarded with a new pair of the Givenchy slides Gerry had ruined. There was even a note attached that read:

Still sorry that Gerry chewed on your shoes but I’m also happy I got to meet you because of that

-Tyler

The gesture was so sweet that I couldn’t stop smiling for the next couple of hours. I sent a picture of me wearing them to Tyler, thanking him for the present and another picture of the note to the girls, who were of course freaking out again.

The day after that Tyler texted me to see if I was up for an adventure after he finished his workout at noon, an invitation I’d never turn down.

Tyler: It’s not dog-friendly, but you’re going to love the aquarium here it’s awesome

He told me that one of his friends could watch the dogs, the same one who would sometimes watch them whenever he had to go on roadtrips during the season. He said that this way we wouldn’t have to rush through and could grab a bite to eat afterwards as well. His offer was hard to turn down, so I agreed and quickly showered before picking out a cute outfit and leaving to pick him up. It was time to get some more kilometers on my new car.

“Nice car, is that the SQ5?”, Tyler whistled as I parked in his driveway to let Yogi out, who immediately ran ahead to greet him.

“Get your facts straight dude, that’s the SQ8. I thought you were into cars?”, I teased and stood up un my tippy toes to hug him.

“I am but I never really got into Audis, although looking at that I might have to”, he responded grinning and I lightly swatted at his chest before walking inside where his friend was already waiting. I’d brought stuff for Yogi and made sure that he was comfortable before we said our goodbyes and left. We pulled out on the driveway and Tyler typed in the address of the aquarium.

I let him select one of his playlists and was surprised to hear Justin Bieber blasting through my speakers. This guy was truly unpredictable. It was quite the sight to see this 200-pound, burly and bearded guy loudly singing along and knowing all the words to ‘Love Yourself’ but the hilarity of it had me in tears soon enough. His song choices kept surprising me until we finally pulled into the parking lot. I locked the car and turned around to see Tyler looking at me as if he was trying to figure something out.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but how are you affording all of this? You live in our neighborhood, you wear 200$ slides to the dog park and you drive a car that I’m pretty sure costs well over 100 grand. Do you make this much from developing apps only or is there a side business that you haven’t told me about yet?”, he asked curiously and I mentally flinched.

I didn’t mind talking about money with Tyler per se, he was well off himself for all that mattered, but I always got embarrassed talking about my past. However, if I had to talk about the way I had made loads of money, I might as well do it with somebody who was racking in large sums as well. His life was crazy enough that he might understand me.

“Do you want the short answer or the full story?”

“The full story of course. I got all day baby”, he tried to lighten the mood and I had to laugh at the pet name.

“Consider this your heads up though, it gets kind of crazy at some points”, I warned, before starting at the beginning.

Part Four here

#Slides and Serendipity #nhl hockey #nhl imagine #nhl players #hockey writing #tyler seguin #dallas stars #dallas #fanfiction #hot hockey players #nhl

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teenytinystorage · 5 years ago

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Coinscore Arcade And Laser Tag

Summary: “The Sides all run an arcade together, each using their talents to keep it up”

Word Count: 3,872

Warnings: One very very brief mention of blood, knives, and injury, but no one gets hurt whatsoever

Genre: Fluff

Pairings: Platonic/romantic prinxiety, logicality, dukeceit, & basically all the sides are besties

Notes: This fic is based on this amazing prompt I found from @sanderssides-prompts! Kudos to the anon who submitted it!!

Enjoy! :)

—

Coinscore Arcade And Laser Tag was the best arcade Gainesville, Florida could offer. And its owners Logan Middleton, Patton Heath, Roman and Remus Weston, Virgil Holmes, and Dee Webber couldn’t help but agree.

Often shortened to simply “Coinscore” for the convenience of begging kids and tired-out parents, the place had it all. Long windows in the front of the building beamed glimmering moonlight into the neon, darkly colored interior filled with music-pumping, color-flashing, ticket-spitting arcade machines.

In the front left of the building sat the prize table run by Logan and Patton, occasionally by Dee as well, with a wall hanging up packaged neon signs, inflatable aliens, plastic swords, and labels with way overpriced ticket amounts. It, of course, also had a glass shelf-table combo filled with erasers, alien-finger-toys, and parachute army men.

Right then, a couple of kids, maybe 7 or 8 or so, stood at the table, standing on their tippy-toes to set their tickets down and see how many they won.

Logan, with his tree-like lankiness, crumpled up as he crouched to grab the scale from under the table and pulled out a comically sized calculator that would only be practical in an impractical place like Coinscore.

He set the tickets into a bucket, placed it upon the scale, and quickly started to type some numbers into the calculator, all the while the kids bounced up and down and were deciding which color of alien they wanted.

Logan then looked up (or, well, down in his case) from his calculator and at the awaiting children. “Your total comes to 991 tickets.”

The kids then deflated at the admission, looking at the giant alien hung up on the wall that stared at them in otherworldly longing with its 1,000 ticket label.

One little boy ran over to his mom sitting in a chair talking with other moms and sniffly told her the tragedy. She stood, grabbing her purse, and walked over to the table.

Logan tensed. It always got serious when the mom came over.

It was at that moment Patton Heath himself walked out from the supply closet carrying two cardboard boxes stacked atop each other, his shimmering brown skin glinting in the same shade as the boxes.

“Hey Lo, my bestest friend, the platonic love of my life,” Patton smiled wide.

“Hi, Patton. I’m stuck in quite the predicament right now,” Logan answered, nodding over to the sad children and the confused but somewhat uptight mother standing on the other side of the shelf.

“Ohhhh. Not enough tickets?” Patton whispered, setting down the boxes he carried and trodding over.

Logan nodded.

Patton stood at the table and looked down at the kids. “What prize did you guys want?”

The kids sadly pointed to the giant aliens mounted on the wall in all of their extraterrestrial and airy glory.

He looked at the ticket label then back to Logan, whispering, “How much are they off?”

“One-thousand minus nine-ninety-one is nine, so they’re nine off.”

Patton turned to Logan and gave a small pout, not unlike the children’s pouts ahead of him. “It’s nine tickets off, Lo. Can’t we just give it to them?”

Logan thought for a moment, pressing his cold, long fingers onto his chin.

Patton leaned over and whispered, “Hey, hey, I get it. But I read your salary spreadsheet for the week and I can tell we’ll be fine giving away a prize for only nine tickets less. And they might tell their friends about their prize and how they got it at Coinscore and we might make even more than a breakeven amount!” Patton beamed pridefully.

Logan had a surprised look on his face. “I suppose you’re right.”

Patton turned back to the kids. “Would you guys like the red, green, or purple alien?”

“Purple!” the kids cheered, smiles coming back to their faces.

Patton unhooked a purple alien toy from the wall, detached its ticket label, and handed it to the starry-eyed kids. “Here you go! Don’t worry about the nine tickets, this little buddy’s all yours.”

The kids squealed in excitement and the mom grinned in relief. She clutched her handbag and smiled at Logan and Patton. “Thank you very much. Christian, Daria, Jacob, what do you say to the nice men?”

“Thank you!” the three children echoed as they walked with the mom out the door, smiling and squealing about their alien friend who was just as big as them.

“I didn’t know you read my salary reports, Patton,” Logan turned to start unpacking the boxes.

“I like to be a little smart sometimes,” Patton smiled, grabbing Logan’s hand and giving it a quick squeeze. “Like a certain smartie pants I know.”

Logan’s pale face bloomed with rose-pink tones, and he shook his head, a small smile across his lips.

As they got to work unpacking boxes, inside the arcade was where the real fun and drama happened.

Inside, there were all kinds of games monitored by Roman and occasionally Virgil: whack-a-mole, helicopter shooting games where players step inside a shiny plastic interior to play, ball toss, spinning wheels, hard-hitting hammer-swinging games, even an electronic Fruit Ninja game, and the classic skeeball.

And at one of the three skeeball stations stood an angered, growling 9-year-old, who chucked another ball forward into the glass cage and landed into the zero zone again.

She let out an aggravated yell before tossing her long brown hair over her shoulders, crossing her arms.

Roman, who stood at a pirate-themed wheel game and was encoring two little boys who won eight-hundred tickets, saw this outburst and, like the modern knight he was, pranced over to the distressed darling.

“Hello! You’re playing skeeball?” Roman greeted, crouching down to the girl’s height.

“Yeh, but I suck at it,” she pouted, “Hmph.”

“Here, do you want me to show you my trick on how to win? I like skeeball too,” Roman offered, and the girl reluctantly handed her one of her last two neon orange skeeballs.

Roman turned to face the glass chamber of point holes. “What I always do is focus on the wrist.” Roman bent his right hand backward, aiming it towards the skeeball ramp as he turned his eyes back to the pouting girl. “I like to think of my hand like a broken excavator, those construction cars with the big arm in front that pick up big lumps of dirt. My hand goes up super fast and flings the ball forward, just like a broken excavator would fling dirt up in the air and make dirt go everywhere!”

The girl, despite just having been mad, perked up a bit as she laughed and stepped back to watch Roman play.

Roman stood up to full height, a modest 5’5”, and stepped his left leg back and his right leg forward as he turned to face the ramp.

As he described, his hand became a broken excavator as he shot his wrist up, causing the ball to barrel forward on the ramp and land right into the sweet 1,000 point spot.

The girl smiled widely and clapped for Roman, giggling.

Roman turned and bowed sillily. “Thank you, thank you. I’m honored. Now you try,” Roman took the other skeeball from the game’s compartment and handed it to her. “Remember, broken excavator.”

The girl nodded, determined, and positioned herself like Roman had earlier with her left leg forward and right leg back (since she was left-handed), and bent her wrist back before flinging it forward and tossing the ball up the ramp and into the cool 500-point spot.

Roman smiled, clapping his hands excitedly. “What an excellent toss! Ten out of ten.”

“Thank you,” the girl smiled shyly, twirling her pink tutu around her finger. She held out her tiny hand. “I’m Melanie.”

“Nice to meet you, Melanie,” Roman grinned, giving her hand a quick shake. “I’m Roman.”

“Cool name,” Melanie added.

“Thank you!” Roman beamed, before putting on a serious face. “Alright, play another round and show me what you’ve got!”

Melanie nodded, grinning and letting two tokens clink-clink-clink down into the machine as five more skeeballs plummeted into the machine compartment.

Now, although the games and prizes were cool on their own, the hands-down coolest part about Coinscore was that the back end of the arcade was devoted entirely to a laser tag arena.

Behind the two big flashy entrance doors, the debriefing room and the vesting room, the arena was themed like an abandoned, haunted town, thanks to Remus’s suggestion.

Ripped up buildings and large open windows, bus stops, holographs of floating books and chairs projected onto the walls, long ramps up to different structures, a large platform bridge in the middle of it all, and plenty of running space for excited kids filled the massive arena space.

Dee, Remus, and Virgil ran the laser tag rodeo and also did the cleaning of the arena when arcade days were slow.

Dee’s job was to read out the rules to the ecstatic players in the empty, glowing blue debriefing room and had the kids repeat and promise not to run or hurt anyone or jump or rules like that that basically fell under anything that could cause a lawsuit. (And Dee was just finishing up law school; he knew how much lawsuits sucked.)

Meanwhile, Remus and Virgil were the “laser masters” as the kids were told to call them 3 times in a row when something went wrong or their laser gun stopped working or they got lost or anything like that.

But laser-master-worthy incidents were rare, so Remus just had to stand guard during games and hang out with Dee while Virgil got plenty of time off to help out with any extra work going on, like birthday parties or, in some cases such as this one, helping to convince a fearful kid to play laser tag.

A lonely little boy, probably 9 or so, stood outside the laser tag doors, staring at the cracked wallpaper and the spooky neon green lighting, and he shivered, wrapping his arms around himself.

Virgil noticed this boy as he stood holding open the arena entrance and as the other boys he was with walked inside after trying tirelessly to convince him.

Virgil called out to the boy, “Are you coming in? I’m ‘bout to shut the doors.”

“I… I want to,” the boy said, still staring at the wall ahead of him. “But I’m scared.”

Virgil took in a breath. “C’mere, let me tell you something.”

The boy walked over to Virgil and stood, twiddling his fingers. Virgil crouched down on one knee.

“I know it looks scary from the outside, and you wouldn’t be wrong about that,” Virgil started, looking at the boy’s frightened face. “But believe me, it’s not scary on the inside. I promise. All it is is some broken buildings and bus stops. There’s no scary robots or scary ghosts or jumpscares. There’s no scary music or blood or knives or anything like that.”

“You’re sure?” the boy croaked out.

“One-hundred percent,” Virgil nodded as the multiple chains around his neck clinked against each other. “But if you don’t want to play this round, which is totally fine, you can watch up from the top and make sure it’s all good yourself. This round’ll be done in fifteen minutes and then the next one is the last round for tonight. You can play the last round if you deem the arena good for you.”

“I think I’ll do that,” the boy nodded quickly.

“Alright. You go up and check for me, and make sure none of your friends do anything silly, okay?”

The boy chuckled. “I’ll try, but they’re very silly.”

“I’d bet,” Virgil grinned, standing back up.

“Thank you sir,” the boy smiled.

“No prob,” Virgil waved, shutting the door behind him but before that seeing the boy speedily running up the ramp to the spectator station.

Dee and Remus were leading the kids into the dark vesting room as Virgil approached in his black work apron over his P!ATD hoodie and black jeans, making him entirely camouflaged in the blacklight except for his neon purple hair that practically made him a beacon of purple light.

“Where were you?” Remus asked, retying the ponytail that held back his lion’s mane of hair.

“Helping a kid out,” Virgil answered back.

“Well, good thing you’re here now,” Dee commented, “I think these kids are especially insolent this time, so we might need another ‘laser master’ for the tots that didn’t hear the rule about having to hold onto the blaster to shoot.”

“You got it, Jekyll,” Virgil pointed a finger gun at Dee before walking into the vesting room, Jekyll being a nickname solicited by Dee’s vertigo that split his face into halves like the halved aspects of Jekyll and Hyde, and also by Dee’s absolute dorkery in all that was musical theater.

As the round was about to start and as Dee made the kids once again promise not to do anything that would hurt themselves, Remus and Virgil congregated into the half-emptied vesting room with glowing vest-holding-pillars and a few leftover vests with blasters attached.

Dee then assigned the colors and heard the groans of annoyed kids who didn’t get computer-assigned on the same teams as their friends.

The robotic voice announced above that the round was starting in ten seconds, and as the kids scrambled to find their spots, Dee turned back around to Remus and Virgil.

“I swear I’m up to here with these foolish wildebeests,” Dee sighed. “Our last few rounds were good but I think they’re just starting to get rambunctious and just want to see me mad.”

“I’m not blaming them,” Remus shrugged, leaning back against the wall with his wide pale shoulders and torso. “You’re pretty sexy when you’re mad.”

“Ugh,” Virgil shook his head, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets and wishing he could put on his headphones during work. “Leave me out of the friend-flirting, please.”

“No can do, dreamy darkstorm of doom!” Remus beamed, wrapping his arms around Virgil.

Virgil shook his head, grinning only because of the beaming Remus and the chuckling Dee beside him.

“Alright alright, let’s actually watch this match now and make sure no one gets hurt please?” Dee pulled up the arena cameras on the scoring screen in the corner of the room. Remus and Virgil crowded around him.

And from the spectator camera, Virgil could see the little boy he talked to earlier watching the round and his friends that waved and cheered to him as they played.

“Did you see what I did there, Sal?!” one boy exclaimed. “I got that kid and he didn’t even see it coming!”

Sal smiled at the comment, only then to start laughing once the boy’s vest beeped, showing that he got shot as he was talking.

“Who did that?! Michael, if that was you I’m gonna destroy you!” he fumed as he ran off. “Bye Sal!”

“Sal, huh?” Dee added. “Seems like a nice kid. Good job helping him, Vir.”

“I relate to him, y’know? Might as well try and help a little me or whatever.”

“Virrrrgilllllll has light in his soullllll!” Remus teased, poking Virgil’s cheek repeatedly. “I knew it I knew it I knew it!”

“Oh, get over it,” Virgil smirked as he playfully bopped Remus’s arm.

And once the round had come to an end (only needing assistance from Remus once because a kid did indeed forget the “hold onto the blaster to shoot” rule), Virgil saw Sal hurry out of the spectator floor to join his friends outside the door.

The kids returned their vests and quickly ran out the doors to see the TV-displayed leader-board. They crowded around Sal and told quickly and loudly of their adventures, to which Sal smiled and laughed.

And it was quite a delight for Dee, Virgil, and Remus, who were all standing by the door that Virgil held open once again for the last time that night, to see that Sal followed his friends in and that Sal smiled at Virgil with a big beaming grin.

Virgil shut the door behind them as the last round started and finished and as the kids flooded out from the doors to their parents so they could leave the arcade, smiling and laughing all the way. Virgil waved goodbye to Sal, who graciously thanked him again for the help before walking out with the other kids and their parents.

Remus locked arms with Virgil and Dee as the three headed out of the arena and over to the prize table, where Logan and Patton waved goodbye to a few more kids who stayed late to play more games and where Roman leaned against the snack bar shelf and gave some high-fives to kids as they walked out.

“Bye Melanie! You’re a skeeball champion,” Roman cheered as a little brown-haired girl and her father walked out of the doors, both waving goodbye to Roman.

Remus approached Roman, letting go of Dee and Virgil’s arms, and chuckled, readjusting his ponytail for approximately the twentieth time that day. “Made another new friend, huh?”

“I did,” Roman turned to Remus and grinned. “One more than you’ve ever made, intro-dirt.”

“Oooh! Right where it hurts,” Remus cried, putting his hand over his heart before hooking Roman into his arm and ruffling up Roman’s hair.

Patton turned from the prize shelf and walked over. “Melanie, was it? Such a cute-looking kid.”

“Oh, but you won’t believe this! Virgil made a friend today, too,” Remus beamed, letting go of Roman and turning to Virgil.

“Really? I’m shocked that your void of a heart had enough room for that,” Roman teased, before quickly adding, “Just kidding. Who was it?”

“Name was Sal,” Virgil commented, his left contact-purple eye and his right green eye darting down to his shoes. “Nice kid. About eight years old?” he glanced off to the side.

“Awww!” Patton squealed.

“Sal was afraid of the laser tag arena, but Vir convinced him it wasn’t so bad and Sal went in for the last round with all his friends,” Dee added, stuffing his hands into his black apron’s pockets after he swiped away a loose strand of hair that fell out of his yellow beanie littered with Broadway buttons.

“How charismatic of you!” Roman smiled, “What a kind and fair lad,” he trilled, stepping down onto his knee and grabbing onto Virgil’s hand for a tiny hand-kiss.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “How about you save the prince kiss until after you’ve had a breath mint?”

Roman scoffed, standing back up and dusting off the bottom of his apron while Remus and Dee both simultaneously ooooh’d at the roast.

Just then the joking atmosphere was quelled as Logan’s clacking strides from his derbies coming towards them filled the air. “Okay jokers, we’ve got a bit more work to do before we can officially wrap up for the night. There’s some boxes to be carried and a bit of cleaning to do.”

Logan cleared his throat. “Right. Which one of you is strongest, again?” he asked, directed to the two Westons, who simultaneously pointed to themselves respectively.

“Go see,” he said. “There’s four boxes behind the table.”

Roman and Remus shoved past each other to get over to the boxes, and soon enough they were both fighting to grab more boxes than the other.

Logan opened the prize booth’s gate and walked out to Dee and Virgil with Patton following behind him.

“Smart, L. Using their competitiveness to get more work done,” Virgil commented.

“Oh, well, I try,” Logan replied.

“Nothing is stronger than a sibling’s need to outdo their brothers and sisters,” Dee recited poetically, holding a nonexistent skull up in his hand like he was the new Shakespeare.

Patton laughed and clapped, and both Logan and Virgil stifled a chuckle.

“Hey, Dee, speaking of that,” Virgil added with Dee turning towards him.

“I saw you reading out rules today, and your theatrics are pretty cool,” Virgil complimented, lightly shoving Dee with his elbow. “I swear, the kids always listen to you say all the rules when you do your voices and acting. They just start snoring whenever Ree and I try.”

Dee grinned smugly, shoving Virgil back. “Gee-muh-netti. I’m flattered,” he blushed as he tipped an imaginary hat from his head.

“Hey nerd, where do you want the boxes?!” Roman yelled from in front of the storage closet, carrying all four boxes with Remus swiping at them to grab them back.

“Back of the storage closet!” Logan yelled back. “And don’t drop them, please!”

Remus opened the door for Roman politely before slamming it shut behind both of them and probably trying to grab the boxes back again.

Logan sighed, holding the bridge of his nose in his fingers. “That’s all the lifting work. Everyone else, cleaning duty. We had a crowded day today.”

And so the four got to work wiping down and unplugging all of the machines, and once all the work was done all six owners met back up at the front of the arcade.

“I carried more boxes than Romie!” Remus cheered, smiling and puffing out his chest.

Roman pushed him to the side. “You liar! I carried all four at once.”

Patton stood between them and broke up the fight. “Guys, guys, you’re both strong, okay?”

Roman and Remus both stared at each other angrily for a moment before both of them absolutely melted at the compliment.

“Thank you so much!” “You really think that? You’re too sweet!”

“Alright, listen up everyone,” Logan started. “I’ve calculated our weekly earnings up, and it seems that we have enough to do a sort of ‘splurge’ for our late-dinner-early-breakfast tonight.”

“I call IHOP!” Patton beamed. “Pancakes, anyone?”

“Not a bad idea,” Virgil nodded, slipping out of his apron and tossing it onto the coathanger to the side of the entrance doors.

The other four unanimously agreed, and Logan nodded. “IHOP it is,” he announced, taking his car keys out of his back pocket and spinning them around his fingers. He opened the door for the other five who graciously thanked the ever-loving heck out of him.

As the six headed out, Roman’s arm over Virgil’s shoulder, Dee and Remus’s arms locked together, and Logan and Patton’s hands interlaced after Logan shut off the light switch, Remus interjected, “I have another idea for the arena, by the way! What if we add a totally wrecked bus to the middle of the space, like halfway stuck in the ground and open windows and a raised ramp so it’d be a cool hiding spot?”

“Not a bad idea,” Logan added. “We might have enough in the budget for something like that.”

“Or what about this! Pop-up ghost targets that appear at random times for extra points!”

“Cool.” “Good idea!” “Not too bad bro, coming from that one braincell up in your head.” “Sounds good.” “That could work,” the others agreed.

The six friends loaded up into Logan’s RV and drove off to dinner and a long night of rest after the busy day.

Coinscore really was the best arcade Gainesville, Florida could’ve ever asked for.

—

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carringtonblackwood · 4 years ago

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Reichenbach ||Carrington & Alain

When: current, after Alain thought he would die.

Where: Hanging Rock, evening

Who: Carrington and @carbrakes-and-stakes; mentions of @likeamattoutofhell

Alain confronts Carrington about the Twilight cutouts at Hanging Rock. Things take a wrong turn.

Content Warning: blood, character injury, violence

There was a unique feeling that came with knowing you were either about to take a person’s life, or die trying. Carrington didn’t like killing. Not in the way some did. He didn’t relish the feeling of putting his sword through a living, breathing creature. Of taking a life that mattered to someone, somewhere. But so did the lives of all the ones they had killed. ‘They’ being Slayers, Hunters, Wardens. Bounty Hunters. All killing for money, for sport, or because they believed it was their duty. Their calling. Their family legacy.

Some legacy.

Carrington knew he was no better than they were. Not really. He killed because of what they were, even if he did his best only to kill the truly terrible ones. The ones that had no attachments. No families. No children. Family legacy or not, Carrington didn’t kill children. Or take their parents from them. That would only breed more hatred if those children found out it was a vampire that had done so. So he would take his chances that those children might not grow up to be like their parents. Even though more often than not, they did.

Case in point, the Slayer he was waiting on tonight. The one that was apparently already after Carrington’s head. He’d only gotten one decent look at the man Matty had described. And only a vague impression of his scent. So when it drifted towards him again, Carrington continued to look out at the sea from where he sat on one of the park’s benches. Hyperaware of his surroundings despite his stillness.

When the sound of soft footsteps reached his ears, Carrington let out a small, purposeful breath. “Bit late for a walk, isn’t it?” It really wasn’t, but they were hardly here for small talk.

“Right.” Alain was expected here. Well, now he knew why he was left with a bitter taste in his mouth after Matty had left his garage : the taste of betrayal. Was he surprised ? Not exactly. Dave would hear about it, for sure. As for Matty, he would have to make sure he does not put anyone else in danger. “I did not come here to have a conversation or knit a goddamn jumper,” as his tone and outfit suggested. Clearly stealth was not really his prime concern for the night. You did not wander around an empty park with a sword hanging by your side, unless you had some weird choices of hobbies. He used to be a lot smoother when he was younger, but he now tried to be efficient instead. He could take a few hits, so why not do that instead. Alain, his hand on the handle of his sword, drew it out and contemplated the vampire sitting a few metres away. Surely his first hit would not be successful, still the slayer confidently shifted on his feet and swung his sword through the air, the blade piercing through the silence and getting closer to the creature's neck.

Carrington figured it wouldn’t take long for the slayer to realize he’d been sold out by his contact. Not that it really mattered. In a few minutes, there would either be one less slayer or one less vampire in White Crest. And as much as he was placing the odds slightly in his favor, Carrington wasn’t naive enough to think that he was unkillable. That was part of the reason he was still alive today. He wondered if the same was true for the man standing in his peripheral. A slayer that seemed beyond the average years of his kin. But the sound of a sword being drawn put an end to any errant thoughts on Carrington’s part. Right to business then. There was a moment of stillness, and then a surge of practiced movement as the slayer made his first move. Carrington moved as well, vacating the bench in a blur of motion, his own weapon drawn and arching with deadly intent towards the slayer’s sword arm.

There were only two kinds of fights, the kinds that only existed to make it clear to others that you were not one to be fucked with, and the others, real fights. While the first kinds were usually made to impress, and tended to last longer, real fights were fast, hard, and always ended with death. “So you really do own a fucking katana,” Alain held back a chuckle although he did have shit-eating grin smile plastered on his face as he threw himself forward to counter the vampire’s attack. The swords collided in a scratching sound. The cliffs weren’t far. He would have to be careful with that. His feet moved fast, never still. Once more, the slayer pushed forward swinging him with a number of attacks. The first two found the monster’s sword, and the hunter had to stagger back. They both knew what they were doing, but that did not bring any joy to him. He had never cared for fair fights or honor, or even glory. If anything, he was that guy who threw sand in the opponent's eyes. There was no sand here, and he had better weapons than that. Letting go of the handle of the sword, he drew a hunting knife from his thigh and repositioned himself. It would be harder to avoid that katana, but he would be a lot swifter now.

Carrington had had his share of both types of fights. The first had never been to impress - Carrington had never felt the need for such things - but for the sole purpose of warning others to leave him be. Because that’s what he truly wanted in the end: to be left alone. But sadly, that had yet to happen. Hence his current situation. Blade met blade with a sound that grated against Carrington’s sensitive ears, but which he ignored, pushing back against the other blade. “Says the man wielding a French antique.” He noted that his own weapon didn’t seem to be any surprise, and wondered if the Slayer had been the only one Matty had double-crossed. The thought took a backseat as the blows came one after the other, hard and fast, each man taking the measure of the other. That measure was one Carrington hadn’t met in a long while. One that might just match his own.

So when the slayer backed off, Carrington kept his distance, sword at the ready, circling the other man as he changed weapons. A knife meant he planned on getting close. Being more maneuverable. And Carrington didn’t doubt for one moment that the man wouldn’t fight fair if the opportunity presented itself. Carrington did have the advantage of having a solid bit of modern-made armor that covered his chest, stomach, and back. Built mostly to protect his heart from getting staked, it also provided some protection against blades and other weapons.

Carrington spun the sword, gaze intently focused, before taking a calculated risk and making a move. A lightning-fast slash up and to the left, spin right and slash across the middle, keep turning and another slash upwards and to the right. If he connected, the fight may just be won. If not… well… he would simply have to see.

“Family heirloom,” he corrected the vampire. A family heirloom he had decided to put away the moment he noticed that he was fighting someone who was skilled just as much as he was with a sword. This could take ages, and while the vampire did not need to catch his breath once in a while, he did. He had more endurance than normal people, and probably than a few hunters too, but it had its limits, and it would not be long before his sword would dull. And if all else failed, the poison coating his weapons would be torture enough to make the vampire wish he had died. All Alain had to do was to touch him, even graze him. And that’s what he would do and if Matty had informed the vampire that the hunter could fight with a sword, he couldn’t have known that he was well trained with just his bare hands or a hunting knife.

The heel of his left palm flew toward the hand that held the katana -the last thing the hunter wanted was to lose another finger, or his entire hand. He was hoping to catch him off guard. He struck forward with his knife. He aimed for the neck. The vampire moved, and it hit him in the shoulder instead. A disappointment, but also an achievement in itself. It was his first time managing to reach him that way. However, he had gotten closer than he would have liked.

Carrington gave a small huff in reply. Of course it was a family heirloom. Slayers and their ‘family heritage.’ Though they also tended to pass down sociopathic tendencies and an enjoyment of cold-blooded murder. Family idiosyncrasies aside, such a mindset only made slayers more dangerous. They were born dangerous. So Carrington never took his eyes off the man as he changed weapons. The vampire had other weapons as well, but he wasn’t going to reveal them unless necessary. Matty might have turned out to be a snitch, but he didn’t know everything about Carrington. The older vampire had made certain of that.

So when he struck, he struck hard and fast and precise. Or he would have… if an equally powerful and precise counter-blow from the slayer’s hand hadn’t deflected the path of Carrington’s sword.. putting Carrington’s leading arm right in the path of the slayers’ blade. Thankfully, Carrington was well-versed in protecting the parts of himself that were vital to his survival. His neck and his heart. So even as the blade slashed towards his neck, it found only muscle and bone - and not the targeted arteries and sinew - of Carrington’s shoulder. The blade sank home with a muted ‘thunk,’ only stopping when it scraped bone. Carrington grunted in pain, but never stopped moving. The sword was only hindering him now at such close range, so Carrington dropped it, much as the slayer had his own.

With one hand on the blade in Carrington’s shoulder, and the other without a weapon, the slayer was - in Carrington’s opinion - currently at a small disadvantage.

Carrington had both hands free.

The disadvantage of being so close, however, was that the angle wasn’t quite right. So Carrington’s blow didn’t hold the full force the vampire was capable of. If it had, the fight might have taken a turn. ‘Might’ being the optimal word. But the slayer was stronger than any other slayer Carrington had had the misfortune to meet in the last few decades. So as his fist struck the slayer in the face with a sickening, wet crunch, his other hand - his arm slightly handicapped by the blade stuck deep in his shoulder - swept out hard in an attempt to knock the man away from him. Carrington needed distance… and he needed it now.

“Putain de merde“ Alain stumbled back. The combination of being punched in the nose and pushed away had sufficed to make him lose his balance. His foot anchored in the ground behind him and he glanced up in panic. He could not lose sight of the fucker, especially not over a bleeding nose. The bone was broken for sure, and the wound stung, vibrated with pain. He did not stand still for long, and started walking carefully. The vampire had no weapons now, neither did he. He was not about to run over to where he had left his own sword. The stake he had in his coat would be completely useless. His best bet was to wait. To survive those next minutes. It would not be long before the vampire would understand what was going on and should he be foolish, stubborn enough to stay after that, then it would be a matter of seconds before that monster met its fate and returned to the ground, where it belonged.

Always the poor liar, Alain could not conceal his amusement. His eyes had lit up, and a smile appeared on blood stained lips. “Don’t tell me this is the best you can do. One good night of sleep and I’ll be as good as new,” probably more than one night actually. Meaning that he would have to avoid Evelyn for a moment. She could not see him like this, although he could easily claim that an upset customer had done this.

When the slayer stumbled backwards, blood pouring from his broken nose, Carrington also used the opportunity to back away. The man’s blood was of no interest to the vampire, except where it currently stained his hand… searing his skin like holy water. Carrington wiped it across his leg with a faint grimace of discomfort, but otherwise gave no indication it had affected him. Though the smell of charred flesh said otherwise.

Carrington’s own blood ran slow and thick from the knife wound in his shoulder, and a sharp throb radiated towards his spine with every movement of his arm, however small. The knife itself had been lost somewhere during their struggle, and he couldn’t afford to look for it, or to pick up his discarded sword that lay nearby. He wasn’t about to rise to the bait of the slayer’s words. He had far too many years and far too many kills behind him to let something so trivial make him lose his good sense. And possibly his life in the process. No. He was done with this game.

Clouds of mist had already started to drift in from the sea, slowly blanketing the cliff-side park and turning the air thick and damp. A fortunate occurrence for the injured vampire, as In the time it took the slayer to blink, Carrington’s corporeal form had dissipated, blending almost seamlessly with the growing fog. The space he had occupied a moment before was now empty, save a dark-red stain on the grass.

There was a long moment where nothing happened. A moment where perhaps the slayer might have believed Carrington had fled. And perhaps Carrington should have done just that. For things would’ve gone quite differently if he had. But in the end, Carrington didn’t flee. Nor did the slayer. The moment seemed to stretch on and on and on… when it might have lasted ten seconds.

But ten seconds can seem like a lifetime, especially in that moment when one’s life flashes before their eyes. Carrington hadn’t failed to notice that the slayer’s back was to the cliffside. Unintentional, he assumed - the man seemed smarter than that - but a fact that he used to his advantage. Or tried to.

But something was wrong. Very, very wrong. Carrington knew it the moment he rematerialized at the slayer’s back… but he was already wrapping his arms in a vice grip around the man’s neck and shoulders… intent on crushing or tearing apart something vital before tossing him over the cliff and into the sea. Except… he couldn’t. He had him within his grasp, in a hold that had killed more men than Carrington could remember… but his body wouldn’t obey the command to rip the man apart.

Instead, pain unlike anything the vampire had ever felt burned through his nerve endings, like shards of glass dragging themselves through his veins. An agonizing pulse that clawed it’s way into his body from the wound in his shoulder.

Poison. The blade had been poisoned.

But he had precious little time to think as the slayer fought ruthlessly against his hold. Elbows slammed into Carrington’s ribs hard enough to bruise, even through his armor. Blood-slicked fingers seared the flesh of Carrington’s arm as the slayer tried to force Carrington’s choking grip away from his airway. On and on they struggled, each trying to regain the upper hand. Carrington staggered backwards under the assault, his steps haphazard and clumsy, and as his vision suddenly blurred dangerously, he finally felt his legs go out from under him.

For a split second, Carrington thought it was the poison. But poison doesn’t feel like falling. By the time Carrington registered the cold, black water rushing towards him, it was too late.

Both slayer and vampire fell, and were swallowed by the dark, unforgiving sea at the bottom of Hanging Rock.

#wickedswriting #p: alain #p: reichenbach #chatzy #//so excited to post this it was funnnn #//it's all fiNEEEEE #//fine fine fineeee

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zweiginator · 6 years ago

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My Sweet Lord--Uni!Brian x Reader

Summary: You and Brian meet by chance on a fall afternoon and become close friends. But as the seasons change and the flowers of spring begin to bloom--your relationship with him does the same.

Word Count: 13k+ (oh my god i truly cannot be concise.. anyways stream my sweet lord by george harrison)

Warnings: slooooow burn, friends to lovers, Brian being a shy, smart cutie, unprotected sex, oral, dirty talking

October 1972

If Brian counted every step he had taken to the campus library and converted it into energy, he was sure the force would be strong enough to take him out of this world. This cruel, cruel world that was forcing him to study for a physics test that his professor insisted was the week after a gig he and the band had been preparing for for months--not that his pudgy, almost-elderly instructor would ever know--or suspect--that Brian was in a band. That was one thing he was trying to change about himself; the fact that he was Brian. He wasn’t Freddie. And he surely wasn’t Roger, who had kicked Brian out of their own flat four times that week, his curls soaked through with the same acid-rain that rolled down the streets as he pounded on the door, which Roger held shut with his booted foot as his one night stand whose-name-he’d-never-remember pushed her skirt up her legs and gave her interim lover a kiss, stained red. He’d mastered the awkward wave, one that expressed a sort-of hello-goodbye hybrid, Brian’s eyebrows furrowed in a sorrowful quasi-frown that he hoped would soften the blow when Roger inevitably failed to call her back.

“How do you do that?” Brian asked Roger as he shook his umbrella off, the material crinkling as trembling rain rolled off the sides, onto the wooden floors.

“Hey!” Roger wiped his hands down his bare chest, covered in a perpetual blanket of leftover kisses, healing into purple-pink marks that ran up the expanse of his tanned skin. He took another bite of a biscuit he was eating and shook his head at his best friend. “Don’t get fucking water all over the floor. This?” He pointed at the shitty floor beneath them; there wasn’t a step that didn’t produce an eerie creak that always made Brian’s heartbeat skip against his narrow chest as he attempted to get water in the wee hours of the morning. “This is real wood. When we sell this shithole, I don’t wanna be fined for ruining the floor.”

“Oh shut up.” Brian rolled his eyes and hung the umbrella on the coat rack by the door as Roger lit a cigarette that dangled between his pillowy lips. “How do I do what? Shag random girls?” He asked, puffing at his cigarette, pulling it out of his mouth for a bit to let out a suppressed yawn. “It’s a bit exhausting.”

Brian believed him; his eyes were sunken in so much he would look dead if he weren’t so tan from the blistering sun that beat through his skin--all of their skin--as they packed and unpacked equipment from pub to pub all across London, all summer long. “I just--I wonder if I’m doing something wrong? I mean I don’t look like you, but I’d like to think I have a redeemable personality.” Brian complained, taking a biscuit from the crumpled paper bag on the counter.

“Don’t eat my fuckin’ biscuits.” Roger swatted Brian’s hand away as he took another drag, puffing the heavy, stale cigarette smoke into Brian’s nose, which was a rosy hue from the same nipping wind that mussed Brian’s hair into a coiled nest upon his head. “Don’t be so harsh on yourself, Brian. You’re just--” He shoved the bag of snacks into Brian’s hands and tapped some peppered ashes from his cigarette. “Shy. A bit awkward, but you do have a nice personality. And--” He paused. “You’re-- physically attractive. I--” He swirled the butt of his cigarette in a foggy glass ashtray, extinguishing the smoldering glow. “That’s all I’ll say. Don’t repeat those words to anybody.”

Brian chuckled and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, which remained soft, a severe contrast with his fingertips that were cracked and calloused from years and years of plucking ridged guitar strings. “Wow, thanks Rog.” He said it facetiously, knowing Roger didn’t appreciate sappy confessions from his best friend. Roger pulled his silk robe over his chest and gave Brian a tight-lipped smile.

“You’ll find a girl someday. Just like I’m sure I’ll settle down eventually.” He shuddered, padding to his room--a place Roger rarely stayed; otherwise it would be scattered with clothes and cigarette butts and the odd token from his girl-of-the-week, begging for his undying attention.

“Don’t be presumptuous.” Brian peeked around the corner in the kitchen, sending a smile to the shorter blond as he shut his bedroom door, swatting his hand at him before promptly flipping him off. “Charming.” He rolled his eyes, biting into a semi-stale cookie, leaning his elbows on the granite of the counter, resting his sullen cheeks in his palms as he listened to the bay of the wind, watching the yellow lights flicker--whether that was a consequence of the wind or the unpaid rent bill shoved under a candle, he didn’t know.

Now, Brian was certain he would fail his physics test--which he reminded himself was in just two days, as he rested his head on the table, his ear pressed against the hollow, airy wood of the table. The tall chair he was sitting on was the same material, and there wasn’t a cushion, so he shuffled around every few seconds in a desperate attempt to find a comfortable position that soon proved impossible. Everything was muffled against his ear; the sounds of his peers punching irresolute numbers into their calculators, sipping lukewarm coffees hidden between their legs, behind sat-up textbooks. Brian was exhausted, and lying his head on the table--although scratchy against his soft skin--made his eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones as his eyes fell, closed as his lips parted, shallow breaths fanning over his book so the dog-eared pages skimmed and flitted upon the next.

He wasn’t usually the type to fall asleep in class; in fact, he had become reliant on coffees saturated with grainy sugar to keep himself from doing just that. But something about the hollow, dreamy reverberation of flipped pages and tapping pencils had him softly snoring, his hair fanned over the table, where small dribbles of drool pooled at the corner of Brian’s mouth. The pen he was holding loosely between his fingers soon fell against the tabletop as his head fell to one side, nuzzling into the fleece of his powder blue hoodie which had sleeves that were much too short; his wrists were covered in goosebumps.

You sat at the table next to Brian’s, a small cart stacked with nonfiction books only slightly obscuring your--and your friends’--views of him, this massively tall, eternally sleepy boy you’d seen many, many times that week. It was nearing midterms, so everyone was scrambling to cram for the massive number of exams they were going to have--making pacts with buddies that they would study together, as if the collectivist, group setting would increase productivity instead of annulling it completely. But this boy was always by himself, his hands shoved into the pockets of whatever jacket adorned his willowy frame, his bony wrists jutting out from beneath his deeply tanned skin. He burrowed himself in a nest of crumpled notes and dully sharpened pencils, yawning into his fist as he scribbled so passionately you were convinced he couldn’t be writing anything pertaining to schoolwork.

Brian was a sort of enigma at university; nobody knew much about him, but they were endlessly fascinated by the shrouded nebula of the unknown that seemed to hover above his cloud of frizzy waves. Nobody had seen him speak to anybody but the occasional professor, hushed by their desk after class ended and the majority of the snooping peers had left to attend to their social lives. So everyone perked up in their seats when three men--two of them excessively rowdy for a school library--strode into the building, tall heeled boots clicking against the tiled floors enough to make the librarians scowl, shaking their heads uniformly as wire-rimmed glasses were pushed up their noses.

“Christ.” Freddie did a scowl of his own as he looked around the expansive library, taking in the grandeur of the old architecture. “This place is gorgeous; too bad its a fucking bore to be here.” He added, quite loudly. Deaky shoved his shoulder and shook his head, gesturing to the multitude of students who were now just pretending to study--they were all watching the men intently, aching for something to gossip about, anything substantial enough to act as an excuse to finally rest their weary eyes from reading their stacks of books which all seemed to belie one another.

“Shut up.” Deaky didn’t look at Freddie when he said this; he was looking for Brian, and was becoming frustrated when he couldn’t spot his head of curls amongst the sea of pupils focused their way.

Roger and Freddie loved the attention, and they winked and smirked at the majority of their audience, including you, as you held your pen between your teeth, fishing your keys from your tattered bag. Roger liked what he saw, so he pulled a chair out, sitting down leisurely while you paid no mind to the doe-eyed blond. He was cute, but you weren’t looking for a relationship; it was just too difficult with the amount you were juggling--plus you had silently swore off guys in a drunken rage a few months back and you weren’t ready to go back on your words just yet. You could tell your friends were intrigued by Roger’s beachy waves and sun kissed cheeks, his wide blue eyes that were covered in a thin film of innocence that most girls saw right through.

“You girls seen a tall lad around here? Big curly brown hair? No other redeeming qualities?” Roger scooted his chair closer to the table as you capped your pen, tilting your chin to motion to the probable culprit--although you’d never seen him speak to anyone, and would be surprised that these three very self-assured, very flamboyant guys would be anybody he would associate with.

Roger turned his head and scoffed when he saw his roommate knocked out on the table, his signature curls veiling his sharp, angelic features. His hands were splayed on the table in front of his book, and it was then that you noticed his nails were painted an opaque white, chipped just along the edges.

“That would be him. Good eye--what’s your name?” He acted nonchalant, furrowing his messy eyebrows as he pulled a smoke from the pack in his back pocket, his other hand fumbling, in search of his metal lighter.

“Y/N.” You smiled at him sweetly as you found your key ring, hidden beneath an array of old receipts and hoarded trinkets that had no place being there.

“Roger.” He held his hand out, flashing his teeth, semi-crooked and just a smidge yellow from incessant smoking. Without another word he pushed his chair back so it fit neatly, tucked into the table.

“Sleepy head,” Freddie poked Brian’s head with the pencil that had fallen from his grasp. Brian groaned softly, adjusting his position so his head moved away from the strange sharpness that pierced his scalp. “Wake up Brian. You’re making a fool of yourself.” He whispered into his ear.

“Fuck off, Freddie.” Brian turned his head to the opposite side, so he faced where you were sitting, watching the interaction curiously, like a few other surrounding tables were, halting their procrastinated studies to try and decode the campus mystery that was Brian May. You noticed how effortlessly attractive he was, even with his face mostly obscured by curled tendrils of hair that tickled against his angular nose, fell over his sharp cheekbones. His eyelashes were thick, and they laid across the very tops of his cheeks; his mouth hung open enough for you to notice how plump and peachy his lips looked underneath the yellowed lights that glowed throughout the building.

Roger moved to the other side of the table and pinched Brian’s nose, squatting down as Brian’s eyes snapped open, his pupils dilating and constricting like his stomach was, pumping with anxiety as he sat up quickly, rubbing his eyes with a ringed finger.

“I can’t believe you told us we had to postpone a meeting with fucking EMI records so you could study.” Roger used air quotes around the last word, slapping the back of Brian’s head harshly, which emitted a few gasps from the tables around you.

Brian grabbed Roger’s wrist, pushing his hand down onto the table quietly, his hazel eyes a warning to his friend. “Roger!” He whisper-yelled, looking around the library. He shot a few glances to their spectators, one that screamed: I’m sorry for disrupting your studies I wouldn’t usually be like this--

“I’m allowed to be pissed; they probably won’t think we’re fucking serious about the offer since you’re moping around in libraries taking fucking afternoon naps!” He was whispering too now, and Brian sighed in relief when he noticed more and more of their audience returning their attention to their books, the cracking of the glue along the spines like a depressant to Brian’s sympathetic nervous system.

“I was studying; I fell asleep because you’ve decided to shag a new girl every night, so I can’t exactly get anything done at home, now can I?” Brian gathered his physics book, shoving his pencil on the last page he was on before he closed it carefully, pushing it into his bag behind portfolios of various lab reports and unmarked quizzes.

“Whatever, Brian.” Roger knew he had been loud the past couple of nights, and he felt a tinge of pride on his part as Brian fed into his ego unintentionally. Deaky just stacked the rest of Brian’s papers strewn about the table and handed them to him without a word. Freddie was absurdly quiet too, mouthing apologies to a few angered students who had probably developed headaches from Roger’s screeching.

“Just don’t get me banned from this place, okay?” Brian straightened his stack of papers and clasped them together with a metal clip, pushing it into his bag expertly.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just go.” Roger kneed Brian in the ass as he got up, and you noticed how he seemed to tower above the rest of the posse, his shoes and hair and incredibly lengthy legs just adding to his stature that would have been quite imposing if not for Brian’s lanky body and eyes that were laden in kindness and warm honey, framed by straight eyebrows that gave him an easygoing, impossibly handsome charm.

“The record company is just a few blocks east. We have plenty of time.” Deaky said, following behind Roger and Brian and next to Freddie, his breath fanning on their shoulders which grazed lightly against one another.

“Deaky, keep your mouth shut. We all know we would have missed the appointment if we hadn’t come here to drag Brian’s skinny ass out of his nap.” Roger shoved his hands in his pockets and shivered as he pushed open the heavy door of the library, it was teetering on the cusp of fall and winter and all four boys snuggled into their thin jackets; they never could dress for the weather.

You had to go too; your psychology class was beginning in twenty minutes and you were already running a bit late since you were admiring the cryptic boy whose name you still hadn’t gleaned. As you stood up and adjusted your necklace that you had flipped over your neck, you saw his own psychology book--more torn and loved than your own--tucked away under the table, sitting on the empty chair next to where he had been sitting.

You took it and weighed your options: you could attempt to find him and end up lost, with the very expensive textbook of a complete stranger--or you could find him, by some odd bout of coincidence or fate, and brush fingertips with him, then never speak to him again, most likely. Neither of those options were favorable, but by the scarlet blush that you had never seen him without, you reckoned he was an anxious person, and was probably already deliberating about where he could have possibly left his book. You tucked it under your arm and sighed, fixing your hair in the glare of a window that sat next to the entrance, the window pane covered in coffee rings and devoid of any paint.

You understood why the group of guys had shivered so severely when they opened the door; a drafty gust of wind made your breath become choked, shoved down your throat. But you saw his messy head of curls being blown about in the wind, the cold air reddening the tip of his nose as the foursome leaned against the side of a pub, a long-haired brunette cupping his hands around Roger’s cigarette to light it despite the wind’s vindictive attempts to keep it unlit. The other two men hugged their arms to their bodies and huddled into each other, chatting annoyedly, pulling open the door when passersby wanted to enter, in an attempt to feel the drafty heat. You quickly crossed the street, holding your coat over your body and his textbook over your chest as your bag thumped against your thighs.

“Hey!” You waved as you reached the edge of the sidewalk, where rain was sloshing in a deep divot in the street, a makeshift bay. Your boots kept your feet from getting wet, but the bottoms of your jeans were soaked and cold against your ankles as you held the book in front of you. “You--you left this on your seat.” You reached forward, watching Brian’s eyes light up as his arm extended towards yours. But your heel caught on the edge of the pavement, making you fall forward as a car weaved past you, soaking your jeans completely with rain that had to be just on the cusp of freezing. Your sweater, chunky and cable knit, did nothing to barricade the water from seeping through, and you stood up quickly, your hair stuck to your shoulders as Brian took the book that had somehow avoided the majority of the splash.

“Shit! Are you okay?” The black-haired one took your hand, helping you stabilize your balance. You attempted to rub some mud off of your knees, but it just worsened the stain, so you gave up, huffing as you checked your watch--which you realized wasn’t on your wrist.

“Fuck! What time is it?” You were already running late, and your professor for your literature class already had an odd vendetta against you.

“Ten ‘til one.” The longer-haired, lighter brunette said, giving you tight-lipped smile and offered to hold your wet coat.

“Shit.” You would be late even if you weren’t completely and utterly unpresentable.

Brian was monumentally guilty; it was, technically, his fault that you were in this predicament. If he hadn’t been so stupid and remembered to pick his book back up, you wouldn’t be in front of him, soaked to the bone and distraught, one side of your hair frizzed from humidity, the other side slicked down by a curtain of water.

“Do you have class soon?” Brian touched your shoulder apprehensively, but his grip was still strong as he tucked you under his arm and helped you walk under the awning outside of the pub.

“Yeah.” Your face was burning at the close proximity; his face was a few inches away from your own, squished near the wall so the door wouldn’t hit you two. You felt sweaty; cold yet burning to the touch. He braced a hand against the exposed brick of the building pushing closer to you as a couple brushed past, trying to get into the bar.

“Oh--I’m sorry.” He turned around so his back was against the wall and he was standing next to you, shoulder-to-shoulder. “I didn’t mean to get so--close.” He scratched the back of his neck. “What class do you have? Maybe we can still make it?”

“Renaissance Lit. It’s in about twenty minutes, so I doubt we can make it.” You lowered your eyes to meet his, noticing how they were sparkling, honey specks alternated with the faintest greens that made it impossible to look away. His hair blew over his face as he faced you; his hands large and delicate, gesturing down the block but you couldn’t focus on his words.

“Professor Thompson?” He inquired, wiping his nose discreetly with his rolled-up sleeve. “We better get moving then, he’s quite the stickler.” Brian turned away from you and then quickly pivoted back, holding his hand out towards yours. “I’m Brian, by the way.” He smiled easily, his lips a bitten peach color as his teeth tugged at the skin.

“Y/N.” You clasped your hand in his, which was much bigger, and much warmer than yours--which might have been why your touch lingered, your pinky rubbing against his own, adorned with a silver ring. “We?” You inquired, letting go of Brian’s hand, which was heavy but comfortable to hold.

“You have to get changed--I mean--I was going to offer you some of my clothes from my flat--” He spat out quickly, averting his gaze to his feet as Roger stomped his cigarette out with the toe of his boot. “If that’s not too much. Or too soon. Forget I asked?” It was charming how shy he was; you liked how his eyebrows made him look so tentative and innocent; and you liked even more how his personality mirrored the same thing--pure intentions.

“Are you sure?” You asked. “That would be great, I mean my flat is a ways away. If you’re not too busy or anything.” You stumbled over your words, your hands finding his wrists and running a thumb over the protruding knob of the bone there.

Brian stiffened, then grinned lazily. “Oh, don’t worry about it--I kinda owe you one since--”

Roger cut him off, his hands gesturing wildly, his pack of cigarettes clasped tightly in a calloused hand. “Brian. EMI records. Two o’clock.” He shoved the pack into his jacket pocket and shivered dramatically, his fingertips pressing white prints over the darkened skin of his shoulders.

“I promise I’ll meet you there. I’ll run and everything, Roger. Don’t even worry about it.” Brian stepped forward and clasped his hands down onto Roger’s shoulders, pushing his hair back, away from his forehead.

“Brian, if you’re late I’ll fucking kill you!” Roger yelled after him, his middle finger held up prominently and uncaringly as a group of miserable schoolchildren passed, their fur-lined hoods pulled snug over their heads.

“EMI records?” You began to walk faster, trying to keep up with Brian’s massive strides. His jaw was tensed as he looked at the checkerboard of taxis that were lined, parked along the streets.

“Yeah--” He looked down at you, slowing down a bit as he guiltily realized you were struggling to keep up. “Those guys and I are in a band. Just record deal drama. Trying to get signed before the end of the year is proving to be very difficult--and time-consuming.” He chuckled and looked at his feet, covered in white clogs, the heels only adding to his already massive height. “I’m just not sure if I’m ready to give up university, you know?” Brian didn’t know why he was dumping his inner drama to you--a beautiful girl who he had met mere minutes before--but it felt as natural as the blush that was seeping over him whenever he looked at your face.

“I mean, tell me about your band; is it something you’d want to pursue?” You didn’t want to pry, but he seemed comfortable with talking to you. Plus, you were on your way to his flat, so it felt necessary to break the ice a bit. Brian and you turned the corner, and he pulled you close to him as he saw a teenage couple walking towards you, a dazed look in their eyes which were focused anywhere but the sidewalk ahead of them.

“Sorry if that was too close--didn’t want you to run into them.” He ducked his head under an oddly low balcony, his hand ghosting over the small of your back. You noticed him pulling his arm away, his fist hovering over your body as if he were forcing it away but a magnet was stabilizing it there, confused.

“You’re fine, Brian. No need to apologize. Tell me about your band; I’m curious.” You stepped over a puddle and looked up at him.

“Oh--I--I guess I don’t know where to start.” He reached the glass door of his apartment building, ushering you inside. He pulled his hood down and shook some water from his hair, smiling at you as he strode towards the elevator, which looked crooked and unsafe. He must have sensed your fear, as he huffed and leaned against the wall as he pressed the button for his floor. “It looks a lot more intimidating than it is. Trust me, I know it looks sketchy; it took months for Roger and Freddie to convince me to use it.” A dull ding sounded, and the doors opened, two young boys stepping out, giving you a questioning look. “She’s a new friend.” He explained, gesturing to you as you stepped inside the lift. Brian was severely blushing now; his neck was painted scarlet.

“Brian, it was about time you got a friend.” One of the boys commented, chewing loudly on a stale piece of peppermint gum.

“For real! I thought guitarists were supposed to get all the p--” The other began, but Brian stopped him nervously.

“Okay! Watch the language! Go play your rugby or something.” He shooed them away playfully as the doors closed. You smiled to yourself, assessing the mud caked into your jeans, your soaked boots and your shirt which was seemingly more water than fabric. Your hair was matted and tangled but Brian still couldn’t meet your eye for more than a few seconds before his nerves fizzled and bubbled to the point that he couldn’t possibly look anymore.

“So you’re the guitarist?” You continued. Of course, it made sense; he just had that feeling about him. His calloused fingers, long and agile and bony, painted white were a sort of symbol.

“Yes, I am. The blond, Roger, is our drummer. Freddie is the singer, he’s the quite flamboyant one; and Deaky--John--is the bassist. His last name is Deacon if you wondered where the name came from.” He spoke quickly, and it seemed like he wanted the attention off of himself as much as possible.

But you wanted more. “How long have you been playing?” You watched Brian’s fingers fumble with his keys; he had a keychain of a guitar and a globe on the keyring, and the faint sound of the plastic and metal clinking together permeated the empty corridor.

He entered the key and turned, letting you in first. The floor was scattered with velvet shirts and satin pants and vice versa; socks piled around a laundry basket that remained empty despite the mess of dirty clothes. “Jesus Christ,” He bent down, frantically pushing the clothes into his arms and throwing them into the broken basket. “Roger is the messiest person I swear--”

“Oh, it’s fine.” You traced your finger along the marble of his counter before sitting down on a red leather stool sat nearby. “Can’t say mine is much better with so much going on.”

He nodded, looking up from the stained button-up he was inspecting. “And I’ve been playing for--” He paused. “Over fifteen years I’d say. Not sure quite exactly when I started, but music has always been an escape.” He held the laundry basket to his hip, leading you to his bedroom in the corner of the flat. “It’s just so hard to choose music when it’s so scary. Who knows if we’ll ever be anything but a group of English boys trying to be rockstars?” He set the basket in the doorway of what you assumed to be Roger’s room, before he opened the door to his own room. His was neat and tidy, save for some trousers scattered about the wooden floor. An orderly stack of school books sat at the edge of his desk, and he added his forgotten psychology book to the collection, slumping his shoulders so his school bag slid from his body.

You slumped down on his bed, sighing. “Can I take off my shoes?” You pointed to your soaked boots and he nodded, pushing open the doors of his closet. You noticed a cherry-wooden guitar leaning against his desk, the leather strap swinging from the air escaping from the vents. “I don’t know you much, but I’d say go for it.”

He sat down on the bed next to you, his knee touching your own. He extended a ringed pinky towards you and rose a dark eyebrow. “I promise I will, then.”

December 1972

“This is my friend, Brian.” You gestured to the lanky boy to your left, who waved awkwardly to your two friends, his hand gripping the neck of his guitar. Beads of sweat poured down the front of his face and over his nose. His lips were bitten from bouts of severe concentration onstage, and his pupils were dilated, his breaths labored and heavy in his throbbing chest.

Queen had scored a major gig at the Marquee Club in London--a nightclub that would allow them to perform to more than a group of sleazy drunks and their bartenders. It had taken some convincing, but you had gotten permission from Brian to invite some of your friends--his peers--to the venue. His lip was truly bitten purple and bloody from the anxiety simmering throughout his body; his hands trembled uncontrollably over the fretboard for the entirety of the concert. But to you--and the rest of the crowd--Brian looked at ease, in his element; it felt right for these few dozen strangers to label the mysterious Brian May as a guitarist--a shy, tall, incredibly handsome guitarist who was stumbling over his carefully chosen words. His eyes were able to follow your own much longer now; within the couple of months you two had known each other, quiet study sessions with amateur conversations had mutated into quasi-cuddling on his couch, resting your head in Brian’s lap as he dropped salted popcorn into your awaiting mouth.

It was you who he felt most comfortable with, which was why Brian pulled you into him by your waist as he mingled with little-known peers; nameless friends-of-friends who held lagers in their hands as they complimented Brian’s band. That was the girls mostly; the guys gifted Brian with backhanded compliments while they glared at his painted fingernails and the glittery makeup you had swiped over his puffy eyelids hours before.

“You taught yourself the guitar?” A random girl asked flirtatiously as she twirled an artificial blond curl around her finger.

Brian scratched the back of his neck as he lifted his half-drunk beer to his lips. His arm tightened around your waist; you were like a security blanket to him in unwanted social situations. “Yeah--more or less. My dad helped me get started but I guess--I just got really into it.”

She nodded enthusiastically, leaning into Brian as he set his drink down carefully on a cardboard coaster. “I can tell you’re into it--” She batted her eyes and looked at her hands coyly, stirring her mixed drink. “You’re so focused when you’re playing.”

You felt your face growing hot as Brian’s fingers played with the loops on your jeans, his thumbs fingering the denim fabric nervously. You felt jealous, even though you and Brian were nothing more than friends--close friends. You pushed Brian’s hair back from his forehead and plucked a fallen eyelash from his upper cheek as the girl continued to talk. Before leaning back to your original position, you whispered into Brian’s ear: “Christ, she can’t take a hint.”

He swatted your knee playfully and grinned at you widely, his teeth a brighter white than usual. “God, I know.” He mouthed, taking another swig of his beer.

A shorter guy, who was a bit chubby with side swept dirty blond hair came up to the girl and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, whispering a secret of his own into her reddened ears. You and Brian assumed he was her boyfriend by the guilty look that adorned her features as she met eyes with him. “What’s up with the painted nails?” He gestured to Brian’s hand, which grasped his drink loosely.

“Wha’ do you mean?” Brian slurred; he had a few drinks in him and you could tell he was getting tipsy by the way his eyes were hooded over, his mouth tangled into a relaxed smile.

“It’s a bit--nevermind.” He pushed his girlfriend’s hair behind her shoulders, his arms hugged over her chest.

“A bit?” Brian urged, his thumbs digging into your hips. It was weird--seeing him angry. You’d known him for only a few months, but were surprised you’d never really seen him lose his temper--not when a taxi cut him off while he was driving, or when Roger had ruined a good amount of his clothes in the wash. He always heaved out a heavy sigh and crossed his arms--then let it go. But by the harsh grip he had on you, the tensing of his jaw as he rolled his darkened chocolate eyes--you could tell he was pissed. “A bit what?”

The guy smirked, realizing he had drawn a reaction from Brian. “Gay? Girly? Weird? Want me to continue?” His girlfriend tilted her head back and looked at him, disapprovingly.

“I don’t see anything wrong with being any of those things.” He tilted his head back and swigged the rest of his drink, slamming the glass down onto the mahogany bar. “Have a nice night.” He smiled tightly, pulling you flush into his side. “What a fucking dick.” He sneered, grabbing his guitar from backstage. He gave Deaky a small wave and gestured to you; John nodded, setting his drink down to give you both a double thumbs-up.

“Are you okay, Brian?” You brushed some hair over his collarbones and he nodded, biting his lip as he slipped your coat over your shoulders.

“Yeah--just pissed.” He opened the heavy door and braced himself for the cold, zipping his coat up entirely to cover his numbed nose and cheeks. “Hold on! Stop, missy.” He held his hand out and pushed a hand down on your shoulder, making you stop in your tracks. “Let me zip you up.” He bent his knees a smidge to reach you and pulled your zipper up quickly. You saw his eyes crinkle, fine patches of skin folding like thin paper as he smiled genuinely, drunkenness evident in his eyes and his sunken stature.

“I’m starving.” You commented, watching his eyebrows furrow; it was impossible to understand you with your mouth firmly covered by layers of thick wools and fleeces.

“Hmm?” He turned the corner with you, his guitar thumping against his leg as he strolled down the streets with you, his head turned perpetually to watch your eyes, fleeting over his face. You watched each other reciprocally like mirror images of one another; consistent, never missing a beat.

Yanking the covering over your mouth, you repeated yourself. “I’m hungry. Aren’t you? I swear I’ve never seen you eat that much you’re like a little birdy. Or maybe a robot. Is that why you’re so good at the guitar--and everything?” You teased him, holding onto his free arm tightly.

“You caught me, Y/N. Damn; how will I ever keep this secret?” He widened his eyes and tightened his grip on his guitar as his fingers began to slip, somehow sheathed in sweat despite the rest of his body shielded with goosebumps, his teeth softly chattering. “You’re hungry?” He asked in a robotic voice, poking your sides almost mechanically. “I can whip up something for you. I’d take you out but--” He gestured to himself. “I’m positively broke. Oh shit.”

You laughed at the random turns in his talking, the way his body leaned to one side, weighed down dramatically by his guitar, hung over his willowy arm. “What’s the problem, Bri?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and stopped at a fork in the sidewalk; the left would take you to his flat, the right to yours. “Gig night.”

“Oh, right. Shit, I still can’t believe it’s every damn time.” You shoved your hands deeper into your pockets. “You’d think he’d get tired of meaningless sex at some point.”

“Right?” Brian tilted his head back dramatically. “I’ve been convincing him for awhile that what he’s doing is not normal. And he’s so--loud.” He shuddered as you approached your apartment building; it was in a nicer part of London, but it was a little smaller and more remote, which Brian favored astronomically. There were many days that he forgot your flat wasn’t really his home, but just a temporary abode where he’d rather be than there. He slept at your flat more often than not; you had offered to make him a bed on the couch after seeing his bloodshot, sleepy eyes and wide yawns many mornings as he strolled into the library to study with you. But he would never admit to you how he’d over exaggerated Roger’s shagging statistics; he had once stayed an entire week and then some at your flat, telling you Roger had met a girl he had “real chemistry” with. But of course that wasn’t true. And Brian felt bad about it, but not that bad; he enjoyed making you toast in the mornings and brushing your teeth together over your porcelain sink, your hair messy from deep, comfortable sleep.

“Maybe you’re both robots--but he’s just programmed to be ultra-flirty and fuck random girls and annoy the shit out of you.” You joked, pulling your keys from your pocket. Your landlord gave Brian a familiar nod as you both walked in, stomping packed snow off the bottom of your shoes.

“Wouldn’t even be surprised if he were a robot. Sometimes that boy has no emotions. He’s ruthless with some of those girls!” Brian held the door open for an older couple as you ran to the stairwell. “I bet I’ll beat you on the lift.” He hovered his thumb over the button, quirking an eyebrow at you.

“I bet you wouldn’t. That thing has no business being called a lift.” You opened the door to the stairs, counting down from three before you both frantically tried to outrun the other--although all Brian could do was cross his fingers and shake his leg and pray. You won of course, panting heavily as you stood in front of the opening elevator doors, which Brian stumbled out of, almost tripping over his feet as he held a finger up at you.

“Two seconds.” He said. “I basically won.”

“Two? That was at least four. Maybe five.”

“Don’t be hyperbolic.” He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as you opened your door. “We’ll call it a tie.”

“I can leave you out here to sleep on my rug, you know that right?” You pointed to the shaggy rug at your door, small and covered in scuffs from your shoes.

“Who would make you world-famous toast in the morning?” He walked in behind you, shrugging his coat off lazily. “Couldn’t be you.”

“What’s special about putting pre-sliced bread into a toaster?” You mirrored his actions.

“It’s all in the techniques!” He gave you jazz hands, kicking his shoes off, watching them tumble on their sides as yours did too.

The next morning, Brian awoke twenty minutes before you did. His legs hung over the end of your tattered leather couch, his back sticky from sweat as he shook his arms to gain his sacred circulation back. He wiggled his fingers and pulled his favorite blanket of yours from his body; it was an ivory fleece blanket that was impossibly soft against his skin and smelled like you, and only you. Stretching his arms, he stood up and padded to the kitchen, cursing silently as he almost dropped your toaster, stored in a lower cabinet near the floor. He toasted some bread for you and added strawberry jam carefully, spreading it as evenly as possible with a concentration only akin to the type he had while playing guitar.

“G’morning.” You rubbed your eyes in attempts to adjust to the harsh overhead lights in the kitchen.

“For your troubles.” He slid you the plate with the toast on it, leaning on his elbows as he awaited your feedback.

You smiled almost timidly, taking a bite of the toast as Brian leaned forward, watching your reaction intently. Nodding, you pointed to the carefully made breakfast, one that Brian was embarrassed to admit took him almost twenty minutes to get just right. “How do you do that? It’s so good!”

“What did I say, Y/N?” He stole the piece from you, taking a bite large enough to transfer globs of jam onto his cheeks, peppered with fallen crumbs. His hair fell over his face, his eyes sleepy and crinkled as his cheeks lifted in the biggest smile you’d ever seen.

January 1973

Brian stumbled into the library just three and a half minutes after he had promised he would meet you, but he felt guilty enough to shrug his shoulders at you, mouthing a pouty “sorry” to you from across the room, shaking the freshly fallen snow from his shoes. He rubbed his hands together hastily as he walked towards where you were sitting, in a corner table, guarded by bookshelves on either side. It was early enough that the usual crowd of overworked, overstressed students was still asleep, or using the early hour as an excuse to put off their studying, for now.

“Sorry I’m late--” Brian set his bag on the table pulling the zippers down. He shoved his nimble fingers through his messy, unwashed locks. “Shit. I forgot my psychology book.”

“You mean the book for the one test we got together to study for?” You held a finger up, pulling the book in question from your bag, his favorite pen shoved in the middle as a makeshift bookmark. He began to talk, but you answered his impending question. “You left it at my place last night. And what did I tell you?” You scolded, withholding the book from him, eyebrows raised.

“I know! I should have put it back in my bag. Truly a mistake. I would say it won’t happen again but we know how forgetful I am.” He scooted his chair closer to your own and opened his book, licking the tip of his finger swiftly before turning to the page you were on.

“Oh, I know. I still don’t know how you forgot your underwear there last week.” You shoved his shoulder and he choked on his coffee, clasping a hand tightly upon his throat, the deep burning of the hot syrupy concoction making his eyes close tightly.

“Fuck.” He coughed loudly, embarrassed. “I did?”

“Somehow.” You looked at him through your eyelashes, admiring the smallest dimple, creviced in his cheeks, a cradle for his most beautiful, most genuine smiles.

Brian watched your lips move, your tone assured as you traced your pencil over the words you read aloud to him. He watched you bite the skin of your bottom lip as your expression grew more questioning, your eyes searching into his for an answer. He realized he spaced out for a minute. “Come again? I’m sorry. I’m—I can’t believe I forgot my underwear at your flat.”

“I washed them for you.” You turned the page, relishing in the way he reddened at your words, his eyes averting to concentrate falsely on the material in front of him. In all honesty, both of you were more than prepared for the exam coming up; you and Brian studied excessively just to spend the time together—your pinkies touching apprehensively as you turned pages and shared banter with each other.

“That makes it worse.” Brian answered sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck as he pulled his lip between his teeth, running a thumb over his protruding collarbones.

“You don’t want me touching your underwear?” You kicked his foot from under the table and he reciprocated, stepping on your boot slightly as his shoulder bumped into yours.

“Not in that—not really. Not when it’s like that.” Shaking his head, he offered you some of his coffee, which you drank gingerly, savoring the bitter taste of an unsweetened latte and something so specifically Brian.

You slammed your book shut, sighing as you made eye contact with an influx of students rushing into the ambient warmth of the library. “Wanna get out of here? I can’t study this for another second.” You traced the raised orange letters on the cover, glossy and smooth against your fingers.

“Thank God.” Brian nodded and closed his own book too. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more confident about a test in my life.”

“Okay, we get it. You’re smart. Don’t have to rub it in.” You grabbed his latte from his hands and took a swig as Brian shoved miscellaneous papers into his leather bag.

“Oh shut up.” He slung it over his shoulder, checking his watch quickly. Still watching the tiny metal extensions ticking away against his wrist, he sighed. “My classes are all pretty easy this semester. Since I’ll probably drop out.”

“What?” You grabbed his wrist as he stood up, his chair harshly screeching against the floor. “What do you mean you’re dropping out?”

“I mean—“

“You got it? Brian, you got it?!” You ruffled his hair and kissed his cheek; it was the first time you had ever given him a kiss of any sort but it felt natural in the situation, and Brian’s beaming glow of a smile told you he didn’t mind the gesture, no matter how affectionate it was for two close friends.

“We got it. We’re gonna have our first record out in the summer.” He fiddled with the rings on his hands, rolling them with his thumb as his arm slung around your shoulder.

“Brian—I’m so proud of you!” You felt an overwhelming pride that flushed over your face and lifted your cheeks as you watched a smile choked in his throat bubble, overflow upon his face in a sweet grin, his as eyes easygoing as the boy himself.

“I just—my parents are gonna be livid.” Brian linked his pinky with yours; both of your hands held onto his, his arm still draped over your shoulder. And it didn’t seem odd to look so longingly into each other’s eyes, lost in the sea of honey that had hypnotized you and induced you in a permanent state of hope that maybe, maybe he felt how you two were inching closer and closer to a plateau—one that teetered over friendship and into something so much more.

February 1973

“Brian, it seems like we haven’t seen you in ages; what’s new with you?” Freddie hoisted himself onto the counter in Brian and Roger’s shared apartment, his legs swinging against the hollow column that supported the sturdy tabletop.

Deaky swung the refrigerator open, squinting to focus his sleepy eyes on the food inside that was definitely there past expiration. His hair was strewn about his head in every direction— except for down. “Ever since you got your little lady you’ve ditched us completely.”

“Yeah.” Roger agreed, shoving open a drawer as Brian reached into a taller cupboard in search of a clean plate. The knobby handle of the drawer pushed into Brian’s stomach and he winced, pushing Roger out of the way some. “You’re whipped by that little girlfriend of yours.”

“Y/N?” Brian set the last clean plate down, cringing at the hollow scraping of porcelain against the raw table. “She’s not my girlfriend.” He watched as Deaky cranked the heat of the stove up in utter concentration. “Don’t turn the heat up all the way—“

“Who cares, Brian? Very funny, “she’s not my girlfriend” “ Roger mocked Brian’s bashful tone, batting his eyelashes as he pouted bodaciously. “Is she a good shag? I can’t believe you’re finally getting laid!”

Brian took a bite of his toast, jutting his chin forward so his plate caught the shower of crumbs that fell. “Well the thing is, Roger—is that she is not my girlfriend. So I wouldn’t know.”

“So—let me get this straightened out.” Freddie held a finger up, his voice squeaky from a rather rambunctious concert a few nights before. “You’ve stayed at her flat for weeks on end, basically, and haven’t—done anything? Nothing?”

“Not a kiss? Maybe a cheeky touch?” Deaky added, setting a questionable carton of eggs next to Freddie.

“What do you do?” Roger looked a convincing fusion of disgusted and disappointed.

“Hang out. Talk. Study.. I don’t understand the big deal.” Brian rubbed his eyes and finished off his toast, focusing his attention on washing the sticky jam from the side of his plate. He felt belittled and stupid, his hands engulfed in scalding water, the metal rings only conducting the heat so it seeped and manifested over his skin, prickling like the tears stinging his eyes. There was something about that raspberry residue caked onto his plate that reminded him of you—your lipstick, your shared breakfasts and coffees snuck into the corner of the library on Saturday mornings, your books almost like a shield to barricade how obvious it was you two were in love—an excuse to stay in each other’s presence, so close together for so many hours.

“You’re in deep.” Roger commented, his tone almost worried. “You love her, don’t you?”

Freddie gasped dramatically, jumping down from the counter. Brian remained silent, scrubbing his plate with perfect deliberation, in attempts to ignore something he had known since fall. Freddie squeezed Brian’s shoulder, pulling a pronounced curl among a mass of loose waves. “Earth to Brian.” He waved a hand in front of his sullen face. “Blink once for yes, twice for no. Are you in love with Y/N?”

“I’ve never been in love. I don’t know what it feels like.” Brian thought that was a good principle for avoidance, and he finally gave up cleaning his plate; his hands were rubbed raw, a fleshy red from the steaming water.

“You know, Brian.” Deaky comforted, much gentler than the other two men. “You know when you are.”

“I guess I am. I don’t know--maybe.” He slumped against the counter, opting to sit on the ground to assess this seemingly otherworldly situation. He’d never been in love, never had the hopes of being in a relationship. He’d spent his high school and adolescent years convincing himself he was bound to bigger things than girls and love and marriage and children; he told himself he didn’t want it. But the hopeless romantic in him feathered into everything he did; he daydreamed about meeting his love in aisles of the run-down grocery store he went to in west London. He dreamt about writing ballads for her and humming tunes in her ear while the two of them slow danced, hand-in-hand, beneath a sliver of the silver moon.

“Why are you sad about it? Is she with someone--I don’t get it.” Roger glanced over at Freddie, who shrugged unknowingly.

“I don’t think she feels the same way--I don’t know. I just know my luck with love; I doubt it will be different this time around.”

Roger shook his head and dug his pointer finger into Brian’s bony sternum where a layered necklace sat, cold against the skin. “No. We’re not doing this self-pity shit, Brian. What did I say a while back? You’re attractive, Brian. You’re a lot sweeter to girls than I am. You’re smart. Girls dig that shit. That’s the thing--you’re the long-term type. I’m the short-term type. And I’m fine with that. You need to be fine with yourself because you’ll never get a girl if you’re sulking around believing you can’t do it.”

“Wow!” Freddie clasped a hand over his chest. “I’ve never heard you be so..sweet, Roger.”

Deaky agreed silently, and Brian tilted his head back against the counter, listening to the pipes of the sink rattle and cry and squeak and he wished he were somewhere else entirely, a molecule of water spilling into trillions of others that looked exactly the same so he could just disappear, and conform.

March 1973

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Brian deliberated over his physics book, reading the same poorly-worded, contradictory sentence over and over. “None of this really makes any sense. When did I become stupid?” He hung his head and pushed his book away, crossing his arms over his chest which was only barely covered by an ivory button-up. Ever since Queen was signed to EMI, you--among many other girls--had noticed Brian’s confidence blooming and growing almost exponentially. The reserved boy in the back of the lecture hall who hid himself in oversized jumpers now wore his shirt only halfway on, and tight pants that only emphasized the lank of his slim legs. His hair was messier, but it only added to his charm, like the three golden necklaces layered upon his collarbones. His timidness and isolation from the university life had once deemed him weird and awkward--but now he was just mysterious, sexy even. You had caught many girls ogling at him from across the library, biting their cherry lips and blushing when Brian met their yearning gaze.

“Why are you even studying? You’re dropping out after this semester.” You asked, genuinely unable to see the point. You watched the muscles in Brian’s forearm ripple as he scribbled notes into a lab notebook.

“Exactly.” He added. “After this semester. I still have a ways to go. Fuck, this makes no sense though; maybe I’ll save myself the trouble and drop out now.”

You scoffed. “And leave me alone to fend for myself for the rest of the semester? Disgusting and shameful.” You said, facetiously.

“Leave you?” He scrunched his eyebrows together. “I’d never. I’m too far gone now.”

His tone was quieter: anxious and apprehensive; his hands played with the charms laid upon his collarbones. There was an obvious shift as soon as you noticed Brian’s adams apple bobbing, his hand hovering over your own as he leaned forward, his breath warm and minty, ghosting over your lips, taunting you. You admired the faint freckling of his aquiline nose, pointed and angular and beautifully masculine. His plump bottom lip, protruding and so fucking kissable.

“Too far gone? What is that supposed to mean?” You scooted forward, running your thumb over his necklace. Brian stiffened, savoring the rarity that was having your hands on his body, no matter how indirectly, no matter that it meant nothing--seemingly.

“You’re always going to be a part of my life--I hope.” His eyes flitted upwards, watching your reaction. Your lips parted as you rested an arm over his shoulder, running your fingers down the expanse of the nape of his neck. He sighed contentedly, his hand finding your knee, tracing arbitrary shapes upon the bump, covered by your jeans.

“I could say the same.” You wanted to say more--so much more--but you didn’t know what this was, where this was going. You didn’t know what was too much, what he wanted to hear, what would hurt him or lead him on. It didn’t take long for you to label what you felt for Brian--your supposed “friend”--as love. Because it was truly impossible to be around him--his stupid grins and corny jokes and wild intelligence and everything about him--without wanting to see and hear and talk to him forever and ever. You had spent weeks on end together, sleeping with a paper-thin wall between you, but one that felt thick and impervious and massively giant--a barrier between you that was physical and tangible. But you’d both felt an emotional barrier separating the both of you for months. How Brian had begun to stay over less frequently although you knew Brian was playing more gigs. But you didn’t attend all of them like you used to, because seeing Brian onstage and in his element and completely himself--you couldn’t help but become more enamored by him with each passing lick of his guitar. And seeing the gaggle of groupies try and take him home was making you unyieldingly jealous.

“I lo--” Brian began to speak, but you barely heard him over the desperate pounding of your heart, and a younger peer batting her eyes at Brian, asking him if he was using the chair next to him.

The tension was arresting, a rubber band hooked over your finger and his own, stretched to the brink of snapping--and it would surely hurt one of you--but then, maybe it wouldn’t. You hoped it wouldn’t.

April 1973

Brian sat, hunched over a rather thick packet of papers full of graphics, pictures and equations for velocity and all sorts of things he knew he should have memorized by now--but his mind had no hierarchy now. He used to put school at the forefront of everything; he spent weeks revising for physics tests, convincing himself through something akin to self-torture that if he spent enough time studying and mastering he would soon learn to find passion in it. And he did have a passion for science--but it wasn’t as raw, as all-defining as his love for music. He had gradually lost interest in his studies as Queen picked up venues and fans and groupies--and now he had spent the past few weeks of the semester daydreaming. About performing, recording, growing famous. But mostly, they involved you. Performing with you in the front row, recording songs about you, coming home to you after a long and strenuous tour. It was all he thought about--dreams. Mere possibilities that you and him could be together--but just maybe. Just possibly.

He was wearing a pinstripe suit, one that elongated his body, his legs specifically. Silver necklaces hung loosely from his deeply tanned neck as he leaned forward, the eraser of his dull pencil salty against his lips. His hair was messy from hours of touching and playing with the tendrils of curls falling over his face. He had a photoshoot--the first real Queen photoshoot--right after his physics exam, and Roger convinced him to wear the suit to class. And while he admitted to becoming more daring with his attire as you grew his once minimal confidence, wearing a full on striped suit to an exam felt excessive.

“Well first of all,” Roger spooned some cereal into his mouth, cringing at its staleness he had hoped the milk would have subdued. “You’re gonna be late if you’re not dressed for it during the exam. So you have to wear it anyway. Might as well have fun with it!”

“I don’t--” Brian began.

“But! Also,” Freddie widened his eyes, sipping some chamomile tea, supposedly to calm his nerves. “We three were talking… and it’s time.” He paused dramatically, and then continued, sensing Brian’s uneasiness. “--To tell Y/N how you feel.”

“You still haven’t told her about the tour, have you?” Roger almost scolded him, and brian shook his head timidly.

“No. But I haven’t seen her much lately. We’re both so busy--with exams.” Brian explained.

“You always study for exams together though.” Deaky said. Of course, Brian had dwelled over the fact that he and you hadn’t really hung out or studied or had a sleepover in weeks on end. Your calls had gotten briefer, confessions simmering at the tip of your tongues. Opening your mouths would only release everything you both were thinking, and it just never felt like the right time.

“I know.”

So sitting, squished uncomfortably into his tiny desk in the back corner of the lecture hall, Brian gave only half an attempt for the last few questions, bubbling in the first answers that seemed plausible--not that he had the slightest clue. He had decided--in the minute elapsed between finishing the test and finally turning it in--that today was the day he was going to tell you the feelings he had been suppressing since the leaves were crisp and shades of browned ochres were all that Brian’s sweet eyes could see.

Brian didn’t pay much attention during the photoshoot; he just tilted his head when the photographers said so, lifting his chin and trying his hardest not to blink. All he could imagine while he posed and tilted for the allotted two hours was your reaction; would you laugh or cry? Would you feel the same way? Or would you say you hadn’t talked to him because you were endlessly tired of boring old Brian May? Had you fallen in love with another guy? Was that why you had invited him over less and less as winter morphed into spring?

He thought and dwelled ceaselessly as he buzzed up to your flat, holding two blood red roses behind his back, careful to not prick his fingertips with the hidden thorns. It felt like a metaphor for your and his relationship--walking on eggshells around each other until you both were at the edge, just trying to avoid the pain of rejection. But Brian needed to know; the lust for love had, for once, surpassed the worry of you not loving him back.

“Who is it?” You raced to your intercom, confused.

“Me.” Brian replied. “Brian. I need to talk to you.” He ran his fingers over the glossy stems of the roses as you buzzed him up.

You heart felt choked in your throat, your nervous system overly-aroused as your fingers trembled, opening the door quicker than you ever had before. Brian stood abashedly at the door, his long fingers choked around two lone roses. You had never seen him look so handsome before; his hair was frizzy and his curls uneven; he was wearing a pinstriped suit you had only seen buried in the depths of his closet once before. His adams apple bobbed anxiously as he extended his arms, offering you the wilting flowers. His lips parted, a warm peach tone, as you took them.

“I’ve missed you.” He admitted, stepping into your flat. He loosened his tie, wiggling the uneven knot he had spent twenty minutes tying that morning. “Where have you been?”

“Here.” You answered. “Always here.”

You were wearing an oversized t-shirt and some fleece pajama bottoms, your hair unwashed and even more untamed. You yawned into your hand and led Brian to the couch, almost feeling grand relief at finally having him back there, where you thought he belonged, with you. Brian couldn’t believe how blind he was to ever believe he wasn’t in love with you; seeing you like this--natural--was all the confirmation he needed to know he was doing the right thing.

“Come here.” You sat up on your knees, and then knelt behind him, where he sat on the couch. “What’s bothering you?” You pressed your thumbs into the aching muscles of his shoulders, loving how soft and hot his skin was. His head rolled back and he groaned, just loud enough that you could perceive it and he could be embarrassed by it.

But, he didn’t mention it. “I--” His leg started to bounce up and down and he didn’t feel control over his mind--and definitely not over his body. This was the time. This was right. “I love you.”

You stopped kneading his shoulders between your fingers, slinging your arms over his shoulders as you sat on your feet. “You--what?” You heard him--how could you not--but you wanted to hear it again, wanted to know he felt it enough to admit it twice.

“I’m in love with you. I want you.” He whispered it this time, less confident. But you tilted his head to the side, your fingertips resting against the jaw you had so often wanted to pepper with sweet kisses until he drowned in them.

“God, I feel the same way.” You stroked the thumb of your other hand over his cheekbone, admiring the structure of his face, so angelic, so perfect. “You’re so perfect.” You said it aloud this time, touching the curve of his lip. “Perfect for me. I love you too.” You pulled his face forward, molding your lips with his, sighing into the kiss, which was searing and fueled by months of restless pining and lust. His lips parted and he moaned; it was the sweetest sound you had ever heard--innocent and purely Brian. You slipped your tongue into his mouth easily, massaging his as your hands tangled into his hair, yanking at the roots softly. His arms snaked around your waist carefully, pulling you into his lap fluidly.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” He whimpered against your lips as you ran your fingers over his scalp, reveling in his desperate cries. “I need you.” He rocked his hips slowly as you grabbed his face a second time, running your tongue over his bottom lip as his hands fell over the curve of your ass, squeezing just enough for you to slip a moan into his heavy, escaped breath.

“I want to make you feel good, Brian.” You tilted his head back, looking at him through your lashes as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to the column of his throat, suckling on his pulse point as you realized how he writhed beneath you when you did. You were deliberate, dragging your teeth smoothly along his protruding collarbones where his necklaces laid, sucking marks into the tanned skin and moving inwards with softer kisses, until you reached where his collarbones met.

“God, it feels so good--” He whined, his hips rocking forward, enough for you to feel his hardening cock against your core. “I want more.” He pushed down on your shoulders so you were flush against his cock, rocking back and forth as you kissed down his sternum, pulling at his tie to loosen it.

“You want more?” You teased, pulling him forward by the silk around his neck. You captured his lips in another kiss, one that was more loving but impossibly desperate and longing.

He nodded as you pulled the buttons to the shirt beneath his suit jacket, unfastening them teasingly to reveal his chest, splotched with a crimson blush. You ran your hands over the ridged, prominent bones in his chest, over his ribs and his toned stomach, down to the dark patch of hair that led you straight to the button of his trousers. His cock was incredibly prominent--long and hard--against the taut fabric, and you ran your palm over it, watching his mouth fall open in disbelief at having you finally, finally touching him.

“Lie down.” You commanded, watching him hurry to oblige. He was too tall to fit his legs onto the couch, so his feet hung off, his legs spread as wide as possible on the narrow width as you knelt between them, falling forward to kiss his sternum, licking down the valleys and crevices of his chest and pressing hot kisses along the skin, before you finally reached the waistband of his pants, your breath fanning over his begging cock.

“Oh god--I’ve never--You don’t have to.” He gasped as you palmed him more; he felt pulses of precum oozing from him, wet over his pants.

“You’ve never been sucked off?” You questioned, popping open the button. Your fingers pulled his zipper down quickly. “Can I be your first? I want to. I want your cock in my mouth.” You assured him.

“Fuck--yes--only if you want.” He nodded, letting out a heavy sigh as you released his aching cock from his briefs.

Your eyes widened as you held him in your hand; he was very well endowed--thick and long and throbbing with veins along the shaft. “Jesus, Brian.” You licked your palm--both of them--and started to stroke him with both of your hands, running your fingers along the veins of his underside until you reached the tip, his hips bucking forward as you touched his most sensitive area. “You’re so big.” You scooted back on your knees, resting between his legs as your mouth ghosted over him.

“Wh--what?” He was too high on the sensation--on the anticipation-- to understand what you were saying.

“Your cock is big, Brian. Fuck.” You watched him intently as you spit over the tip, watching it pool at his slit and then dribble down the sides. Brian had never felt like this--so loved and wanted--in his entire life. And feeling your spit that was mixed with his own spilling down his shaft was making him keen for more.

“God--Fuck.” He rested on his wobbly elbows, his stomach tensing as you pressed a kiss to his tip, your hands jerking him off lazily as you watched his eyes flutter shut.

“No, Brian. I wanna see you. Watch me make you feel good.” You directed, finally sucking on his tip, hollowing your cheeks to give him suction.

“Fuuuck.” He moaned loudly, his eyes hooded and lips bitten as he watched you suck on his cock, your tongue massaging a sensitive patch of skin on the underside of his head. His fists were clasped at his sides, his nails digging into sweaty palms.

“Baby, guide my head. Let me show you how much I love you.” You licked a thick stripe up his shaft and smirked as you watched him shudder in pleasure, before your lips began to wrap around his thick cock once again, bobbing your head up and down. His fingers threaded in your hair and pushed some tendrils away from your face, intent on watching you leftover mascara stream down your face. He whimpered and writhed beneath you, his hips thrusting into your mouth lazily as spit and precum spilled from your mouth.

“Holy shit--Fuck.” He gasped, watching the mess you were making on his cock. You were humming around him as you swirled and flicked your tongue over the tip, tasting the salty precum oozing from him. You took him as much as you possibly could down your throat, your eyes averted upwards to watch him as you gagged on his dick just slightly. His head fell back as his tip hit the back of your throat and he let out the deepest, most pornographic moan you never thought you’d hear from him. You pulled off of him, your mouth tight around him, watching strings of your spit break as you let his cock out of your mouth with a satisfying pop. Brian’s breaths were labored and heavy as you stroked his cock slowly, lubing it up with your spit.

“You dirty boy.” You spit more into your hand and massaged it into the velvety skin of his dick. “You like it sloppy, don’t you? Who would’ve thought?” You teased, moving down to suck on his tip more, your hands still jerking him off, your grip tight.

He nodded, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail. “Fuck--I love your mouth on my cock.”

You’d never heard him say anything suggestive, so hearing him say something so vulgar--so hot--made more wetness pool in your panties. You clasped a hand on his thigh as he began to fuck into your mouth slowly, one of his hands falling from your hair and over your hand on his leg. You dragged your tongue up his cock and rubbed his tip against your lips, watching his lips part and breathy moans escape as you did so. “So, so handsome.” You praised. “God, you’re perfect.”

He whined, so desperate that he pushed your head down just slightly--not that he didn’t feel bad about it. “Fuck, I’m so-sorry.” He gasped as your tongue swirled around him, warm and wet. “I didn’t mean to push--”

“I love you Brian--but shut up.” You continued your ministrations on his eager cock, moaning and humming around him, watching his pupils dilate and his eyes roll back as you licked and sucked his most sensitive areas, pulling him into a haze of pure euphoria.

“Oh--God. I love you so much. Fuck-I’m gonna cum..” He grabbed your hair desperately and tensed his stomach, trying to fend off his orgasm. “No--no. I wanna--I wanna be inside you. Can I please--”

You took him from your mouth and pulled him into a kiss, hot and unrelenting. This time, Brian took control, sitting up and pulling you into him so you straddled him, his lips tracing down your neck and over your collarbones--just like you did to him. He pushed your hair behind your shoulders and pressed passion-fueled kisses to your throat and upon your shoulders, thumbing the hem of your t-shirt.

“Please, do whatever you want to me--” You interrupted him before he could even answer, pulling his face into yours as he lifted your shirt over your body, wrapping his arm around your waist to flip you over so he hovered on top of you.

“Oh my--God.” He admired your breasts, groping and massaging them in his hands before he kissed the sensitive skin, running his tongue over the marks he made before it swirled around your nipple, making your back arch.

“Fuck--” You tangled your hands in his hair and pushed his mouth closer to your body, gasping as his fingers pulled the drawstring of your pants downwards, before he yanked them down, pushing your underwear aside.

His fingers rubbed gently around your entrance, his thumb stroking your aching clit as he felt your wetness with the pads of his fingertips. “So pretty. I’m gonna stretch you out with my fingers, okay?” He waited for your approval and you gave it to him, in the form of a soft nod. He sucked his middle finger into his mouth, despite how incredibly wet you were for him already. His tongue swirled around the digit and you whimpered, writhing on the couch as he delved it into your pussy, hooking it to rub against your sensitive walls.

You gripped onto his wrist as he pumped his finger and and out of your hole, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “More, Brian. Fuck I want another one.” You urged, and he rubbed your clit in soft circles, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours as he pushed his ring finger into you as well, moving them in unison, moderately fast, but slow enough so you felt yourself on the cusp of an orgasm.

“So tight, fuck you think you can take my cock?” He nibbled at your earlobe and groaned into your ear as your walls clenched at his words, so straightforward, so unlike the sweet Brian you had known before, the one who was shy about leaving his underwear at your flat, the one who made you breakfast and blushed when his hand brushed against yours. You ran your hands down his back which was still covered by his button-up, which was halfway hung off his shoulders. Hickies covered the soft skin of his collarbones and extended over his neck; his hair tickled your own neck as he kissed you deeply and forcefully. His fingers pushed deeper inside of you and you pushed his shirt off of his shoulders, dragging your nails down his back as he curled his fingers again and again.

“Give it to me, Brian. Fuck--I need you inside me.” You had never felt more needy in your life; you had been starved of a touch this passionate and lustful in your life. You’d never felt a love this profound--one that was all-consuming, the licking tendrils of a fire engulfing your body into a flaming abyss you couldn’t seem to get out of, even if you tried. But you didn’t want out; you wanted more. He quickly lined himself up with your entrance, running his tip along your pussy, from your throbbing clit to your entrance and back up again, until you were hanging onto his neck, your nails scratching down as your legs shook.

“Brian--” You arched into his touch, how his fingers danced over your stomach and over your breasts, his lips attached to your jaw so his moans tickled against the shell of your ear. He rocked himself against your bare pussy, wanton moans escaping his bruised lips as he felt himself throbbing, every ridge of him being caressed by your sensitive core. He hitched your legs over his waist, one of his arms extended, straight next to your head as he pushed his tip into you, the veins in his arm pulsing in tune with his racing heartbeat. You pulled at the curls at the base of his neck and groaned at the dull burning inside of you; he was so thick.

“Are you okay, baby? God, you’re a fucking angel.” He rested on his elbows, still inside of you.

“It--hurts.” You whined, gripping onto his shoulders desperately.

“Want me to pull out? I don’t--” He began.

“No--more. Just go slow.” You sighed and dug your nails deeper into his skin as he pushed in further. “Ohh fuck. You’re already so deep.”

Brian tilted your head so the tips of your noses were touching, colder than the rest of your bodies. He kissed the corner of your mouth and whimpered, his hips stuttering as he pushed in even further. “Fuuuck-God you’re so tight. Taking me so well, my love.” He stroked your hair and wiped a tear from your eye with his thumb.

“Fuck, Brian. Go deeper--I want you all the way.” You urged him with a small nod, his forehead sweaty against yours.

He gasped and moaned as he became sheathed inside of you completely, your walls fluttering around him tightly, without him even moving. He moaned and whined into your mouth as he began to rock his hips back, pulling out of you slightly before fucking back into you, more easily than the first time. He grunted against your neck as he left soft kisses at your sweet spot, his thumbs rubbing against your scalp as he fucked you slow and deep. “You feel so good--fuck you’re so good, taking me all the way.” He cooed into your neck, one of his hands trailing down, his fingers finding your clit. He rubbed it in assured circles, bringing his head up to watch your eyes flutter shut as you moaned almost innocently at the sensation.

“You’re fucking me so good, Brian--God--I want your cum.” You pulled his lips to yours and bit softly at his bottom lip, stroking your tongue over his as he picked up speed, his fingers still rubbing at your clit as his other one stroked your cheek.

“You want me--to cum inside of you?” He asked, making sure. “Fuck--wanna cum so deep inside.” He whined and went even faster, angling his hips to fuck into you at a new angle.

“Oh--fuck. Come on, baby. I know you’re so close.” You pulled at his necklaces, rolling your head back as his thumb pressed harder against your clit. “Give me your cum--please.” Your eyebrows knitted together as the couch squeaked beneath you, your wanton moans echoing off the tiled floors.

“Angel--so fucking pretty. I’m so close-” He trailed kisses down your chest and sucked on your nipple, pressing an open-mouthed kiss over the bud as he began to lose his rhythm, his thrusts becoming erratic.

“My perfect boy--God, I love you. Love seeing you so desperate to cum.” You egged him on, and he wrapped the hand that was caressing your cheek around your throat, pressing gently against it, causing you to clench harshly around his cock.

“Oh my God--I’m,” His cock slipped out of you and he shoved it back into you, snapping his hips forward, his hand around your throat as his thumb rubbed over your bottom lip. He came in spurts, hot and deep inside you, groaning in a way that was much more primal than before. You arched into him as you came too, coating his cock with your wetness and his own cum. “Fuck--that feels so good.” He cried as your hand grasped over the one still around your throat, gripping his fingers as you came down from your high.

He pulled out easily, catching the excess cum with his hand in a manner that was anything but graceful. You rested on your elbows as he got up to wash his hands and grab a towel, which he rubbed you down with, pressing firm kisses over your hip bones as he did.

“I love you--I don’t know what to say now, other than that.” Brian giggled, a wide grin adorning his face; his hair messier than you had ever seen it, his lips red and thoroughly kissed like his neck and collarbones.

“I love you too Brian--I can’t believe we went this long without each other.” You laughed. “God, we’re clueless.”

Brian shrugged his shoulders. “I guess--good things come to those who wait?” Brian paused. “That seemed a lot more poetic in my head.”

“No need to be poetic after you just fucked me, Brian. Always the intellectual you are.” You booped his nose and pecked his lips softly, pulling your shirt off the floor as he slipped his briefs back on silently.

“I think we should be together.” Brian held a pinky out, scooping up yours with the long digit. “I don’t quite know how it’ll end up, but a pretty girl once told me to go for it.” He linked your fingers together and sealed the promise with a drowsy smile.

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#Brian May #brian may fanfic #brian may smut #brian may x reader #gwilym lee #Queen #bohemian rhapsody #BoRhap #smut

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stealinghero · 5 years ago

Note

Any headcanons on the pasts of some of the characters? Like there is the historical stuff but like, there isn't a ton of information that I could find on certain characters like Magoichi (cuz woman lol) and Kasuga (cuz never existed) and Kojuro (since multiple people carried the name I guess?). Anyway, any headcanons on anyone would be fun if you want to add any additional people :)

Ohh, general headcanons are always great!! I’ll just write down what comes to mind! I tried to include their past if possible. (Edit: I won’t tag this post with very individual, because there are simply too many!)

It’s under a cut because this will be freaking HUGE!!

Akechi Mitsuhide:

- he opted for his scythes because his wrists aren’t strong enough for fighting with a sword. he usually uses long weapons and likes the aesthetic of a scythe, cutting down people like corn because they are just as “worthless”.

- his hair colour is an effect of an genetic dysfunction and has been white/grey from his early childhood on.

- he is allergic to peaches.

- his past is a mystery and he will rather die than tell anyone about it (he acutally had a great upbringing with lots of love, but when his mother was killed, he changed)

Chosokabe Motochika:

- has a pet parrot and loves it to bits. Actually it’s a family he cares for and raises on his own.

- his normally black hair is bleached and styled to make him look more like a demon, he once saw a sailor do this with a face paint of a skeleton. Young Motochika was so impressed (and afraid) that he copied the style. On special occasions he still paints his face like a skull.

- he can juggle but not stand on one leg.

- if he gets a partner, his crew has to approve them first before he considers dating

- he fled from home because of all the responsibilities and made his crew his family. That’s why he’s the big brother and not their father figure, he still detsts his own father.

Date Masamune:

- he is afraid of chicken. Nothing too serious but he will never hold one or be close to one if he can opt out. As a kid he got pecked bloody by a swarm of them and he never got over it

- he loves to prank Kojuro and will get hit and scolded for it. Still he does it, especially if Kojuro is stressed to make him laugh.

- he doesn’t like the most types of sweets and dislikes honey. But he can bite into a lemon and keep a straight face.

- he upholds traditions and visits the shrines of his province on a regular basis. The priests know not to bother him with bad omens as he might be traditional but not really religious.

- he has a knack for learning languages and can imitate most dialects of Japan.

Fuma Kotaro:

- he is the funniest guy alive!! This man can tell the best jokes and keep a straight face while doing so.

- he has a small family that he loves to bits. Whatever his parents want from him, he will do it.

- he was raised strict (outside) and very beloved (inside), making it easy for him to think outside of the box. He follows orders on his own terms and this is what makes him dangerous.

- his upbringing is his guideline for leading his men. He will acknowledge those who follow his orders and will punsh those who don’t. He’s always fair and tries to find the best result for all included

Honda Tadakatsu:

- he can speak if he wants. But often he thinks his opinion is too insignificant to make public so he remains silent.

- to be honest: he is the best singer. He has a nice deep voice and will often hum or sing melancholic songs.

- he trains up to 20 hours per day to keep his body and soul at its peak condition. His training consists of lifting weights, sparring with sword and bare hands, meditation, reflection of his past flaws.

- he is a bit vain and loves to hear even the mightiest warlords praise him, so he gives his all to maintain his status

- he isn’t too fond of Ieyasu’s way of thinking of friendship and peace as he is a man of war. But he would never defy Ieyasu.

Ishida Mitsunari:

- grew up as an orphan and was taken in by Toyotomi’s family. That’s the reason he’s loyal to Hideyoshi. He sees him as a brother (even if Mitsunari doesn’t think himself as a Toyotomi)

- he uses a tachi because his shoulders aren’t the strongest although he has a good core strength. He needs the length to deliver fast and heavy strikes using the momentum of his sword.

- he loves math and can calculate even huge sums in his head

- he has a stutter that gets worse when he’s aggravated and it takes a lot of willpower and concentration in order not to show it too much

Kasuga:

- in order to live amogst men a woman has to be tough and Kasuga went through an even harsher training than her male colleagues, making her harder than she looks

- but inside she is a very girlish girl and wants to be a princess. Uesugi is the perfect prince for this daydream and that’s the main reason she stays with him even if she knows she has no chance.

- she is as deadly as any Shinobi and she hates if her colleagues make fun of her because she shows more skin/curves without realizing this is also a form of camouflage to lull the enemy into a relaxed and trusting state.

- she grew up without parents (as most Shinobi do) and has no desire to meet them. She hates them for abandoning her

- she sees Sasuke as an annoying little brother. Other than him she doesn’t have any ties.

Katakura Kojuro:

- at 5 years old he climbed a tree because of a dare and had to be saved by Masamune’s father because he was too afraid to come down. He still has fear of heights and a horse is the highest he can get without being anxious.

- in his youth he broke every bone in his body at least once. Often there were multiple fractures at once. He was lanky and clumsy until his early 20s and people loved to compare him to a newborn foal, some old people still call him like that, embarrassing him

- he has a good medical knowledge and might have become a doctor if not for his duty. he still is the number one in caring for Masamune and only if he deems it impossible, he will call for a real doctor. Without knowing this, people tend to think Masamune’s wounds heal by themselves and he only needs assistance when near death.

- he is an open book to read if there are strong emotions. Normally everyone at court knows how he feels by just looking at him. if needed he has a really good pokerface, but doesn’t use it very often. He simply doesn’t care.

- his nickname at court (behind his back) is Raba (translating to mule) because he is stubborn and a workaholic. Some even joke about other similarities between them, but these are the most common.

Maeda Keiji & Toshiie & Matsu:

- Keiji found his little pet Yumekichi on a market in Kyoto where he was sold with his half-dead mother. Despite Keiji’s efforts to save the mother she died a few days later, but Yumekichi got better and sees Keiji as his family.

- Keiji is afraid of an angry Matsu and opts to run away from her rather than from Toshiie

- he might seem a bit carefree and stupid sometimes and he admits he’s not the brigthest. But he’s smart enough to survive with his lifestyle in this time and is pretty proud of it.

- Toshiie worries a lot about Keiji and wants him home because of this. He couldn’t bear to lose Keiji who he sees more as a brother than a nephew.

- he is alway asking for more food of Matsu because he’s afraid that one day he might not be able to eat her food anymore. It’s like he thinks he can “save” the taste of it in his brain forever.

- In her youth Matsu couldn’t cook. She learned it for Toshiie and is always on the search for new ideas and recipes to surprise him with.

- she has strong motherly feelings for Keiji with results in her scolding him more often than Toshiie despite Keiji being only a bit younger than she is

Matsunaga Hisahide:

- he grew up without his parents caring too much. But they were rich and he from early on learned that money IS power. People can be paid to like you, to kill for you, to die for you.

- there are many legends about his fight with Nobunaga and both of the most common are actually true. Nobunaga let him live, thinking he was “interesting” but only because Hisahide matched his strength and power, almost equalling the Demon King.

- he is stronger than he looks and is prepared for the day when money won’t hold his army down. he’s a skilled fighter with almost every weapon but he dislikes the guns Nobunaga’s so fond of. They have no style, he thinks.

- what is in his possession will remain there. he will defend his collection with everything he has. This man can go toe to toe with the biggest warlords of his time and he’s not afraid to demonstrate his power over a thing he had almost forgotten. It’s HIS and he will kill for it (or make someone do it)

- he is the most intelligent of them and often ruthless, making him an enemy nobody wants to have.

Mori Motonari:

- if he would live in modern times, he would be the bullied nerd with thick rimmed glasses and suspenders

- he grew up in a very protected house without too much care and love, making him self-sufficient. Paired with his intelligence that almost equals that of Matsunaga, he is a terrible foe if there wasn’t a huge mistake in his plans: emotions.

- he struggles to keep his army in check simply because he can’t lie like a Matsunaga or Oda. he will tell his soldiers bluntly that they are worthless to him when they are defeated. Strangely this statement makes him a good leader who will risk much to gain much. His men follow him because they most often are rewarded for their wounds or lost comrades.

- he has a problem with emotions and doesn’t understand sarcasm. That’s a reason why he hates Motochika so much. But this makes him honest to a fault, too. if someone asks his opinion he will answer truthfully, sometimes making this person change plans.

Oda Nobunaga & Oichi:

- those two are the most identical siblings after twins, even if it might seem different on the outside.

- Nobunaga cares for his sister and doesn’t want her hurt and Oichi is more of an evil mastermind than she appears to be.

- from early on those two spent lots of time together, playing pranks on the retainers and their own family. They grew up in an actually caring family making people wonder sometimes how they became like this when they had grown up.

- the motives are most often pride and an arrogance/belief everything should be theirs. Even the “little princess” Oichi defended her dolls with claws and teeth if she had to.

- while the Lady Oichi hides her true ambition she sometimes is jealous of her brother who shows them to everyone and succeeding with it. She hates him for being a man whereas she’s just a woman to be played as he wants.

- he had many options to marry his sister to but he chose not the best one but the one that would care the most for her. He would never admit that.

- they both have emotions and those are very strong but most of the times they are not controlled or even guided and most often end in bloodshed.

Otani Yoshitsugu:

- with his childhood a miserable time for him because of his disease (leprosy) he hid himself behind books, learning about the world, the history of it and other useful things

- he isn’t the smartest but one of the most versatile to use his resources, making him flexible in any given situation

- he is a great strategist with his vast knowledge and by being able to get in someone’s thinking, he is able to differ his strategy for any opponent. He has a great work of spies and often knows how a lord will act

- he loves being outside in the sun. His bandages are a hindrance to him but he doesn’t dare to take them off. He likes to sit in the sun for hours, reading.

Saika Magoichi:

- she grew up in the same village as Motochika, knowing him since childhood

- as an orphan living on the streets, she tried her best to find something close to a family. She reufed Motochika’s offer to join his crew, wanting to be independent

- she never trained enough to fight with a sword but can use a Tanto quite skillfully. When she heard about guns, she begged Motochika to get her two. Since then she was fascinated by those things.

- while she actually used one of the guns, she completely disassembled the other, learning all about the mechanics involved. by now she can not only build them but also has her own mixture of gunpowder thats’s a bit more explosive than the usual.

- she was officially invited to have a talk with Nobunaga and they remained friends until he died. They exchanged various types of guns and Nobunaga even invited her to join his army as an advisor because of her extensive knowledge of firearms.

Sanada Yukimura:

- his allround emotion is determination and happiness, often getting on the nerves of people around him with his seemingly undisturbed energy. This is only a facade he keeps up in order not to think too much about things he can’t change.

- he admires Kojuro as a man he can never be and often tries to talk to him about his views on the world, hoping to learn a lot from it that would allow him to grow not only as a soldier but as a man

- despite the differences of rank and class, he thinks of Sasuke as his brother and is closer to him than to his actual brother Nobuyuki

- he is not afraid to admit his faults and does his best to learn how to be better. But sometimes it frustrated him not being able to be a good person in his own eyes

Sarutobi Sasuke:

- contrary to his beloved legend of being raised by monkeys, he grew up as an orphan in a village of Shinobi until he was 10.

- he hasn’t many people he really trusts but is relieved if he can rely on Kasuga or Takeda (sometimes even Sanada)

- he loves to spend his free time fishing and is quite good at spearfishing.

- he wants to stay mysterious and doesn’t share much of his own history but his body is almost without a scar while his name is often whispered with fear, showing what kind of fighter he is

- he doesn’t talk much about himself mainl because ther is nothing to talk about. He sees himself as a bit boring and his life is filled with his duties. Sometimes he envies Kojuro but has to admit he would’ve strangled Masamune years ago.

Takeda Shingen:

- he resents his own father and wanted to be a better father to Yukimura, thus their strange relationship despite being Lord and General.

- he likes tigers and had at least one as pet throughout his life, spanning the same tiger family over generations.

- he’s very conflicted about his rivalry with Kenshin. He respects the man as a fellow warrior and even wants Yukimura to be a bit like him, but deep down he never got over the fact that Uesugi killed his younger brother. he doesn’t know what he should do and this is why he stays the same: fighting with him without too many emotions.

- he is fond of horses and is a skillful breeder. His horses are very renowned as the best warhorses. He wants to survive this in the future to remind the following generations of him being a gentle animal friend and not only the warlord (even if he is very proud of his victories)

Takenaka Hanbei:

- in his childhood and youth he was a normal kid, growing up in a normal family. He was never the best or the worst but he got bored of it as soon as he heard of the “adventures” of Nobunaga.

- he always was a quick thinker, not overly intelligent but flexible and in this way outwitted whole armies, gaining him a name and reputation to use for his rise to the top.

- he never wanted to be a warlord. He swore himself that he would be the best adviser/strategist because he thought he would be worth more like this in any fight for survival. Every warlord needs an advisor, right?

- his loyalty for Toyotomi is mostly an act. He hates brutes without brains as it is intelligence that wins a war and not strength alone. This is a reason he respects people like Motonari or Kojuro.

Tokugawa Ieyasu:

- as a kid he lived with dangerous surroundings. One wrong word could mean war and Ieyasu was right between the conflicted sides, making him yearn for bonds and friends he could trust.

- normally he is outgoing but he often still sees the world as black and white, making it hard to discuss things with him in a calm manner. Luckily he tends to flare up quickly and also come down as fast, being his old self

- behind his smiles there is a machine working day and night. he has his goals and will not rest before getting there, sometimes making it hard for people to follow him. He doesn’t understand that fact and tends to think they are against him, resulting in various consequences

- he wants friends he can trust but he will never trust somebody. he did it in the past and he was left down by these friends, making his walls harder and thicker to get through

- his personality would be somewhere between a tantrum throwing child in the sweets aisle and a ruthless dictator, solely depending on his mood.

Toyotomi Hideyoshi:

- with his past an open secret he has no remorse in being like he is, seeing no other option anyway.

- being a ruthless warlord doesn’t mean being without emotions and he still cares a lot for his army. He knows a few soldiers by name and will often wander around the camp, asking here and there if everything is alright or something is needed.

- he doesn’t have friends anymore and the friendliest he can get with someone is by calling them “advisor”, even if he’s not bound to listen to their words. he doesn’t trust anyone around him and this makes him successful in leading an army, not trusting the enemy will make the same mistake twice or behave “as always”.

- he doesn’t know if he should kill Matsunaga for changing him or be thankful. He normally tries to stay away from him as far as possible. He might even command his army to take a detour to avoid Hisahide’s territory.

Uesugi Kenshin:

- he loves to fuck with people’s thoughts to make them think they are smarter/more powerful/faster than him, only for him to strike them down as easy as he can. This is the truth behind his title and his favourite saying about it is: “I can be an generous god. Or a cruel one. It depends solely on you.”

- there are no feelings involved, not with Kasuga, not with Shingen. He simply enjoys his power over them, using them as he likes to amuse himself. At least this is when he’s not defending his territory. Then he will be ruthless and strike quick, not caring much about alliances or promises.

- despite being like that he truly stands up for what he believes, only because he thinks whatever he believes is the right thing. he doesn’t care much about any other viewpoints and can be called stubborn at it.

- yet he has a certain respect for every living thing, even if some humans are seen as cockroaches by him. he would never start a war without reason and even then he acknowledges every death and every wound, making him a beloved leader by his men.

#sengoku basara

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