#and are kind of fondly bemused by me being Like This about it

[karliahs]

Hello Karliahs my internet stranger friend- please know that I previously held an ambivalent stance toward bnha, but your posting has greatly improved my interest in it!! And your insights about the recent group photo are absolutely delightful and I appreciate you very much :3

🥺🥺🥺 anon this is so sweet and made me smile so much...i appreciate you right back!!! I'm so glad me rambling enthusiasm into the void could make you feel some of it too

and to be honest i feel a fair amount of ambivalence about bnha too! there's a lot of things in it that i don't like and i do often feel like its storytelling priorities don't align that well with what i'm really looking for...i don't talk about that as much both bc i fear discourse and bc also it's just kind of more fun to dig into my (very genuine) enthusiasm for it

like despite those gripes it's such a fun playground and i have so much fondness for it, both bc i watched it initially with dear friends and bc this is kind of the only time i've felt like i'm really part of a fandom rather than just kind of lurking on the edges of one? i feel very comfy here you know...and i feel like all these cool creative people engaging with this show makes it into more than the sum of its parts

anyway haha that got long but thank you genuinely for this message! and i'm glad you enjoyed the thoughts i tapped out grinning at my phone like an idiot while waiting for my paella to be done simmering

[sunboki]

— MR. FIREFIGHTER.

Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. firefighter! au, neighbors! au, coincidences, power outage.. hehe

WARNINGS. cursing? chan being a firefighter bc HELLO

AUG'S NOTES. hi hi, ya’ll wanted more firefighter! chris? me too i gotcha

In a neighborhood like yours, power outages were common. But of course, with your luck just moving here, nobody paid any mind telling you.

Perhaps that’s the best explanation as to how you ended up at a strangers doorstep, your phone’s flashlight making the entire experience look a thousand times more pathetic the longer you shifted from foot to foot.

You’d been plugging in your charger, only for your entire bedroom to fall pitch black. Initially, you assumed it was simply a broker malfunction, leading to—after carefully hobbling out to the garage—a multitude of failed attempts to ensue.

About halfway from leaving does the front door open, and upon turning around are you met with a sight pitifully breathtaking.

Blond, messy hair rests atop a well sculpted face, masculine features on tanned skin, dark chocolate eyes belonging to that of the finest sweets.

“Hello?” He asks, voice thick with an accent you deem Australian.

“Oh yeah uh, the.. the power?” Winding your index around haphazardly, the man looks you up and down (an action that shouldn’t have brought such blood to your face), glancing around and wetting his lips before inviting you inside.

Sure, he may be a serial killer, but if that man strangled you, you’re not sure you’d be too upset. Shameless, but who disagreed?

Without a word nor greeting, he slinks into a small kitchen area, leaving you to curiously investigate your surroundings. You note the huge, beige boots by the doorway, the firefighter’s hat lingering on a coat hook.

And he’s a firefighter? Good fuck have mercy.

“‘Happens a lot,” The frustratingly attractive stranger grumbles as you enter the living area, candle-light illuminating the plushness of his lips. It takes you a moment to register he’s talking, too busy reigning yourself into a sane headspace.

He hands you a small mug of tea that’s warm to the touch, beckoning you to take a seat.

“And by the looks of it,” He laughs a low, bemused laugh. “You didn’t know that…?”

“Y/n, it’s Y/n.” You introduce, sipping the steaming beverage carefully.

“Scared?”

“Mm, little bit.” Truthfully answering, you scorn your bashfulness, hating how the way he’s merely looking at you disorients every sensible article of your brain.

Reaching forward, he fondly pats your head, eyes crinkling in the corners when smiling.

Just then you abandon all hope of remaining civilized.

“There’s nothin’ to be scared of, just light some candles ‘n wait it out. Plus, it’s good sleeping conditions.”

If he keeps talking you’re certain you’ll dig a human sized hole and bury yourself in it, because of course you had to knock on his door, him who you’ve become smitten with without even knowing his name.

Before you can apologize for likely waking him up, he interjects.

“But be careful with candles. ‘Don’t wanna start a fire.”

Recalling his firefighter status, you raise your brows, leaning back into the cushions.

“You’d save me, right Mr. Firefighter?”

Momentarily, surprise etches his face.

He grins.

“Nah I’d—”

You smack his arm and he laughs—a kind of laugh that makes the entire room burst alight.

“Of course I would. And It’s Chan by the way, but you can call me Chris.”

Already getting comfortable with conversation, you rest your chin upon your hand, studying.

His mannerisms (as much as his looks could kill) are rather adorable. They’re nervous, fiddling opposed to the career he chose.

A man with a deadly duality.

Charming.

“Oh? Nickname privileges?” You mischievously pique, witnessing that shyness once more.

He covers his face with his hands, dissolving into the couch, evidently embarrassed. The urge to continue becoming irresistible.

“Say, Chris, are you flirting with me?”

Peering through his fingers, Chris’ lips pull tug upward slightly, seeming to mirror your sly attitude.

“I don’t know, am I?”

Perhaps it’s your imagination, but his voice seriously just lowered a pitch and all ability to bite back has turned to dust. And now you can certainly say your feelings are justified, especially from his eyes. Brown hues boring into you, sending your heart a thundering mess.

No, no no, don’t say that. That’s not fair.

As if on cue the lights flash awake and you spring up from your place, attempting to hide the flush of your cheeks.

Barely making it out the door before Chris pulls you back around, his hand loosely grasps your wrist, stuffing a piece of paper into your palm adorning that same stupid smile you’re effortlessly falling in love with.

Inside his number is written, and more than ever you feel like a teenage girl passing notes to her boyfriend in class.

“Just in case,” He claimed, clearing his throat as if that would magically cure his noticeably pink ears.

Take it back, you’re both teenage losers fighting to see who cracks first. Nervous wrecks, red faces.

“In case my house burns down?”

“That’s a plus, yep.”

“You’re awful.”

Chris, walking you up to your door despite being a mere foot away, giggles his delight, bidding you good night. But seconds before he turns around it’s your turn to be spontaneous, and you press a soft kiss to his cheek prior to racing inside, shutting the door as quickly as possible.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

Covering your mouth with your hands in order to suppress the utter squeal threatening to break your lungs, you feel seconds from physically imploding — ignorant to the fact that outside the door, Chris is currently doing the same thing.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[giggly-bun]

I’d love to see some more Haikaveh please! ^^

Love Language {KaveTham}

A/N [WARNING THIS IS A TICKLE FIC] if you don’t like it, don’t read it. Sorry for any mistakes that i’ve made but i hope if you read this I hope you enjoy it. i’m back ! (sorta) slightly breaking my hiatus bcuz ive missed you all and writing and im deep in kavetham brainrot rn huhu :D this is also university au ! - bunny 🔮

“Haitham, you’re crushing my legs right now. Do you have to lie on me in such a way while you read?” Kaveh complained for the umpteenth time. His boyfriend was currently lying across his legs, half over his thighs, while reading his book for his next class. He barely responded, choosing to give a very half-assed ‘mmm’ in turn.  Kaveh sighed. 

“Haitham, you’re not even listening to me. Scooch over, you brute.” The blond tried to push his shoulder, but with him lying on his stomach and Alhaitham on his legs, his arms really couldn’t do much. Sigh, how awkward. This time it was Alhaitham’s turn to sigh. 

“You were the one complaining that I wasn’t giving you company in favor of reading. Is it not enough that I’m here?” He said, accompanied by an eye roll. The blond puffed his cheeks out, though Alhaitham couldn’t see. 

“I didn’t say I didn’t want you here, I would just like my legs to be able to breathe, thank you very much.” Kaveh’s tone was as sarcastic as ever, but that was just how their conversations usually went. 

“Is it my fault you’re clingy, Kaveh?” 

“I am not!” He protested. 

“Clingy and a liar? My my, Kaveh, what a boyfriend you’re turning out to be.” The architect apprentice could hear the smirk in his lover’s voice as he flipped the page, nonchalantly. His eyebrows furrow in irritation as he attempted to kick his legs again. 

“You know,” he started, ���you really know how to find my last nerve and tap dance all over it. I am your senior, you should listen to me and respect me.” The blond huffed. Alhaitham subsequently rolled his eyes fondly. 

“If I listened to everything you said, I would find myself in a lot more difficult positions than I’d like. Forgive me for ignoring your whining here and there.” He said, swiping an index finger up Kaveh’s thigh mindlessly. The older of the two flinched with great exaggeration and turned as much as he could to flick his boyfriend in the back of the head. 

“Would you knock it off? You know I hate that.”

“What? This?” The question was self answered when Alhaitham wiggled another index finger delicately into the back of his lover’s thighs, watching as Kaveh yelped and reeled forward into the mattress with a squeal. Alhaitham chuckled at the sound. “I thought you liked the affection? You told me physical touch was your love language.”

“Yehes, physical tohouch not- t-that!” The blond exclaimed. A deep flush began to settle onto his cheeks while he was beginning to get a very bad feeling about the position they were in.

“That?” Alhaitham sounded too amused. “You mean tickling?”

The word made Kaveh squirm where he lay. How humiliating. “Yes, that. Cut it out.”

“But last I checked, tickling is a form of physical touch, something you have expressed your deep adoration for. Why, what kind of partner would I be if I didn’t indulge in something you like so much.” Shit. 

“Haitham, you keep those pesky fingers a-awAHA- s-shihihit! Nahahaha!” Kaveh’s mind was thrown when the feeling of five fingers began to rake down from the back of his thigh to his calf, excruciatingly slow. He arched his back in surprise, immediately being caught up in bright, boisterous laughter that reverberated off the walls. “H-hahaithaham c-cuhut ihihit ohout!” He squealed, fists pounding into the mattress. The English major chuckled in bemusement. 

“What? I’m not even doing anything.” That bastard. He continued to rake up and down the length of his leg, blunt nails making quick work of turning Kaveh into a giggly mess. His fingers scribbled from the swell of the blond’s ass, right down to just before his ankles. Kaveh kicked, squealed and cried with each movement. “My, my Kaveh, have you always been this sensitive? You must like this a lot, you’re barely fighting back.”

“Yohohohohou ahaHAHAss! y-yohou’re on- EEK! gehehehet ohoff m-my lehehegs!” He cried. Every word was cut off with bouts of laughter. By now the pink hue had spread to his ears and chest. Alhaitham wished he could see the bright smile that was splitting his boyfriend’s face right now, but alas, he will settle for hearing the melodic laughter that’s pouring out instead. 

“That’s no excuse, Kaveh. You could put more energy into fighting me off, I’m starting to believe this was your plan all along.” Alhaitham hummed as he grabbed Kaveh’s ankle easily. The eldest looked like a deer in headlights. “Maybe if you tell me how much you love this, I’ll stop.” Kaveh could hear the way he was snickering to himself, and he wanted nothing more than to boot this man in the face. 

“Nohoho wahahahay! H-Haithaham plehease. Think about thihis.” Kaveh pleaded. To his surprise, the gray haired man paused. 

“Plead your case.” He said, tone sultry. Kaveh used this opportunity to catch his breath, feeling like his stomach was in knots. 

“P-Please Haitham. My love, my dear, l-light of my life…? Anywhere but there.” The scribe thought. He cherished the sound of his boyfriend begging and almost gave in purely on the basis of how cute he sounded. 

Key word: almost. 

“Nice try.”

“Oh fuhuck- ACK! FUHUHUHUHUCK YOHOHOHOU!” Kaveh positively howled when he felt Alhaitham’s nimble fingers begin to wiggle at his arches. His hands raked and scribbled around the sensitive souls in such a sporadic way, it was hard for Kaveh to keep up with his own laughter. 

“Language, senior. You’re not setting a very good example for your junior right now.” That smug man. Kaveh will surely get him back later. 

“EEEYAH! S-Stohohohop tahaAHAhalking! Ihihihihi HAHA-! HAHAHATE YOHOHOHOU! bahahahahaAhaHAHAstard!” Kaveh’s back arched about 6ft away from the bed. He grabbed fistfuls of the bedsheets to try and compose himself, but nothing could shake the feeling of electric shocks seeping through his very nervous system. Tears of mirth began to slip from the corners of his eyes, and he began to wheeze slightly with every new round of laughter. “PLEHEHEHEHEASE!” He kept saying. Begging, even. 

Alhaitham hummed. “I didn’t quite catch that? Do you mind saying that again.” He moved his fingers to wiggle under the blond’s toes and was delighted to hear how his laughter rose about three octaves, if that was even possible. “You complain when I don’t show affection, you complain when I indulge you in affection. Truly is no winning with you.”

“IHIHIHI CAHAHAHAN’T! PLEHEHEH- PLEHEHEASE HAITHAM!” He banged his fists against the bed and tugged at the foot that was stuck in a headlock. “IHIHIHIHI WIHIHIHILL DIHIE!” By now, Kaveh had no fight left in him and he was left to just clutch his stomach while laughter tumbled out of his mouth like running water. Alhaitham chuckled at that and let go of the boy’s ankle, watching as Kaveh snatched back his own foot desperately. The blond curled up on his side, letting residual giggles bubble out. 

“You’re so dramatic, you know that?” Haitham chimed. He moved to lie by Kaveh’s side as he watched him recover. The latter put up a shaky middle finger, though the effect was lost by the tooth-rotting sweet grin on his face. 

“Y-Yohohou are an utter asshole, do you know that?” His blond locks were dishevelled and crystal like tears clung to his lashes in such a beautiful way. All Alhaitham could do was smile. 

“Never asked me to stop, though.” He smirked. Kaveh flushed the deepest red of the day. 

“Why you-!” 

[luveline]

hi jade ! is this too early to request ? can i pretty please ask for some jonathan byers x shy!reader who is about to meet will for the first time but they really get along ? thank you so much !!💛💛

thank you for your request! jonathan x shy!fem!reader <3

You’re frozen in the car, staring down at your lap. You’re about half an hour early in the parking lot of the diner you and Jonathan agreed on for a kind-of date. There’s a scagged thread on the side of your pant leg. Jonathan probably won’t notice, and his younger brother Will certainly won’t, but it’s another small disaster to weigh the scale down. Today is a failure, and Will is going to hate you.

A gentle knock against the window. It scares you senseless, so highly strung that you flinch into the console and almost wind yourself. Jonathan waits for you to recognise him on the other side of the window so as not to scare you further, pulling open the driver's door.

“What happened?” he asks, generous considering he’d seen the whole thing. “I didn’t mean to freak you out, sorry. Here, let me help.”

You take his offered hands and he practically pulls you out of the car and onto your feet. When you’re standing on firm-footing, his hand strays to your side, though there’s nothing he can do. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“I’m fine,” you breathe. “You’re early.”

He laughs. It’s charming enough to calm you down, his warm cadence. “I’m early? No, I told you the wrong time so I could come and rescue you from overthinking city.”

You stiffen.

Jonathan checks you over quickly. His eyes find that tiny scagged thread on the outer side of your pant leg, and he takes it between two fingers, snapping it off sharply. His gaze tracks back up to your face. He smiles fondly at your horrified expression.

“I left him inside.” He takes your face into his hands. “Everything is fine. Everything will be fine. Will’s just like me. Well, mostly.”

“Teenagers are mean,” you say.

“Not Will. I’m sorry for lying to you. I figured it would be easier if you didn’t have time to worry about what could go wrong. But you don’t have to do this if you aren’t ready.”

Jonathan squishes your cheeks gently.

“No, I am. I’m not–” You pull the brakes, comforted by the warmth of his hands as they fall to your shoulders. “I was in my head, that’s all. And I’m excited to meet him, I promise.”

“Okay, good. He’s excited to meet you.”

You smooth one of his hairs away from his eyes without thinking. He noticeably melts, flustered by your rare but easy affection.

You and Jonathan make your way inside of the diner. You spot Will without instruction, a mop of mousy brown hair against the red velvet of a corner booth. He’s bigger than you thought he’d be — Jonathan always calls him his ‘little’ brother, but Will looks firmly within his late teens. He’s smiling as soon as he sees you.

He’s like me, Jonathan’d said without hesitation. He must be lovely, in that case.

“Hey,” Jonathan says, greeting his brother. They share a smile, and you have the peculiar feeling that they’d talked about how this moment would go before you arrived. “Will, this is Y/N. Y/N, Will.”

“Hi,” you say, not weak so much as meek, trying hard to be a grown up and missing the mark.

“Hey,” he says back.

Jonathan ushers you into the booth and sits beside you. His hand doesn’t go for your thigh but your wrist, pulling your arm into his lap so you can’t pick nervously at your nails. He knows you too well sometimes.

“It’s really great to meet you,” you say. You sound, regrettably, as terrified as you look.

“You, too. Jonathan doesn’t shut up about you, it’ll be nice to picture your face while he waxes.”

You turn to Jonathan. He shakes his head in bemusement. You know he doesn’t mind being the punching bag while you break the ice, because that’s the kind of guy he is. You slip your fingers between his and stroke the back of his hand with his thumb, looking down at his pale skin for a stolen, steadying moment.

You look up. “He doesn’t shut up about you, either. He told me about your club? Art for the disadvantaged? I was really impressed, do you…”

Talking to Will isn’t as hard as you feared it would be. Jonathan makes it easier, diving in to save you from any social faux pas you might make now you’re getting older. Teenagers speak in tongues, but Will truly is as kind and funny as his brother described, and you never once feel like he’s looking down on you.

Talking to people is hard. You don’t really enjoy putting yourself out there, or making conversation with unfamiliar people, but Will is such a big part of Jonathan’s life that you’re more than glad to do it. You fight your shyness, and you’re still awkward, disjointed, under-versed in social norms, but you make do.

You get along. By the time his friends swing by to grab him for the roller derby, you’re feeling downright overjoyed.

You smile and wave at Will as he leaves. A weight falls off of your shoulders.

You haven’t half turned to Jonathan when you’re being apprehended. He pushes you down into the booth seat, lifted off of one thigh with his hands in your hair.

“You. are. amazing,” he praises, dotting kisses all over your face.

Your giggle are slow as thick honey, breathless when his fingers slide behind your ear. He anchors you in place; there’s no escape for you, your face perfectly tilted to receive his slow, appreciative kiss. You lavish in his tenderness, but soon remember where you are and duck away from him.

“I knew you’d be amazing,” he says, hand falling from the curve of your neck to clasp your forearm. He’s almost insistent in his praise. “Thank you, honey.”

You nod bashfully. “No problem,” you mumble.

Jonathan kisses your hot cheek. His affection makes it all worth it.

[vidavalor]

Hello! I love your metas (they're always incredible and very insightful, even if I don't agree with you on some stuff) and I was wondering if you had any thoughts about one line Shax says in 2.01: "I am now Hell's representative in London" (it's been rotating in my head for weeks, help).

If you don't have anything to say/have already said something about it I'm truly sorry (genuine)

Once again I absolutely *adore* your metas, they are the light of my day and occupy a frankly embarrassing part of my brain-

Stay safe and have a nice day/night!

Hi! Nice to meet you. Thank you for the kind words. :) *pours hot chocolate* Sorry that this one took me a little while.

Why is that line from Shax such a little niggle in the old brain, eh? It's funny that you mention it because it took me a little while to realize why it was standing out for me as well when I was first watching the season because it, objectively, isn't that wild a line. It's establishing who Shax is in the story and why she's here on this bench talking to Crowley, right? But then you kinda realize that her sitting up so straight there beside Crowley on the bench and being kinda haughty about her position in the Hell hierarchy has got a familiar vibe because it's calling back to Shax's kind of inverted paralleling character here...

Remember the whole "Heaven will finally triumph over Hell. It's all going to be rather lovely" bit from 1.01 and Crowley's bemused "you really believe that?" knowing that Aziraphale puts on airs in public that he doesn't totally believe when they are speaking alone. He might well believe that Heaven might triumph-- honestly, both Crowley & Aziraphale did-- but "it's all going to be rather lovely" was the absolute height of bullshit and they both knew it. So much so that it made Crowley smile at him fondly because they both know that Heaven triumphing over Hell means an eternity apart and who knows what happening to Crowley so "rather lovely" is not at all what Aziraphale thinks about any of that.

Shax, on the other hand, is super jazzed to be Hell's new Whatever Crowley's Really Long Old Job Title Was and their representative in London. She's genuinely excited about her promotion and likes life as a demon and feels her purpose is serving her master Satan, whereas Aziraphale has obviously always been more conflicted in his role as an angel serving God.

Both are sitting with Crowley on the park bench as the supernatural secret agent meeting with him in the two scenes but they have completely opposite levels of intimacy with him. Whereas the St. James Park scene in 1.01 shows how close they are and how much they care about each other, the Shax and Crowley scene on the bench in 2.01 shows that Shax has a one-sided attraction to Crowley (as opposed to the mutual thing he and Aziraphale were showing in 1.01) and that she doesn't know Crowley very well. She doesn't understand his exhaustion at the whole angels and demons thing. She doesn't know what to feed the ducks (something that Aziraphale canonically does when he magics them out of his hat in 1862 in 1.03.)

Shax is not Crowley's person and she doesn't belong on the bench with him. He can matchmake all the day long and does even in this scene a bit-- helping poor, lost Agent Fuzuli find his Azerbaijani sector chief-- but that's also the point. Agent Fuzuli has not met his new contact before the scene and mistakes him for Crowley, underscoring how Crowley is on this bench with the wrong person with Shax. Shax sits down after Fuzuli and basically has the same problem. Only, she spends the season pursuing both her demonic career goals and Crowley while ignoring that she should be feeding some ducks with Furfur. At least she knows to bring them frozen peas now.

[vigilskeep]

so interested to hear your thoughts bc i love your supreme ability to take a haphazardly-written bioware arc and turn it into a thematically-coherent masterpiece. how does one do this with sera??

i could never get into her personally (found the way they wrote her voice a little contrived/“haha funney swearing and crude jokes”) and i struggled to figure out her core motivations somehow simultaneously being the red jenny “sticking up for little guy” stuff but also a complete alienation from elves and the actual people she wants to protect?

also found it weird how you can just 😭 kick her out any time when you can’t do that with anyone else afaik. i mean i didnt like her but ?? that was a Choice bioware

ah the big sera question

first of all, upfront, i adore sera. this is just a matter of personal taste that people are going to have or not have, and that’s completely fine! (although people have said before that my talking about certain characters has made them give those characters a second glance, and i hope i can do the same for sera for people who maybe haven’t given her a full shot !!) i am just personally delighted by her. i love the fun of her design and i love her combat style and i love the way she talks, how you have to think through what she’s saying to follow where exactly the line of thought went, and you don’t always get everything but that’s okay bc hurry up we’re already onto the next thing! as someone who uh doesn’t always find it the easiest to communicate verbally, i find it very relatable and freeing and charming that she talks as she pleases and dares anyone to challenge it and expects them to catch up. i love the side she brings out in people in banter and i’ve never regretted bringing her along in the party. i think she’s very pretty. i’m getting distracted we could be here a long time

one thing that really helped me figure out how i could play a seramance was bouncing between potential inquisitors until i got one that could use the way the inquisitor and sera’s interactions are written. a big flaw of the writing is that it pushes your character into a box. partly because of the style of comic relief it’s attempting, it forces you to play the “normal” one who can only be fondly bemused by sera at best and can never be unconditionally supportive, even the nicest options available sometimes coming across critical or condescending. the way i’m personally making that make sense to me is playing an inquisitor who has lived a fairly secluded life and is bewildered and stilted and awkward as she tries to navigate a kind of relationship she’s not accustomed to with a kind of person she’s not accustomed to. but she really is earnestly trying. and sera seems not to always get her either, so there’s this process of trying to figure each other’s language out that i’m personally finding very endearing!

obviously that isn’t for everybody. your inquisitor is whoever you want them to be! that’s just one way i’ve personally responded to the question of how you can take the admittedly flawed writing and work with it, and i’ll have to adapt something different with another inquisitor with a different background.

there’s a lot of specifics i don’t know about her backstory and where her story is going—as i say, i know a majority of spoilers, but i don’t have all the details—so i can’t completely elaborate on my thoughts on how she was written until i have all the information. i’ll have some more coherent comments on my actual opinion of sera’s writing as a whole then! but i will say as a final note i honestly find it a little startling how saying completely insensitive things abt elves rarely stops human characters from being continual fandom favourites—and that isn’t, like, a condemnation, i’m thinking of major characters like leliana and morrigan and anders and dorian who i love as well, that’s the nature of the setting and genre of dragon age and the questions it explores—but meanwhile sera, who is an elf and suffers from internalised prejudice that’s against herself as well, seems to be the one who gets so much of the heat? i’m just putting that out there as food for thought.

wait one more thing sorry. when she talks about the little people and the friends of red jenny and it’s confusing who she’s standing up for, i have to say in her defence i think it’s more than a little unfair to expect her to be remotely comparable in clarity of direction/ideology/purpose as the other inquisition companions and advisors, a sweeping majority of whom are major political figures or otherwise trained professionals in their 30s and 40s, when sera is literally just a random person in her very early 20s with a hell of a lot of initiative and talent. of course she hasn’t figured things out she’s too busy cutting her own bangs. you know?

[densi-mber]

The Squid and Dagger Returns

“To the second grand opening of The Squid and Dagger. May it be her last,” Deeks toasted, raising his glass above his head. Kensi stood next to him, and surrounding him in a semi-circle were their former team. Eric and Nell had even made the flight in to celebrate the occasion.

“Amen!” Nell called out, whistling loudly. Deeks grinned at her enthusiasm. They all drank, Sam pausing to sniff his first.

“Hey, that’s actually really good,” Eric commented in surprise. He took another drink, as if to double check.

Still looking mistrustful, Sam took a tiny sip, and nodded in reluctant approval. “It’s not bad.”

“Why on earth would the beer taste bad?” Kilbride wondered, looking bemused and slightly out of place in his three-piece suit.

“You’ve never heard the saga of Deeks and Callen’s microbrew ventures?” Rountree asked in surprise.

“No. And I’m beginning to think that’s a good thing.”

“It involved a series of increasingly terrible beer,” Nell explained. “Squid being a memorable one.”

“No, no the seaweed and salmon was definitely the worst,” Sam said firmly. “The flavor is ingrained in my brain.”

“Three years with this team, and I still fail to understand any of you,” Kilbride commented, downing the rest of his beer. “Which means I need something stronger.” He wandered off to the bar, muttering to himself.

“Nice to know some things don’t change,” Kensi said dryly.

The rest of them gravitated towards each other, forming a small group as they sipped at their drinks. Nell had somehow acquired a large red drink with a cocktail umbrella.

“You know, contrary to popular belief, Callen and I are capable of crafting normal beer—remembered the orange and nectarine?” Deeks said, nodding to Kensi. “We just choose not to.”

“I still maintain that none of our stuff was that bad,” Callen insisted. He frowned, holding up his glass, tilting his head to examine the light amber liquid inside. “Though this is kind of bland.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?” Sam said in exasperation. He gave Callen a slight shove towards the bar. “C’mon G, let’s go get you some more skunky beer.”

“Mmm, it almost feels like we never left,” Nell said, watching the two fondly bicker.

“It does. Especially with having the bar back,” Deeks agreed. “Speaking of which, I can’t thank you guys enough for helping buy it back.”

“It means a lot to us,” Kensi added, sliding her free arm through Deeks’.

“You’re welcome, but guys, I told you before, I literally would not be where I am without the money that you loaned me for years. Especially Deeks,” Eric replied. “I probably owe you about 10 bars at this point.”

“I think we’ll call it even with one.” She glances at Deeks and he nodded in agreement.

“We’ve got everything we need.”

“Ooh, speaking of needs,” Nell paused to take a healthy gulp of her drink, her Christmas themed had shifting precariously. “When do I get to see my nieces and nephews?”

“Well, I’m guessing the sitter already put the twins down for the night, but we’re free tomorrow. And I’m sure Rosa would love to see you when she’s done with classes,” Kensi replied.

“Awesome! That’ll give us time to get all their gifts together.” Eric nodded enthusiastically. “It’s amazing what they’re doing with kids toys these days.”

“I’m not sure I want to know.”

“He’s teasing, Deeks.” Nell rolled her eyes at Eric, lightly tapping his shoulder with the back of her hand. She giggled, adding in a couple pats lower down on his chest.

Beside him, Kensi hastily stifled a snort, and when Deeks glanced at her, she had her lips tightly pressed together.

“Oh, I love this song,” Nell announced, as the playlist running in the background switched to the next selection. “Mr. Beale, may I have this dance?” Bending at the waist, Nell waved her hand in an elaborate flourish.

“My lady awaits,” Eric said with a shrug as he let Nell tug him away.

“I missed this,” Kensi said wistfully.

“What, Callen and Sam arguing over beer and the Wonder Twins drunkenly dancing on our non-existent dance floor?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

Kensi swayed into his side, wrapping both arms around his waist. “I’m glad we have this back.”

He watched Nell and Eric put on a two-person act to “Santa Baby”, giggling the entire time, and couldn’t help but agree.

***

A/N: Once again bringing back the Squid and Dagger as well as Callen and Deeks making beer of dubious quality.

[salty-an-disco]

Drew that thing I was thinking about- now, what is this about Mae and Gregg and Cold and Contrarian parallels? (Looking at you very politely)

Him melting aomsksjdxkdoke. so cute <3 Augh. Thank you so much for the contrahero, I’m love them T^T

Now– onto the Gregg&Mae and Contra&Cold parallels– *cracks knuckles* (warning: long ramble ahead)

The most obvious similarities is how dismissive all these characters are of danger and death. One of the first things Mae does when she comes back to town is climb to the wire lines so that she can go over a fence. And before that, she almost got crushed by some tree trunks and this is her reaction:

And on your first encounter (and Mae’s reencounter) with Gregg, those two easily fall back into a familiar bit: listing off horrible things that could’ve happened to the other one, seemingly trying to one-up each other in tragedy levels (that ‘too bad…’ game). To these two, danger, risk of death and injury, it’s all entertainment. Something fun to do with your closest friend. Each of Gregg’s hang out is a dangerous and illegal activity that Mae is happy to go along with (smashing lightbulbs with bats, firing a crossbow on a statue or birds, the knife fight, stealing an animatronic, etc, etc, etc).

Just from this, you can already see where the parallels start. Much like Mae and Gregg, Cold and Contrarian also don’t really care for danger, not really believing consequences are a thing, and going along with whatever would be the most fun.

There’s a very crucial difference though, and it’s that Mae and Gregg are actual people that grew up in a community full of other people; and I think looking into their character arcs more thoroughly could really help to see how Contra and Cold could develop in the real world, or even the kinda people they could be if they were always humans.

First, Gregg:

When you first meet him in Snack Falcon, he’s incredibly energetic and excited to see Mae, happy stimming, screaming, and immediately deciding they need to do a band practice. Those are the first things we learn about Gregg: energetic, impulsive, has a bit of a morbid humor, and really missed Mae. And after meeting with the rest of the band, Bea and Angus, he’s apparently the only one there who missed Mae; both Angus and Bea seem more bemused than enthusiastic, and Casey (someone both Mae and Gregg mention fondly) is nowhere to be found.

That immediately presents Gregg as Mae’s main support, besides her parents, back in Possum Springs, since everyone in town seems to dislike and distrust her for one thing or another she did in the past, but Gregg never seem to care. He’s on the same wavelength as Mae, and because of that, Mae thinks fondly of him. In the midst of all the mess that was dropping out of college and going back home, hanging out with Gregg, doing stupid and illegal shit is a reliable, and maybe even cathartic, source of comfort.

At least– that’s what Mae was hoping for. But Gregg is planning to move out with his boyfriend, Angus, sometime in the future.

And when you think about it– that’s perfectly fair. Gregg is a queer man, heavily implied to be neurodivergent (bipolar is mentioned at one point in the game), living in a conservative small town; of course he’d want to leave as soon as he could. And it’s not like it’s easy for him either, he knows what kind struggles they’ll run it, Possum Springs may suck, but it’s familiar and where everyone he knows is. But he HAS to go, it’s the only way he can grow. (Let’s shelf this for later for now).

And not only that, but much like Mae, Gregg’s also dealing with his own mental issues.

With some more prodding from Mae, we learn that Gregg and Angus have been arguing, and it’s really heaving on Gregg, making him feel like he’s not good enough. Paraphrasing his own words– “Maybe I’m inconsiderate. Maybe I’m not good. I’m just parking lot trash. I’ve known it all along; I’ve got no future if it was just me.”

And that’s what he’s scared of. Being with Angus gave him hope and a future to look forward to, when before, he was most likely just trudging along and whatever happens, happens, much like Mae is doing for the entire game. But now, he has a future, and someone he cares for. And he’s terrified of screwing it up, of losting the one thing, failing the one person he so badly wants to do right by (*gestures vaguely towards ContraHero*).

And Mae doesn’t really understand. She doesn’t know what it is like to have something to worry about, or a future to prepare for. She went to college, yes, but her heart was never in it, she only went along with what her parents wanted and as soon as it got too bad for her to handle, she dipped and went back to Possum Springs, where everythings more simple. Except, it isn’t anymore. Bea hates her, her parents are disappointed in hee, Gregg will be moving out soon, and everyone remembers what she did to that kid in the softball game.

Speaking of–

Let’s talk about Mae’s reputation in the town.

(sounds familiar........ 🤔)

We immediately catch up that Mae was a troublemaker in town by how everyone talks to her. Her aunt mall cop already sounds exhausted (if unsurprised) after seeing that Mae jumped over the fence instead of going the longer way around to the town’s entrance. Mae is known for stealing, vandalizing, causing trouble to the elders, and, more predominantly, of sending a kid to the hospital back in high school (where the ‘killer’ nickname came from). That last one is treated as one of the main mysteries from Mae’s past, together with the reason she dropped out of college. No one in town, and we, the player, really know why she did that, and Lori M (the rat girl up there^) mention their mothers warning kids to stay away from her in case she snaps again.

Mae, for the most part, acts unaffected by this, and seems to embrace her troublemaker status; in a confrontation with an old man that was directly affected by Mae’s behavior in the past, you have the option to double down and insult him back, basically confirming his statement about how Mae hasn’t changed, and is still just the same kid that’s always searching for trouble.

And, yeah, during the day, with other people around, Mae acts like it doesn’t affect her, says she enjoys being seen as a miscreant, and plays into what everyone expects of her. But alone? There’s this very poignant scene where Mae is standing in front of a mirror, preparing for a party, where all her insecurities and self-consciousness comes to light:

(note: the other option you can choose in the second pic is: “You don’t like people. Clearly.”)

We see that not only is Mae self-conscious about her appearance, she DOES care about what people think. She craves connection and a community, that’s why she came back to Possum Springs, but for some reason, it seems like she just can’t hold on to a relationship for long before fucking up.

She’s impulsive, doesn’t have much of a filter, and struggles to understand other people’s perspectives. We see that clearly with Bea. It was Bea’s dream to go to college, but because of personal issues, she can’t; and Mae, someone who GOT that chance, simply threw it all away and dismissed it as ‘college just wasn’t for me’ upon coming back, and expects everything to be as it always was.

Mae isn’t an understanding person. She tries, and she really wants to help the people around her, but she just isn’t very good at understanding people, and will often run her mouth at the worst moments. Bea’s hangouts has some of the best (or worst, ig) examples of that. I’m not gonna get too deep into what happens, but, uhm. It gets BAD, and those moments can make you really unsympathetic towards Mae; but you gotta respect this game for not pulling its punches when showing off its protagonist’s worst traits (and honestly, it made me love Mae all the more, she’s so beautifully flawed).

You can see the familiarities to Cold? Struggle with understanding others, impulsive decisions made with the main goal of entertaining yourself, no sense of danger, disregard of own life, no filter– the main difference is that Mae is much more emotional and prone to snapping, but I feel like their core struggles are very similar.

I could go more into how Mae’s derealization is also very similar to how Cold views the world, but while Cold embraces that feeling as a reason to why you can disregard pain and consequences, that thought terrifies Mae and the kind of person that makes her (it doesn’t make her a bad person, btw, she’s mentally ill and traumatized, but ‘bad person’ is what she internalizes after being told so for so long), but anyway aaaaaaaaahhhhhh this got so long and pretty rambly akaksjsmsjd)djsjdj. Hopefully it made sense though? This has been turning around in my head for days now, glad to finally put it out.

[arcplaysgames]

yeah because Mitsuo is not the killer, I know this, you know this, we all know this

if finding a fake killer gets me tuna tho i'm in, i'll frame a man every day, i don't care

WAIT WAIT THE STORYBOOK FROM THE SUN LINK IN P3P GOT PUBLISHED? Man its a dark children's book. Beautiful but nihilistic. You know the kids who read that are going to have a lot of difficult questions their parents do not wanna answer. Good, though.

Summer Festival! Nanako is adorable. AND GET THIS. BRACE YOURSELVES. MAKE SURE YOU ARE SITTING DOWN AND HOLDING ONTO SOMETHING.

DOJIMA ACTUALLY SHOWS UP TO TAKE CARE OF HIS DAUGHTER. I KNOW. I KNOOOOOOW. Shocking. Usually this girl is being raised by six teenagers and the human personification of a mascot character.

A STUNNING turn of events!

Teddie is such a manipulator lmao. First he suggests everyone pair off to enjoy the festival bc That's What You Do At Festivals, then gets the boys deliberating who should go with who, then while everyone is all turned around, he swoops in to take all the girls out around the festival so no one is 'left out.'

lmao. i love Teddie. I'm actually trying to pin down why Yosuke's horny boy bullshit annoys me but Teddie does not. It may be because he's SO flagrant about it, he's SO over the top, you know going in its a Yes, And scenario. Or, you can slap him, lmao.

After, Rise invited me out to a one on one date to the festival. She's very funny and boisterous but I think I'm friendzoning everyone in this playthru. I haven't found anyone I wanna date. And I know there is one more option coming so I don't want to accidentally pen myself in, like with Akihiko and late-comer Aigis. Poor Aigis.....

Not about to let anyone begin to assume he's a good dad, over in the Hierophant SLink, Dojima reveals that his wife died in a hit and run while Nanako was in nursery school. Which explains why Nanako barely remembers her.

Dojima's whole deal is that he's still working that case, still trying to find out who killed his wife. He claims its for Nanako, that someday in the future, she'll appreciate it.

And listen. The trauma of your spouse being murdered is not a joke. That's really heavy stuff. Your life falls apart as a pillar is just suddenly taken out, and surviving the loss of that kind of load-bearing structure is very fucking hard. I got zero judgement there.

However. Nanako doesn't give a shit. Her mother is a distant figure that doesn't affect her life anymore but via her absence. There is zero doubt in my mind that Nanako would remember Dojima more fondly as a man who stepped up to be her fucking father rather than having the closure for, sorry, a woman she has likely already forgotten the face of.

So again: get your shit together, Dojima.

SUMMER BEACH EPISODE. lmao poor kanji on his bike. also, Teddy is in bear mode. WHY is Teddie in bear mode? That seems much harder to travel with.

I'm not even gonna squint at Yosuke. Yosuke, someday, you will look back on your youth and feel so goddamn embarrassed at yourself. You are the very model of a modern repressed bisexual.

LMAO irl cackling. his response is so blaise. "why would i????" hahaha

lmao i missed it but chie and kanji were racing at like mach speed.

Of course because we need shenanigans, Teddie has been pulling at swimsuits to no avail. Well, almost no avail.

Hey, what is with the lightning bruiser boys and their tiny swimsuits, lmao. We are creating such a Specific trope here with them, it's bemusing. The venn diagram is something all right.

(Wait i JUST fucking noticed that Kanji has a fucking scar in the exact same place Akihiko does. What the fuck. That is a WILD coincidence.)

FUCKING YOSUKE AND REVERIE'S AVERTED GAZES LMAO. gdi teddie.

the voice acting here is a fucking treat, i cannot tell you enough.

everyone's doing amazing, sweetie

compared to the spring camping trip, this is a ten out of ten

[theheadlessgroom]

"Ugh, really, Randall? How immature can you get? For someone who claims to have lived here longer, you certainly don't act like it." Constance scoffed, the bride turning her nose up away from him and crossing her arms. "Hmph, and besides, have you looked in a mirror lately? Shabby, skeletal, decayed, deformed, hunchbacked, if any of us would be compared to that Crypt Keeper, it could only be you." Constance next moved her hands to her hips with a disapproving scowl, before dropping them with a sigh, "And for someone who questions how my husbands came to me, you don't see to be aware of your own hypocrisy. In spite of how repulsive YOU look, you still found a bride yourself, didn't you?" A smirk returned to her ruined beauty as she added, "Well, true, you never married, but am I wrong in understanding she still loved you in spite of your inherent inadequacy? Or you thought she loved you anyway." Constance smirked again as she tapped her chin, "People find love for lots of reasons. Honestly, Randall, it sounds more like you're projecting to me." She snickered coyly before continuing, "And I'll use Ms. Emily's name however I please. She's not here to contest it, is she? Better off without her though, my Attic is only big enough for one Bride and everyone knows who the prettier of us is." Constance appeared thoughtful for a moment, looking around, "I mean, she certainly had no concept of interior decorating. All black? No pastels?" The Black Widow Bride shrugged her shoulders with a huff and a shake of her head, "And you act as though my dear Ambrose is no longer with us. That couldn't be further from the truth. Now, unlike you, MY husbands still belong to me, and to me alone, entirely." She raised a hand, to reveal the glimmering wedding rings still on her fingers, "I take offense to that insinuation, you know? They still very much love me, even now. They'll even die for me. Again and again." A twisted scowl crossed her distorted face with a cackle, "Oh, but they ARE mine, absolutely. I keep them safely under lock and key. They gave themselves to me freely of their own accord. They should've known what they were getting into. Whatever happened to them was their own fault. Would you hold the crocodile accountable for it's actions when the tightrope walker just jumps into it's jaws?" She sighed again, a bemused expression now on her face. "But even now, despite their foolishness, I forgive them. That's what a marriage is about, isn't it? 'Unconditional love'? 'Til Death Do Us Part'? Well, we're long dead anyway, but it still stands, even in un-death."

"You know, Constance, in spite of what you think, looks aren't everything," Randall replied, sticking his tongue out. "Emily fell for me because I was a kind, dependable, supportive man who loved her not for her money, but because she was compassionate, gentle, and independent. She always told me she thought I was handsome, even after death, but it's what's inside that counts. You, on the other hand, are just ugly inside and out. You still haven't told me what brand of hair dye you use-whatever it is, it doesn't convince me that you're a natural blonde.

And my bride is not only more beautiful than you-inside and out," he continued, narrowing his eyes at her. "She's also far more terrifying than you'll ever be! My Emily has given untold generations countless nightmares from their visits up to our attic-and she didn't have to prattle on and on to do it. A cold stare and a beating heart still sends shivers down mortals' spines. You? You're a laughing-stock. Even with a hatchet in your hands, you couldn't scare even the biggest chicken-hearted mortal. My bride is remembered fondly, while you'll be forgotten as soon as you're out of this house.

And as for your husbands, I feel sorry for the poor bastards: Even in death, they have to be tied to you. That's the nearest thing to Hell I can think of-being tied to a deluded black widow who only thinks about murder and money. You should've married my murderer-it'd have been the biggest favor you could've done, the nicest thing you could've done in your miserable life, hacking his head off."

He then added, "And leave poor Miss Allie out of this! It's not her fault she got eaten, the rope was frayed-the other carnies didn't check it before she got on."

[cjsinkythoughts]

FATWS One Shot #5 - Reminiscing

Word Count: 1195

Warnings: Mention of The Fall, Cursing, Teasing, Fluff, Not Much Else

Setting/Characters: Takes place before they moved to D.C., so before Stars, Stripes, and Bubbles and CA:TWS; In New York City; Reader, Steve Rogers

A/N: I didn’t post any writing today so I whipped this up because I wanted to at least put a dent in the One Shot list. I know it’s a bit out of order, but I got this request and I wanted to make it separate from the movie scenes because I felt like Steve would’ve told her this before. They also hadn’t visited the museum yet, obviously, or else she’d know about him already. It’s just a cute little thing about the good ole days. It’s a bit shorter, but there wasn’t much more to add and I like it the way it is.

I’ll try posting more this week; I’m babysitting my little cousin tomorrow and Tuesday, but I’m off work Wednesday, so I’ll be able to write more then. The next One Shot is already being worked on; it’s back in order so it’s gonna take place during TWS. I have to update the One Shot list to accommodate the ideas brainstormed between myself, a couple friends, and you lovely readers.

This isn’t beta’d, as usual, so please excuse any mistakes! Be kind to yourselves and others! Enjoy this one, thank you for reading, and stay tuned!

FATWS Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts Masterlist

You let out a wolf whistle, leaning on the back of Steve’s chair. “Who is that? He’s pretty cute. You know, for someone from a hundred years ago.”

Steve scoffed and rolled his eyes at you with a smile on his lips. It fell when he looked back down at the black and white picture that was fraying at the ends and had a tint to it from the time it’s spent on the earth. The young man you were pointing at, probably mid-20s if you had to guess, was grinning at the camera, looking sharp in an Army uniform, hat tilted on his head.

“That’s…Bucky.”

“Bucky?” You snickered, but then you caught sight of the far off look in Steve’s eye and found yourself frowning. “Who was he?”

“He was…” Steve sighed, leaning back into the chair, his head falling back onto your forearm. “He was my best friend.”

You set your chin on his shoulder, looking at another picture, yellowing with time. He was in that one too, over to the side with a cigarette in his mouth, his arm around two other soldiers, dark hair slicked back. You had heard about the Howling Commandos, who you were guessing were the other guys in the photo. Everyone learned about them in history class in grade school. Captain America and his Commandos fighting against HYDRA, beating the Nazis and saving the day. “Did you meet in Italy?”

“No.” Steve shook his head, carefully setting down the beat up picture. “We…we met when we were kids. We grew up together. In Brooklyn.”

Humming, you studied him, noting the tightened jaw and the crease in his brow, you looked down and tilted your head, spotting another picture of the two of them smiling. Tracing it gently, you tenderly inquired, “he meant a lot to you?”

“He was my brother. He was always there for me. At my lowest, he held me up. I never was truly alone. I always had him.”

You could hear the grief in his voice as he spoke in adoration about the man, frozen in time with a smile on his face in a frame to protect him from fading. “What happened?” You asked softly, running your fingers through Steve’s gold locks that were falling in his eyes.

Steve gave a heavy sigh, closing his eyes. “A mission went sideways. To catch Zola?” He looked up at you to see if you had read about that particular operation of theirs in a file somewhere. You nodded, remembering vaguely the mission he was talking about.

“A train in the Alps, right? I thought you caught him, though.”

The man nodded, sad eyes avoiding your gaze. “We did. But…we were ambushed. Bucky…Bucky and I were separated. I tried to get to him…I couldn’t-” He stopped talking, closing his eyes to compose himself. “He fell and I couldn’t reach him in time.”

“Steve…” you shook your head, scratching that spot at the nape of his neck you knew helped him relax. “It wasn’t your fault, bubs.” He opened his mouth to argue, but decided against it and nodded. “May I?”

He nodded again when you gestured to the box he had on the desk in front of him, letting you look through the other pictures he had. “Tell me about him.”

The blonde gave a little chuckle, smiling fondly at the memories spinning around in his brain. “He was a jerk. He always tried to keep my outta trouble. We met after some kids tried stealing my lunch money. I-I kinda tried fighting them. He beat ‘em up for me.”

“You never did like bullies.”

He grinned at you. “No…no I didn’t. There was this one time…”

You leaned your cheek against his shoulder and watched his face light up as he told you stories about him and Bucky being boys. Playing in the mud, racing through Central Park, going to Coney Island, eating ice cream, sitting on the fire escape. 

“He used to read to me. A lot. When I got sick and stuff. He liked reading. He told me it was his way of taking me somewhere without getting outta bed. I used to draw him scenes from his favorite books while listening. It gave me something to do with my hands. That’s why I picked it up. I could do it from bed.”

“Did he draw too?”

“Hell no! Pal could barely draw a stick figure! I made him take this art class with me and all he did was mope about it because it was the only class he had trouble in. But it was our agreement; he could take me to the gym he went to if he came with me to class.”

You giggled at the image of scrawny little Steve in a gym. “You went to a gym?”

He gave you a bemused look. “You’re not funny. Yes I went to a gym. I didn’t do much. Bucky trained a lot though. He was the YMCA welterweight champion three years in a row.”

“No kidding.” You picked up a picture of Bucky sitting on a couple steps, a t-shirt tucked into pants being held up by suspenders. “Look at those arms.”

“Shuddup!” Steve laughed, pushing you playfully. 

You sniggered. “I’m just saying. I bet he got all the ladies.”

“Are you kidding? Dames lined up at the door to dance with him. You would’ve too,” he poked your side. “If you lived back then.”

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “He’s cute, but I’d much rather watch you draw.”

Steve snorted. “Trust me. You’d be singing a different tune if you met him. You would’ve liked him. He would’ve liked you.” He went quiet, his expression morphing into one of contemplation.

“Well anyone willing to stand up and hang out with that stubborn kid from Brooklyn has my vote.” You joked, ruffling his locks.

Steve didn’t say anything. He just looked at you for a minute, before turning back to the pictures and starting to clear them away. “I’m gonna put these away and we can go for that run, alright?”

You nodded, getting off of him and stretching. “Alright. But you can’t lap me again!” He chortled at that, smirking not so innocently. “I’m so serious, Rogers! That was mean! I feel so out of shape when you do that!”

“Alright, alright. I won’t honey. I promise.” He grabbed your hand and placed a kiss to your knuckles. “And you’re beautiful no matter what, okay?”

“Sure, bubba.”

“I mean it!”

You smiled at his insistence, his eyebrow knit together in seriousness. “Okay. Meet me outside when you’re done.”

“Yes ma’am!” He nodded, spinning back to his keepsakes and adding as an afterthought, “wanna go see a moving picture?”

You gave him an amused look, trying not to laugh. “Yeah, Stevie. I’d love to go see a movie with you.”

He blushed, the tips of his ears turning bright red. “Movies. Right.”

“Don’t worry about it, Steve. It’s endearing.” You winked at him as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Now hurry up. I wanna get out there before it gets too hot.”

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All Works Taglist (Open):

@happygoreading​ @bibliophilewednesday​ @breadqueen95​ @marvelettesassemble​ @w-wolfhxrd​

[deadbiwrites]

hey, for the ask thing, can you do #9 under random: “You come here often?” “Well, I work here. So I think I’d have to say ‘yes’.”

This one was so fun!!

--

Kara doesn’t drink, usually.

It’s not like, a thing, that she doesn’t drink. Some sort of moral or religious blah blah whatever, it’s just that she… doesn’t.

So when she’s dragged out to the bar for Nia’s 21st birthday, she expects it to be more of the same- her friends will get drunk, Brainy will dominate at the trivia game that’ll inevitably be crawling across a screen at the bar, Nia will flirt with Brainy, Alex will stare and sigh at Sam all night, James and Mike will inevitably get at each other’s throats (how they manage to play on the same team without killing each other, Kara will never know), Mike will flirt with her and be hurt when she shoots him down, James will pull out his camera and take candids that Alex will doubtlessly demand to see and then delete immediately, and Kara will eventually wrangle them all into her minivan and drive them back to campus.

A typical Thirsty Thursday with her closest friends (and also Mike, for some reason).

Except that tonight, instead of Al’s, the dive they usually flock to, they’re at some martini bar downtown. And though the reasoning makes sense (Nia can’t really openly celebrate her 21st at the bar she’s been frequenting for the past 2 years with a fake ID), and it is her birthday and she wants to go someplace-

��Swanky,” Alex murmurs as Sam lets out a low whistle behind them.

This is barely a bar, it more closely resembles a set from a 30’s noir movie, with the large chandeliers dripping crystal overhead and the rich, polished wooden floor underfoot. For crying out loud, there’s a live jazz band- not a quartet, a full band- across what is clearly a dance floor, and the waiters and waitresses are all dressed in vests and ties (and not the cheap kind Kara had to wear for the week she worked at the catering company).

In short, it’s gorgeous, and glamorous, and she’s infinitely glad she’d asked Nia what she should wear because her usual jeans-and-a-sweater combo surely wouldn’t fly here, but the suit she wore to her cousin’s wedding this past summer definitely does.

They’re greeted by a friendly but slightly harangued-looking hostess, who quickly ushers their group to a large booth in the corner. Each of them peruses the drink menu, and quickly realize that they have no idea what any of the cocktails listed actually are.

"Yeah, great, this is- I love doing a Google search to get drunk," Alex grumbles sarcastically as she scrolls through her phone, pulling a face at something or other. "How many of these have absinthe in them? Jesus."

Kara laughs. "What, no green fairies for you tonight?"

"It was one time!"

"Aw, we still like you even though you're afraid of the mean, scary alcohol," Sam coos at Alex, smile tinged with an edge of teasing and Alex melts like so much wax before a flame.

Ridiculous. 

"Make out already," Nia jeers. When they both flip her off she turns to Kara, seemingly confused. "That was a legitimate suggestion, though?"

"I know. One day," Kara hums, throwing her arm around Nia’s shoulder and pulling her into a half-hug.

Their waiter appears, smooth and charming and managing to get Winn firmly under his spell in a matter of seconds. But in Winn's defense, he has a perfect smile, great hair, and a British accent.

Poor boy never stood a chance against all that. They each place their orders for a fancy drink, and when the waiter, Jack, turns his attention to Kara, Alex interrupts with, "She wants a Potion D'Amour."

"Oh, a love potion," he muses, smiling at Kara. His eyes catch on something and his smile widens. "I know just the lady to make it for you. Back in a tick."

And he's off before Kara can protest. Resigned, she turns to her sister. "Why?"

Alex rolls her eyes fondly. "Just take a sip. If you don't like it, one of us will finish it for you.”

“Fine, fine.”

--

So, as it turns out, Kara likes the love potion. A lot.

“It tastes like berries,” Kara marvels.

“We know, Kara, you told us when you were drinking the last one,” Alex chuckles.

“And the one before that,” Nia adds.

“You guys are so nice. I love you all so much.”

“Well at least she’s a happy drunk,” James chuckles.

“‘m not drunk,” Kara insists. “‘m always happy, ya butts.”

“Sure Kar, and the sky is red.”

Kara frowns as her friends all laugh. “Rude. Who wants another one?”

They all raise a hand, and Kara moves off in the general direction of the bar.

Or, well, she does her best.

“Hey there! Did you need something, luv?”

It’s Jack-the-waiter, looking at her with some bemusement.

“Yeah! Hi, sorry. Um, they all want more drinks, and I just, um…”

“Needed a break?”

She slumps in relief. “Yeah. Is that bad? Like, I love them and all, but I think I’m kinda drunk and they’re… a lot.”

Jack chuckles. “Trust me, I understand. If you want a minute of quiet, there’s a stool on the end of the bar that no one ever sits in. Got your name on it.”

“Thanks! You’re a very good waiter. Hey, d’you have any drink recommendations? Maybe one a little, um… lighter?”

“‘Course I do luv. Really fancy, too. C’mere, I’ll tell ya,” Jack says, motioning her close. When Kara is a few inches away, he tells her the secret. “It’s called ‘coffee’.”

Kara laughs as he winks and moves away to another table. She spots the empty barstool he’d mentioned and ambles over, dropping into it with a sigh. From here, she has a view of approximately nothing, given its location behind a pillar, and she leans back against the wall, the cool wood paneling chilly even through her jacket and shirt. 

“Long night?”

Kara’s eyes flutter open (when did they close? Maybe she is drunk…) and across from her is quite probably the most beautiful person she’s ever seen in her life.

“Wow.”

The girl smirks, quirking a brow upward. “You okay there?”

“Yeah. I um, I think I just had too many love potions.”

“Oh, so it was you ordering those,” the pretty, pretty girl drawls. “They’re a pain in the ass to make, you know. Mostly the garnish, but still, I’m tempted to be annoyed with you, for being so high-maintenance.”

“Oh, Jack said he knew the girl for the job!” Kara says. “They were really good, I usually don’t even drink, but those were great.”

“Well well, keep talking, I thrive on flattery,” the girl jokes. She extends a hand. “Lena.”

“Kara, Kara Danvers. Wow, your hands are big.”

Lena barks a delighted laugh. “You have all the subtlety of a hand grenade, Kara Danvers.”

Kara flushes. “Oh, that’s- wow, sorry.”

“You’re fine. Like I said, I thrive on flattery,” Lena says, throwing her a very cute two-eyed wink. She turns suddenly, fixing a polite, professional smile on her face. “Good evening, sir. What can I get for you?”

“Another round for my friends. And your number, gorgeous.”

Mike.

Lena remains polite, face impassive even as Kara hastily ducks out of sight under the bar. “What drinks did you and your friends have?”

“I dunno, fancy stuff. The waiter guy probably knows- my friend was supposed to come get us another round, but she probably bailed.”

“Oh yeah? Not much of a partier?” Lena asks, eyes darting to (hidden) Kara.

“Nah. Don’t get me wrong, Kara can be cool, but she’s a little… uptight. Needs to relax every once in a while.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So what’s your story, beautiful? You come here often?”

There’s a beat of silence before Lena drawls, “Well I work here, so… I’d have to say yes…”

Kara claps a hand over her mouth to muffle the laugh she can’t keep inside.

This obviously throws Mike off whatever game he thinks he has. “Oh, that- right. Um. That was a joke.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll ask your waiter what your order was- do you know who he is?”

“Um… he has a beard?”

“Jack, his name is Jack,” Kara mutters under her breath.

“Right. I’ll ask him. Did you need anything else?”

“No, thanks.”

There’s an extended silence before Lena says, “You can come up for air now, Kara Danvers.” 

Kara peeks over the edge of the bar, flushing again when Lena snickers at her.

“Good friend of yours?”

“No. He’s- I don’t even know why he’s here? Like one day we all hated him and then the next he was always around. Nia doesn’t even like him, and it’s her birthday.”

“Really? Good that she doesn’t- seems like a douche.”

Kara barks out a laugh, smothering in quickly and grinning behind her palm as Lena grins slyly over at her without turning her head. “He is a douche. He always asks me out even though I’ve told him no, like, a million times.”

Lena frowns at this, turning her attention fully to Kara. “Does he?”

“Yeah. My sister hates his guts, and so does our friend James, but somehow he just… sticks around.” Kara shrugs. “He’s pretty harmless, just really annoying.”

Lena hums, gaze narrowed. “He’s not worth your politeness, Kara.”

“Eh. Besides, I’m kinda doing the same thing to you, right? Just like, demanding all your attention?”

Lena bobbles her head side to side. “I’d say it’s a bit different.”

“Why, because I’m drunk?” Kara laughs. “‘m sorry about that, by the way.”

“First off, I don’t think you’re all that drunk,” Lena confides, leaning over the bar so . “Those drinks really aren’t all that strong. And secondly, there’s a difference because I am actually enjoying your attention, Kara Danvers.”

“Oh. Oh, okay. Cool,” Kara mutters to herself.

Lena smirks. “So, Kara Danvers- even though I already know the answer to this-, do you come here often?”

“Um, no. But I think I might start…”

Lena’s sly grin morphs into a broad smile, dimpling her cheeks and making her eyes shine in the low bar light. “Good.”

[hermitblurbs]

Writer’s cut??? 👀 I for one would adore a writer’s cut of your latest blurb, or literally anything you’ve written so far that you have Thoughts on. I love me so writer’s cuts.

Writer’s cut for the sleepless nights at Botem! I couldn’t make a decision on which to do myself due to having thoughts all of the time, so I went for the latest post at the time!

When the members of Boatem can’t sleep, they end up at the Boatem hole.

The idea of Boatem sleepovers lives oh-so fondly in my heart. Where would they have it other than around their pet void?

At first it was him and Scar, and typically at each other’s starter bases. And then Last Life came and went and before they knew it, they had Impulse showing up at Grian’s, Pearl to Impulse’s, Mumbo to Scar’s, and they all eventually agreed it’d just be easier to end up at the hole. They’ve ended up at empty bases one too many times.

The notion of going to find someone for comfort after the death game that is Last Life only to find the base empty is a very traumatizing experience, maybe. The notion of going on a wild goose chase to find which base your buddies all ended up on, however, is a bit more amusing.

So far, tonight was just him. A lone bird in the grass.

I was thinking of Miraculous Ladybug, Chat Blanc and his little song about being a lonely cat on a roof. Good thing Grian won’t be alone for long!

The bloated moon glares down at him, but somehow, the world is peaceful.

I dabble a lot in art, and maybe it’s that part of me speaking but I positively love drenching things in moonlight. It’s prominent in my Scarian post-last life blurb, and it’s prominent here. There’s something about that midnight light that hits different.

He’s bundled up in the ever-growing Boatem blanket pile, staring into the void.

Boatem blanket pile! My favorite forms of affection especially in large groups of people is a dogpile. Lotta blankets, everyone’s just kind of lying on top of each other and relishing being in each others’ presences.

He doesn’t bet on being alone for long, and his suspicions are confirmed when a quiet meow reaches his ears.

Scar is never far behind his cat, and Jellie’s just curled up in his lap. Not even a minute goes by before he can hear the rhythmic tap of a cane.

No way I’m leaving Jellie out of this! My beloved!! Also, depending on the world, all of my Scars have different designs. Grians stay relatively the same but might have an extra detail or two.

“Why hello there, my dear Grian,” his friend greets before collapsing in a tired heap of Scar at his side.

“What’d you dream of this time?” Grian asks, bemused. The others were a bit shaky when it came to sharing, Mumbo in particular,

Mumbo’s plenty open! Just not to Grian, since, y’know, the mans killed him.

but it was Scar here alone, and they weren’t ones to keep a secret. Secrets. He’s got one secret that he’ll keep right here, and one day he’ll die.

Yeah, that’s a crush.

He shifts to fit them both under the blankets, Scar a line of welcome warmth along his side.

“You,” is the mumbled reply. “Still mostly you.”

A shiver runs up his back at how Scar’s breath fans over his neck, and he brushes it off with a laugh.

Kinda gay bro

“Seeing me’s not making them worse, is it?”

“Not seeing you’d make it worse.” Scar and Jellie somehow manage to coordinate the same quiet, content sigh, and Grian decides that he’ll simply die right this moment of their combined cuteness.

Pet owners and pets mimic each other. I’ve seen my friend do that, and I can confirm that it is very cute.

“What’d you dream about, G? What scenario keeps you from lady sleep’s welcoming embrace?” It was a familiar dance, made back when it was only them.

They sought out each other’s comfort after 3rd life. It was a little rocky at first, but like with every new thing in life you find a pattern. Their dreams would almost always have each other in it for obvious reasons, good or bad.

“You.” He rests his head on Scar’s. If he felt like being honest, which he rarely did, he’d say that he knew tonight would be quiet, and Scar was always up when Boatem got quiet.

Last life loneliness. Magical Mountain got pretty quiet and when it wasn’t, that meant trouble. That experience brews a certain concoction of emotions, none pleasant. So when it gets real quiet, sometimes Scar needs a reminder that he hasn’t been left alone again.

That tied back into him being up for Scar though, so he’s at least half-honest. It was better than dream after dream of beating his friend to death.

Grian seemed a lot more closed off during last life, and I do think killing Scar would’ve been carried with him even all this time later. Makes you wonder—oh shit I just got a new idea. Stay tuned for that I guess?

“It’s always us, huh?”

The moon’s close enough to trace her craters, and Grian finds himself doing just that. He reaches blindly, and Scar takes his hand without hesitation.

I’m telling y’all, there’s something about moonlight. The moon in general. There’s also something about hands, about reaching and someone taking it like they have their whole life.

“It’s always been us.”

It’s always been you.

This entire blurb was written to try and embody the phrase “Alone together.” It’s about knowing someone deep enough that you feel complete in their presence. It’s about saying ‘I love you’ in every little action you do and in every part of them you remember enough to keep with you.

Staying awake on quiet nights, knowing where you can find their hand to hold… romances for me aren’t all about loud declarations. They’re about the quiet moments, too. Ones that no one really wants to put on camera. Honestly, it’s a bit difficult for me to write because of how unconscious it is. But really.

There’s something about moonlight.

[rockheadcd]

anon said: Steven, tell us what you think about Wallace / do you have any idea what you’re asking for at 10 in the fucking morning. @ohtragedy​ come get your food. | accepting.

Oh, Wallace, huh. The name automatically brings a smile to his lips before a hand dips behind to his belt, procuring a pokeball and allowing it to open. Out comes Metagross, another creature that had a long, long history with Sootopolis’ most revered resident, and Steven plops right on top of them. A throne, so to speak, but, no, he was aware he’d be here awhile, considering there’s about ten different answers that try to take control of his speech at once. It’s enough to make him laugh softly, legs folding one over the other gracefully. “I hope you’re ready for an impromptu history lesson, while you’re at it,” he beams, to which even Metagross makes a sound ( something along the lines of ‘oh, here we fucking go’ ).

“--For a brief start, I’ve never known someone who could do it all like he does. It’s amazing, really. I envy him, if you can believe it. There’s literally nothing he can’t do. He can adapt to anything---he’s really like water.. fits in anything and everything like a glove; he’s important no matter where he is or what he’s doing.” If anything, Steven had learned his flexibilities from Wallace specifically--maturing alongside him meant that, inevitably, they had rubbed off on one another---the good habits and the bad habits.

“I envy him in that, but.. I respect him a lot more than I lead on,” Steven admits fondly--which is silly coming from him, seeing as he’s so domestic when Wallace is around. “I think he’s the only person that knows me better than I know myself.” It’s a very simple way of describing the kind of knowledge Wallace has of him. Steven knows well that the other could so easily bring out different sides of him, maybe as far as to call them personalities depending on the context. Steven wanted nothing more than to give his all and Wallace knew exactly how to bring that out of him. No one else had him on strings like that, and he was aware that it was the same vice versa. Steven could ask anything of Wallace and he’d do it, with or without hesitation. And he had asked some incredibly challenging things of him before. That being said..

“I trust him with my life. I’d trust him with anything, really.” His voice loses the air of bemusement because he’s thinking about it, just how far he’d actually go for this one, singular soul. What kind of person would he be now if he wasn’t there--or as integrated into his life as he was now? It was literal years of history between them, between history buffs and gym challenges, to travels and duties and title matches. The answer looms it’s shadow, stretching farther and farther, causing Steven to momentarily rest a hand over his temple with a small half-humored laugh. The more he thought about it, the more he understands, there’s no healthy explanation for the way these two look at one another anymore. There had been a point where innocence was lost, but that was the sacrifice of growing up. Steven may not have lost his wonder, but he had certainly lost his innocence.

“I think--no, I’m pretty sure I value him more than I value myself. We’ve lived through so much together it’s.. I don’t know how else to describe what I think. I think a lot of things when it comes to him even if I’m not aware of it at the time. I can be shallow and say I think he’s elegant and the most beautiful creature to ever exist. That’s easy. He already knows that, anyway, but no one is above enjoying a little flattery.” His hands come together, lacing fingers as he presses his chin into the dip above overlapping thumbs. Even Metagross looks up at him curiously. There’s a hanging pause and Steven finds a string of words that make sense to him ( at least, to describe the feelings and opinions that aren’t so obvious ).

“..Don’t get me wrong. I don’t worship him. I revere him, but he’s not my god. I think of him as my absolute equal. However. The world would be my collateral if something ever happened to him.”

[highfaelucien]

Hmmm maybe lucien and elain playing with nyx and elain marveling at how good lucien is with children...

@bow-dawn also requested "give us elain watching lucien playing with nyx and that warms her heart enough to have a talk about their mating bond 😭" Everybody wants Lucien with babies because they know he's baby catnip. And I have no idea how children work but an attempt is gonna be made!!!!

send me ship prompts! platonic or otherwise!

Elain's arms were starting to get sore. Even with her being fae now. Arms that had stabbed the King of Hybern were somehow unequal to holding one small Ilyrian baby.

He was a very important baby, to be sure. Since he was her nephew. And the son of the two most powerful people in Prythian's history. Or so everyone kept saying.

Maybe he knew that. He was certainly doing everything in his power to make sure the whole of the Night Court, maybe the whole of Prythian, was aware of him right now, with the racket he was making.

They weren't sure which powers of his parents' the babe would inherit yet, he was too young. But he had an incredibly potent pair of lungs, of that she was sure of.

She'd been holding him for what felt like decades, bouncing him in her arms and trying to soothe him. He had managed to wear through her considerable patience, and she was now bordering on the edge of desperation.

This was her first time babysitting by herself. Feyre and Rhys had trusted her with their son, and she couldn't get him to stop crying! She was a terrible aunt. What kind of mother would she be? Unable to comfort her flesh and blood.

That thought made her stomach plummet. Had she lived out that other life, the one she sometimes saw reflected mockingly back at her in mirrors and pools, and married Greysen...She'd likely already be a mother. Would probably have at least one baby of her own.

She pushed that thought away before she joined Nyx in his crying.

"Cauldron boil me, Feyre!" A voice called from the stairs leading up to the roof where she'd taken Nyx hoping some fresh air might calm him. "What in the name of the Mother are you doing to that hellspawn child to make him scream that way?"

The voice was familiar, but unexpected. But she barely had a moment to process that before the door banged open and she found herself staring at Lucien.

"Oh," they said simultaneously.

Then Lucien, his cheeks changing colour to match his hair, said, looking abashed, "Lady Elain, please forgive me. I, I expected to find Feyre up here."

"I can tell," Elain said, giving him a little smile, "By the way you were shouting her name."

"Yes, well," Lucien muttered, looking rather flustered.

She found she quite liked that look on him. She always tended to see him as the polished, silver-tongued courtier, always composed and prepared to handle anything.

"I, I'm sorry, I didn't expect you to be up here. I would not have spoken to you that way if I'd known you weren't Feyre," he said, with a bow.

"Why not?" Elain said, cocking her head to one side, "I'm not some delicate flower that can't handle hearing curse words, you know," she told him, almost defiantly, "Amren has taught me many new ones. Cassian showed me how to do it in Illyrian. Rhys can be quite inventive when he's grumpy. And when all that fails, I can always just fall back on the word fuck."

He blinked at her, then grinned broadly, "Shockingly, I don't make a habit of cursing at people that I don't know all that well. Feyre and I are good friends, so she has earned my fragrant cursing at her."

"She's also High Lady of the Night Court," Elain said, raising her eyebrows, "With more power than anyone in Prythian's history has held in a long time."

Lucien waved an idle hand, "I knew her before she became all Made and Rhysandish," he told her, "Once you've seen someone puke faerie wine into a fountain of the mother at the Solstice it's hard to see them as too grand to curse at anymore."

Elain giggled at that, then winced, as that apparently seemed to upset Nyx even more.

Lucien raised an eyebrow at them, "Cursing aside," he said, leaning idly against the wall, "My question about that one still stands - what by the Cauldron have you done to him?"

"Lots of things!" Elain said, her voice snapping a little bit, "I've fed him, and I've changed him, and burped him. I've tried to put him down for a nap. I've tried to rock him, and bounce him, as swoosh him side to side. I've talked to him, and I've sung to him, and I've begged him and he still. Won't. Stop. Crying!"

Lucien smiled slightly, which made her want to smack him, because this was absolutely not funny, and she felt tears of frustration starting in her eyes.

"Feyre and Rhys trusted me to look after him on my own and I can't get him to stop crying! I don't know what I'm doing wrong," she confessed hopelessly.

"May I hold him for a moment?" Lucien asked.

Elain hesitated a moment. But Feyre had let him hold her son before. She had seen tears in his eyes when he'd done so, and it had bridged some connection between them that had never fully healed since the war. She didn't think her sister would protest, as long as she was still here.

And she was so tired. Her arms were so sore, and Nyx was becoming a very heavy and dense weight in her arms. So she nodded gratefully, eagerly pushing the little bundle into Lucien's arms.

Lucien held him with a surprising ease, as if he'd done this thousands of times before. A broad, genuine smile spread across his face as he peered down at him, bouncing him slightly in his arms.

Nyx peered up at him. Elain expected this to trigger an increase in the volume of his howling, but, incredibly, he quieted almost at once, seemingly entranced by Lucien's face, his glinting metal eye.

"There we are," Lucien said, smiling, but raised a finger as Nyx started grumbling again, "Now, now, we won't be having any of that," he told him calmly, "Ah, you have wings, don't you? Let's see then..."

Lucien carried him over to the table, unwrapped his blankets. Before Elain could protest about the cold, he rewrapped him, but gently extended his wings first, and curled them around his little body, securing them in place around him with his blankets.

"You know about babies with wings?" Elain asked, bemused.

Lucien nodded, "Certainly," he said, then seemed to consider, "Not Illyrians, and not Rhys-spawn," Elain giggled against her will, "But I'm hoping the principles are the same."

He scooped him up and bounced him. Nyx actually giggled at him, the little monster.

"How did you do that!?" she demanded, peering down at the baby, who was now lifting his chubby little hands and grabbing, as if trying to catch the glinting eye above him.

Lucien smirked, "I have a known gift," he said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. Elain would have whacked him for that, if he hadn't been holding her baby nephew.

"You, you've been around a lot of babies?" she asked.

Nothing in his history, though admittedly she knew little of it, had implied that babysitting had been a big part of it.

"Oh yes," he said, very seriously, "Fae with troublesome younglings came to me from all over Prythian, every court, lesser and high alike so that I could use my gifts and soothe them."

Elain put her hands on her hips and growled at him, "Don't you bullshit me Lucien," she said, as sternly as she could, poking a finger into his chest.

He snickered, still grinning at her, shifting Nyx slightly in his arms as he started to fuss again, "I have a very big family," he said, shrugging.

"I thought you were the youngest of your brothers," she said, frowning.

Lucien nodded, "True," he confirmed, "But I have lots of aunts and uncles and cousins, and friends," he added, with a flicker of some emotion she couldn't quite read. He took a breath and added, "Regardless, they all felt that, as the Lord's seventh son, I didn't have anything better to do with my time than babysit all of their offspring. I've had a reasonable amount of practice."

"Well you saved me today," Elain said, collapsing into the seat that Rhys always liked to sit and brood in, overlooking the Sidra, "I don't know what I did wrong," she muttered, bracing her chin in her hands and sighing dejectedly.

Lucien cautiously approached, Nyx still cradled in his arms, and sat in the seat next to her, also glancing out over the city. "If it helps," he said, "You did everything right. Sometimes babes are just tricksy little bastards," he said with a shrug,

She frowned, trying to determine if he was patronising her.

"They like to be dramatic and seek for attention," Lucien told her calmly, "Especially when they have Rhysand, Night Discomfort, Death Irritate, the most dramatic bastard to ever spread drama, as their father" he added in a lofty voice that acutally sounded uncannily like Rhys.

Elain stuffed her fist in her mouth to stop herself snorting as she laughed.

"He is very dramatic," she agreed, tickling Nyx's tummy.

Lucien smiled down fondly at the babe, and for all his comments about him being dramatic, there was a tenderness in his face she had never seen before from him.

It made him look younger. His face was still scarred and strange, with that mechanical eye, but there was a gentleness in him she hadn't seen from most fae in her time in Prythian, it made her feel safe and calm.

Nyx started fussing a little again, and Lucien hushed him, and fluttered his fingers in the air above him. Little lights appeared above him, circling like a mobile and flashing different colours.

Elain let out a little gasp of delight watching him, which was echoed by Nyx.

Lucien glanced up at her, a wry smile on his lips as he said, "My magic isn't particularly powerful or impressive, but it's very good for entertaining infants."

"I think it's beautiful," Elain said, quiet, but sincere.

Lucien smiled.

Then he turned his head back to Nyx, tickling him with his free hand while the lights continued to circle, swooping down and booping the child on the nose, causing him to giggle.

Elain felt a sudden pulse of warmth and joy blossom in her chest like a swelling rose, and she let out a little, "Oh!"

Lucien glanced up at her, startled, "Are you alright?"

She put a hand to her chest, without breaking eye contact with him, "I, I fel you," she said quietly.

"I apologise," he said, looking truly sorrowful, "I usually keep better control of myself, but being around you makes that more difficult."

The little river of his joy faded away as he closed off the bond on his end.

"No!" she cried, with a desperation she couldn't quite explain, reaching out and putting a hand on his arm, "No," she repeated, more quietly, "Please don't, don't close down on me."

He raised his eyes, and held her gaze, unwavering, unfaltering. She felt that river again, the joy at holding the babe still there, but also excitement, anxiety, and almost unbearable anticipation. Though she had the sense he was trying to keep her from the worst of it.

"It's good," she whispered, "It feels good. I've, I've had dreams of you," she told him, "So much pain. So much guilt, and sadness, and hopeless need."

He ducked his head, turning away from her, seeming ashamed, "I'm sorry that you-"

"No," she said, quiet but firm, cupping his face in her hand, tracing his scar with her thumb, "No. You don't apologise to me for the things that others have done to you. You never do that," she said, with a fierceness that surprised even her.

"I shouldn't have let that touch you," he said quietly, "I, I don't want anyone to feel that, least of all you."

Elain held his gaze and, for the first time, she tentatively tapped at that string inside her, on her bottom rib, that one that extended beyond her in a way even her newfound Sight did not.

Through it, carefully, she pushed all of the depression, all of the pain, and all of the grief, and hopelessness, and even the darkness that had almost claimed her, caused her to step into it and never return.

He started, and his eyes filled with a thin veil of tears. But not because of the emotions she shared, but the fact that they were twin to his own. The fact that, as he looked into her eyes, he knew that she had felt what he had felt.

"We are the light for so many," she said quietly, "The sun that they grow towards, the thing they reach for in their own darkness, when they need hope, and someone who will always find a smile for them."

Lucien nodded, and picked up that thread she'd left dangling for him, causing one of his orbs to circle close to Nyx. The baby tried to catch it, giggling, and Elain saw that, but also the shadow it cast on his soft skin.

"But where there is light, there is shadow," he murmured, eyes not leaving hers, "That is the quiet burden we bear to be their light."

Elain nodded, and together they looked back down at Nyx, and let the warmth and joy at him flow, tentatively, between their bond.

***

thank you!! I hope you enjoyed!!!

[flaminpumpkin]

Small treasures

“Five more minutes,” Bruce grumbled as he distantly heard the door open through his sleepy haze.

There was some shuffling sound around the room and then it was flooded with bright morning light as Alfred mercilessly opened the heavy curtains, the rays of sunshine hitting the Bat right in the face, making him scramble for the covers to hide his sensitive eyes. 

“Very well, Master Bruce. Breakfast will be ready for you in the kitchen.”

He was so used to Alfred’s barely hidden exasperation after all these years that his words took longer than usual to register with Bruce. A frown appeared on his face as he finally realized what was wrong with the butler’s statement. 

Alfred never served breakfast – or any meal for that matter – in the kitchen. 

He would rather shoo everyone out with a spatula full off batter than let anyone eat where he cooked. Bruce couldn’t even count the number of times he had seen Dick or Tim appear in the dining room with a sheepish look, a thoroughly exasperated Alfred hot on their heels. 

Pushing the sheets away just enough to uncover his head, Bruce peeked over his shoulder at the still open door, eyebrows knitting further in confusion. 

“What?”

Something caught his eyes. 

There was a piece of yellow paper on the nightstand. An origami bat, he realized after finally deciding to emerge from the sea of sheets and pillows he had buried himself in during his sleep. He reached for it and took the little paper animal gingerly between his fingers, eyes focusing enough to read “unfold me” written in elegant cursive right at its center. 

Bruce did as he was told.

Dear Master Bruce, 

My words most probably confused you as the kitchen is a place I do not tolerate for anyone to eat in. But, need I remind you, there always has been one peculiar occasion where I allowed you to do so.

A.

Bruce stared at the note, confusion growing. 

Oh.

His eyebrows raised a bit, pleasantly amused. There was indeed one occasion Alfred would let him eat in the kitchen while he worked. What did the kids put Alfred to this time? 

Led by his curiosity, Bruce climbed off the bed, fully awake now as he put on a shirt, and padded out of the bedroom, towards the kitchen. 

No one was there when he arrived, which wasn’t odd per say but he had learned to be cautious over years of attempted surprise parties. There was a plate though, on the little table, with French toasts that smelled like butter and cinnamon and a cup of coffee with probably enough sugar and cream that it didn’t even taste like coffee anymore.

It was a breakfast Alfred had always prepared for him on the morning of his birthday after his parents’ death. He would put the plate on this same table and work silently as Bruce happily ate, the two of them sharing the same space in the simplest way. It wasn’t a grand gesture but it had meant the world to him nonetheless.

Another little origami bat was waiting for him, propped against the cup. A small smile tugged at his lips.

Bruce put it aside before starting to eat, careful not to stain the paper with coffee or grease, only taking it again once he had cleared the table and washed his hands. He unfolded it with the same care as the first.

My happy place. 

(Took a piece of bread. Alfred said yes. Thank you.)

Cass

The dance studio on the third floor. 

A while back, Bruce had decided to redesign one of the biggest rooms on that floor in a place where Cass could dance that wasn’t the ball room. He had wanted for it to be a place only for her, where she could express herself and spend time however she pleased, without anyone bothering her. His greatest recompense had been the radiant smile on her face before she had locked himself in there and played music until late that night. 

The next course of action wasn’t too hard to guess so Bruce quickly folded the paper back into its bat form, slid it in the pocket of his pajama pants, along the first one, and headed for the next place.

As expected, he found another bat in Cass’s dance studio, tucked into the folds of a bright orange knitted scarf. There was a running joke between his kids saying that it was because Bruce always forgot to take a scarf with him during winter that his Batman voice sounded so bad.

One thing was for sure, he would not forget this one.

Hey B, remember that time you told me you were proud of me and then proceeded to suffocate me with your muscles? Just kidding, you give great hugs. Like, super comfy, 10/10. But yeah, go there next.

Steph :p

He huffed at Stephanie’s words, eyes rolling with fondness. He remembered perfectly what she was referring to. 

The young woman had been staying in the manor for a few days that time, Alfred being keen on keeping her under careful observation after she had been hit with a new type of fear gas while on patrol with Dick. She had continuously apologized to Bruce, blaming herself for Dick’s injuries. 

Until the third day, where he had found her reading in the library, curled up in one of the love seats. Before she could utter a word, he had crouched down and grabbed her hands firmly.

“You do not need to apologize or blame yourself for anything, do you hear me? You managed to drag Dick and yourself out of this building while under the influence of fear gas when most would have stayed frozen in place. I’m sure he will agree that a few scratches and broken bones are far better than what would have awaited him if you hadn’t been there. I’m proud of you, Stephanie Brown. More than you’ll ever know.”

After that, she had thrown herself at him and Bruce had hugged her for the better part of an hour until Alfred had come to fetch her for some blood analysis. 

This time, when he walked into the next place of this little treasure hunt, he found a laptop, sitting open on the table next to one of the windows. The windows of the library were wide and high and the spot where the next gift awaited was one of his favorites. 

So he let himself sink in the armchairs cushions and started to play the video.

“You better not ruin this, Todd,” Damian was saying, standing next to the piano in the lounge of the west wing, violin already positioned on his shoulder.

Jason was scowling at the piano in front of him, focused.

“Just take the lead, brat. I’ll follow.”

“Could you two focus, please?” Tim said off camera.

The other two huffed with the same affronted look towards the camera.

Then the melody started and both of their faces softened. It was gentle, melancholic. Almost sad if you asked Bruce. But he listened with a smile on his face, bemused at the sight of his two quick tempered sons playing with a soft kind of intensity together, Jason following Damian’s lead flawlessly – probably the result of hours of practice. It was truly beautiful and he knew that the melody was one of Damian’s compositions. 

But it was over too soon for Bruce’s taste so he played it a second time, closing his eyes. And then a third as he read the next message, only heading for the next place once it was over.

Blah blah blah, some cute shit about us bonding, blah blah blah. Just get your ass to the garage old man.

Ps: Remember your Aston Martin? I think I scratched it a bit but I’ll blame it on Timmy anyway. 

Jay.

Bruce knew exactly which car Jason was talking about (and knew perfectly that he didn't scratch it). An Aston Martin DB5 he had inherited from his father. Nobody had driven it in ages when Jason had brought it up during dinner one evening, not long after he had taken him in. 

“Isn’t that James Bond's car?”

“It is. But it’s been so long since the last time I used it, I’ll probably need to pop open the hood before anything else if I want to drive it again.”

“Can I help you fix it?”

Jason’s eyes had been so full of hope and excitement when he had asked Bruce. He had laughed before agreeing. The next day, Alfred had had to come and pry them away from the car for lunch because both of them had forgotten about eating in their eagerness. 

He noticed a tape case on the board as he approached, in front of the wheel. Bruce opened the door and climbed in so he could reach for it easily. On the piece of paper tucked between the clear case and the tape, Bruce could see every song scribbled, one in each of his children’s handwriting. He recognized a song by The Clash in Tim’s handwriting – of course – and Midnight Sonata in Damian’s. The other titles and artists were mostly lost on him, except maybe for that Belgian one Cass listened to a lot.  

I can’t count the number of times I fell asleep there while you worked and you had to carry me back to my room.

Dick

Bruce couldn’t recount either.

Although he remembered fondly the first time Dick had fallen asleep in his study, curled up in one of the seats across his desk while he worked on some urgent papers for WE. They both had been so young. Bruce being completely new to parenthood, he had seeked out Alfred who had only fixed him with a blank stare before sending him back.

“Don’t you dare wake up this child, Master Bruce.”

He had actually managed to pick up the gangly child without waking him up, even if rather awkwardly, and had carried him all the way to his bedroom uneventfully. Only to trip on one of Dick’s schoolbooks once there, nearly dropping him. 

They had both elected not to mention it to Alfred and, to this day, it was still something only the two of them knew about.

When he arrived at his study, another message was waiting for him in the seat Dick used to sleep in, along with a gift card for that 24 hours coffee shop that had opened recently in downtown Gotham. Bruce let out a breathy laugh at that.

I know you always listen when I play, Father. Why do you think I leave my door open when I do?

D. Wayne

And here he thought he had been smooth. However, he should have expected that his son would pick up on his habit of passing by his room while he rehearsed with his violin. 

But Bruce couldn’t resist the pull in his chest. Damian was a gifted player, just like Jason, able to translate raw emotions in barely a few notes. It always put his mind at ease, smoothed out his most troubled thoughts even for only a few moments. He had caught everyone at least once, standing outside of his youngest’s door, listening to soft melodies in a rare moment of peace. 

It was silent moments shared with everyone, brought together by Damian's deft fingers. Something he had been doing knowingly and willingly apparently. It made it all the more special for Bruce.

There was no gift when he went searching for the next clue in Damian’s room. Or so he thought.

Sitting on his son’s music-stand along with yet another yellow origami bat, was an open partition. It was still in work, Bruce could tell. Notes were hastily written with a pencil, a few stains where some had been erased. Nothing out of the ordinary for Damian and his creative mind. Except for the title.

Ode to Family. 

Thankfully, no one was around to witness the shuddering breath that escaped him as he read. He exited the room still unable to breathe normally, heart so full he almost felt like suffocating, and walked towards his next – and probably last – location.

You spent hours trying to teach me how to dance the waltz there after I told you I wanted to take Steph dancing for her birthday. I still don’t know how to dance but we had fun.

Tim

Indeed, Bruce still regularly caught Tim stepping on his partner’s toes during charity galas and other events. But he suspected the young man of going to great lengths to not learn how to dance correctly because it usually dissuaded most people from asking him to dance with them. And god knew how much his son disliked dancing. 

That was why it had greatly surprised him when Tim had asked him for help.

“I wasn’t really the best boyfriend to her so I just… I thought I could at least be a good friend and take her dancing? She loves it when Cass takes her in the studio and they dance so I just thought… Yeah…”

Five hours later, Tim had made absolutely no progress. He had known the steps by heart at this point, had it memorized and yet, he couldn’t seem to stop stomping on Bruce’s toes. To both Dick’s and Alfred’s delight.

His eldest son probably still had videos of it, he thought as he entered the vast and empty ballroom. There was nothing out of the ordinary or out of place and Bruce almost expected for his family to sneak up on him and surprise him when he noticed one last, black origami bat on the wooden floor, right in the center of the room. 

He crouched down and unfolded it slowly, warily even, some would say.

Terrace on the second floor. You know, the one where I inelegantly asked you to marry me and you just stared for a good five minutes before laughing. (And saying yes, of course.)

It wasn’t signed and even if the message wasn’t telling enough, he would recognize that hasty scribble everywhere.

Bruce took off, climbing stairs two by two and running down hallways. His heart was pounding in his chest. 

He had been gone for six months. Six excruciatingly long months of absolutely no contact, of not having any means to make sure his husband-to-be – yes, that idiot had asked him to marry him just before leaving – was still alive and well. Six months of worrying, of his children asking nervously if he had any news of his whereabouts. 

Bruce barged through the French doors leading to the wide terrace on the second floor of the manor and, surely enough, everyone was there. Absolutely everyone. 

“Happy birthday, Spooky. Half a century, we gotta celebrate,” Hal drawled with an easy grin.

“Someone take the cake away from Hal. Right now, before they ruin it!” Bruce heard someone say distantly and, next thing he knew, he had taken the few steps still separating them and was kissing Hal, holding him close by the lapels on his jacket. 

There were groans, cheers and something that sounded a lot like someone telling them to get a room. Hal laughed against his lips, pecked him one last time before pulling away, opening his arms widely with a grin. A clear invitation for everyone to pile up on them which everyone took with great enthusiasm, barreling into them and crushing Bruce and Hal under their combined weight.