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dontcare77ghj · 4 years ago

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Witches

Natasha x reader x Bucky

Wanda Maximoff was young. Only sixteen and she had now joined the Avengers. But the team had noticed that there was something different about the girl, and not just the fact she had gifts from an infinity stone. There was something almost magical about the girl.

"Okay, sit down," Bucky said to the girl after an incident with flying teacups.

"I promise I didn't mean it," Wanda said, refusing to look at anyone. "I didn't know I was using my powers, I thought I was getting better at using them. I don't even know how I did it."

"Wanda, we're not mad at you," Natasha promised, taking the younger girls' hand in her own. "And we think you were using a different type of power."

"What kind of power?" Tony asked the redhead.

"Magick," Bucky answered.

"Before you say anything," Natasha cut Tony off. "Know we're not joking. Wanda, we think you might be a witch. We're not sure if anyone else in your family has the gift or if you're the first, but we're positive you're a witch. We've spoken to someone, and they're willing to teach you everything you need to know."

"And you know Wanda's a witch because you already know one witch?" Bruce asked.

"Intimately." Bucky nodded. "Our girlfriend is a witch."

"Girlfriend?" Tony spoke up. "The two of you have a girlfriend? Why have we never met her? Why did we never know about this?"

"Speak for yourself, Stark," Clint smirked. "Steve and I already have met her."

"We all prefer our privacy," Natasha told him. "These two have only met her because we had to take them to the house during a mission."

"And because you love us." Clint cut in.

"But, we've spoken to Y/N, and she'll be more than happy to help you, Wanda," Bucky said, still looking at the younger woman. "You have more power than you know. And Y/N wants to help and to explain anything she can to you."

"But it is your choice," Natasha told her. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"I would be able to control my powers? And no-one will get hurt?" Wanda asked the two. "I'd stop being dangerous?"

"You're not dangerous," Clint said firmly. "And you never will be."

"Clint's right." Natasha agreed, squeezing the girl's hand. "You're not dangerous. You just haven't been taught how to use this, but you can learn."

"I want to be able to control this." Wanda nodded. "I want to learn. How soon can I start?"

"Tomorrow, if you want." Bucky smiled at the girls' resolve. "Pack a bag and board the jet now. We'd be home for lunch."

"Really?" Wanda asked with wide eyes.

"Really, really." Natasha smiled. "And Clint's volunteered to come with just in case you decide it's not for you, and you want to come home."

"I think I should come too," Tony said. "I need to know what needs to be added to the Tower, after all."

Though Tony tried to play it off, everyone knew why he truly wanted to come along. Since arriving at the Tower, Wanda had gained two new father figures. Clint was the father figure of the team, but he'd stepped it up for the girl. And while Tony may not appear to be a father figure to most people, he had quickly taken Wanda under his wing.

"Okay." Bucky nodded. "Steve, Bruce, do you want to come?"

"I have a mission tomorrow," Steve told him. "But give Y/N my best."

"I would love to meet her, but I'm leaving for a conference in the afternoon," Bruce explained.

"Alright then," Natasha started, clapping her hands as she stood. "The five of us will leave for the house tonight. Get your bags packed, we leave in an hour." She added, taking Bucky's hand and pulling him out of the room.

"Are you okay with this?" Bucky asked, watching as Natasha packed a few last minute things.

"I'm the one who suggested this, Buck." Natasha reminded him.

"When you thought it'd be us, Wand, and Clint. Tony's a new player." Bucky said.

"Tony's family, Buck. We both knew the rest of the team would one day find out about our life. We also knew they'd probably meet Y/N after that." Natasha shrugged. "Do you have a problem with Tony coming?"

"No." Bucky shook his head. "Stark's not that bad, and honestly, I think he's going to get along well with Y/N."

"Those two could take over the world with their combined intellect." Natasha chuckled. "Come on, finish packing. We're leaving soon. I want to get home as soon as we can." She said, kissing the man.

Reader POV

Patience was an old friend. Patience was there during school, during the war, and now patience was there as you waited for your partners.

You'd been sitting in the living room since dawn. Sleep had eluded you as your excitement kicked in. You hadn't seen Natasha or Bucky in seven months. Every time they planned to come home, there was another work emergency that couldn't be handled without them.

Yes, it could be argued this was another work emergency, but that was a mere technicality.

They were coming home.

It was half-past twelve when you heard the tell-tale sounds of an arriving jet. A grin crossed your face as you raced onto the porch. You didn't wait for Natasha or Bucky to join you on the porch as you sprinted across the lawn the second you saw them.

Bucky saw you first and dropped his bags before opening his arms. Propelling yourself forward, you jumped into his embrace and wrapped your legs around his waist.

"I missed you so much." You sighed before kissing the man.

"Missed you too, doll." Bucky smiled, kissing you again.

"You're hogging nasha malen'kaya ved'ma," Natasha complained, putting her arm around your waist and pulling you off Bucky.

"I was just about to come to you." You smiled as she wrapped her arms around you. "I missed you too." You said, quickly connecting your lips.

"That's my girl," Natasha smirked, keeping you close even after you pulled apart.

"Were we supposed to look away for all of that?" Clint asked, suddenly announcing his presence.

"Have you no tack, Tweety?" You grinned, moving to hug the archer. "Of course, you were supposed to look away."

"I'll remember that next time." Clint chuckled.

"Y/N, this is Tony Stark," Natasha introduced you. "He can be a bit of an ass." She smirked as you shook his hand.

"We all know you love my ass," Tony quipped.

"And this is Wanda Maximoff." Natasha continued, turning you to the girl who was shyly standing behind others.

"Oh honey," You smiled, stepping towards her and pulling her into a gentle hug. "It is so nice to meet you."

"You as well," Wanda said, cheeks bright red.

"Well, come on you lot. It's cold out here and warm inside." You said, taking Wanda's hand and leading her and the others inside. "Okay, rooms." You clapped your hands, leading the group upstairs. "Clint, you still have clothes in your room from last time. Tony, you'll be in here and, Wanda, this is your room."

"There's a full bathroom here and another downstairs," Bucky told them, throwing his bag into your shared room.

"You have breakable items in there." Natasha sighed, placing her bag gently by the door.

"Why don't the three of you get settled?" You suggested. "I'll call you all down for lunch when it's ready."

"Thanks, Y/n." Clint nodded, moving into his room.

"He'll be asleep in five minutes," Natasha smirked as Tony also went into his room.

"Would you like any help with lunch?" Wanda asked, standing in her doorway.

"Thank you for the offer, Wanda, but you're our guest." You smiled at her. "Go get settled. Lunch will be ready soon."

"Okay." Wanda nodded before stepping into her room.

"You two should get some rest too." You said to your partners. "You've been flying all night."

"And miss spending time with our favorite doll?" Bucky scoffed.

"Not a chance," Natasha smirked as Bucky threw you over his shoulder. "To the kitchen." She smiled, leading the way.

"You two are ridiculous sometimes." You sighed, smile plastered to your face.

"You love us," Bucky said, putting you on your feet in the kitchen.

"I do. I really do love you two." You said, leaning up to kiss the man. "I missed you." You murmured as you pulled apart.

"We missed you too, dorogoy," Natasha said, pulling you into her embrace. "Seven months is too long."

"I told you we should've just snuck home," Buck complained, beginning to pull out items of food.

"And had the team follow us? No, thank you." Natasha snorted.

"The two of you are home now, and you're both safe and sound. That's all I can ask for." You said, attempting to pull out of her arms. "Nat, I have to help Buck." You giggled.

"Buck's fine. It's been too long since I've had you in my arms." She said into your neck.

"Sorry, Buck looks like you're cooking on your own." You told the man. "I'm stuck." You smiled, leaning back into Natasha's grip.

"I wish I thought of that," Bucky said, putting his hair up. "Great plan Tash."

"How come you don't cook at the tower, Barnes?" Clint asked, piling food onto his plate. "This is so good."

"I cook for Tash at the tower." Bucky shrugs. "Cook for yourself."

"Y/N make Barnes cook for me," Clint whined.

"Hush up, Clint. Or I'll cut off your caffeine supply." You threatened, taking a seat next to Wanda.

"You didn't tell me you're girlfriend is evil." Tony gasped.

"Calm down Stark, she wouldn't do it." Natasha calmed the man, smiling as Wanda giggled. "She's as much a caffeine addict as you are."

"How dare you sully my name." You gasped, hitting Natasha's arm. "Now, Wanda, did these two explain anything more than you just being a witch?" You asked the girl as she served herself.

"Not really." She shook her head.

"Good, they would've screwed up the explanation." You told her.

"Love you too, doll." Bucky rolled his eyes from his seat next to Clint.

"Buck, you still call my wand a stick." You pointed out. "And you used my cauldron for soup."

"That was one time," Bucky grumbled.

"Anyway, we have all the time in the world Wanda. What do you want to know?" You asked the girl.

"How come I didn't know I was a witch? Why did no-one ever tell me?" The girl asked after a second.

"Well, the most likely explanation for why you weren't told is you're a muggle-born,"

"What's a muggle?" Tony interrupted.

"Well, you are. A muggle is what we call non-magic folk. A muggle-born is a witch or wizard born from muggle parents. Like Wanda, and like me." You told him. "And in a normal situation, you wouldn't have been left in the dark. You would have received a letter from your ministry and a visit from a school official. You would have received a full education and graduated with full control." You explained to the girl.

"But why didn't I get that? Why was I left in the dark?" Wanda persisted.

"Do you want the abridged version or long? Neither are too great a story." You chuckled without humor.

"On what kind of scale?" Tony questioned.

"On par with New York," Natasha told him.

"I'd say pick the abridged version. Otherwise, we'll be here for a long time." You suggested.

"Alright then, the abridged version it is." Wanda nodded.

"Well, 17 years ago, there was a war in our world." You began with a deep breath. "It was the second rising of a man named Tom Riddle. Tom was a blood supremacist and wanted to eradicate people like Wanda and me."

"Why would he want to do that?" Tony asked you.

"Our world is split into three categories, and one of them is a group called purebloods. They don't have muggles in their bloodline, and they think they're better than us." You explained. "Tom took these beliefs to the next level. He started this cult following that for years, murdered innocent muggles and muggle-borns alike. No-one thought it would end. A seer had a prophecy about a boy who would be born with the power that Tom would not know and would be able to destroy him.

His name is Harry. Harry Potter. And he's my friend. In 1999, the two of us and our friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger ran away and spent a year running around Britan trying to find Tom's Horcruxes."

"What's a Horcrux?" Wanda asked you.

"It is one of the darkest forms of magic our world knows. It's a ritual that involves the murder of an innocent and ends with the person physically separating their soul." You winced, squeezing Natasha's hand tightly.

"Why would anyone want to do that?" Wanda gasped.

"Because without the destruction of a Horcrux, the person can never truly die." You told her. "Tom split his soul into eight parts. What was left in his body was barely human."

"Jesus, Wand, maybe it's better you didn't enter the wizarding world," Tony said.

"That's British culture, Tony. British magical culture is much different from the rest of the world's." You explained. "The culture's so oppressive that I left after the war. I didn't have anything left after Tom, so I packed up and came here. A home I hadn't seen since I was eight."

"That still doesn't explain why nothing was explained to me." Wanda sighed. "If Tom was a British threat, it shouldn't have affected me in Sokovia."

"It shouldn't have." You agreed. "But after Harry defeated Tom, some of his followers ran rouge. They started appearing around the world and causing havoc. A group of them destroyed the Russian ministry about a year after the war, and according to Hermione, they never fully recovered."

"Well, that sucks," Clint said, causing you to chuckle.

"That's definitely one way to put it." You nodded. "But think of the silver lining here. Wizarding schools are decent for the most part, but they don't teach you about society. Don't teach you about what the outside world's like or anything else like that. At least learning with me one on one, you'll be able to ask these types of questions."

"Plus, you won't have to deal with giant snakes or trolls," Bucky said, making you shake your head and Tony and Wanda's eyes widen.

"I always love the troll story," Clint commented. "I thought it was so much better than the man with two heads."

"Where the fuck did you go to school?"

"Wanda seems to really like you," Natasha commented, pulling on one of Bucky's shirt.

"She's a sweet kid." You said from where you laid with Bucky. "I think teaching her's going to be really easy."

"So, should we not be expecting explosions?" Bucky teased.

"That was one time." You whined, cheeks burning.

"You could have died." He pointed out.

"That's a statement for my whole life." You waved him off. "It was a minor fire, and it wasn't even my fault."

"Of course, it wasn't, honey." Natasha cooed, slipping in next to you.

"I missed this." You sighed, relaxing into the warmth around you. "You have no idea how cold it is without the two of you."

"You could just use a warming charm," Bucky suggested.

"Nowhere near as good as the real thing." You told him.

"I can imagine something else that's not as good," Natasha smirked, pressing kisses against your neck.

"I don't know, Nat, it's been seven months since we were all together," You started. "I'm not sure I remember how good it was."

"We can't have that, now can we, baby doll?" Bucky asked, rolling over, so he was atop you.

"That's almost a criminal offense." Natasha teased. "We must rectify this heinous crime."

"I can't do this." Wanda sighed, throwing her wand down.

It had been a week since the group's arrival. The day after they had all arrived, you'd flooed with Wanda down to Diagon Alley.

Old habits died hard.

With Wanda by your side, you led her down the familiar cobblestone streets.

After the war, it had taken years for the street to regain the light and the atmosphere it had from your childhood.

New stores littered the street, seated in between the ones you never thought would leave.

You had bought Wanda books upon books, a cauldron, herbs, everything you could think of before taking her Ollivander's.

Olivander had retired years ago, but the shop still bore his name.

It had taken several wands before Wanda had finally found hers. After thanking the new owner, there was only one more place you wanted to bring the girl.

After all, every witch needed a familiar.

"We've only been at this for a week, Wanda, you can't give up now." You encouraged her.

"Maybe you were all wrong about me. Maybe I don't have magic." Wanda said, refusing to look at you.

"You've been at this a week, and you have learned three spells that aren't easy." You told her, watching as the black cat jumped onto her lap.

"I don't know, Y/N. I'm just not good at this."

"No-one ever starts off great at this. Magic is hard, I know plenty of witches and wizards older than you who can't do a simple summoning spell.

There was a boy in my year who every time he opened his mouth, items exploded. There was another who took five years to learn the disarming spell. Hell, the only classes I was good at were potions and herbology." You told her with a chuckle. "You're doing well for a week in."

"But what if my magic hurts someone?" She whispered. "I already hurt people with my other powers, what if I actually kill someone?"

"Wanda, you know the stories of everyone in that house. You know they've each done things they wish they could take back, but because they can't, they make up for it." You said, moving next to her. "They try to be good. They try to do good."

"What if I turn? What if I can't come back from it?" Wanda asked you.

"Everyone has the means to come back from a poor choice." You told her. "I killed two people in the war." You admitted after a minute.

"Really?" Wanda gasped.

"I did. One was an accident. I only wanted to distract the man during the final battle, so I sent a reducto into a stone wall behind him. The wall fell, and he was crushed."

"But that was an accident." Wanda insisted, taking your hand.

"Perhaps, but the next man wasn't. He was responsible for the deaths of so many people, and he'd almost killed my friends and me.

He snatched the four of us and delivered us to a madwoman. He's the reason I have this," You said, pulling down your sleeve to reveal the word, MUDBLOOD carved into your skin. "After Tom's defeat, we helped round up the last of those who supported him, and I found him.

I saw red. I could only think about how he could have been the reason we died. How he was the reason so many died. And without thinking, I cast the most powerful cutting curse I could. He bled out in under a minute.” You murmured.

“What does it mean?” Wanda asked after a minute, staring intently at the word on your arm.

“It is a derogatory word for people like us.” You responded. “It’s a disgusting term, and I let it control me. I let my fear and anger control me. Wanda what I want you to know is we’ve all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That’s the person we really are.”

Wanda didn’t say anything as she contemplated your words. Fearing she was disgusted with your previous admission you rose to a stand.

“Right, so, if you’re done for today, you can head back inside. I’ll just be in the woods for a minute.” You stuttered, moving to the door.

“Y/N,” Wanda said, causing you to stop and look back. “I’d like to try the spell again, if that’s okay with you?”

“We can try for as long as you want.” You smiled.

“I’m going to have to section off a floor for a greenhouse back home, aren’t I?” Tony asked coming up behind you.

“You’d do anything for that girl and you know it.” You smiled, continuing to watch Wanda on the lawn. Though you were trying to teach the girl as much as you could about every subject she’d taken a clear shine to herbology and divination.

Currently Wanda was on the lawn surrounded by several plants she was enchanting to grow.

“Not wrong.” Tony shrugged. “She looks much more happy than she’s been in weeks. I want to say you’ve had somewhat an influence on her. At least 12%.”

“12%, huh?” You smirked.

“I could agree to 14%.”

“Try 20.” You bargained

“19 and we’ll call it square.” Tony said, putting his hand out.

“Deal. I’m going to teach Wanda something new, want to watch?” You asked him.

“Why not?”

“Okay just swish and flick.” You instructed Wanda. “Excellent.” You smiled as she lifted the couch. “Okay, Nat, where do you want it?”

“By the window, dorogoy.” Natasha said. “Bucky said he wanted more natural light for reading.”

“Okay, Wanda, really slowly you’re going to lower it to the ground.” You told her.

“Fantastic, vozlyublennaya.” Natasha complimented.

“I did it!” Wanda smiled as she finished the spell. “And I didn’t break anything!”

“I knew you wouldn’t.” Natasha said, embracing the girl.

“Why don’t you take a break? You’ve done really well today.” You said, smiling at the two.

“Clint’s in the kitchen making lunch.” Natasha told the girl. “Can you make sure he doesn’t burn it down?”

“You got it, Nat.” Wanda smiled before practically floating into the kitchen.

As Wanda left you took Natasha’s hand and pulled her up into the bedroom where Bucky was changing.

“It’s official I’m adopting that girl.” You announced to the two. “You can say yes or you can say yes, those are your options.”

“I think you’ll have to fight Clint and Tony for parental rights, baby doll.” Bucky chuckled.

“I will believe me.” You nodded. “That girl is the epitome of sunshine, I love her. I know they have to go back to the Tower next week, but you will be bringing her back for visits now.”

“Whatever you say, dorogoy.” Natasha smiled at you. “Your maternal instincts are really kicking in, aren’t they?”

“You’re not any better, Tash.” Bucky pointed out. “You’ve been mother henning her too.”

“Are you going to pretend the day you bundled her up in three sweaters didn’t happen, James?” Natasha raised an eyebrow at the man.

“I’m not going to pretend, it was cold.” He shrugged, pulling the red head into his chest.

“It’s good to see the two of you are so parental.” You smiled at your partners. “It’s good for the future.” You added, causing both to freeze.

“You better not be playing around, Y/N.” Bucky said, looking you over. “Are you? Are you serious?”

“I’m serious.” You nodded. “There’s a baby in here.” You said, placing a hand on your still flat stomach.

Natasha looked ready to cry as she raced over and pulled you into a tight embrace. Her hand covered yours as she kissed you deeply before dropping to her knees.

“YA tvoya mama. Nichto nikogda ne kosnetsya tebya, moya detka.” She whispered, pressing a kiss to your stomach.

“Doll this is fantastic.” Bucky said, pulling you and Natasha into his chest. “We’re going to have a little witch or wizard running around.”

“They could be muggle.” You reminded him.

“Whatever they are, we’re going to love them.” Bucky nodded, kissing both yours and Natasha’s foreheads.

“And they’re going to be the safest baby in the world.” Natasha added.

“Of course they are. They have two assassins, and a witch for parents. A witch for a sister and a whole team of Avengers for uncles.” You smiled, relaxing into the embrace.

“We have to tell the team we’re off duty for the next year.” Natasha said.

“At least.” Bucky nodded. “Have you told anyone else yet?”

“Not yet. You want to go spread the good news?” You suggested.

“Perfect idea, nasha malen'kaya ved'ma.” Natasha said. “But let’s do it in five minutes. I just want to be with the two of you for a little longer.”

“Another fantastic idea, Nat.” Bucky smiled, maneuvering the three of you to be laying on your bed.

With Natasha and Bucky’s arms wrapped tightly around your form, you felt at home. Felt safe with your family.

Taglist

@rvgrsbrns @smilexcaptainx @hopingforbarnes @starlingelliot @piper-koko-barnes-rogers @jelly-fishy-babie @skeletoresinthebasement @agent-barnes40 @reann-loves-sebstan @skadikh @summergeezburr @buckybarton03 @miyaeadys-blog @bindythedemon @natasharomanoffismywife @keenmarvellover

Natasha Romanoff Taglist

@natasha-danvers @5aftermidnight @ohfuckno

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anne-i-write · 4 years ago

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kuroo headcannons

| kuroo supporting his competitive archer s/o |

kuroo tetsurou x reader

word count: 912

tw: one swear

a/n: we need more archery love on this website even tho i’ve been playing more volleyball than i’ve been shooting lmao also writing this made me love kuroo so much more okok please enjoy this ty

kuroo is so impressed when he finds out you can shoot

“you’re like katniss!”

“don’t talk to me ever again”

hh he calls you katniss just to see you get pouty w him

okay all jokes aside,

he loves watching your competitions

like yeah they’re quiet and slow but it’s a nice contrast to the absolute hype during volleyball matches

but he loves the absolute focus you have on your face while you shoot

he loves it even more when right after you release and you get a tiny smile on your face because you know it was a good shot

as boring as competitions can be, he freakin LOVES LOVES LOOVVEESS the olympic/elimination rounds

when you go head to head with someone who thinks they’re better than you???

CMON

it always has him on the edge of his seat everytime you tie an end

so since you’re also very dedicated to archery, he knows that he won’t get a lot of time with you during competition season

archery is a yearly sport: indoor and outdoor

no rest for the wicked what can i say

but he loves how much effort you put into every shot you do and whenever you do get a break in between rounds, you talk to him like you didn’t just destroy the ten and nine ring

so we established he loves you, right

so you decide to put that to the test

your first outdoor competition of the year is slowly coming up and he’s only been to your indoor tournaments

“hey tetsu,, i have a tournament on friday, do you want to come?”

“is that even a question?? of course i’d go!!! where is it?”

“it’s in shinjuku, yknow, the olympic square?”

he pauses

“outdoors?”

“yeah”

“ITS SUMMER BABY ARE YOU SERIOUS”

he does go

but GOD everyone is so miserable

it’s hot and damp and there are too many mosquitoes for anyone’s liking

it’s basically hell

“this isn’t how far you normally shoot indoors”

“no,,, really??? no shit sherlock”

“why are you so mean today ;-;”

“sorry baby it’s just nerves :(”

so yall start your practice ends and it’s just really bad

not performance bad just,, bad weather

(shooting in humid weather is literally the worst just thinking about it makes me want to cry)

so you finish your end and you walk up to him to talk to him and waste the time

he’s just staring at the targets as he hands you your water bottle

“how far are those targets???”

“70 meters, why?”

he loves spotting for you

yall even came up with your own little code for where your arrows hit

“i love that your competitions only last half of the day”

“but it’s over a span of the weekend :(“

“but my matches are all day”

you guys have a debate on whether all day tournaments or half day but multiple day tournaments are better

is extremely worried when you ask him to buy bandage tape when he decided to get more drinks for you two

“BABY ARE YOU OKAY”

adkjfhsd please he’s so worried about you

i love him

you reassure him that you’re fine and that you only ran out of tape and since he was already out might as well just kill two birds w one stone

this guy goes faster than sonic

you’re only in the middle on your second head to head end when he comes back, sweaty and panting

“i could’ve waited a few more ends baby”

“but you said you needed them 🥺"

is surprised you wear tape on your fingers too

“does it not get in the way?”

“having callouses gets in the way but putting the tape on helps a lot,, thank u baby”

hands u the tape and kisses u good luck

you do really well until you get knocked out at quarter finals

tbh you’re not even mad

you shot really well and you’re happy that you made it that far

but kuroo also being the athlete he is, knows that losing still sucks so he gives u lots of kithes even if you are really sweaty lmao

has asked to hold your bow once

“HOW DO YOU HOLD THIS UP ALL THE TIME”

“dunno you get used to it”

loves the way your setup looks

the color scheme you chose with your riser and sight and stabilizer is just???

“you should get red and black”

“too basic”

“ARE YOU TELLING ME MY HIGH SCHOOL’S TEAM COLORS WERE BASIC”

“EVERYONE HAS A BLACK AND RED COLOR SCHEME TETSU”

“YOU HAVE THE SAME COLOR AS NOHEBI”

“I HAD THIS BOW BEFORE I KNEW YOUR RIVALRY WITH DAISHO”

its a tiny fight that is easily made up with cuddles and kisses

idk i feel like i see kuroo with a compound

so if he does end up buying a bow just for fun

yall do tradesies every now and then

he just likes the elegant look of your recurve lol

he’s a quick learner

he likes to piss you off

“i’m trying so hard to be nice”

“what am i doing wroooong”

you know that tone

he KNOWS what he’s doing wrong

“stop doing that with your elbow; keep it up”

“like this?”

MF EXAGGERATES IT AND YOU’RE

he sees you pulling your arrow out of your quiver, ready to smack him

he fixes his elbow properly

“thank you tetsurou”

but yall are that kickass athlete couple who dominates in both their sports

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #Kuroo Tetsurou #kuroo x reader #Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader #haikyuu headcannons #kuroo headcannons

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writeblrfantasy · 3 years ago

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i am thrilled to present to you another short from acogs: khyris mi'hail, or khyris the beloved in my conlang!

i'm especially happy with this one, but i say that about all of them, don't I? this one is inspired by the story behind the hanging gardens of babylon, how the king had them built for his homesick wife.

like most of my shorts, you don't need to know acogs to understand this <3 enjoy!! word count about 5k

“Everybody wake up, c’mon, everybody up!” The sound of pans banging together accompanies Major Malika’s shouts.

Khyris has been awake for an hour already, but he still groans at the thought of leaving his warm cot. The other corporals in the tent with him grumble and swear at the major with more colorful language than Khyris would dare risk.

Khyris sticks his head out of his blankets, bracing against the freezing winter air and squinting into the bright morning light of the tent. A few bastards who wake with the sun are sitting on the floor drinking coffee, the smell of which finally draws Khyris out of his warm cave.

“We were afraid you were dead,” says Eric, mumbling like he’s half dead himself. “You don’t move at all.”

“Nice to know you’re watching me sleep,” Khyris retorts, pulling on his three extra layers to fight back the biting chill. “Give me some of that.” Coffee in his system makes him feel a little more human, enough to make him realize there’s a group huddled around the morning campfire just outside.

Khyris joins them, coffee in hand, and finds them all staring at a map. “What’s going on?”

“Big news today,” Aeron says, grinning, full of energy no matter the time. “The queen’s visiting.”

Khyris almost spills his coffee. “What? Why? That man couldn’t lift a sword to save his life, what does he want with us?”

“Stow your hatred for a moment, my dear Khyris. He’s here to pick a spouse.”

Khyris stares, then laughs. “For a moment I thought you were serious.”

The other’s smiles slowly fade. Delia stares into her coffee like it holds the answers of the world—or more accurately, an escape from Khyris.

“You are serious. Sweet Cai.” Khyris buries his head in his hands. “Explain.”

“He’s here exactly because he can’t lift a sword to save his life. He wants someone who can. Solid strategy, I think.”

Khyris shakes his head. “He has hundreds of willing options back at court, the experienced soldiers paid too well to be out on the field. Why doesn’t he pick from them and leave us alone?”

“He doesn’t want a lazy court soldier. He wants a fieldman. Someone he knows he can trust with his life.”

“So he wants a bodyguard for a spouse, is what you’re saying. I thought he already had a team of those.” Khyris looks around. “Do you think Major Malika would notice if I disappeared for a week or two? Tell her I was indisposed. I was longing for home. Let me be a deserter, anything but having to see that bastard’s face.”

“Why are you so against him?” Aeron asks.

“Because he doesn’t give a damn about any of us. He just throws money at us, gives us more orders to build more cities, and every year checks in to see how we’re doing. He’d rather entertain the fools and artists of his court than pay mind to us.”

“So you don’t want to see him, but you’re mad he hasn’t come yet? Make up your mind, man!”

Khyris sighs. “I just don’t think you all should be kissing his ass, is all. He should be appreciating what we do for him. We just finished building him al-Hasa, he should be grateful.”

“We’re not kissing—” Aeron breaks off into a devious grin Khyris has seen before, and it’s never ended anywhere good. “You like him, and you’re mad he doesn’t like you back?”

Whistles and laughter go around the fire. “What?” Khyris sputters. “This is the queen we’re talking about, not some barmaid. You lot are ridiculous.”

Apparently happy with being labeled ridiculous, what Khyris thought were friends begin singing, “Khyris the Angrily Smitten” in an off key parody of a song he can’t remember.

“You sound like you’re drunk and it’s only sunrise,” he says in disgust, burying himself in coffee, his only friend this morning.

Later that day, he’s in the middle of a group training session and managed to forget about the queen’s newest joke. The stress of the major’s shouts during exercises in the middle of winter doesn’t leave much room for Khyris to think about anything else, though Aeron finds a way around it as always. Aeron’s only here to support his family’s farm—cooperation doesn’t matter much to him as long as he still gets paid.

In the middle of another round of hot yet cold push-ups, Major Malika calls for a sudden stop. “His Majesty is here,” she snaps. “I want to see some salutes, hear some respect. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Major,” they chorus, lining up to watch His Majesty Amoun’s brown and gold carriage pull up to the campsite. Khyris’ left hand goes to the side of his head like all the others, trying to keep his eyes in line as the carriage stops in a cloud of dust. The door opens with a click, and out steps a shadow cloaked in black, unusual for Kadar. Khyris’ eyes drift despite himself.

Khyris forgot how young the queen is, and how attractive, despite his own dissenting opinions. A dark, neat sheaf of hair and mustache frame a smiling face. His long winter cloak shows hints of Kadar yellow in ribbons and pins, but otherwise everything from the fur to his shoes is black.

“Welcome, Your Majesty,” Malika says with a deep bow.

“Thank you, Major. I’m delighted to be here.” Queen Amoun approaches the line of soldiers with his coat sweeping out behind him, just short enough not to get dirty on the sand. The soldiers drop their salutes as Amoun slowly walks in front of them like he’s inspecting them. Khyris fights not to close his eyes and disappear into a safer, less ridiculous world. He has many choice words for the queen, but keeps them all wisely to himself.

Amount is just passing Aeron and Delia, about to pass a stiff Khyris, when he stops and looks him up and down. “What’s your name?” Amoun asks.

Khyris swallows, cursing Cai in every way. He can feel Aeron’s traitorous, poorly smothered grin on his profile. “Khyris, Your Majesty.”

“Khyris,” Amoun repeats, slowly, like the sly tongue of a snake. He grins. “What a beautiful name.”

What to say to that?

Amoun solves the problem for him. “I look forward to seeing your face during my trials, Khyris.”

Khyris’ mind races, thinking of the Cairic Trials of Taru. They are Kadars, dammit, not Cairic. But, if the queen wanted to find a spouse who could defend him, there is not a much better way than that. “Trials, Your Majesty?”

Amoun laughs, a gentle, warm sound. “Wipe that fear off your face. I am not referring to the Trials of Taru, as thrilling and testing as they are. The trials I have created are much simpler, and will be much more to your taste, if that quiver on your back means anything.” He takes a step back so more soldiers can hear him.

“I wish we had a forest to do this, but alas, we are not in the north or in Tel Cairis. As you can see, there are three targets there.” Amoun gestures grandly to the three red targets being set up several hundred paces away, in the middle of the desert. “Whoever can perfectly hit the three targets”—he pauses for effect— “will get a private dinner with me.”

Khyris struggles not to laugh.

“The trials begin immediately, for all of you,” Amoun says. “You are soldiers, I’m sure you’re used to quick thinking and quicker requests. Come on, now.”

Khyris shuffles into a single file line with the others, Aeron at his back. “Not a word,” he hisses.

“Not a word,” Aeron echoes, but Khyris can hear his grin. Worst of all, he begins humming that awful song, Khyris the Angrily Smitten. He actively wishes for death even as he’s pulling his bow off his back and nocking an arrow into it.

Fail Amoun’s stupid target challenge. The easiest task in the world. He’ll be officially taken out of consideration, free to go back to the idiots at the campfire in the morning.

His focus drifts in and out while waiting for the other soldiers to shoot, even if they’ve never touched a bow before. Evidently Amoun believes miracles are possible. He seems like the type.

Amoun stands to the side of the line drawn in the sand where the archers must stay and shoot, his presence undoubtedly helping no one. Ever since he was a child, Khyris couldn’t stand people watching him practice or hunt. He savored the quiet of the northern forests where he grew up, savored the peace and focus in his heart while he hunted his family’s dinner. To have anyone else watching him, waiting, judging if he shot wrong, would ruin that sacred peace.

He sighs and shifts his weight impatiently.

“Relax, would you? You’re the best archer here, I have more reason for nerves than you do,” Delia says from somewhere behind him.

“That’s exactly the problem,” Khyris says. “I’m afraid I’ll do well.”

Someone scoffs ahead of him. He doesn’t keep his dislike of the queen private, but the way Amoun looks back toward the sound makes Khyris flush. Please don’t notice me, don’t notice me, look away.

“Then miss and make a fool of yourself,” Delia says. “You’ll be known as the army’s best worst archer, but not the queen’s spouse, a title I wouldn’t mind having. It’ll be a steady source of income for my family, at least.”

Khyris smiles. He and Delia became friends because of their similar situation. Aeron barged his way into their lives with no possibility of leaving. “I’ll be in the front row at your wedding.”

“I’d prefer your blessing on my bow.”

Khyris watches sorry swordsman after swordsman point their bows at the targets only for their arrows to land somewhere far off in another direction. Major Malika barks at them that they’ve failed, which is not an unusual thing for her to say, but they’ve never had to perform in front of the queen before.

People who have never touched a bow in their life still stutter and apologize for wildly missing. That’s the effect the queen’s presence has—not that it affects Khyris, of course. He glances sympathetically at the losers and thinks, I’ll be joining you in a minute.

At last, it’s his turn. Major Malika orders him forward with her usual grit, but Amoun is smiling with his big brown eyes and it’s every bit as unnerving as Khyris predicted.

“Let’s see what you got,” he says quietly, where only Khyris can hear. Khyris grits his teeth, mentally ordering him to shut up and let him focus.

Why is he trying?

Because it’d kill him to miss, he decides. He hasn’t missed since he was eleven, and he won’t start now. He has too much pride in his finest skill to be a laughingstock. Major Malika would know he wasn’t trying and would make him try again. He’s too good an archer for his own good.

He closes his eyes, trying to ignore Amoun’s presence, and lets the bow do the work.

The first arrow hits. He doesn’t stop to check. His focus is on the second target, and a minute shift of his position readies him for the next shot. Khyris disregards all other sound but the grip of his fingers adjusting on the bow, the whoosh as the arrow flies free. He can’t quite block out the gasp Amoun makes, but shaking it off is easy.

The wind begins picking up just slightly, hardly noticeable to anyone else, but Khyris knows the song of the bow like his own skin, and it’s not what he needs.

You’ve done well, says the voice in his head. No one will believe you purposefully failed if you miss. You will be free, and your dignity will be intact.

The other archers shot in quick succession, too eager or humiliated to wait. Khyris knows he’s already taken longer than anyone else, but he waits another few seconds before nocking another arrow and letting it fly.

Khyris opens his eyes to find his arrows in the center of all three red targets. He sighs in relief.

Relief for what?

All is deadly quiet, and then some idiot begins cheering. Khyris shuts his eyes again.

Aeron. Of course it’s Aeron.

Soon, everyone is cheering or clapping, Amoun loudest of all. Khyris flushes hot, looking around for him, who’s grinning like someone just handed him all the wealth of Kadar.

Khyris goes over to him and wraps him a hug, drawing laughter and ‘aw’s from the onlookers. It’s just an excuse to whisper, “I hate you to the skin of your bones,” in Aeron’s ear, who just laughs louder.

Khyris stands in front of a little pond where some fool spilled water outside Amoun’s tent, turning left and right to inspect his outfit. It’s the only fine thing he has, provided by the army, meant for rare banquets at the palace.

It’s a velvet jacket in Kadar yellow decorated with the few gold medals he has to his name, one for exceptional scouting, another for bringing down the largest hog anyone had ever seen, large enough to feed the whole camp for an evening.

The yellow tent flap opens and Khyris quickly snaps to a stiff position, relaxing when Amoun gestures for him to. “Khyris,” he says with a warm smile. “Thank you for joining me.”

You didn’t leave me much of a choice, Khyris thinks, though even he’s not bold enough to say that to the queen’s face. He’s wearing a thin golden circlet with soft brown gems embedded, the crown of Kadar. Khyris has never been close enough to see it; it sparkles in the evening sunlight.

He’s never been close enough to see the queen’s face like this—the kindness deep within earthy eyes, his short, well-trimmed beard and mustache, the single lock of black hair hanging down on his forehead. His black cloak doesn’t have a smattering of dust, and the long fur hairs poking out of the collar make Khyris ache for the crude fur coat he made himself the last time he was home—these velvet jackets don’t do much in the way of warmth.

Amoun even smells like the forests of the north, Khyris’ home, with a hint of soft incense.

“Please, come in.” Amoun steps aside to let Khyris slip past him. He takes a quick look around. Amoun’s tent is nicer than any camp tent he’s ever been in, a colorful carpet covering the sand, a table of golden wood with two chairs set up in the middle, a white curtain hiding what’s presumably a bed in the corner. Even the lanterns, burning with blessed warmth, are polished and new compared to the grimy ones in the tent Khyris shares with five others.

“Sit,” Amoun says softly, latching the tent flap closed to keep out the abhorrent wind. Khyris sits, happy to be out of the cold with a plate of hot food in front of him, if nothing else. The faster he can fail this and get it over with, the better.

Amoun sits opposite him and unclasps his cloak, revealing a finely woven black waistcoat over a long sleeved yellow shirt.

“Ah, so His Majesty is capable of wearing color,” Khyris says before he can think about it. He refuses to go back on it, even as Amoun looks at him in surprise. Khyris won’t be the timid little soldier afraid to even look at his queen. He respects himself more than that.

“I admit my dress is rather unconventional for Kadar,” Amoun says, slipping into a relieving smile. He picks up a white teapot and pours them both steaming cups. From the smell, it’s coffee—in the evening? Another oddity. “It’s one of many reasons for people to distrust me—or worse, dislike me.” He smiles again over the rim of his cup.

Khyris is holding his for warmth until he remembers that he’s not in the tent waking up to Aeron jabbering in his ear, he has manners. He quickly puts it back on the table. All the manners he learned from his father and his one visit to court suddenly leave him. Hopefully his country boy ignorance doesn’t show too much.

No, he wants it to show, doesn’t he? He wants Amoun to be disgusted with his choice and let him go.

Khyris grips the handle of the coffee cup again but after a few seconds of indecision, leaves it on the table.

“I do hope you’ll enjoy this meal,” Amoun says, oblivious to Khyris’ inner turmoil and the fact that this is the best meal Khyris will ever have in the field in the middle of winter. “Have you ever been to a palace banquet? Forgive me for not remembering your face—you all look the same in those jackets.” He shovels a forkful of something into his mouth—wait, what are they eating?

Khyris gathers himself and picks up his knife, reminding himself to breathe. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he says after what’s probably too long of a pause. “I have been to a palace banquet once, shortly after I joined your army.” He focuses on cutting what he now discerns to be lamb, a delicacy they don’t get out here at the building sites, laying on a bed but of golden rice. It’s hot and warms him to the bone, but it’s not as spicy as the kind his father used to make.

Amoun laughs, speaking with a full mouth. “Let’s not pretend it’s my army. Cai knows I don’t pay enough attention to it. Oh, forgive me”—he smiles sheepishly— “when I’m alone with someone, especially here instead of the palace, I forget my manners. My upbringing is coming back to haunt me. Perhaps that’s another reason people detest me.”

Khyris pauses. Suddenly the food is vastly less interesting than Amoun. “You grew up humble, Majesty?”

“Please, call me Amoun. I am here to court you.”

The reminder makes Khyris bring his eyes back to his plate. Make him throw you out.

“Yes,” Amoun continues, “I came from the forests of the north. My parents were well off, and I have no siblings, but it was not a glamorous childhood by any means. Not compared to what I’m used to now.”

Khyris chews slowly, hyperaware of everything. “I also came from the forests of the north, M—Amoun.”

“Really?” Amoun’s silver clatters against his plate. “I knew I chose well. Where exactly were you raised?”

Khyris tells him about the cabin his mother built, four young siblings and a father too crippled to hunt, a mother too overworked to cook, the privilege Khyris considered hunting.

He loses track of time as Amoun talks about those same forests, hiding from great imaginary beasts that were only the howls of the wind in the trees as a child, the warmth of the curry Amoun’s mother made—the same one Khyris’ mother made for his birthday.

Khyris has never met someone who grew up in the north forests before, and he soon finds he can’t keep the smile off his face.

Before Khyris knows it, they’ve both finished their meals and wine has replaced the coffee. No attendants come in to bring them dessert, Amoun only gets up and accepts plates from them through the tent flap.

Khyris doesn’t have to leave his chair the whole time—he feels like the queen here, dipping a spoon into the bowl of warmth honey cake soaked through with cream. Amoun asks him about his friends, his family, laughs at every story of his siblings, goes somber when Khyris tells him why he joined the army.

Amoun makes him feel like everything he has to say is worth something to him, that his nods aren’t the polite, diplomatic ones he’s no doubt used to putting on. Khyris is only too happy to return the favor and admire the reflection of the lamplight in Amoun’s eyes.

And then it’s ending. The wine has faded from Khyris’ system, and the warmth of Amoun’s hand as he helps Khyris to his feet is bittersweet. He doesn’t know when he stopped trying to make Amoun dislike him, if he was ever trying at all, but now he’s foolishly praying that Amoun will ask him back.

“Thank you for such a wonderful evening, Khyris,” Amoun says, smiling like the witches of legend are said to do—so strong, so beautiful, they make it impossible to look away. Khyris’ limbs seem to draw closer of their own accord before he realizes and quickly puts distance between them.

“Thank you,” Khyris says, a shadow clouding over his heart as he turns toward the tent flap that Amoun holds open.

“Would you like to go out with me again?” Amoun asks as Khyris is about to leave. He stares in hopeful disbelief. “It’s perfectly alright if you don’t. I would never force you into anything you would not want—I have heard the stories your companions tell. Khyris the Angrily Smitten.” Amoun’s lips curve into a smile with an unescapable hint of pain. “I think the angry part is more prevalent. You are one of the ones who would detest me at court.”

Khyris is again mad at Aeron, for an entirely different reason. Has this whole magical evening gone to shit?

“Majesty—Amoun”—he takes a deep breath— “I—I was wrong about you. I would like to go out with you again. It is possible for minds to change.” He laces his own fingers behind his back, arms held taught in the stiff jacket.

Amoun’s answering grin is brighter than the sun.

Amoun has to go back to Ramia, of course, and Khyris back to the city building corporal’s lifestyle, but they spend every chance they could get together, alone, in a welcome relief from life for both of them. Aeron and Delia have been nothing but evil about it, but it’s no less than Khyris would expect.

His and Amoun’s second outing comes mere weeks after their first, when Khyris thought he might go mad from anticipation. Would their next meeting be just as perfect as their first? He frets, despite Aeron’s relentless teasing about the fact that so recently, he’d despise himself for fretting about this.

He made the mistake of addressing the queen as Amoun in Delia and Aeron’s presence. At the risk of his own sanity, he’s been careful to censor himself since, though Aeron probably sees right through it.

Their second date is every bit as good as the first and more. Amoun invites Khyris to the camp where he’s staying, visiting another battalion of soldiers in the north. Khyris was happy to go just to escape Aeron’s teasing, but the smile Amoun gives him upon arrival did things to him he didn’t know were possible. After a few days together and the blistering kiss Amoun gives him when they part, Khyris knows his mind is made up.

It should not come as a surprise when Amoun proposes only a few months later. The whole purpose of Amoun’s visit, after all, was to find a spouse to court.

He’s not just falling for the queen of Kadar for all the perks of being his lover. when Amoun first announced this challenge, Khyris thought the steady income for his family would be the only reason he’d ever agree if miraculously chosen.

As soppy and awful as it sounds, as much as he’s becoming the very lovestruck fool he loved to hate, he enjoys Amoun for him, not for his money or his power or his safety. His company. His smile. His mix of ease and nerves, how he both seems to know exactly what he’s doing and has no clue at all.

Now, he’s in Ramia again for the first time in four years in the part of it he never thought he’d get to visit in his lifetime: the queen’s private palace apartments. Amoun is looking at him the warmth of the sun in those eyes and asking if Khyris will be his forever. What can Khyris say but yes?

Khyris might hang around court more often than he ever thought he would, but he still can’t bear to leave the army. He sees past the humor in Aeron’s voice when he asks, “Don’t forget about your fellow corporals when you’re the queen’s husband, alright?” Khyris spends half of the days leading up to wedding with the soldiers, working hard and crashing harder just like he did before, and the other half in some kind of paradise of luxury with Amoun.

He invites Aeron and Delia to the palace when he visits—he’s learned, as the queen’s betrothed, there’s little he can’t get away with, including sudden leave for any soldier he likes. Seeing the raw awe on Aeron’s face makes his own adjustment a little easier to bear.

He and Amoun decline to get tattoos of betrothal—that’s a Cairic tradition at heart, and the queen of Kadar couldn’t be seen with that, especially since they’re trying to move away from Tel Cairis’ traditions.

Being suddenly waited on and served food even better than the stuff in Amoun’s tent on their first date is nice, but jarring. He’s so used to the humble life, getting everything himself, being independent. The army only enforced that, even when he gained friends.

Now the clothes he wears puts his yellow dinner jacket to shame, and every bit of building has been made by hundreds of men compared to a few. He can only wonder how Amoun adjusted.

Amoun is a sweetheart, empathetic and sensitive. Unfortunately, this means Khyris can’t keep a secret around him, and he quickly notices Khyris’ discomfort.

“Mi’hail, please,” he implores one night, because of course he’d be the type to use old fashioned terms of endearment like that. “Tell me what I can do to make this place feel as much as your home as it is mine. All I desire is to make you happy.”

Khyris sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. His cheek is pillows on the silk nightshirt covering his arm, so light and soft and decadent you can hardly call it a shirt. His feet are made warm by the sheets of Amoun’s bed, the warm orange glow of candlelight turning Amoun’s skin the most beautiful gold.

This is not the first time Amoun has asked, but Khyris always tells him not to bother, he’s busy enough, he’s done enough already. “If we are to be married,” Amoun tries, “it cannot be on unequal footing. I will not have you be a sacrifice to be with me. You grew up with so little—let me repay you now.”

“Oh, and you grew up in luxury?” Khyris counters.

“Stop trying to switch the subject.” Amoun sits up against the cushioned headboard. “Tell me, or I will not leave it alone.”

Khyris knows how capable he is of that. He manages a small smile.

“A garden,” he settles on at last, thinking of the northern forests, how he loved the trees but always wished for a more glamorous, well-tended grove. “Remind me of the north, where we are from. Give me a version of our forests that’s neater, that shows the nicest parts without all the ugly ones.” He sighs, already picturing it, almost able to smell the richness of the tree sap if he concentrates. “With a fountain,” he adds. “Is that too much?”

Amoun’s eyes are shining. “Not at all. I will do it, mi’hail.”

Amoun builds him a garden. He commissions a fountain. He brings the forests of the north to Ramia.

Khyris underestimates him once again.

It takes so long and takes up so much space, Khyris is eventually banned entirely from the west side of the palace in case he catches a glimpse of Amoun’s hard work. All he knows is that Amoun is always beaming and giddy with excitement and anticipation of Khyris’ reaction.

The damn thing takes so long to build, Khyris doesn’t get to see it till three weeks after their wedding, when they get back from their trip alone to the forests of the north.

When everything is finally done to Amoun’s liking, Amoun can’t let go of his hand as he leads him out to see it. He even makes Khyris close his eyes, an incredible trust exercise. When Khyris is allowed to open them, his jaw falls open.

He’d been prepared by the sound of flowing water, but nothing could truly brace him for this. From the top of the steps leading inside where they stand, Khyris can see the whole thing: the fountain of himself holding his bow, quiver at his back, free hand reaching up to fix his hair. “Wh—how did you get a statue of me commissioned without needing me there?”

Amount just grins.

None of the trees are old enough to provide shade yet, but stone beds with soil inside house several young, green trees that will grow up to be the great sprawling ones of the north. The floor is stone, not dirt, and it’s much nicer and cleaner to look at than the leafy forest floor. The smell of the trees is absent, but it’s more than made up for with the greenery tucked into every spot, the rare pops of pink flowers from the east. Everything is well tended and trimmed, from the hedges to the plants to the shape of the trees.

Each layer up to the palace entrance is covered in some of potted plant, and an artificial river runs around every bit of it to feed them, the channel carved into the stone.

Khyris can’t fathom how he imported everything and how it’s stayed so fresh—the wont of a queen, he supposes.

“The gardens of Khyris,” Amoun says quietly at his back, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to pull him closer.

After another minute of silence, he laughs nervously. “Speechless, mi’hail?”

“Uh, yes.” Khyris turns his head to kiss him. “I don’t know how to thank you. it’s absolutely gorgeous. I—seriously, all of this is for me?”

“I would be happy to ban the public if you asked,” Amoun confirms. “Does it take you back to the north forests as it does for me?”

“You know it does. It’s perfect in every way.”

Amoun walks him down the steps to the garden itself, showing him every carefully chosen detail. Khyris is happy to stand with him near the fountain, enough for the sound of the rushing water to lull him into a sense of calm. He wonders how he could’ve ever hated Amoun.

“Khyris the Angrily Smitten, they called you all those months ago,” Amoun murmurs. Khyris’ ears burn hot.

“I find it endearing,” Amoun confesses, “but I know you find it rather—embarrassing. I’d like to call you something else.” His fingers curl around Khyris’ neck, soft and warm. “Khyris mi’hail? Khyris the Beloved?”

Khyris fights the smile threatening to break out and fails. “Better than Khyris the Great, or something awful like that.”

Amoun laughs. “I am great enough for both of us,” he says, and pulls Khyris to the sound of the water mingling with the wind. An earthly heaven without Cai.

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years ago

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Eccentricity [Chapter 14: Love Keeps The Monsters From Our Door] [Series Finale]

A/N: Thank you for your encouragement, enthusiasm, laughter, rants, screeches of anguish, and unapologetic thirsting for “sexy undead Italian man” Joseph Francis Mazzello. I hope you love this conclusion more than Baby Swan loves pineapple pizza. 💜

Series Summary: Potentially a better love story than Twilight?

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield. (The #1 song I associate with this fic!)

Chapter Warnings: Language.

Word Count: 7.7k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk @rhapsodyrecs

Mercy

We have to stay in the Vladivostok palace until her transformation is complete, and I hate it.

The floors are cold and sterile and every clang of noise ricochets off them like a bullet. The earth outside is stripped bare and hibernal. There is no green to interrupt the bleakness of the sky, the cruel absence of color: no spruces or hemlocks or bigleaf maples, no evergreen forests, no verdant fields, only a grey that bleeds from the sky in sheets of hail and driving rain. This land is a stranger. So many of the faces, too, are strangers, although they try. Honora sits with me—her large dark eyes, like mirrors of mine, polished and wet with aching pity—and braids my hair. Morana invites me to bake homemade bread with her. Austin tries to make me smile. Cato visits me as much as he can, because he feels responsible; or maybe he would do it anyway, maybe lessening suffering is as instinctual to him as bloodshed is to so many of our kind. And when Cato is with me, I do feel a little better, like my story might belong to somebody else, like it’s a name I can’t quite remember, like it’s a transitory moment of déjà vu I can catch glimpses of but never touch. And yet, still, I send him away.

I don’t want to be with Cato. It’s painful for him to be around me, I can see that. It’s painful for Rami, and for Ben, and for Joe, and for Lucy and Scarlett. It’s even painful for the Irish Wolfhounds that Cato found locked up for safekeeping in Larkin’s study; they skulk around the palace vigilantly but leave great swaths of uninterrupted space around me like open water. So I conjure up a mask of brave, hopeful acceptance and wear it everywhere I go.

Joe says very little, never leaves the girl he calls Baby Swan’s side, dabs her scorching skin with washcloths soaked in ice water and murmurs in sympathy when she screams through the unconsciousness, from beneath the ocean of fire we all know so well. He nods off sometimes, snatching minutes of sleep like fireflies in a jar, before jolting awake to make sure her heart is still beating. When Ben isn’t checking on them, he’s with Cato, helping to draw up plans for the future, reminiscing about the past with slick eyes and clinking midnight glasses of whiskey. Scarlett sprawls across the desk in what was once Larkin’s study and spends hours on the phone with Archer as she gazes up at the ceiling, telling him how to care for the farm animals and the garden, reassuring him that we’ll be home soon, whispering things to him that I try not to hear; and I know she wouldn’t want me to anyway. Lucy weeps delicate, ceaseless tears as she perches on the staircase landing and Rami entombs her in his arms, never having to ask what she needs from him. And I wander meaninglessly through the echoing, unfamiliar hallways like a moon without a planet.

I know what they all think about me, perhaps even Rami, for I keep it buried as deep as all skeletons should be: that I’m irrevocably kind, effortlessly forgiving. That I’m as incapable of bitterness as I am of aging. But they’re wrong. It’s a choice, and it always has been, ever since a late-November dusk in 1864 when madness eclipsed mercy. Every day I choose whether to surrender to the beckoning, malignant hatred that lurks in the back of my bedroom closet, in the dusty and ill-lit loft of the barn roped with cobwebs, in the twilight tree line of the western hemlocks crawling with shadows that whisper through fanged teeth. Every day I decide whether to become a monster. And it has never been harder to remember why I don’t.

My future is unimaginable. The nights are endless. I feel black, razored seeds of what I am horrified must be bitterness burrowing beneath my skin and taking root there. I am consumed by infected, fruitless questions that I can’t silence: Why Gwilym? Why Arthur? Why Eliza and Charlotte? Why is it always fire?

The first words that Gwilym ever spoke to me, as I unraveled from unconsciousness under a grove of sycamore trees with smoke still clinging to my unscarred skin, rattle around in my skull like windchimes beneath thunderous skies. His voice was colored with an accent I couldn’t place, and yet it sounded like home: You’re in a dark place right now. But you don’t have to stay there.

That might have been true once. That might have been true in the ruinous autumn of 1864. But now I can’t find my way out.

Seventy-three hours after our arrival in this barren corner of the world, Charlie Swan’s daughter wakes up as a vampire. Her heart is perfectly still, her skin faultless, her senses sharp, her mind as impenetrable as ever; at least, that’s what Lucy says when she finds me. And Lucy tugs at my hand, wearing her first smile in days, insisting that I have to come meet the newest member of our coven, to welcome her. I don’t know how to tell Lucy that I’m afraid I don’t have it in me to love this girl, that I don’t have it in me to love anyone but ghosts. And yet—compliantly, yieldingly, expecting nothing but disappointment in the monster I have become—I follow her.

The door is already open to the Swan girl’s room; chattering, beaming vampires flood in and out like the tides. I step inside. And I see the way that Joe looks at her, the way that Ben does; and all those seeds that I had feared might be bitterness blossom into nothing but open air.

It’s Not A Fucking Wedding (A.K.A. 13.5 Months Later)

The ocean is a universe. Its arms are not ever-expanding, spiraling galaxies of suns and planets and nebulae and black holes, this is true; its belly is not a vacuum of inhospitable oblivion, its bones are not invisible strings of gravity, its language is not a silence older than starlight, older than eternity. But the ocean is a universe nonetheless, its borders tucked neatly around the seven continents, slumbering there until the next hurricane or tsunami or ice age comes conquering; and inevitably equilibrium is restored—like defibrillator paddles to a heart, like naloxone to an addict’s blood—and our two worlds can coexist side by side once again.

The ocean’s arms are sighing waves, bubbling and brisk, grasping and retreating in the same breath. Its belly is swollen with life from immense blue whales down to swarming clouds of single-celled, sun-hungry phytoplankton. Its language is ancient whispers; not parched and blistering and brittle sounds like the desert’s but cool, serene, supple, engulfing. And I can hear them all, if I listen closely enough. I can hear the sentient whistling of orcas, the breaking of waves against rocks, the scrabbling of sand crabs beneath the earth, the gruff distant barks of sea lions, the rustling of evergreen pine needles in the breeze. And I understand now why it was always so easy for vampires to be introspective, to lapse into thoughtful, unhurried silences. I could imagine spending decades just sitting here with my knees tucked to my chest and my hair whipping in the brackish wind, watching the seasons roll by like a wheel.

Joe was coming back from the gravel parking lot. I turned to watch him: red U Chicago hoodie, messy dark auburn-ish hair, a pizza box clasped in his hands. The GrubHub delivery driver was returning to his car with the toothiest of grins.

“Buon appetito!” Joe announced, dramatically presenting me with the pizza box. It had become our post-finals tradition each semester: pizza at La Push beach, half-pepperoni, half-pineapple.

“Grazie, sexy undead Italian man. Your accent is getting so good!”

“I know, right?! I’m on a twelve-day Duolingo streak. I can’t let that little green owl dude down.”

“I’m impressed, I’ll admit it. I gotta brush up on my Welsh. Why’s the GrubHub driver so cheery?”

“I tipped him $500.”

I smiled, opening the box and lifting out a semi-warm slice of pineapple pizza. Elastic strands of mozzarella cheese stretched like rubber bands until they snapped. “Aww, really?”

Joe plopped down onto the cool, damp sand beside me. “No. I lied. We’re actually having a torrid love affair.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “How could you possibly have time for all that?” Between school, business ventures, family activities, and me, Joe was very rarely unoccupied. And he preferred it that way.

“I’m so glad you asked. I’m very speedy, if you recall. And that’s just one of the exclusive services I offer. I am a man of many talents. I make people’s wildest dreams come true. Who am I to deny the GrubHub delivery man the wonderland that is my spindly, annoying body?”

“You are the fastest,” I said, winking.

“Oh shut up! I mean, uh, uhhh, silenzio!” He pointed his slice of pepperoni pizza at me reproachfully. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not the fastest at everything.”

“Whatever you say, mob guy.”

He lunged for me, pinned me down in the crumbling sand, both of us laughing wildly as the crusts of our pizza slices bounded off and were snatched up by diving, screeching seagulls. He growled with mock savagery, braced his hips against mine, kissed his way from the corner of my jaw to my lips. That oh-so-familiar commanding, craving ache for him came roaring to the surface; and now there was no bittersweet edge to it, no inescapable backdrop of lambent numbers ticking down from five or ten or fifteen years to zero. Now there was only the calm, unurgent promise of forever.

“Joe—!”

“You have besmirched my honor, Baby Swan. I am left with no recourse but to refresh your clearly flawed memory and prove you wrong.”

“Public indecency? That’s illegal, sir.”

“Okay, you gotta stop stealing my catchphrases. It’s extremely difficult for me to come up with new ones. I’m almost a hundred years old, you know.”

“Alright, I guess you’re not bad in bed for a basically-centenarian.”

He smiled down at me, his dark eyes alight, the wind tearing through his hair, one palm resting on my forehead, uncharacteristically quiet.

“What?” I asked, worried.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just really glad we’re a thing.”

“You better be. You’re kind of stuck with me now. You’ve stolen my virtue, you’ve made me fall in love with your entire demented family, you’ve forced your torturous immortality upon me. I’m not going anywhere. Unless you ever stop funding my pineapple pizza addiction, of course.”

Joe chuckled as he climbed off me and took my hand in his, pulling me upright. “It’s absolutely ridiculous, by the way. Your insistence on being a sort-of vegetarian. It’s embarrassing. You’re the wimpiest vampire ever. You’re a disgrace to the coven.”

“I eat animals!” I objected.

“Yeah, when you have to.” And Joe was right: I steered clear of flesh outside of the two or three times a week when I hunted. For environmental sustainability reasons, I mostly consumed deer or rabbits; although the very occasional shark was my guilty pleasure. Joe gnawed on his second slice of pizza and peered out into the overcast, dusky horizon, wiping crumbs from his stubbled chin with the back of his hand. “We only have one more of these left,” he said at last, a little sadly. “One more finals season at Calawah University. One more celebratory dinner at La Push.”

“We’ll just have to get used to a new view. Pizza by the Chicago River, maybe.”

Joe looked over at me, thoughtful again, smiling. He had received his acceptance letter to the University of Chicago three weeks ago. I got mine eight days later. “It won’t be hard for you to leave Forks?”

“It will be. Once upon a time I didn’t think that was possible, but I will miss Forks. And not just because of Charlie and Archer and Jessica and Angela and all the Lees. But it was hard to leave Phoenix, and I’m sure one day it will be hard to leave Chicago. Just because change is hard doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.”

Joe nodded introspectively. “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”

“Don’t quote classic rock songs at me, mixtapes boy.”

“You love my mixtapes,” he teased, circling his left arm around my waist, pulling me in closer, touching his lips to my forehead. Mint and pine and starlight sank into my lungs like an anchor through the surf. “And that saying actually goes all the way back to Seneca, my dear.”

“Don’t tell me he’s still philosophizing in some cloudy corner of the world somewhere.”

“Not to my knowledge. Although that’s an intriguing thought. We need more famous vampires. Caligula would have made for very interesting conversation. Lincoln, Napoleon, Cleopatra, Shakespeare, Dante...I guess it’s possible that anyone is still around. Maybe we should turn Meat Loaf. You know, for the good of posterity.”

“Is it not enough that they’re already cursed with student debt and global warming?”

Joe cackled, took my face in his palms, kissed each of my cheeks one after the other, then nudged my nose with his. “You ready to go, Baby Swan? I suspect we’re expected to participate in some holiday festivities tonight.”

“I’m ready,” I agreed. We threw our leftover pizza to the seagulls, disposed of the grease-spotted cardboard box, and walked back to my 1999 Honda Accord with our pulseless hands intertwined.

The evergreen trees along Routh 110 fled by beneath a sky freckling with stars. Sharp winter air poured in through the open windows. And I could feel that it was cold, in the same way that I could feel the warmth on Forks’ rare sweltering days; but there was no discomfort that accompanied that knowledge. Pain only came when the sky was unincumbered by thick clouds churning in off the Pacific, and then it felt something like staring into the sun had as a human. Sunglasses helped, but the surest remedy was avoidance, was surrender. And what an inconsequential price to pay for forever.

“Wait,” I said, spying the mailbox that marked the start of the Lees’ driveway. “They still deliver mail on Christmas Eve, right?”

“Uh, I think so, why...?” And then he remembered. “Oh, yeah, let’s check!”

I pulled up beside the mailbox and Joe leaned out, returning to his seat with a mountain of Christmas cards and business correspondence and advertisements from Costco and Sephora. He sifted through them until he found a single white envelope from the University of Chicago Pritzker School of Medicine. It was addressed to a Mr. Benjamin August Hardy. Joe held it up to show me as we drove down the driveway, the Lee house coming into view and ornamented with a frankly excessive amount of multicolored string lights and inflatable reindeer.

“Oh my god!” I squealed, drumming the steering wheel.

“You want to be the one to give it to him?”

“Are you serious?! Yeah, can I?”

Joe passed the envelope to me as I parked my geriatric Honda, which Archer had pledged to keep alive as long as physically possible. In return, Ben let him and Scarlett borrow the Aston Martin Vantage no less than once a week. I dashed out of the car, up the steps of the front porch, and into the house that bubbled over with the sounds of metallic kitchen clashes and frenetic voices and Wham!’s Last Christmas.

“Ben?!” I shouted.

“Hi, honey!” Mercy called from the living room, where she and Lucy were putting the final touches on Scarlett’s gown. Scarlett was playing the part of semi-willing victim, wearing gold heels and an impatient smirk and her hair out of the way in a milkmaid braid; her train of vivid red lace billowed across the hardwood floor. From the couch, Archer and Rami were playing Mario Kart on the big-screen tv and nibbling their way through a tray of homemade gingerbread cookies.

“Oh wow,” I said, clutching the envelope to my chest, mesmerized. I kept waiting for Scarlett to start looking like a normal person to me, and it never happened. Tonight, in the glow of the flameless candles and kaleidoscopic Christmas lights and draped in lace the color of pomegranate seeds, she was Persephone: a goddess of resurrection, a face that death himself could not pass by unscathed. “You’ve outdone yourself, Lucy. Seriously.”

“One day I’m going to get you out of those thrift shop sweaters,” Lucy threatened me, placing a pin in the fabric at Scarlett’s waist.

“Yeah, okay. Let me know when that shows up in one of your visions.”

“Bitch,” Lucy flung back, snickering, knowing how improbable that was. I still appeared in her visions extremely infrequently, and then only when I happened to be standing next to whoever the premonition was actually about.

“Language, dear,” Mercy tutted, inspecting the hem of Scarlett’s gown.

Joe arrived beside me, his arms still full of mail. “ScarJo, I almost didn’t recognize you! Why do you have, like, no cleavage or fishnets or thigh slits?”

“Why do you have like no eyelashes?” Scarlett replied. “See, I can ask unnecessary and invasive questions too.”

Joe frowned, wounded. “What’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“Lucy, darling, I think it’s just a tad uneven on this side,” Mercy said, showing her. “Maybe by half an inch...?”

“No, seriously, what’s wrong with my eyelashes?!”

Mercy replied distractedly: “Nothing, honey, you’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Mom!” Joe groaned.

“It really is gorgeous,” Mercy marveled as Lucy flitted around her to investigate the hem situation. “And so Christmasy. So perfect for the season. Scarlett, dear, you were right after all, and I’m so sorry for doubting you. I’d just never heard of a red wedding dress before.”

“Mom, it’s not a fucking wedding!” Scarlett exclaimed, for probably the thirtieth time since Thanksgiving. “It’s a nonbinding, informal celebration of an egalitarian romantic partnership. Will somebody please inform this woman that it’s not a wedding?!”

“Yes, yes, of course, whatever you want, sweetheart,” Mercy conceded dreamily.

Joe pointed to Archer. “Isn’t he supposed to not see the dress until the day of or something?”

“What a great question!” Archer replied, still deeply invested in Mario Kart. “You see, that would be the case if this was a wedding. However, I’ve been informed in no uncertain terms that it is most definitely not.”

Scarlett grinned triumphantly at Joe. “There you have it.”

She might snap petulantly, and she might complain, but Scarlett wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t want to; we were all intimately familiar with the futility of trying to force Scarlett into anything. The not-wedding, as improbable as it seemed, had been her idea from the start. And she wasn’t doing it for herself. She wasn’t even doing it for Archer. Scarlett was doing it for her mother.

The first six months had been hell for Mercy. She didn’t resent me, as I had feared she might; Mercy made that clear, and Rami confirmed it. But she was gutted. She wouldn’t speak of Gwil, wouldn’t listen to us talk about him, locked every photograph of him away in dark drawers, wandered around with a remote, uncanny, unseeing smile until she walked straight into walls; and then she would blink inanely up at them, as if they had dropped out of the sky rather than been built by her own hands. She baked hundreds of cakes and almost never slept. She told us she was fine every time we asked, which was more or less constantly. But on the very rare occasions when she was left alone, Mercy would unfailingly end up in the field behind the Lee house, gazing out into the forest of western hemlock trees with tears snaking silently down her cheeks, the muted light of the cloud-covered setting sun flickering red and furious on her face like wildfire.

And then one afternoon, a package had arrived from Arviat, Canada, where Cato and the rest of the surviving Draghi had relocated shortly after the rebellion at Vladivostok. It was five feet tall and another three wide, and what we found after carefully peeling away all those layers of foam padding and packing tape was a portrait of Gwilym so skillfully painted that it could have been mistaken for a photograph. Mercy had stared at it for a long time—ignoring Lucy’s attempts to guide her away, deaf to any of our concerns—until she at last picked up the portrait herself and said, quite evenly: “I think we should hang it in the living room, don’t you?”

Things had been better since then—very, very gradually, and yet unmistakably—and Gwil’s portrait remained mounted above the living room couch like a watchman, his eyes sparkling and blue, his faint smile stoic and fond and omniscient. But even in the wake of Mercy’s continued improvement, none of us kids were about to risk another agonizingly despondent Christmas. So the solution was obvious. We would keep Mercy preoccupied with what thrilled her more than absolutely anything else: the pseudo-weddings of her children. Rami and Lucy had already secretly volunteered to go next year...and after that, who knew? And there was one other thing that was making Mercy’s burden a little lighter these days.

Charlie sauntered into the living room, wearing an apron covered in cartwheeling Santas and wiping white dust like snow—powdered sugar? flour? baking soda?—from his ungainly hands. He was palpably proud. “The sugar cookies are officially in the oven. And I managed to fit them all on one baking sheet, isn’t that great?! Cuts down on dishes!”

“Why, yes, I suppose it does!” Mercy said, alarm dawning in her eyes. Had my beloved father placed the globs of dough too close together? Would we end up with one hideous, giant monster-cookie? Only time would tell. Providentially, Archer and Joe could be counted on to eat just about anything.

Joe sniffed the air, his forehead crinkling. “What’s burning?”

“Nothing should be burning,” Mercy replied, almost defensive, forever protective of Charlie and all of his profound, incurably human imperfections. Sometimes I thought that she preferred him that way, that he was a link to a simpler world in the same way I had once been, that he was a puddle of memory she could drop into, that maybe he wasn’t so unlike her first husband Arthur. “Not yet, anyway. The cookies need at least ten to twelve minutes at 350.”

“Wait, 350?!” Charlie exclaimed, horrorstruck. “I thought you said 450!”

“Oh, this is tragic,” Scarlett said.

“I can fix it!” Mercy trilled buoyantly, breezing off to the kitchen as Charlie followed after her with a fountain of apologies. She shushed them away affectionately, patting his chest with her soft plump hands, chuckling about how luckily they had fire extinguishers stowed away in almost every closet just in case. And there were other reasons for that besides Charlie’s perilous baking attempts, but he didn’t know them. Now the record player was belting out Queen’s Thank God It’s Christmas.

Archer lost another round in Mario Kart and exhaled a great, mournful sigh. “Hey, Baby Swanpire, can you do something about this guy?” He nodded to Rami. “This is criminal. It’s nowhere near a fair fight. He knows every freaking time I’m about to toss a banana peel.”

Rami smirked guiltily up at me from the couch, not bothering to deny it.

“Do you mind?” I asked him.

“Not at all,” Rami replied. “I want to show this loser I can beat him even without the benefit of mega-cool extrasensory superpowers.”

“Rude!” Archer cried.

“So rude,” Scarlett agreed, smiling.

“Okay, here we go.” I sat down beside Rami, still holding Ben’s envelope in my right hand, and laid my left against Rami’s cheek. And I felt a fistful of numbness—like instant peace, like milk-white Novocain—pass from my skin into his, rolling into his skull, deadening whatever telepathic livewires had been ignited there in the August of 1916. The effect would last anywhere from thirty minutes to a few hours; and it worked on every vampire I’d met so far.

“Whoa, trippy,” Rami murmured. “It’s still weird, every single time.” He peered drowsily around the room. “It’s...so...quiet?! You guys really live like this? No one is constantly bombarding you with sexual fantasies or romantic pining or depressive inner monologues? How do you function?! Now I’m alone with my own thoughts, that’s actually worse!”

“Hurry up and beat him while he’s all freaked out and vulnerable,” Scarlett told Archer.

Archer laughed, picking up his Nintendo 64 controller, radiant with the promise of vengeance. “Yes ma’am.”

“Any good mail?” Lucy asked Joe.

“Yeah. Coupons and a ton of Christmas cards from random people. The vet sent us one with alpacas on it, so that’s cute. Oh, and here’s one from our favorite Canadians.”

Joe held up the card so we could all see. The picture on the front showed Cato and Honora sitting on a large velvet, forest green couch with a hulking Christmas tree illuminated in the background. The others were arranged around them: Austin, Max, Ksenia, Charity, Araminta, Akari, Morana, Phelan, Aruna, Adair, Zora, Sahel, and a few new faces I couldn’t name yet. They were all wearing matching turtleneck sweaters. And every single one of them was smiling.

Joe cleared his throat theatrically and read the text on the inside of the card:

“Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

(Oh, and Scarlett, congratulations on your not-marriage.)

- Cato Douglass Freeman”

“That bastard,” Scarlett muttered.

Rami offered me his controller. He had just slipped on a banana peel and rocketed off a cliff. “You want a turn?”

“No, thanks though. I have to talk to Ben. Is he around?”

Rami shrugged ruefully. “I would help, but my brain is temporarily broken.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes, taking a gingerbread cookie from the tray and biting into it as Lucy batted crumbs from the red lace dress, exasperated. “I think he’s out in the hot tub.”

“Cool. I shall return.”

Joe took my spot on the couch as I departed, shoveling cookies into his mouth, seizing Rami’s controller and kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

I opened the door to the back porch, and frigid December air rushed in like an uninvited guest. The field was coated with a thin layer of snow, the animals safe and warm in the barn, the garden slumbering. And in the spring and summer, when blossoms of a dozen different varieties came open beneath the drizzling grey skies, Mercy’s calla lilies didn’t bother my allergies at all. Nothing did anymore. Ben was indeed in the hot tub, puffing on his vape pen, wearing only a beanie hat and swim trunks.

“What flavor is that cartridge?” I asked as I approached. “Gummy bear?”

“Close. Strawberry doughnut.”

“Ohhhh, yum!” Ben passed me the vape pen, and I took a drag as I kicked off my boots and sat near him on the rim of the hot tub, slipping my bare feet beneath the steaming, roiling water. Then I handed his vape pen back. “So. Guess what I have for you.”

“Uh.” He glanced at the envelope. “Jury duty.”

“Better.”

“Someone I hate has jury duty.”

I flipped the envelope around so he could see the University of Chicago logo on the front.

“Oh god,” Ben moaned.

“Don’t you want to see what it says?”

“Not really,” he admitted, grimacing.

“Come on, Ben. Open it.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?!”

Ben sighed. “Look, if I open it and it’s bad news, it’s gonna make Christmas weird. Rami will know. They’ll all know. They’ll all feel bad for me and it’ll be pathetic and depressing and awkward. You can look if you want to, just don’t tell anyone else yet.”

“It’s not going to be bad news,” I said, tugging at the floppy top of his beanie hat. He swatted my hand away, but he was smiling grudgingly.

“You have positively no way of knowing that. Unless Lucy’s had a vision I’m unaware of.”

“She hasn’t. You know she never sees anything important.”

“She saw you coming,” Ben countered.

“She saw human-me and Joe in love and gobbling down pretzels at a Cubs game. So I’d say there were at least a few minor details missing.”

“There’s no way I got in,” Ben said, his green eyes slick and fearful and now fixed on the envelope. “We can’t all be geniuses like you.”

“That’s an unfair accusation. I’m far from genius. I’m just obsessed with the ocean.” I’d written my senior thesis on the feeding habits of Pacific angelsharks, and my advisor was still trying to figure out how I, an amateur scuba diver at best, had managed to get so many quality photographs with my underwater camera. The secret, of course, was superhuman agility and not needing to breathe.

“I fucking hate calculus. The MCAT wrecked me. I got a 517.”

“And their median score is a 519, so I’d say you still have a fighting chance. Plus you have like eight million volunteer hours.” Ben had spent the vast majority of the past year either in class or at the hospital. The psychiatrist-in-chief, Dr. Siegel, had been more than happy to take one of Gwil’s foster children under her wing. Every human in Forks except Archer believed that Dr. Gwilym Lee had drowned in a tragic boating accident while he and Mercy were on vacation in Southern California, and that his body had never been recovered. The town had held a wonderful remembrance ceremony and dedicated a free clinic at the hospital in his honor. “Now open it.”

“You do it,” Ben relented finally. “My hands are wet. Go ahead, open it up and tell me what it says. And then kindly euthanize me to end my immortal shame.”

“That wouldn’t work,” I pointed out, tearing open the envelope. I pulled out the tri-folded piece of paper inside, flattened it against my thighs, and read the typed black text.

“...Well?” Ben pressed, vaping frantically.

I looked up and smiled at him.

“No way,” he whispered.

“I hope you like pretzels and bear-themed baseball teams, grandpa.”

And for a second, I thought he might bolt up out of the hot tub, hooting victoriously, splashing water all over the back porch as he danced around bellowing that he’d gotten into one of the best medical schools in the world, that he would be following me and Joe to Chicago. But that wasn’t Ben. Instead, a slow smile rippled across his face: it was small, but perfectly genuine. Pure, even.

“Goddamn,” he said, watching me. Venom doesn’t just resurrect or ruin; it forms a bond that is simultaneously intangible and yet immense. It’s an evolutionary adaptation, a way to facilitate stability and the building of covens in an often violent and ruleless world. And now that he had turned me, Ben had family here in Forks in more ways than one.

“Gwil would be so proud of you, Ben.”

“I hope so. I really do.”

The back door of the house opened, and Joe stepped outside. He studied Ben for a moment, and that was all it took for him to know. “Benny!” he shouted, elated.

“I know, I know. Fortunately, I look amazing in red. Thanks, supermodel genes.”

“This is going to be so fun!” Joe said, sprinting over to wrap Ben—who was characteristically lukewarm on this whole physical displays of affection business—in a hug from just outside the hot tub. “We’re going to go furniture shopping, and eat deep-dish pizza, and find apartments right next to each other, and mail home Chicago-themed care packages, and get you hooked up with some gorgeous Italian woman...or whatever you like, I guess I shouldn’t assume. Women. Men. Gang members. Marine mammals. Jessicas. Whatever. There are options.”

Ben laughed as he playfully shoved Joe away. “Sounds like a plan, pagliaccio.”

“Oh my god, stop learning Italian without me! You realize you have to tell Mom now.”

“I will,” Ben agreed, with some trepidation. “I’ll wait until after Christmas.”

“It’ll be hard for her,” I said. “But she knows it’s what you want. She knows it’s what’s best for you. So she’ll get through it. I think it would be worse for her if you didn’t get in, if she had to see you unhappy.”

Ben nodded, exhaling strawberry-doughnut-flavored vapor, gazing up at the stars, Orion and Auriga and Lynx and Perseus reflected in his thoughtful jade eyes. “She’ll still have Rami and Lucy and Scarlett here with her. And Archer. And Charlie.”

“Especially Charlie,” Joe said, grinning.

Mercy would have to leave Forks eventually, of course. The Lees had already been here for nearly four years; they could stay another ten, perhaps fifteen at the absolute maximum. And there had been a time when ten or fifteen years seemed like quite a while to me, but now it felt like I could doze off one afternoon and wake up on the other side of it, like swimming a lap in the sun-drenched public pool back in Phoenix. We would find a new home somewhere after Joe and I finished our PhDs, after Ben finished medical school, maybe Vancouver or Buffalo or Amsterdam or Edinburgh or Dublin or Reykjavik. Wherever we went, I hoped it wouldn’t be far from the sea. But Mercy couldn’t bear to leave Forks yet. It was the last home she had shared with Gwil, the last house they would ever build together, and leaving it would make his loss all the more irrevocable. She would be ready to leave someday, but not today.

In the meantime, there would still be visits for breaks and holidays. Scarlett and Archer had the shop to keep them busy, a brand new eight-car garage that held a virtual monopoly on both the Forks and Quileute communities. Lucy had opened a bohemian-style clothing boutique downtown, which confounded most of the locals but attracted more adventurous customers from as far away as Seattle. Rami was interning for a local immigration lawyer and entertaining the possibility of applying to U Chicago’s law school in another few years. And Mercy had the farm; and she had Charlie. He had asked her for cooking lessons to try to help rouse her a few months after Gwil’s death, and it had grown from there. If it wasn’t romantic just yet, I believed it would be soon. And there were moments when I thought my father might have figured something out, when his eyes narrowed and lingered on me just a little too long, when his brow knitted into suspicious, searching lines, when the hairs rose on the back of his neck and some innate insight whispered that we weren’t like him and never could be again. But then he would chuckle, shake his head, and say: “You’ve gotten weird, my gorgeous, brilliant progeny. But Forks looks pretty good on you.”

“Can I talk to you upstairs?” Joe asked me suddenly; and did I see restless nerves flicker in his dark eyes? I thought I did.

“Sure,” I replied, climbing down from the hot tub. “Ben, are you coming inside? My dad is trying to bake Christmas cookies and failing miserably. It’s pretty hilarious. Not that you should be the one to critique other people’s kitchen-related accidents.”

“I do enjoy your company a lot more now that I don’t want to murder you and slurp you down like a Chick-fil-A milkshake,” Ben said. “Yeah, give me a few minutes and I’ll be there.” And as Joe and I headed into the house, I saw Ben pick up the acceptance letter that I’d left on the rim of the hot tub and read it for himself with incredulous eyes, grappling with the irrefutable fact that it was his name on the opening line, that he had somewhere along the way become the sort of man who dedicated his immortality to saving lives rather than ending them.

In the living room, Scarlett was back in her yoga pants and absolutely brutalizing Archer in Mario Kart. Rami and Lucy were entwined together on the loveseat, murmuring, giggling, feeding each other pieces of gingerbread cookies. In the kitchen, Charlie was leading Mercy in a clumsy waltz to Meat Loaf’s I’d Do Anything For Love, and each time he fumbled his steps or mortifyingly trod on her feet she would cry out in a peal of laughter brighter than the sun she had learned to live without. Joe spirited me up the staircase, into his bedroom—which, honestly, was more like our bedroom now, in the same way that my room in Charlie’s house had become Joe’s as well—and closed the door.

“You’re in luck,” he said. “Your dad totally ruined our song. Now I can’t hear it without thinking about some moustached guy in plaid trying to seduce my mom.”

“It’s the best Christmas gift I could ever ask for. Meat Loaf is vanquished. Oh, just so you’re aware, Renee and Paul are getting an Airbnb and coming up for New Years.”

“Cool. Do they still think I have a super embarrassing sunlight allergy and will break into hives and asphyxiate and that’s why we can’t visit them in Florida?”

“Yup.”

“Spectacular. Also, can you please tell me what’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“They’re just a little sparse, amore. But I still like you.”

“Well, I am only moderately attractive, you know.” Then Joe steeled himself, taking a deep breath. Uh oh. He was definitely nervous. I still couldn’t believe I had the power to make him that way, but here we were. “So I get that we’re doing presents with the whole family tomorrow morning, and you do have some under the tree, so don’t worry about that. But there’s one I wanted to give to you alone. You know. With just us. Without an audience. Or whatever.”

“...Okay...?” A secret gift? A naughty gift? “I hope it’s a new vibrator.”

“Shut up,” Joe begged, laughing. “Here.” He reached into the drawer of his nightstand—our nightstand—and produced a small blue box topped with a turquoise bow. It wasn’t a ring, I was sure of that; I didn’t feel especially attached to the idea of marriage, and neither did Joe to my knowledge. How could rings or papers seal commitment when you already had eternity? I was right: the mysterious present was not a ring. When I removed the lid and emptied the box into my palm, what appeared there was a small plastic airplane.

“What is this?” I asked, amused but puzzled.

“Are you not college educated? It’s a plane.”

“Well, yeah, I can see that. But it’s also like two inches long.” I scrutinized the plane. “Are you magically transforming me into a tiny, tiny, little plastic person? Is that my gift? Because I actually got you something good.” And I really did: there was a collection of vintage Chicago Cubs photographs from the 1910s and 20s downstairs under the Christmas tree, packaged in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer wrapping paper.

“We’re going on a trip,” Joe said, grinning. “The day after Christmas. It’s just a short trip, nothing huge, don’t get too excited, we’re not going to Mt. Everest or Antarctica or anything. I think you’ll still like it. But I don’t want you to know where we’re going until we’re there.”

“How will that work? Considering the tickets and signage and pilot announcements and obnoxiously noisy other passengers and all.”

“ScarJo’s going to fly us.”

“Really?!” We were taking the jet. We almost never used the jet. “What’s in it for Scarlett?”

“She found out that Archer’s never had In-N-Out Burger before and is very much looking forward to initiating him into the cult of deliciousness.”

“Oh nice. I could go for a vanilla milkshake myself, now that Ben mentioned them.”

“Obviously I’m gonna buy you all the milkshakes and animal-style fries you want. Bankrupt me, bitch. But we have to get one other thing taken care of first.”

“So it’s somewhere they have In-N-Out Burger...” I pondered aloud. California? Texas? Las Vegas? I felt a brief but unambiguous pang of homesickness for Phoenix. But there was nothing there for me anymore.

“Stop,” Joe pleaded. “I’m sorry. I’ve already said too much. Please forget that. Get a traumatic brain injury or oxygen deprivation or something.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but I’m rather indestructible at the moment.”

He smiled wistfully. “I wouldn’t want you to be any other way.”

There was laughter downstairs in the living room. I could detect the aroma of a fresh batch of sugar cookies baking in the kitchen, mingling with the cold night air and pine trees and peppermint candy canes. I loved Christmas. The entire world smelled like Joe. The U Chicago décor, classic rock posters, and Italian flag were now interspersed with National Geographic pages and photos of the two of us together. The Official Whatever You Want Pass hung in a small, square picture frame on the wall above Joe’s bed. Our bed.

“How real is it, Joe?” I asked quietly. I climbed onto my tiptoes, linking my hands around the back of his neck with the tiny plane still tucked between my fingers. “Seriously. The wishes thing.”

“The world may never know. Akari never met me as a human, so she wouldn’t be able to say. But if I had to place a bet...” He shrugged, grinning craftily. “Kinda real. Kinda not real. Just like vampires, I guess.”

“I am alarmingly glad that you’re real, mob guy,” I said, abruptly somber. “I never thought I’d meet someone who saw me as remarkable, who could make me see myself that way. And it’s miraculous. And it’s terrifying too, honestly. Being a thing with you. Falling for someone you could have for centuries and lose in a second.”

“It’s the scariest thing there is,” Joe concurred, taking my hand to lead me back downstairs.

Joseph

Scarlett looks like a goddess, and she knows it. But she’s not one of those magnanimous, fragile, harp-plucking, pastel-colored goddesses. She’s ferocity and wildness and crimson like blood, and that’s exactly why Archer loves her. And as they stand in front of the Christmas tree with their hands clasped together—ivory on bronze, snow on sun—with matching sprigs of holly in Scarlett’s hair and pinned to the jacket of Archer’s suit, reciting truths but no promises, I can’t help but watch the other faces in the room: Rami, Lucy, Ben, Charlie, Mom with her beaming smile and shining eyes, the woman I met sixteen months ago and now can’t fathom life without. And it occurs to me for the first time that love, in its cleanest form, isn’t something that changes people as much as it allows them to become who they truly are.

On the evening of December 26th, as soon as the sun dips beneath the western horizon, we board the jet in the Forks Airport hangar. It’s much easier for Scarlett to fly at night; otherwise she has to wear two or three pairs of sunglasses on top of each other, and even then it’s still painful, it still feels like blinding needles burrowing into the jelly of her retinas. That’s not a wrench in my plans or anything. It needs to be night where we’re going, too.

Vampire hyper-acuity notwithstanding, FAA regulations require Scarlett to have a copilot, so Archer joins her in the flight deck with his newly-minted license and spends most of the journey flipping through the latest issue of Motor Trend. As we begin our descent, he peeks back at us and teases: “It’ll be your turn eventually, guys. Scarlett and I did our time. Rami and Lucy can go next year. And after that...unless Ben happens to find someone worthy of a not-wedding...” He wiggles his black eyebrows.

“Bring it on,” I reply casually. “Fake wedding are my jam. It’ll be ocean themed. Or Roaring ‘20s themed. And we’ll all do the Cha-Cha Slide in the living room and shame Ben as a bonding activity.”

“Mercy can set up a mashed potatoes bar,” Baby Swan adds.

“Yeah. With pineapple.”

“No. Not on potatoes.”

“Yes on potatoes.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Too late,” I tell her, touching my lips to the knuckles of her cool, steady hand.

We touch down at a small noncommercial airport just outside the city, and Scarlett and Archer stay back to secure the plane as Baby Swan follows me outside. And she realizes where we are as soon as the wind hits her, as soon as her eyes soak up the sand and cacti and cloudless night sky like rain swallowed up by parched earth.

“Phoenix,” she whispers, smiling like a child.

“But wait, there’s more!” I announce in my best Billy Mays voice. I take the little glass bottle from my pocket, walk across the runway to the naked desert, crouch down when I find a suitable spot, and fill the bottle with dry, sandy earth that crumbles in my palms. Then I seal the bottle with a tiny cork and bring it back to give it to her.

“I know what it’s like to have to leave home,” I say. “You’ve had to say goodbye to Phoenix, and soon you’ll have to say goodbye to Forks, and next will be Chicago, on and on forever. You’ll always be leaving the places you learn to call home. Every five or ten or fifteen years, we start over again. Like a snake shedding its skin, like a hermit crab swapping shells. Like the water that travels from rain to seawater to mist and then back again. But now you can always have a little piece of home with you, and maybe that will make it easier.”

She takes the glass bottle and shakes her head in disbelief, in wonder. Because this is exactly what she wanted, what she needed, even if she didn’t know it yet. “Joe...how did you...?”

“What’d I tell ya? I’m a talented guy. Now you have to dance with me.”

She laughs. “Oh no. Hard pass. I don’t dance.”

“When we’re alone in my bedroom you do. So just pretend we’re alone now. In, like, a really really spacious, sandy bedroom. With probably some lizards.”

“Fine. But only because I’m willing to degrade myself for milkshakes.”

She slides the glass bottle of Arizona earth into her pocket and takes my hands. She’s still a pretty terrible dancer, honestly. She hasn’t lost that. And I love that about her. I love damn near everything about her. And it took me a long time to figure out what exactly her subtle yet peerless cocktail of fragrance is, because it wasn’t somewhere I’d ever been. The scent that drifts from her pores—the scent that now lives in my bedsheets like a shadow or a ghost—is sunlight and heat and clarity and resilience and wisdom older than the pyramids. Her scent is the desert.

Now she’s mischievous, her eyes gleaming with the reflections of the Milky Way and the full moon and the stars that are dead and yet eternal, just like us. “So what, you think you’re Vampire Boyfriend Of The Year material now or what? Some dirt and In-N-Out Burger? That’s the height of your game? Is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of my perpetual existence? I totally should have pursued that polyamorous triad with Scarlett and Archer when I had the chance—”

“Yeah,” I say, very softly, smiling, tilting up her chin to kiss her beneath the universe and all its eccentricities. “I love you too.”

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sparkleofpizza · 4 years ago

Text

The archer - Tim Drake x reader 3/?

Requested: no

Warnings: swearing, flashback in italic

Taglist: @isthataladybag

Summary: Y/n Queen will be living in the Wayne Manor for a while, and Dick Grayson decided to be the Cupid between her and his little brother Tim Drake.

Word count: 2.918

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

Tim trusted Bruce. He trusted Bruce a lot, he was Batman after all, he took care of the city very well and would never let a known threat just live there normally. But Tim was a detective as well, he felt a bit bad for it, but he had to dig a bit on you.

After finding out you are Oliver's sister and not Roy’s, and that you had been trained by Talia al Ghul, he realized he knows nothing about you or your past. If it was anyone else staying at his house, he would've already found out all of their secrets and everything they had ever done in their life. He couldn't let a silly crush get in the way, or your pretty conquer smile. He felt very bad for snooping around, but he had to do it. It was who he was.

You were out for the day, you had to take care of a few papers at Gotham University since you would be studying there in a few days. You had invited Tim to accompany you, and he really wanted to, specially since you knew nothing about Gotham and could easily end up going somewhere dangerous (everywhere was a bit dangerous, but still). He told you he had to work on a few papers for Wayne Enterprises and suggested you invited Jason to join you.

So now, there was Tim. Sitting alone in his room, laptop open, a mug of warm coffee by his side, and he was ready to look you up. He started typing, doing the thing he always does when he needs to dig dirty on people he is tracking for a case - he still felt terrible about doing this behind your back, but he pushed it to the back of his mind, it was just the crush he had on you talking louder than common sense.

Y/n M/n Queen. Birthday: xx/xx/xxxx. Birth place: Star City.

Moira Queen - mother (deceased)

Robert Queen - father (deceased)

Oliver Queen - brother

Emiko Queen - half sister

Tim started reading everything he could find about you. Good student with great grades, former cheerleader, socialite knowing for mingling with important people from Star City. Has been saved by the Green Arrow a few times when kidnaped for being a Queen, and then Deathstroke's victim. Footage of you out there being Silver, in the years where you were activated the most, now a days you're hardly ever seen as vigilant. Associated with Thomas Merlyn - mercenary, Malcom Merlyn - mercenary and assassin. Joined the League of Assassins for five months after being held as a prize on a fight between Malcom Merlyn and Oliver Queen, resulting in the loss of Oliver and you being sent to the League. Trained by the whole al Ghul family. Often associated with Roy Harper and Connor Hawke. Teamed up with Red Arrow and Kid Flash before.

Tim was pleased he didn't find anything bad about you. All of this was ok, even the League of Assassins stuff. He was relived, but now was feeling ever guiltier than before. Should he tell you what he did? Would you be mad?

He closed his laptop, rubbing his eyes. Maybe he was just tired, that's why he did all of this. There was no need for you to know any of this.

"Drake." Damian said, barging into his room, hands behind his back and chin held up high "I think we need to discuss the fact that Queen is a former member of the League of Assassins."

Tim sighted "I already looked it up, she is fine, Damian."

"Then look it up again and harder. You are letting your feelings cloud your judgment."

And with that the little boy left.

You were sitting at a cafe with Jason in Gotham Downtown. You had already delivered the missing papers at Gotham University, and now were enjoining an iced coffee with him. He had a hat and sunglasses on, trying to hide his identity, he was supposed to be dead and hasn't made his big debute just yet.

"So... Dick seems to be trying to be the cupid between you and Tim." he commented, taking a sip of his Frappuccino "What do you think about that?"

You chuckled "I am certainly not opposed to that."

Jason's eyebrows shot up "Really? So you are crushing on my replacement?"

"Stop calling him that, you know he didn't want to replace you." you rolled your eyes, no you didn't know that, but from what you learned about Tim, you could tell that wasn't his intention when he took the mantle of Robin "And yes, I am crushing your brother. Although I have no idea what he wants from me."

The man in front of you rolled his eyes back at you, not like you could see trough the dark lenses covering his eyes. Of course you were crushing on him, if you were already willingly to defend Tim without even knowing everything.

"Dick wouldn't have came up with this idea if he didn't think Tim was interested in you as well. But, I can try and talk to him if you want to. Please, don't."

"Geez, why did you volunteer if you don't want to?"

"Because I am trying to be nice to you."

You shook your head, sipping on your iced caramel macchiato. You only hope that Jason don't rat you out to Roy, you don't want your brother to find out about you having a crush on Bruce's son thought Roy. God knows he didn't know how to keep the gossip to himself.

"What's the deal with you being trained by the demon's mother?"

Ah there it was, the question you knew would come eventually. You regretted telling them the truth in the first place, but you also knew that if they found out later and on their own it would have been worse. They would probably think you were trying to hide it from them because of bad motives. It wasn't, you just didn't really like to look someone in the eyes and say hey, did you know I was trained by assassins?

"I already said it isn't..."

"Yes, it is." he cut you off, not buying any of your bullshit "I know you are not the bad guy, if that is why you are afraid of telling me the truth. I just want to know what happened. I know how the league can be... brute."

You bit on your lower lip, staring off into distance.

The air was warmer than you remembered it from a few years ago, maybe it was because you were younger and was only trying to see the best into the situation - it was like a trip, right?

You looked out of the window, watching the trees' leafs waving with the wind, people walking in a group outside, looking for any inconvenience. You wondered how long it would take for you to be killed if you decided to escape.

"It is time for your training." Nissa al Ghul informed you, standing at the door of the room you were currently calling yours

"Again?" you asked, not turning around to face her, you didn't want her to see your blank face "I just finished training with your sister."

Nissa sighted, pushing back the brown hair that was around her shoulders. Her hand left the handle of the sword tucked into her belt. She had promised Oliver that she would do her best to keep his sister out of harm ways, but there was only much she could do. Going against both her father and sister was not a smart idea, and although it wasn't often that she saw eye to eye with them, they were still her family, and Oliver and you were simple... friends? Maybe, that was a complex term.

"Yes, again. My father is waiting for you and he doesn't like when people keep him waiting."

You nodded your head. There was no point in fighting like you did the first couple of weeks. You knew you were outnumbered, and God knows when your family is coming to rescue you, if they can succeed in doing so.

As you walked around, silent footsteps, no sign of your approach, you saw Ra's al Ghul. Before you could even blink, he had his sword down to your neck, you on your knees as you helplessly stared into his eyes. His angry eyes.

"Never keep your opponent waiting. It gives him the time to explore his surrounds and learn the best path to ambush you the moment you arrive."

You pushed his sword back, not caring that the blade cut into the palm of your hand. You allowed the blood to drip on the floor, pushing yourself off the floor and grabbing your bow and an arrow from the quiver on your back.

Fighting with Ra's made you think that maybe this was going to be your life from now on. Sparring everyday until you had to kill for the first time, then sparring harder until you got sent on a mission, for your first kill. You wondered if maybe you would be stopped by your brother and friends, if you would allow them, or if not, if they'd succeed in stopping you.

"It was just Malcom's Merlyn fault." you stated, turning your gaze to Jason who was still staring at you "He provoked my brother into a fight, I was the prize. Malcom won and the league finally got a Queen so they could mold into the perfect assassin. Thankfully, Tommy joined Oliver and they both got me out of there."

Jason nodded, it wasn't a full story like he was expecting, but hey! He doesn't like to talk about his time at the league too. Hell, he thinks not even one of his brothers know fully everything that happened there with him. Somethings are better left unsaid, and apparently, for you, this was the case. He was ok with that, that was your story to be told, and if you didn't want to share it, then you didn't have to.

"Yeah, Roy mentioned a couple of times how much of an asshole Merlyn can be." He said, earning a laugh from you

“He knows how to be a pain in the ass.” You nodded your head in agreement “I thought Bruce had said something about it to you guys.”

Jason shook his head, it was typical Bruce to not share informations with the rest of them. Jason learned from him how to be closed off and not share his feelings, even when Dick would bother him about it.

“No, he didn’t say anything.”

You persued your lips “Oliver asked him for help at the time, you know, because of Bruce’s connections to Talia. He wanted to know the best way to outsmart her. I thought at least one of you knew...”

“Bruce probably thought it was for the best to keep this kind of information away from Damian. He doesn’t like to talk about his time at the league, I don’t like to talk about my time at the league. Dick would’ve found a way to ask us how we feel about it, and Tim... he would’ve found a way to ask us how was our time there, trying to learn more.”

You nodded your head. You couldn’t blame Bruce for not talking, you were actually relieved he didn’t, that way the boys got to know you because they wanted to, and not to prove you weren’t an assassin living in their house. You’ve never even killed anyone before, so... maybe you should’ve started the conversation with Jason by stating that fact, it would’ve been better.

“I never killed anyone.” You addded, voice just above a whisper “I thought you should know that.”

“Well, then I am glad the league didn’t break you enough to start killing.” He smiled at you

Dick was sitting at the kitchen with his brothers. Damian was going on a rant about you, exclaiming everyone should keep an eye on you, just in case.

Dick grabbed a cookie from the plate, they were still warm, freshed baked. He could understand why his little brother was worried, but Tim looking you up?

“I already talked about it with her today.” Jason sighted, presssing his hand trough his face “She isn’t an assassin, Damian! Let this go!”

“I can’t believe you were digging dirty on her.” Dick said, shaking his head in disappointment “I thought you were crushing on her! Damian said he saw you guys almost kissing yesterday!”

Tim blushed “I just had to make sure she was who I thought she was. We knew nothing about her, now we do. Her parents are both dead, she doesn’t have a criminal record, and she’s never killed anyone before.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, frowning. Did you hear them correctly? Did they look you up just to make sure you weren’t a bad person? Ok, you understand them being wary of you after they found this whole league of assassins thing out, but Tim...? You just couldn’t believe he had the nerve to do this instead of asking you, you would’ve told him anything he wanted to know.

Maybe you were being a fool, trusting him blindly when you shouldn’t. You were being a fool for just starting to fall for this boy who clearly doesn’t trust you enough like you trust him, and clearly his crush on you means nothing.

Frustrated, you went back to your room, closing the door behind you. Right now, you were regretting having agreed to wait for Oliver to come back from his missions to look for an apartment to live in Gotham.

You grabbed your cellphone from the bedside table, clicking on the screen and then holding it up to your ear.

“Hi, I need to talk to you about something.” You said as soon as he picked up

“Hello to you, too.” Connor Hawke said on the other end of the line “Who ate your ice cream?”

You rolled your eyes. Once when you were younger, Roy ate all of the ice cream there was on the fridge and you were pissed for the rest of the day. Now, every time you are on a bad mood, they would ask who ate your ice cream. Very funny.

“Hi, Connor. How are you?” You asked after taking a deep breath, taking your anger out on your best friend wasn’t going to solve your problems

“I’m fine, but you apperently aren’t. So tell me, what did Gotham do to you? Or perhaps what did the Wayne boys did to you?”

You sighted, taking a sit on the bed, Connor knew you too well. He also knew the troubles you went trough growing up as a Queen and as the Green Arrow’s sister. He was always there for you, so he knew a lot how you coped with things and how certain small things had a big impact in your life.

You started by telling him about the sparring session you had with Jason and how it ended up with everyone finding out about you being trained by the league of assassins. And then proceeded to tell him about what you overheard at the kitchen.

“I know that me being part of Team Arrow should make me understand why Tim was researching about me. We have been betrayed by people close to us before, and I really want to be resenoble about this whole situation, but...”

“But you are upset about it. You wish he had came to you to ask you all this questions.” Connor finished up your train of thoughts

“Yes, God yes! I wish he would’ve just came to me, I would’ve told him anything he wanted to know, and damn, I know this makes me sound like a fool.”

“Just a little bit.” Your best friend laughed “I am happy to see you are developing feelings for him, even if I am a bit mad he was suspicious of you. But in our line of work, we should always be too careful.”

You pushed your hair away from your face, staring at the cream walls in front of your. Connor was right, you were overreacting because you were developing feelings Tim and you wanted him to trust you because trust is fundamental in a relationship. You couldn’t help but think that if it was the other way around, you would’ve done the same thing.

“You’re right. Thank you, Conny.”

“I am always right, and please, don’t call me Conny.”

You chuckled, flopping down on bed so you could rest your back on the soft mattress.

“Should I talk to him about it?” You asked quietly

“If it is going to make you feel better than you should approach him with the subject, if not, let him come to you, it will be a proof if it is worth nurtrishing feelings for him.”

After you ended the call, you kept thinking about what Connor had said. He did know how to give good advise, and waiting for Tim to tell you was indeed a good test to know if it was actually worth it to have a crush on him. Maybe you shouldn’t let him know you knew. Let’s see what he’s gonna do.

After all, he wasn’t the only one who came from a family that knew how to keep emotions on check.

#tim drake x reader #tim drake x you #tim drake x y/n #tim drake imagine #tim drake headcanon #red robin x y/n #red robin x you #red robin x reader #red robin imagine #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #damian wayne x reader #roy harper x reader

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tonystarkbingo · 4 years ago

Photo

Our TSB party is still going, and here is one of the games we’ve had fun with so far!

Fic Titles Game

Glitter - suggested by @phoenixmetaphor3000

@huntress79 - Idea: Dum-E teams up with Steve (other Avengers optional) to bring some Christmas cheer to their favorite in-house Grinch (aka Tony XD) Massive amounts of Glitter involved

@rebelmeg - tony kind of has an accidental thing for glitter. it's not his fault. the iron man suit has a glitz and glamour of its own, he's always told his eyes sparkle, and his favorite tie pin is that gaudy ruby one that pepper hates. he loves the stars, the way sunlight sparkles on the waves outside his malibu mansion, and he can't really be blamed when a tiny speck of glitter under a certain someone's eye catches his attention one december day.

@psychiccatpanda - Clint refills DUM-E's fire extinguisher with purple and silver glitter as revenge for Tony making Clint's most recent armor change to red and gold with body heat. Hijinks ensue.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Decorating the Christmas tree, the Avengers get into an argument over who is responsible for the missing tinsel. Half an hour later they find it, in a tangled web draped all over Dum-e. He objects strenuously to its removal, but eventually concedes to their assistance in rearranging the strands so he can still move.

@huntress79 - The Avengers are invited to a Charity gala, but they have to wear costumes that are NOT their usual ones. And of course, Tony can't resist an opportunity to rile up a certain Captain, just a little bit. Best way to do so: a dare, in this case who wears the most glittery costume. But what Tony didn't expect was that Steve comes up with his own counterdare... (author's choice ;))

@darthbloodorange - [Stony] - It's pride, so there was bound to be some glitter floating around, it was inevitable. But this much? Someone was obviously being irresponsible with glitter and needs to be given a warning for the good of the world (and the Tower's cleaning bots). Tony follows the trail of glitter... all the way to Steve's room? Does this mean that Tony's crush on Steve actually stood a chance of being more than just a crush.

@ralsbecket - It was Steve's first Father's Day being Morgan's step-dad, and Tony helps her with cooking breakfast in bed and sprinkling red, white, and blue glitter on a handmade card (not particularly in that order). Steve still finds glitter everywhere weeks later.

@rebelmeg - i can't art very well, but i want art of the aftermath of tony opening a glitter bomb that rhodey left out for him

@huntress79 - (Stony) - During a mission in space, Tony and Steve are stranded on a planet, with no immediate way to get back. After a while, they encounter tiny little beings who introduce themselves as fairies. But while they can't fulfill their wish to get home (for whatever reasons), they might be inclined to use their glittery fairy dust for something else… (could also be used for a crossover with Hook/Peter Pan)

@rebelmeg (with some inspirational help from @dreaminglypeach) - tony coming home with glitter all over his suit and looking super smug, and everyone IMMEDIATELY assumes strippers. but of course it's gotta something completely different and silly. like... he wandered through the christmas department at the store and slipped on something and ended up sprawled on the glitter strewn floor

@yesmooshoe - Tony is somehow de-aged to around 5. The Avengers do their best to take care of him while they figure out what to do, but don't keep a constant eye on him. Tony likes all of his new friends though and wants to do something special for them, so he acquires a bunch of glitter and glue (maybe jarvis helps? maybe thor likes crafting? fuck knows.) Tony proceeds to embellish everyone's stuff - glitter all of steve's shield, thor's hammer, glitter all over Clint's arrows (which really throws off the balance but he can't be mad), and even a weird-looking red and yellow robot suit. When Tony is finally returned to normal he's upset with his younger self for how haphazardly he glued all the glitter to his suit, because it could have looked super cool if done well.

Collaborative effort that started with strippers and then went off the rails

Glitter lube

Scratchy, what a terrible idea

oh my god but imagine shitting out glitter

Edible glitter

Edible glitter on cakes

Edible glitter exiting the human body

So many glitter poop jokes and anecdotes

@ralsbecket - The Avengers are forced undercover for a mission to catch a villain red-handed, and this villain just so happens to work from the basement of a strip-club. Tony draws the short straw, but at least he can choose his own stripper name.

@lbibliophile-mcu - He's sure it looks very pretty. Gentle waves ruffling the surface of the bay. Each strand of grass on the dunes lined in perfect crystals of frost. Dawn sun painting the sky pink. And right there is the problem: dawn sun. It is far too early to have to deal with all these stray rays of light stabbing through his eyes.

(More under the cut!)

Vices - suggested by @ralsbecket

@huntress79 - (Stony) - Steve's a hard working cop on the vice, Tony's his "favorite" frequent delinquent (aka Tony's a bit of a bad boy who usually gets arrested by Steve, for rather minor things, but Tony can't shut up when Steve's around, so it's more for his talking than anything else) (Steve, of course, can be replaced by any other character, whatever floats your boat XD)

@rebelmeg - tony kicked a lot of these habits a long time ago. it's been ages since he's been high, or slept around, or partied until he literally dropped. but around this time in december, he's allowed a few of his other vices. his need for near-constant touch and attention. drinking. staying up to keep the nightmares away, and being coaxed to bed when he's so exhausted he's asleep before his head eats the pillow. eating all the food he loves that aren't that great for him. it's okay, though. this time of year, he's allowed.

@lbibliophile - "... This is not the worst thing you've caught me doing." And it was in that moment - confronted by the picture he made trapped in the grip of supposedly-helpful machinery - that Tony decided he really needed to prioritise a better way of getting the suit on and off.

@rebelmeg - some kind of profile art with the arc reactor depicted as one half of a vice clamped on tony's chest

@dreaminglypeach - vices: DUM-E was only trying to help squishy-dad with his work. He didn’t mean to get his hand stuck in a vice. If only sky-dad would stop chastising him and call for help…

@Magicadraconia16 - Dum-E does not understand why everyone keeps saying that vices are bad. They're very helpful tools! He loves the one that Tony gave him for his very own. He can show everyone, then they'll see! If only he can get it off of U's arm, first…

@huntress79 - Knowing that Tony will fall back to some of his old vices as soon as December rolls around, the whole Tower teams up to keep him from doing so (can be gen aka Avengers as a family, or end with your favorite partner for Tones)

@psychiccatpanda - [potential WinterIron] Bucky has been researching everyone on the team and it seems like the media has nothing better to do than to gossip about Tony Stark's vices - women, booze, and expensive cars mostly. The trashier gossip bloggers openly speculated on what (or who) Tony's latest mistake would be. When Bucky gives Tony a judgmental look after he's returned from being out (much longer than the hour Stark had said he'd be gone), Tony frowns. The bag clanks like metal. What the hell had Tony meant when he'd said he needed to 'go pick up some new vices'?? ((hint - it's actual vices. It always takes longer at Home Depot or any hardware store because Tony has to look at everything before he leaves!))

@tehroserose - [Stony] Steve had only one vice. Well, two, but they were related. He loved watching Tony's backside, and he loved getting him angry. The genius was so alive when he was angry, and then he was treated to a wonderful view of the amazing backside. Bucky was about ready to smack him upside the head for his kindergarten way of having a crush.

@darthbloodorange - [Stony] - Before the serum there was a lot of things Steve couldn't experience, whether it was because of his conditions or lack of money. Steve's favourite thing about the 21st Century is all the foods and flavours. Being able to eat things he couldn't eat before. Being able to taste things he wouldn't've been able to taste before. Steve spends his military back-pay on food and treats... a part of him burns at the idea of spending his money this way, there were more beneficial things he could be doing with it... But he can't help himself, especially when some flavours taste like euphoria. Tony notices and decides to indulge in Steve's vices.

@huntress79 - (potential HawkIron) For the longest time, Clint always had to choose before a mission between wearing the team comms and his hearing aids, otherwise his ears felt like being in a vice. SHIELD didn't see it as a necessity to equip him with better things, but once he joins the Avengers, and Tony notices the obvious problem, things start to look up for the resident archer....

@huntress79 - Ever since he got free of the programming and came to live at the Tower, Bucky's been doing repairs on his metal arm on his own. But after a mission, putting his arm in a vice and working with the fine tools isn't the easiest thing to do. And Buck's too proud to ask anyone for help, be it Steve or anyone else. Good thing that he can't stop JARVIS alerting Tony to that particular problem... (can be friendship/mending bridges between them, or WinterIron)

5 Times Tony Stark was a Terrible Cook, Plus 1 That One Time He Finally Ordered a Pizza - suggested by @yesmooshoe

@tehroserose - Tony/Others, Tony/Rhodey end. Tony has always tried to cook for his dates. He wants to impress them. Problem is, he can't cook. And too many people just want the Stark money and lie and say it is good. Or they're too afraid/intimidated to tell the truth. Later, much later, he realizes they aren't good for him. Then there's Rhodey, who's never afraid to tell Tony that his cooking sucks... and then, after the last relationship ended, this time when the white lie was out of care, Rhodey again tells Tony his food sucks, let's get pizza. And they kiss, over the pizza.

@rebelmeg - first it was cookies. cookies burnt to a crisp that even ana jarvis couldn't salvage. second was spaghetti, so mushy and overcooked that rhodey couldn't stop laughing even when tony threatened to throw his enormously thick math textbook at him. third was that whole "raw in the middle" chicken incident that happy still won't let him live down, and fourth was the disastrous omelet for pepper. fifth was morgan's 1st birthday cake, and thank heaven's pepper was wise enough to ignore him and order a backup. this time, he's just gonna order a pizza.

@huntress79 - Tony The Cook: The Jarvises tried, Mama Rhodes as well, but for all his genius, Tony can't figure out a cooking recipe. Nonetheless, he tried to impress several various dates with his cooking skills. Needless to say that none of these attempts (both cooking and dating) ended well. Then, he meets Steve, a guy who doesn't care at all what they eat, as long as they eat together. And so, Tony orders pizza for their date…

@Magicadraconia16 - It's an unfortunate historical fact that Tony cannot cook to save his life (hmm, there's an idea for the next HYDRA kidnapping...). Rhodey's meal was burnt to unidentifiable cinders (seriously, even Tony doesn't know what it was supposed to be); Pepper's gave her an allergic reaction; Natasha chipped a tooth; Hulk came out and threw Bruce's food out of the (closed!!) window; and Steve got food poisoning. Steve!!! So when Bucky turns up in his workshop one day, Tony decides to selflessly save everyone from a hangry Winter Soldier and just orders pizza, instead.

@ralsbecket - 5 + 1 Pizza: Tony Stark was many things. He was a genius, he was a billionaire, he was a playboy, he was a philanthropist. The thing he was decidedly not was a good cook. It was one burnt omelet too many before Pepper begged him to just order out. The person delivering his pizza was... attractive. If he started ordering pizza on Fridays at 6PM every week for a month, that was nobody's business.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Tony just wants to offer a fancy home-made anniversary dinner. It's not so much that Tony is a terrible cook, but that something (or several somethings) always go wrong. His significant other's flight was delayed. He gets distracted by a minor crisis half way through cooking. He tries to prepare beforehand, but forgets to label it before leaving it in the common fridge. Had a mistranslated recipe or the wrong measuring spoons. Dum-e tried to 'help' while he was distracted. The next year, his SO requests that they just order pizza to eat cuddled on the couch.

@psychiccatpanda - Single dad Tony tries to do it all. He feels terrible about the amount of time his three kids (all under the age of 5) spend in daycare, but college will be expensive, so he works -and works. But he tries to make the after-work before-bed moments really count. Sometimes his carefully planned dinners don't work out. Monday, the slow cooker wasn't plugged in and their chicken and potato dish spoiled for being on the counter for almost 13 hours unrefrigerated. Tuesday they were out of bread and ate PBJ on the last three hot dog buns. Wednesday, he thought dinner was fine, but Peter declared it was 'too spicy' and so none of the kids would eat it. Thursday he burned the chicken nuggets in the oven because he had to help the kids with their baths, and Friday? Well no one was gonna talk about that again. Saturday Tony's ready to cry because he's pretty sure Morgan is coming down with something. So he orders pizza. When the pizza delivery guy arrives, holding Morgan, she barfs all down Tony's back. Pizza delivery driver yanks the pizza away and asks if he can come in to set it down in the kitchen, then helps out with the kids while Tony takes a shower.

@darthbloodorange - [Stony] - It was meant to be romantic, cooking for a date. But with Tony it was definitely not romantic. Cooking for Rumiko he managed to burn everything, yet have the food still raw. Firefighters had to be called when he set his dorm alight cooking for Janet. Ty needed to have his stomach pumped after Tony's cooking (how was he to know what was too much alcohol, wasn't it meant to burn off?). Indries had stomach problems for weeks after Tony cooked for her. And he managed to poison Pepper... Needless to say, Tony wasn't a good cook... So when he scores a date with Steve Rogers, he thinks "why bother try? Steve is too good for me anyway", there was no way they were going to last. So he orders a pizza. Steve is relieved when he sees the pizza. He had been hoping Tony would pick something down to earth, worried he wouldn't know how to eat whatever posh food Tony put in front of him and make a fool of himself. Steve admits he doesn't know how to cook either. Maybe Captain America isn't so perfect. Maybe... Maybe this could work out. Him and Steve

@huntress79 - Of all the people, Tony has probably the most irregular eating rhythm. He has been known to try and cook for himself, but the results are less than stellar. So, one by one, each of the Avengers try to cook for him, until Steve joins him in the workshop with a small stash of pizzas…

@lbibliophile-mcu - It was all Steve Rogers' fault. Him and his insistence on 'team dinners' to 'promote bonding' and 'improve cohesion'. Not that Tony necessarily objects to the dinners - pending his schedule - but Steve seems to have this odd conviction that having home-cooked food is a necessary part of the ritual, and none of them can change his mind. Natasha tried logic. Clint tried begging. Bruce, he's pretty sure, is sneaking in pre-made food and just cooking the final steps. Thor thinks it's a great idea... but is always for some reason back on Asgard on his nights. But Tony is a genius, so he decides on a different approach. He grumbles a little bit, but otherwise doesn't complain when it's his night to cook. He cooks... and watches as each of the Avengers gives up on choking down the barely-edible meal. The next time he is rostered, the scene repeats. And the next. And the next. By the sixth time he is due to be cooking dinner, Steve comes up to him and politely - but pointedly - suggests that maybe they just order pizza. Tony thinks of the several meals worth of tasty leftovers hidden in the penthouse fridge, and graciously acquiesces.

I hope Thistle cheer you up - by @darthbloodorange

@rebelmeg - it was the pun war to end all pun wars. and it was probably going to end all of them. clint was fine, he loved puns almost as much as he loved pizza. steve hated puns so much he had taken up swearing. tony took sadistic glee in saving his worst puns for when steve was around. nat was famous for using the most clever of puns at unexpected moments. bucky could deadpan a pun so seriously it always took them by surprise. thor was terrible at it, still grasping the nuances of american english, but he sure tried hard. bruce tolerated it all and made half-hearted attempts at participation, though chuckling at his own puns was usually funnier than the puns. sam loved making puns, but hated it when other people did. it started creeping into other areas of their life, onto social media, in interviews, and at one point hawkeye was trending for awhile after he screamed out "THISTLE CHEER YOU UP!" whilst battling some kind of plant monster. tony helped, because he retweeted with the comment, "ooh, talk dirt to me."

@ralsbecket - So what if Tony had gotten laid off? So what if Tony had a mountain of bills sitting on his dining table? The only thing that mattered to him in that moment was his baby girl Morgan, with her hair falling out of the ponytail and her cute little lisp. She'd come back in from the backyard with a handful of dandelions, saying, "I hope thistle cheer you up, Daddy" so sweetly that for just a moment, everything was okay again.

@psychiccatpanda - [IronHawk] Tony's been working on the reams of paperwork that he's put off for SI. He's still not sure why it all needs to be done before the end of the quarter, but here he was. Needless to say, Tony Stark has been in a foul mood the whole week. The snide comments he usually keeps to himself have started to slip out and he feels guilty on top of the grouchy, so he decides to barricade himself in his office. He falls asleep on a sheaf of papers and wakes up with the impression of little ridges of paper on his cheek. It takes a moment (he hasn't been asleep that long) for him to fully realize the plant in front of him was real. An aloe plant - with a plate of chocolate muffins, fruit, cheese, and nuts. A post-it on the aloe's pot read, 'I hope thistle cheer you up,' written with a purple felt tip pen., which meant either Clint had left it - or Natasha pretending to be Clint.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Bruce looks at Tony, then back down at the spiny dried flowerhead in his hands.

"I know that you were getting frustrated trying to find these for your new fibre arts project, so I decided to help." His eyes light up as he realises the pun. "Thistle cheer you up!"

Bruce sighs even as he smiles.

"Tony... I appreciate the thought, but as you said, this is a thistle. I need a teasel."

@darthbloodorange - [Stony] - Tony really doesn't like his neighbour Justin. The man was always trying to find ways to report him to the local council. Mailbox too close to driveway? Reported! Weeds in his lawn? Reported! Fence too high? Reported! Didn't clean his pool that weekend? Reported! Lawn too long? Reported! It was ridiculous. But the council won't do anything because taking action against someone who's reported you (even if the reports were false) is apparently considered wrong and vindictive. There was nothing Tony could do but grit his teeth and bear it. One day Tony receives a box in the mail, addressed from his neighbour across the street. The handsome blond guy with the body of a Greek god and a garden that looked like a literal paradise. Steve Rogers. Tony wasn't too shy to admit (to himself) that he had a crush on the man. He eagerly tears into the box to find a small note and a lots of little bags of mulch wrapped in tissue paper. The note reads: "Tony, I've heard you be having some trouble. I hope thistle cheer you up. After the rain comes flowers. Ps. Throw these over Justin's fence." And so he does. Watching Justin battle all the weeds after it rains brings Tony so much joy. Especially when Justine reports him to the council and the council shrugs him off this time. He heads over to Steve with some home cooked food as a thank you gift and they get talking. Turns out Steve is an Environmental activist with a passion for guerrilla gardening. Tony is hooked. Maybe it has more to to with Steve then the revenge on Justin (as sweet as it was)

#tonystarkbingomarkiv #tsbmiv #tsb discord party #titles game #discord party games

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thorinthehottotty · 5 years ago

Text

Imagine fighting with Thorin at Kíli and Tauriel's wedding and it leads to him finally getting to confess...

Really long and I don't know how to do the hyperlink thing to make it short...

Warnings: Angst, NSFW, no editing, rushed ending but I might make a part two!

Length... Too long.

"Elvish weddings are nothing like this," Tauriel admits, eyes large but the smile evident on her face. Your friend all too happy to be here, dwarvishly married to her prince. The sap currently being paraided in the middle of the hall, a beaming smile on his young face.

"No? What are they like? No dancing?"

"Oh, there is dancing, but not so lively." Smiling, you both watch as everyone celebrates the groom.

"What about human weddings?" You glance over to see the King Under the Mountain with the whispers of a smile on his face. He stands behind you both.

"Nothing compares to the liveliness of the dwarves, your highness." Despite the pain of seeing him now, smiling upon you like nothing had changed, you relaxed at his smile. A rare and beautiful occurance.

You bite your lip and turn from him, fighting the tightness of your voice. Balin had mislead you enough in regards of your feelings with the king. From the very beginning he stole your heart. You were just a common human woman, not a dwarven nobel. The old damn dwarf lead you to believe you had a chance to win the king's affections all along the trip, and oh, did you try.

Ever since Beorn's home when Thorin snapped at you about acting like a silly little girl with a crush destracting him, you felt a growing bitterness. You accepted his feelings (or lack there of) and stepped back, much to the displeasure of the company. The rejection stung, but you would move on.

Yes, you thought, there was always Bard.

You flinch at the thought. He was caring and sweet and he had told you that you were beautiful tonight. A slight flirtation to his smile when he'd said it.

"There is no need for formalities between us, Y/N." The rumble of his voice loses the sound of his smile. You don't spare him a glance, feeling just the slightest twinge of guilt as you answer coldly.

"I'd prefer the formalities, your highness." You tell him, tilting your chin up. In the corner of your eye, you see Tauriel blink in surprise.

You didn't start out as cold. No, at first you were still very sweet. You understood and respected that he had his own feelings. You put aside your hurt at his tactless rejection to put the quest first. And once you were in laketown, he was anxious and happy you'd all made it so far.

The butting of heads began there, when his hard-headed self exposed them all. Of course he was protective of you when Alfrid and the Master seemed to eye you with interest, but he wasn't the only one. The whole company always had your back. And he was awfully sour when he walked in on you and Bard talking of his children. It was just him telling funny stories of them. Then he proceeded to make an ass out of himself (essentially grumbling about how you couldn't put yourself past your silly crushes).

You'd snapped at him their, causing a bigger rift.

Then came that awful dragon sickness. (You didn't even want to think of the awful things he'd done in his madness).

He'd managed to break himself out of the damn madness just in time to nearly kill himself during the massive battle. If it hadn't been for you blowing in from nowhere to drive a blade into Azog's side. It was a last ditch effort for an archer, such as yourself. But with a broken bow, you were left with only the blade on your hip. You'd gained a new scar, where you'd effectively been run through with his blade. It was low, jutting just inside your hip, knicking the bone.

The king, with a mighty roar, decapitated the pale orc and un-shishkabobed you to drape you dramatically on the ice.

"You fucking idiot," you muttered before losing consiousness. When you woke you were banadaged and warned it may have impacted your ability to birth children but it didn't matter, not when Thorin wasn't in the room. Not when he apologized for accusing you of getting cozy with Bard. Bitterness swelled in you, the more you both eased into life in Erebor.

You just couldn't stop yourself from being bitter when he hovered like his own guilty concious. Child bearing was a big deal for dwarves, and he'd rendered you without at a young age for a woman. It was getting to the point that his sappy looks just enraged you. Two years in Erebor. Two and a half since he rejected you, yet he followed you like a lost puppy.

Perhaps it was just because it reminded you that you were still in love with him.

"Thank you for hosting us for this event, your majesty." Tauriel tried to ease the tenseness filling the air.

"My pleasure, Tauriel. You look lovely." He offered and she beamed. Your hand tightened on the goblet when you heard the last part. She did. That wasn't the issue with it.

"Thank you," she smiled warmly at him.

"I believe it is time for your first dance with your husband. May I escort you?" She graces him and he leads her away. Someone else slips into the seat next to you.

You don't bother to look. "That sour face is going to ruin all my hard work." You glance over at Princess Dís, her face stern. She arches an eyebrow as you sigh.

"Sorry. I know you worked hard on it." She had slaved for several hours, making you stunning. She really was an expert when it came to hair. She had put up so many intricate braids, you'd never felt more beautiful until Thorin stalked right past you with barely a glance. Even after these years, you still desperately craved his approval. But you supposed it was better this way.

"I even picked out your dress! Perfect for dancing with anyone who wants to ask."

"No one wants to ask a barren human girl to dance." You reply, gazing down at the table cloth.

"Is that what this is about?" She hums softly, leaning closer. You meet her tender gaze. "Not every dwarrow or man wants that." You don't stop the scoff exiting your lips and you raise the wine to your lips.

"Why'd you put me in his colors?" You demand, but can't muster the same bitterness as before. She didn't know about your feelings (and Thorin's lack of them) since you'd fobidden any of the company from speaking of them. The navy dress had gold stitching and was wasted by your foul mood.

"You'd be good for him, if you could push past the bitterness you hold for him." It makes your face crumble in anger. You hold your tongue, not wanting to snap at her for not understanding.

"Forgive me, Princess. I must excuse myself from this coversation." You say tensely, pushing away from table. Good timing, too, Thorin is making his way over, again. His eyes fall over your figure. You glower.

"He's a bit trying, but he's not a bad dwarf." She offers.

"No. He's great." You hiss, standing. "But I don't want his pity love." You snap, moving toward the food. Maybe some of Bombur's sweets would help soften you.

"Y/N, would you like company?" You grit your teeth, meeting his eye with a furious expression.

"No thank you, your majesty." The dress flows behind you as you move away from the siblings, feeling the bitterness swell in you, stemming from somewhere cold.

Midmouthful of chocolate you feel a presence behind you. Turning, you find King Bard smiling warmly at you. "Good evening, Lady Y/N."

"Bard," you hum when you swallow. "Where are your kids?" You ask.

"Looking for more sweetrolls it would seem. It's been a beautiful ceremony." He offers you a gentle smile. "I'm about to step to the balacony, care to join me?" You hesitantly glance at his extended elbow.

"That... Sounds delightful you," you respond. Eyes catching the glare Thorin is throwing your way. You make your way despite the sinking in your gut. You're not doing anything wrong.

The cool winter air feels nice on your heated skin. It's calm for a long time, no words exchanged as you both gaze down on the land below the mountain. "Can I ask you something, Bard?"

A wave of emotion fills you, heartbreak always fresh. The tears are spilling down your cheeks by the time he looks at you. Concern fills his face.

"Go ahead."

"Does heartbreak ever get easier?" You ask him, voice cracking. "I'm trying to move on, but I can't."

His face crumbles into understanding. He gently places a hand on your shoulder. "Thorin, yes?" You drop your head into your hands in defeat. "I just... I don't understand why you're so cold to him now. I could see how much you loved him when I met you. He obviously cares for you."

"He feels guilty. He thinks he's torn my whole life away from me. I don't want his pity. I wanted his love, even just a bit of it." You sink down onto the bench by the wall. "Now... now I just wish I could move on so he can be free of the new guilt I've given him." Bard is quiet, even when he turns his back to the wall and leans. You miss the way he straightens quickly.

"Well, at least I know why you've been avoiding me so." You jerk up, on your feet as Thorin approaches. You glower at him.

"Eavesdropping? Really?" You gasp.

"King Bard, if you would give us a moment, I do believe your son is asking for you." Bard nods politely before slipping back inside. You try to follow but Thorin cuts you off.

"Pardon," you hiss through your teeth.

"My pity love?" He demands back, stepping closer. You're stunned by his seething. "I stole away your livelihood, I took-"

"You stole nothing from me, you prick!" You snarl back, stepping back and nearly trip onto the bench when he follow you. "You didn't force me to take that blade! It didn't used to bother me. What do I care if I don't push out babies!"

"But it bothers you now!"

"Yes, because you never stop looking at me like my life is over!" You cry loudly, shoving on his chest. "There is more to me then my ability to bare and raise children!"

He grasps your face tightly in his hands, not caring that they're wet with tears and and probably makeup. "There is so much more to you than that," he agrees, much softer now, and his eyes soften too.

"I fought hard!"

"You did."

"I gave you your space when you asked for it! When you made if very clear how you felt!"

"And moved onto Bard," he growls.

"What do you expect me to do when the one I love tells me to leave him be and not distract him with my silly girl crush? What? Did you want me throw myself at you harder!?" You nearly sob.

"I wanted you to wait!" He bellows, still holding onto you. You stiffen in his hands, him softening again when he see the shocked expression you hold. "I wanted you to wait for me," he repeats, much softer this time.

"You should have told me," you croak, pushing on his chest weakly. "You should have told me back a Beorn's. I would have respected that. I would have left it for the time being."

"I should have, yes." He tilted his forehead to yours. "And I have been trying endlessly to get you alone. Balin told me to give you time, but I couldn't and the longer I waited the more you pulled away."

"Because you look at me like I'm broken! I can't do this anymore!"

"Stay with me." He rumbles. You let out a sob. "Stay with me." You tremble against him, tears flowing steadily and you shake your head.

"I've tried to leave. So many times I've tried. I can't. I can't. I love you too much." You cry at him, gripping his dress robes tightly in your hands. "Let me go, dammit."

"No. No, never again." He snarls. "I want you by my side forever. You are my one." You collapse against him, holding him tightly. "Y/N, please forgive me for my foolishness." You just clutch him tighter to yourself and he jerks you against him aswell. "Marry me." He begs.

"No." You respond, dragging away to glare at him. He sighs, exasperated.

"If you love me as I do you, then why will you not marry me?" He demands, face turning red and veins popping out, his tell tale sign that he was incredibly frustrated.

"That's the first time you've said you loved me and you ruined it." You sigh, deflating completely. He softens, seeming to understand a bit.

"I'm being to brash, I see." He cups your face, tilting it back and stroking your cheeks to dry them. "Y/N, I love you. Until the day I die, I will. I will say it a thousand times over if it means you will marry me." He leans his mouth down, kissing you for the first time. It's sweet and gentle, soothing your flared nerves. You sink against him.

"Thst's a good place to start." You say. He frown, confused. "Say it to me a thousand times over. Don't think you won't have to put in the work for it." He blinks in surprise, then groans in annoyance.

"You jest."

"No, I mean it. I chased your kingly ass from Bag End to Erebor. You can at least have the decency to court me!" You tell him sternly. Normally, you were sweet and agreeable. "King or no, I will not marry you if you don't give me good reason to." You declare. His lips part in shock, and then he smiles, a big, beautiful smile that has the sun catching his eyes the most beautiful blue you've ever seen.

"I can give you plenty reason." Then, in a very frustrated manner he sighs and peaks at your head. "As long as you take that damn braid out. It's been the bane of my existance tonight." You gape, reaching for your hair.

"What's wrong with the braid? Dís did it." You squeak. He frowns.

"Do you not know what it means?" You dumbly shake your head. Despite living with dwarves for three years, you still hadn't quite caught on. An irate glare settles on his face. "This particular braid indicates that you are actively seeking a life partner." You're eyes widen in shock when he reaches up to gently brush a hand over it. "This one thst wraps around it, that one indicates you are feeling particularly... Famished." He offers.

"Famished?" You repeat, confused. He gives you stern look, trying to tell you something. Oh! Hungry for more than what lined the banquet tables. You gape at him, horrified. "I'm going to kill her!" You quickly dive a hand toward your hair struggling with the clasp.

How dare she! You trusted her with your hair and she went and told everyone you were feeling spring fever! For the love of the gods, you couldn't have any peace in this place.

"I take it she decided the dress too." He murmured grimmly. I froze where I was, eyeing him with anxiety.

"Oh, no. What's the hidden meaning behind the dress?" You ask, closing your eyes tightly.

"Well those are the King's colors to begin with, and while they suit you wonderfully, it's a very bold pairing with your hair. You look incredibly enticing tonight. Like a gift for the King." You flush deeply. You might as well have a sign taped to you that says 'I'm here to fuck the King'.

"I bet your sister's feeling proud of herself," you grumble.

"Probably, but I when she arrived, she was surprised to find how smitten I was with you. I would speak of you for hours." He informs you. It makes you gulp. Gently, he takes your hands, kissing you again sweetly. "Come back and actually enjoy the wedding, please."

"Yeah! You've been moping about for ages!" Kíli's voice cuts through. You both peer over at him, shocked to see practically the whole company peering in eagerly. "So? Did you say yes?" He demands.

Thorin glowers at him, but you just ease a hand over his chest from beside him, a soothing gesture he'd long since missed. "Kíli."

"No need to be shy among us. Did you say yes lass? Are you going to be our queen?" Bofur urges eagerly.

"No, I turned him down." Jaws drop in shock. "He'll have to work for it." You lean back in, delivering kiss to his fuzzy cheek. His gaze softens on you and you smile at your friends.

The rest of the night is easier. Loud music, plenty of drinking and dancing lead to you being exhausted... And a bit mischievous with the King.

The two of you had slipped to his chambers so he could pull out that braid and instead braid his own courting braid. It was intimate and gentle kisses where exchanged. The air heavy with unspoken energy hanging between us. And then it happened, one moment you were getting ready to leave for the night.

"You don't have to," he whispered against your lips, holding you in his arms tightly.

"I do, my king," you reply, smiling at his lengthening beard on his chin. He'd been growing it out, free of all shame, it seemed. "Propriety dictates-"

"Fuck propriety," he rumbles. "How dare you speak that word when you're in such a dress." You laugh when he leans you against the door.

"Blame your sister." You purr, kissing his lips fully. Neither want to pull away, too caught up in the feel of each other.

"Then leave now, or I'll keep you in here. You'll never be allowed to leave." He snarled into your mouth. You laugh and shake your head.

"Don't get me wrong, I want to, Thorin. I want to stay so bad it hurts. But we shouldn-Eek!" He had enough and gone was your dress, ripped in half easily down the middle. If it was a tradition dwarvish dress, that would be difficult. But it was a light fabric Dís had tailored for elvish design, something to compliment Tauriel's heritage.

"I warned you." He rumbled and then there was the chain reaction. The world blurred as you tore at each others clothes until you were being rocked against the walls, gasping for breath and moaning loud enough for anyone walking by to hear. I was not dissappointed, to say the least.

(I'm debating making a part 2 but its late and I've got work in 8 hours.)

#thorin imagine #thorin durin #thorin thursday #thorin fanfiction #thorin #kili imagine #kili #the hobbit kili #fili and kili #kiliel #the company #bard #king bard #post botfa #barren

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gretchensinister · 4 years ago

Text

An Archer, Of Course, Is Familiar With Loopholes

Right after TMA 173, Martin and Jon encounter two beings, neither people nor avatars, who’ve decided to take care of at least one part of the general awfulness that’s going on. Cameo by Helen. This IS a crossover and if you know me it probably IS what you expect.

***

The incident occurs shortly before Martin and Jon leave the domain of the Dark. They haven’t seen anyone for a while, nor anything that might have been anyone under better circumstances. But then, suddenly, they do. There wasn’t anything for the pair to have walked out from behind, no feature of the landscape that would have allowed it, but, well...it is dark. Though one of the pair is, in fact, shining, and it seems logical that they would have been visible from quite a long way off.

Oh well, stranger things, and all that. But the one that’s shining seems very much as though they shouldn’t be allowed, here. Their companion, on the other hand, seems as though they should be blending into the landscape, but they aren’t. There’s something not allowed about them, too, though they’re even darker than...well...the Dark.

Martin narrows his eyes, trying to make sense of them on his own, first. He doesn’t come up with anything. “Jon? Are those people, or what, that we’re approaching?”

“Not people,” Jon replies at once. “They’re—” He groans and presses his hands to the sides of his head. “Not avatars, either, but it’s—very difficult to explain.”

Martin is about to ask another question when the other pair gets within earshot...or something.

Was this what you were going for, though? If it was, I should have hit you harder.

The voice is soundless, manifesting directly in his brain, and that should be disturbing, like so much else about the world now, but instead it makes him...sleepy? He hasn’t needed to sleep since before, and now...this is real sleepiness. A real human sensation. It feels bizarrely good to have a normal human need again. He yawns hugely, and the shining figure (who he can now see is very short) gives him a dazzling smile. But no, not a human smile.

“You should have hit me harder anyway; I murdered you,” the dark one (the much taller one) says, and they sound so normal (aside from what they’re saying) Martin almost wants to laugh. “And no? I mean, this is all…” They take a deep breath and roll their shoulders. “I mean, I can’t deny that whatever we’re going to do here, it’s going to be very easy for me. I’m not going to have any power problems. But I do have standards! This isn’t really fun. And I respect blankets. It’s bad form, otherwise. So. No. I admit. No. Because I have standards.”

Anything else? The bright one gives him a cheeky grin.

“And because I have you, my dearest opposing cosmic force.”

They’re only a few meters away from Martin and Jon now, and when Martin looks over at Jon, he looks like he’s having the world’s worst headache. “What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t hold anything back about the question, and Martin feels the wake of it, wants to start explaining his part in this quest from the point he decided to lie on his CV. Only with effort does he manage to keep himself quiet, but even the effort doesn’t distract him from the little secret (as secret as anything can be, considering) thrill that always runs through him when Jon doesn’t hold himself in check, when he realizes how careful Jon is being at all other times. But the pair—the couple—sure, why not, stranger things, etc.—don’t react at all. As if they were simply unavailable to Jon’s power. When they do answer, it’s as if they’re people answering the question of an ordinary person.

Curiously, this doesn’t bring Martin any fear.

We just wanted to make sure you weren’t us, the bright one says. Certain parallels, certain depictions, the world full of fear—we had to check; it’s important to keep track of these things. I suppose there’s probably an us here, but they’re not you. They turn and looks up at the dark one. But also—well, you can explain this part, Pitch.

The dark one—Pitch—rolls their eyes. “Very well. I suppose I can’t worry about my reputation when I’m not even supposed to be here. Anyway. When we came here we could tell what was going on with the kids, and…yes, even from my perspective it’s not right, it’s no way to live. It’s all…too real. So I’m going to get them all out of here.” They put air quotes around the word “get.” “I’m the expert in that, you could say. And I will return them when they won’t be coming back to this.” They gesture around. “When they come back maybe more of them will even stay put after being tucked in, eat their vegetables, etc. Though it’ll be somewhat complicated to teach anything after getting so many. Then again, it does feel like I’m a battery being charged by a supernova while I’m here, so. Maybe I will be able to do it.”

“Who are you?” Jon asks, and Martin now has the feeling that Jon isn’t being careful right now because he can’t, as if the presence of these two beings is like putting a powerful magnet next to some complex piece of electronics, making it go haywire. And this isn’t even going into any of the things they’ve said.

“I don’t actually have to answer that question, even when you do…whatever it is that you do,” Pitch says. They shrug. “I can’t actually tell what it is. So, as much as I love attention…I wonder, is it refreshing, to have someone just say no, when you ask something? Or does it make you…nervous?” They laugh. “I can’t tell, myself. Ordinarily I’d be able to. Turnabout is fair play, I guess. Anyway, we’re taking the children.”

Martin finally finds his voice. “How do we know where you’re taking them won’t be worse? To know all the kids would be…okay, for the duration…sorry, but it’s hard to trust that much of an improvement in things.”

Pitch turns to him. “Let me put it this way. I’m just as aware as your partner of what this world’s children are experiencing right now, and I have tens of thousands of years more existence-experience to understand it. Coming with me will be a distinct change in circumstances for all of them, and that change, by definition, is going to be an improvement.” They sigh. “Look, my place is mostly a horrible cave, but it’s got plenty of room and I can mold it into something livable fairly easily. The children won’t even have nightmares every time they sleep because my better half won’t allow it.”

Now, now, we can’t think of ourselves as two halves of one being, the bright one says. It makes the other Guardians more nervous than anything else we do.

“Guardians,” Jon mutters. “When I spoke with Gerry, he explained—was he wrong? Please answer, I—”

I’m sorry, the bright one says in their minds. Not in this world. Not in the same way. At least…no, I don’t know, I can’t tell. But there are more things possible than you understand. After all, Pitch and I were human once, too.

“And now look at you! Not even bothering with ear holes, or human proportions, or, well, a lot of human things, really.”

Helen is not really a surprise at this point, Martin decides.

Helen!

Though maybe the little bright one knowing her is, he amends.

“How did we manage to run into someone you already know here?” Pitch asks, sounding for all the world like a long-suffering introvert with an extrovert spouse.

Oh, you know, gold and yellow, dreams and madness. Dreamland has a lot of interesting neighbors.

On one level, Martin knows this could be important. If the new beings—and even Helen, really—keep talking, he and Jon might gain some more insight about the apocalypse. But Jon looks worse than ever, and since Helen is asking the beings why they didn’t bring her any sand, of all things, he’d really prefer this little tête-à-tête to wrap up tout suite. “We’re done here,” he interrupts, as forcefully as he can. Which he knows isn’t very, but…somehow it works this time. He wraps a supportive arm around Jon’s waist. “Look,” he says to the two beings. “I know I don’t understand all this, but you need to leave. I guess I believe you about the kids, that it really…couldn’t be worse. So…yeah. Don’t bring them back until it’s better.”

They both nod, and then the little one takes a sudden step towards him and Jon. “No, Sandy,” Pitch says, grabbing their shoulder. “You can’t touch them. If it did anything—you can tell it’s not allowed.”

Sandy (apparently) closes their eyes and sighs soundlessly. I know. It has to play out first. But it looks so unbalanced right now. They open their eyes and glance up to Pitch before fixing their gaze on Martin and Jon in turn. And yet. I wish you well.

“Well. Thanks,” says Martin. “But if that was the thing you do, I couldn’t feel it do anything.”

I guess I should’ve expected that.

“Come on, Sandy,” Pitch says. “Let’s get the kids.”

They walk deeper into The Dark, with nothing more said to Martin and Jon. Sandy doesn’t dim at all, despite what they’re going into, and Martin wonders a little bit more about what kind of powers he and Jon just couldn’t feel. Helen and her door goes with them, and Martin hears her say one last thing before the distance grows too much: “I won’t tell you not to worry, but Martin is one to watch, you know?” Whatever that means. At least Jon is able to support more of his own weight now, and seems less likely to have his head explode.

“Let’s start putting some distance between us and them,” Jon says, though he’s not yet standing on his own. “It wouldn’t matter, usually, but…I don’t want to know what they’re doing, and I think I can manage that the farther we are from them.”

“All right,” Martin says.

After a few minutes of walking (stumbling forward) and thinking, Martin muses aloud: “The way Pitch said ‘get,’ talking about nightmares, about kids staying tucked in, etc…like, were they just your bog-standard childhood boog—”

“Don’t say it,” Jon says. “I think I can forget that encounter and for the kids…I need to. We can’t talk about it. I can’t think about the potential existence of any other…kinder…world. Where they’d be the only one ever grabbing at anyone’s ankles from under the bed.”

“So we just assume that the situation with the kids is the same as how we left them,” Martin says.

“You can feel how easy it is to remember things that way,” Jon says. “If you let it happen.”

“Just tape over the last half hour?”

“Hah,” Jon says. “Exactly.”

#I was contractually obligated to write this #blacksand #pitch black #sanderson mansnoozie #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #rise of the guardians #helen distortion

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miss-choco-chips · 5 years ago

Text

Put a ring on it

I’m not sure what this is, everyone. Had it on my docs for a while, got bored during work and thought ‘what if I just post this?’, and here we are. Basically the Core Four being loving and caring (and spiteful).

Shout out to @animemangasoul who pumped me up about this and @the-quiet-carrotcake and @iphoenixrising for letting me cry to them the Titans loving Tim.

Can be read as either ship or friendship

------.------

When shit went down, Wally and Roy made sure they were nowhere near the planet. A nice little interplanetary fuckery called for anyone free, and both of them had magically clean schedules, so off they went, praying to every god they knew about (and, with how many holy disasters they had faced between them, there were a lot) to be back after the worst of the mess had blown over.

Even if it meant missing the undoubtedly hilarious face Batman would make when he found out. Not even the chance of witnessing that was worth staying and waiting with bated breath until someone pointed out that, in the end, it was both their faults.

-So let me get this straight.

-Difficult for me, but go on.

Wally rolled his eyes, chucking a pillow at his little dude, wondering how Nightwing could do this with not one, not two, but three badly adjusted little brothers (and that without counting the girls, though, to be honest, they already had Babs). Truly, a hero of the ages. Arsenal just cackled from his place in front of the coffee table, where he was keeping them company and cleaning his equipment.

-I’m serious. I’ve never seen you this mad without a bad guy to blame for it.

-Well…

-As furious as you are at them, Bart, they are still the good guys.

-Debatable.

Wally threw another pillow, and Bart, arms crossed and all but vibrating on the couch, didn’t even bother on dodging. Just moved his particles quick enough that the thing went straight through him.

Arsenal raised an eyebrow at them- It’s scary when you do that. Like a freaking ghost.

-It’s scary that Tim’s whole family can be this level of neglectful, but you don’t see me bitching at them.

-Only because you know they’ll give you your ass back to you in a silver platter after they are done whooping it -interjected the older speedster, snack bag on his lap, a few more by the ground at his feet, sitting as close to Bart as the whole ‘don’t touch, I bite’ aura he had around him would allow.

-Kinky.

This time, Wally’s pillow was aimed at the archer. Roy just dodged without looking, still cross legged on the other side of the little table facing the couch.

-Real talk now, it’s not like they are jerks on purpose. We all know the Bats are on a whole new level of ‘always busy’, it’s to be expected they wouldn’t have time for social niceties.

Wally winced, scooting a little further away from Bart when he looked up to glare at Roy. That wasn’t a nice look. That was a ‘I can take you to someplace no one would hear you scream in less than ten seconds’ look.

-My seventeen year old best friend managed to finish high school after having to take a year off to go look for his missing mentor, going through several different mourning processes and dodging a frankly creepy cradle robber of a ninja terrorist, all while kicking ass and taking names, taking care of a huge as hell company, and keeping up the intel guy work for the rest of his shitty family. And he still graduated early. The least they could do after the fuckery he was put through by their collective stupidity would be go as moral support, but no. No, other things are more important than such a big milestone on his life. Fuckers.

Wound down after the rant, Bart dropped back on the couch, shrinking in place, oozing contempt from every pore.

Roy raised his eyes to share a look with Wally. Even if the bro code meant they were contractually obligated to defend their respective best friends, there was undeniable truth to Bart’s statement. Jason had gone on killing sprees for far less than Tim’s situation, and God knows Dick would have showed a big middle finger at his mentor and go off world with the Titans as a protest at the slightest fight. All in all, Red Robin was taking it like a champ.

-Jason’s busy with the Torinelli drug cartel thingie -tried Roy nonetheless, loyal as one could be.

Wally nodded- And Dick had already promised Damian to go on a camping-training trip that weekend...

-Great. So criminals that aren’t going anywhere and the ‘favorite’ demon child are more important than my best friend’s graduation, which isn’t even a long thing, just a couple hours and a few photos. Awesome. Do you happen to know Batman’s excuse? I mean, I’m sure is equally as shitty as his sons’ excuses, but, you know. Variety and stuff.

Wally sighed, because yeah, point. Were it Bart’s graduation, nothing short of the end of the world would have kept him from going, but, again, he only had one little dude to worry about. Dick’s house was full.

-You’ll be there -tried Roy, dropping his arrow back on the table and resting his crossed arms next to it, leaning forward to look straight at Bart-, you and the rest of the brats, right? Supes and Diana’s babies. You guys may not be related like that, but that’s not necessary for you to be family.

Like the Teen Titans were, went unsaid- the older heroes exchanged a glance, reminiscent of their days fighting side by side under Dick’s unwavering leadership. No matter where they were now, that’s where they both came from.

-Yeah -accepted Bart, but the frown hadn’t left his face-. It’s just. His parents are dead, his ‘foster’ bat-family are dicks. He has us, yeah, but… I wished he could have his family there, you know. Like, if I could adopt him, I would, just so he can have that.

Wally dropped the empty snack bag onto the ground and took a new one, tipping it in Bart’s direction as a peace offering- I mean, it’s still a month away, maybe one of them would clear his schedule and go? Probably not all of them, but anything’s better than nothing, right?

Bart harrumphed, hunching even lower in the couch, pout still present.

-If anything else fails -joked Roy, going back to cleaning his stuff-, I hear Kara’s single right now, and Tim’s an emancipated minor. Get them to marry each other, and then your Super friend is technically his brother- or something like that. Political families still counts.

Bart went still for a second, and if Wally were less invested in his snack and more on the thoughtful expression on his face, he might have known ahead of time that his next words were a bad, bad idea.

-And if she’s not on board, you could always ask someone else on your team. Team as family and all that shit, Tim would literally be marrying into the fam. Want some chips?

But Bart was already gone.

-Huh? -blinked Roy- Where'd he run to?

-...

-...You don't think he…

-What? No. No, of course not, they aren't so dumb...

For a horrible second, Roy and Wally crossed eyes again, both remembering the stupid shit they got up to when they were seventeen, and replayed the conversation. Their jokes, that anyone with half a brain would take as that, as silliness. Then came the thought that being stupid was almost a requirement for being a Titan.

With the kind of synchronicity one could only have after fighting side by side for years, they both jumped to their feet at the same time.

-I’ll hit Kori up, maybe she has some alien fuckery to deal with and we can tag along.

-Imma call Supes and let him know we’ll be off planet for a while. Shit, Dick’s gonna flip. He was the big B for a while, he knows stuff. Painful stuff.

-Dude, he at least doesn’t kill. Jay has guns, and it’s his favorite brother we’re talking about.

A shiver went through them when Batman’s reaction came to mind.

-If Kori’s not dealing with something, I’ll ask her to start shit up somewhere far, far away to give us an excuse to leave either way. She’s a goddess like that, she’ll help.

-Good thinking. I’ll start packing.

---.----

The secret meeting was held at one of Tim’s safe houses, because it had enough lead on the walls there was no risk of Superman overhearing them. Not that the owner of the place was aware of it; no one was, besides Cassie, Kon and Bart themselves. Keeping it hush hush was vital for the success of the mission.

-All on board then?

Kon’s smile could light up a town- Hell yeah dude. I’ll take care of getting Tim time off from work. Tam knows me and I’m fairly sure she doesn’t hate me as strongly as she does the bats. Fair warning though, she might ask to come with.

-She’s cool, so I’m in. We’re gonna need a witness anyway.

Cassie nodded, fierce smirk and challenge in her eyes- This is gonna piss so many people. Hey, do you think if we let Oracle in the know she’ll give us footage of the bats' faces when they find out?

Bart bit his lip- As crash as that would be, I don’t think it’s worth the risk.

Cassie deflated, but then shrugged it off- We’ll ask Tim, then. He’s as good as her with hacking, I’m sure he’ll figure something out.

-If he doesn’t kill us first, you mean.

-Don’t be a coward, Kon. I thought you were in.

-I’m not saying I’m backing down, just that we should put our business in order in case he snaps and murders us in cold blood. I know he has it in him, if pushed the right ways.

She nodded, because point. The almost feral look on her face wasn’t gone, though- Worth it. I'll be in charge of clothes. You reckon there's any chance I can get a dress on him?

-Sure, if you want him to actually break his no kill rule.

-Fine, but he's wearing white anyway. It goes well with his skin tone.

Bart extended his first for her to bump- Now you're talking. I'll be the extraction man and take him to the place.

Kon crossed his arms, looking conflicted for the first time- We can't go the classic way about it, because a fake name would mean he won't take seriously what we're trying to do, and if we use his real one in a formal document, it'll hit the news before the ink has a chance to dry. And then he'll kill us for sure.

-You're awfully worried about him drawing blood, Blue. What gives?

-He's scared shitless of Cassie and you're too adorable to hurt, but me? I'm the one he's gonna focus his rage on, and you know how he gets when at his limit.

Cassie snorts- He can't live without you, you dork. I think we are all safe. And anyways, the plan is to make him too drunk to walk on a straight line, he wouldn't be able to hurt us.

-You say that -interjected Bart, getting up from where he was crouching above their carefully spread, color coded sheets of plans; Tim would be so proud- but I've seen the dude drop kick someone with a broken leg once. He can fuck shit up no matter the situation.

-True… still, we are doing it, right?

-Oh yeah, for sure, I just wanted everyone aware that it might be our last big bang.

-Then we better make sure it's one hell of an explosion, am I right?

-Hell yeah.

-This is gonna be so crash!

----.----

The entire thing had gone something like this.

On friday, Tam made Tim turn around and head back home the second he showed his face at the office, claiming the bags under his eyes clashed terribly with her new Prada handbag and she’d rather had it than him around. In Foxspeak, it meant ‘go the fuck to sleep or so help me God’. Tim would have fought back just on principle, but Tam had him at a standstill, because the spleen thing could very easily reach Alfred’s ears if he crosses her, and no one (him) wants that. As if to make sure he would obey, she demanded they share the car that would take her to the airport (did she have some meeting out of Gotham? He couldn’t remember) and dropped him at his Perch on her way there.

He wasn’t actually planning on sleep, maybe work some of his cases from home, start patrol early, possibly tracking Jason down to offer his help for the drug cartel thing. Confused by the unexpected way his morning had gone so far, he was woefully underprepared for a flash of red and yellow to whisk him from his living room the second he put his carrier bag on the ground.

It was only years from using his team as glorified uber drives what kept him from nerve striking Bart on reflex. Knowing whatever he asked would be lost to the background sound of super fast travelling, he merely slumped over the thin shoulder he was thrown over and waited till they reached their destination.

Which… he wasn’t expecting Vegas.

The next few hours were a blur of his team explaining they had planned this gateaway as an early graduation party, hugs and a few grateful tears on his part, and booze. So much booze. He was trained by Batman, he had a bigger than average resistance to… well, everything, and still, he got so, so wasted.

Saturday’s hungover was cured with more booze. They hit casino after casino, danced over tables, payed a bar owner to close for the night and let them work their way through his entire supply, went to some neon party at someone’s exceedingly large hotel suite (the guy wasn’t getting his deposit back), his cellphone was thrown on a fountain after Cassie got sick of it going off again and again with Dick’s predetermined ringtone, drank some more, were kicked out of yet another casino...

At some point Tam appeared (a very drunk Tim had hugged her and spun her around so fast her stilettos went flying and almost blinded someone), and they all went back to the hotel, where Kon basically manhandled him into a white suit. More booze when Tim started asking questions, followed by a two hour long stay at some park were Cassie, Bart and Kon took turns holding his hand, and then each others’, with Tam saying something about bonds, and family, and sickness, and health in the background, Kon muttering something in kryptonian and making Tim repeat it, Cassie dropping to one knee and sprouting some Amazonian speech, Bart jumping on his back after his own speech (futuristic laws and all) was done, then more booze, partying and….

Well, everything was a blur, before and after that.

They woke up saturday morning with the worst headache, in a undignified puppy pile back at their suit, minus Tam who apparently had her own room. Kon’s TTK took care of the blinds and Tim blinked awake at the sound (Robin instincts), looked at his sleeping friends and then went back to sleep, head pillowed by Bart’s butt, with Cassie’s knee denting his ribs and Kon’s arm thrown over his neck, completely disregarding the three rings hanging from his shiny new necklace.

That was a problem for sober Tim to solve.

---.----

Monday morning, Tim went back to the office, Tam by his side, acting like everything was perfectly fine.

Dick called after lunch asking about his whereabouts that past weekend, claiming he was missed during patrol, but backed down when informed he was actually relaxing with his friends. Bruce didn’t ask, probably had tracked him down the second he couldn’t find him and let him be after realizing he was at Las Vegas.

Everyone that saw them walking down WE’s hallways would have swore a trail of classic music followed them, graceful and elegant.

In Tim’s mind, however, the background sound was the kill bill sirens and blaring red lights.

Tam felt like a queen, coming back after conquering treacherous lands.

Tim felt like Jason may have been onto something when he died.

----.----

When the Big Day (capital letters included) arrived, and Tim got into the stage to accept his diploma (Honor Student, of course), his eyes automatically went to the loud, rowdy teenagers, sitting as close to the front as possible, cheering and smiling.

He was far enough that it could’ve been a trick of the light, but he thought he could see all three of them going misty-eyed. His own eyes watered when he shook the headmaster's hand and posed with his diploma for the cameras (Wayne Heir Graduating would be trending on every magazine by dinnertime), his friends never stopping yelling his name.

When the time came to throw the little hats, he catched by the corner of his eye how Bart held both Cassie’s and Kon’s hands, keeping them from flying in their emotion. If one paid close attention, their feet actually were floating juuust above the ground. They were just so genuinely excited for him, it was… it was amazing.

After as little smalltalk as possible with his classmates, he sneaked away into some hidden spot, away from prying cameras, and waited. Sure enough, his best friends were there barely ten seconds later, and using that same speed, they swept him off his feet. Bart was the first, latching to his front, Kon a close second jumping on his back and hugging his head. Cassie, ever the showoff, threw her hands around the three of them and spun them around as if they weighted nothing to her. That was probably the case.

-You did it, you did it, you did it!!!! Oh my god, this is so crash!!!

-Not that we had any doubt, with that big brain of yours. Making a girl so proud.

-Speak for yourself. Personally, I feared the worst. This is Gotham, after all.

-But nothing happened! And you GRADUATED!

Tim let out a laugh, allowing himself to just feel joy. Letting them see him like that, as payment for being the most awesome friends (family) in existence, he returned the hug, squeezing back as strongly as his non meta arms could.

Then, a voice behind them that he absolutely didn't expect- Congratulations, Master Timothy.

Without letting any of them go, Cassie turned around, so they could all see Alfred Pennyworth, in his Sunday’s best, looking proud and warm, his eyes glazed over with nostalgia when they landed on his young charge. One of the young men he had the honor to watch grow into the amazing person he was today.

Even more surprising, he held a tablet on his arms, screen facing them, with a familiar figure there, white streak and leather but no firearms, probably cautious of possible civilians around.

-Hey, baby bird. Sorry ‘couldn’t be ther’ p’rsonally. Hope ya don’t mind me an’ Alfie crashing like this.

-A-Alfred? Jason? What… I thought you were in Russia!!

The man on the screen scratched the back of his head, visibly uncomfortable but determined.

-Am, actually. But it’s yer big day, babybird. Wouldn’t missit for the world.

Tim’s already watery eyes just overflowed.

-----.----

It took a month for shit to hit the fan. Tim was honestly impressed, because things rarely went his way, and getting more than a few hours to mentally prepare for Disaster? Unheard of. What a shocker.

When it did went down, it was in large part because he was milking the ‘no metas in Gotham’ rule that kept his team at bay and allowed him to go days without sleeping. Kon would say it was karmatic retribution for ignoring their orders to relax and take it easy. He would protest, but really, how to deny the truth; if not for his sleep deprivation, his secret would have gone a lot longer without being unveiled.

Between hacking into Lexcorp, running the dna samples he took during patrol half an hour ago on the database and finishing his report of the night, he was out of fucks to give. Damian bitching on his ear was the last drop.

-...And your mere presence here is an insult to Grayson's legacy. He founded it, Todd died for it, what did you even contribute to it?

A slow blink. Tim was aware his brain to mouth filter was as good as gone, but tired as he was, he just didn't care.

-Besides providing the brains on this whole fucking operation? Pants, I guess. Common sense. Ninja skills commended by your own grandfather, the king of ninjas. Virtue, too, since Dick is a verified hoe and Jason slept with your/

-C'mon Timmy -cut in Dick, Nightwing suit halfway down his chest, when Damian's face was turning an alarming shade of blue- aren't you a little old to be fighting a kid?

-Who are you calling kid?!

Typical, big bro to the rescue. Tim was too tired to be disappointed that once again Dick was siding with an eleven year old bully that kept harassing Tim. Never mind that he had been minding his business before Damian came to bark at him.

-Boys -chided Bruce and, huh, Tim had said that out loud. Whatever, not like it wasn't true. Fuck them.

-Fuck you -he told… Bruce? Dick? Definitely Damian, too- all.

-Tim! -gasped Dick. Still half naked. Standing right by Damian's side.

That kid was going to have a very uncomfortable sexual awakening any day now.

-SHUT UP, DRAKE! YOU ARE DISGUSTING!

Wow he really needed to stop talking out loud.

-Tim -And now Bruce was walking towards them, frown firmly in place- you are obviously too tired, if you can't control what comes out of your mouth. Go to sleep.

Tim hissed at him. Dick looked too shocked to answer but Bruce, somewhat used to that reaction of the sleep deprived teen, loomed even more.

-I'm an emancipated adult. I control your company. I live on my own. You're not the boss of me.

Now even Damian was looking at him open mouthed. Whatever. The computer pinged with his results, just as his phone did with his 'The hubbies and waifus' group chat.

-What's gotten into you, kiddo? -now Dick was worried, throwing an arm around his shoulders. Still half naked, that was an important detail.

Tim shrugged him away.

-Fucking demon spawn coming from nowhere to fuck with me just for the hell of it puts me in a bad mood, I'm weird like that -he deadpaned, replying to the group chat one handed- And the rest of this fucked up team siding with him just because he's a bad word away from a violent psychotic break doesn't help. Fuck off and let me do my shit, and I'll be out of your hair before you know it.

And then, with a sneer, ignoring both Bruce's and Dick's flabbergasted expressions, Damian said what would be Tim's down fall.

-Go to hell, Drake.

A ping made Tim look down at his phone and he replied without thinking, one hand tapping away at the screen- Wait, let me ask my wife.

A beat of silence. One sneer, one grunt, one surprised gasp.

Bruce made a half step towards him- Tim, what/?

A ping.

-She says no. Hang on, let me get you a second opinion, just to be safe.

-Timmy, what do you mean/?

Another one.

-Husband number one says no, too. Husband number two hasn't replied, probably asleep or traveling somewhere, but two already win by majority. It seems it's a ‘no’ on going to hell for me. Bummer, it would have been funny seeing your homeland, brat.

-...

-Aaaaand that’s my cue to interrupt -announced a new voice above them all. Kon, phone at hand, looked down with half amused, half guarded expression-. Someone hasn’t held their end of the deal and slept eight hours, huh, bud?

Tim, ignoring his family that hadn’t yet recovered from the bomb, shrugged- I slept eight hours. This past week. You never said they had to be consecutive hours.

The super just sighed and landed long enough to haul a too tired to resist bird in his arms- I can see you aren’t getting any sleep in Gotham. Let’s go back to the Tower, Cassie wants us to see The Princess Bride with her again.

-Don’t lie to me, you liar.

-Bart wan/

-Look at my face and tell me the truth.

-Okay, I want to see The Princess Bride again -he conceded, taking flight towards the closest exit, sleepy bird cocooned in his arms and TTK- Later, bats!

-...

Finally, Dick snapped back to reality, although the background noise in his head was one would expect in suspense movies right before the assassin jumped a unsuspecting protagonist- ...did he say ‘husbands’? As in, married?

-...

-AS IN MORE THAN ONE?

----.----

#Tim drake #kon el kent #cassie sandsmark #bart allen #tam fox #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #core four #crack wedding

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halfasleepoetry · 5 years ago

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I'd LOVE to read more Archer x Rogerina!!❤ Don't have any specific requests so maybe just something from one of the prompts you have? And I agree, I don't care what Joe's in as long as I get to see more from him!!!

Omg thank you for asking for Archer x Rogerina because I do have something to share that I couldn’t quite fit into the ongoing narrative! So this is not based on a prompt, but since Trip The Light Fantastic is told in Ben’s POV, as I was working on Joe’s character, I wrote his version of that night. And here it is:

I catch you looking back at me, looking through a cloud of steam

Archer x Rogerina AU, Joe’s POV

Right before senior year began, Joe had just broken up with his then-girlfriend who was cheating on him with a mutual friend for almost as long as they were together. That was enough to put him off any kind of relationships for a while. Besides, he thought he’d give being completely and truly single, a try. He kind of miss the sex and occasional cuddling, not that he’s particularly the cuddling type, but it’s nice to have a warm someone in bed and not wake up cold and alone sometimes. But to compare that with the kind of serenity and peace he has now and the headaches he saved, he’d rather keep being single, thank you. He has more time than ever now to read and write and drive by himself, and he has even started dancing regularly again.

And then there’s the Halloween party at the Maleks’. It’s the kind of party that all seniors go to, many juniors get invited to, and selected few sophomores could get in by miracle, and freshman could only dream of going. Maybe next year, or the year after. The host of such a party is always that one kid in the senior year who is filthy rich and you’re lucky if he isn’t an asshole who also buys his way through college. Well Joe sure is lucky. That kid, or those kids, because there are two of them, are his childhood best friends, Rami and Sami, whose father is a rich Egyptian-American business tycoon who moved to New York and built himself a business empire working closely with the Arabs and their oil in the 80s.

It was last year that Rami told him he has his eyes on a certain London girl who is majoring in arts together with Joe, who is in her sophomore year. Her name is Lucy. Of course Joe knows her. Joe knows everyone. It comes with being occasionally recognized as that kid from Jurassic Park, and every time one of his professors brought up the fact we have someone in the class who is here on the personal recommendation of Steven Spielberg, he would slowly slide down his seat a little, hoping the remark would remain just a remark, and it would be forgotten by the end of the class. Sometimes it works exactly like how he wants it to be, sometimes it doesn’t. Either way, it earns him a reputation that he plays down and many friends, no, a large group of people he socializes with regularly. So he is some kind of a popular kid too, although a somewhat reluctant one.

The Maleks’ mansion is pretty much his second home, and he was in his element that night, having accepted Lucy’s dare to show up in a girl’s character costume, and she even volunteered to do his make up, on one condition; no glitter involved. She did manage to put on something metallic-hued on his eyelids though, because he looked in the mirror and his eyes sparkled subtly whenever he blinks. Lucy had shrugged it off and told him, it wouldn’t be too noticeable, the house would be dim and there would be light strobes instead of actual lighting.

Lucy smiled up at him as she gave his make up, her handiwork, its last touch. “My goodness, you’re beautiful,” she marvelled. “Don’t make me change my mind, Luce,” he warned her. “No, don’t!” Lucy protested hurriedly. “No, no, no. Now let’s go.” But not before she stopped one last time to take a selfie with Joe, no, the Archer.

His Archer costume was a hit, apparently. But he made it very clear that he’s there just to enjoy the company of himself. And dance like mad, which was great because he had gotten back at it and been practicing for a while now. And that’s when he saw Rogerina. One sulky Rogerina who was drinking beer alone and trying not to look like he’s staring when he pretty obviously was doing exactly that. Joe thought that they look kind of wildly different, him and Rogerina who has a more muscular build and moody-boyish look. He even stood with his legs apart, chugging his beer with one hand on his hip, not even trying to appear feminine. But even across the room, Joe could feel his eyes on him, and they’re crazy-intense. He didn’t even know how to describe it, but he had never been stared at like that since he was five and sitting in an audition for Stanley Kubrick.

He thought about it, but Rogerina obviously isn’t one of the people he knows, because he knows everyone here. Almost. Let’s find out who you are, Rogerina, he thought as one of his favourite songs came on, and he danced to it with an added flair, his moves all smooth and pronounced. Rogerina kept staring even as he made his way to Rami and Lucy. Lucy asked him if he’s murdering people on the dancefloor, and he just laughed it off. He headed to the kitchen to retrieve some rum he knew is kept somewhere safe and away from casual partygoers, half-hoping Rogerina would follow him there. And he wasn’t disappointed. Well he had to talk with Chace first, and the first thing Chace said to him was, “Hey there gorgeous.”

“Asshole.” He laughed him off, because he knew Chace well. He’s always trying to get into someone’s pants, gorgeous girls or boys alike. They’ve fooled around before, but decided it’s better to remain friends as they are now. They talked shop and laughed, but from the corner of his eyes he could see Rogerina approaching the kitchen. He had never wanted a friend to disappear so fast before. And he’s glad when Chace decided to go looking for pretty girls at the pool.

The masked hesitation he could sense in Rogerina’s voice as he said hi to him was cute, to say the least. When was the last time he had been chased after like this? He was so determined too. He told him he came looking for a light for his cigarette. Classic excuse. He has a deep voice, British accent, and a very boyish smile. Definitely not a senior, maybe not even from the same department. He’d have remembered someone like him. Joe found himself looking into green eyes as Rogerina stepped closer to him to light up his cigarette from the mini kitchen lighter he was holding. He smelled nice, with a faint hint of aftershave. He wondered if he’d taste like beer and cigarette and something entirely different or surprising.

Mint, Joe thought later as they began kissing and he’s savouring the blonde’s lips. The cigarette he lit up earlier must be his first, as the taste was very faint, and it soon disappeared. The bitterness of malt and mint on his tongue fits right in with the Coke and rum sweetness on his own.

Rogerina kissed him like he meant it, like the persistence by which he went after him to the kitchen, which found him pressing the sides of his knees on Rogerina’s hips, and that’s when he found the lighter innocently tucked in the side pocket of his skirt. He wasn’t even surprised, but he was absolutely delighted at the thought of this green-eyed British boy going after him and cooking up a lie to flirt with him. Makes him want to give him exactly what he wanted, and set him on fire while doing so. So he kissed him deeper, tongue all the way in, a hand in hair and another on his back, gripping him through the white shirt. He pushed himself forward and closer, so Rogerina could touch more of his exposed thigh. There’s growing heat at the base of his guts, and he slid even closer to give friction to it, and that’s when he realized they’re both hard.

Holy shit, he thought, and almost immediately wanted, no, needed more of this delicious friction. They’re separated by layers of fabrics, but fuck if this doesn’t feel so good, kissing a boy indecently in an open space, pushing and rubbing against each other fully clothed while the sound of the party droned on in the near distance. There’s no way this would not look exactly like what it was, and the thought of anyone potentially walking in on them is an incredible turn-on.

But Joe did pull away from Rogerina, mainly because he did not actually want anyone to walk in on them, and he needed to at least get a name. “Ben,” he told him in between breaths, eyes still transfixed on his lips. He looked like he was dazed and drunk, or somewhere in between. They were kissing again in no time, and when Joe deliberately pushed himself against Ben as he slid down the kitchen counter, they both moaned loudly into the kiss, and he almost lost his mind a little. They’re fast becoming like magnets, one gravitating to the other as soon as they pull away. He wanted to get his hands everywhere on Ben, wanted to touch him, kiss him, make him moan his name. They were strangers barely ten minutes ago, it’s so fucking insane, but there’s nothing else he’d want more right now than this green-eyed Brit in Rogerina costume. But not just yet.

So he smiled sweetly to him when he asked him nicely if he’d want to get out of the party with him, and he thought there’s no way he’d say no to that. They were kissing slower now, heartbeat calmer, desire kept in check. He held his hand close, making sure he wouldn’t change his mind. Something’s telling him he needed to do this right. This isn’t just a party hook-up, a fooling around kind of fun.

That same something’s also telling him he’s hooked, and it felt headier and sweeter than anything he’d drank tonight.

So when they did get out of the party, not before he caught Rami for the barest seconds to say goodbye, surprisingly without Lucy by his side, he decided they’re not going immediately to his place. He still has Ben’s hand in his, and he’s looking at him and smiling with his lucid green eyes and Joe wondered if it felt a little bit more than just infatuation or hormones. He thought about how ridiculous it was to think of it as anything more than what it was, but it lingered on long after.

#hardzello #hardzzello #archer x rogerina #joe mazzello x ben hardy #joe x ben #all the aus #ask #answer #trip the light fantastic #writing #joe mazzello #rogerina #ben hardy #ao3 #extras #character study

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faveficarchive · 4 years ago

Text

Justice in Walsas: Part 2

By Enginerd

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: PG-13

Synopsis: Gabrielle is losing sleep over a recurring dream, so she sets off with Xena to try and figure out what it’s all about. On the way, they just might save a kingdom in peril.

She decided to return to the makeshift hospital but not before getting a drink of water from a water barrel. The excitement of the day worked up her thirst. She noted that the guards must have been thirsty as well, spotting the half dozen or so empty barrels. After getting her fill, she turned to find Gabrielle coming from the labyrinth.

Xena thought of Lila's advice and decided it best to take it. After all, what could she do for Gabrielle?

"Not so bad when you know its secrets." Gabrielle pointed to behind her having gotten through the death traps alive.

"I think I should get back to Sarah and Meleager," Xena quickly mentioned. Gabrielle knew that was an excuse to get away from her.

"Oh." Gabrielle responded, hiding a deep hurt. She must have no respect for me, Gabrielle thought. It doesn't matter how many labyrinths I get through, Gabrielle thought, the bottom line was that she was a burden that Xena was tired of bearing.

That evening, while tending to others, Xena watched Gabrielle with Sarah and Meleager. Gabrielle had picked up so many skills in their time together, including medical skills. This made Xena both proud and sad - the result of this was the disintegration of their friendship.

Meleager awoke from his herb aided sleep. "Gods I hate archers," he grumbled evoking a smile from Gabrielle.

"I know what you mean." Sarah spoke as well, now up.

"This may not be the time for this but....I am in need for a Captain of the Guard and I understand from a VERY good source that you would be perfect." Sarah smiled. Meleager looked over to Gabrielle with a raised eyebrow.

"Great idea - but don't look at me!" Gabrielle denied any involvement. Sarah laughed then coughed.

"It was my other spy, ah, sister. And Gabrielle, I have the perfect job for you," Sarah's eyes twinkled. "Minister of Cultural Development!" Gabrielle smiled recalling the origin of that job many years ago in Poteidaia.

"Yes! I accept!" Gabrielle jumped at the offer, laughing.

Xena couldn't believe her ears. Gabrielle had decided to stay. She was staying. The bard was not going to be by her side. A dejected Warrior Princess left.

Chapter 8 - She's Gone?

Xena, as usual, prepared her pack for her morning departure. There wasn't much to pack and Xena had packed for travel thousands of times. She could easily do that chore in the morning but Xena needed something to do. Purposeful and loud footsteps coming towards her room drew Xena's attention away from her packing. Part of her hoped it was Gabrielle, to tell her she changed her mind about staying. Yet another part of her hoped it wasn't, because Xena was convinced Gabrielle was staying.

Exhaling, Xena prepared to face Gabrielle. "All right, what's the idea of planning to travel tomorrow and not telling me? Thanks to Lila, I found out. You don't really give me a lot of time to prepare." Gabrielle complained as she barged in the room without knocking.

"You knew this time was coming." Xena said solemnly.

"Yes, but you know I hate good byes. You must be really anxious to get back on the road," Gabrielle remarked trying to understand her friend's sudden desire to leave. The comment surprised Xena. Gabrielle can't possibly think this is easy for her.

"You didn't even mention leaving tomorrow until, come to think of it - you haven't even told me yet!" Gabrielle was annoyed again.

Xena raised her eyebrow. "And when were you going to tell me of your new position?" Xena was hurt that Gabrielle didn't discuss that with her.

"What?" Gabrielle remembered the "position" but did not understand what that had to do with anything. "My position?" Gabrielle asked, confused. Xena didn't want to fight. Not on the last night.

"Look, I want you to know I understand why you took the position and I fully support your decision." Xena was trying to be big about this.

"Thanks" Gabrielle said flatly, still confused.

"Thanks?" Xena repeated. "Thanks?" She repeated again, not believing how cold Gabrielle was.

"What do you want me to say?" Gabrielle shrugged.

Xena stood there amazed. As she did when she was a warlord, Xena put on her warrior's mask, burying her emotions deep. She quietly looked at Gabrielle.

Gabrielle was not in the mood for guessing games with Xena. She was tired and would talk to her in the morning. "Good night Xena," Gabrielle sighed and rolled her eyes as she left.

In the morning, Gabrielle rose later than she expected. Her late night goodbyes and the plush castle bedding made it impossible to get up.

"Boy, if Xena was in a bad mood last night, she'll really be annoyed that I'm so late." Gabrielle reflected with mild panic as she rushed ungracefully around the room getting dressed and gathering her things. She almost tripped as she sprinted to the garden.

Lila waited for her in the garden. The look on her face made Gabrielle apologize.

"Ok, ok, I know I'm late. I couldn't..." Gabrielle didn't see Xena. "Where's Xena? She's really mad isn't she?"

Lila smirked. "I'll say. Xena left Gabrielle. The stablemen said she took Argo at dawn." The words were heard but didn't register. Gabrielle looked around.

"She's gone?" Gabrielle repeated, her fears realized. Lila nodded.

"Why would she leave without you?" Lila asked. Gabrielle wasn't going to discuss it.

The next day, Gabrielle went to say her second goodbye to Sarah, who was regaining her strength quickly. Lila gave them some time alone.

"Oh Gabrielle. You don't need to go." Sarah said brushing her sisters hair from her face in a familiar, motherly way.

"I do." Gabrielle looked at her sister with great love. Sarah nodded. Gabrielle would somehow prove to Xena she could do better and would not be a burden. Maybe there was hope. Gabrielle started to tear up but stopped. Sarah accepted her decision.

"I am anxious to hear what you find out there on the great ..dangerous road my Minister of Cultural Development. You wouldn't want one of my guards to," Sarah offered then added quickly. "...of course not...Sorry."

Gabrielle responded with a restrained hug due to Sarah's injuries. "Don't ever apologize for caring." Gabrielle added.

"I hope you can reconcile your differences with your friend." Sarah changed the subject. Although only having observed the two In a short time, Sarah knew they were too close to give up on their friendship so easily. There was a reason for Xena's departure but Sarah knew it wasn't her place to pursue the details.

Gabrielle picked up her staff. "I'm not so sure it will happen." Gabrielle exhaled, very depressed.

"They say time heals all wounds Gabrielle." Sarah gently touched her sad sister's cheek. Gabrielle hoped she was right.

After her goodbyes, Gabrielle started off into the world alone, unsure of where she was going.

There was a time when she would never have actually gone out on her own, despite her youthful fantasies of being a Minister of Cultural Development. She had told her family that she would one day be the Minister of Cultural Development for a powerful and just ruler, sent on a mission to learn about other cultures and bring back enlightenment to her kingdom. Now, while preferring to be along side of Xena, she could go it alone if she had to, she was pretty sure. At least she wasn't being a burden to anyone, Gabrielle reflected. The roads were dangerous though, and she had lost her share of fights only to have Xena come to her rescue. Pushing the insidious doubts from her mind, Gabrielle looked down the fork in the road. Right would take her to Athens, Left to her sister Amazons.

"Hmm" Gabrielle pondered the significance of being given that choice just when she was contemplating the need for more education in fighting and self defense.

Chapter 9 - More Sisters

"It's Gabrielle!" one Amazon lookout called out enthusiastically as their princess was spotted arriving. Queen Melosa came from her tent with a big smile. The smile faded as she observed she was alone.

"Where is Xena?" Melosa asked.

"I wish I knew." Gabrielle responded shaking her head. Melosa sensing trouble, immediately offered help.

"We will help you find her." Melosa started to gather up a scouting party.

"Wait." Gabrielle stopped the Queen. "Xena left to be on her own." Gabrielle offered further explanation. Melosa eyed her, deciding it was best to discuss this delicate matter in private.

"I have a request Queen Melosa, I wish to train."

Melosa smiled broadly. "Be careful of what you wish for around here PRINCESS Gabrielle, you'll get it." Melosa enjoyed toying with Gabrielle.

"I need to be trained," Gabrielle's tone now sounded more like a plea which caught Melosa off guard. Gabrielle's request was rooted in her problems with Xena, Melosa guessed, nodding to Gabrielle.

"We will have a feast tonight to celebrate your return to us." The Amazons cheered. "But first," Melosa was quick to follow up. "To help you work up your appetite, you will start your training - immediately."

Gabrielle got what she wished for.

Melosa entrusted Gabrielle with her two finest teachers, Trayla and Sustra. Trayla had helped Gabrielle with the staff before. After starting with the staff to see how much Gabrielle retained from her previous training, Trayla's backside was introduced to the hard ground with a thump. Sustra's laughing didn't help Trayla's bruised ego.

As Trayla brushed herself off, Gabrielle saw the irritation build up and performed some innate casualty control.

"If it were not for your training in the basics, I could have never improved. I still have so much more to learn from you." Gabrielle's words were sincere and respectful. Trayla nodded taking some solace in Gabrielle's words and skill.

"I think you have less to learn about the staff than you say." Gabrielle shook her head no but Trayla continued. "There are other skills you need to learn, isn't that right Sustra?"

It was Sustra's turn. "Sword? Crossbow? Wrestling?" Gabrielle thought a moment.

"I would like to know how to defend myself if I loose my staff in a fight. Not that that has or would ever happen." Gabrielle's humor was welcome to Sustra who liked to laugh. Trayla was much more serious.

"Very wise my princess. Sustra is the best in-close fighter," Trayla spoke fact.

Gabrielle could believe it, looking at the woman's tall and muscular body. Immediately, Gabrielle found Sustra's explanations of the principles behind the techniques wonderful. Also, she relayed interesting battle stories where each technique was useful. This helped Gabrielle learn more than Sustra realized.

"Ok, you've learned enough to throw me - do it," Sustra challenged.

"How can I possibly throw someone as large...ah.. muscular as you? I'm too small, I just want to learn how to get out of a bind." Gabrielle's comments made Sustra disappointed.

"Haven't you been - whoa!" Sustra was caught off guard by her student but quickly countered.

"Ack!" Gabrielle was caught in a choke hold.

"Good attempt with your diversion, what next?" Sustra coached her captive. Gabrielle's response was muffled by Sustra's strong arm around her neck. "What?" Sustra asked then relaxed the grip somewhat to hear her response.

"Offer money?" Gabrielle spurted.

On Trayla's normally stoic face, a slight smile appeared.

"Think!" Sustra ordered. Gabrielle applied her fingers to the pressure points of Sustra's hand and pulled it away from her neck. The next move was more of a roll vice a throw but the result was that Gabrielle successfully got Sustra on her back with a thud. Trayla was grinning wider now.

"You still need to work on speed." A dusty Sustra spoke from the ground.

The next hours were the most fatiguing few hours Gabrielle could recall in her life. Melosa came to the practice field to see about Gabrielle's progress. Trayla and Gabrielle were back with the staff to teach her about fighting on unstable surfaces. This time however, Trayla did not underestimate her opponent.

"My Queen." Sustra came over as the two continued.

"How goes the training." Melosa saw a more confident Gabrielle than the last time she trained with the Amazons.

"Better than I had hoped. She is a quick study and has grown much stronger since her last visit." Melosa was pleased. "Good."

"What's wrong," Melosa asked Sustra, seeing the worried look on her face.

"Gabrielle would do just as well with a sword yet she has no interest in it," Sustra informed her Queen.

"Gabrielle considers the sword a symbol of death," Melosa explained.

Sustra shrugged. "So?"

Melosa looked over to Gabrielle with an understanding. "She hasn't killed anyone and has vowed never to do so. I respect that vow and so should you. Do not push the sword. If she wants to learn those skills, she will ask...our princess is not shy you know," the usually stern queen then quipped.

The feast was huge and very festive, one of their best, Melosa remarked. This time, Gabrielle was able to sit out the dancing as rank has its privileges. After telling the story of finding her long lost sister to the appreciative group, she sat next to Melosa at the royal table and ate like two Amazons.

"I see your story telling skills and appetite are in good shape. How is your training going?" Melosa asked, sitting comfortably in the Queen's spot at the royal table.

"Sustra and Trayla are teaching me so much, but I am afraid I am not quick enough." Gabrielle sighed then yawned and quickly apologized. Melosa nodded.

"Speed will come with practice. You know that from your staff work, which I am very pleased with." Gabrielle shrugged.

"I have improved, but I have lost so many fights and had to be saved by Xena..." The mention of her name saddens Gabrielle.

"Probably due to a lack confidence Gabrielle - not skill." Melosa remarked sipping her wine.

Considering they have sufficient privacy, Melosa asks what happened. "You said Xena left you at your sister's castle?" Gabrielle nodded, not ready to admit why Xena left. Gabrielle's perception was still affected by the drug. Interpreting the silence incorrectly, Melosa offered solace.

"There must be a reason Gabrielle. Xena cares deeply for you. When you do see her, remember that. Go get some rest now. Tomorrow will come early and Sustra and Trayla will not handle you so gingerly as they did today" Melosa noted as Sustra and Trayla looked at each other with wide grins.

"And I'm supposed to have a good night's sleep now?" Gabrielle remarked to an amused Melosa.

Gabrielle had no trouble sleeping and the morning did come early. Sustra and Trayla came in her tent. With a soft, melodic voice, Sustra called for Gabrielle.

"Princess, wake up." Gabrielle stirred very little. Then, Sustra's tone and volume changed. "It is time for training" Sustra boomed. Trayla turned over the bed of the disoriented bard.

"I am so glad you two enjoy your jobs." Gabrielle looks up from the ground.

For the next few days, Gabrielle was put through many tests and drills and sported many bruises. The most annoying training was in the beginning of the day, which came earlier and earlier each morning to keep Gabrielle off balance, which worked well.

Gabrielle found herself in the forest alone. Trayla and Sustra were hiding. The hair on the back of Gabrielle's neck rose. They were close. While never having so many bruises in her life, Gabrielle never felt so clear minded and alive.

A noise in the bushes made Gabrielle smile with recognition. The sound was a stone, a diversion. Gabrielle turned towards where she anticipated the attacker to be. Unfortunately, she was wrong. Sustra leaped out of the trees and tackled Gabrielle.

"Ooofph" The wind was knocked out of the bard.

"Remember, up Gabrielle." Sustra picked up the crumpled bard.

"Up" Gabrielle repeated, still gasping for air with great effort.

She silently scolded herself for missing that attack position. Xena commonly used the trees. The two walked a while with no sign of Trayla. While crossing a stream on a felled tree, Gabrielle had the feeling an attack was pending.

Gabrielle uttered "Down.." As Trayla came out of the water and grabbed for Gabrielle's leg. Gabrielle avoided the grab with a flip, but landed in the water with a stupendous splash.

The Amazon trainers look at each other. "Better." They spoke in unison.

"I'll miss this," Trayla said quietly to her partner in chaos prior to the morning exercise.

Sustra and Trayla stealthily entered the tent from underneath. Trayla and Sustra looked at each other amused with the fact Gabrielle didn't stir yet. They stood up ready to attack. Trayla gave a war scream and jabbed the blob in the bed which evoked no movement.

Sustra uttered an "ugh oh". The tent collapsed on the two attackers. Laughter erupted in the Amazon camp as the two teachers scrambled to get out from the tent. They quickly joined in the laughter, realizing their Princess had learned very well.

At a private dinner, Queen Melosa had relayed her experience with Grickas to an attentive Gabrielle. "He was a weak man. Not a true warrior." Melosa despised him and was happy he met his end.

"Why not a true warrior, he was very successful in battle, wasn't he?" Gabrielle asked.

Melosa shook her head no. "He wasn't. Only his tricks and drugs made him win. As I said, not a true warrior." Gabrielle was still confused.

"Drugs? What kind of drugs?" Gabrielle asked. Melosa spoke with incredible disgust.

"Forgus, a drug whose effects can be insidious. It amplifies a persons fears and doubts. If taken in its purest form, the transformation is permanent but too quick and obvious to ensure a victorious takeover. However, Grickas dilutes this drug and slowly conquers his unsuspecting enemy. Victims never find out that the reason for their defeat was themselves." Melosa sighs.

"Themselves?" Gabrielle questions.

"Yes. Normally rational people struggling with those doubts and fears act irrationally. Yet they don't even realize how irrational they have become. The affected are unable to adequately defend themselves from the likes of Grickas. A small band of Grickas' men could overtake a seemingly unconquerable army - with the help of forgus. It sounds like that was the cause of King Enerall's defeat."

Gabrielle then asked a question that spoke volumes to Melosa. "Does this Forgus happen to taste sweet?"

With this information, it was time for Gabrielle to leave her Amazon sisters and go back to Walsas. So many good-byes in such a short time was draining on Gabrielle. She was so close to her family and had so many good friends, it was always hard to leave. Melosa expressed concern for Gabrielle's intended trip.

"If Grickas is still loose, he will try to regroup to conquer Walsas. If you want my help, Gabrielle, just say the word." The significance of Melosa's offer was not lost on Gabrielle.

"Your training is not done yet Gabrielle," Melosa remarked with authority.

"Training never really stops, does it?" Gabrielle asked.

"If it does, your dead." Melosa answered. "We still have a few things to teach you," Melosa added, her stare relayed no emotion.

Gabrielle rubbed her bruised arm. "I think my training is best done in short sprits - so I can recover. Besides, I am looking forward to a good night's sleep." Gabrielle's joke about the morning exercises concerned Melosa, who's expression turned grave.

"Gabrielle, sleep will be a necessity not a luxury. You must always sleep lightly, and at the ready. Attackers will not be as kind as Trayla and Sustra." Gabrielle nodded, a little disturbed, yet understood Melosa's warning.

"Don't worry, you have learned much." Melosa added. Gabrielle wondered how true that was. "Remember, you most powerful weapon is your mind and... of course your gift of Gab, Gabrielle." Melosa smiled.

"Thanks..." Gabrielle blurted with mock annoyance.

Gabrielle started down the path, once again - alone.

Chapter 10 - The Return

Approaching Walsas, Gabrielle felt it wise to not use the main road - just in case. "I'm probably being paranoid", she thought to herself. "Paranoid is good," she concluded, finding the kingdom reoccupied by Grickas' soldiers.

Her mind raced with thoughts of what fate befell her sisters. "Focus and calm down." She told herself. She needed to find out what was going on. The tavern was closest.

The soldiers paid no attention to the cloaked woman who limped into the Tavern. Farr the barkeep was hopeful for a paying customer finally.

"May I.." his eyes widened as he recognized the face of the woman under the hood. He nervously backed away into the storeroom. Gabrielle followed. "You shouldn't be here!" He whispered loudly. The incredible difference in the man before her now and the same man days ago confirmed her suspicions that Grickas once again drugged the people of Walsas with Forgus. "They will kill me for talking to you!" He looked around nervously. "You must go now." He shook.

"I will go...just tell me...are Sarah and Lila OK?" She braced herself for the worse.

"I don't know, I don't know" He backed up, knocking over a jug of wine which crashed on the floor.

"Hey!" A soldier enters the store room to see what caused the commotion. Seeing the wine spilled on the floor, he sneers. "Be more careful of this stuff." Farr's nervousness made the filthy soldier feel dominant. He walked around inspecting the area to increase the barkeep's panic and his enjoyment. It worked. Farr cringed at every corner and space the soldier would inspect. "You've got thirsty soldiers out there to serve. Go on!" Farr left the storeroom wondering what happened to the young woman.

Gathering information was not easy task, Gabrielle thought as she approached the Inn. There were guards close to the front door so she tried the back door. She could have tried to pick the lock to the back door but saw that there was a window open on the second floor.The path of least resistance worked for her.

"I gave you all the money I have" Cumae spoke to a young soldier she could have physically taken on in her younger days. Cumae's eyes glanced over to the stairs where she saw Gabrielle poking her head out from the stairwell. Gabrielle motioned to Cumae she was going to the hidden basement. Their silent communication went unnoticed by the greedy boy.

Making her way to the room, Gabrielle thought of her experiences with the Amazons. All things being equal, Gabrielle preferred infiltrating the kingdom to head-on confrontations. While she recognized the value of being proficient with fighting skills, she considered it took more skill to avoid conflict and obtain her objective. It was also more satisfying to win a mental contest than a physical one.

Gabrielle easily entered the sanctuary of the hidden room, undetected by soldiers. A single candle burned with insufficient light for Gabrielle's adjusting eyes to see anything. However, she felt a quiet presence in the room. The presence was a familiar one.

"Xena" She called out softly, 99% sure her feelings were correct.

"Good eyes." Xena commented without correction from Gabrielle.

"I'm glad you're here. I was afraid I'd have to save the kingdom alone." Gabrielle remarked with a smile that eased Xena's apprehension about facing Gabrielle.

"I'm thinking clearer now." Xena stared at her awkwardly, wanting to say more.

"But the kingdom isn't. Grickas is at it again. Did you know Grickas always uses Forgas on his enemies?" Gabrielle relayed.

"Not until the drug wore off," Xena answered with regret.

"Xena, there was no way you could have known you...we... were affected." Gabrielle casually commented as she lit more candles. "There, much better." The room was much brighter to Gabrielle's satisfaction.

"What happened to you ?" Xena asked with concern. With the added light, Xena now saw the large number bruises Gabrielle sported.

"A few...educational experiences" Gabrielle rubbed a bruised elbow.

"Gabrielle..." Xena started to say something when Cumae, finally finished with the young soldier, came in the room. She was also affected by the water but not as afraid as Farr about helping them.

"They are still alive." Cumae spoke immediately to Gabrielle upon entering the room.

Gabrielle's armor of good humor revealed a sizable dent as she closed her eyes and thanked the gods upon that news. This experience was draining on Gabrielle, Xena observed, now grateful for Cumae's interruption. There was only so much Gabrielle should have to deal with at one time. Collecting herself, Gabrielle quickly recovered her good humor.

"But?" Gabrielle asked. "There's always a but," she added, looking at Xena.

"Grickas plans another execution for Sarah when she recovers enough from her wounds," Cumae informed them.

"How considerate," Xena blurted.

Cumae left to tend to the Inn not wanting to be found missing from the front desk too long.

"It's always something isn't it?" Gabrielle sighed, sitting down at the table. Reaching for a water skin, she stopped herself before drinking.

"I brought that, it's ok." Xena remarked. Gabrielle looked at her.

"Good, don't want to go through that again." She took a sip. The comment made Xena wonder what she went through, what doubts and fears had plagued her. Xena stared at Gabrielle, wanting to apologize for leaving, wanting to say how much she missed her. Yet she didn't.

Noting Xena was trying to tell her something then stopped when Cumae entered the room, Gabrielle thought of a way to help.

"Did you know that the Yersians were a people that had very few wars or even disputes?" Gabrielle's comment surprised Xena, who wondered where Gabrielle was going to go with this.

"No." Xena answered cautiously sitting across from Gabrielle at the table and taking a sip of water herself.

"If two families...or people...had a problem that seemed insurmountable they would gather the troubled parties in a sacred room, the Great Room of Truths." Gabrielle nibbled on some bread.

"Oh?" Xena responded wondering how much of this story Gabrielle was making up.

"Yes. In this Great Room, the troubled people were sworn to abide by the Rules of Questions. Once agreed to, each party was allowed to ask one question of each other. The person asking the question was not allowed to speak until the person answering was finished. The person answering was required to be direct and truthful, even if the truth was painful. After the first questions were asked, they went home to think about what they heard and consider their next questions. The next day they would gather in the same place and ask a second set of questions. Then after that, a third set of questions, asked on the third day, would be asked. By the end of the third day the problem was solved."

"How did they know if the answers given were the truth?" Xena asked a practical question.

"They knew." Gabrielle answered looking her in the eye. Xena could believe that Gabrielle would be able to. Cumae returned, having put in her appearance at the front desk. Annoyed and disappointed by Cumae's poor timing, Gabrielle muttered under her breath.

"If it isn't Cumae, the interrupter." The comment was heard by Xena who refrained from grinning. She owed Cumae another one.

Chapter 11 - Another rescue

"So much for being considerate," Gabrielle remarked.

Grickas was too impatient for Sarah's full recovery so he decided to push up the execution to the next day. Xena lead the way to the Castle.

"They probably have the entrances we used before guarded." Gabrielle remarked trying to figure out what her friend had in mind as they walked through the trees.

"Well, I agree your underwater passage is out." Xena remarked coming to a boulder.

"Good. I've had enough swimming." Gabrielle sat on the boulder, rechecking her bag to make sure everything was there. "And the side entrance?" Gabrielle asked.

"Out." Xena remarked.

"Ok" Gabrielle accepted that. Xena kept standing in front of her as if she was waiting for something. "I give up...How will we get in? What entrance will we use?" Xena smiled getting what she wanted out of Gabrielle.

"You're sitting on it."

Gabrielle got up looking at the boulder and pointed at it. "This?"

Xena nodded then leaned over and started to move the boulder. To Gabrielle's amazement, Xena exposed a passage with a staircase.

"How did you know about this?" Gabrielle peered down the entrance.

"I stumbled across it when I had to find another way into the castle. That was after I ran into that dead end you never told me about." Xena explained passing by Gabrielle to descended the steps.

"What dead end?" Gabrielle followed, remembering Xena mentioned that before but not remembering the dead end.

"Never mind." Xena answered.

They came upon the soldier's dining hall which they had to cross to get to access to the holding cell. The dining hall was bustling with feeding soldiers. "It would be probably be impolite to disturb their dinner." Xena remarked as they retreated unnoticed to the next room. They needed to remain undetected for the plan to succeed.

Gabrielle observed a much more relaxed Xena before her than when they met at the Inn. The room they were now in was a sitting room with beautiful woven tapestries hanging from the walls. Gabrielle took a moment to admire them.

"Look at the detail." She remarked with amazement.

The noise of soldiers moving towards their position caused Xena and Gabrielle to look to each other. After scanning the room for hiding options, Xena found Gabrielle had already found a place to hide as she was gone.

Xena found the ledge outside the window the closest place to hide, although she would have preferred the rafters. A soldier came in, having a little too much to drink, Xena observed. He stumbled around and was getting close to the tapestry where Gabrielle was last seen standing. Xena's heart jumped when she thought Gabrielle's hiding place would be exposed.

Xena's hand clenched her Chakrum as the soldier stumbled into that tapestry. However, Gabrielle was not there as Xena expected. Easing her grip on her Chakrum, she smiled to herself. Her eyes found where the nervous bard was hiding, in the rafters. Other soldiers came in and found their comrade in bad shape.

"Come on. You don't want King Grickas to find you like this." One soldier spoke. The title of King made Gabrielle angry. Sarah had stated that justice would be served another day. Today was that day, Gabrielle thought.

After the soldiers left, Gabrielle lowered herself from the rafters on to a table as Xena emerged from the window. "I'm glad you didn't choose the tapestry." Xena remarked quietly.

"Me too. Whoa." Gabrielle lost her balance and kicks one large candle holder off the table while heading for a noisy fall. Xena caught the candle in one hand and grabbed Gabrielle's arm with the other, steadying her. A relieved Gabrielle makes it down to the floor. Xena stares at the candle then Gabrielle.

"I know, improve." Gabrielle relayed.

"I didn't say anything." Xena remarked, with a smirk.

"Maybe not, but you wanted to." Gabrielle countered.

"So you've learned to read minds?" Xena put the candle down.

"You'd be surprised." Gabrielle looked at her.

"Really? What am I thinking now." Xena challenged her with a sly grin.

"That we shouldn't waste any more time in getting to the holding cell." Gabrielle responded and headed towards the soldier's dining room.

The smile on Xena's face faded after that correct answer.

"Xena" Gabrielle quietly called back to her realizing she wasn't moving.

"Nah..." Xena thought to herself.

They arrived at the holding cell which boasted better accommodations than the dungeon cells. Grickas wanted to ensure his injured prisoner didn't rob him of the execution he looked forward to by dying on her own. As they expected, Sarah was alone. Gabrielle hoped they were right about Lila and Meleager being held in the main dungeon. Xena distracted a guard further and further away from the cell with a string of noises, allowing Gabrielle to approach her sister.

"Sarah" Gabrielle spoke waking her sister.

"Gabrielle!" She was shocked and concerned.

"Grickas has won." Sarah's head fell in defeat. Gabrielle knew it had to be the Forgus talking.

"Not yet Sarah. Justice will be served." Sarah embraced her sister with a need to believe that.

"Where are Lila and Meleager?" Gabrielle asked.

"They are below in the dungeon." Gabrielle nodded. "Are you strong enough to leave?"

Sarah nodded.

As Xena took Sarah down to the dungeon, Sarah protested the plan.

"Xena, I can't leave her there." She started.

"It's Gabrielle's choice." Xena coolly responded. Sarah made many similar comments of concern along the way which Xena chose to ignore. Xena tried not to get too irritated as she knew the forgus was making Sarah more fearful. They made it to the soldier's post at the entrance of the Labyrinth which they had to go through. Sarah kept pushing Xena about Gabrielle.

"She could be killed. Why didn't you try to talk her out of this? Don't you care?" Surprising Sarah with her speed, Xena put her hand on the Queen's mouth and shoved her into the shadows.

"Stay quiet or you will be killed." Xena spoke deliberately. Sarah wasn't sure if Xena meant by the soldiers or her own hands. The soldiers didn't know what hit them as Xena jumped from the darkness and attacked with her sword swiftly and accurately.

She killed all four of them, regretting the necessity. If they woke at an inopportune time, they would foil the rescue and further endanger Gabrielle's life. She was grateful though that Gabrielle did not have to witness her killing again. Gabrielle knew there were times when it could be justified, Xena thought to herself as she pulled the bodies out of view. However, Xena knew it still disturbed Gabrielle even if she never spoke of it. Finished covering up signs of the attack, Xena looked up at Sarah who was silently staring at her. There was a familiar look of sadness in Xena's eyes which Sarah remembered seeing in Enerall when he killed in front of her.

Gabrielle laid on the cot with her face to the wall. She wore a white dress like Sarah's to complete the deception. The guard came by to confirm his red headed prisoner was where she should be. Satisfied, he left to patrol the area. This was the difficult part, Gabrielle thought as she waited. Her nervous energy was used for pacing around the cell . She wondered how far along Xena was in the rescue of Sarah, Lila and Meleager. She then reconsidered that her task of waiting was much easier than Xena's task of rescuing two injured and one green young Potedian all probably heavily affected by forgus.

Hearing more footsteps, she jumped onto the cot and faced the wall. Why was he back so soon, Gabrielle wondered. The steps were of a different man.

"My Queen Sarah. It is almost time. You will soon meet the same fate as your husband Enerall." Gabrielle moved slightly. "Ah, you are still fighting fate." Grickas observed. The noise of a key entering the cell door lock made Gabrielle's heart race. He would find out soon. Now she had to deal with an opponent without her staff. He entered and Gabrielle spoke softly.

"Why?"

Grickas laughed. "Why not?" He sat down on the cot next to her touching the familiar red hair. Her urge to punch him was overcome by a calm. Not yet, she thought. Gabrielle could hear and feel he only had on a dagger. Appropriate for a man who was not a true warrior.

"I guess I could blame it on a difficult childhood but I actually enjoyed my childhood," he mused. "Why?" He repeated. "Because I can." He answered truthfully.

"What!?!" He gasped, realizing the red hair belonged to someone other than Sarah.

Gabrielle turned pushing him onto the ground and bolted for the cell door. He grabbed her foot causing her to fall. She kicked free of his grip and the two were quickly on their feet facing each other in the small cell.

"I should know your name at least, before I kill you" He asked pulling his dagger out.

"Does that mean you won't kill me if I don't tell you?" Gabrielle remarked making Grickas smile.

"No, it's just more ... polite." He lunged towards her unsuccessfully. "You have to be her sister, but I didn't know she had any." Grickas was still more amused than worried, believing the forgus would prevent Sarah from getting far. Gabrielle was grateful for that advantage.

"Gee, how'd you figure that out?" Gabrielle commented as she looked for an opportunity to escape the small confines of the cell. He lunges again getting close enough to lightly cut her arm but allowing her to hit the him solidly in the face, breaking his nose.

"Ahhh" He held his face and fell to his knees. Gabrielle once again tried to escape but Grickas would not allow that as he overcame his pain and tackled her into the bars.

Somehow she broke herself free from this man and escaped the cell. Scanning her surroundings in the empty dining hall, she found the guard running towards her with his sword drawn. Hard to keep a fight quiet, she realized. One in front and one closing in at her back, Gabrielle assessed her situation.

She spied a staff on the other side of the room. The only obstacle was the bigger, meaner looking guard. She dove on top of the long table towards her objective, missing a deadly blow by the guard. She jumped with more energy than she realized, unable to stop herself from sliding completely across the table and onto the floor with a thud. She quickly recovered, adjusting her dress that was ill-suited for fighting and grabbed the staff.

With the familiar feel of the staff in her hand, Gabrielle breathed deeply feeling more comfortable. That was until three more soldiers rushed in to inform Grickas of their news.

"The prisoners have escaped from the dungeon. And we are missing many soldiers," one blurted to Grickas, who lost control.

"NO! NO! NO!" He screamed, realizing all his mistakes.

Gabrielle was relieved at the soldier's news. All she had to worry about was herself. As the soldiers that surrounded her closed in, she thought that was still enough to worry about. She successfully prevented them from getting too close with swift and accurate staff work. However, she knew she would tire soon which would be the end.

"Some warrior you are Grickas." Gabrielle taunted him.

He looked at her angrily.

"Using drugs to conquer your enemy. When you can't rely on the drugs, you loose to a mere woman in hand to hand combat."

The soldiers slowed their attacks listening to this woman's accusations. Grickas pushes a soldier aside, grabbing his sword. Gabrielle smiled. "And by the way, my name is Gabrielle, the woman who defeated you."

The soldiers froze as they watched Grickas lung towards the woman. Gabrielle easily avoided his angry and sloppy moves. Yep, she was more comfortable with the staff than hand-to-hand. She hit him in the chest with great force causing him to land on his back. The vile on his neck broke open. He gasped, pulling his pendant off him throwing it to the floor. The vapors of the pure forgus were strong.

Gabrielle stepped back realizing what had happened. She watched with the soldiers as Grickas huddles over shaking and sobbing uncontrollably.

"Here is your GREAT warrior Grickas." She speaks to the soldiers, tired of fighting. "Leave now and never bother this kingdom again." She looked each of them in the eyes. The soldiers debated what to do.

Xena rushed in the room not quiet sure of what to do, seeing the standoff before her. Gabrielle looked at her and motioned her to not attack, and returned her attention back at the soldiers. "It's your choice."

They quickly leave the two woman and their leader huddled on the floor. Xena looks over at Grickas.

"Careful Xena, he splashed pure forgus on himself." Gabrielle looked down at the sorry sight. "I wonder if this will be permanent," she added with some feeling of remorse. Xena put a comforting hand on Gabrielle's shoulder.

"I don't know." Xena saw Gabrielle was disturbed by the outcome of her fight. "It's not like you killed him Gabrielle."

"I know. But I wonder if this isn't worse." Gabrielle stared down at Grickas not sure what to feel.

Xena, greatly disturbed by Gabrielle's comment, reached out her hand, gently turned Gabrielle's head away from Grickas. Looking directly in her friend's sad eyes, Xena spoke from the heart.

"If there is any blame Gabrielle, it lies with Grickas. He didn't just kill people - he abused people with that drug. Now he is suffering for that abuse. I hope you can see that." Xena waited for a response.

Gabrielle nodded and embraced her friend tightly. "Thank you," she spoke softly.

"There you are!" Cumae came in. Gabrielle stepped back and looked over to the woman than back at Xena.

"Cumae..of course." Gabrielle spoke under her breath.

Chapter 12 - A Promise is a Promise is a Promise

After the celebration dinner, Gabrielle sat in the garden alone, saddened that she would be leaving soon.

"I thought you would be asleep by now." Xena sat next to her, enjoying the peaceful evening air.

There were so many sides to her friend, Gabrielle noted, now seeing the relaxed and happy Xena. Gabrielle was pleased Xena really enjoyed herself the past couple of days around her family and even during the celebration this evening.

"What?" Xena asked uncomfortably noticing Gabrielle's stare.

"Just counting the minutes before Cumae shows up," Gabrielle said with a slight grin.

"She just left...I think." Xena responded quickly looking around, making Gabrielle cuckle. Xena never tired of hearing Gabrielle laugh.

Gabrielle looked up at the night sky and sighed. "So where are we going next?"

Xena thought a moment. "We could visit the Amazons," the warrior suggested.

Gabrielle cringed. "Perhaps after I fully recover from my last visit."

Xena was surprised, but that did explain all her bruises. "So that is where you went after I ...left." Xena still regretted her actions even though Gabrielle knew they were forgus induced.

"Yes. I was convinced, or rather the forgus convinced me, that you left because you were tire of me being such a burden. I thought if I trained and learned more I would prove ....well, you get the picture." Gabrielle shrugged.

"You did that for me?" Xena asked, once again deeply touched by this bard's actions.

"Nope," Gabrielle's answer surprised her. "I did it for entirely selfish reasons," Gabrielle responded. "I wasn't going to give up our friendship without a fight. It means too much to me." Knowing how uncomfortable Xena gets when they discuss their feelings, Gabrielle tried to lighten things up. "Although, had I known what Trayla and Sustra would put me through...I might have reconsidered." Gabrielle smiled at the memories of the experience.

Gabrielle's confession bothered Xena.

"I'm kidding" Gabrielle responded seeing her change in moods, then realized it was not the sarcasm.

"I didn't fight, I just left." Xena said hollowly, looking at the ground. Gabrielle realized how much guilt Xena still carried around.

"Why did you?" Gabrielle asked softly. Xena glanced uncomfortably at her friend then back down to the ground. When Gabrielle thought Xena was having too much difficulty to respond, she let her off the hook.

"You don't have to say anything Xena. I know we both weren't acting like ourselves." Gabrielle patted her hand. "It's getting late...We should both get some sleep." Gabrielle starts getting up but Xena, not yet done, gently grabs and pulls on her arm, sitting her back down. "Or we could talk." Gabrielle responded.

Xena exhaled heavily, then looked the bard in the eyes. "You have become a skilled fighter and...you have two sisters that are very close to you." Gabrielle listened quietly. Xena still stared at the ground. "When you didn't confide in me about your dreams I kept wondering why."

Gabrielle sucessfully fought the urge to interrupt, knowing this wasn't easy for Xena.

"Then you agreed to take that position from your sister - I thought you were staying without discussing it with me. All those things - with the forgus - added up. I thought there was no room in your life for me." Xena finally looked up at Gabrielle who smiled warmly, happy to finally hear Xena confide her in her.

"You are not my friend because you can protect me Xena." Gabrielle smiled looking into her eyes. "And you are not my best friend because I need anymore sisters." Gabrielle responded with a grin.

"I know" Xena softly laughed.

Gabrielle took a breath, ready to admit something. Xena noted, with some apprehension, the subtle shift in Gabrielle's mood. "I guess I owe you an apology for not telling you about those dreams sooner." Gabrielle felt a little embarrassed. "There was this woman in Poteidaia, who said she had vivid dreams of prophecy all the time. None of her warnings came true. She was "crazy Sybi." She drove away her family and all her friends." Gabrielle laughed nervously.

"You can always talk to me Gabrielle" Xena responded with great feeling. Gabrielle nodded, thanking the gods for having such a good friend. "And you can start by telling me about this job of Minister of Cultural Development..." Xena still had a few questions for the bard.

After finishing with her explanation of the Minister of Cultural Development, Gabrielle yawned. The excitement and emotion of the evening was catching up to her. "It really is getting late. We both should get some sleep." She repeated her good-night to Xena. As she starts to get up, Xena, with a playful grin this time, pulls on her arm sitting her back down.

"Or we could...keep talking." Xena remarked this time.

Gabrielle laughed and shook her head. "Melosa said be careful of what you wish for."

The next morning came too early for Gabrielle, but she was determined not to be late for the planned early morning departure. To her surprise, she was in the garden before Xena. She didn't realize how early it was until Cumae came by before she opened the Inn.

"Gabrielle, I just wanted to wish you good traveling before you and Xena go. Where is she?" Cumae looked around.

"She's probably taking advantage of the last few minutes in a comfortable bed before we head out. She kept us up pretty late last night talking," Gabrielle remarked yawning. Cumae eyed her.

"Right - talking." Cumae remarked as reached in her bag. "There IS something I wanted to ask of you and Xena." Cumae smiled.

Gabrielle had already brought Argo from the stables and packed her up with everything. She continued to wait for Xena when Lila, Sarah and Meleager emerged from the castle.

"By the Gods it is early, why does anyone start traveling at this time of day?" Lila rubbed her eyes and yawned.

"Lila, I've explained that to you already." Meleager remarked.

"I know but..." Lila's reply was interrupted by Gabrielle's hug.

"Thank you Lila." Gabrielle's eyes watered up.

"Hey, stop that. It's contagious." Lila wiped Gabrielle eye, then her own.

Gabrielle hugged Meleager next, who felt a little embarrassed at the affection in public. "We always seem to have an interesting time together" Meleager joked.

"I'm glad you will be here for my sister - Meleager the Mighty." She looked at him with affection and respect. That meant the world to him.

Xena finally emerged from the castle unapologetic for being late. She wasn't much for long good-byes. She did look particularly well rested, Gabrielle noted.

"I owe you all so much." Sarah spoke to the group. "It's a shame I can't convince you two to stay here with us." Gabrielle and Xena looked at each other.

"There are places to go and people to help." Gabrielle responded for the both of them. Xena nodded.

"I somehow expected that answer." Sarah looked at the two. "Take care of her." Sarah yelled to them as they started their journey.

"I will." They both responded.

Gabrielle and Xena, with Argo in tow, walked through the front gate of the Castle that had seen so much fighting days before. Gabrielle appreciated the calm and prayed it would last.

"Gabrielle?" Xena stops Argo.

"Yes?" Gabrielle responded, still walking and looking around the beautiful landscape, enjoying the sun and air.

"What's this?" Xena asks, looking in Argo's saddle bag. Gabrielle stops and returns to Xena's side seeing what she is talking about.

"A package." Gabrielle answers innocently.

"A package?" Xena repeated. "Just something I promised Cumae we would...deliver..." Gabrielle realized she did it again.

"Gabrielle" Xena spoke sternly.

"It's a birthday present Xena"

Xena started walking with Argo silently.

Gabrielle, attempted to justify the reasons for her promise. It was the right thing to do even if Xena didn't agree yet, Gabrielle thought. "It's for her nephew and after all that she's done for us, I thought it was a...." Gabrielle explanation was interrupted.

"Stop." Xena spoke in a commanding tone. "It's ok" Xena added, her tone softer.

"It's ok?" Gabrielle repeated, surprised.

"Yes." Xena answered.

"Yes?" Gabrielle repeated.

"Gabrielle - don't push it." Xena replied sternly. Gabrielle looked at her and stayed quiet.

After a few minutes, Xena broke the silence. "So where is this nephew we need to deliver this gift to..." Xena asked a very good question.

Gabrielle gulped wondering just how understanding Xena would be.

"GABRIELLE..."

THE END

#xena #Xena Warrior Princess #Xena/Gabrielle #Xena/Gabrielle Fanfiction #pg-13 #author: Enginerd #fanfic #femslash

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elesianne · 5 years ago

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A Silmarillion fanfic, chapter two

Story summary: Through all the struggles and triumphs of the Noldor, Angrod and Edhellos hold on to their love and their faith in each other.

Despite the title, there is more than romance in this fic.

Length: ~2,000 words; Rating: Teenage audiences

Some keywords for the whole fic: romance, family, some fluff and angst, mild sexual content, the Noldor and their fall and their triumphs, canon compliant

AO3 link (first chapter here)

Chapter II // The high princes of the Noldor

The Noldor advanced ever in skill and knowledge; and the long years were filled with their joyful labours, in which many new things fair and wonderful were devised.’ – The Silmarillion: Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor

‘Melkor would often walk among them, and amid his fair words others were woven, so subtly that many who heard them believed in recollection that they arose from their own thought. Visions he would conjure in their hearts of the mighty realms that they could have ruled at their own will, in power and freedom in the East[—]

High princes were Fëanor and Fingolfin, the elder sons of Finwë, honoured by all in Aman; but now they grew proud and jealous each of his rights and his possessions.’ – The Silmarillion: Of the Silmarils and the Unrest of the Noldor

Eldalótë has gold dust on her fingers at the end of some work days, and Angaráto washes away soot from his every evening. She is a gilder, he a blacksmith; neither are as fine royal crafts as those that many in the house of Finwë pursue, but they suit Eldalótë and Angaráto well.

Gold leaf is fragile, and painstaking to apply. It is precious and valuable, too, and a mistakes are literally costly.

But the end result is always so beautiful, and once Eldalótë has mastered the techniques, she often falls into an almost trance-like state as she works.

Some of Angaráto’s extended family look down on her craft because she does not herself create the objects she gilds, but she does not mind working on the art of other’s hands. She loves bringing it to a new height of beauty by emphasising all or some of it by a gleaming layer of finest gold.

She only works as a gilder a day or two a week after she marries, but her mother-in-law arranges a worktable for her at a gilders’ workshop in Alqualondë, too, so she doesn’t have to forsake her craft even when she and Angaráto are there.

Angaráto would go mad with work like hers, he tells her. He loves having something to expend some of his strength and energy on.

‘And having to hit metal accurately forces me to focus’, he explains to her when they are young and each apprentices in their respective crafts. 'I have to work myself into the right shape to work the metal.’

She understands then that it is not that different from the state she finds herself falling into when her work goes well though she works with whisper-thin, temperamental gold and he with stubborn iron and steel.

'Which came first, your interest in blacksmithing or your epessë, Angamaitë?’ She asks him once, when they are still young and unmarried. Her beloved is nicknamed iron-handed.

She has some strength in her for she is a craftswoman after all, and loves riding her spirited mare far and fast, but nothing like he has his in his arms and his large hands. Some of it is all his own as if an extension of his spirit, and some from learning his craft.

They lie on their backs under a flowering tree in her family’s garden, and the stern and watchful eyes of her grandmother sewing under the next tree.

'The name. Findaráto gave it to me, Angaráto replies. He sneaks a quick touch of his hand to hers in the not-long-enough grass. Eldalótë can feel her grandmother’s disapproving gaze, though there is no scolding yet. 'It gave me the idea to perhaps become a blacksmith. I didn’t have any particular passion from a very small child like some do.’

'Like Findaráto and his passion for shaping stone.’ Eldalótë’s eyes follow a bee busily toiling in the blossoms above them while she remains aware of Angaráto constantly almost-touching her.

'Or cousin Makalaurë and his songs. I heard uncle Fëanáro once say that he sang before he could speak.’ Angaráto snorts. 'Artanis makes all sorts of noises. Some of them could perhaps be counted as singing, I suppose. All of them are too loud.’

'She is a very sweet child’, Eldalótë defends. She stares at the yellow blossoms and dreams of golden-haired babies.

Angaráto snorts again. 'In looks, perhaps. Not otherwise! My parents have their hands full with her. But Aikanáro became a very decent friend once he grew out of babyhood. I dare hope that little sisters do the same.’

There are only a few peaceful years following their marriage. As if out of nowhere, but also arising gradually like a weed growing toward the light, the peaceful if driven existence of the Noldor is poisoned by unrest and strife. Arafinwë and Eärwen and all of their children spend even more time among the Falmari than before, preferring the untroubled atmosphere of Alqualondë.

Angaráto and Aikanáro are the only ones in the family who would sometimes prefer to stay and take sides in the debates and arguments. Angaráto has a few heated discussions with his father about it, as heated as anyone can have with Arafinwë. The end result is, every time, that Arafinwë does not force Angaráto to come to Alqualondë but states that he would prefer it. Angaráto always bows to his father’s preference and wisdom eventually, after some grumbling.

(Eldalótë once overhears his father-in-law ask Angaráto, as another prong in his argument, 'Would Eldalótë not also prefer to come to Alqualondë?’

Angaráto admits that probably she does, and in that he is right. Her own family is in Tirion, but they are growing quarrelsome too, asking for her opinions on Fëanáro and Nolofinwë as someone who knows both better than they do. She does not want to take part in those family quarrels, though she is, because of Angaráto’s close friendships, closer to the house of Nolofinwë than Fëanáro.)

She is glad when Angaráto always brings them to Alqualondë in the end. The salty-fresh air, the sheen of pearls and shells all around, the ships coming to harbour in the evening – they come to represent freedom from argument-created anxiety for her.

Even in Alqualondë though, there is no cessation in young Artanis’ ponderings of what the land on the other side of the wide sea is like, and how it would be to rule realms there. Arafinwë and Eärwen look uneasy at this, but Findaráto encourages it.

Artanis asks their grandfather Olwë, once, when Findekáno is visiting with them. Eldalótë is there in Olwë’s hall that night and listens with them as the king of the Falmari describes the starlit land he knew as plagued by danger and hardship.

It doesn’t put out the fire in Artanis and Findekáno’s eyes and, Eldalótë notes with discomfort, her own husband and Aikanáro also lean forward as they listen intently.

Their son is born is Alqualondë on a windy night, the curtains in Eldalótë’s bedchamber’s windows fluttering and swaying like the wings of seabirds.

Their child is small enough as newborn that Angaráto can hold him on just one of his large hands. Eldalótë watches, too tired to even speak yet filled with incandescent joy, as father gets to know son. Angaráto appears lost for words. He touches the baby’s tiny fingers, tiny toes, perfect ears, tuft of dark golden hair. Their son stares back at him with unblinking eyes as blue as cornflowers in the heart of summer, or so Eldalótë would describe them if she were writing a poem.

Eldalótë smiles as she falls quietly into rest.

Artaresto is the first child of a new generation born into the third house of the Noldor, and he is cherished by all of them. Findaráto adores him even though Artaresto has a particular penchant for Findaráto’s fine, colourful clothes and especially for burping on them. Findaráto only grins and praises him for his evident appetite.

When his older brother once again comes to Eldalótë and Angaráto’s rooms with the flimsy excuse of bringing the baby yet more unnecessary gifts, Angaráto says to him drily, 'You should court your own sweetheart at a pace faster than glacial so you might have little ones of your own to spoil before ours is grown tall.’

'I don’t think I shall’, Findaráto replies as if one half in sleep, or some other vision, even while he tickles Artaresto’s sweet little belly.

Angaráto looks unnerved, and looks at Eldalótë. She can offer him no explanation or consolation. They are both left worried when Findaráto leaves, whistling his way down the corridor.

Eldalótë grieves it when Angaráto begins using the strength in his arms and hands and spirit to forge instruments of protection, and of killing too. Of late, every man of means and many of the women, too, seem to be sporting a shield as they go about their business in Tirion, as if it had become a compulsory part of dress. Angaráto and Aikanáro and Findaráto believe that swords are necessary to make and learn to wield as well. She supposes that they must, if there is any danger, and recently a threat seems to be hanging above everyone’s heads.

She gilds the pommels of her husband and Aikanáro’s swords though she finds the new weapons almost as unpleasant as the barely-named threats. There have been no such weapons in Aman ever before: not meant for hunting or sport, but for something else.

Her aversion to violence only strengthens the enchantment of strength and staying that she sings through the fine gold into the unforgiving steel of the swords.

She gilds the device of her father-in-law on their shields too. From the shields’ centre of orange sapphires radiate golden rays of light which she enchants to deflect blows away from her loved ones.

She prays to the Valar whom she, too, doubts of late that the blades and shields will not be needed.

One day Angaráto tells her to start practising archery again. She was a keen archer growing up and even won a few competitions, but her bow has lain untouched most of the time since Artaresto was born.

Eldalótë asks him why she should take it up again. 'For the same reason I have forged few things other than swords for a while now’, he replies, face grim.

So she asks Findekáno whether she can join him in his practice, and asks him to help her teach Artaresto too – for Angaráto is not much of an archer, and Findekáno who is his close friend as well as cousin is a famed one. Elenwë and young Idril join them too, and Artaresto enjoys practising together with his cousin on their small bows. Their mothers find it more difficult to enjoy, knowing as they do that the training has possible motives other than competitions or hunting.

One evening after Eldalótë returns from practice Angaráto gives her a pair of daggers, beautiful but so wickedly sharp that she cannot rejoice in them.

'I do not need more weapons as a gift for remastering one’, she tells him.

He buries his face in her hair and she strokes his gently. It is sweaty from his own arms practice.

'Let’s take a bath together’, she suggests.

In their bed she asks him to hold her close and prove to her that his fingers on her skin are as gentle as ever though they forge and wield weapons now whose bright steel gleams with a lethal purpose.

'The world is shifting, I can feel it, and shall never be what it has been’, she says. 'I need to know that you are still here with me, that I can be certain of you if nothing else.’

'Always’, Angaráto swears. 'I am always here and yours.’

He touches and holds and fills her just the way she enjoys, familiar and exciting at the same time. He is as gentle and as rough as she likes, and the only hurt here in their bed is pain which is asked for and intertwined with pleasure.

'You have shining eyes, my flower’, Angaráto rumbles when they lie cooling down side by side looking at each other. 'I dare not ask whether from tears or better feelings.’

'Not all tears are evil.’ She lifts messy strands of hair away from his face; he grasps her wrist and kisses it. 'My tears for you have never been for anything but joy’, she tells him.

'We shall have peace for a while’, Eldalótë says to Angaráto, relieved when Fëanáro is exiled from Tirion for breaking the peace of Valinor by drawing a sword on his brother.

'Yet the king, by leaving Tirion with the guilty party, has soured the justice given to my uncle’, Angaráto replies with bitterness. She has never heard him speak of his grandfather so harshly.

Whenever he leaves the house, he still carries his shield. The shield is almost the height of her shoulders, taller than Artaresto, and it has sharp edges.

A/N: Next chapter on Sunday.

#in this chapter: *the noldor intensify*#so give this a chance even if you're not one for romance especially #silmarillion fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction #angrod #angrod's wife #edhellos #eldalotë #eldalótë #my fics #everbeloved #elesianne's fics

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gizkasparadise · 6 years ago

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Hello! I’m obsessed with you blog and your writing! You are a genius writer! Just wanted to let you know that 💘 since everyone is always asking you to write their wishes I thought it would be cool to ask you to right yours. If the next GOT episode picked up right where we left off, how would you like it to be? What reunions or reactions or little storylines are YOU rooting for? 💘🦄

She can’t focus on anything, breath coming in too short as the adrenaline crashes. She looks at Bran, trying to make it all come together. She can’t. She’s alive and she can’t.

“You’re scared,” Bran says, patient as she processes what she’s just done. “It’s alright to be scared.”

The dagger falls to the ground because her hands are shaking too hard. Arya tries to say something, but nothing seems to work.

His dark eyes glance up. “The dawn will be here soon. Most of our family will see it because of you. Because all parts fell to place.”

One of the words lets her focus, makes her racing thoughts anchor. “…most?”

Bran says nothing, but he looks somewhere over her shoulder. Slowly, she turns.

There is a body pinned to the ground. Her first thought is that it’s not Jon, thank everything that it’s not Jon. But then her gaze lingers, and the body’s features slide into place: sandy hair, what’s left of a kraken. Blue, flat eyes that aren’t watching anything anymore.

“Theon.”

“Yes.” Bran moves his chair until he is beside her. “He was here, so you could be.”

“What do you mean?”

“All parts fell to place,” he says again.

She looks at the body, then makes her heavy-numb legs move toward it. Then kneels in front of him. Arya knows death, but she all she can think about in this moment is that she never knew Theon. Maybe no one did.

“He was better than he believed.” Bran offers. Then: “They’ll be here soon for us. You can rest now.”

And so Arya does, falling face-forward into the snow.

–

“How the fuck you still alive?”

Podrick looks up, weary as he meets the gaze of the wildling man. “Because I tried, I think.”

“Good.” Tormund pats his shoulder hard. Podrick’s legs buckle a little under it. “Where’s she?”

He’s so tired he can only gesture with a nod. A few steps away, Ser Brienne and Jaime Lannister are together, sitting on the ground and slumped against a crumbling wall.

Tormund grins, then meets Podrick’s eyes. “Need to know who won.”

“Won?”

But he’s gone already, and Podrick sighs as he watches the wildling shove his way into sitting between the two knights.

Tormund slaps Jaime Lannister on the side of his arm. “How many wights did you get?”

Jaime looks at him, then shakes his head. “Less than Brienne.”

Jaime and Ser Brienne’s eyes meet over Tormund’s head. It’s a soft look, soft enough that Podrick almost feels like he should avert his gaze elsewhere.

Then it’s ruined when Tormund turns to her, eyebrows raised suggestively. Her lips press tightly together.

Then she laughs. It’s a loud, booming sound that fills the space.

Podrick’s never heard it from her before. He likes the sound.Jaime must too, because his laugh soon joins hers.

–

He lets go of a short sigh, his hand dragging down the lower half of his face. “How long?”

Varys doesn’t answer right away, his hands folded in the sleeves of his robe. “Long enough.”

Outside the gates of Winterfell, two dragons curl around each other. Their mother in the middle of them, Ser Jorah’s head in her lap. She’s been like this since the death of the Night King. Tyrion has watched Daenerys through defeat, through fear and rage. But never like this.

Never with true, lasting grief.

“He was a loyal man,” Varys says quietly. They’ve all been so very quiet since the crypts. “A difficult thing to be in these times.”

Tyrion, who is well aware that he is not a loyal man, gives a tired nod.

Drogon lets loose a long, sorrowful keen.

Varys doesn’t look away from their queen. “It won’t be the same after this.”

“No, I suppose it won’t.”

Tyrion thinks of the crypts. Of Sansa, and what ran through his mind when he thought his moments were over. He had been relieved that it was her, at the end. That they were together. And that’s something he will have to confront once they’ve beaten Cersei.

For now, the Hand of the Queen merely shakes his head, and walks across the carnage. Drogon raises his head, nostrils flaring. Then he blinks, and ducks his face again into the crook of his wing.

That truly never gets easier.

“My queen,” he says quietly, stepping toward Daenerys and the late Ser Jorah.

She doesn’t look up, but he sees her back rise with a harsh breath.

“Daenerys.” Tyrion tries again with a smile. It is not a happy smile. “It’s time.”

Daenerys Targaryen, first of her name, looks up. He’s reminded of how very young she is, how very alone in the foreign country that is her homeland. Her red-rimmed eyes seek his, completely and utterly lost.

Not knowing what else to do, he offers his hand.

She takes it, grip strong as she makes herself stand.

–

“They told me you were down here.”

She doesn’t turn away from the slab in front of her. It’s a covering for an empty space in the crypt. But then again, most of the spaces are empty now. Her father’s and Rickon’s graves had been undisturbed, but she wonders what would be underneath it if she lifted the stone. Maybe the claws of finger nails. Maybe bones frozen, half in motion.

Jon steps beside Sansa, a hand resting on her shoulder as they both take in the body before them. They kept him in his armor, she thinks he’d like that.

“He chose,” Jon offers. “Not many get to.”

Sansa rests her hand on Theon’s cold forehead. Pushes his hair back from his eyes.

“Where should he go?” she asks–voice quiet, breath hitching. “I don’t know where he should go.”

Jon’s hand drops from her shoulder.

“He’s a Stark,” is all he offers. “Much as we are.”

There’s only one place for Starks.

–

It’s madness, in the aftermath of the battle. Gendry’s never seen anything like it. He stumbles through the courtyard, trying to find his footing as children look for their parents, as families reunite. He stands motionless, like a small stone in the stream of what exists after a last stand. It might be shock, he wages, that keeps him rooted as people move frantically around him.

Next to him, a woman jumps down from a platform where some of the archers were stationed. She runs, faster than he’s ever seen someone move, until she collides into the arms of a man he reckons is her husband. They embrace and Gendry can hear both their crying.

The man doesn’t look anything like him, and the archer doesn’t look anything like her, but they make him think. Make him fully realize where he is, what’s happened.

Who’s missing.

Without a second thought, he drops his mace to the ground and starts running. He doesn’t even know where. Gendry just knows he needs to move, to head in any direction where he wasn’t because it might be the direction she’s in.

His heart’s racing, and he’s always been a stupid bull because he grabs anyone he can.

“Arya Stark, you seen her?” He asks, more times than he can count. “Have you seen her?!”

No one has. He tries for over an hour before he stops, bending his knees into a haunch and burying his face in his arms. His fingers press down hard against the back of his head, and the next exhale is a short, angry yell.

They haven’t even gotten a start. He hasn’t even gotten to try.

“Looking for someone?” A raspy voice asks above him.

Gendry’s throat works as he pushes back into a stand.

Arya is pale, her face bloody, but the look she sends him is soft.

Gendry moves before he can think, arms around her as he crushes her to him. She goes limp against him and he kisses the top of her head before burying his face in the crook of her neck. He closes his eyes tight, like if he were to open them this wouldn’t be here. They wouldn’t be here. They shouldn’t’ve been here.

Her hands move to his back, where he feels her fingers clenching into the fabric of his shirt.

“I killed the Night King,” she whispers into his chest.

He cups her face in his hands, craning his neck so he can press his forehead to hers. “‘Course you did.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now,” she confesses.

“It doesn’t fucking matter.”

He kisses her like they both survived the end of the world.

–

“You useless fuck,” Sandor tells the corpse of Beric Dondarrion, his hand digging into the collar of his armored shirt in order to drag the body after him. Every step almost brings him to his knees, but he keeps going anyway. “Can’t even die in the right place.”

After a few more steps, he stops and lets his knees buckle him into a sit. Then he eyes the massive pyre they’re starting to build.

“Get to see your stupid God now.” Sandor looks up, the sky a healthy pink now that the sun’s rising. “Only took you ten times. Guess you can’t do that right, either.”

He hasn’t seen her, but he’s heard enough to know the little bitch survived. Killed the fucking Night King, apparently. Sandor thinks of fire, the man in front of him dying, and the moment he realized Arya Stark could still be a scared little girl.

“Worse ways to go,” he mumbles, before he stands up again. “Guess it’s one more fire for you, you stupid fuck.”

Sandor looks down at Beric’s face. That rat bastard is smirking.

–

He is waiting for her as soon as she climbs out from the crypts, his armor stained and chin slightly quivering.

“Missandei of Naath,” Grey Worm greets, before he slumps down to his knees.

She smiles, feeling tears well in her eyes when his name escapes as a sob. “Torgo Nudha.”

She steps toward him. He presses his face against her stomach and she wraps her arms around him. Her fingers run over the short, sharp hair covering his scalp.

“Missandei of Naath,” he says again. “We are almost home.”

#gendrya #missandei x grey worm #other hinted ships #got spoilers #game of thrones #ensemble cast #!my post #thank you!#lionpaintedblack #long post

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dustedandsocial · 5 years ago

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One thing and an Other thing

The One Thing:

After many failures in the world of responsible adulthood, I decided in 2010 that I would go full throttle into music distro and record label management. And for a fleeting moment, things were working out in my favor.

But let me back up. I had been having bizarre sleeping patterns going all the way back into my childhood, that no insomnia or depression diagnosis nor medication could ever fix. I never got an answer from a doctor that explained my sleep problems.

Essentially, my body and brain think that a day is 25 hours long. If you pause on that fact for a second, what becomes clear is that my sleep schedule rotates around the clock in a never-ending cycle. This had been the case for me from the age of 10, but clinical research studies were few and far between for most of my life.

Then in the summer of 2011 I learned for the first time that my vague sleeping issue was in fact a disorder, although I didn’t yet know the full extent of the limitations it imposed. Which is why for years I kept thinking there would be some way for me to keep working, despite being fired every time I tried to do so. I mostly lived on an annuity until I was 20 ($1047 per month), which came from a court decision when I was little (my mother committed suicide in a hospital and a court found them responsible, granting settlements to each of my family members). I kept thinking I could dance around extreme sleep fluctuations and pull myself up from the ground by my bootstraps, but I only ever fell back on my annuity.

When I was 12, the cops would show up at my house, wake me up, and drive me to school (my dad was a welder and made an early exit to work at 4:30am). Those near-truancies — as well as all the successful truancies! — along with my insistence on bringing alcohol in my backpack to school, smoking in the bathroom, getting high before school with friends, and stealing car stereos from the high school parking lot, all led me to multiple arrests, finally getting me the boot form junior public high school. There was also the despair of losing my mother at the age of 9, which was certainly an important aspect to all of this maladjustment, if not the most central factor.

But without a cop showing up at my house, I’d wake up around 5PM.

At 13, I was placed in an “alternative school” (aka a program for trouble makers and drug dealers). Most students would sail though towards a diploma, being graded on video game scores, pick-up basketball games, and honest-to-god fantasy basketball gambling leagues (that I several times created for school credit!). We had smoke breaks twice a day in school, and I even sold one of my teacher’s pot. I only showed up half the school year, yet somehow graduated a half-year early at the age of 17. Basically, our ”alternative learning program” was a way for the school district to fudge numbers and make it look like they had rehabilitated kids. I managed to graduate High School easily without my disability playing a major factor. It all felt like being home schooled but with no parents or curriculum to help. Hence why five years into a dedicated leftist education, I can still barely understand Marxist arguments around value theory.

It would still be 11 years from my graduation until I learned about my sleep disorder, so the following years would be spent tossing and turning, going to work and class after being up 24 hours, often crashing at hour 40, then sleeping 24 hours straight to make up for massive sleep deprivation. I’d get fired left and right, girlfriends and family members had no idea what to express to me other than their lack of faith that I could ever get my shit together (and I believed as much myself, because what other explanation was there?)

I decided to work online in 2010 as I began 80/81 Records, as well as work part-time in physical space, all just to scrounge up enough money for distro items and record pressings. I started off with some relative success. I was the first in the US to distro Australian titles like Deaf Wish, Woolen Kits, Mad Nanna, Teen Archer, etc (all even before Bruce’s Easter Bilby!). I had a plethora of reissue releases from the Memoire Neuve label, as well that beautiful Les Olivensteins reissue LP. I even sold a sketchy Chosen Few bootleg to True Anon’s own Brace Belden (aka PissPigGrandad).

By the age of 30, my body started to fall apart.Within a few years, despite a few solid releases on 80/81, I had to give up on a slew of planned record releases and call it quits. All were thankfully rescued by a couple of friendly labels, with masters sent off to a few others. These were: Mosquito Ego’s “Plomb” LP (thanks @ever-never-records), Pustostany’s “2012″ LP (shout out to the great Sweet Rot), Shovels S/T (thanks to Homeless Records), and Expert Alterations 12″ (Slumberland), and the Virvon Vavron EP, later taken care of by Girlsville Records. There was also the Human Hair "My Life As A Beast And Lowly Form” LP, which came in lieu of a 7″ I had planned for them (still streamable on the 80/81 Bandcamp). Sorry to all these fantastic bands! There was no label in the last decade better at not releasing records!

Nearly as long as I’ve been using this tumblr, I’ve been disabled. However, I didn’t realize I was *officially* disabled per the US government until last year, nor did I know that my condition was an incurable neurological disorder. In fact, it’s technicality not a sleep disorder. If earth had the rotational position of Mars, my circadian rhythms would be perfectly in sync. I've never brought it up here, I never wanted it to be a factor in how I presented myself, and I never wanted this to be a personal blog about my plight. But I can't in good conscience hide this aspect of myself any longer, while so many other disabled folks are engaged in fights for all of our rights, including those beyond the disabled community.

Oh, and the other thing:

I figured out last month that I am NOT a heterosexual guy. Queer? Omnisexual? How about "not straight”? Why did it take me so long to face up to this? Well, growing up in a poor and violent neighborhood meant that I needed to latch onto anything at a young age in order to keep myself safe. I could under no circumstances continue to endure the abuse that happened when I was very young, that I thought would come back my way if I opted out of a "straight" “tough” identity. And even with that identity, I felt an inexplicable terror at all times, that seemed like it was seeping through the air, like it was the blood gushing from behind the hotel walls in “The Shining”. In order to avoid the terror, I had to act out in an extreme way so no one would question me. I’d always be the first to tell adults off. I’d always be the one to break into a house. I always be the first to steal, or mouth off to a cop. I did get choked by a cop once, which was also tame compared to the beatings my black and Hispanic friends received. But I also hated fighting, so that style of acting out was mostly a dodge and redirection of attention.

But so many toxic ideas overtook me over the years. While I may not have been outwardly homophobic as an adult, I no doubt policed my own behavior for decades, not allowing myself vulnerability, not allowing myself comfort, robbing myself of joy. And it took me three decades to shake that straight identity loose.

I think this straight identity I adopted though trauma is common for men, even though whose childhoods weren’t as traumatic as mine. That isn't to say that those who adopt it are closeted, but the ideology driving performative straight male expression can cut off naturally heterosexual men from understanding themselves and what it is that they most desire, who they want to connect with, what makes them complete. Heterosexuality as ideology is a giant fucking scam. You get nothing out of it, maybe an early death from a heart attack.

But I’m also happier now than I’ve ever been. When I gave up the straight identity, I completely gave up fear, and in ways far beyond matters of sexuality. That straight identity also policed how I though of women, and since I’ve been free of it, my relation to women has changed significantly.

And now

I’m fighting month after month to get on disability and food stamps (I’ve been denied for disability seven times in eight years, and food stamps were just cut in RI). When all is sorted I’m going to join radical orgs in Providence. From here to there and beyond, it’s class struggle.

Had our welfare state not been decimated, or had we decommodified health care and housing, I would have never had to jump through so many hoops for ultimately no help. When I lacked diagnosis, I could have lived with dignity while I waited for an explanation of my issues, if only the society had a non-bureaucratic solution to personal crisis. I’m a “lumpen” of a sort, but I’m also now a committed small-c communist and queer. Sorry apolitical people, but the fight will be intense for the remainder of all our lives.

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endof-theline · 5 years ago

Text

AU Yeah August | Day Nine: Restaurant

Tony found out a restaurant he loves that reminds him of home, it's too bad he kept it a secret from his team.

On Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20182018

It was a Tuesday night and once again, Tony had disappeared out like every Tuesday and Saturday night. Usually he tells the team where he’s off to or at least tells JARVIS so if they ask they can know, but this weekly occurrence was apparently a secret because either JARVIS didn’t know where Tony had gone or had been told not to tell anyone where he had gone.

The team was full of spies so it had come to them to follow where Tony goes but they weren’t too sure they wanted to possibly break his trust like that, their relationship had finally began to settle down and smooth out, they didn’t want to wind up back at square one just because they were being nosy. Since they hadn’t tried it before, they decided to ask Tony what he was doing when he left the tower.

Tony emerged onto the communal floor around midday, he hadn’t gotten back until early in the morning and slept his way through the morning, Natasha kissed his cheek as he sat down on the sofa between her and Clint who wrapped an arm around him to pull him in close.

“Why we being all affectionate today?” Tony yawned but nuzzled into the archer’s side sleepily, his eyes drooping still, Steve took a glance at the three of them and rolled his eyes fondly from behind the sofa, reaching over to ruffle Tony’s hair making him whine “Why? What have I done wrong?”

“You’ve not done anything wrong, but we did want to ask you a question” Sam spoke up from where he was sitting with Bruce on a different sofa, Steve, Bucky and Thor joined them with Bucky sitting with Sam and Bruce and Steve and Thor curled up together on the remaining sofa.

“Oh?” Tony made a noise of interest and sat up a little instead of practically falling back to sleep on Clint’s lap “If I’m not in trouble why do you guys look so serious, Steve’s got his mission face on and so does Bucky?”

“We wanted to ask where you go on Tuesdays and Saturdays, you always tells us where you’re going if it’s literally to go grab something from your room. It’s just- unnerving I suppose” Clint explained to him and felt the second Tony’s body tensed up, ready to flee, so he gently squeezed him to side to try and make him feel less attacked “We’re not trying to make you feel like you can’t have private stuff, but it’s a little weird to not know where you are at night”

“I’m sorry” Tony said straight away and flinched when Sam let out a small sigh, shutting his eyes for a brief moment “I’m not cheating on you guys if that’s what you’re worried about, I know the papers all say different and they say I have a record of it, which I don’t by the way, I wouldn’t ever do that, but-”

“Sweetheart, no one was accusing you of cheating on us. Besides between Super Soldiers and Super Spies, you think we wouldn’t have figured you out if you were” Steve cooed over at him and gave a grin making Tony smile a little back, nerves slightly settled “You always come back smelling of food, but never of someone else or a perfume or aftershave that none of us wear”

“We’re not demanding answers, Tones, if you don’t want to tell us or feel like you can’t right now, that’s okay too. We all hide little things, this relationship is new and we’re all trying to smooth out the rough edges of it so if you feel like you want things to settle more before telling us then that’s fine too” Bucky stood up and cupped Tony’s cheek with a smile on his face, he knew what wanting to hide parts of his life was probably better than the rest, possibly with the exception of Natasha.

Tony calmed down quite quickly after Bucky’s little speech and just hid his face into Clint’s shoulder as he thought, the rest of the team looked at him sympathetically before settling down and switch the TV on to take the focus off Tony. Clint nodded at them when he felt Tony’s body melt against his side now that he had relaxed, Tony shifted to whisper in his ear.

“I don’t think I can say yet, will they be mad at me?” Tony asked nervously and sunk further into Clint’s side when the archer ran his hand up Tony’s side under his shirt.

“No one will be mad Tones, do you understand why is weird for us?” Clint murmured back to him and when Tony didn’t give an answer he continued “You’re a very open person with us, it’s just a little weird for you to have something very close to your chest”

“Oh, do you think I should tell people?” Tony looked up to him, the archer despite being one of their best spies always had very expressive eyes when it came to the people he cared about.

“Not until you’re ready to tell us” Clint hummed and looked down to Tony, letting him see the seriousness on his face and Tony studied him for a second before nodding once and settling down with a yawn escaping him.

Tony threw his heavy coat on over his clothes and hummed and hawed for a moment before going down to the communal floor, after the conversation they had on Wednesday Tony was going to feel bad if he let himself disappear tonight.

Everyone was hanging around as Tony entered the space, all of them took note of Tony’s clothes which clearly showed that he was leaving which made them smile a little. Natasha came up to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek as he passed her, he reached out and grabbed her hand for a proper kiss.

“I’m off out, Nat, probably be back late” Tony told her quietly making her smile happily, her other hand coming up to sort his hair out “That okay?”

“Of course not, котенок, have a good time” Natasha cooed softly before squeezing his hand and walking away, Tony stared at her for a second before turning back to the others and accepting the kisses as he passed by everyone.

“I’m going out guys, I didn’t want to just leave without telling you guys this time” Tony said before Bruce gave him a hug, the scientist had been working hard for the last couple days so he was on his way to bed already “Rest well, Brucie Bear”

“Have fun Tones” Bruce chirped happily as best he could before sliding off of Tony and walking to the elevator, Tony went around the group and got kisses from all of them before leaving the Tower.

Tony slipped off his coat and changed into his uniform before rushing into the kitchen, loving the noise and bustle of the kitchen like always. The smell of it always reminded him of his mother and perhaps that’s why he adored working in the little Italian restaurant so much.

He had found the place after his time with the Ten Rings and he was craving something to remind him of his home, the smell had interested him and as soon as he walked in, he walked into a fast paced argument in Italian that sounded so much like his mother and her sister that he let himself just stand in the entrance in silence, just listening to their voices.

A few years down the line, the business wasn’t doing as well as it had been and the small family run restaurant were talking about having to close down, in all the years Tony had been coming he had never spoken Italian to them or admitted that he could understand them when they called him ‘The Upset, American boy’ whenever he visited them.

“I can help” Tony said in Italian, most of the family didn’t speak much English anyway, all of them whipped their heads around to stare at him “I could buy the building so you could still be here, I’ll pay you”

“Little, American boy, you can speak Italian?” The father asked amazed while the mother looked embarrassed as she realised he understood all of her compliments, Tony just nodded with a smile.

“My Mama was Italian before she passed away” He explained sadly and the mother rushed to his side and held his shoulders “When I came here I had been tortured and I wanted to be reminded of home, I felt safe here for the first time since coming back to America”

And that was that, Tony brought the building, the family kept running it and one stormy night, Tony came into the kitchen and watched them move for a while before sitting in the corner and held himself as he squeezed his eyes shut to avoid getting the flashbacks that had been playing in his head all day. The father had pulled him up and set him to work saying if he was going to make the floor wet, he might as well be useful.

Every Tuesday and Saturday when Tony goes missing, he’s working with his found Italian family in their restaurant, helping cook after he had been taught all of their recipes and even teaching them one of his mother’s that he knew by heart that they had added to their menu on Maria’s birthday. He adored cooking as it gave him something with a pattern to work on with his hands, it took his mind away from reality and he got to enjoy working hard with the people he had fallen in love with as a family.

That’s why after a particularly hard mission for the team, most people were injured - including Tony - and exhausted but hungry. Sam tried to get Tony to sit back down when he stumbled into the kitchen wearily, but got shrugged off as Tony gathered all of the ingredients he needed for his Mama’s Carbonara. The team went silent as they watched how methodically Tony worked, he had never cooked for them and actually told them in the past that he didn’t know much about cooking.

They all sat around the table to watch Tony work, the man seemed to be in his own world and forgot all about his stab wound, he glanced over at the table and smiled shyly before plating up enough dinner for all of them and serving them shyly.

“Hope you guys like it” Tony ducked his head and put his plate down as he sat down, he kept his eyes on the group even as he ate, too shy to ask if they liked his cooking and too nervous to want the answer.

“Tony, this is fantastic, where did you learn to cook like this?!” Bruce exclaimed, he was one of the only ones who hadn’t been hurt in the battle but he did have to listen to the whole thing go down.

“Um, my- I’m half Italian, my Mama taught me when I was a kid and, um, I cook on Tuesdays and Saturdays” He squeaked out, avoiding their eyes before he couldn’t anymore and had to look up to them fearfully, all of them looked stunned but were smiling brightly at him “I cook at an Italian place I found when I came back from Afghan and needed something like home, they were going to have to close because they weren’t getting enough customers and most of them don’t speak great English so I bought the building and I pay them, but they taught me to cook more”

“You are incredible, doll” Bucky breathed out in a wowed breath, the others all making noises of agreement before Sam, who was closest to him, pulled him into a kiss that was deeply passionate.

Tony limited his visits down to once a week and the spare day was now spent cooking for his boyfriends and girlfriend, also known as the rest of the Avengers. He even invited the team to the restaurant and introduced them to his family, blushing and whining as he was teased by both sides. Safe in the knowledge that his mother would have loved this for him.

#au yeah august #eotl writes #poly avengers #tony stark #Steve Rogers #clint barton #natasha romanoff #thor #bruce banner #sam wilson #Bucky Barnes #stories #fanfiction

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