#grown ass adults can handle themselves just fine thank you.

[xoxo-ren-xoxo]

Have we forgotten that fandom is for fans?

[freezeriafan]

Honestly i wish i knew whats going on with emery too. I feel like shes simply just a nasty person with no personal baggage. People like that exist - amii

PEOPLE LIKE THAT EXIST .... and i love that abt her i never want that to change .... But despite that I Just Keep Thinking abt what kind of person a sour nature like that would create...

UGH it's not your fault that i wrote paragraphs musing abt ur oc Emery . I just have a lot of thoughts . I'm like ... a fan. These are my fandom thoughts . IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT .. if u read it tho tell me ur thoughts bc you know emery more than i do obviously . IDK WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT but i say it anyway. Welcome to the shitshow

A lot of the time ppl perform behaviors bc of a root emotional cause but maybe it's reversed w Emery. She's already naturally a c*nt, she's stubborn, she's conceited, she's belligerent, she's inconsolable, she's egotistical; she always thinks she's right and always thinks that everyone is wrong; she refuses to change and learn and grow, and she refuses to believe that other people may be right sometimes and that they have their own valid feelings.

And's that's so funny she's so full of hubris im not advocating that that ever changes ever....I'm not even gonna say how there probably are a lot of things in her upbringing that shaped her nastiness .... bc i dont really care at all of that for her idk...she's not real.... But I do keep thinking abt what a nature like that would do to a person .

She has no close friends bc she drives them off and bc she needs to be better than everyone. She probably just believes that that's how life works; I don't know if she knows what real comradery feels like, what playful fraternizing is.

By nature she never admits fault and always pushes the blame onto someone else; this means that she never has to reconcile with shame or guilt or embarrassment. This creates a person who CAN'T reconcile with those things, she never built a tolerance, no idea how to even begin handling that. If she's always right why would she feel shame? And in the instance that she does something regrettable - If she's always right then why would she do something that causes shame? That's just not in line with her self image at all. Was is someone else's fault, or is she a powerful individual with deliberate volition? If she's always right, how does she address real internal confliction? If she rationalizes it all away at the first hint of self-doubt, then how long can she actually tolerate a healthy amount of shame when it arises?

I think it was brought up before but maybe not that while she's stubborn, she Will change her opinion if it keeps her in the right. So like if she does something unwonted or that would put her in the losing end of the argument, she will change her tune in order to preserve herself. That fluidity is more sustainable and realistic then being one way and always one way, but that two-facedness WILL drive everyone away and will weaken the stability of the hill she's trying to die on.

BUT EVEN WITH THAT FLUIDITY OF VALUES, If she's hellbent on being right all of the time and asserting herself first, then there's never room for honest listening and mindful growth. So she's essentially been climbing through the multitudes of life as one shape. Awful. She must feel like a lobster stuck in its own shell but she wouldn't know enough to know it. She never introspects enough to realize when she changes her opinions and when she doesn't, much less notice when the person she is now just isnt working. Doesn't she get bored of that? Does she ever want something different?

If she did begin to tire of herself, how would she rationalize that? What would it look like?

If she did want something different, would she get it, and then change her tune to match? Where are her limits? Is she just a shifting morph of desires? I mean that's a valid philosophy abt humans, that everything abt us is just the result of desires. But Emery definitely acts like she's solid and that she knows best and that she's reliable, unlike some other snakes in her life, an that incongruity is noticeable.

Even if she's full of self-serving fire by nature, I keep thinking about how she's a mean angry person STILL ... at her age... like she never mellowed out... never stopped putting her fire out there....like it never really got out there. Was never really heard? Never really got to burn? Does she crave vindication? Is there an ounce of something sympathetic in her character? What sort of reverence and attention does she need that she hasn't already bullied her way into getting?

I know she's incredibly self-serving, but has she ever shown herself sensitivity? I don't think she knows what tough love is when it comes to herself. It seems she gives herself everything she wants, all the rights to argue and to stand her ground, but never the softhearted consideration of how she's a multifaceted individual, and never the forgiveness after a healthy amount of self-doubt.

IDK. But I do keep thinking about the idea that the human brain can only put off something for so long. For example people can repress things for a long time or overwork themselves for a long time but there will be a point where their subconscious snaps and demands to be heard . That's when ppl have breakdowns, and they can be out of commission for years; it's an incredibly tough state to be in.

and idk I Keep Thinking abt how Emery cannot be so stubborn and insensitive forever something has GOT to happen at some point. She wouldn't listen to external forces, something inside has got to shift .. she's got to start reconciling with SOMETHING .. she's a grown ass adult she cant play the fool and play the victim forever .. she cant pretend she doesnt know the push and pull of life.... nobody is really THAT dense are they ?

IDK !!! I think I'm just approaching this at the completely wrong angle. She probably gives a little and then just reclimbs the podium to where it had shifted to; she has a superiority complex that really isn't that complex; she doesn't like to share her victories like how Quinn doesn't like to share her prey; she's of a generation; she's not interested in learning new things or changing her ways; she's a c*nt and that's FINE. Ughhhhhhh . She's on her way out anyway . Thanks for the homophobic papa louie oc . Gives me smth to rant abt . THANKS. Bye

[elsaclack]

10 and/or 11 for peraltiago please? if you're still taking prompts :O

henlo i AM still taking prompts!!! i’m just working through them much more slowly than originally anticipated lmao but thank u for checking!!!!

once again this is not my best but i’m proud of myself for making it through and also!!!! for not adding one single IOTA of angst to this yes i am capable of writing straight fluff i know it honestly was a shock to me too

10. “Stay?”

11. “Do you know how to knock?”

To say Jake is annoyed with Gina would be an understatement.

Granted, not a huge understatement, but certainly narrow in terms of the full scope of emotions he’s feeling.  Gina just has this way - this I’m right and you’re wrong and those are the facts kind of confidence that, while sometimes endearing, more often than not lands both her and the people around her in hot water.  Jake’s honestly lost count of all the times he’s swooped in and saved the day for her over the years, just to be thanked with a hair flip, a roll of her eyes, and an I had it handled, doof.

He’s working very hard not to swoop in and save the day right now - trying hard to focus on whatever stupid sports game Terry is half-watching in the living room and not on the ever-increasing volume of the girlish giggles coming from the kitchen behind them.  He’s angled in such a way that he can glance back if he needs to, but he’s regulating himself to one glance per five minutes; at this angle, he can mostly see Gina’s face, framed between the doorframe and Amy’s body.

Jake can acknowledge that ninety percent of his agitation stems from the fact that Amy’s in there with Gina.  It would be one thing if it was just Gina and Rosa drinking themselves silly in the kitchen - but Amy’s a lightweight, plain and simple, a fact that Gina knows well and regularly takes advantage of on the annual lake house weekend.  It would be another thing if this was yet another year of fruitless pining and yearning for him - if Amy was nothing more than a partner and a dreamy what-if.

As it is, he’s watching his girlfriend drink herself into a stupor at Gina’s goading, and while he’s fully aware of the fact that she’s a grown woman fully capable of making her own decisions, he remembers in vivid technicolor just how embarrassed she was after Overly Confident Amy nearly got herself demoted last year.

A particularly loud, lower-pitched screeching noise - followed by an even louder laugh - echoes out of the kitchen, and Jake’s on his feet before he’s even fully processed what he’s heard.  Terry’s looking around now, too, face contorted in an irritated scowl; briefly he meets Jake’s eyes, before pursing his lips and returning his gaze back to the television.  “Not today,” he says simply.  “Knicks are playing, so Terry is stayin’.”

Jake rolls his eyes as he shuffles out from behind the coffee table, resisting the urge to snark at his sergeant.  Despite his massive size and general laziness while lounging on the couches here, Jake learned the hard way Terry’s reflexes never go on vacation.

The low-pitched screeching noise, as it turns out, originated from the legs of Amy’s stool scraping across the tiled kitchen floor; she’s still doubled over in laughter about it, leaning most of her body weight against the kitchen counter.  Rosa’s smirking over the rim of a sloshing tequila shot and Gina’s muffling her laughter behind one hand, her phone clutched in her other, filming Amy.  Empty plastic cups litter the counter between them, several fallen to the floor; there are dented beer cans and half-empty bottles of liquor strewn between them, too, the entire place a portrait of drunken debauchery he would normally find hilarious.

He’d find it hilarious under any circumstance, really, except the one where their extremely straight-laced captain is sleeping directly over their antics.

“Hey,” he says softly as he edges toward Amy.  He frowns at Gina when she pans the phone up into his face, blocking the camera with one hand while gently running the other up Amy’s back.  “You okay?”

Amy nods, her cheek now flattened against the counter, still laughing too hard to verbally respond.  “She’s fine, protective Polly,” Gina drawls, words slurred just enough to give herself away.  Jake shoots her a scowl, still rubbing his palm up and down Amy’s back.  “Why don’t you take a shot or twelve and catch up with us.”

“You might wanna consider pacing yourselves -”

“Oh, my god, don’t be that guy, Peralta,” Rosa sneers before throwing her shot back.  “We’re grown-ass adults -”

“Never said you weren’t,” Jake interrupts, “I was talking more about the fact that it’s our first night here and you guys have already burned through half of our booze supply for the whole weekend.”

“We’re having fun,” Amy slurs, reaching with numb fingers to pull fallen hair out of her mouth.  “You should try it sometime.”

“Oh, I should try having fun?  You’re talking to the father of the Jimmy Jabs, here, girl!  The father and original champion of the Halloween Heist!  Fun runs through my veins.”

“And orange soda.”

The three women before him burst into laughter, Gina dropping the phone with a loud clatter, and Jake finds himself scowling at all three of them.  Amy makes a sound at the back of her throat when Jake pulls his hand away from her back; she reaches for him weakly as he steps back, side-stepping her fingers at his naval before grabbing and briefly squeezing her hand.  “I’m going to bed,” he tells them, pulling his hand from Amy’s.  “You guys should keep it down, though, you’re right under where Holt is sleeping. And you,” he waits until Gina is meeting his gaze, knowing his expression is comically distorted but also serious enough for her to grasp.  “Don’t kill her.”

He points to Amy, eyes never leaving Gina’s face; Gina glances at Amy before meeting his gaze again, a defiant gleam in her eyes.  Amy’s making a noise in the back of her throat - some weird, high-pitched sound not unlike a petulant whine - so Jake salutes her before backing out of the kitchen.

His phone begins buzzing as soon as he’s on the stairs, but he ignores it, knowing without looking that it’s Gina trying to antagonize him.  It buzzes as he closes his bedroom door, and again on the bedside table as he changes into his pajamas, and again as he quickly brushes his teeth in his adjoining bathroom.  4 missed calls from Gina Linetti rolls across his notifications page when he plugs his phone into the charger; one swipe later, and they’re gone, leaving his phone peacefully undisturbed.

He stares up at the ceiling as he lays in bed, listening to the muffled sounds of the others trudging up the stairs, Rosa bidding someone goodnight as the floorboards just outside of his door creak beneath her feet.  It seems the last stragglers are finally settling in for the night; one particularly loud thwack against his bedroom door confirms that Gina, at least, is retiring for the evening.

The door at the end of the hall squeaks shut, and the house is enveloped in silence.

Jake rolls to his side and punches his pillow into place, trying to ignore the empty feeling in his chest.  Rationally speaking, falling asleep without Amy’s warmth against his back shouldn’t be impossible.  He’s done it before, even since they started dating.  Rationally speaking, he’s fully capable of falling asleep without Amy.

That doesn’t stop his heart from leaping up into his throat when he hears clumsy hands rattling his doorknob.

The way she edges inside might be an attempt at being smooth, if not for the whispered laughter escaping the hand flattened over her mouth.  Jake props himself up on one elbow, watching through the near-darkness as she eases his door shut and briefly leans back against the wall to the left of the door.  “Do you know how to knock?” he whispers.

She jumps, hand falling from her mouth to flatten over her heart.  “You scared me!” she whisper-shouts.

“You broke into my room!” he whisper-shouts back.  She rolls her eyes as she toddles forward, briefly grabbing onto the footboard of his bed before edging around the right side.  He sits up as he watches her progress, snorting when she flattens both hands against the mattress and slides them toward him until her fingers are trapped beneath his butt.  “Warm enough for you?”

“Not yet,” she sighs, clambering up the bed ungracefully, momentarily gripping his thigh to anchor herself.  She flops down beside him unceremoniously, huffing out a breath that makes the hair fallen across her face flutter, before blinking up at him owlishly.  “Come down here.”

“You smell like a bar,” he says, not moving.

She quietly whines, pushing the hair away from her face.  “‘M too tired to wear clothes,” she mumbles, before her brow furrows.

“You mean you’re too tired to change?”

“Yeah.  That.”

“Well, you’re gonna hate sleeping in jeans,” he tells her.  She hums, eyes already closed, and for a moment he can barely take a breath around the endearing bubble of affection swelling in his chest.  “C’mon, Ames, you can’t sleep in these clothes.”

“Pajamas are too far away,” she mumbles, eyes still closed.  “Lemme sleep.”

“Not yet,” he says as he rolls out of bed.  She whines again, reaching blindly across the mattress for him, but just like in the kitchen he side-steps her searching fingers with ease.  “Where are your PJ’s?”

“My room.”

“Where in your room?”

“Not tellin’.”

“Your other option is to borrow clothes from me, and while you are more than welcome to do that, you should know that Gina will never let you live it down.”

“Gina can bite me.”

“Gina will bite you, I have scars to prove it.”

“Whatever,” she whines, brow furrowed.  “You’re my murmzeep, we can do whatever we want.”

He snorts, already moving around the foot of the bed to reach her.  “I am your murmzeep,” he says, scooping both of her hands up in his and gently pulling her into a sitting position at the edge of the bed.  “And you’re my jinglebin.  I’d love to let you borrow some clothes.”

She cracks one eye open, a sly smirk slowly spreading across her face.  “Oh, you’d love that?  How much?”

“Not enough to do that, you freak.”

Now both of her eyes are open, an undeniably hurt expression darkening her face.  “Hey -”

“Not because I don’t want to, but because literally all of our colleagues are in the same house and I’m pretty sure they’d hear something,” he quickly amends.

The hurt fades, replaced instead by disgruntlement.  “We should buy them earplugs tomorrow,” she mutters, lifting her arms so Jake can pull her sweater up over her head.  “Or - or tie a sock on the doorknob.”

He snorts as he tosses one of his extra shirts at her, and a wide grin splits across her face.  “I’m sure sober you will totally go for that idea,” he says, digging through his bag for the extra shorts he knows he packed.  “I’ll definitely bring it up over breakfast.”

“Yeah you will.”

She flings her bra across the room before tugging his shirt over her head, leaving her hair even more mussed than before.  Jake pulls her up to her feet as she runs her palms over her face, trying and failing to get her hair out of her eyes as he unbuttons her jeans and pushes them down over her hips.  It’s odd, the feeling overtaking him as he kneels down to work them over her feet; he’s done this more times than he can count already, but it’s never felt quite this...domestic before.

Amy, oblivious to the unidentifiable feelings welling up in Jake’s chest, steps out of her jeans and stumbles slightly, doubled over to find purchase on the mattress once more to keep from face-planting into the bedside table.  Jake quickly tosses her jeans in the same direction her bra went, gripping her hips until she stops swaying.  “Hold onto my shoulders, babe,” he instructs softly.

She grumbles something unintelligible but does as he says, shifting her weight forward until her body bows over where he’s still kneeling on the floor before her.  She makes quick work of stepping into his shorts, yawning loudly as he pulls them up her legs; she’s still yawning when he pushes her hips down, settling on the bed with a bounce.  Her eyes are closed again as she shifts around to stretch out across the mattress, a contented hum emanating from her throat when he pulls the quilt up over her body and lightly brushes his knuckles over her cheekbone.

Both of his knees crack when he stands, sending an uncomfortable pang through both legs, but after a momentary pause he’s quickly stealing around the end of the bed again, back toward his side.  Amy hums when he slides in beside her, already rolling to her side to face him, frigid fingers sliding around his torso.  “Roll over,” she mumbles, her breath a puff of spearmint and tequila stinging in his nose.  “I wanna - jet pack.”

“You sure you don’t wanna be little spoon tonight?” he asks softly, closing his hands over her forearm.  “You’re gonna be super hungover in the morning and I don’t mind -”

“Don’t care,” she interrupts, so with a smile and a shake of his head, he complies.  He can feel her shuffling closer, her grip around his torso tightening until her cheek makes contact with the space between his shoulder blades.  He feels her lungs expand and contract in time with her billowing sigh; with one last nestle of her head, she goes still against him.  “Stay?”

“You’re in my room -”

“Stay.”

“You got it, babe.” he murmurs, lifting her hand up to press a kiss against her knuckles before returning her arm back to his waist.  She nuzzles a little closer, fingers gripping hard into the excess material of his shirt, before releasing another smaller sigh.  “Ames?”

“Mm?”

“I’m glad you came in here.”

He feels the cheek against his back swell with her smile, and her grip on his shirt loosens.  “Me, too,” she murmurs.  “I’m - I like you.  So much.”

Affection bursts through his chest, momentarily overwhelming his senses.  He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from giggling - the giddiness in his chest makes him want to scream.  “I like you so much, too, Amy,” he finally manages to whisper.

Her response is a quiet, almost imperceptible snore that vibrates against his back, and it takes everything in him to keep from laughing so hard she wakes up again.

[ladynuwanda]

A Ride on the Other Side (Sub!Duncan ShepherdXDom!Female Reader)

A/N: (Thank you @alexcornerblog for trusting me again with your request, Babe! <3) Bored Dom!Duncan wants to try something new, and luckily he has his Bestie to teach him “the ways of the Force”.

Warnings: Smut. DomXSub play. Unprotected sex (as the Spice Girls would say, “be a little bit wiser, baby, put it on”). And, since I wrote this, get ready to watch some feelings being felt! ;)

Word Count: 4,5 K.

I had been friends with Duncan Shepherd for most of my adult life. We met at College, I noticed he was one of the brightest students in class, a real teacher’s favourite, and decided to get close to him. That’s how my competitive thinking works: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. If I wanted to be the best, I’d better join the best... instead of fighting them. There was nothing even remotely romantic about our relationship. Except for that one stupid night, in freshman year. But once we got the sexual tension out of the way, with disastrous results for everyone involved, we were free to be good friends.

After graduation we moved to DC together. Duncan had always felt a burning passion for politics, I was just in love with the city. We both got our internships during the same Summer, him at the Capitol, me at the Smithsonian. And all these years we’ve lived in Washington made us develop a few weekly rituals. One of my favourites was going to his apartment in the morning when we both had the day off. I’d take fresh brewed coffee with me, and some pastry for Duncan’s sugar cravings. We’d have breakfast together and then he’d let me enjoy the view from the balcony of his penthouse while I read a book. He was pleased to share the comforts his family’s money could buy with a friend, and I was glad to keep him company.

“‘Morning, Shepherd!”, the more hungover he looked the more I’d use an annoying sing-song tone to greet him.

“Really, tho? Are you sure it’s already morning?”, I had grown desensitised to Duncan’s attractiveness over the years, his baby-blue eyes and light scruff felt simply mundane to me.

“It’s almost afternoon, to be honest...”, I let myself in, while he sleepily rubbed his eyes, “they were out of cherry danish, so I got you cheese, I hope that’s ok.”

“Cheese is fine... please, come on in.”, that was his attempt at sarcasm, I was already halfway into the kitchen.

“For the love of God, drink your coffee, you’re grumpier than usual this morning... and that’s saying a lot!”

I’d never have to worry about walking in on him with company. He’d rarely take his hookups to his place, he preferred expansive hotels. That way he could show off his wealth, estabilishing dominance, but also “avoid giving off a false sense of intimacy”, as he said. “So who’s your date this morning? Fitzgerald? Yeats? Or are you back to your goth phase with that Poe compilation?”, he seemed instantly more alive after his first sip of coffee, he was almost smiling. “Shakespeare. I felt like revisiting Hamlet... sometimes you just gotta give your first love a second chance.”, I smiled showing him my old leather-bound copy of Tragedies by Shakespeare.

“But I’m expecting an e-mail from work... do you mind if I use your computer? I thought my phone was charging last night but it wasn’t, it’s dead as a doorknob...”, I was already walking towards his home office, without waiting for a reply.

“Sure...”, he mumbled while taking a cheese danish from the paper-bag I’d brought, “good morning, you beauty!”. “I’m gonna pretend I’m not offended that you’re greeting your breakfast with a lot more enthusiasm than you greeted me...”, I shouted towards the kitchen, while I was sitting on his desk and pulling the laptop open.

The computer was already on, it was just closed, and that was unusual for someone as highly organised as Duncan. “You forgot to turn it off last night, are you ok...”, I was saying when I heart a loud “OH SHIT” from the kitchen. I looked at the screen and “oh shit”, indeed. There was a cheap-looking porn video playing in full volume. I’ve always thought Duncan was a man of more refined tastes, but that was not the weirdest thing about it. The leather-clad couple onscreen was already going to town but it was the girl, wearing a stereotypical dominatrix outfit and a harness, that was thrusting mercilessly into a guy on all fours, with a ball gag in his mouth.

Duncan shot into the room, now fully awake. His eyes were wide and his mouth agape, looking more terrified than I’d ever seen him. He hastily shut the laptop again, not daring to look at me. I just sat there with a blank expression, looking at my old friend, waiting for an explanation. “I’m gonna lend you a chord, you can charge your phone and check your e-mails... ok?”, with the most awkward little grin he left the room, blushing bright-red. I followed him, still unable to speak.

The thing is, Duncan had always been a proud Dom. It was part of who he was, being an influential man, from a prominent family. He had a reputation. The girls who threw themselves at his feet were already expecting that from him. He had things done his way in absolutely every aspect of his life. Always. I think he actually got off on that power. It seemed impossible that the famous Duncan Shepherd would be fantasising about being pegged by a girl in what could only be described as a dominatrix costume. And we were both very similar in our tastes that way, and we’ve always respected each other too much to try and change one another. That was also part of what made us incompatible in the bedroom, and kept our friendship safe from any unwanted sexual tension all these years.

“Duncan, what... why... are you ok?”

“Can we just... never talk about it again, please?”

“Yes.”, I lowered my eyes in second-hand embarrassment.

“I’m just... I’m so tired!”, he ran his hands over his own face, and sat heavily down on the couch.

“Of what? Not having your ass split in half?”, I chuckled, he didn’t, “come on, Duncan... it’s me! You know I won’t judge... I just wanna understand.”, I sat on the couch by his side, and I though about putting a hand to his shoulder, but decided against it. For some reason it felt inappropriate to touch him now.

“It’s just... it’s always the same, y’know... all those girls, always willing to lick my boots on command, all of them so eager to please...”

“Poor you, Duncan! It must be a nightmare...”, he narrowed his eyes at me, “I’m sorry, go on.”

“You really are a pain in my ass, you know...”, he sighed deeply before continuing, “I’m just sick of standing up to other people’s expectations... I wanted to know what it’s like. The other side. To be free to just... enjoy the moment. Does that make sense?”, his clear blue eyes fell on me, full of honesty, in a way I knew he wouldn’t with anyone else.

“It does make sense. I just... I don’t understand why you wouldn’t talk to me about it, instead of resorting to cheap internet porn. That’s so tacky, Duncan...”

“You’ve always made it perfectly clear that you found me the most unappealing man on Earth... I saw no reason to.”

“I never said you’re unappealing... I said you can’t handle me.”

“Oh, I can handle you.”, he smirked trying to regain the upper hand.

“Oh, really, Mr. Three Minutes? I don’t think you can...”

“It was just that one time! I was very young... and I was drunk.”

“Finishing early was not the problem... but did you have to go and fall asleep right afterwards?”

“I was tired! It was exam week!”

“You’re always tired, grandpa! Were you too young, or too old... you gotta pick one!”

We just laughed it off, as we usually did. That’s how this conversation always ended, it was our way of not letting that incident get in the way of our relationship. And it also worked to ease the tension from what had just happened. We were ok, again. The awkwardness was gone.

“Anyway... that’s not something I wanted to discuss with the only girl who will never let me forget how completely unsatisfied she was the one time she shared my bed.”

“Or you could use this opportunity to clean your reputation...”

“What?”

“What?”

“Are you serious?”

“I could be.”

“My best friend is willing to... dom... me?”

It was just too cute, the way he called me his best friend! Duncan could be so precious when he thought no one was paying attention...

“Why not? We’ve known each other forever... We trust each other. You’re decent looking, if I squint my eyes and forget you’re a Republican. If you don’t find me completely repulsive, this could work!”

“I don’t find you repulsive at all.”, and at that, the bastard unleashed the full power of his gaze on me. And I realised that it wasn’t that I was desensitised to his charms, he’d simply stopped trying to seduce me. Until that moment.

“Ok.”, I took a deep breath, steadying myself, “how about I come back here tonight, and give you a tour on ‘the other side’, as you called it?”

“You would do that?”

“It doesn’t have to be such a big deal... we could just play a little, get you a taste of it... we don’t even need go as far as undressing, if it feels too awkward! I think I’ll survive without seeing those cute little buttocks... again.”

“Sounds like a plan...”, he nodded thoughtfully, a familiar crease between his eyebrows, the one he had when he was already thinking about a thousand future scenarios for something.

I got up from the couch, surprising even myself, “ok, so I’m gonna take off, now... I’ll come back later?”, he just nodded and I did the last thing I thought I would do when I entered his apartment this morning. I leaned over, running my fingers through his soft curls, still a little disheveled from sleep, and kissed him full on the mouth. His soft lips parted a little in surprise, and I pushed my tongue between them, massaging his. I tightened my grip on his hair, our tongues still pressing flat against each other, and heard a soft moan vibrating on his throat. I ended the kiss nibbling gently on his lower lip, and flashed him my brightest smile, “see you tonight, Big D.”

It was just so Duncan how he made a project out of it. If he was going to be a Sub for one night, then he was going to be the best Sub in the entire history of Subs. He spent most of the afternoon texting me, asking questions about the proper attire, music, lighting... he asked me if champagne was ok, or did I prefer something stronger. I felt tempted to reply “black Earl Grey tea”, just to mess with him. On his latest text he was asking if I thought scented candles were better than unscented ones. I texted him back saying he should buy the ones that melt at a bearable temperature. He could just go to the candle shop and bother someone else, I was beginning to feel a little nervous with all those texts, and that was not part of the plan.

I arrived at the building precisely at the arranged time. I wore a trench-coat over my black dress, and thigh-high black stockings under it. If he was into the stereotype, and judging by the video he’d been watching he was, I didn’t want to disappoint him from the get go. He opened the door and I wondered how I could’ve ever thought I was immune to this man. There was no other word to describe him, he looked perfect. The hair, the clothes, the expansive fragrance emanating from his body in just the right amount. And the gorgeous smile he greeted me with was just the cherry on top!

“You look very nice... the trench-coat was a nice touch!”, he took my hand after shutting the door and gave it a gentle kiss, his eyes fixed on mine. After a second of intense eye-contact, that felt like it lasted for at least a couple of weeks, he started leading me towards his bedroom by the hand he had never let go of. Duncan’s bedroom: the Final Frontier. I was about to boldly go where no girl has gone before. The room looked carefully arranged to be seductively comfortable. His attention to detail was truly remarkable. The candles, the cloud-soft bed linen, the fire crackling pleasantly in the fireplace, my favourite flowers everywhere and a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. The butterflies in my stomach told me that maybe I should have chosen the “something stronger” option of beverage, after all.

He poured champagne in two crystal flutes as I left my handbag on an arm chair and began unbuttoning my trench-coat. “What’s in the bag?”, the deliberately cool tone he used suggested that he might have been feeling just a tad more nervous than he wanted me to know. “Stuff. You know. Things.”, I gave him a half-smile raising an eyebrow.

“A mysterious handbag... You’re like a naughty Mary Poppins!”, it was his time to look at me with an eyebrow raised.

“Whatever flies your kite... so to speak.”, I took the flute he offered me and was already about to down its content when I realised he wanted to make a toast.

“To the bonds of friendship... and new boundaries.”, he smirked lightly.

“To not limiting yourself.”, I added clinking the glasses.

I emptied the flute a little faster than what would be considered elegant for a young lady, and handed it back to him for a refill, “Safe word?” I asked taking the full flute back. He pondered the question for a moment, his face lighting up when he found an answer “Kite.”, he gave me a most devilish grin, before he began to drain his second flute of champagne as well.

“Should I call you by any particular name?”

“Sure. Call me Madam President.”

“What???”

“I’m kidding, Duncan, relax... Ma’am usually does it.”

Setting both empty flutes aside, I approached him. I pressed me whole body against his, and grabbing a fistful of his hair I kissed him again, I used my teeth this time and I sucked hard on his full lips, until they were red and slightly swollen. “Shoes and socks off. And be a darling and remove that overpriced shirt you’re wearing, dear.” I took my time walking around him, my fingertips barely brushing his naked chest and back. His skin was so smooth and slightly tanned. I stood behind him and left a wet kiss in the middle of his back, my fingers ghosting the length of his arms, and he shivered in a very satisfying way “Your belt.”

I tied the belt he handed me around his wrists, behind his back, and went to stand in front of him again. I slowly removed my lacy black panties and placed them inside his front pocket with a wink, then I took a candle in one hand and the bottle of champagne in the other. I blew the candle out slowly, watching the flame reflected in his eyes wavering and being extinguished “I hope for your own good that you got the right kind of candle”, and I let some of the wax drop on Duncan’s naked chest. He hissed and I poured some of the icy cold champagne over the wax, and licked the droplets of the cool drink off his nipples, suckling and biting ever so gently on the sensitive skin. Looking up I saw him biting onto his lower lip to try and muffle a moan. “Do you like it?”, he merely nodded in response, “you better start using your words, Shepherd.”, I dropped some more wax, on his shoulder this time, and poured a little more champagne over it, stopping the liquid from dripping down his arm with my tongue. “Yes, Ma’am. I like it.”

“So you like a little pain, hm? I always thought that was a healthy mindset...”, I picked a riding crop from inside my bag and, without a warning, his the back of Duncan’s thighs hard with it. He gasped loudly in shock. “Now, don’t be such a baby, that can’t possibly have hurt that bad. Not with your pants on.”, I hit him again, “Tell me: Did I hurt you?” - “No, Ma’am.”, I used the leather tip of the crop under his chin to make him look at me “Do you want me to?”. He looked in my eyes like he was seeing me for the first time, his cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink “I do. I wouldn’t want anyone else to.”, the way his eyes widened told me he wasn’t expecting this answer any more than I was.

I undid his pants and let them fall to his ankles “Step out of them and bend over the edge of the bed.”, I was sure the skin on the back of his thighs was stinging pretty bad, now, every blow of the crop was marking him in a vivid red. But Duncan took it like a soldier, barely whimpering at all. I was surprised to see that he was actually bucking his hips against the bed, trying to get whatever friction he could, between the hits. “Shepherd, are you really humping the bed? Like a dog?”, I did my best not to laugh at his embarrassed expression, “Maybe. Would that be... wrong?”, I had to actually bite on my own tongue to keep myself from laughing. “Kneel on the floor, Shepherd... Away from the bed!”

I kicked my stylettos off and went on my knees in front of him, running my fingernails over his inner thighs while kissing his neck. I deliberately avoided touching the hard bulge in his boxer briefs for now, and felt him softly nuzzling the curve of my neck, dragging his nose over my jawline, his lips desperately searching for mine, his chest heaving more with every breath. “Please”, he whimpered in my ear. “‘Please’, what?”, I pulled back to look at him. “Please... touch me. Ma’am.”, his voice was just a breathy whisper.

“Oh, I don’t think so.”, I got up from my knees and sat on the bed right in front of him slowly removing my stockings, my parted legs giving him the front row view as a touched myself, instead of him. He exhaled shakily, incapable of shutting his plump lips again, a feverish look in his eyes as he watched my fingers working. I took one finger from my core to his lips and he obediently sucked it clean. With one hand in his hair, I pulled his face towards one of my thighs. He left a trail of wet kisses as he went, the grazing of his stubble on my inner thighs almost enough to send me over the edge, before his lips connected to the wetness between my legs.

So Duncan Shepherd could eat pussy, after all. Who’d have thought? And he wasn’t bad at it, either! Lapping up my juices like a starved puppy, eagerly pushing his tongue between my folds... if he felt like hitting my cervix with his tongue, I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him he couldn’t. By all means, young man, try! But I had to use one of my feet against his chest to gently push him away, pulling on his hair to make him look at me “Will you stop dry-humping my leg like a mongrel, Shepherd?”, he just nodded his parted lips deliciously pink and wet, and I allowed him to go back to work.

With his soft lips closing around my clit, suckling hard, and his tongue giving hungry licks to the sensitive bundle, it wasn’t long before I was rocking my hips against his face, my entire body shaking in a toe-curling orgasm. I came back from my high to find a very satisfied-looking Duncan smirking at me from between my thighs “And you thought I couldn’t handle you”, he wiggled his eyebrows. I didn’t know if I wanted to slap his face or kiss him. So I did both.

Tasting myself on his lips and tongue, I helped him get rid of his boxer briefs, running my hands on his round butt-cheeks, letting my fingers slip between them and teasing his entrance. He jumped and broke the kiss, his eyes round “Whoa!! What the hell?!”, his voice an octave higher than usual “Are you serious?!”, he was staring at me in startled disbelief. “Duncan, I’m a Dom, not a rapist... I won’t force anything upon you.”

I made us both stand up and removed the belt from his wrists. I held him from behind, pressing my body on his back, running my hands over his chest and belly, feeling the muscles of his abdomen flex at my touch, while he ran his own hands over his bruised wrists. “I would never force you to do anything you don’t want to. But I am here to help you experiment things you would never allow yourself to try, otherwise... those who have experienced prostatic orgasm say it’s a most extremely intense sensation. It’s a powerful source of pleasure you know nothing about.”, I ran one hand over a soft butt-cheek again “Aren’t you... curious, Duncan?”, I asked in a whisper against his ear, letting my lips touch his earlobe, one finger brushing the crease on the curve where his butt met his thigh.

He turned around to face me very slowly. His eyes burning on mine. He simply let out a sigh and cupped my face in his hands, kissing me slow and deeply “Yes.”, he whispered against my lips. I could not believe this was actually happening. I was in a dazed dream-like state as I walked to my bag and picked up the strap-on, feeling slightly light-headed as I adjusted the harness around my hips. Duncan poured more champagne in the flutes and we drained three of them without a word. I pointed towards the bed with a tilt of my head and he laid himself on his stomach, obediently.

I applied a generous amount of lube to my rubber appendix and joined him on the bed. I couldn’t help saying “Now... let’s pop that cherry, shall we?” and giving him a light slap to his ass, to try and ease the tension that was building up inside me as well. Unsuccessfully, it only made me more nervous and I’m pretty sure it didn’t have a calming effect on him, either. I lifted his hips slightly towards me, and pushed the piece of rubber into him, as slow and gently as I could. He moaned very softly, but the knuckles of the hands that grabbed the sheets were already white. I pulled out a little and pushed back in a few times, before I felt his hips trembling under my hands and heard a louder moan escaping his lips, and I knew I was finally hitting that sweet spot inside him. Duncan turned his head around a little to look at me, a fire I had never seen before - not even on election night 2016 - burning in his eyes. With that piercing blue gaze staring into my soul, I heard his voice in a raspy tone that was completely new to me “Harder.”

I turned Duncan around to make him lie on his back, and lifted his hips, so I could keep fucking into him from between his legs, facing him. I wanted to look at him. I wanted to see his pleasure building up. To see the surprise in his eyes at the new sensation, the way he was biting onto the back of his hand to muffle his moans. I thrust hard and steady, watching the mighty Duncan Shepherd coming undone beneath me. Writhing his entire body in ecstasy, his eyes shut tight, his full lips curling up when an animalistic groan escaped him during his climax.

I pulled out and threw the strap away, laying myself by his side and kissing his lips, one gentle hand caressing his face. He looked completely fucked out and that was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. His hair was sticking a little to his sweaty forehead, his cheeks were adorably flushed. His eyes were glowing on mine and an awed grin was dancing on his lips. “That was amazing!!”, his voice came out a little louder than usual between sharp gasps, and I kissed him again. “You know, it doesn’t have to be over, yet...”, I ran my fingertips over his cock, still impossibly hard after his dry orgasm.

The look of surprised wonder on his face when I straddled his hips was just priceless! I pulled the little black dress out above my head and eased myself on him, letting Duncan fill me up for the first time since that one night, all those years ago, and I wondered what had taken us so long to get there. He sat up, one hand firm on the small of my back, the other entangled in my hair and looked into my eyes, for what felt like a very long time, before whispering “Finally”, one corner of his mouth going up. I felt tears stinging my eyes at the intense feeling that was held in that single word, and I heard myself whispering “Welcome home, Duncan” back at him.

He thrust his hips up, eyes still on mine, and buried his face on my breasts while I bounced on his lap, and I cupped his face in my hands and kissed his lips while I rocked my own hips against his. I felt myself clenching around him at the same time his throbbing cock released his warm load inside me. I could have screamed from pleasure, and I’m pretty sure I did. And so did Duncan. We held each other in our arms for a long time after I felt him go soft inside me. We just wouldn’t dare to move, we were too comfortable like that: Finally where we belonged. Running our fingertips over each others backs, giving each other soft kisses on shoulders, necks and lips. Just listening to our own breathing growing steadier in unison, and the gentle crackle of the fire.

I fell asleep in Duncan Shepherd’s warm embrace, something I would have said was absolutely impossible, if someone had asked me twelve hours before. We’d have to go out to get coffee and danishes together the next morning. But if this was to become our new weekly ritual, I thought I could live with that.

Taglist: @1-800-bitchcraft @antichristinq @are-you-lilith-or-eve @babydollcake @bbyduncan @ccodyfern @cocosfern @hellxblade @langdonsdemon @langdonsinferno @langdonsoceaneyes @lathraios @mega-combusken @michael-langdon-appreciation @sojournmichael @queencocoakimmie

[xreaderfic-land]

What Lies Beneath Part 21 Red Hood (Jason Todd) X Reader

Summary: Coming back home to Gotham after several years was a tough choice, but you needed to put the past behind you. You blame yourself for Jason’s death and hope that with a medical degree you can have a second chance at saving the kids of Gotham’s streets, but the past won’t stay buried. As the Red Hood invites himself into your life and the little safe bubble of a lie you call life bursts you’re left struggling to cope. Your secret studying of toxins used by Gotham’s villains is sure to land you in hot water eventually, but you’re always up for a challenge. Life is a game of survival and it’s time you joined in.

Co-Author: @inkteller-17   Tags: @jason-todd-rh   @totallynotashieldagent   @exotiicqueen494   @dragons-of-the-usa     @shadowsndaisies   @e-equals-mcommunism-squared     @icycoldbeanieweanies   @peppermint-17   @theskytraveler   @wintersb0ner

Tags CLOSED DUE TO STORY COMPLETION Word Count: 4,162 WARNINGS: Language

A/N: @inkteller-17 both teared up while writing this. She and I both decided to try a crazy writing method that worked crazy well. She and I wrote via a Google Doc a certain scene of dialogue without any sort of contact in order to make things as on the fly and tongue in cheek for responses. Probably the most fun chapter we’ve written technique-wise. Hope you like it as much as we do!

Catch Up Here

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“EVERYONE BE QUIET!” Alfred roared.

The arguing trailed off as all eyes turned towards Alfred.

“Alfred,” Bruce began.

“Be quiet Master Bruce!” Alfred snapped.

A few mouths fell open at Alfred’s attitude.

“Whoa, Alfred,” Dick began.

“All of you shut up and sit down now!” Alfred yelled at the group.

Nobody could believe that Alfred of all people snapped. Silently, everyone took a seat around the small room. Alfred turned towards Barry and Damian who were still in the corner in their own little world. He’d take care of the little shit at another time. Damian was the least of his worries. Alfred turned towards Bruce.

“I get it. You’re upset and want to fix things, but you’re a grown man, act like it. I’ve raised you better,” Alfred said coldly.

Bruce hung his head.

“And you three, we appreciate you coming in to help, but you’ve only caused more problems because the three of you refused to listen. You’re dismissed,” Alfred said.

Arthur, Diana, and Clark looked over at Bruce. Bruce gave them a look as if trying to mentally tell them not to argue and to just go. Hanging their heads the three members quickly left the room leaving Alfred to his lecture.

“You!” Alfred exclaimed pointing at Dick.

“What about me?” Dick asked.

“You’re the eldest, act like it. You’re supposed to be the role model for your brothers. Digging your own knife into their backs isn’t helping. Jumping from one side to the other is only causing more issues. Step up, believe in your team, and set the path to get everyone back together,” Alfred said.

Those words stung, Alfred could see the look on Dick’s face as his words hit home. Tim was already squirming next to Dick as Alfred turned his attention towards him.

“And you! Stop fighting with Jason about everything. Yes, this was Jason’s secret, but you’re his brother and even if you don’t agree with his decisions, you still need to support him and stop trying to cause more drama with him because you’re upset,” Alfred growled.

Tim looked away from Alfred.

“Now onto you two,” Alfred began.

“Bring it on old man,” You snarled.

Alfred set his cool deadly glare on you, but you didn’t squirm.

“She just took on the whole Justice League, do you really think she or I are scared of you?” Jason shot back.

“You both made stupid decisions. You both hid secrets,” Alfred said.

“I’d like to point out here, my secret wasn’t covering up someone’s resurrections, so you all can be mad at me for that, but I at least didn’t allow for someone to manipulate someone else’s feelings,” You interjected.

“Oh of course, you’ve got to point out that your deception isn’t as bad as ours,” Jason growled.

“Because it’s not, you idiot!” You shouted.

“Both of you shut up! I’ve had enough of the fighting,” Alfred snarled.

Jason turned his anger towards the butler.

“Do you really think I care if you chew our asses out and try to make us feel bad? Because I fucking, don’t!” Jason snarled.

“You’re going to listen because the two of you are out of control,” Alfred hissed.

“I have every right to be out of control,” You hissed between clenched teeth.

“Oh, of course, the princess gets to have her way, right?” Jason growled back.

Lunging forward with your fists flying, Barry was there to stop you. Alfred looked at Barry completely forgetting that he was still here. Electricity filled the room from his super speed. You looked back at Barry.

“Let me go,” You growled.

“You need to relax,” Barry said.

Lowering your fists, Barry put you back on your feet.

“You’re lucky,” You tossed at Jason.

Jason snorted. “Do you really think I’m scared of you?”

Barry shook you hard and quick before letting you go.

“Knock it off,” Barry said sternly.

Smoothing out your clothes you gave one last glare at everyone.

“I’m done. Fuck all of you,” You snarled before finally storming out.

As the door slammed behind Y/n, Jason turned his attention to his family.

“Thanks for nothing. Next time when I ask you to butt out, fucking butt out,” Jason growled before storming out of the room.

“So much for this intervention,” Tim scoffed before following suit and storming out of the room.

“Come on Damian, let’s go get a snack,” Barry said waving for the younger boy to follow him.

Dick looked at Alfred and then over to Bruce.

“Nice try guys,” Dick said with a smirk before leaving with a shake of his head.

Alfred and Bruce went their own separate ways to reevaluate this whole situation. Alfred entered the kitchen he froze mid-step when he saw Barry sitting on the counter next to Damian and they both had several cookies in their hands.

“Don’t you think you should be checking in on the rest of your team?” Alfred asked.

Barry shrugged, “Their all adults and can handle themselves,”

Damian shoved a cookie in his mouth. “Yeavhm whahavt he said,”

“What was that, Master Wayne?” Alfred asked.

Damian swallowed his cookies.

“Yeah, what he said,” Damian repeated.

Alfred sighed clearly annoyed.

Barry jumped off the counter.

“Listen, you just need to come up with another plan and try again,” Barry said to Alfred before turning back towards Damian.

He ruffled Damian’s hair. “Thanks for the cookies, see ya later,”

And with a flash, he was gone. Damian smoothed his hair down and looked back over to the butler.

“So now what?” Damian asked.

Alfred sighed. “I don’t know, Master Wayne,”

“Well, I think you should go and get my brothers, I have a plan,” Damian said.

Alfred cocked an eyebrow.

“I mean it, go! I have the perfect idea,” Damian said.

Damian sat still eating cookies that he really shouldn’t be eating as Alfred went to go and collect his brothers. He looked up when the door swung open only to reveal his dad coming in. Bruce gave his son one look and Damian was setting the rest of the cookies down and away from him.

Bruce made himself a mug of coffee before taking a seat in the corner. A few more minutes passed by before Alfred finally returned with Dick and Tim in tow. The brothers joined Damian on the counter.

“So what’s this plan of yours?” Dick asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Damian retorted.

“Obviously not shithead or I wouldn’t have asked,” Dick growled.

Damian rolled his eyes.

“I think we should just use the get along t-shirt,” Bruce piped up from the corner.

“Drop it old man, it’s not happening,” Tim shot back.

Bruce pouted and went back to sipping his coffee.

“What was the thing that brought Y/n and Jason together in the first place?” Damian asked returning his attention to the others.

“The toxin,” Tim said.

“Exactly,” Damian replied.

“So what?” Dick asked.

Damian let out the longest annoyed sighed possible.

“So, I fake the symptoms of the toxins to get Y/n and Jason in the same room,” Damian said.

“More lying?” Tim asked.

“Do you have a better idea?” Damian asked.

Tim said nothing.

“That’s what I thought,” Damian hissed.

“Fine, let’s say that works and we get them in the same room, then what?” Alfred asked.

“We do the classic lock them in a room together and refuse to let them out until they kiss and make up,” Damian explained.

Dick and Tim looked at each other.

“Do you think that will work?” Dick asked.

“We don’t have much of a choice, do we?” Damian replied.

His brothers shook their heads.

“Well then little boy you might as well start getting sick,” Tim said.

The five of them acted quickly. Up in Damian’s room, Damian got into his bed. Dick pressed a hot rag to Damian’s forehead to get him warm, but also to look a little sweaty. Tim dug around in his prank chest to pull out fake snot and a fake thermometer to set on the nightstand table.

“Won’t this be obvious that we are faking it?” Dick asked.

Bruce came storming into the bedroom.

“No we’ll make it look like somebody broke in and went after the family,” Bruce suggested.

“Smart,” Tim said as he smeared the fake snot under Damian’s nose with more enthusiasm than necessary.

Dick headed downstairs with Bruce. Dick watched in awe as his dad went outside and then kicked in the massive oak door to make it look like somebody kicked in the door.

“Break stuff,” Bruce said.

“Huh?” Dick said in confusion.

“Break things, make it look like a fight happened here. You know demo,” Bruce explained.

Dick looked at his father and then knocked over one of the more expensive vases. Bruce didn’t even flinch.

“Okay that’s what I meant, but it didn’t have to be the most expensive one we own,” Bruce explained.

“Right, I’ll remember that for next time,” Dick said before knocking over another artifact.

They took a few good hours to destroy the main entrance of the house, up the stairs and down the hallway. They really made it look like a group of goons had broken in and a fight had broken out.

As the two entered Damian’s room, they were both surprised at how sick Damian really looked. Tim found a fake syringe and threw it on the floor not too far from Damian’s bed.

“Which one sounds more believable?” Tim asked.

Damian did two different ragged breaths.

“Second one sounds better,” Dick said.

Alfred looked at the group.

“Are we ready to make this call?” Alfred asked.

“One last thing,” Dick said.

“What?” Tim asked.

Dick punched Bruce right across his jaw.

“Master Dick!” Alfred exclaimed.

Dick shrugged, “What? We had to make it look like we were in a fight,” Dick said. “And I also feel better,”

Tim and Damian shook their heads.

Alfred looked over at Bruce.

“Make your call,” Alfred said.

Bruce pulled out his phone and dialed Jason’s number. As the phone rang, Bruce put the call on speaker.

“What?” Jason answered harshly.

“Jay, come quick, we were attacked,” Bruce said out of breath.

“What?” Jason said.

“The Joker, he uh, sent some of his goons, they were armed with the toxin,” Bruce said.

“Is everyone okay?” Jason asked.

Bruce fell silent.

“Bruce!” Jason shouted.

“No, sorry, it’s Damian, they infected Damian,” The lie easily slipped from Bruce’s tongue.

“Fuck, call Y/n, she has the cure and I’ll be right there,” Jason said before ending the call.

Bruce waited a few beats before dialing Y/n number.

“What could you possibly want now?” Y/n answered.

“Y/n,” Bruce whispered.

“What?” She snarled.

“We were attacked,” Bruce began.

“So,” She scowled.

“It was the Joker’s goons they attacked us,” Bruce said.

“Is everyone okay?” Y/n asked.

“No, they infected one of us,” Bruce replied.

“Who? Who was it?” Y/n demanded to know.

“It was Damian, Y/n, and he’s already showing signs,” Bruce said.

“Fucking hell, I’ll be right there,” Y/n replied before hanging up.

The group got into position. Dick and Tim were waiting down in the lab in the Batcave. Alfred was waiting to answer the door while Bruce sat up with Damian in his room.

Jason got there first he raced up the stairs and down to Damian’s room. He noticed the debris that filled the hall. He found his dad sitting on the edge of Damian’s bed. Damian looked like shit and Jason’s heart sunk to his stomach.

“Dad?” Jason said.

Bruce looked up.

“It’s bad, Jay,” Bruce said.

Jason walked over to his brother. Damian looked like death.

“Is Y/n here, yet?” Jason asked.

“She’s down in the lab, can you go help her,” Bruce said.

Jason leaned over to press a kiss to Damian’s forehead before hurrying out. Bruce and Damian started to chuckle once Jason was gone. Just as Jason disappeared into the Batcave, Alfred opened the door to let Y/n in.

“Where’s Damian?” You asked.

“Down in the lab,” Alfred lied.

Keeping your bag close you sprinted through the manor and over to the hidden door that lead down to the Batcave. Dick and Tim stayed hidden in the shadows. Jason had already entered the lab and was in their looking for Y/n.

As you ran past them and into the lab the pair quickly slammed the door shut and turned the lock. You turned towards the door and Jason came out of the closet.

“There you are!” Jason said.

You turned back around, “Where’s Damian?”

“Up in his room, I was down here looking for you,” Jason said.

You shook your head, “In his room? Alfred said he was down here.”

“I was in his room, Y/n. I saw him, he looks like death,” Jason replied.

You heaved an annoyed sigh, “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Jason ran a hand through his hair. “It was a fucking trap, wasn’t it?”

“You think?” You snapped.

Outside of the lab, Bruce and Alfred and the boys were squished around the large screen watching the couple.

Jason walked over towards the door and pounded on it several times.

“Very funny, open up!” Jason shouted.

“Open the door Bruce or I swear to God.” You glared around the room trying to spy any way out.

Jason continued to pound and kick at the door.

“This isn’t a goddamn Hallmark movie! We’re not going to kiss and make up in here,” Jason snarled.

Crossing your arms and failing to find another route out you wandered toward one of the spare chairs littering the cave. Plopping down you sighed. They could let you rot in here because the pretty cute little movie scene they wanted was never going to happen.

Giving up on trying to knock down the door, Jason slid down to the ground. He kicked out his legs and let out a long sigh. Jason had a feeling that the two of you would be stuck in here forever. He could tell that you didn’t want to talk about it and he sure in the hell wasn’t in the mood to fight with you anymore.

As you let your bag drop to the ground the sound it made echoed off the walls highlighting the lack of other noise. If you tried hard enough you bet you could have heard each other breathing. You let your eyes slip shut. Just having to look at Jason was becoming painful enough, but being forced into his company was another level of agony.

“You can’t even bare to look at me, can you?” Jason asked harshly.

You gave a short laugh, “It’s easier to pretend I’m not stuck in here if I can’t see you.”

Jason shook his head and got to his feet. He began to pace back and forth. She couldn’t put her fucking pride to the side to just try and get them to a point of being civil.

The sound of Jason’s boots pacing eventually wore thin your nerves. Snapping your eyes back open you sighed heavily. God, you were so tired of this shit. Swallowing thickly you decided it was time to get over this.

“What do you want from me, Jason? To say?” You asked simply.

“I never meant to hurt you, Y/n. That was the last thing on my mind. And don’t be mad at my brothers. They were only doing what I asked of them, okay? I get it, now, okay? I know that I fucked up and that there is no way I can fix this. To fix us, but we make a helluva team and I can’t do this without you,” Jason explained.

Your eyes cut to the floor as you shook your head, “Well you’re going to have to try a little harder, Jason.” You rose to your feet and looked at him, “I can’t, literally cannot, do this anymore. And I will not pretend otherwise.”

“What more do you want from me, huh? I’ve admitted I was wrong. I apologized. I have fucking owned up to everything I’ve done. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I shouldn’t have dragged my brothers in this. I shouldn’t have manipulated you and let you fall for Red, but being close to you again was so comforting to me, do you understand that? God damn it, Y/n, you were the first thing I thought of when I came back. Being Red and having you not knowing that I was me was a mistake, but it allowed for me to be around you without putting you in major danger,” Jason snapped.

Your teeth clenched with dangerous force. Crossing your arms over your chest you mentally told yourself knocking his head to the side really wouldn’t do a damn thing. So instead you took a steadying breath.

“Do you think I would have given a shit? That I do? Jesus Christ Jason, I knew about you being Robin and the whole deal with Bruce for fucking sake! That was dangerous too, but guess what I knew about it. I knew enough about it to learn self-defense right there,” You pointed toward a section of the cave, “and we had movie nights after your patrols! I was with through damn near everything, but for some reason, you felt like I didn’t deserve to know about you coming back.” You spit out.

Clenching his fist, Jason shook in anger. She wasn’t understanding what he was trying to say. Part of him wanted to shake the living shit out of her to make her understand how important she is to him, but instead, Jason took his anger out on the wall and punched a decent size hole. Pulling back his bloody first he turned back towards you.

“This time was different, Y/n. I’m sorry that you can’t see that. I’m sorry that I hurt you, but I don’t know what else to say or do. I feel like no matter what I say you’re just going to turn back around on me. It’s like I’m talking to a broken record,” Jason whispered.

You shook your head and laughed bitterly, “Broken record? Okay, how about this then Jason. You fucked me as Red Hood. Now I don’t know about you but maybe right before that would have been a good time to tell me who you were. I don’t give a shit that I was all you really remembered when you came back, because if I actually meant a damn thing like you keep saying I was you would have told me. You would have found a way.” Tears burned your eyes the longer you had to stand near him, “How dare you, Jason.”

Her words stung. Jason’s throat was thick with emotion, but he refused to cry. He refused to show her any more weakness. He couldn’t. Not now. Letting his face go dark and cold, Jason crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’m not going to argue with you about this anymore. I’m fucking done, Y/n,” Jason coldly said.

You wiped furiously at your eyes, “Now you know how I’ve felt for the last few weeks.” Inhaling deeply you stepped closer to him, “I cried over you for months. Still am and I am fucking sick of it. Sick of the fact that I still love you even after everything. But I just can’t figure it out; how after everything Jay why didn’t I deserve the right to know? Why didn’t you tell me?”

More tears fell hot down your face making you more pissed and upset as you poked at his chest, “I held on to loving you for so long after you died, and to find out you’ve been lying to me?!” Your voice cracked as you shouted the words in disbelief.

Stepping back your shoulders dropped. The fight was finally evacuated from your body and you were just so done.

Looking at the floor your voice dropped to a whisper, “ I don’t even understand why I love you anymore. Because the Jason I fell in love with is sure as hell not the one standing before me anymore.”

The urge to punch something was strong. Jason so badly wanted to drive his fists into something over and over again to drive away some of his anger, but Jason couldn’t. Not now. Now was to make his point across. Choking down the tears that threatened to fall, he turned his cold glare up at you now that you were done with your spiel.

“You’re right the Jason you fell in love with would have told you. He would have gone against his father’s advice and sought you out. He would have cried on your shoulder, told you about his death, the nightmares, how being back in his body didn’t feel right, didn’t feel whole. The old Jason would have kissed you and told you that how sorry he was and that he loved you. That the old Jason couldn’t live without you, but I’m not that Jason. That Jason didn’t come back. That Jason is long gone and he’s never coming back. And I’m not going to apologize for that.  I came back and if you can’t accept that then maybe…”

You looked steadily into his eyes as his words shattered what little bit of a heart that was still clinging on.

“Maybe what, Jason?” You probed tiredly.

Running a hand over his tired face and then through his hair, Jason sucked in a breath.

“You shouldn’t love me,” Jason harshly replied.

You sniffled and straightened at his words. The cold that had settled deep in your bones was probably all that kept you standing up anymore. Giving your best plastic smile, “It’s a good thing I don’t anymore then because I don’t even know why I fell for you to begin with.”

Jason tensed at your harsh reply. The buzzing sound of the door unlocking had both of you looking over at the door in disbelief that they were letting you out.

Bruce and the boys looked over at Alfred. He was leaning against the large gray button that unlocked the door.

“What are you doing? They didn’t work this out!” Dick shouted.

Alfred turned back towards the group.

“You were all listening to them. There was no fixing them. They were saying hurtful things to each other on purpose. I couldn’t sit back and continue watching that,” Alfred explained.

“No, fuck that! Lock the door before they leave,” Tim shouted.

As Dick and Tim both lunged forward to the lock the door, Damian and Alfred both knocked away their hands. Bruce watched as Y/n walked past his son and whipped open the door. As she stormed out of the lab her eyes settled on the large computer screen where everyone was sitting.

“Hope you’re happy,” She said through tears before running out.

“No, don’t let her go!” Dick shouted.

Damian pulled away from his brothers and shouted after Y/n. But it was too late and she was already gone. Dick and Tim were arguing with Alfred about how easily he let the two of them go. Jason slowly exited the lab. He looked over at his family. Damian took a step towards his brother but stopped when he saw the look of pain.

“Jay,” Damian called out, but Jason turned on his heel and stormed upstairs.

“How could you let them go? We were so close!” Tim shouted.

“We were far from being close,” Alfred calmly applied.

“Dad, what do you think?” Tim asked.

Bruce stood.

“I think it’s been a long day and everyone needs to go to bed,” Bruce said.

All three boys’ mouths fell open.

“Wait, what?” Dick asked.

“You’re giving up just like that?” Tim asked in disbelief.

“Alfred is right, we can’t force them to make up. They aren’t ready for that,” Bruce said as he walked over to the lab.

Damian and the boys were hot on his heels.

“You can’t just let them go,” Dick said.

“I did and I am. They need time,” Bruce said now that he finally came to the realization that he can’t force them. There were too many issues to fix in one sitting.

Damian looked at the hole in the wall.

“Can we frame this?” Tim asked.

Alfred shook his head and Dick smirked.

“Knock it off,” Bruce said.

Damian walked back over to his dad. Bruce glanced down at his youngest son.

“What now?” Damian asked.

That was it, Bruce had no idea. He never had to deal with something like this before, he was truly lost for words. Bruce feared that both of their stubbornness was going to keep them from reuniting and Bruce wasn’t sure how the hell he was going to handle this broken team. There was no parenting manual for something like this.

[jodiwalker]

Will I Ever Stop Being Emotional Over Ariana Grande's "thank u, next"? Seems Unlikely.

You can go ahead and tuck all your favorite diss tracks into whatever dusty receptacle holds the VHS tapes, socialized patriarchy, and Nokia phone chargers down in your basement. Because in this season of thanksgiving, Ariana Grande has given us something better than a coy, petty break-up anthem: in “thank u, next” we have been gifted with an enlightened bop of gratitude.

As it seems to so often with people younger and wealthier than me, this all started with a tweet. Or rather, with a Saturday Night Live spot following the not-exactly-shocking dissolution of Ariana and Pete Davidson's engagement.

A few weeks after the breakup was made public, Davidson jokingly asked on an SNL promo if musical guest Maggie Rogers might like to marry him. She said no; he snarked, "0 for 3." Ariana then tweeted, "for somebody who claims to hate relevancy u sure love clinging to it huh"; deleted it. Tweeted "tag yourself I'm Maggie"; hilarious; deleted it. Tweeted the now iconic “thank u, next”; seemingly once again regretted her hasty retort; deleted it.

These are the sassy comebacks you might expect from a young pop star annoyed with her ex. But given the time and artistic space to elaborate, the title track from Ariana’s next project, “thank u, next”, has turned out to offer something much more unique. This is no clap-back — this is Ariana's round of applause for herself.

Ariana hasn’t just given us a new kind of diss track, she’s given us a new kind of love song: a romantic tribute to self-love (and no, I don’t mean masturbation, mostly because that is its own genre altogether). "Thank u, next" also happens to feature some of Ariana's best annunciation yet, I think, because it's important to her that this time, we hear every word…

Thought I'd end up with Sean

But he wasn't a match

Wrote some songs about Ricky

Now I listen and laugh

Even almost got married

And for Pete, I'm so thankful

Wish I could say, "Thank you" to Malcolm

'Cause he was an angel

“Thank u, next” doesn't just reference a few of Ariana Grande's ex-boyfriends by name — it does so in the first verse. Four boyfriends; four breakups; four lessons learned in the painful, patient reality of love. There is nothing coy about this break-up ballad, because as Ariana seems to be telling us that she's learned: there is nothing coy about love, at least not real, adult love. And in "thank u, next" Ariana shows herself to be a grown ass woman.

Listening to this song, I had no idea how it emotional it would make me. Not only witnessing someone's emotional growth, but having them invite you along for the journey in real time through their art? Oh yeah, I cried. Sure, I cried. Because I feel proud of her, and I feel proud of myself, and for anyone who's done the difficult work of moving on. A song did that.

Love is a thrill unique to each relationship that music so often attempts to universalize, but heartbreak — baby, that's so run of the mill, it takes a mere few words to relate to heartbreak. It is a deep, deep artistic well. Breakups are what made Adele an icon, and what Taylor Swift goes back to again and again. And there's still plenty of room for that in music because just as the pain of a breakup is universal, it is also timeless.

But what comes after heartbreak? Well, ideally: growth. The singularity of this track’s empowering message is what makes it so novel: the song isn’t about them. “Thank u, next” is about Ariana.

I know they say I move on too fast

But this one gon' last

'Cause her name is Ari

And I'm so good with that

If “thank u, next” dismisses anything, it's not Ariana's past relationships, which she clearly states have imprinted on her for better and worse. But of the outsider's notion that these relationships, in their youthful magnitude, were mistakes. Just because something is ill-advised does not make it a mistake. It may mean make you immature, or willfully ignorant, or far too patient — but it doesn't make you wrong.

The outside world might see Ariana Grande as someone who has had a lot of boyfriends, and therefore, made a lot of mistakes. But if the Bachelor franchise has taught me anything [ed. note: it has not!], there are those who see themselves as people with "a lot of love to give" and there are those who...would never even consider using a phrase like that because they have just your average one-to-two-serious-relationships amount of love to give.

She taught me love

She taught me patience

How she handles pain

That shit's amazing

I've loved and I've lost

But that's not what I see

'Cause look what I've found

Ain't no need for searching, and for that, I say…

Thank you, next

Perhaps Ariana has more love to give than most, but "thank u, next" assures us that she's taking on the emotional responsibility of her own mental well-being. We stan a self-reflective pop princess.

Truth reveals itself with time alone, and Ari is getting there. And she's taking us with her in such a startlingly joyful way. Look no further than her debut performance of “thank u, next” on Ellen to understand that this song about breakups and pain and learning is still an undeniable celebration.

Before "thank u, next" I'd only ever been an Ariana Grande fan from afar. But a joyful anthem about moving on, coupled with First Wives Club cosplay? I now understand that she is a businesswoman, an artist, a skilled musician, and a subtle comedian all wrapped up in a Limited Too trench coat.

One day I'll walk down the aisle

Holding hands with my mama

I'll be thanking my dad

'Cause she grew from the drama

Only wanna do it once, real bad

Gon' make that shit last

God forbid something happens

Least this song is a smash

With the humanizing stumble, the inescapable swell of emotion, and her friends, frequent collaborators and "thank u, next" cowriters Victoria Monét and Tayla Parx supporting spunkily be her side, it is an imperfectly perfect performance.

It would be easy to look at this song and the Ariana/Pete breakup, and say: Ah, yes it was Ari who had the Big Dick Energy all along. But I don't think that's true. BDE, for all its silliness, is defined by exuding an effortless satisfaction with oneself. What Ariana is saying in "thank u, next," and what she's often shown through the vulnerability and candor of her public-facing platforms like Twitter is:

This. shit. takes. effort.

Surely this "thank you, next" sentiment will be swiftly co-opted into funny memes (check), a Whopper commercial, and a little further down the road, a 2020 Presidential campaign. And that's fine. It's pretty broad—and not at all terrible—advice when taken out of context.

But in context, Ariana's "thank u, next" is not a simplistic dismissal of exes, nor a thoughtless platitude about moving on. It's about unloading the angry burdens of our past to pave a way forward with gratitude and graciousness. Even if Ariana, that little minx, did drop her record-breaking banger 30 minutes before Saturday's East Coast airing of SNL…

Hey, if Ariana has taught us anything [ed. note: she has!], it's that there's no reason self-improvement can't be productive and at least a little bit of a smash at the same time. As I think the saying goes: Revenge is a dish best served smokin' hot, in a white pantsuit, serving transcendent emotional realness.

This article originally appeared in the These Are the Best Things newsletter on Substack. Get more TATBT articles directly to your inbox by subscribing below!

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[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot - “An Egg-cellent Disaster” (Rated PG13)

Sebastian suffers a bout of PTSD when Isabelle invites Kurt and their family to an upscale egg hunt. (3308 words)

Notes: This isn't a re-write, but I wrote one similar for K*laine.

Part 38 of Daddies.

Read on AO3.

“Ugh. Can you get PTSD from an Easter egg hunt? I’m asking for a friend,” Sebastian says, glancing over his shoulder as he leads his husband, his son, and his son’s service dog towards the swankiest gathering of New York’s elite that he’s seen in a long time. This isn’t normally how they spend Easter, and if it were up to him, they would have done what they always do – color eggs and hide them around their house, bake Kurt’s mom’s special braided Easter bread, sit on the sofa and watch their little boy eat too many jelly beans until he vibrates into another dimension. They’d run him around the yard until he passed out from exhaustion, then lock themselves in their bedroom and have some adult fun with the ears and tail of an old bunny costume Kurt’s parents sent them one year. But ever since Kurt got his promotion at Vogue, they’ve been attending more events like this over the holidays – outlandish affairs that required them to dress in more-expensive-than-usual attire and rub elbows with the upper crust.

It’s how Sebastian spent a good portion of his own childhood, so it should be old hat to him by now. But the older he gets, the more he values his quiet life. And things like this, which Kurt handles with the grace and energy of a professional socialite, have begun to wear on him.

He can’t blame Kurt for this one. He didn’t choose this. He didn’t even know egg hunts of this caliber existed.

It was his boss Isabelle’s idea.

Sebastian loves Isabelle. Kurt owes her a ton for giving him his big break right after he graduated high school, when he’d moved to New York with no other plan than to survive, which means Sebastian owes her, too.

After this, though, Sebastian might consider declaring them even.

“Having flashbacks?” Kurt teases, taking his hand as they pick their way through the grass over to a roped off area. From what he can see, it’s roughly about the size of two football fields end to end, which Kurt finds astounding since half of the children here look barely old enough to walk yet.

How are they going to cover the length of one football field, not to mention two? They’ll be huddled in one corner, whining over a dozen plastic eggs, leaving an entire section of grass completely unexplored.

“You can say that,” Sebastian says, stopping when Thomas chooses a spot and plops down in the grass. “My parents took me and my brother to one of these stupid hunts every single year. You’d think it would be fun. I mean, it was at the country club, there were other kids, eventual chocolate. But it was never fun.”

“Why not?”

“Because it wasn’t just getting together with our friends and looking for eggs. It was a competition. Our parents were pitting their kids against each other to see whose family was better. But by the end, the other kids didn’t matter. For my parents, it became me against my brother.” Sebastian stops the story there, stops short of telling Kurt exactly how far his parents’ disappointment in him went. He’ll tell Kurt one of these days. But now is not the time. Not in front of Thomas. “It was kind of traumatizing.”

Kurt puts a hand on his husband’s shoulder. “Oh, Sebastian. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me? We could have found a way to bow out.”

“Because you always get so excited when Isabelle invites you to these things. I didn’t want you to miss it. It’s important to you.”

“Yeah, but you’re more important. One of the most important.”

“You can make it up to me later,” Sebastian suggests, leaning in close so Thomas won’t hear. “You know … nakedly?”

Kurt rolls his eyes, but he didn’t expect anything less. “Look, Isabelle hasn’t seen us yet. Maybe we can …”

“Kurt! Sebastian! Oh, thank goodness you could make it! I was scared you’d get caught in the holiday traffic!”

Kurt sighs. He had always referred to Isabelle as his ‘fairy godmother’ in part because of the dreams she’d been able to help him realize, but also because of her impeccable timing.

It was close to occult.

Kurt mouths sorry to his husband for getting his hopes up while his boss is too far away to notice.

“Isabelle! We wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Kurt feels his husband grimace as he greets his boss with a hug and a kiss on each cheek. “We actually came up yesterday and rented a room not too far from here to make sure we’d get here on time.”

“Fabulous!” she says, kissing Kurt and then moving on to Sebastian. “Make sure you send me the bill!”

“You know I will.” Kurt watches Isabelle move on to Thomas and Hepburn. Thomas may not like being kissed, but he loves Isabelle as much as his parents do, so he sits still and lets her fuss over him, coo about how cute and grown up he looks, so much like his fathers in his smart grey slacks and navy blue button down. “So, what are the rules here?” Kurt asks, searching the grounds for a sign, a poster, a handout, something. “Is there a time limit? Are the kids separated by athletic ability? Or age?”

Kurt isn’t a huge fan of things like Easter egg hunts or baby races. He doesn’t have the patience to handle large congregations of kids and parents. Being a member of the PTA at his son’s school is the farthest he’ll stretch. And even though he wanted to come today, he was hoping to constrict their revelry to family members only, so if they can find their own section of the park to conduct their Easter biz without having to socialize, even with the elite, that would suit him fine.

“You’re making this too complicated!” Isabelle laughs under the assumption that Kurt is joking. “It’s just an Easter egg hunt, Kurt!”

“We usually confine our egg hunting to our house, maybe the front porch,” Sebastian says.

“Yeah. Besides, tromping through the grass in search of hard boiled eggs isn’t the way my father and I spent Easter.”

“How did you spend Easter?” Isabelle asks, realizing that after knowing Kurt for over a decade, she has no clue.

“The way many a well-rounded, musical theater inclined child did. I watched Brigadoon on AMC.”

Sebastian side-eyes his husband with a scowl that makes Isabelle snicker. “How in the hell did you and I ever get together?”

“You decided to stop being a royal idiot about pretty much everything in your life and do something smart for once.”

Isabelle guffaws so loudly at that, Hepburn’s ears prick up.

“Wow …” Sebastian says, mouth agape. “I … don’t know how to respond to that.”

“A simple you’re absolutely right, love of my life, I will never doubt your incredible wisdom in all things again will suffice.”

“Not the direction I was going to go, but okay. As long as it gets me some ass after this is over with.”

Kurt elbows his husband.

Isabelle snorts. “Come on, guys! Let’s enjoy ourselves! It’s a beautiful day! The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and I think the Easter bunny just arrived!”

“The Easter bunny!?” Thomas pipes up from his seat in the grass. “Where?”

Sebastian, Kurt, and Thomas take a gander at the festivities around them heralding the soon-to-be start of the egg hunt. Indeed, the Easter bunny had arrived. But this was not your average, human-sized, department store cottontail dressed in a pastel vest and straw top hat, carrying a basket of colorful, candy-filled plastic eggs. This Easter bunny is easily seven feet tall, dressed in what could only be described as a vintage suit of aubergine brocade with matching purple top hat; a tall, white plume tucked inside the olive green hat band; a gold monocle over his left eye; carrying a hand-carved mahogany walking stick in one hand, and a Moses basket in the other, filled to bursting with eggs, jelly beans, foil-wrapped chocolates, and trinkets and tidbits that catch the light and twinkle like gemstones. He’s surrounded by an entourage of handlers, each wearing an outfit to complement the bunny’s own and carrying baskets of the same treats to hand out to the kids. The bunny and his team walk the perimeter of the field, and a parade forms behind him – adorable little boys and girls bedecked in their Sunday best, dresses and suits that Kurt saw advertised in Vogue for close to four figures. But some of them are dressed in honest to God athletic wear.

Those boys and girls look downright intimidating.

“I don’t know.” Kurt eyes five children dressed in matching track suits and running shoes. “Some of the people here look awfully competitive.”

“That’s an understatement,” Sebastian adds. Back in his day, the kids and parents were competitive as fuck. But this – this is on a whole other level.

“Of course they are! The prizes here are outstanding! Last year, they hid a $10,000 Tiffany engagement ring in one of the eggs!”

Kurt’s eyebrows shoot up so far, they disappear somewhere in the vicinity of his hairline. “Really?”

“Sounds about right,” Sebastian mutters, shivering with the memory of having his hand stepped on by no less than three pairs of dress shoes in an effort to reach a particularly difficult to get at egg. All the kids knew that the farther the lie, the better the prize. That was something the organizers of the egg hunt used to sing as they released the children, like hounds, to sniff out the treats.

He suddenly feels queasy, stomach acids sloshing left to right as he shoves that little ditty aside. But even with it pushed out of the way, he can’t help feeling sick.

Why were they there again?

“They go all out - luxury vacations, spa packages, theater tickets … but don’t worry,” Isabelle says when she notices how pale Sebastian has become. “The emphasis here is on fun.”

“Do they know that?” Kurt asks, motioning with his chin towards a nearby family dressed entirely in Under Armour from The Rock’s latest collection – mother, father, and their five-year-old daughter staring down Thomas like a lion stares down an easy meal.

Under Armour – proud sponsor of Easter and good-natured family fun, Kurt thinks spitefully. He wonders if Isabelle has the same thought as she quickly pulls out her iPhone and starts snapping some pics.

Their attentions are directed upward by the sound of a helicopter arriving, circling the area above their heads.

“Okay, why is that here?” Kurt asks. It’d be easy to assume it’s paparazzi, but there isn’t supposed to be any here. That’s part of the appeal. There are guards posted everywhere to ensure the privacy of the families participating. But they can’t be everywhere at once. It’s possible one or two might get through.

“It’s here to drop more eggs from above! Those are the ones people really go for. Some of them are made out of solid gold!” Isabelle explains, nearly drooling after the words solid gold.

“What the---? That’s insane! Even my parents’ country club never went that far!” Sebastian envisions something the size of a chicken egg made of gold plummeting from the sky and smacking him on the head. That would definitely leave a dent in his skull, at the very least.

Could he survive that impact?

“Ouch!” Kurt kneels beside his son and covers his head protectively while keeping an eye on the sky. “Isn’t this a little excessive? I mean, we have the money to go to whatever spa we want. That’s one of the perks of being rich.”

“That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen!” Sebastian says, pointing towards the sky. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t remember signing a waiver!” He joins his husband, son, and Hepburn, hovering over them in an effort to protect them all when he swears he hears the copter swoop down. “What kid needs a Tiffany engagement ring anyway? This sounds like it’s going to turn into a blood bath!” He meets Kurt’s gaze, his husband’s eyes wide, unsure what to do about this, about this mess he’s gotten them into. “Maybe we should go somewhere else.”

“No!” Isabelle pleads. “Just … give it a few minutes! Please? An hour at the most? I promise we’ll have fun! I’ve been looking forward to getting you out here for this Easter egg hunt ever since I found out you’d adopted Thomas!”

Kurt shakes his head slowly. He is here for work, but that shouldn’t include putting his life, and the lives of his family, in danger! Isabelle is his friend. She won’t make him stay if they’re uncomfortable, especially considering Thomas’s history of anxiety. But there’s a look in her eyes he hasn’t seen before. Not crazy, per se, but slightly unhinged? But not in a bad way? “I don’t know …”

“We’re at a big, private park. There’s a playground and a lake not too far from here. If you don’t like the Easter egg hunt, we can go over there and Thomas can play. But can we give this a try first? Please?”

Kurt looks from a worried Sebastian, awkwardly shielding their heads, to Hepburn, instinctively on alert, back to Isabelle, and sighs. Isabelle means well. She’s from a wealthy family in Columbus, so she probably went to egg hunts like this one, same as Sebastian. Perhaps her experiences were better. With no kids of her own, she probably tries to strong arm all the employees with kids to come to this thing so she can relive her childhood.

Looking at the expression on her face, she seems nothing if not sincere.

In the end, for Kurt, it’s all about Thomas. And his son - playing in the grass, singing a song about the Easter bunny that he learned in school, without a care in the world - seems to be enjoying himself so far.

They’re already here. They drove for hours to get here. And it is a stunning location. They can stick it out for a while, collect a few eggs, dodge the helicopter, grab some punch and cookies over at the refreshment table, and then retire to the playground. They brought Hepburn’s toys with them. They can tire Thomas and his dog out in one fell swoop. It’ll be fine. It might even be fun.

If anything, the pictures will be precious.

“Alright,” Kurt says, feeling the weight of his husband deflating a bit in defeat. He knows that Sebastian was hoping this was their out, and on any given day, falling solid gold projectiles would be. But Kurt is in the unfortunate position of having to juggle the feelings of multiple people that he loves. “We’ll give it an hour.”

“Yay!” Isabelle says. “That’s all I ask.”

“But after that …”

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen! Lads and lasses! Step right up to the starting line! The 53rd Annual Hampton Bay Easter Egg Hunt is about to begin!”

“Starting line?” Sebastian repeats, looking left and right. “What starting line?”

Kurt looks around, too, in confusion. Starting line? He doesn’t remember seeing anything marked starting line. There was only the rope boundary and …

Uh oh …

While they’d been discussing staying or going, they hadn’t noticed that the parade of kids and parents following the Easter bunny had circled round and stopped about a hundred feet away … right where the rope Kurt, Sebastian, Thomas, and Hepburn passed to get in had been set up. There they stood – a mob of adults and children lined up in starting positions, brows furrowed in deep concentration, ready to charge, like a re-enactment of The Hunger Games if the eccentrically dressed inhabitants of the Capitol City were the ones on the attack.

Sebastian, Kurt, Thomas, and Isabelle didn’t know.

Nobody told them.

Nobody warned them.

Nobody seemed to care that they were sitting in the grass, dead center, in the way.

“On your marks …”

“Daddy …” Thomas grabs his father’s hand in both of his and squeezes tight.

“… get set …”

“No, no, no, no …” Sebastian springs to his feet, gearing up to drag the lot of them off the field before the announcer can get to Go!

But he never does.

And not because he’s waiting for them to vacate the field. (Who knows if the man even sees them?) But because the start of the hunt is proclaimed by a gun shot.

The sharp pop hits the air.

After that, the roar of hundreds of feet hitting the ground, along with the frantic screaming of children, is deafening. At the same time, the helicopter above releases its bounty. Plastic eggs rain down around them, exploding on contact, spreading chocolate shrapnel within a foot of where they land. One hits Sebastian on the top of his head.

“Ow! God!” he wails, rubbing an already forming bump with his fingers. He doesn’t know what the heck was inside that thing, but his head begins to throb.

No way is he going to stay there if something made of solid gold is headed his way.

“Run!” Sebastian says, pulling his husband to his feet and getting pelted by another plastic egg in the process. He sees this one where it lands, spraying jelly beans left and right, and he starts laughing.

“Sebastian!” Kurt cries. Hepburn barks once in warning and yanks Thomas the shortest distance across the field. Kurt covers the boy’s head with his jacket and bolts, leaving Sebastian behind in a mad dash for their car. “Sebastian! For God’s sake! Hurry up!”

Sebastian runs to catch up, but three steps in, a featureless gold blur hits the ground hard, and his foot gets caught in the hole it makes. He falls to his knees, laughing hysterically at the absurdity of it all. Spoiled little rich kid with daddy issues. That’s what Kurt had called him once back in high school – back when they hated one another. Little did Kurt know how close to the mark that comment hit, or how deeply the already scarred over wounds went. But the reason Kurt didn’t know, not for a long time, is because Sebastian had worked so hard to hide them, run away from them. He was going to grow up better than his upbringing. He was going to become a successful person, a successful parent, whether his own parents were proud of him or not. But all the things they did to break him down - Sebastian didn’t find a way to get rid of them. He simply carried them with him. And here he was – a husband and a father, scared of an Easter egg hunt! Granted, he was in very real danger of ending up with a concussion, but fuck the rest!

Isabelle was right! It’s a beautiful day! And regardless of the greedy horde about to trample him into the dirt, he was going to have the best day ever because he’s surrounded by people he loves!

People who will mourn him when he’s gone.

“Raise our son well, Kurt!” he chokes out over the howl of the raging onslaught. “And remember, I always loved you! Well, ninety-three percent of the time!”

Kurt turns to see his husband, red-faced with laughter, swallowed by the crowd, and despite being concerned for his safety, he can’t help laughing, too. He knows that in a few minutes the crowd will pass, and Sebastian will emerge the way he always does – cocky as hell, obnoxiously triumphant, and probably with a dozen of those golden eggs Isabelle was fiending over. “You’re a good man, Sebastian Smythe! You shall be missed!”

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CC fic: Chances Are (Ch. 4)

What if Leonard had been stuck in the 1950s with Sara, Ray, and Kendra in season 1? And how the hell did they survive, anyway?

Long chapter! And a warning that it gets a little more adult toward the end.

Many thanks to @larielromeniel for the beta. And to @pir8grl for following along as well!

Can be read here at AO3 and here at FF.net. Recommended because of length.

In the middle of the night, for the first time in many years, Sara Lance wakes up as the little spoon.

They'd fallen asleep close, but not like this. Len's warm breath—slow and steady; he's still out like a light-- is hitting her ear, and his left arm is thrown over her, the other one curled and pillowing his head. Their legs are tangled together, and it's the most...intimate...way they've slept yet, even though they're both still fully clothed.

Sara lies awake for a while, listening to him breathe, all that restless, fidgety Snart energy tamed, for once, in sleep. She's not entirely sure how they've gotten themselves into this position—literally and figuratively, she thinks with amusement—but she feels...

It's not safe, not precisely, or at least not because of him. She trusts Leonard; he's earned that, but she's the only one she truly relies on for her own safety. Content? Not quite that, either. Their situation is still precarious, and she vehemently doesn’t want to stay in this time, no matter how much they scrape out some measure of satisfaction and peace from time to time. And she's still worried about the others, Martin and Jax and Rip and even Gideon.

She doesn't know what she's feeling. In more ways than one.

She's attracted to Leonard. She can own that. He's a good-looking man, with just the right level of muscle without being brawny, and his eyes are amazing. Their personalities mesh well, too, even though they might, together, be a little too prone to snark. She enjoys his company, their card games and conversations. Even before this, she could say that she'd grown to consider him a friend. (And frankly, the competence and leadership he's shown since this debacle started is damned sexy.)

But is she starting to fall for him?

Lying there, warm and comfortable in the arms of a crook, knowing that they're going to get up tomorrow and keep working like the team they've become, trusting and relying on each other for backup and companionship and hope, she thinks...

Maybe.

The next morning isn't awkward—not quite. Still, there's a touch of...something...in Leonard's eyes when he returns with coffee for them both the next day (having vanished before she'd gotten out of bed again). Something a touch distant, and Sara can't help being a little disappointed by that.

She knows him well enough, though, that it doesn't take long to realize the distance is coming from distraction. He's pouring over something in the paper he'd gotten at the honor box last night, focused in a way she's come to recognize is Snart plotting mode.

She doesn't ask. He'll tell her when he has a plan. Instead, she takes a healthy swig of coffee, clears her throat, and raises her eyebrows in a different question when he glances at her. He reads it correctly.

"We need to hit the road as soon as possible today," he tells her, getting to his feet and stuffing the folded-up paper in his coat pocket. "Need to get to River City."

Sara snickers, grabbing her coat. "Going to go bang on Ray and Kendra's door?"

That gets a smirk. "What do you think?"

Leonard's not sure whether to be pleased or slightly disappointed that Raymond opens the door very nearly ready to go, just a little annoyed at the imperious hammering. Both he and Kendra do look rather tired, though, and Len resists the urge to make a crack at their expense.

So does Sara, who's being careful about such things around Kendra for some reason. She snags shotgun this time as he drives, and the lovebirds sit together in the backseat, where they're almost certainly likely to fall asleep with the hour.

He'd slept well. Extremely well, actually. Of course, he'd also woken up in a...situation...that now has him wondering why Sara hadn't slipped a knife between his ribs for his unconscious temerity.

But she hadn't. And he'd woken up like that...then spent a few minutes trying to figure out how to disentangle himself without waking her and making it clear where his mind had been...and how certain portions of anatomy had been all in for the idea.

On second thought, maybe his ribs weren't where she'd have put that knife.

For quite a while, the car is silent, a contrast to the actual camaraderie of last night. Raymond and Kendra do indeed fall asleep, and a soft snore now and again is the only sound from the backseat. Sara seems lost in thought and Leonard, frankly, has a lot on his mind, too, so he's content to watch the road and go over the checklist in his head as the miles pass.

Eventually, though, he feels Sara’s eyes on him and glances at her briefly, lifting an eyebrow to indicate he’s aware of her gaze.

“So,” she says after a moment, “why the urgency to get to River City?”

Of course she’d noticed that. Leonard considers denying it, but he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t buy it anyway.

So he prevaricates. “Sooner we get there, sooner we can figure something out, move on.”

“Hmm.” No, she’s not buying it, but he can more or less see her deciding whether to pursue the subject.  To his relief, she chooses the latter. “How’s the car handling? Kendra said it should be fine, but she couldn’t guarantee how long.”

“Seems OK. Might have Raymond get it looked at in the city.” He darts her an apologetic look. “Not that I wouldn’t rather you or Kendra do that…”

She finishes the thought for him. “…but we’re women and we’d probably get laughed at or someone would attempt to scam us. And then we’d be obliged to kick his ass. Although that’d be its own reward.”

Leonard snorts in laughter despite himself. “True. Probably not effective, though.”

“Probably not.” Sara sighs. “As much as I hate to admit it, we sort of need to do something else unpleasant and necessary too. Laundry.”

“Ehhhh…” Leonard gives her an apologetic look. “Can you and Kendra handle that? This time, anyway.”

Her expression is resigned, but Sara nods. “Yeah, I figured. We’re getting an iron and you guys are ironing your own shirts, though.”

“Wouldn’t dare to dream otherwise.”

“And what are you going to be doing?”

So they’re back there again. Leonard keeps his eyes on the road. “Research.”

He’s not looking at her. And, OK, granted, he’s driving, but it’s a very pointed sort of not looking at her. And Sara knows Leonard Snart well enough by now to know that lack of eye contact is the most notable tell for discomfort he has.

There’s something he doesn’t want her to know. Or something he doesn’t want to tell her, or both.

Her earlier unease, that he’d have enough of this whole thing and just vanish one day, leaving them to struggle on, flickers back to life. She shoves it away viciously. If he hasn’t done it yet, why now? Especially since they’d just talked about looking out for each other, and the others.

But… “If you’re going to do something, just promise me you’ll tell me first.”

That gets a glance, an odd flicker in his eyes. “Pardon?”

“You heard me.”

He hesitates, long enough that the unease, paired with anger, starts to resurge. Then: “Promise.”

And she’ll have to be satisfied with that, for now.

They make pretty good time to River City, and Leonard (missing online maps more than ever), with the others helping keep an eye out, eventually manages to find a decent-looking mechanic’s shop just a few doors down from a coin-operated laundromat.

This leads to a group conference, as they pool their money and calculate expenses for the near future. Leonard, counting, shakes his head. They can manage…for now. This isn’t sustainable.

Well, part of the reason they’re here is so they can take steps to start changing that.

So he can.

Unfortunately, perhaps, the others haven’t forgotten that.

They’ve settled on a rough plan that involves Raymond taking the car to the mechanic for a once-over (“Do not agree to anything without consulting Kendra first, Raymond”) while Kendra and Sara do a few loads of laundry, something they’re not precisely thrilled by but agree is necessary.

Leonard merely says that he’ll back soon.

Three sets of eyes regard him with nearly identical expressions.

“So,” Raymond says after a moment “are you here to make a…score?”

How can the man make that sound so cheesy? But there’s no point in denying it. “Leave that to me.” After a moment, he qualifies it. “Not now. But I need to do some…reconnaissance.”

Sara makes a noise of irritation, then, and gets out of the car, grabbing a few of their bags and heading toward the laundromat. Leonard can’t help glancing regretfully after her. But he doesn’t want the rest of them in on this, damnit, and he has his reasons.

Raymond shakes his head. “OK,” he says with a sigh. “I get it. You don’t want us tagging along. But, Snart, we’re all in this together. We’re trusting you. You should trust us, too.”

And then he gets out of the car, grabbing the other bags to carry them in for Sara and Kendra.

Leonard waits, but Kendra, in the backseat, doesn’t move. Instead, she regards him steadily in the rear-view mirror, for so long that he eventually turns around to meet her gaze directly.

“I get it,” she says finally, echoing Raymond’s words, holding up a hand at his expression. “No, really. They might not, but I do. Ray is brilliant, but…well. He’s Ray.” Her lips curve. “I love him, but I’m not blind to his faults, Snart. And Sara…I think you know how stubborn she is.” He snorts at that, and her smiles grows. “And she hates being protected. She went through a lot so she could protect herself.”

“I know that.” He winces at the defensiveness in his voice. “Hell, she could kick my ass. With a hand tied behind her back. But this isn’t the sort a thing where Sara’s MO of being, well, a blunt instrument is going to help. And…”

“And what you’re trying to protect her from isn’t quite what she thinks you’re trying to protect her from.”

Leonard frowns, both at the knowing words and the undercurrent therein. Kendra’s eyes are direct, and a little sad.

“I wasn’t always a barista,” she says quietly. “And sometimes I remember. Running into Savage, back in Harmony Falls…it brought some things back that I’d really rather not have recalled. And while 1950s women’s prisons aren’t as bad as some punishments throughout time—and I’m thinking you and I both know that Sara’s been through worse—that doesn’t mean they don’t have the capacity to break people. Especially if a person’s lost all hope of going…home.”

The words cut to the quick, knowing what he’s done to Mick. And she needs to understand that it’s not that he usually plans on himself, or his people, being caught. “If I had more time…”

But Kendra holds her hand up against his explanation again, and he’s bemused enough at her authoritative attitude that he does quiet, listening to what she has to say.

“I get it,” she says again. “Just…I know we need the money, but don’t think we’d leave you behind either, OK? If something goes wrong? You’ve kept us alive this long; you’re part of this team.”

Leonard’s still digesting that, dealing with an odd and not-wholly-unpleasant feeling of…acceptance, he supposes …when Kendra sighs and leans forward, putting her hand on his shoulder.

“Snart…Leonard,” she says after a moment. “I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but…take care, would you? Please don’t make Ray try to organize a prison break, because you know he would.”

That gets an actual laugh out of him, for the mental image it creates. Leonard tilts his head in acknowledgment, smirking.

“And Sara?” he asks. But while he’d meant for a rather sardonic tone, the question comes out vaguely…plaintive, really.

“Sara?” Kendra smile grows, and suddenly, with a rush of insight, he knows exactly why Sara’s been so careful around her the past day or so.

Oh, crap.

But Kendra doesn’t give him even a fraction of the shit she could. Instead, her smile becomes almost fond.

“Sara…” she muses. “I think Sara would tear down this city, this time, until she got you back. Do you know that?”

Yeah, because I’d do the same for her. But he doesn’t answer, just looks at her steadily.

It’s enough. Kendra nods, once, pulling her hand back.

“Then do what you have to do,” she says. “And thank you. But remember. We need you. Sara needs you.”

Doing laundry while Leonard is off doing god only knowing what is, well, irritating.  Sara scowls at the laundry spinning in a washer while Ray, back from the mechanic, is chattering away and Kendra is very patiently (in Sara’s opinion) asking him questions about what the man said.

She’s so lost in thought that she doesn’t notice, at first, that Kendra’s also talking to her.

“What?”

Kendra raises an eyebrow. “You OK?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

The other woman gives her one of those patented looks. “Because you’d rather be out there skulking around with Snart and you’re stuck here instead? Because you’re pissed at him for not talking to you about it?”

Sara refuses to dignify the questions with an answer. Kendra just rolls her eyes and goes back to talking to Ray.

The plan was to stay at the laundromat until a pre-agreed-upon time, then, if Leonard wasn’t back yet, to head down the road to a motel they’d checked out earlier. He’s not, and they do. Ray emerges from the office and hands Sara her own set of keys without comment.

She takes them without comment as well, even though she’d told him to go ahead and get one room. Well, she supposes that he and Kendra want their own space…and even though she’s pissed at Len, she’d still rather curl up with him…

After she tells him off, anyway.

They head next door to a little restaurant to get some food—Ray had scouted it out earlier and reported that it seemed to be safe. But even as they’re being seated, their missing crook strolls in the door, taking off his hat and joining their party without comment, just a charming smile for the young waitress. (Who seems, indeed, to be charmed, considering the way she bats her eyelashes at him.)

Sara gives him a level, unimpressed look. (Which he ignores. Aggressively.) After they’ve ordered and the flirting waitress has delivered their drinks and gone to check on other tables, Ray leans forward across the table and whispers, “So?”

Leonard leans back and takes a sip of his water. “So what, Raymond?”

“So…” Ray casts a slightly confused glance at Sara and Kendra and then looks back at the other man. “Your…reconn...um. What you were doing. How did it go?”

“Went fine.”

“Are you done?”

That just gets him an unimpressed look. (Which Kendra notices is the mirror of Sara’s earlier look, although she doesn’t point it out at the time.) “No. What was the verdict on the car?”

That successfully distracts Ray, mainly because he can extoll Kendra’s virtues in the field of auto repair. Kendra, correcting him and adding information, ignores the elephant in the restaurant too. Sara, who thinks she’s probably being childish but just can’t help it, continues to stare down into her drink and think annoyed thoughts.

After a while, the waitress—Mary, her nametag says--returns with their meals, sliding them across the table with smiles for them all, but especially Leonard.

“You seen all the fancy types in town for the gala?” she asks with barely concealed excitement. “I mean, we get all types here, for Slot Row. But my friend, who works down at the Goldeneye Hotel, she says they been pouring in the past few days, even though it’s not ‘til tonight. And, boy, do they like to tip!”

For a heartbeat, three of the people at the table try very hard not to look at the fourth person at the table.

“We’re just passing through,” Sara says, putting a sincere (she hopes) smile on her face and learning toward the woman, “on the way to Opal City. A gala? That sounds like fun!”

Mary grins back at her. “Doesn’t it? But it’s bigwigs only. Some political thing.”

Kendra, joining in, laughs. “Eww,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Yeah, not our type of party. But, yeah, I bet the tips are great! I remember…”

She continues, spinning a story that Sara is pretty sure is a 1950s-appropriate adaption of a true incident from her CC Jitters days. Soon, they’re bonding over shared food-service experience, and Sara’s decided to…tone down and tweak…a few stories from Verdant and share those too. Ray and Len share glances, the former grinning and the latter inscrutable, and chime in a few observations here and there.

All in all, Sara thinks, she’s pretty sure they’ve successfully kept Mary from connecting the friendly strangers who’d left the nice tip with any…problems…that might occur at the fancy political event down on Slot Row.

She hopes.

"You're going to rob the gala.”

Sara’s voice is matter of fact and absolutely certain. She’s standing in their room, arms folded, watching him with an odd expression—something that’s somehow determined and uncertain at the same time.

There will be no equivocation here. Leonard pauses in studying the two double beds with some regret. (Raymond had told him there were no kings available, sotto voce, on the way back here, obviously looking for a reaction he didn’t get.) He studies Sara instead, at a loss for how to handle this, at a loss to explain why he cares.

“If all goes well,” he confirms eventually, dropping his coat onto a chair, “I'm going to...divert...the proceeds from the event, yes.”

Sara snorts at the euphemism, but he also thinks her shoulders relax, just a little, when he admits it.

“OK,” she says then, “what’s the plan?”

He draws in a breath, then goes for bluntness. And tries to channel the chill he doesn’t usually use, with her. “Nothing you need to know. Better you don’t.”

Sara’s eyes narrow, and there’s steel in them…and a little bit of hurt. “Bullshit,” she hisses. “You need backup. I’m not letting you do this alone.”

“You don’t get a say,” he snaps back, losing the chill, spurred to urgency with the need to keep her out of it. “This is my plan. I say what I need.”

Of course—and he should have expected this—his brusqueness just cements the anger and insistence in her eyes. “Seriously? After all…after all we’ve been through on the ship and here, you’re just going to…to freeze me out? I know you get the need for backup; you lit into Rip…”

“This is different.”

Sara takes a step toward him, eyes blazing. “Bullshit,” she repeats. “I’m going with you.”

She can’t. She can’t, and the panic that elicits in him startles him and pulls truth from him, makes him step forward and lower his voice, trying to show her his sincerity, his…fuck..feelings.

“No,” he says again, voice low and intense as Sara stares up at him with furious eyes. “No. I haven't had time, and I don't have the information, to plan this like I usually would. It’s too…sketchy, too sloppy to drag anyone else in, to risk anyone else.”

Sara looks a little startled by the sincerity he’s trying to convey, but she’s too very…Sara…to back down. “I’m not just anyone.”

“No, you’re not.” Too much, too much truth, but he can’t back down. “You’re…I am not leaving someone else behind.”

To Sara, at least, it’s undeniably clear who and what he’s talking about. She blinks up at him, and he can see her mouth the name, but she doesn’t say it, not out loud. For Leonard’s part, he’s startled to realize that he’s nearly shaking with the need to make her understand. Abandoning Mick, that last-ditch shot to save his partner…his friend’s…life had been the worst of plans, thrown together on the spur of the moment when it became clear a nuclear option was necessary.

He’d had no clear idea how he would manage to convince Hunter to go back for Mick after a cool-down period, whether he’d be able to steal the jump ship again, if the team would even tolerate having either one of them back after that. If Mick would ever forgive him.

And now it’s worse. So much worse.

This plan isn’t much better. Sure, he’d been planning as he went today. He has the framework, the bones, of a decent heist. But it’s hasty and so many things could go wrong--no, could go catastrophically wrong. And Leonard knows it. He’s planned too many heists—and suffered through too many poorly planned Lewis heists—not to.

Sara’s still quiet, watching him, and he’s not ready to say all that out loud, whether or not she knows it anyway. So he tries to throw more logic at it.

“Raymond is the most likely person to be able to figure out how to signal the Waverider,” he tells her, taking another step closer. “We can't risk him getting locked up. Kendra...no way in hell I'm going to risk what could happen to her if she was arrested. And the same with you.”

Sara’s chin goes up. “You do realize I've been through worse than prison,” she tells him in return, voice just as low and intense as his.

Leonard takes a breath. “Yes,” he says quietly—thinking about both quiet conversations over cards and the file on Sara he’d looked up on the ship's computer. “I do. I know about the Amazo, and I know it was hell.” He meets her eyes. “Not again.”

There’s surprise there, and her tone softens, a little. “I don't need you to protect me, Leonard.”

That draws a snort from him. “You think I don’t know that?

“I know you do.” She shakes her head. “Damnit, you stupid crook, I’m trying to protect you.”

The words rattle him, a little, more than he shows, more than he thought they would. He’s not used to this.

Lisa had tried, back when she became old enough to realize that he so often took the punishments and blows meant for her. He’d done his best to train her out of that impulse—and for years, wondered if he’d damaged her in a way he’d barely considered at the time. But it’d been necessary.

(And then Lewis had reappeared and tried to hurt her again, to hurt him--and goddamn Barry Allen and his silly team had stepped in. That’s a completely different set of mixed feelings.)

Mick had protected him, way back in juvie, of course. And he won’t think about Mick.

“And I appreciate that,” he tells her instead, trying to show it in his voice. “But you...you three...need me to keep doing my thing so we can survive this. Living out of hotels, ripping people off and moving on...it's not sustainable.” He shakes his head. “I plotted this heist out for one person. And I’m going to do it. You…if the worst happens, keep the other two moving. Give Raymond a chance to figure out how to signal the ship. Then…break me out.”

They both know that’s not the worst that could happen. Sara shakes her head too, as if in denial, but they know he’s right.

“When?” she asks simply.

Leonard glances at the clock. “Maybe…an hour. It’s early yet, but I still have some things to put into place. And I need to be sure that I don’t…can’t…lead them back here.”

Sara draws in a deep breath, holds it a moment, then lets it out. “Then…sit down.” She pulls the deck of cards out of her coat pocket. “Talk to me. Tell me if there’s anything I need to know.” She shakes her head again as he eyes her. “I promise I won’t interfere. But maybe I can help with logistics, anything you’re still working out.”

After a minute, Leonard nods.

“Well,” he says, taking a seat on the edge of one of the beds and watching as Sara shuffles the cards, “whenever someone’s transporting a great deal of money, there’s always a weak point…”

Sara never thought she'd miss the constant access to news so familiar to her native time, but this...this is torture.

She crosses the room again, restless, unable to sleep, although she knows she should on the chance they'll need to move quickly—whether it's all four of them or only three of them. If all goes well, though, they’ll just stay put until the next day; running, as Leonard had noted, is always bound to attract more attention than just looking confused and asking the nice police officer what all the excitement is about.

Sara, who had, after all, spent years as a thief of a sort herself—albeit a thief of lives—understood.

That didn’t mean she had to like it.

Leonard’s been gone for hours now. Which was to be expected, since he’d plotted a very circuitous route to and from Slot Row, along with multiple changes of clothing and personas. This is his business, and he’s very good at it, despite his unease at the lack of time and his usual meticulous level of planning.

She knows that.

But…damn it. Sara sits back down on one of the beds, putting her head in her hands and trying to breathe. To center herself.

She can’t do this without him.

It’s just past 3 a.m. when there’s finally a nearly imperceptible noise at the door. A glance through the peephole and she has it open before he can pop the lock, pulling him into the room and closing the door behind him.

“Are you OK?” she demands, taking in the weariness in his eyes, the empty hands, the same navy suit he’d left in. “Leonard. Are you all right? Do we need to leave?”

He holds up a hand, and she takes a breath, steps back, stops the flood of things she wants, needs, to ask. He seems to be in one piece, unharmed at any rate, but there’s a shadow there, something behind his eyes, and she’s not sure what it is.

"I got the entire take,” Leonard says quietly after a moment. “It’s stowed safely; we can get it tomorrow. Should be more than enough for what we need." He shrugs out of the suit coat. “And they got…someone else…for it. So I think we’re clean.”

Sara sighs, letting herself relax a little bit. But he’s standing there in the middle of the room staring down at his jacket like he’s not sure what to do with it, and something’s certainly gone wrong, in some way.

“Good,” she says finally, not entirely sure how to handle a Snart in this mood, but relieved that he’s back safe. “Then…want to help me here? We could push the beds together; I’m pretty sure a double alone wouldn’t be that comfortable for you…”

But there’s a flash in his eyes, then, something complicated and unhappy, and she sees the cold persona settle over his features like a mask, an uncanny transformation right before her eyes. He drops the jacket on to a chair and shrugs, chilly gaze meeting hers for only a moment before sliding away.

“I think I can live without...snuggling...for a night.” And there it is, the harsh, dismissive edge that's been missing from his voice since they've been stuck here, since he's been distracted by the task of keeping them all alive and moving.

It’s like a kick in the stomach, given how much they’ve…given how much she’d thought they’d grown together over the past few days, but Sara’s suddenly too tired herself, body and soul, to call him on it.

“Suit yourself,” she says simply, turning away, exhausted. “Suit yourself.”

She’s tired enough to sleep, although it’s a fitful sleep, a discontented one. Leonard’s changed and stretched out on the other bed, facing away from her without so much as a “goodnight.” Sara, staring at the ceiling during one of her periods of wakefulness, decides that maybe the Leonard she’d seen over the past few days had been the façade.

Now that there’s money, he’ll be gone as soon as possible, shedding the rest of them like an ill-fitting cover story, she thinks. He’ll slip away into the night, into the criminal underbelly of one of the bigger cities, and she’ll be left behind trying to hold them together, to hold on to hope, to…find somewhere she belongs.

There is somewhere, even in 1958. She’s been trying not to think about it. But Nanda Parbat is, at least, a place to go, somewhere she could fit in again.

“No…”

The mutter from the other bed breaks into her unhappy thoughts, and Sara blinks, rolling over to peer through the darkness at the tossing, turning shape across the room.

The next noise is inarticulate, but clearly pained, and she sits up. Maybe she’s still pissed at him, pissed and hurt, but for now, he’s still a member of her team.

“Leonard?” she whispers. “Are you OK?”

“Don’…don’t do it…”

A dream. Rather, a nightmare. Sara’s had too many of those herself to feel anything other than sympathy. She starts to climb to her feet, but before she can do more than that, he makes another one of those wordless noises of pain, louder this time, and starts to thrash around, lashing out at something he’s seeing only in dreams.

“No…!” His next panicked blow sends the lamp crashing from the table, and he flinches at the crash, but doesn’t seem to wake.

They’re not next to Ray and Kendra this time, and if someone calls the cops… Sara hurries over, jumping back as he lashes out again, then climbing onto the too-small bed next to him.

“Stupid, stupid, stubborn crook,” she chants under her breath as she tries to figure out how to help without getting an unintentional blow or freaking him out more. “You should have talked to me. Should’ve helped me push the beds together. We’re…better together, you idiot. Damn it, Leonard. Come back!”

At that point, she just catches his right hand in hers, blocking his blow at an unseen assailant, leaning forward to put her other hand on his shoulder, moving it up after a second to gently cup his jaw. Because whatever he’s seeing in dreams, it’s not gentle, not at all.

And that, against the odds, works. Blue eyes fly open, staring blindly at her, but he stops the thrashing instantly. Instead, he struggles to sit up a little more, shaking his head with agitation before trying to focus on her again.

“Sara,” he says, his voice rough and perplexed.

“Yes.”

“Sara.”

“Yes,” she repeats, keeping her voice as gentle as possible. “I think you were having a nightmare. You were getting really loud and…and a little violent, and I didn’t want anyone to call the cops. You OK?”

But her words draw an immediate recoil from him. “Violent?”

“Yes. No…not to me,” she adds, leaning forward again and catching his shoulder again. “You were just thrashing around and…I was worried.”

Leonard closes his eyes again and takes a deep breath, then another, some of that terrible tension running out of his shoulders. Sara, very gently, very tentatively, starts to knead the muscles on which her hand is resting, moving to sit next to him.

“Sorry,” he mutters again after a minute. “I…”

He's staring off into space again, but Sara isn't about to let it go this time.

“What happened out there?” she asks quietly. “Tell me.”

He doesn’t want to talk about it. But it’s eating at him, and he’s pretty sure that Sara, this time, isn’t going to let him pull his usual bullshit of retreating into the ice.

He glances at her. Yeah. Definitely not.

“It was going according to plan,” he says finally, closing his eyes. “I had my mask on; I was waiting at the point where there should have only been two guards, right before they got to the armored car and the others. But...

“There was this pair of dumb-ass kids. Eh, maybe about 20 years old. I heard them before I saw them, and they didn’t see me. Reminded me a bit of me and...me back in the day, but I was never that stupid.” He opens his eyes, staring into the dark, into memory. “You can tell a plan isn't a good one when two idiots like that come up with the same one. Well, a similar one.

“Except their plan wasn’t much more then ‘go in with guns blazing.’ ” Leonard shakes his head. “It would have been a bloodbath.”

Sara’s pulled both her legs up onto the bed, moving a little so she can work on both his shoulders. The touch feels really good, actually. “So what did you do?”

She’s simply assumed he wouldn’t let it stand. Well. She’s not wrong.

“The two guards carried the take out in a bag,” he said after a minute. “Right on schedule. The idiots moved in, guns drawn. So I… shot them.”

Sara’s hands still. “The...idiots?”

“Yes.” His right hand moves up to rub at his left bicep, but he barely realizes it. “Just winged them both, in the upper arm.” He glances back at her. “I know basic anatomy. I kept it as safe as I could, stayed away from arteries, or so I presume.

“Well, they went down, dropped their guns like the rookies they were. The guards pulled their weapons, and dropped the bag—they weren’t the brightest, either--focusing on them, there was a lot of yelling, it was dark…” He shakes his head. “In the chaos, I got the bag. Got out of there, stowed it, changed, and circled back around to see what the buzz was. The press was already out in force and I blended in with them. Even had a notebook in my pocket.”

He snorts. “The story is already that those two just had an accomplice who turned on them. That’s where the investigation is focusing: on another idiot kid. No one saw me clearly, and there were no cameras. So I guess I should be pleased."

Sara’s started rubbing his shoulders again, her fingers brushing the bare skin of his neck and he’s trying not to lean into the touch. “So,” she says quietly, “you probably actually saved lives tonight. Probably more than one guard, maybe even the would-be robbers.”

Leonard hasn’t really thought about it that way. “But…”

“But you know I’m right.” There’s a faint hint of amusement in her voice, and he can’t help smirking a little in return, especially since he thinks that, just maybe, his earlier reflexive coldness has been forgiven.

But she needs to understand.

He pulls away, just a little, then, swallowing, abruptly drags his shirt up and over his head, dropping it onto the bed next to them. Sara watches with a little surprise in her eyes, but doesn’t say anything, even he turns to better show her his bare left bicep…and the deep scar that still cuts across it.

“When I was about that same damned age,” he tells her, “my father shot me. Same spot, more or less, though I’m pretty sure his motives weren’t good. I was a distraction, so he could get away during a heist gone wrong.” He holds himself still, trying not to flinch as she cautiously reaches out to run a fingertip over it, a sensation that raises the hairs on the back of his neck. “The damned thing still gives me problems. Still hurts at night, or when the weather changes.”

He shakes his head. “And I did the same thing to those two stupid kids.”

Sara has mixed feelings, at this moment. She wants to go find the two boneheads that nearly ruined Leonard’s heist, make sure they’re OK (for his sake), and then yell at them until they rethink their life choices.

She wants to go back in time and find Lewis Snart so she can kill him again.

And she wants…

She wants.

She runs her fingers across the vicious scar again, surreptitiously (or not so surreptitiously, really) running her eyes over the half-clothed man sitting in front of her. But this probably isn’t a good time to act on the attraction, not when he’s caught up in guilt and memory, and the last thing she wants to do is scare him off.

“You said it yourself,” she says instead. “It could have been a bloodbath.”

Leonard doesn’t answer, although he does shrug. And he doesn’t argue, either, and she’ll take that, as long as he keeps thinking about what she’s said.

She should go back to her bed. She should…

"C'mere, Len," she sighs instead. "I...I sleep better with you here. And I don't think either one of us should be alone right now."

Leonard regards her steadily. Then he nods, moving to stretch out, catching her wrist to pull her gently down with him

The bed is small, much smaller than they’re used to now, but it doesn’t matter much, because they’re definitely well and truly in each other’s space. Leonard hasn’t bothered putting his shirt back on, and the warmth is radiating off him, striking in a man who usually gloried in such a chilly image, and Sara, lying next to him, only inches apart, glories in it.

Without even thinking about it, she reaches out with the arm that isn't curled up under her head and runs her hand down his back and then up again, palm smoothing over warm skin, callouses catching on the scars she’d just gotten her first look at.

He freezes, at first, and she does too, suddenly wide awake, cursing the drowsy impulse. But then…he slowly moves his own free hand around to rest on her hip, then up under her top, fingers drifting up her back, too, skin on skin, tracing her spine. The spark of electricity this causes makes her shudder, sensation prickling along every nerve, and she stifles a gasp of reaction, arching her back just a little.

Oh.

Oh, this could be dangerous. Or wonderful. Or dangerously wonderful. All three?

Is she ready to go there? Is he?

Well. He's no expert, but from the way Sara's reacting, his touch certainly doesn't seem to be unwelcome. Far from it. Her eyes are closed, and her lips are slightly parted, and she's breathing far more heavily than he'd think a simple caress could account for.

So is he. And his breath catches again as she moves her hand around, trailing her fingers lightly down his bare chest slowly and steadily, bringing her hand to rest right on the waistband of his pajama pants, hooking her fingertips just inside.

And, holy shit, if he hadn’t been hard before (and he’d definitely been on the way there), he sure as hell is now.

Sara follows up on that move by edging a little closer, and he follows suit, until they’re touching just about everywhere, more contact than he’s experienced in a good long time. Leonard, cognizant of his own ragged breathing, makes himself take a deep breath, then another, running his hand down her back again, sensitive fingertips tracing her spine, right down to the base, an area that seems to be particularly…sensitive.

She arches her back, gasping again, bringing her front into even closer contact with his chest and making a noise that seems to mix amusement, desire and frustration.

The first kiss isn't quite a real kiss. More...that their mouths sort of touch as they lie there, arms around each other, as she looks up at him and he tilts his head down to look to her. Her top lip brushes his bottom lip, lingering just a little, and they both hesitate, then move to readjust the angle.

The second kiss is still awkward in its own way, slow and unpracticed, as if they’re still trying to pretend this isn’t what it is. Lips brush, lingering and hesitant, but the angle is still off, and Sara hums to herself, then moves a little, adjusting it again, and darts her tongue between his lips.

Damn.

She tastes like something sweet, something he can’t name, and he just enjoys it for a moment before upping the aggression just a little on his part, snaking his other hand around to cradle the back of her head, pulling her closer. And all of a sudden, just that quickly, there’s nothing hesitant about it; they’re devouring each other, making out like they’re never going to have this moment again, an air of desperation about the whole thing.

Somehow, through a combination of his efforts and hers, Sara’s top has become completely unbuttoned, and she pulls back for just a moment to strip it off and fling it elsewhere before surging back to kiss him again, skin pressing to skin. They’re both half-naked now, and her still-silk-clad thigh is moving between his legs, and he’s moved his other hand to curve around her ass, and if those two layers of fabric weren’t there…

It would be the easiest thing in the world to let go and do this.

But. The corner of his mind that hasn’t yet ceded control to other portions of anatomy points out. But.

Leonard is an overthinker. Always has been, always will be. It makes him an excellent planner, an exceptional crook, one who anticipates almost all contingencies (except, one time, a damned speedster) and prepares for them.

It makes him lousy at relationships.

They’re stuck here. They might never get to go home. The realist in him knows it even as he’s been trying to soldier on preparing for the best possible chance of making it there. And beyond all the planning, the pragmatic slog toward Nickel City and a situation where they can safely go to ground for a while, there’s only one bright point in this whole damned mess.

Sara’s here too.

Sara, who gets him on a level he’s not sure anyone else ever has, not even Mick. Sara, who has her darkness too, but understands what it’s like to wonder if you can still reach the light. Sara, who’s every element of brilliant and bad-ass he’s ever been attracted to.

If this goes south, and they fall apart, he’ll be alone here.

Sure, this whole roll in the sheets could just be a friends-with-benefits thing. Maybe it is to her. But deep down, Leonard Snart acknowledges that he’s well and truly falling for Sara Lance, the way he’s only fallen for two other people in his life.

Neither of those times went well.

And the notion that he could ruin her presence in his life, drive her away, by pursuing this terrifies him.

Leonard breaks the kiss, pulling away with a gasp, putting a little space between them and trying to clear his head. Sara, whose fingers had been drifting south, stops her exploration immediately, reaching her right hand up to cup his jaw, eyes concerned.

“Are you OK?” she whispers after a moment. “Talk to me.”

“It’s OK. It’s OK. It’s just…need to slow down…I…” I’m a little more fucked up than I’ve ever told you. “It’s not you. All right? It’s not you.”

She studies him a moment, then nods, pulling back a little herself. But he reaches for her when she makes a move to get up and she subsides back down to his side, reaching out to grab both their discarded shirts and pressing his into his hand.

Leonard takes it but doesn’t move yet to put it on. Sara pillows her head on an arm and watches him steadily in return. There’s no judgement, no anger or even irritation in her eyes, and that make it easier to say what he does next.

“Just…don’t leave,” he says quietly. “Give me time?”

He’s never asked for such a thing in his life.

And on some level, he’s stunned when she whispers “Of course.”

[kirkwall-group-therapy]

City of Blood, ch 4

[Mature content warning, Act 1: cursing, adult topics, violence]

Chapter Four: The Blood of City Guards

“Hawke, can’t you do anything about the thugs that roam the streets at night?” Aveline asked. The Hanged Man buzzed with life around - a typical Friday night.

“The guard isn’t able to?” Hawke asked.

“There aren’t enough of us to handle them all. Plus the Captain doesn’t have the balls to deal with them. It’s something that you could handle though,” she said.

“Is the Captain offering a reward?” Hawke asked.

“Isn’t the safety of the citizens reward enough?” Aveline said.

“Aveline, I need to eat too. And unfortunately, being a hero doesn’t pay well. Not usually anyhow. I do often deal with them whenever I can, but I can’t spend my nights traipsing around in the night like some sort of vigilante,” Hawke replied.

“Sure you could Hawke. If anyone could, it’d be you.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence Aveline. But unless you’re willing to pay my bills, it’s not something I can just do for free,” Hawke said.

“I suppose not,” Aveline sighed.

“Why won’t the Captain handle them?” Fenris asked, downing his fifth drink.

“I don’t know. Anytime I try to bring it up I get half-assed excuses. And then I get put on pointless patrols as punishment for questioning his authority,” Aveline said. “In fact, there’s an issue that I’m still investigating but Hawke, I may need your help soon. And I expect you to give it, even without pay.”

“Sure Aveline,” Hawke sighed. She felt much the same way as Aveline did, but bills don’t pay themselves. And she didn’t like it when Aveline made her feel guilty about not helping unless there was pay. What Aveline didn’t know is how many jobs Hawke did take and either refused the reward in the end, or how she often gave the money back to the victims or to the refugees. Much like with Fenris, Hawke couldn’t accept a reward if they clearly needed it more than her. Bethany had to take up some side jobs to help because of it, and no one was happy about that. While her side jobs didn’t involve magic, it still meant that Bethany was out in public more than anyone wanted. On the other hand, being seen doing jobs like tailoring or washing was a good cover story, a good way to more-or-less hide what she truly was.

“So Sunshine, I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time at Anders’ clinic recently?” Varric asked - to which Fenris visibly bristled.

“Yes,” Bethany blushed slightly. “He’s been teaching me a lot about healing magic, and I’ve been helping out there as much as I can.”

“Shame he couldn’t join us tonight,” Varric said.

“He asked me to pass his apologies to Charlie. He said he was just too worn out. It’s been a hard couple of days since one of the Darktown tunnels collapsed. He’s had so many wounded to look after,” Bethany said.

“So Hawke, what’s the job this week?” Fenris asked.

“I grabbed a job from the Chanter’s Board,” Hawke said.

“Oh, I do hate it when you do that,” Bethany whined. “They just … somehow they just never feel right.”

“I’m not a big fan of them either, but I haven’t heard from Athenril about any other possible jobs. Neither has Varric. It’s been a quiet couple of weeks, and we still need to eat - let alone try to save money for the expedition,” Hawke explained.

“What is the Chantry asking this time?” Fenris asked, beginning to look a little flush from the alcohol.

“It’s …” Hawke paused and looked at Bethany. “There are some mages that have disappeared from the Circle. Their phylacteries have been destroyed, and there have been a number of related deaths. Blood magic.”

“The templars aren’t able to handle this? Isn’t this exactly what they do?” Aveline asked.

“That was my thought. But since the phylacteries have been destroyed, they haven’t been able to track them down. I’m honestly not sure why they’ve handed the task over, but I’ll take it.” Hawke said.

“Hunting mages,” Bethany whispered.

“Blood mages. If they weren’t blood mages, if they hadn’t already killed a few people, I wouldn’t accept the job. Not all mages are bad, but the ones that go bad - they do need to be dealt with,” Hawke said softly. She clearly felt very torn on the matter, and who could blame her.

“I think I’m going to sit this one out, if that’s ok sis?” Bethany asked.

“Of course Bethany,” Hawke replied

“I’m pretty booked this week,” Aveline said. “I’ve got double guard duty, plus I still need to continue my investigation.”

“I guess it’s just the three of us then,” Varric said.

“Sounds fine by me,” Fenris replied and stifled a burp.

“Good. Now that business is out of the way,” Varric smiled. “Time for a few rounds of Wicked Grace.”

“No, I’m out,” Aveline said.

“Oh, come on Aveline,” Varric said.

“No, I have work in the morning. Anders--,” She said. “I thought you weren’t going to be able to make it.”

“I tried to take a nap, but couldn’t sleep. So I thought I might as well join everyone,” he said. He took Aveline’s seat next Hawke.

“I’ll see everyone next week,” Aveline said before she turned and left.

“Blondie, you ready to lose another game of Wicked Grace?” Varric asked.

“Oh Maker,” Anders said. “I gave up trying to take a nap for this?”

~

It had been a few days, and Aveline’s investigation had turned up some useful information. She was able to use the time spent on her useless patrols to sort through it all, and to come up with a plan.

“Hawke, you and Bethany will join me to scout the Wounded Coast?” Aveline asked.

“Yep, we’re all set. Have you heard from Fenris yet?” Hawke asked.

“No. I sent a note to his … home, but I haven’t heard anything back. I don’t have time to drop by and ask if he’ll be available. Could you do that for me?” Aveline asked.

“Sure. I have some errands to run in Hightown anyway,” Hawke said.

“Alright. But don’t be late,” Aveline said.

“I won’t be late, I promise,” Hawke said.

Hawke paid a visit to Fenris’s home before she completed her other errands. It was still early morning. Hawke and Bethany, and hopefully Fenris, were set to meet Aveline an hour after noon. It would take some time to get to the Wounded Coast, so Hawke needed to get her errands done soon and speak to Fenris as soon as possible. Hawke had only been to Fenris’s home a few times. These days she mostly saw him at their weekly meetings, and when everyone showed up for a job. The mansion, Danarius’ mansion, was still empty and disheveled.

Hawke banged on the door loudly and waited. The knock boomed throughout the rather empty house. Fenris heard it but wasn’t sure if it was a knock, or just some commotion outside. Hawke knocked again.

“Hawke. What are you doing here so early?” Fenris asked, and he opened the door. The morning sunlight blinded him, and his hair was still uncombed.

“Aveline asked me to check in with you, since she didn’t get a reply to her note,” Hawke said.

“Ah, yes.” Fenris opened the door and stepped aside, beckoning Hawke to enter. He shut the door behind her, and together they walked to the master bedroom - which also served as the dining room and living room for Fenris.

“I apologize that I did not reply, but in truth, I wasn’t sure who sent it,” he said.

“That’s not like Aveline to leave it unsigned,” Hawke said.

“I’m afraid that the fault likely does not fall to her,” and he paused. “It’s simply that I do not know how to read. Slaves are not allowed to read in Tevinter.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize,” Hawke said, feeling awful for not knowing, feeling awful that she just assumed - but mostly feeling awful about his entire life. Hawke never felt sure about how to treat Fenris. She knew he didn’t want her pity, nor did she. But the suffering of others pained her greatly, particularly those she considered friends. Knowing what little she did about Fenris’s time as a slave, weighed on her. She wished there was something she could do, but knew that there wasn’t. And knew that Fenris was still guarded and not ready to open up.

“And now it’s too late,” Fenris said matter-of-factly and shrugged.

“Why is it too late?” Hawke asked.

“I’m a grown man, an ex-slave with no money, and I’m still not free of Danarius yet,” he replied.

“I don’t know if I would be very good at it, but I could teach you to read,” Hawke offered.

“You would?” Fenris said surprised. “It would mean that I don’t have to rely on others as much. Yes, thank you Hawke. I would like to learn. However, this isn’t why you came by. What is it that Aveline needs?”

“Aveline needs help scouting the Wounded Coast. This isn’t her patrol, but she found out that several guards have recently died on what should have been routine patrols, and she has information about caravans being attacked - yet the Captain does nothing. She’s asked us to help her. Bethany & Varric are meeting us there too.”

“When does she need our help?” Fenris asked.

“Today. Just a little after noon,” Hawke said.

“That doesn’t leave us much time to get changed into our gear. Let me grab something to eat and put my gear on, and I’ll meet you in Lowtown just in front of the Hanged Man,” Fenris said.

“Sounds like a plan,” Hawke said.

“And later we can discuss when might be a good time for some reading lessons,” Fenris said.

~

The investigation turned out to include very little fact finding, and a tremendous amount of fighting. A large group had lay in wait to ambush a caravan, but instead found themselves ambushing Hawke and her companions.

“Varric, are you feeling a bit under the weather?” Hawke shouted as she swung her great sword in a wide arc, knocking back two raiders.

“Come again, Hawke?” Varric asked.

“You just seem to be moving a bit slower is all,” Hawke shouted, turning and giving him a grin after she felled another raider.

“Haha, is that what you think? I’ve gotten five already, how about you Hawke? Last I counted you had three,” Varric said, firing another round.

“That last one was four,” Hawke said, rushing at a group that was getting too close to Bethany. “Five …. Six,” Hawke panted.

“Seriously?” Aveline shouted.

“Ah come on, Aveline. Nothing wrong with a little friendly competition,” Varric said.

“You say that now. You won’t be enjoying yourselves as much when you start counting the number that I’ve taken down,” Aveline shot back.

“Hahaha,” Varric laughed.

“I just got another!” Bethany shouted with joy. “I’ve gotten three!”

“Nicely done Sunshine,” Varric said.

As light as their banter was however, the situation was grim. They were heavily outnumbered and the raiders were well trained and well-armed. The fight began in Hawke’s favor but they quickly lost any advantage they had over them. Fernis ripped out hearts as often as he could, but it significantly drained him. Bethany’s mana reserves were running low, and the raiders still had a number of expertly skilled archers. Hawke took them out one by one, until the numbers were even and the remaining raiders retreated. The group was too exhausted and banged up to give chase.

“Sunshine!” Varric yelled as the dust settled and the group began inspecting their condition.

“I’m … alright,” Bethany said, panting, bleeding, and using her staff as a crutch.

“Bethany!” Hawke yelled, and rushed to her side. Bethany had a sizable wound in her left side. They bandaged it as best as they could, which was in fact quite poorly.

“Let’s see what the Captain has to say about this!” Aveline shouted in rage as they rushed back to the city. Fenris carried Bethany to Anders’ clinic in Darktown.

“How are you doing Bethany?” Hawke asked.

“I’ll be fine Charlie, really. Well, at least after Anders has patched me up,” Bethany said.

“I’m sorry. I should be have drawn them away from you sooner,” Fenris said.

“Thanks Fenris, but it’s not your fault. I let myself get distracted,” she said.

They hurried into Anders’ clinic and Fenris laid her down on one of the open cots. “Where’s Anders?” Hawke asked one of the nurses.

“He said he needed to gather some more herbs. But that was some time ago. I’m sure he’ll be back very soon,” she said.

“Hawke, you’re bleeding,” Fenris said looking at blood dripping from her arm.

“It’s nothing serious,” Hawke said. “A bandage and I’ll be all good to go.” Fenris helped Hawke unhook the armor on her right arm so the wound could be dressed.

“Sis, how did you get injured?” Bethany asked, wincing. The nurse had already began taking a look at the wound in her side.

“One of those archers was a damned sniper,” Hawke said. “He managed to find a sliver of an opening in my armor.”

“Aveline. Hawke …” Anders said as he entered the clinic. “Are you hurt?”

“I’ll be fine. Bethany is the one who needs your attention,” Hawke said.

Anders set down his basket and moved quickly to Bethany’s cot. Aveline marched off to confront the Captain about her findings, while Hawke & Fenris waited. It took some time to fully attend to Bethany’s wound. It was worse than Bethany had led them to believe. Anders nearly collapsed when he was finished.

“Anders, are you alright?” Hawke said, catching him before he fell to the ground, and wincing from the pain in her arm.

“Hawke, you’re hurt too,” he said.

“I’ll be fine. You rest easy. I can come by tomorrow,” Hawke said.

“No.” Anders said firmly and began tending to the arrow wound in her right arm. “We can’t risk it getting infected, and this I can address with minimal magic.”

“How ya doing Sunshine?” Varric asked, leaning over Bethany.

“Much better now. Thank you, Anders,” Bethany said, slowly sitting up. Anders didn’t seem to hear her. He was too absorbed in stitching up Hawke’s arm.

“I think I need a drink after that fight,” Varric said.

“Me too,” Hawke agreed, wincing as Anders finished up with her arm.

“Me three,” Fenris added, never taking his eyes off Anders.

“Bethany should stay the night here,” Anders said. “She’s not healed enough to move yet, and I need to keep an eye on that wound.”

“Alright,” Hawke said with a sigh. “Guess we’re spending the night here.” Anders startled slightly at Hawke’s words, surprised to hear that Hawke was planning on staying too.

“Sis, you don’t need to stay. I’ll be alright,” Bethany said.

“Bethany, I am not leaving you here by yourself. It’s not safe,” Hawke said.

“Anders is good in a fight. And I’m not dead. We can protect ourselves if we need to,” she said. Bethany was eager for the alone time with Anders. Particularly the idea of sleeping in close proximity to him.

“Bethany, I would never forgive myself if the templars came for you or if a band of thugs decided to pay the clinic a visit. It’s just one night, I’ll manage, even if I have to sleep on the ground,” Hawke said.

“Then …,” Anders cleared his throat. “It’s decided. I’ll find some more blankets and I’ll get the stew going.”

“Don’t worry about feeding me,” Hawke said. “I’m going to grab some food at the Hanged Man with these guys, but I’ll be back before nightfall.”

Varric & Fenris started to head out while Hawke was finishing saying good-bye to her sister.

“What’s with the extra broody look, elf?” Varric asked.

“It’s nothing, dwarf,” Fenris spat.

“Let’s get that drink!” Hawke said walking up behind them, and putting one hand on each of their shoulders.

~

“So, roughing it in Darktown for the night Hawke?” Varric asked. “I do not envy you. That stench.”

“Yeah. It’ll take me days to get the smell out of my hair,” Hawke said, taking her hair down. The fight had already royally tangled it. Half of it was still in a bun, and the other half seemed to be doing whatever the hell it pleased. Her hair fell to just above her waist when she had finished wrangling it all free of the tattered, leather tie.

“Anders has managed to defend himself and evade the templars this long, I’m sure that Bethany will be safe for one night at the clinic,” Fenris said.

“I can’t take that risk. If anything happened to her, mother would never forgive me. I would never forgive me,” Hawke said. She finally picked up her mug and took a good long sip.

“You know, I think Sunshine was hoping for some alone time with Anders,” Varric said.

“What?!” Hawke spewed her beer all over the table.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how she looks at him, and how much time she spends with him?” Varric said.

“He’s just a mentor! A fellow mage,” Hawke said.

“You know Hawke, I’m a little surprised that you don’t approve. Could it be that you‘re jealous?” Varric said raising one eye brow.

 “Varric. What is with this barrage of assaults?” Hawke asked, still coughing beer out of her lungs. “I don’t think of Anders like that. And as for Bethany, I just.” Hawke starred wide eyed at the bottom of her empty mug. Anders seemed like a great guy, but he was possessed. She wanted better for her sister.

“No one will ever be good enough for her, eh?” Varric asked.

“Something like that,” Hawke said. “Ugh, I’m going to need more beer if I’m going to get through the night with Bethany fawning over Anders. Shit. Thanks Varric,” Hawke said sarcastically, with an extra dose of venom.

“Haha, don’t shoot the messenger kid. I’m pretty sure everyone else knows, except possibly Anders himself. I can never tell with him,” Varric said.

“The fool is clueless,” Fenris said into his mug.

“So Hawke, you’ve never told me if you left any lovers back in Fereldan,” Varric said. Hawke just barely managed to keep herself from spitting out her beer this time.

“Lovers?! Hahaha,” Hawke laughed. “Oh Maker no!” Hawke howled with laughter.

“None, at all?” Varric asked.

“What, in my whole life? Sure, there have been a few guys.  But it’s been ages. Years. Andraste’s holy knickers, how long has it been??!” Asked out loud.

“You’re an attractive woman Hawke. Why so few lovers? Just can’t find any that hold up to your standards?” Varric asked.

“Hm. I supposed that’s part of it. Most of it is simply how incredibly awkward I am around men, at least in the romantic sense. I’ve been told that it’s painful to watch me try to flirt. And when someone tries to flirt with me? Haha. I just blaze forward in the conversation, racing right past the flirt or the compliment, completely ignoring it. Beyond that, most men aren’t interested in a woman who can wield a great sword. Maybe for a night of two. And that was fun when I was younger, but that lifestyle just isn’t me,” Hawke said and took another sip. “Bethany has always been the one to attract attention, real suitors I mean. She knows … she knows how to talk to men. She knows how to flirt, and how to wear dresses. She understands make-up and perfume, and how to do fancy things with her hair.”

“Haha, talking to men is easy Hawke. And so is wearing dresses, as I understand it. But there must be some men out there. Look at Aveline and Wesley,” Varric said.

“I’m sure there are some out there. I just haven’t found any, I guess. I’ve only been in a few relationships, and the last one was a few years ago. But they all end the same way. They feel like we are in a ’who-is-the-strongest’ competition. Who is the toughest. Until eventually everything is a contest and a challenge, and you can never show any weakness. The first sign of weakness and they say that it was inevitable because you’re a woman. But the first time they show weakness, they make up some excuse. When it shouldn’t matter all. I shouldn’t have to compete. I shouldn’t have to hide my vulnerability, nor should they. But that’s never how it goes. I don’t want or need to be the strongest, but I won’t allow anyone to belittle or dismiss me either,” Hawke said. “But I was also much younger then, and so were they.” Hawke sighed and finished another mug.

“Cheer up, buttercup. I’m sure the right guy will come along and sweep you off your feet before you know it,” Varric said.

“Thanks Varric, but I’m not in a hurry. I’m doing fine on my own,” Hawke said. She peered up at one of the five, tiny windows in the tavern. It was getting dark outside. “Ugggh, it’s getting late,” Hawke bemoaned, laying her head down on the table.

“Sure is Hawke. One more round before you head off?” Varric asked.

“I should say no,” Hawke said. “But that would be no fun.”

“Haha, that’s my girl,” Varric said and ordered another round for the three of them. Hawke stumbled out of the Hanged Man and made her way through Lowtown all the way to Darktown, and only got lost a few times.

“What about you Fenris? Any tales of forbidden love? You must have left a whole slew of broken hearts back in Tevinter,” Varric said.

“No Varric. Though you are right, any relationship would have been forbidden. Some masters do allow their slaves to marry and have a family, but that is mostly only because it is a great way to secure new slaves. It is cheaper, though, much slower,” Fenris said. “And many masters aren’t willing to risk the divided loyalties that having a family often causes.”

“So you’ve never …” Varric said.

“Even if I had wanted to and had been bold enough to try, my markings would make it … difficult,” Fenris said.

“So your markings, they hurt whenever they’re touched?” Varric asked.

“Not as much as they once did, but yes,” Fenris said.

“Now I can understand why you don’t like hugs. But, does that mean …” Varric asked.

“You’re asking if I’ve ever had sex, because lacking sexual experience is typically considered a weakness for those of the male gender,” Fenris said.

“Actually, I was just curious. Personally I can’t imagine going that long without, you know,” Varric said.

“It’s true I’ve never been with anyone, but that does not mean that I don’t have experience. But it is not a pleasant story, so perhaps we should discuss it some other time,” Fenris said.

“Fair enough,” Varric said.

~

“Hawke,” Anders said as she stumbled into the clinic.

“I take it you had a good time hanging out with Varric,” he said as he grabbed her arm to help her steady her feet.

“Indeed,” Hawke said, pointing her finger in the air very affirmatively.

“We just started a round of Diamond Back. Want to join?” Anders asked.

“Charlie, you’re back,” Bethany said. Hawke now noticed the slight disappointment in her voice. But what could she do? She still couldn’t leave Bethany there by herself.

“Sure, I’ll join in,” Hawke said.

“Anders is teaching me,” Bethany said.

Hawke passed out shortly after they started playing. Anders gently carried her over to a nearby cot, and pulled some blankets over her.

“She should have taken off more of her armor,” Bethany said. “She’s going to have bruises in the morning. Although, I think the hangover is going to bother her more.”

Sure enough, the next morning Hawke was sore all over. One, because of the nasty fight they had been in the day before. Two, from falling asleep in most of her armor. And three, from the massive hangover she had.

“Hawke, here. Try this. It should help with the aches and pain a bit,” Anders said, handing her a small bowl and piece of bread.

“Anders?” Hawke asked, confused for a moment. She had forgotten where she was, but she took the bowl and bread. “It’s barely daybreak. When did you get up to cook?”

“Not too long ago,” Anders said.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Hawke asked groggily.

“Huh, yeah. Downside about Justice. It makes sleeping difficult sometimes. How are you feeling? You were pretty drunk when you came back,” Anders laughed.

“I feel …” she paused for a long time. “I feel shitty,” she finally said. She felt like shit. Shit beaten to a bloody pulp.

“How is your arm? Any pain?” he asked.

“Yeah, it aches a little. But my whole body does at the moment. … Fuck,” she cursed under her breathe. “That was a rough fight yesterday.”

“Here. Let me heal it,” Anders said. He removed some of her armor, and pulled back the bandages.

“You should save your strength for Bethany,” Hawke said.

“Don’t worry about me Hawke,” Anders said with a soft smile. A few minutes later, Hawke’s arm was completely healed. Still tender, but healed.

“Thank you Anders. Thank you for everything you’ve done for Bethany, and for me. Not just today. I don’t know what we would do without you,” she said.

“Of course Hawke,” Anders said. “Anything –”

“Ow,” Bethany exclaimed, cutting Anders off.

“Bethany, are you ok?” Hawke said, standing up slowly. But she sat back down when everything started spinning.

“Don’t try to move yet,” Anders instructed Bethany. “Let me take a look at the wound.”

After they had eaten some breakfast, Anders applied some more magical healing to Bethany’s wound, and replaced her bandages. He gave her a draught to take three times a day for the next few days, and wrote the directions down for Hawke, just in case.

“I wish there was a way to magically send a message to someone instantaneously, instead of having to send birds or runners,” Hawke said. “I’d have Fenris come and help me carry Bethany back to the house.” Momentarily forgetting that Fenris couldn’t read the note, even if she could get one to him in time.

“I can carry her,” Anders said.

“No Anders,” Hawke said.

“Hawke, I might be a mage but that doesn’t mean that I’m not strong,” he replied, clearly hurt.

“Anders, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you of being weak. I know that feeling all too well. I … I wasn’t trying to imply that you couldn’t do it. I just meant that you’re not at full strength after doing so much healing for Bethany and I,” Hawke said.

But he could and he did carry Bethany back to Gamlen’s house in Lowtown. Hawke followed, dragging her feet and cursing the sunlight.

“Oh Bethany!” Leandra exclaimed when they returned. “I was so worried when you two didn’t return last night! Oh Bethany, my poor dear.”

“I’m ok mother, please don’t worry,” Bethany said.

“Hello Mrs. Hawke,” Anders said before laying Bethany down in her bed.

“Charlie, what happened?” Leandra demanded.

“We were helping Aveline scout the Wounded Coast. There was a group of raiders targeting caravans. Their numbers were much larger than we had anticipated, and they had some very skilled archers among them. We took care of them, but it was a rough fight to be sure,” Charlie explained.

“And you, what’s wrong with you? Are you drunk? Hungover? While your sister lies wounded?!” Leandra scolded.

“Anders is taking care of her mother. There is nothing else I could have done for her,” Charlie sulked, and headed into their bedroom. “Thank you again Anders. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to repay you. But for now, I … I’m going to lay down,” she said, and closed the bedroom door behind her.

“Those girls are going to be the death of me,” Leandra said.

“Hawke took good care of Bethany, I assure you. She was injured too, though not as badly. Bethany will be right as rain in a few days,” Anders said.

“Thank you Anders. Oh maker, what would my girls do without such a handsome healer?” Leandra said. Anders laughed softly.

“They would surely perish without my good devilish good looks,” he said, and let himself out.

________________________________________________________

This fanfic is based on the amazing Dragon Age games, specifically focusing on the DA2 game. Thank you EA/BIOWARE for such amazing games & characters!

I’m new to tumblr, so please bear with me as I figure out the best formatting.

[stereksummerexchange]

Fixer-Upper

Clotpolesonly - A bit of a throwback fic! I tried to put in stuff you mentioned enjoying, so fingers crossed it hits the spot :)

by @troubleiwant 

Explicit - no warnings

Post-S2 divergence with no Alpha Pack and nobody dead, just rebuilding the Hale House and with a little bit of pining and maybe some kissing! Also, minor Lydia/Stiles and Erica/Stiles friendships

Stiles scrubs a hand through his spiky-short hair. It needs a trim, but fuck it. Summer means he doesn’t have to worry about shit like that. He’s beyond glad to be done with the year, not least because he was getting sick of the wary looks cast his way on account of the damage Gerard’s beating had left on his face. The split lip is long healed by now, but the bruise across his cheekbone is still a tender reminder, reflected in the bathroom mirror and in the gentle tone his dad takes with him at breakfast.

It’s not so bad, though, Stiles thinks sternly at himself. So he got knocked around, so Boyd and Erica were tortured, so Jackson almost died. Nobody’s actually got killed, except for Matt, who deserved it, and…. and what is his life that that’s supposed to be a reassurance? No, Stiles corrects himself. Things are not great in ye olde Beacon HIlls. Not great at all. They’re supposed to be enjoying a carefree break like the kids they are, but instead there’s so much bad blood lingering around town that you could drown in it.

Even Scott, usually so optimistic about everything, has been knocked down a few pegs what with the breakup with Allison in the wake of her realizing how shitty her hunter family really was. He’s taking singledom a little better than Stiles though he might, honestly, but that means he’s alternating between calm assurance that he and Allison will get back together in the end, and weirdly obsessive focus on a tattoo he wants. Stiles is glad he has goals besides winning her back, but he isn’t at all excited about the specifics. Needles, man. Ugh. He’s not sure what kind of emotional pain a dude needs to be in to think that’s a good idea.

The Hale pack seems equally adrift after the events of the school year. Derek isn’t talking to Scott, on account of the whole “using you as a key element of a plan that I kind of forgot to tell you existed whoops” and new beta Jackson would try the patience of a saint, which Derek certainly is not. On top of that, Erica is handling the trauma of her kidnapping the same way she’d dealt with her frustrations about being bullied when she was first turned - with sex.

She’s flirty with Stiles, who does his best to ignore it, and with Isaac, who doesn’t quite understand that it’s only teasing. Apparently she even kissed Derek at training one day, according Boyd. Fuck if that isn’t a surreal (and, okay, kind of hot) thought. Wost, she keeps hitting on Jackson just to rile Lydia, who takes it just about as well as you’d expect. Isaac, hung up on Erica and already feeling pushed aside with Jackson’s entrance into the pack, takes it worse than that.

Add in all the normal hormonal disagreements between a bunch of teenagers trying to live together in an old abandoned house, and the Hale pack is basically a powderkeg.

All the same, the Hale house is where Stiles is heading now, tromping through the forest because the Jeep is in the shop yet again. He tries to spend a good amount of time here, half to keep them from tearing themselves apart and half because Scott is going to need all the allies he can get. If the awfulness with Gerard showed them anything, it’s that supernatural folks need to stick together. Scott is certainly not in a place to appeal to Derek’s good graces, for the time being, so Stiles’ efforts will have to do.

At least the task almost takes his mind off of Lydia. She and Jackson have been some version of “together” for years, sure, but Jackson’s always been such an ass it was easy for Stiles to tell himself their relationship was unhealthy and he needed to save Lydia from it (and then claim her for his deserving self, obviously). Now, that fantasy doesn’t quite fly. Like, epic healing transformations and a possible resurrection because of her declaration of love? Yeah, all that pretty much put him out of the “one true love” running. It’s strangely painful to realize that Lydia’s relationship is not and maybe never was an obstacle to overcome on his quest to win her heart. In the meantime, Jackson isn’t making things any easier by actively, visibly trying to be better. Stiles can’t even hate the guy properly.

Then again, maybe Jackson trying is mostly because Derek would rip his throat out if he wasn’t. Derek, Stiles thinks, could convince anyone to behave through some combo of those fangs and those cheekbones. Or eyes. Or his perfectly symmetrical scruff. Theres alot going on with his face that could be used for positive reinforcement, basically. Beacon Hills has way too many hot people, but Derek’s up there with Lydia in terms of blinding perfection…. and Stiles has just about the same shot with both of them, which is zero.

Scott has sympathy for Stiles’ perpetual loner-hood, but it seems focused on the sexual aspect. His best friend actually had his lady love before he lost her. “Had” in every sense of the word. He talks about their love life in generalities out of respect, but the mere idea of sex gets him all starry eyed. Which, okay, Stiles would be totally down to cash that v-card and join the adult club already, but that isn’t why he wanted Lydia. He’s not exactly sure why he did want her, really. Maybe it had been primarily about, like, getting something right. Winning a prize, proving he was worthwhile.

Whatever it was, he thinks sourly, it isn’t happening now.

“Hey,” says a voice right at his ear.

Stiles yelps and flails, and Erica shoots him an odd look as she comes up in front of him up on the path.

“Didn’t you hear me catching up?” she asks.

“No! Fuck!” Stiles presses a hand to his chest, willing his heart to calm down. “We are not all supernatural. Did Lydia tell you I was coming?”

Erica gives him a sultry smile. “I’m a wolf, Batman. I could smell you.”

“Great, yeah, that’s not creepy at all,” Stiles mutters

“Oh, let it go already,” she snips, suddenly dropping the sex-kitten act for a much more natural, sisterly irritation. “Look, Derek is being insane, it’s just train train train over here. I’m dying. We’re all dying. Also, Jackson is ignoring me, and Lydia is being a total bitch. Even more than Isaac, which is saying something.”

“Totally unrelated to how you you keep riling him up with innuendo and then looking at him like he’s grown a third head when he tries to flirt back?”

She pouts, but doesn’t deny it. “You need to fix things.”

Stiles snorts. “What can I fix?”

“I don’t know, less training would be a great start. Derek likes you. Get him to calm down.”

“Derek does not like me,” Stiles corrects as they come up to the old house. It’s partially renovated, or at least there are tarps over the worst of the holes. They literally live like animals, hand to God. Where are their parents? he wonders, not for the first time.

Derek wrenches the door open as Stiles and Erica step onto the porch. He’s already scowling because, like Erica, he must have smelled Stiles from a mile away. What an uncomfortable thought. What does he smell like, anyways? Stiles wonders. Would it be weird to ask Scott?

“What’s he doing here?” Derek barks, pointing at Stiles. “It’s time for the pack’s training, you know that. He’s human, he can’t fight.”

Stiles shoots a significant look at Erica. “Wow, thanks for the warm welcome, but I have no intention of intruding. I’m here to hang out with Lydia while you wolves do your whole Battle Royale thing.”

“Fine,” Derek seethes after a moment of weighing silence. “Boyd! Jackson! Training!” He yells as he brushes by Stiles to head to the yard. The point of contact on Stiles’ shoulder seems to buzz. He looks back and finds that Derek’s refocused on him, gazing steadily with those light colored eyes. Hazel? Green? Stiles’ heartbeat ticks up, and not only in fear. “Keep out of my things,” the Alpha growls.

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” Stiles quips. He lets himself into the house as Boyd and Jackson tromp out, looking as if they had at least three puppies that Derek has just run over with his car.

Stiles finds Lydia is in the living room. She’s the cleanest thing there by a wide enough stretch that she looks out of place reclining on the newest couch, feet crossed at the ankle and an Elle magazine in her hands.

“Hi, Stiles,” she says without looking up.

“Yo,” he answers. “So, what’s crawled up Derek’s ass today?”

Lydia shrugs, and sets her magazine down with a sigh. “Same thing as always. Hunter stuff, Scott not trusting him stuff, being used like a pawn for the upteenth time. But his obsessive training schedule is cutting into Jackson and my Notebook time. Plus he needs to take a firmer hand with Erica,” she adds darkly. “Somebody needs to tell her that her tits aren’t the best solution to wanting attention.”

Stiles doesn’t point out that Lydia might be both the worst and best bearer of that little piece of advice. “Why do people keep asking me to help?” he grouches instead. “I don’t know what makes Derek tick. What am I supposed to do about fixing his issues?”

“I think we need to get Allison and Derek together.”

“What? No, fuck! That’s an awful idea!” Stiles sputters. Scott would kill him, for starters, and the idea of Derek in a relationship is… its weird is all.

“Not like that!” Lydia snaps. “I just mean we need them to be friendly. Allison should apologize for the misunderstanding about her mother, but Derek needs to learn that not all hunters are monsters. He knows I’m best friends with her, and it’s making him treat me like a probationary member of this pack. I don’t like it. Plus, once Allison and Derek make up, you know Scott will follow their lead and come make nice, too. One happy pack against whatever thing comes for us next.”

“That’s… actually kind of a good plan,” Stiles admits.

“I know,” Lydia tosses out. “So, I’ll work on Allison. You get Derek to agree to a meeting.”

“Why does everyone think I have some special power over Derek!” Stiles demands. “He doesn’t even like me!”

“Don’t make me explain everything,” Lydia huffs with a roll of her eyes.

**

Okay, so, Stiles might be in a little bit of “doth protest too much” denial about Derek liking him. There’s some mutual texting (who knew Derek actually understood modern technology!) and Stiles gets away with jokes at Derek’s expense that nobody else would even try to voice. They actually do, in their way, get along. Or so Stiles thinks on his good days.

Then again, the last thing Stiles wants to do is overstate the situation. He’s still trying to get over Lydia, God damn it, and an impossible crush on the not-so-friendly neighborhood Alpha is honestly the last thing he needs. Derek probably puts up with Stiles because they’re both misanthropes who expect the worst in people, and because Stiles is interested in his knowledge and expertise while none of the other teens seem to have time for anything but interpersonal drama and like, lacrosse. The reasons Stiles puts up with Derek include those things… but also how Derek dips his chin when he smiles, and his sense of humor.

Whatever, fine, he just needs to remember that Derek doesn’t feel the same way.

Still, Lydia’s right that it’s only a matter of time before something else comes for their fractured pack, and Stiles has a responsibility to get Derek on board with the “Allison and by extension Scott are ok people who can be trusted” idea. For that, he needs to spend time with Derek, make himself useful. Not really a forte of his, unfortunately, he thinks with a wince.

Enter the Hale House Renovation Project. Derek clearly doesn’t need any help drilling his pack with fighting technique, or with pack lore. Home improvement, however? He’s quite obviously a novice, while weekend warrioring is right up Stiles’s alley. Growing up with just him and his busy dad in the house it had often fallen to him to take care of stuff, so he’s surprisingly handy. He knows how to find a stud and do some basic wiring, anyways. For the rest, well, he researches the hell out of it. Nobody’s ever accused him of doing things half-heartedly.

Or, well, maybe with schoolwork. Or lacrosse. But not, Stiles thinks with a very small pang, things that he actually cares about. Things like Derek, apparently.

So, the next time he’s hanging around with Lyda after a training session and Derek snarls at his latest project going awry, Stiles is able to pop up and, oh so casually, explain that he really needs a staple-gun if he expects to get that insulation to stay put between the studs.

Derek says, “thank you,” in a distinctly icy tone, and then ignores Stiles’ advice. Of course he does. Stiles has no idea why he’s surprised; what in his past experience would make him think Derek had any idea how to accept help?

Not to be deterred, he starts to just buy the tools and supplies that will be needed and leaves the stuff on surfaces where it’s easy to find, just sitting innocently by and waiting to be useful. Even Derek’s pride can only hold out so long he figures.

And lo and behold, one day the supplies that had been left aside start to go missing… just as parts of the house miraculously start improving. After a week of that, Derek offhandedly asks the room at large about what kind of switchplates should be used for the light switches downstairs, and Stiles is the one who answers. Derek just grunts and nods, like the answer came to him from on high. But still, after that, Stiles is tacitly accepted as the home improvement guru.

It starts to be almost a routine, their little home improvement powwows. After training, the baby betas all run off to do whatever the fuck it is they do, leaving and just Stiles and Derek to putter around the house. The training starts to get shorter as Derek’s attention turns to the frankly massive amount of work to be done; Erica mouths “I owe you one” at Stiles that Thursday, and he sticks out his tongue.

It’s a serious project. The bones of the house are there, but not much else in some rooms. They need insulation, drywall, wiring, paint… everything. It’s daunting, and Stiles considers once or twice just asking Derek if it wouldn’t be easier to start over fresh on a different chunk of land, or maybe to just buy a place downtown. But he always stops himself. Clearly rebuilding is important to Derek, or he wouldn’t be trying to damn hard.

Derek’s werewolf strength is a boon with the more physical tasks, like hanging the drywall, so the improvements go quickly over the next couple months. Stiles jokes around as they work, not sure how to bring up Allison and the hunters no matter how many times Lydia prods him about his progress. He hasn’t forgotten his real purpose helping Derek out, he just… kind of wishes he could. It’s unexpectedly fun to just hang out with Derek one on one.

Derek teases him about his terrible taste in junk food, but buys the stuff anyways. He spends a full afternoon bitching that the pack doesn’t need a TV, but caves in the end and brings home the largest one that Stiles had picked out - half as a joke. He goes with Stiles’ suggestions on fucking curtain colors. Well, shit. Stiles really can’t deny that he’s replaced one stupid impossible crush with another one.

Still, it’s not the end of the world, he tells himself morosely. Lydia is a great friend now, right? So maybe in eight years or so can expect that with Derek, too. Maybe some day his soft laugh when Stiles amuses him won’t send his heart pounding, maybe he’ll learn to be unaffected by his intense way of focusing on a problem, the bright crinkled-eyed smile reserved for when he’s truly happy. Sure. A likely story.

Finally, the house is done. While the project of getting Derek to accept Allison’s apology (of course Lydia got her side of things done) isn’t really making progress, Stiles thinks that his own side quest has done some good. Derek is calmer now, with his home base properly restored, which means less training and happier puppies. It also means that Derek has the patience to tell Erica to leave Isaac alone, and to actually praise the kid enough he stops looking like he’d knife Jackson to get some attention. Erica and Boyd of all people are the ones who start to date; the one person she never hit on was apparently the one person she actually gets blushy and flustered with. Things are actually good, Stiles thinks on particularly nice afternoon. Not just “nobody is actively bleeding” good, but honestly relaxed and happy.

Erica and Boyd are out on a date, Jackson and Lydia are upstairs decorating his bedroom to her tastes. Isaac is playing videogames on the huge TV in the den, and Stiles and Derek are in the kitchen making lunch, Derek listening in to Jackson and Lydia’s arguments and relaying the juicy bits to Stiles. Bits like “Erica agrees with me,” for example, a phrase he’d never imagine Lydia of two weeks ago voicing.

“Well, well, seems like your pack’s all finally getting along,” Stiles says to Derek, teasing. And then he can’t help himself. “Seriously, you’re a really good Alpha.”

Derek gives him a wince of a smile, ducking his chin. “Don’t know if I am. Certainly wasn’t last year.”

“Hey,” Stiles says, not willing to let the tentative moment of trust pass unmarked. He reaches out to tip Derek’s face up and look him in the eye. “You were doing your best.”

“Thank you,” Derek says, honest and warm. For a moment afterwards they just look at each other, sitting so close on the couch that Stiles can feel Derek’s body heat. It feels like a moment ripe with potential, but Stiles isn’t sure, can’t let himself think it… until, yes, Derek leans in, eyes dropping shut, and kisses him.

Stiles kisses back, heart thundering in his ears. It’s sweet and almost chaste, perfect. Derek scoops Stiles up and sits him on the kitchen counter for a better angle, runs his hands through Stiles’ hair and then nuzzles their noses together with a cute little smile.

The moment is perfection, which of course means Stiles has to ruin it. “So uh, wow! Are we like, boyfriends, then?” he blurts.

Derek gives him his crinkle-eyed smile, and tries to sound irritated when he says, “Yes, Stiles, we’re like, boyfriends.” He doesn’t sound irritated, though. He sounds impossibly fond.

“That means you trust me, right?” Stiles asks, looking down and picking at Derek’s tee-shirt nervously.

“I do,” Derek says with such a calm surety that Stiles looks up and meets his eyes again. Derek looks back, even and open.

“You should meet with Allison,” Stiles says gently. “She gets that she fucked up, okay? Lydia’s told you that she wants to say sorry, and you… you deserve to hear that. So, just give her a shot. Alright?”

Derek’s face has gone tense at Stiles suggestion, but he doesn’t shoot it down right away, which Stiles is willing to consider a victory. “I’ll listen,” he says finally. “If she’s really going to apologize for what happened with Boyd and Erica, and if you think it’s a good idea, then… okay. I’ll do it.”

Stiles takes Derek’s face in both palms and kisses him soundly. It feels like the start of something good in Beacon Hills.

**

(+ small coda with Allison and ace!Derek to come this weekend!)

[tinalostgirl]

owenepierce​:

PRIVATE

I think I can speak on this situation ‘cause I’ve been through something similar. Not with Ryder. He and I don’t really talk, but with other “higher” marks. For the most part, they all kind of think it’s their job to step in and mediate an argument between submissives…when it’s like, we’re grown adults just like they are - and we’re just as capable of talking through disagreements. We don’t need people stepping in and sending us off to time-out. I even had an argument with a Dom once, and I made it through just fine without anyone interjecting. There was no punishment, and things sorted themselves out. That’s what should’ve been allowed to happen with you and Archer and I’m really, really sorry you two weren’t given the chance.

PRIVATE

Yeah, I don’t get that part. They preach how we’re all equal but then Dominants treat submissives like children who can’t handle themselves. I hate that most of all. Like I don’t need nosy ass people butting into my business. It’s cool. I mean, it’s not cool, but it is what it is. Thanks, Britney stan. 

PM: I'm sure you're like super fed up with getting messages like this, but I'm really sorry for everything you're going through. I wish there was something I could do. Ryder's being a total butt. If you need to talk or anything, I'm here. I know you probably have people for that but...I just wanted to offer anyway. ♡

PRIVATE

I’m not fed up, but I am tired. But not of you or anyone of the rad people that’s been reaching out to me. Cause I think it’s super nice of you. I’m just tired of this whole situation. I literally don’t want anything but for him to just stop. I’ll even do the punishment. Just anything for him to leave me alone, you know? 

[phenyxsnest]

Robbie the Reluctant Role Model

Based on a request for Robbie/twin interactions with Robbie as the world’s most reluctant role model.

On AO3 // On FF.net

Robbie Valentino and the Pines family had a somewhat complicated relationship.

They could stand each other, which was an improvement, but there was baggage on both sides.

So in general, they avoided each other. Or at least, Robbie avoided the sister, since the brother wasn't exactly...around all the time. He'd never admit it, but a lot of that was guilt, for how he and Dipper had felt about each other while Dipper had been...had been human.

Until Wendy read him the riot act.

That wouldn't have been enough except, well, Wendy was right, and he was treating the currently sixteen year old Mabel a lot like the people back in Piedmont had, and it took about five seconds of watching her after Wendy had yanked his head back out of his ass to realize it hurt the kid.

And maybe Robbie felt just a little bit guilty. Fine, the kids had been, well, kids when all the personal biz went down, and he was being silly for holding a grudge. Mabel had always been kind of okay, if a bit too loud and rainbow for him. And she'd really gone out of her way to set him up with Tambry...

Ugh. Growing up was the worst. He had to, like, care about other people's feelings now. Or at least he had to or be the asshole, and be self aware enough now to realize he was being one.

Wendy was picking the twins up from school – or to be more precise, she was picking Mabel up, and apparently Dipper was joining Mabel outside the gates to ride back with her.

And for some reason, she was dragging Robbie along. Something about “You can't keep avoiding them, man. You're either there for them, and one of us, or you're not, but you can't keep wavering on it like this.”

Robbie sure hoped the others, Nate and Lee and Tambry and Thompson, had gotten the lecture too, or he was...well, he'd probably sulk a bit at least. They weren't exactly being Wendy levels of friendly either, since they were pretty uncomfortable about how to handle Dipper's new status.

Getting better, he guessed, but not really comfortable yet. Mostly because it was so dang hard to talk to the kid now and everything had to go through Mabel, but things were still kind of awkward. Better than the kids had been dealing with back in Piedmont though. At least here, the discomfort was because they couldn't tell where Dipper was or talk to him, not because of what he was now.

Okay, there was a little discomfort over that, but damned if they were going to let the kids see that.

“Ah, man, really?” Wendy said as they pulled up to the school.

Robbie looked over and saw Brad and Carl Corbett, kids he recognized because their older brother had tried to cause trouble for him and Wendy when they were back in school, give Mabel a shove from behind.

Her books fell, and though she was immediately in fighting stance, ready to go, Robbie could see the face she made when the books fell, that on the edge of tears look he'd seen a time or two when they'd all thought her brother was gone but she'd been trying to be strong. That look of someone who's dealt with too much already, and couldn't take much more before she shattered.

Robbie was out of the truck before he realized what he was doing, grabbing the kid who'd shoved Mabel by the back of his shirt.

“Hey, what'ddya think you're doing!” he yelled. The kid kicked out and struggled free, his brother already running for the hills. “Little brats!” Robbie yelled after them, shaking his fist.

“I could've handled them,” Mabel said, a little sullenly, and Robbie shrugged, sticking his hands in his hoodie's pocket.

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, embarrassed at his reaction. Why did he do that?

“Thanks, though,” Mabel said as she gathered up her things. Her head tilted, eyes going faraway in the expression even Robbie had learned meant that she was listening to Dipper. “Stop it, Dipper, I could've taken them.” Another pause, and “I do not take on too much, and you're one to talk anyway, Dippy-cat!”

“Dude, why you calling your bother a cat again?” Wendy asked, walking up to the two humans and invisible demon. “They totally got away, by the way. Sorry. Robbie scared 'em good.”

“Oh, Dippin' Dots is getting all mad 'cuz he doesn't think I could totally have handled them myself, but thanks for doing it Robbie, and Dip's acting like he doesn't hide when he's upset or hurt like a kitty does but he's accusing me of doing it.”

It took effort for Robbie not to smirk, but dammit he was trying to be nice, and Mabel had always been nice to him, even when he was aggravating her brother.

Things being as they were, the friends weren't able to be together as often as they used to – most of them were either off at college or getting ready to go off to college – but they were still making the effort.

Part of it was because they had always been friends, but two large factors remained that kept them in touch where other high school friendships had fallen apart...and theirs might have too without those two things.

The big one being that they'd been there, at Weirdmaggedon, the Transcendence, and if you hadn't been there it was hard to explain what had happened that day, the days leading up to it. Sometimes you just really needed to be with someone who got it, who'd lived through the epicenter of it all.

The other was Mabel and Dipper.

Because those two had given everything to save the world, and well, Wendy had put out the call – the kids needed them. Even with all the problems they'd had with each other, even Robbie had trouble saying no to that.

So they came home on weekends, as often as they could.

They were hanging out now, in the garage where they'd always hung out, when Mabel came in, as perky as usual, stopping all conversation.

Because Mabel wasn't in her usual sweater.

Well, technically she was in a sweater, since it looked like she'd hand knitted her top, but...no one had ever seen Mabel in black before, save that one day when they'd had to have a funeral for Dipper, to lie to the world that he was dead.

Fishnets and layers, thick boots and tights, gloves and blacks and purples and greys, thick makeup covering her face, Mabel looked like an entire Edgy On Purpose store had chewed her up and spit her out.

Mabel posed and did a little spin when she noticed everyone's eyes were on her.

“Mabel. What,” Wendy said flatly.

“I've gone Goth!” Mabel announced proudly.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Wendy said, “But why?”

“Come on, Wendy, I've got a demon brother! I bust cults! What's more Goth than that? Plus, this jewelry is awesome!”

Robbie, who had been sitting and watching silently and with mounting tension, threw up his hands with a cry of frustration. “I can't take it anymore!” he snapped. He marched over to Mabel and grabbed her shoulders, shoving her towards the bathroom.

The air around them turned oppressive, a sign Dipper was upset with Robbie's treatment of his sister, but it was just one more thing, unnoticed as the others tried to stop Robbie before he did something they all regretted.

“Look, kid, it's one thing to be Goth, but you gotta learn how to do the eyeliner right, okay?” Robbie said, shoving Mabel – though pretty gently – in front of the mirror. “Now get that makeup off and let me show you how. You can't just do the whole eye or you'll look like you got in a fight. Tambry, get those videos up, okay? The crazy eye makeup ones, with all the swirls and junk. That's more Mabel's style than plain lining.”

The air lightened considerably as Robbie began lecturing Mabel on makeup and how to apply it properly – along with instructions, like to make sure you got it all off before going to bed or it was just going to make the acne worse, do you wanna ruin your skin? Don't do like I did, come on – and showing her the videos Tambry brought up of fancy makeup tutorials.

From then on, it became almost normal to see Robbie fixing Mabel's makeup, even after she became proficient at it. Fussing with jewelry, working on dyeing hair, or making some kind of accessory.

That, or discussing the new jewelry and accessories on sale at Edgy on Purpose.

They were all pretty sure that the Goth thing wouldn't last – Mabel loved bright colors too much to restrict herself to blacks and purples for long – but for now, well, she and Robbie were both having fun.

Mabel was a full on teenager. They all knew it. And she and Dipper had been tracking down cults for a couple of years now.

Didn't mean those in the know didn't worry about them when they went out.

Possession was hard on Mabel, and it was hard on Dipper, to know what he put his sister through during the possessions.

They were still so young, for all they thought of themselves as being all grown up.

If there was anything both Wendy and Robbie could understand, it was thinking you were an adult while still being a child.

Of course, that didn't mean the Pines twins were happy about it – Mabel in particular had never really wanted to grow up.

Stan taught Mabel to fight, but Wendy and Robbie were the ones to refine it, to teach her how to take advantage of her weight and size.

It helped when Mabel got into fights at school, though those were rarer now that she was in Gravity Falls High, where people were much more used to the supernatural, and most had been there for the Transcendence and, if they hadn't directly been involved, had heard just what Mabel and her brother had done to save their town and the world from parents or older siblings who had been there.

There were just a few utter jerks who still bothered people despite everything else, though they soon quit after Robbie had a little talk with some of them and gave Mabel a few hints at how to deal with the rest and her natural Pines streak took care of what he didn't help with.

Robbie may have grown up, but he was still sarcastic and stubborn, Goth and moody.

In short, he was nobody's role model or big brother figure. Ever. Get away.

But then there was Mabel Pines.

Save her once from some bullies, give her a few tips on makeup, hang out a bit, and suddenly she's all looking up to you and making you feel like you have to live up to some standard she has of you in her head, like you're actually a good person or something.

It was exhausting, and more than once Robbie wanted to tell her to shove off.

But he couldn't seem to do it, and it wasn't because he was scared of her brother. No, really, he wasn't, 'cuz he knew Wendy would stop the kid from retaliating, and so would Mabel.

But...he just couldn't look into those eyes and tell Mabel to get lost.

And more than once, when he was sitting at the Shack, he caught that Great-Uncle of Mabel's watching him, and was just self aware enough to understand when Mr. Pines sent him that understanding glance, like he got the whole thing, that weird need to live up to what they thought of you and being unable to look them in the eye and tell them you were a terrible person.

Though the old man still laughed at him as Mabel dragged him along into some crazy scheme. Stupid old geezer.

[usefulthumbs-blog]

Ice Water In My Veins (Chapter One)

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV

Spoilers: this fic is set post-game, so yes.  Warnings: This chapter has a small reference to self-harm and a suicidal thought. Relationship: promptisluna (Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum/Lunafreya Nox Fleuret) Rating: T Word Count: 1,489 Summary: It’s been a decade since Ardyn captured him, and Prompto thought he was over it. He’s not.  It’s been a long time coming, but he’s finally getting help. (For this fic Noctis is non binary and uses they/them and the title “King,” and Prompto is a trans demiboy and uses he/him.)

This shouldn’t be so hard for him.

He hadn’t—Gods—died like Noct had, or the hundreds when Insomnia fell, or when the darkness overtook them all.  Hadn’t even come that close (wasn’t allowed to, wasn’t allowed to), like Luna.  Hadn’t had much besides scrapes and bruises, still had all his limbs, his head, healed so long ago and it had been ten years goddammit—

Prompto hugged his knees to his chest and watched the way his arms were shaking.   One kind hand on his wrist and his brain had gone well aren’t you a pretty one and now he was here.  In a utility closet. Pathetic.

It’s cute how you think they care, said Ardyn’s voice in his head. They don’t, you know. In case I was being unclear.

“They do,” Prompto said to the stuffy air.  Ardyn chuckled, right beside his ear, and Prompto flinched.  He dug his nails into the side of his calves.  Gladio had slapped him once, when he’d found Prompto doing that, his eyes scared.  Prompto curled his hands into fists instead.  Not as good, without the pain to ground him, but something.

It was the middle of summer, and Prompto knew it was hot, had just been complaining about it, but he couldn’t stop shivering.  He rocked back and forth and tried to breathe past the hammering of his heart.  In count four. Hold. Out count eight. You’ve done this before stop hyperventilating could you be any more self-obsessed—

A howl from outside; Prompto raised his head to look at the sliver of light that crept in around the door and realized that something had been scratching at it for the past several minutes.  He couldn’t move, he couldn’t, but it turned out he didn’t have to: the handle clicked and the door swung open without him, and Pryna bounded in to snuffle at his pants. “Hey there, puffball,” Prompto croaked, and then he was crying.  Pryna shoved her way into his arms and let him bury his face in her fur.  She smelled like dog, not metal or blood or anything else, and her ears were soft beneath Prompto’s fingers.   “You’re a good girl,” he said, smoothing a hand over her flank.  “You knew I was having a bad time, didn’t you? You found me.” He could hear the way he was stuttering between sobs, and his nose and eyes were a streaming mess, but Pryna butted her head up against his chin and settled down in his lap like she was planning on staying for a long time.  “Good girl,” he repeated.  “Good dog.”

“Pryna, honey, you’re acting like you’re worried—oh, Prompto,” someone said, and then Prompto and Pryna were enveloped in Luna’s comforting arms.  “Noctis, she’s right here. Prompto’s crying.”

No, Prompto thought, and shoved at her chest.  Luna pulled back, radiating concern, but Pryna stayed right where she was.  He was grateful for that.   It was easy to hear Noctis approach. They weren’t exactly light on their feet.  Still, the soft touch took Prompto by surprise. He jerked back and hit the corner of a shelf, hard, with his right shoulder.  The spray bottles on it wobbled dangerously.  So maybe a closet wasn’t the most comfortable place for three grown adults and a dog. He thought Noctis was going to say as much, because they made a lunge for the door—but then they closed it.  It seemed darker than before, after the sudden influx of light. Prompto was suddenly hyperaware of everyone’s breathing.  Pryna barked.

“Noctis,” Luna started, exasperated, but her move to re-open the door was cut short when she bumped into what sounded like a bundle of mops.  Noctis threw out a hand to catch them—their joints cracked—and missed, the clatter of them falling against the opposite wall amplified in the tiny space.  One of the handles rapped Prompto on the head.  

“Ow.” “Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to do that.” Noctis tried to settle back and the mops rattled again.  They froze, a hand on Prompto’s knee for balance, and huffed.  “Gimme a moment.” Luna clucked her tongue as they eased themselves down with much grunting and frantic grabs for falling cleaning paraphernalia.  By the time they had found themselves a semi-stable position squashed against Prompto’s side, Prompto had managed to wipe his eyes on the collar of his shirt and catch his breath. There was an awkward silence.

“Figured the dark would make it easier for you to talk to us, but I guess that didn’t work,” Noctis said finally.  Despite himself, Prompto laughed.  He shook his head and pressed his face again into Pryna’s neck. “Nope.” “You don’t have to,” Luna said.  She laid a hand on Prompto’s arm, tentative, asking permission. This time he let her. He wanted to talk to them, but he couldn’t. This was just his own head not letting him go, even though everything was over and done with, and had been, for ages. He couldn’t put that on them.  Prompto took a shaking breath and twisted his hands in Pryna’s fur.  She yipped and tensed up in his lap, and he forced his fingers to lie flat.   “Sorry, girl,” he said.  Pryna liked his cheek.   It was silly, huddled in here with Noct and Luna like they were schoolchildren playing hooky.  Prompto could feel the grit on the floor against his leg where his pants had come untucked.  He felt sticky, tears drying on his cheeks and Pryna’s drool on his hands.   Noctis fumbled for Prompto’s face and shoved a crumpled tissue against it.  “It’s not used,” they assured him.  “Just been in my pocket for a while.”

Luna made a disgusted noise.  “Why am I married to you?” “Because you love me,” Noctis said.  They reached out to flick her and caught Prompto instead.  “Oops. Well, you too.” “Noctis!” Luna pulled Prompto into her chest.  “You’re not an afterthought, Prom.  Noct, stop being mean to him.” “When was I mean?” Noctis tried to crawl into Prompto’s lap and ran up against several pounds of dog.   “Move, doggy,” they said. Pryna didn’t.

“I’m the King, you’re supposed to do what I tell you.” Pryna pushed her muzzle into Prompto’s armpit.

“I can’t believe my throne has been usurped by a dog.”

“Did you mean your actual throne, dear, or just Prompto’s lap?” “What’s the difference?” “I think the Council might be a bit surprised if they walked into the throne room and just found Prompto in a chair.”

“Fuck the Council,” Noctis said.  They nuzzled the side of Prompto’s neck.  “Hey, how are you feeling?” “Better,” Prompto said, and was surprised to find out that it was true.  He scratched the underside of Pryna’s chin and leaned his head on top of Noctis’.  Noct and Luna always did manage to cheer him up, sometimes without him realizing it was happening.  Even when he tried to hide from them.  “I just sometimes…things.” Luna, part of the way through combing Prompto’s hair back, stilled.  “Was it Ardyn again?” How had she—? The air in the closet was thick suddenly, stifling.  Prompto worked a hand between himself and a whining Pryna to press against his ribs.  Over his head he could hear Noctis and Luna talking, alarmed. Noctis moved behind him, wrapping their arms around him, and Luna peppered kisses over the side of his head. “It wasn’t anything you said,” she assured him.  “Listen. You know I can tell what it is, when something’s ailing someone—” “He didn’t get me sick,” Prompto snapped, but that was wrong, because he was. He’d been fine for ten years, and then Ardyn had come back like a nightmare except real, and now he was jumping at shadows.   “Oh, love,” Luna said.  “None of this is your fault.” Pryna was licking his face again, trying to knock him backwards.  Would have, if Noctis hadn’t been there.  They stroked gentle fingers down Prompto’s side. “Prom,” they said, haltingly.  “If you wanted—you know there’s someone that I talk to.” “No!” He couldn’t have the same person who heard all of Noctis’ troubles had to listen to his. They’d hate him for being so weak in comparison. “Someone else then, maybe?” Luna asked.  “You can’t keep locking yourself up in broom closets.  It’s not good for you.” “It’s worked well for me so far,” Prompto said, but he knew she was right.  It felt like an unraveling to admit.  He tilted his head up to kiss Luna, twisted around to kiss Noctis as well.  “I…can think about it?” “Good,” said Luna.  Noctis patted Prompto’s arm.

“You know we’re here for you,” they said. “I know,” Prompto said.  The floor tiles were pressing a pattern into his ass, and he was still stuffed against bottles of cleaning chemicals in a space far too small for everyone it was holding, but at least he had the two of them.  “I know. Thank you.”

Notes: So I have a theory that everything…went into a sort of stasis while Noctis was in the Crystal, and that included Prompto’s healing.  Prompto decided not to deal with it, and everything was so fucked that he didn’t have to.  But now there’s peace and Prompto is happy, and his brain decided it would be a good time to have things surface again. (Title from “Organ Donor” by Jeremy Messersmith)

[orchestratingkitty]

So I’ve been thinking about this a lot. When I first heard Jensen say Destiel doesn’t exist, I was (like most of the Destiel fandom) pretty hurt. I’ve since seen people attack him, people critique him, people defend him, and people applaud him. So I’m gonna go one-by-one through the most common responses I’ve seen in the past couple days and debunk them.

“He’s cute and hot! How could anyone say he’s a homophobe?”

What the fuck does that have to do with anything? Homophobes don’t look a certain way. You could see an ugly homophobe standing next to a hot as hell homophobe and they’d both be homophobes. The way Jensen Ackles looks doesn’t change the way he is on the inside. Good that we got the dumbest thing anyone’s ever said out of the way.

“He has gay friends/family members, so he isn’t homophobic.”

Uh huh. I once had a discussion with a white dude who loved saying the n word. He loved it. It was his favorite word. He claimed that he had a black friend who was cool with him doing it and thus he used it all the time. The dude had a black friend! Maybe more! Does that change the fact that he was racist? Hell no. There’s actual LGBT+ people out there who have internalized homophobia. If gay people can be homophobic, then why would we dismiss the homophobia of a man who just knows gay people?

“Lots of terrible things happen to him at cons. He’s mistreated.”

This is really true. He is groped and sexually harassed (from what I’ve read) at photo-ops and people ask him uncomfortable questions all the time. This is irrelevant, however. Everyone goes through hard things. Everyone. That doesn’t mean they have the right to say stupid, homophobic shit without consequences. The next time you want to argue on behalf of your favorite actor, do him the justice of making it a relevant and sensible argument.

“He was just stating his opinion.”

Yeah, in the rudest way possible. I’d have much preferred if he answered in the way Jared had when asked about Eileen. “Dean doesn’t room for romance right now” would have been a totally acceptable and neutral way of handling the question. You’re not promising anything and you’re not insulting anybody. The way he answered was beyond stating an opinion - it was rude and that is my main problem with it.

“He gets flustered at cons! He’s shy!”

He has done this before. He’s insulted Destiel before - sometimes to the point where he seemed to support Dean and Cas not having any sort of relationship. He’s never apologized. You know who else is shy? Me. And you guys aren’t gonna say “she gets flustered” before sending me hate for saying this about Jensen. No, you’re gonna attack me anyway. I’m barely an adult and he’s a middle-aged man but you’d be fine with ripping me a new one for critiquing his PR skills. That makes sense.

“Destiel is a fanservice ship.”

No, it isn’t. It’s the exact opposite. People ship Destiel because Cas and Dean have practically tangible chemistry and if one of them were a chick, they’d have banged a long time ago. Don’t fight me on this - it’s true. The biggest argument against it being fanservice is the fact that fans aren’t getting anything they want. They get queerbaiting instead. As I’ll discuss later, you cannot compare the average straight ship with a queer ship. They’re not the same. They don’t get canon/debunked for the same reasons. They’re not treated the same by the creators so we as fans can’t lose sight of their differences either. Hello? Homophobia exists? Jesus, you’d think this goes without saying.

“People shouldn’t ask ship related questions anyway.”

I’ve seen this one debunked already, but I feel like it needs to be said more to get into some people’s thick skulls. I guess I agree. The cast is not responsible for deciding where the story will go. They do not decide which ship becomes canon or not and even though they have views of where a character’s mindset is at times, they can’t be the final authority. I honestly couldn’t care less if Jensen is made uncomfortable by these questions, though. Mainly this is because he isn’t uncomfortable with people talking about straight ships or even about Dean fucking his car. Honestly? Getting “flustered” by a question about a queer ship is fucking pathetic. Jensen. You’re a grown ass man. Grow up. You’re not Dean. No one is accusing you of not being a straight man, okay? No need to be so defensive. Your masculinity isn’t being called into question, so you can put away your macho act and be a human being again, okay?

“Destiel doesn’t exist.”

Where? On the show? Maybe not. They are fictional characters, if that’s what you mean. No, it isn’t real. Neither is Dean Winchester. Neither is Castiel. None of it exists, in reality. But in regards to the fictional realm, what Jensen said was stupid because it simply wasn’t true. Destiel does exist. Thousands of fans interpret Cas and Dean’s relationship to be romantic and thus, to some extent, it exists. I wasn’t gonna say anything about queerbaiting, but the amount of unscripted touching between the two on the show should raise eyebrows now if it doesn’t exist. But if it really and truly doesn’t exist then where is all the defensiveness coming from? Why are people wasting their time making anti-blogs about it, if there’s no threat of it becoming canon? Why are people so passionate about hating it if it isn’t real? You guys do all the arguing for me, don’t you?

This isn’t a common argument, but you get this a lot: “Good job, Jensen, for telling those Destihellers off.”

Jensen Ackles, this is a warning. You’re getting yourself associated with the wrong sort. You do not want people to think you’re warming up to them, I promise. It is probably the shittiest PR move you could make, aligning yourself with homophobes. Don’t be proud of what you said. It was rude and cold and you were insulting a lot of the SPNfamily in the process. No one is saying you have to support Destiel, but this is disgusting.

Okay - here it goes (this has to be said):

It’s been five days since Trump was inaugurated into the presidency and he’s already promised to eliminate LGBT+ rights by placing FADA on his list of priorities. Jensen, you shouldn’t have said anything that could be construed as homophobic. Queer kids all over the country are terrified of how they’ll be treated in the future if FADA gets passed. Right now, you should be supporting these kids, helping them trust themselves, helping them feel assured. Instead, you’re bashing what a lot of people like me are clinging to. You can argue I’m just distracting from the argument, but this is relevant. Jensen is American. He knows what’s going on. Within days of Trump’s inauguration (was it two days after? I don’t remember.), he’s put salt on a wound.

It’s rare to find an LGBT+ character on TV who isn’t a goddamn stereotype. Bi and trans characters are especially hard to find. Bi characters are often ridiculously one-dimensional - a bi girl has a threesome, a bi guy is hiding that he’s actually gay. A lot of bi people like me love that Dean (who we interpret to be bisexual) is not a stereotype. He isn’t what straight people look at and think of as “gay” or “bi”. We cling to him because we’re living in a world where even people in the LGBT+ community can be biphobic. And Jensen just spat in our faces.

Speaking of, can all you non-bi or pan LGBT+ folk please stop using that when defending him? As in, please stop saying “as an LGBT+ person, y’all are overreacting”. If you’re not bi, this might not hurt you as much. I’ve seen gay people actually say “Destiel wouldn’t do anything for gay representation”. In actuality, we’re aiming for bi representation and seeing as you’re gay you have no right to say what would or wouldn’t help in terms of representation. I’m bi and I’m not overreacting. Other bi people out there who had their hearts broken aren’t overreacting. Though, as LGBT+, you should be concerned too. This is about a lot more than just a ship, guys. Thanks to homophobia, not all ships are created equal, and straight ships are not the same as queer ones.

I used to watch Gossip Girl when I was in middle school (embarrassing, I know). Every possible combination of straight ships had at some point become canon - even the more far-fetched ones. Every single one. I’ve since started disliking the show, but it is a useful comparison. No one complains when people bring up Dean/Amara (which was canonically nonconsensual) or Dean/Lisa at cons. They’re ships, too! I thought ships weren’t an appropriate topic at cons? Or is it okay because they’re straight? Is it okay because they actually have a shot? The fact that queer ships are clung onto so desperately due to the likelihood of them never coming true is tragic. We shouldn’t be afraid to say we ship something gay. We shouldn’t be afraid to bring it up in conversation. We should feel the same wobbly uncertainty that is inspired by straight ships. It should be a question of “will they won’t they” (and not in a queerbaiting way) instead of a feeling of “well, I know because it’s gay it’ll never happen but I still think it’s cute.” Most fan-favorite straight ships become canon in some way or another (across the board, in all TV shows) while queer ships are sneered at and thought of as taboo (the fact that Dean/Elena - a ridiculous straight crack ship - gets less hate and question marks than Destiel is a pretty good example of this. Honestly, you guys are fucking sad sometimes).

Why do we have to give up or surrender our ship just because it’s gay? That’s bullshit and I refuse.

I’m not saying Jensen is homophobic, I guess. Don’t attack me for it (or if you do, don’t use any of the arguments I’ve refuted. You’ll look like an idiot). He is obviously uneducated in regards to this. His comment was thoughtless and ignored context and timing. He said something rude that hurt people for all sorts of reasons. He has room to grow and if he does come forward and patch this up, I’ll be the first one to cry tears of joy. I’m against people sending him hate or death threats. Please don’t. Not only is that disgusting, but it sure as hell doesn’t convince him that we’re reasonable people who just want their ship acknowledged.

Also, if someone accuses you of being homophobic, instead of being defensive, maybe think of why they’d say so, and fix that.

Don’t be too quick to defend him. He’s an adult. He can do that himself. All you LGBT+ people out there shouldn’t be apologizing for him, either. Stand by those of us who are genuinely and rightfully hurt. What he said isn’t okay and nobody who’s hurt here is overreacting. If you think this isn’t a big deal, you’re not looking at the whole picture. There is a war being fought in regards to LGBT+ representation in media and someone claiming that gay-shippers are delusional is not helping.

I’m actually hoping that this will receive 0 notes and no one will see it. Like I’ve said, I’m super shy and I don’t really wanna tag this with anything someone will find but at the same time, it annoys me how this has gotten brushed over. I’m posting so late because it took a while for me to actually process my thoughts into something comprehensible.

[baccanosecretsanta]

For agallimaufryofoddments: The Brawl Brothers

Hi Rev! :D Sorry for the delay, but I hope you had a wonderful Christmas. So I happily chose Keith as my narrator, so I hope I did them and the other characters for that matter somehow justice. I still hardly know them, so this might be highly inaccurate, but I hope you’ll enjoy it.

Greetings, claire-stanfields.

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Even though he obviously enjoyed their company, sometimes Keith mainly came along to keep an eye on his brother and Firo when they planned to wander off somewhere the adults had no control over them.

Most of all Keith was worried for the safety of his brothers and Firo, but he had also made it his mission to keep Berga, Claire and Firo from causing trouble for those who crossed their path. He could perfectly trust Luck to behave, but the youngest Gandor brother still ended up being a unwilling part of the mischief (well, oftentimes, mischief was an understatement). He simply had no choice in the matter. Luck never managed to control Claire and Berga. That’s why Luck audibly heaved a sigh of relief when Keith heard about their plans to go to the park after heavy snowfall the night before and decided to tag along.

Keith knew that a park offered the opportunity for Claire and Berga to mingle with other children. They might start doing their usual friendly sparring matches or actually make use of the snow, but one provocative glance, word or movement and the two would pounce on the offender. And, unfortunately for the female population, Claire didn’t agree with the notion that you can’t hit a girl no matter what she says or does. If you’re parents aren’t around to scare them off – tough luck. And there was always friction because seemingly everyone could tell where the boys came from: Hell’s Kitchen. Glares, pitiful gazes.

To Keith’s satisfaction none of the boys had protested (if they had he would’ve felt seriously offended) and they had agreed to leave the apartment after lunch on Sunday. Firo was supposed to join them downstairs.

Except, their mother had asked all of them to help and a second later they both heard the door being shut. But Keith stayed and helped her out. Afterwards his mother and him went downstairs to reprimand Berga, Luck and Claire for ditching them, but they were gone. Firo was nowhere to be seen either.

“I can’t believe they actually have the guts to do that,” she said agape and crossed her arms.

Keith was no less astonished. Never would he have thought that they would abandon or go against his wishes when he simply had their well-being in mind. It wasn’t quite modest to say so himself, but he was usually the one in charge. For his brothers to leave him behind…He felt his chest constrict. That didn’t sit right. However, they probably knew he wouldn’t take this lightly, even if everything turned out fine. He didn’t waste any time and followed them. Hopefully they hadn’t decided to run off somewhere entirely different.

But they did.

He couldn’t find them in the park, so he immediately returned home in hopes of finding them much closer than he had anticipated. Well, upon arriving at home, he at least crossed path with Luck. Keith stopped him for a second and Luck used the breather to provide him with the necessary information.

“We’re waiting for you to come when those guys showed up and they were talking about how they’ve been selling drugs, so Claire told them that drugs were off-limits here and Firo couldn’t resist to tell them to piss off when they obviously didn’t care what Claire had to say.”

Funny how Claire and Firo of all people had said that. But Keith was quite certain Berga didn’t miss the chance to give them a piece of his mind as well.

Luck was finally calm – not that he seemed distressed in any way. Keith assumed he simply had been exhausted from running.

“Then suddenly this brawl broke out and I’m not sure who punched who first,” Luck continued. “All I know is that these idiots have gotten themselves into a bloody mess and I’m not sure if they’re able to handle it on their own.”

Keith mused for a moment. Should they get mother and father involved?

“They’re up against three grown-ups and they’re strong,” Luck provided helpfully and he spread out his arms as if to underline it. “What do you say, should I get father? They’re going against his wishes after all and I really don’t want the others to get hurt any further.”

Keith nodded and they parted ways.

While Luck went ahead to get support, Keith ran over to his brothers to help them out. It took a while for him to find them in the end, and it was thanks to Berga shouting something neither their mother nor father would like to hear coming out of his mouth, even though they had picked it up from someone.

When they finally came into sight, a guy held Firo by the nape like an animal and shook him. Firo cursed him and tried to free himself, but clearly he was overpowered. Claire and Berga would have come to his rescue by now, certainly, there are just two other guys standing in their way.

“Keith!” Firo didn’t exactly sound pleased to see him and Keith could understand why. His arrival meant they’ve messed up and perhaps he was also worried that Keith would likely get hurt as well. Oh, and hurt they were. Keith checked them quickly for any injuries and unsurprisingly their skins were brightly colored in red, blue and violet. And those were only the parts he could see right now. He sighed.

Their opponents were indeed hardly adults and not as bulky as Keith had expected them to be, nonetheless, they were up against mere children. No matter how strong Berga and Claire might be for their age, they’ve found their match. Apparently they finally understood that as well. They understood that some unfortunate day you were bound to come across someone far stronger than yourself. And, truthfully, at their current level, Berga and Claire didn’t have to look far.

Perhaps it would have been wiser for Keith to remain at home and come with his father. However, Keith just couldn’t turn his back on his brothers. Even if none of them stood a chance, he was the eldest, so they were his responsibility when his parents weren’t around. And they were a responsibility he gladly took over. Besides, Luck was already getting help, so it shouldn’t be long until they arrived. .

“Nice,” one of them grinned at Keith. “Look, Johnny, another midget we can beat to a pulp.”

“Don’t you dare,” Berga growled and lifted his fists as if intending to attack them. Keith caught up to them and put a firm hand on his shoulder. It probably was for the best to keep these hoodlums occupied and stall some time – preferably without violence.

That Johnny who was keeping Firo in his grasps, broke out into a random fit of laughter. “I wonder if that tiny piece of shit is the support the rat-faced munchkin was threatening us with.”

Keith slightly gritted his teeth. He really didn’t like to hear people insult his brothers. If he were strong enough, he probably would feel petty enough right now to punch him for that comment. But, alas, neither of them probably stood a chance and even if Keith was present, it was unlikely he made a difference.

“Y'know, if this munchkin-brigade just had minded its own goddamn business, then maybe, no I’m pretty sure, we all could’ve spent our afternoon better. Instead I’m stuck here teaching them manners – which should be the job of your parents, but naturally asses produce shit, so no surprise there.”

The third hoodlum really had that punch coming and not even Keith stopped Berga from delivering it. It was an awful idea to throw another fist because most certainly it would be repaid.

On a positive note, however, at least they finally let go of Firo. But, of course, the smallest of them didn’t use the freedom he had won to escape. No, he pounced on Johnny and used whatever he could to hurt him. Frankly, Keith hadn’t expected anything else.

Finally, at most fifteen minutes later, Mr. Gandor and two of his men arrived. He didn’t hide the gun he carried, although Keith was almost certain he had no intention of using it. But he’s furious, so who knows how this might end? Neither is Keith sure how he wants it to end. There’s no doubt they’re assholes and good-for-nothings. But strictly speaking, Claire, Firo and Berga should’ve minded their own business. There had been no need to get involved with them. They could’ve notified their father and he could’ve taken care of the hoodlums. Nonetheless, if they were truly drug dealers disregarding the don’s orders, then a punishment was in order.

However, nobody was shot on that street on that day. Keith has never heard of them again. Maybe they were dead, or maybe their father had taught them a gruesome lesson that drove them away for good. Who knows?

They all were reprimanded, even Firo (to his utmost astonishment) who wasn’t even a family member and Keith who had recklessly stormed off instead of being patient and waiting for the adults to settle this. At least, so Claire, Firo didn’t get his ass kicked by the don.

[adventures-in-transmania]

So, I’m either getting used to the nightmares or so fucking tired that I can just go back to sleep without it bothering me much.

I don’t recall the details of the dream, but the main idea was that my family (and pretty much everyone around me) don’t actually respect me, don’t respect me being trans, and (my family especially) care more about certain family members more than they do me or my well-being. And by my family, I mean my immediate family. The ones that should care. I want to say I was being told I couldn’t be openly trans anywhere, they were maliciously misgendering me, and anytime I tried to speak up, I got wholeheartedly ignored and treated worse.

I get why I had the dream, given recent circumstances and thoughts. But damn, can we not? I had a fan-fucking-tastic day yesterday. I did the thing I was stressed out about doing. It went so much fucking better than I ever dreamed it would. I wholeheartedly expected a disaster and was to the point where I wanted to care and just couldn’t. It was a first time thing and I could be excused for being a disaster at least this time, it was a learning experience. But I did the thing and I would like to say I did it reasonably fucking well. Added circumstances made it even more stressful, but I handled it (with help, of course, but it’s not like I didn’t try to resolve the issue beforehand, so it wouldn’t have been an issue). After I did the thing, I was exhausted, mostly mentally, but I also hadn’t slept well, so physically tired also. I had another thing to do that night.

Now, this thing was much less stressful. I had what I needed, it wasn’t as demanding, and I had done it before. Additionally, the people I had with me were people I like working with and I’d like to say enjoy working with me. I realized very quickly into this thing that I felt hella more confident, probably from being able to handle things earlier. I may have been tired, but fuck, I actually knew what I was doing and could do it well. It didn’t take too long and finishing was a fucking breeze. I felt fucking good. Tired, but fucking good. I also hadn’t been home in a solid 36 hours, a fucking relief.

I get home and the first thing I hear after not being home for 36 hours isn’t “hi” or anything like that. No it’s “did you do the thing?” Now, this is a completely different thing, a thing that shouldn’t even be my fucking responsibility. No one tells you, being an adult apparently you have to make your own doctor’s appointments (and other various appointments), but apparently (yes, I said it twice), you have to make other peoples’ too? At this point, you may say, yeah, if you have a child-- Let me just stop you there. This person did not come out of my vagina. I did not donate sperm to produce this being. This being has been around 4x as long as I have. THEY ARE CAPABLE OF MAKING A FUCKING APPOINTMENT FOR THEMSELVES. But my dumbass said I would, so I should have in the last week, between trying to get 4 hours of solid sleep, between working 16 hour days, between trying to get myself to eat, between panic attacks. You’re right, it’s on me, because I took one night to go to a friend’s house to get the fuck away from this place and you two for just a little bit (a whole 8 hours, 3 of which I was trying to sleep).

So, my fan-fucking-tastic day instantly went down the drain, because family can do that, apparently, and I start complaining to the other person in the house that I think would get it. All I get in response is “oh, well, I guess I can take her..” YOU GUESS? YOU FUCKING GUESS? YOU DON’T WORK, YOU GO OUT ONE DAY A WEEK (sometimes two), BUT YOU GUESS YOU CAN TAKE YOUR MOTHER TO AN APPOINTMENT?

My dumbass thought I scheduled my doctor’s appointment (you know, the one of two I have per year now, that’s one every six months, in case you weren’t aware) for a Thursday, because Thursday mornings are the only mornings I have off. So, of course, I say ‘well, I won’t be able to take her next week either, as I have my doctor’s appointment, and unless she wants to sit in the car in the city for about an hour, I won’t have time to come back and take her to hers, if we’re even able to get a time that works.’ To which I get, ‘well, she needs to go soon, so I guess I’ll take her.’

At this point, I’m just so tired, irritated (probably irrationally so, I reckoned), and just defeated (because that’s become a baseline personality trait recently), I went to bed.

Fucking phones. I made the call next morning (this morning) to make the goddamned appointment for her. They’re asking me personal questions about her, which of course I CAN’T FUCKING ANSWER. After being dropped twice, finally got an appointment time, of which I had no say in, but whatever.

“I guess I can take her, if you want to sleep.” You fucking guess, huh? Fuck off, apparently it’s my fucking responsibility, so out of pure spite, here we goddamned are.

This is why I don’t want kids. I’m already fucking responsible for people who DIDN’T come out of my fucking vagina and I don’t have the patience for it. God knows I won’t have the fucking patience for beings that are supposed to be my responsibility. I can’t even take care of myself properly. So fuck anyone who says “eventually you’ll want kids!” No, I’ve had the experience with grown ass adults, I don’t need it with fragile small beings that I can and will fuck up into adulthood. No thank you.

ALSO, quick segue back to the nightmare. During this call, I had to explain my relationship to my grandmother. I swallowed my fucking pride and said granddaughter, because I had to, because legally, I am. This led to me being misgendered throughout the entire fucking stressful exchange. My parent. My own parent cares more about not explaining it to her mother, cares more about god knows what, because I would have very little problem explaining myself to my grandmother, that she won’t let me come out at home. The four year old cousin? Sure, I get that. That is her parents’ decision and as much as I hate it, I have to respect it. It means I get misgendered by people who can’t fucking code-switch, who apparently don’t care enough to, who care more about preserving a four year old’s sense of the goddamned gender binary than me.

And you know what’s fucked up? I grew up with a lesbian parent who was so unapologetically lesbian. We never had any talk about it, it just was. My mom had girlfriends. So what? I grew up hearing the whole “you can tell me anything!” bullshit. So when it came to being LGBT+, I thought “it’ll be fine! I’m lucky, I have a parent who will understand.” Boy was I right and wrong. They turned out to be trans also. They thought I was going through a phase. We didn’t talk about it for six years, until they finally accepted it wasn’t a phase. I’ve told this story so many times, it really shouldn’t matter anymore. But what it boils down to now is that children are told “you can tell me anything!” But that’s false. That’s probably the biggest lie I’ve ever been told. If I can’t tell my then-lesbian, transgender parent that I am also trans and get support, what can I tell them? What can I tell anyone? In so many cases, I’ve told people things, gave myself hope that I could express myself, that I could talk about things with people, and been let down for a variety of reasons. Almost every time I tried to open up, I got rejected or dismissed.

It took me so long to be able to talk about being trans. It took so long to talk about pretty much anything personal other than depression and anxiety. Most of my friends understood and could empathize with that, but little else. I’ve hit the point where I expect the worst when opening up to others, a form of self-defense that is rather painful but necessary. It sucks, because if someone shows the slightest bit of basic decency when it comes to some things, I will do pretty much anything for them, at the cost of my own health.

I feel like there’s more I have to say on this, but it’s not coming to mind right now. Perhaps I’ll add on later?