#if they didn’t know it looks incompetent if someone did know it looks spiteful so

[grantmentis]

As things settle down, here’s the questions I still have

1) People point to that phf may or may not have been in financial trouble but even if that was the case, it seemed they were going to go on with the season 9 regardless - what motivation did the pwhpa’s ownership group have to buy the phf that they had expressed reservations in and spend capital on it that they could have used making their own league they mentioned for years? People have rightfully focused a lot on the phf reason for selling but what about the reason for buying?

2) the Pwhpa is a union through voluntary recognition by the ownership group that bought the phf, and their cba is with that group, did the six months negotiation with the phf and the new ownership group happen without the Pwhpa knowing despite having these CBA talks with the same ownership group?

3) is there not some concern to signing an 8 year CBA with salaries in all womens sports changing pretty rapidly? If the league sees significant growth in fifth year is there not concern this cba wont fully reflect needs of the players - especially as this league doesn’t even have teams yet, more than one owner, etc?

[dilatorywriting]

Heroes vs. Villains : Pomefiore [Part 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Pomefiore vs. Neige Leblanche Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. Pomefiore Version (Part 2)

ie. The scarf is an issue, because of course it's an issue. And Vil's sudden addiction to his phone is not going well for any of you.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]

“What did you do?” Epel hissed from behind an entire department store’s worth of facial products.

“What?! I didn’t do anything!” you argued. Trying to sound stern when you were also putting a concerted effort into not moving your mouth was apparently very hard. A lip mask, Vil had called it. ‘Pretentious goop’ was a far better description. But the Pomefiore House Warden had been particularly dour lately, so you’d been letting him slather you will all kinds of atrocities in the name of keeping the peace. You’d smelled like a walking Bath & Body Works for the past week at least. And worst of all, if you ever made that comparison out loud he’d probably hemorrhage. Or something. Because each of these products was ‘special ordered’ or ‘hand crafted’ and blablabla.

“Well pardon me for not takin’ your word for it,” the purple-haired boy snapped, spiteful. “He only gets like this when someone’s hurt his stupid ego. Or worse—his feelings.”

“And why does that ‘someone’ have to be me?” you complained.

Epel shot you a look and you sighed into the misty air. The aroma diffuser gave another lackluster puff, as if in agreement.

.

.

Ever since your shopping trip, Vil had been acting… not quite right.  

Oh, he was still icy and composed. He still tutted at your untucked uniform shirts and irritably plucked stray bits of fuzz from your jacket. But it was almost like he was too much of himself. You’d liked to think that your laid back ‘you’re lovely no matter what and I live in a literal condemned building so who am I to judge anyone’ approach had softened the House Warden at one point—even if only a smidgen. A singular hair out of place was artful, not lazy. The barely-there wrinkle in his vest was not the end of civilized times, but functional fashion. But now? It was back to the strictest of regiments, the most unforgiving of rules.

Jack had told you that Vil was even waking before him now—that by the time the wolf-beastman arrived for their early morning jogs, the blonde had clearly already been up and training for hours.

And you were worried.

Sometimes Vil would look at his phone and get this twisted up, venomous, expression on his face that sent little pangs of concern eating through your gut. Sometimes Rook was there to reach forward and gently ease the device out of Vil’s death grip. Sometimes he was not, and you were far too afraid of losing your fingers to even try.

It was a vicious cycle. The phone would make Vil angry and subsequently be abandoned in the opposite corner of the room. So then Vil would bury himself in new makeups, and outfits, and skin care. He would fret over new projects, or old projects—ranting about the incompetence of whoever he would ‘never work with again, believe me.’ Sometimes he dragged you along to his Film Club (you’d watched so many classic movies with him at this point that you were actually starting to become culturally literate). And then—slowly but inevitably—his brilliant, purple, gaze would drift to the expensive rectangle sitting all alone off to the side, wherever he’d carefully and strategically placed it to be just out of reach. Gradually his fingers would start to twitch, and then his jaw. He’d drum his nails against his knee, or irritably tap the pointed heel of his shoe against the floor. And then the phone would be back in his hands and he’d be looking at something that sent him spiraling all the way back to the beginning again.

“I don’t know what to do,” you confided in Rook one afternoon. You hadn’t seen him yet, but a bush off to your left had jiggled suspiciously at one point, so you assumed that he was probably somewhere in the vicinity.

After a moment, the hunter came and perched himself at your side.

“Do you know what’s bothering him?” you asked. Rook seemed to know everything about everyone, and Vil was his muse, his Roi de Poison. He had to have noticed something by now.

The blonde nodded, the feather in his hat bobbing as he did.

“...You’re not going to tell me what it is, are you?” you huffed, not even attempting to bite back your irritation.  

Rook patted your shoulder sympathetically. “It is not my tale to tell, Mon Coeur. There are some things that I am told in confidence, and I cannot break that trust. Though I am sure he would greatly appreciate your concern.”

“Or you could just tell me,” you tried. “And then I wouldn’t have to be concerned at all.”

He tilted his hat at you, and then danced back easily when you tried to snatch it off his head.

.

.

“So, what’s the dealio,” Ace drawled, and he’d better thank his lucky stars that you didn’t startle quite as easily as you used to, because there was entire, opened, jar of Werecat urine in your hands that was just dying to wind up upended all down his white lab coat.

“What deal?” you snipped, carefully recapping the stinky ingredient and setting it off to the side. Tempting as the idea of dousing the redhead in supernatural piss was, Crewel would skin you for wasting components.  

“You spend a lot of time at Pomefiore,” Deuce added, much politer in his approach than Ace had been. “And lately their House Warden has been a bit…”

“Why has Captain Pissy-And-Perfect been so pissy?” Ace interrupted, leaning far too close over your cauldron to be any kind of safe. “Normally the only thing that twists him up that bad is Neige.”

Your mind whirled back to the incident at the mall. And as controlled as you liked to think you were about these sorts of things, your face must have done something because Ace pounced on you like Ruggie after a donut.

“What do you know?” he demanded, nearly spilling a whole bottle of Newt Eyes across the floor as he crowded into your personal space. “Tell me, tell me, tell me—"

“All I did was give Neige a scarf!” you snapped. “It’s not like it’s a big deal!”

“What scarf?” Deuce blinked back, confused.

“It was just some scarf that Vil put on me!”

The two of them made long, pointed, eye contact, and you immediately felt horribly out of the loop.

“Whelp. That tracks,” Ace sighed, just as Crewel popped up behind him to whip him across the back of his head with his pointer.

.

.

Your group of mangy idiots had gathered in the cafeteria for lunch—as was the ancient tradition of all starving students. The four of you had clustered around your usual table. Ace was busy squirting ketchup packets all over what would inevitably become Deuce’s seat when he finally got of the line. Jack was busy swishing said ketchup away with an irritated scowl. Epel sat across from you, as miserable and lemon scented as ever.

A lunch tray smacked the tabletop with an echoing bang and Deuce appeared behind it, frantically waved his cellphone in your faces.

“You guys have to watch this,” he said, deathly serious, before propping his phone up against your glass of water. It flopped forward with a resounding crack three times before he managed to get it to stay upright.

The five of you crouched around the teeny screen as the poppy chords of some Talk Show intro or other filtered through the tinny speakers.

“You know,” the interviewer beamed, all manicured sugar and over-bleached smiles. “With some of the things you’ve been posting lately, some people are saying that you’ve just got to be in love!”

The audience ooohed and aaaahed.

Neige Leblanche was sitting on the little leather sofa beside her, and he smiled in a way lit his entire face in a brilliant shade of pink. He was still wearing that goddamn purple scarf and immediately you could feel your temples pulsing with a migraine. This was going to be bad.

“Well,” he mumbled, bashful. “I can’t say you’re entirely wrong about that.”

Cue hordes of nearly rabid screaming. Ace winced and reached forward to tick down the volume.

“Why are we watching this?” Jack scowled, but he didn’t move his sharp glare from the illuminated screen.

“The Prefect gave Neige a scarf, and—”

“Shh,” Deuce hushed. “This is the bad part.”

“It’s a little bit silly,” Neige continued, glancing up at the host from beneath his dark lashes. “I don’t actually know their name. But we met a few weeks ago now and they were just—well they were amazing. They actually helped pull me out of a pretty sticky situation, and they were so composed through all of it! And then they didn’t even care about me being famous at all!” he rambled, getting brighter and brighter the longer he monologued. “They just helped me because I was a person, and, well, I think that’s very sweet.”

There was another wave of darling ‘awwws’ that could only have been scripted. Or, at least you hoped so. This level of saccharine infatuation should have been enough to turn anyone’s stomach. It had certainly twisted yours into all sorts of unpleasant knots. The secondhand embarrassment alone was on the verge of taking you out entirely.

“A little birdy’s been telling us that the scarf you’ve been modelling in all your latest Magicam posts was actually a gift from this secret lover of yours,” the interviewer whispered conspiratorially, and you wanted nothing more than to snatch that stupid purple cashmere back through the screen solely so that you could strangle her with it.

“Well, yes, actually,” Neige chirped, fingers reaching up to toy with the soft fabric.

“No it wasn’t!” you howled, indignant. “I just put it on him to distract him because I accidentally rambled to his face about how much more fuckable Vil was than him, and—”

“WHAT?!” Epel screeched. Screeched. At the top of his lungs. It felt like you could feel the glares of every single set of eyes in the cafeteria drilling into your spine. Out of the corner of your eye, you swore you saw a feather bob as it disappeared through the door, and you didn’t even want to think of the implications of that.

“No fucking way,” Ace gaped, looking for all the world like you’d just handed him a million Thaumarks, or an entire notebook’s worth of nuclear codes. Deuce and Jack both just looked like they were trying not to choke to death.

“Oh my God,” you wailed. “I did it again.”

.

.

When you next ran into the King of Poisons, you were so distracted by the impossible task of wrangling Ace into silence that you couldn’t have noticed the subtle changes in him even if you’d wanted to. The increased length in his stride, the gentler tuck of his hair, the less severe line of his shoulders—if you weren’t so caught up in trying to commit homicide, you would have been ecstatic.

Rook was chattering along at his side, his lips quirked into a merry grin. The tack-tack-tack of Vil’s crimson heels against the stone floors was familiar, confident, and loud enough to swim through your head despite Ace’s manic cackling.

“Potato.” Vil’s red lips quirked upwards into the smallest smile before twitching back down into a sneer. “And other potato. What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

Thankfully, at the end of the day, Ace was still nothing if not a no-good coward. He turned on the Pomefiore House Warden, ready to spill your deepest, darkest, secrets, and immediately withered under the third year’s spiteful glower.

“H-House Warden!” he squeaked. “I was just—Ahem. The Prefect was just—just saying that—”

“Go on,” Vil prompted, tongue dripping with all kinds of venom. “It must be riveting if it’s managed to stun you so thoroughly. Or maybe that’s just the extent of your comprehensive abilities as it is.”

Ace gulped. Audibly.

“Perhaps I should report your dallying to Riddle,” Vil continued, and that was when Ace really started to look panicked. “Remind me—your House Warden is known for his lenient stance on punishing rule breakers, is he not?”

The redhead darted off with one final squeak, practically wheeling around a corner in his haste to escape.

“Well?” Vil barked, and it took you a second to realize that he was addressing you now, and not that he was just going to continually roast Ace into an early grave. “Are you coming?”

“Where?” you asked, confused.

Vil rolled his eyes and reached out to grab your hand. “To Film Club. You promised to help pick out the new backdrop color schemes. Or is the forgetfulness of that horrible, spudling, friend of yours wearing off on you now too?”

You had promised Vil so many things in the last few weeks that you honestly probably wouldn’t even have remembered if you’d offered to sell him your soul, so looking through page after page of tone combinations that all looked absolutely identical to you but whatever was probably the best you could hope for.

More importantly, he seemed… better. Less stiff, certainly. You wondered idly what could have happened in the span of a few hours to mend his mood so thoroughly. If it had been Neige related all along, then probably some slight against the dude, right? Maybe something had popped up online? Industry drama, or whatever. Or maybe—

‘Because I accidentally rambled to his face about how much more fuckable Vil was than him, and—'

You froze, like a deer about to mowed down by a semi. Vil’s grip on your hand was the only thing that kept you from immediately faceplanting into the ground.

But, no. No one aside from your immediate entourage could have heard you say that! It wasn’t possible! It—It wasn’t—

Amidst your sudden wave of mortification, you caught Rook’s mischievous green, gaze, with your own. The feather on his hat bobbed playfully, mockingly, and he winked.

.

TAG LIST (CLOSED AS OF 12/10)

21.3.76

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[i-cant-stop-fandoming-help]

Alright, after some thought, how about some Tsurei angst? They’re my precious rarepair and honestly need more content. ;-;

i remembered i have an old tsurei wip that i'm probably never going to finish and that i've proooobably posted somewhere on here before but here. you didn't win the request wheel spinning but figured there's no harm in posting this one WIP. they're a divorced couple btw. not specifically in this fic but thats just how i see 'em

Rei snorted as Tsurugi spoke, unable to process his words in her drunken state. Teruya was glancing between the two, downing a shot of vodka before patting Rei's back.

He said something to Tsurugi- it sounded like "I think we should pay and leave. Rei's had so much to drink that I think she'll probably have a major hangover."

The ginger knew it was too smart of a thing for an incompetent like himself to say, she was probably just imagining. Nonetheless, she grabbed onto his jacket, her words slurring and her vision swimming. "I am not fucking drunk, innnn…competent."

Tsurugi grunted, putting his card in the checkbook and lifting Rei up. "Yes, you are."

She could only squirm, too tired to do much else. "Not drunk..! Put me dooowwwnnn!"

Tsurugi grunted as he put her in the back seat of his car, allowing Teruya to take the front seat and beginning to drive to her house.

Her daze made her dizzy, her own house wasn't familiar, even with the teddy bear wreath and the fluffy welcome mat.

Tsurugi only then put her down, making sure she unlocked her door and went inside.

His smile was warm, his eyes looked affectionate. "Goodnight, mekaru." He whispered, just barely audible.

He mumbled something more, and Rei couldn't quite figure what it was. She just slurred out a goodnight, and closed her door. The moment she did, her vision went completely dark.

Rei startled awake at the feeling of falling- she was in her bed. She was comfortable and warm and surrounded by brown, fluffy, bears.

It was a memory. Was her dream a memory? How odd. It was… happy. She was happy.

She thought it could last for forever, or at least until she was thirty. Instead, it was taken away in a matter of about a year.

Teruya was dead. His corpse stared at her with empty eyes as she did her best to resuscitate him, joy and sorrow mixed in his eyes as his ribs cracked and his skin slowly, slowly, lost its color.

She felt helpless, hopeless, useless. And most of all, possibly worst of all, was how alone she felt. She lost her another classmate, yet another friend.

Tsurugi stares at her with pitiful eyes, it felt belittling. "It's too late, Mekaru. Otori is dead. Just… give up."

Give up? After everything? She couldn't just give up on a friend, not so quickly. Otori was one of the only surviving members of class 79, alongside Rei and Tsurugi. How could he be so willing to let him die?

Rage consumed her, hate consumed her. Tsurugi was scum, she didn't know why she ever had affection for him.

She grabbed him by his shirt, shaking and sobbing and barely able to breathe. "You!," she snarled, barely able to see his ruby eyes through her blur of tears. "What is wrong with you?!"

Tsurugi remained calm, putting a hand on her back and pulling her into a hug. "I am sorry, Mekaru. It had to happen."

She choked on a sob, hitting his chest weakly before crumpling. "Why, why… why did he have to die?"

He sighed, his legs beginning to shake before he fell backwards into his wheelchair. "We needed to make sure Sannoji's plan would fail."

Her breath was caught in her throat, her hands were clawing at Tsurugi’s shirt. He only whispered that it was okay, that it needed to happen. That he’d rather bury Teruya than bury Rei.

His words were gentle, his eyes were affectionate. Any other moment, she knew she would’ve melted into his care. Not now, not today. He was so willing to let someone die, it was disgusting.

Rei shivered at remembering his care, his… love? No, she didn’t think it was love. She thought it to be spiteful pity.

Even thinking about her affection towards Tsurugi made her gag, made her reach towards her bedside table to grab something, anything. But her usual wine bottle wasn’t there- she had emptied it the night before in one of her many emotional moments. 

She didn’t want to get up, she wanted to stay in bed and wallow in self pity, she wanted to curl into a ball and whimper and whine. Rei was pathetic, she recognized that much, but was it not justified? She had fallen in love with a man who killed the first friend she made in a long time, and even worse- that man was her boss, and he had so much care for her. 

She felt cared for, but hated at the same time. Loved but despised, cherished but loathed, adored but detested. She had fallen for what she perceived to be the devil, and it seemed he worshipped her in the exact same way she did him. Whenever he could, whenever she was sober and unable to comprehend her overwhelming emotions, Tsurugi held her close and put a hand on her face and called her gorgeous, kissed her ginger locks, loved her.

Her head was sore, her throat burned, and her back ached. The alcohol was a faint and sour remnant on the top of her tongue. She let her blankets slip from her legs as she stepped out of bed, her toes touching the floor with a gentleness she forgot she had ever had.

Her phone buzzed, loud against the wooden desk as it silently yelled for her to answer it. It was for work, she needed to come in on her day off. Like usual. She was just the worker, the person who was only good for their knowledge. Everyone thought that of her. She was nothing but a library of smarts, a keeper of wisdom. 

Her fingers trembled as they grazed upon it, and Rei didn’t even know if she had the strength to answer it. As soon as the cold met her ear and cheek, it took all her willpower not to just drop it again. The voice of urgency, the voice of terror and devastation, that all rang from the other end. 

She wasn’t even dressed properly, she hadn’t even put on her glasses properly, but she sprinted out the door with all her might. She didn’t even scream as she tripped, she didn’t feel nauseous anymore, her headache and her fatigue felt diminished. 

Rei was alert. She could feel her heart beating, ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump. Her eyes were twitching back and forth, and she could hear the gunshots in the distance. That fool, that absolute buffoon, what did he think he was doing? 

Bing, bang, boom, the shots were louder the more she drove. He was going to get himself killed, had any thoughts even gone through his head?

Rei couldn’t handle any more death, he should’ve known, he should’ve seen. She looked in the mirror and she didn’t even see herself, alcohol had destroyed her and she couldn’t let go. But he looked at her, and he just looked affectionate. Like he still saw Rei, and not some stumbling and stammering incompetent.

She saw the blood, she saw blue hair, she saw as bodies on the other side fell. She got out of her car as quick as she could, running to the sight and not caring if a bullet went through her skull– she needed to get him out.

Rei’s feet slammed into the ground as she ran, but he wasn’t there. That blue hair she saw, she should’ve realized, was too light to be his. It was Iranami’s, so where was Tsurugi? Keisuke just stared at her, his soldiers having knocked every single despair down and out. An iranami by blood, but he was nothing like before, nothing like Satsuki– Keisuke was just like Tsurugi. Cold, uncaring, and a murderer.

The ginger didn’t even say anything, just spun on her heel and ran to her car. Foolish, foolish, foolish. Of course he wouldn’t be with other people. 

“I’m sorry.” she thought she was imagining his voice, up until she saw his reflection in the rearview mirror. His eyes were dark. 

A stinging pain went through her head, causing her vision to fade. And the next thing she knew, she was at home, tucked into her bed with a cup of cold tea by her side. Perhaps she had dreamt everything up, but she hadn’t had tea the night before. How had it gotten there?

Her head was bandaged up, and she felt at the side. The red that danced and spread along her fingertips made her freeze, she hated seeing her own blood, her own weakness. If only she wasn’t human, she wouldn’t have such a disgusting fluid keeping her alive. 

[annoyed-at-things]

Beware a Witch Scorned (Part 2)

I have decided to make this an actual fic now! There will be more parts coming soon, but this is what I have now. Message me if you want to be added to the Taglist for this series!

Part One / tbc.

Based on @lenoreofraven’s Mayura Marinette fic.

————————————

Tikki could only sigh. She was the embodiment of creation and healing. She was supposed to be positive. She was supposed to love.

But at times like these?

She could only hate.

Master Fu was the reason they were in this mess in the first place. Time and time again he made decisions without thinking or talking to the kwami.

Plagg wasn’t happy with his holder.

And her holder was a monster.

She felt the person who saved her, and this wasn’t her.

Master Fu kept insisting that she was the right one because of his ‘test.’

She knew she was expected to be positive, but being creation wasn’t just sunshine and rainbows. Sure, Plagg may be destruction, but he wasn’t destruction alone. Volcanoes. Storms. Creatures which roamed the night. Those were hers.

Which is exactly why she accepted to be bound to the Miraculous.

If she went rogue there was no knowing what exactly she could do.

But sometimes, sometimes, she considered it.

When her holder did bad things.

When Fu brushed her off.

When bad things happened to Marinette.

But for the sake of Paris she had to stay. There was no knowing what exactly Hawkmoth could do if he got the Miraculous.

If he was a bigger threat.  

The current Ladybug and Chat Noir are lucky that Hawkmoth is incompetent. Which is why Marinette getting akumatized – which is bound to happen thanks to her holder – could mean the end of Paris.

She tried to interfere from time to time as well, like getting the girl to meet Jagged Stone, but her holder couldn’t sit still after that. Tikki was disconnected after spending a long time in the Miracle Box, so she didn’t suspect a thing as Lila went onto her computer and wrote a mail. By the time she read it, it was far too late. Marinette was let down again.

Tikki looked back at her sleeping holder. She seemed to lose no sleep after finding out that Marinette was thrown out by her parents and hadn’t been seen for three days. But Tikki did. Just like she always did, waiting in front of the window and looking out at Paris. She wanted to leave but Lila made sure she couldn’t.

Lila didn’t care.

But there’s not much she could do but let the spite in her heart die down. Eventually, Hawkmoth would be defeated and then she’d get to be with her friends again. A few years is nothing to millennia, and that thought kept her hap-

No.

A shiver ran through her body.

Someone was there.

At the window.

An akuma?

…

No. Nononononono-

She turned and was eye to eye with something far worse than an akuma. She didn’t want to believe it when she first saw her. It wasn’t possible.

But it was. And a part of her was so glad that it was.

------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @saltysugarysembei

[sondepoch]

One Night (Marius x Reader)

Teaching a Billionaire to Touch Grass (And a Minimum Wage Worker to Treat Herself)

Marius clicks his tongue in annoyance, both at you and the cars around him. Why are there so many people on the road at 2:38 in the morning? Why did the GPS's projected time to get to your home just double? Why is the universe out to get him today, on the one night Marius thought he could catch a break?

“Okay,” he seethes, drumming his fingers on the wheel as the traffic around him grows impossible slower. He doesn’t look at you as he speaks. “We’re going to talk about how inappropriate this was.”

“I—I’m really sorry, Sir, I—”

“I’m not asking for an apology.” Maybe he is, actually. Marius is too pissed to be sure. “What I want to know is why you thought it was okay to call me, of all people.”

MASTERLIST

The car is silent. 

As Marius gets inside, he thinks that this might be the first time he’s not opening the passenger door seat for a lady partner, the first time he’s allowed himself to stalk straight into the driver's seat and angrily wait for his passenger to enter on their own.

Actually, he thinks, this is also the first time in years that he's actually driving. The first time someone managed to call for him so late that even his chauffeur was off-duty.

“I’m really sorry about this, Sir,” you mumble as you climb into the seat next to him, apologies never halting as you ramble on and on and on like an idiot who can't read a room. “I, ah, didn’t think this would happen, I'm so…”

Marius ignores you.

He glances out the passenger window and catches Darius Morgan’s equally-annoyed gaze. Seriously? the man seems to be asking, an unimpressed look crossed over his face as he eyes you through the car window. I don’t fucking know, Marius’s gaze says back, and he shakes his head the slightest as he starts the car.

“What’s your address?” he asks, interrupting your apologies. Propriety should make him feel somewhat embarrassed over the way he's acting,  but he can’t bring himself to be even a little polite right now.

“It’s by the Harbor. Um, if you go straight on Main Street and turn right at the—”

“Forget it,” Marius interrupts you. He taps the small car screen on his right, opening up the GPS interface. “Just type it in. I’ll drop you off.”

Your face falls at his irate voice, but you wisely don't comment on it, instead typing in your address as he asked. He watches you cautiously the whole time, for once not caring about the performance anxiety his gaze naturally brings to everyone he looks at. To your merit, you don't mess up anymore than you already have, deft fingers moving with the preciseness he’s used to seeing from you, but the skill can hardly impress him after you called him to pick you up from here, of all places. As the GPS routing sequence activates, Marius lets out an annoyed huff. This is not where he wanted to be right now.

Then, the car hums to life as he presses down on the accelerator, and he’s speeding in the direction of your home, trying to abandon his anger with the jailhouse the two of you are leaving.

I should be at home right now, he thinks as he moves onto the highway. He thinks about how long it had taken for him to coordinate this night off from Vyn’s tutoring sessions, Pax’s board meetings, his schoolwork, and the NXX’s meetings. I should be sleeping, or painting, or calling Rosa, or—

“Fuck,” he mutters when traffic begins to slow down. 

He’s in a traffic jam.

So much for sleeping. And painting. And calling Rosa. 

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, both at you and the cars around him. Why are there so many people on the road at—Marius glances at the car’s dashboard—2:38 in the morning? Why did the GPS's projected time to get to your home just double? Why is the universe out to get him today, on the one night Marius thought he could catch a break?

“Okay,” he seethes, drumming his fingers on the wheel as the traffic around him grows impossible slower. He doesn’t look at you as he speaks. “We’re going to talk about how inappropriate this was.”

“I—I’m really sorry, Sir, I—”

“I’m not asking for an apology.” Maybe he is, actually. Marius is too pissed to be sure. “What I want to know is why you thought it was okay to call me, of all people.”

He keeps his glare fixated on the road, knowing that if he shoots you with the same thunderous look he uses to fire people, you’ll probably be too terrified to speak. Still, when you finally start talking, he can sense the fear in your voice.

His grip on the steering wheel softens the slightest.

“I, ah, initially was planning on calling Mr. Vincent. But he—”

“Really?” Marius snaps. “You’re his assistant, right?” Marius thinks back to all the times he stalked into Pax Headquarters only to see Vincent there with his morning coffee in hand and you, always three feet behind, holding Vincent’s work files. The Board of Directors criticized Marius for allowing his assistant to have an assistant, but never did he imagine you to be so…

Incompetent, he wants to say. Foolish might be a better word for it, though.

“Ah, yes. His administrative assistant.”

“And you want me to believe,” Marius huffs, “That the first person you wanted to call to bail you out of jail was the man you’re an administrative assistant to?”

Traffic gets ever slower, and Marius’s car rolls to a complete stop.

“Yes,” you whisper, and you start wringing your fingers in a manner so sheepish that Marius almost wants to believe you. Almost. “I, ah, was going to call him first. But then I remembered that his vacation started last night and that he’s already left Stellis. So I figured that if I called him, he’d just call you, so I…”

He wouldn’t call me, Marius thinks. Vincent is smart enough to find someone else to pick you up from jail. Regular people don’t ask these kinds of favors from their boss. Especially not from their boss's boss.

“Do you know that people usually ask their friends for these things?” Marius asks. Some of his anger seeps away when he realizes how apologetic you actually are, and he moves forward in traffic the slightest. “Or family, perhaps. What you did was…” Marius tries to find a kinder word than completely inappropriate. “Was highly unusual.” He sighs. “Why didn’t you ask someone else?”

He stares at you through the corner of his eye. You’re pursing your lips, holding back tears. Again, his gaze softens.

“I don't have anyone else,” you whisper.

Marius thinks it’s strange for you to imply that you even have him, especially when he’s nothing more to you than a high-level corporate executive, one that you’ve never spoken directly to in your entire life, but he doesn’t press you any further.

Releasing the final remnants of his anger in a soft sigh, he switches lanes and decides to pull into the nearest exit.

“Darius said you were in that cell since yesterday afternoon. You haven’t had dinner yet, right?”

“No, but…”

“This traffic isn’t going anywhere. We may as well get you something to eat.”

He exits easily, pulling into a district of Stellis that he’s never been in before, and ignores your quiet sniffle. 

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Earlier, he was ignoring you out of spite. Now, he doesn’t respond because he wants to preserve your dignity.

As he focuses his attention on the district he's pulled to, ignoring the GPS which vehemently opposes everything he's doing, Marius realizes that he's pulled into a rather poor sector of Stellis. It’s filled with unhealthy fast food joints, late-night drunkards, and a bunch of loiterers who are eyeing his high-end car suspiciously.

After driving around and surveying the options, Marius sighs. 

“The only places open are these fast-food restaurants,” he says, cleanly leaving out the option of getting food from a club or anywhere else a tabloid might be able to snap a picture. “Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah!” you chirp, and Marius finds that your smile is oddly sweet. “Ah, would you be okay with that one over there? I go there a lot, and their food is...better than other fast food places.” 

Marius squints at you for a moment. He tries to recall your salary, and when he fails, he thinks of Vincent’s. Surely, you make a similar wage? You shouldn’t need to frequent fast-food restaurants like this, right?

Shaking his head, he decides not to ask about it. Things like where you eat are your business, not his, and it’s not his place to question you on your personal decisions.

He pulls up to the drive-through, somewhat relieved to find that the dine-in option isn’t even available at this hour, and lets you order whatever you want. You end up taking a meager meal, one that Marius doubts will actually fill your stomach when he can hear it growling so loudly, so when you turn to him and ask what he’ll get, he orders some fries in hopes that he can hand them off to you in case you’re still hungry. 

Minutes later, the two of you are parked on the side of the road with your respective meals in your laps. Only once you’ve finished (and after Marius is starting to pawn his fries off to you, finding that they’re rather unappealing to his pallette) does he think it’s appropriate to actually breach the subject of why you were tossed in jail.

“So,” he drawls, listening to the cool hum of the air conditioner. “Drugs, huh?”

He hears you choke on a fry.

“Th-they weren’t mine!” you blurt. “Honest, Sir, they—”

“Relax,” he says, eyes flitting down. “I’m not going to have you fired over this. Vincent wouldn’t want that. If anything, the court will decide.”

You relax a little at that, but Marius can sense that you’re still on edge.

“I...appreciate that a lot, Sir. But, really, the drugs weren’t mine. I—I’m sure there’s video evidence to prove that. I was just coming home from work when a kid told me to hold onto this bag, and—”

Marius lifts an eyebrow. He may be out of touch with the realities of the common class, but even he knows how ridiculous your story is.

“I didn’t take it, though! He handed it to me and I put it on the ground! But...but an officer saw me put it on the ground and assumed it was mine...and then...you know what happened.”

Marius sighs. You've always been a good, low-profile worker. He has no reason to believe that you'd get involved with anything bad: but he can't help but doubt you. When he next speaks, his voice is laced with hesitance. “Is there anything to prove your innocence? Pax can help get you a good lawyer, but without evidence, it’ll—”

“There is!” Your eyes are too determined to be anything other than sincere. “Or, ah, there should be. It happened right outside my apartment. I’m sure someone there has surveillance footage of what happened.”

Marius ignores the quiet “hopefully” you add to the end of that. 

“Alright,” he says, deciding that it’s not his place to decide whether or not he believes your story. “Tell me how you got my private number, then. Pax employees shouldn’t have access to that information.”

“Oh, ah…”

Your gaze turns sheepish. Marius grows even more interested in your response.

“Mr. Vincent had it written down a couple months ago. I accidentally saw it. I tried to forget, but…”

You seem to be kicking yourself over the blunder, but Marius is impressed. A mind that can remember something months after having seen it only once is a valuable thing, he thinks. It’s a waste for someone with your brain to be working as a mere assistant’s assistant.

“I’m really—”

“It’s okay,” Marius says. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m...not mad at you.”

And somehow, he really isn’t angry anymore.

The two of you finish your meal soon enough, Marius having successfully pressed his fries into your hands. It seems that you really are hungry because you down those in a manner of minutes, and the man almost regrets not having ordered more when he hears your stomach still grumbling beneath the hum of the car as he returns to the highway.

As Marius lets the GPS guide him back onto Stellis’s most frequented roads, he’s pleasantly surprised to find that all traffic is gone. He speeds down the road with a renewed vigor, somehow sidestepping the usual sleepiness that overcomes him during these kinds of drives with your idle commentary of the road, little mentions of “I once saw a turtle here” and “there used to be four lanes here, but they changed it to five” and “this mile-post had the wrong number on it for years before I reported it and highway patrol got it changed.”

If anything, there’s a faint smile on his face when he finally pulls off the freeway, almost amused by your quiet chit-chat. 

“Is this the right neighborhood?” Marius asks as he pulls into one of Stellis’s residential districts. 

“Yeah, it’s just a little further down.” You gather your purse in your lap and thank Marius for the umpteenth time.

“It's okay,” he says, slowing down. The apartments are looking poorer, now, dingier, but he tries not to let that show on his face. “Is it here?”

“Right at the end of the street,” you say, and with only a mildly concerned look on his face, Marius drives you further down the road.

His eyebrows furrow as he realizes what kind of neighborhood you live in, and he wonders if your wage truly is so poor that you have to live here, of all places. The apartment complexes here are unrenovated, a disappointing amount of them sporting broken glass or graffiti on them. Litter covers the grounds, and even in the thick, 3-AM darkness, Marius can make out hundreds of beer cans scattered across the lawns. Bushes are either dying or overgrown, and there are cigarette butts everywhere. 

Marius realizes that between his suit, his car, and his three earrings, he might have more money on him than everyone who lives here combined.

“Which...which of these apartments is yours?”

He looks around warily, quietly hoping that you’ll say it’s none of them.

“Ah, it’s the first window on the second floor of that…” you trail off as your pointer finger lands on an apartment where all lights are lit—and three masked figures stand illuminated, clearly ransacking your house.

“Oh my god,” Marius blurts, already getting his phone out. “You’re getting robbed, what the—”

“No, no!” You’re quick to place a hand on Marius’s arm before he can dial Emergency Services. “Those are, ah, just the neighborhood boys. They...they do bad things, but they’re good kids. Don’t worry. I’ll chase them out in no time, you don’t have to—”

“Are you serious?” Marius asks, dumbfounded. “This—how can you go back to a home like that? You could die, or—or—”

“Sir,” you say, looking him in the eyes with more seriousness than he’s seen from you this entire night. “With all due respect, this is the best I can afford.”

Marius falls silent at that.

You open the door silently, casting your eyes down. “Thank you again for everything,” you murmur. “I...I really appreciate it. I’ll do my best to make sure it never happens again.”

But then, Marius thinks about the weak story you gave to him earlier, where you claimed that someone handed you drugs and then left you with them, and he wonders whether it might have actually been true. Whether this neighborhood, with its burglars and alcoholism and litter, could actually present you with that reality. Whether something like that may happen again to you, or, worse, Marius thinks as he glances back into your apartment at the three masked robbers, if you could actually get hurt.

Against all better judgment, his arm snaps out. He grips your wrist instantly, not thinking about propriety or class divisions or economic status or anything other than you, one of his company’s employees, and your safety.

“Don’t go there,” he blurts. When he realizes that you’re not tearing your arm free of him, he speaks again. “At least, not while they’re there. I’ll come back here with you tomorrow to make sure you can return in a safe environment, and—”

“Sir, I can’t just get a hotel or—”

“I have two guest bedrooms. You can take your pick. Just—ah—” Marius glances out the window at the poor neighborhood you live in, and he winces. “I can’t let you go home to this. Not...not while there are robbers in your house. Please understand.”

“This...this kind of problem doesn’t just go away,” you mumble, but Marius relaxes when he sees your grip on the door loosen. “And besides, it really wouldn’t be appropriate for me to stay in your apartment.”

“Most people wouldn’t call it appropriate to call your company’s CEO to bail you out of jail,” Marius jokes, but the humor of it is lost on you.

“I…”

Your face falls.

“A—that was a joke,” Marius stutters. “I was joking.”

“Right.”

The atmosphere of the car goes awkward, made even worse by the GPS’s automated reminder that your destination is on the left, but the more Marius looks out his window, the more he decides that he can’t possibly let you return to this apartment. He’ll give you a raise if he has to, but this is something no one should be subject to.

“Alright,” you finally relent after Marius makes it clear that he won’t speak unless it’s to plead with you more. “Just for one night.”

“Just for one night,” Marius agrees, already planning how he can make sure that you have a better home to return to than this one for all future nights to come.

[jungkutiewrites]

not quick enough

Stiles x Fem!Reader

“Remind me why we’re friends again?”

“Because you really, really like me. And my company. And my opinions. And–”

“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point!” You laughed a little in spite of yourself. How he was able to calm you down in seconds was still a wonder. “Okay. I won’t murder him.”

[ Also on AO3! ]

“You can’t just murder him, Y/N.”

“You think I can’t?”

“No, I definitely think you can, and that is exactly why I’m telling you this.”

“Remind me why we’re friends again?”

“Because you really, really like me. And my company. And my opinions. And–”

“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point!” You laughed a little in spite of yourself. How he was able to calm you down in seconds was still a wonder. “Okay. I won’t murder him.”

“That’s my girl.” He winked and you rolled your eyes, ignoring the little flutter your heart made. “He’s an idiot; not even worth your time.”

“Right…” You picked up your pen and started spinning it with your fingers. “So you really think he’s doing all of this because he likes me?”

“Well, that, or he’s just another moron who needs attention 24/7. Actually, he’s such an incompetent mess, I wouldn’t put it past him. But I mean, come on, Y/N.” Stiles rolled his eyes and closed his textbook. “Bothering you in class? Always asking stupid questions? No, wait, asking you for freaking directions inside the school? The building isn’t even that big, God, and oh, let’s not forget, exactly how many times did you say he’s asked if you’re single? Hell, I bet he’s going to ask you out by the end of this week, just watch.”

You shook your head and turned away from him to hide the smile that had touched your lips. “Stop it.”

“I’m just saying, he seems very interested in your love life for someone who claims, and I quote, to ‘hate your guts’, don’t you think?” Stiles dramatically fell backward on the bed and propped his head under his hands. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m not.”

“Ah, yes, you are.”

“It’s because you’re being ridiculous.”

“Or maybe I’m just right.”

“What difference does it make, when it’s you?” Shock morphed on his face at your words and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Relax. I’m joking.”

“That’s it; I can’t deal with this anymore.” Stiles sniffed and wiped an invisible tear from his cheek. He shook his head. “I know when I’m not appreciated, Y/N. That’s it; a guy can only take so much. I want a divorce.”

“We’re not married, Stiles.”

He paused his ‘crying’ and looked at you. “We’re not?”

“If we were, would you be taking it this lightly if a guy was hitting on me?”

“Who said I’m taking it lightly?”

The smile slipped off your face as the words began sinking in. Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Stiles’ expression was closed off, serious, but his right hand was clenched tightly against the book in his hands. Had he meant to say that? Was he still joking?

“What?”

“You heard me. You didn’t seem all that upset actually, when I said he likes you.”

“Well, I wasn’t happy about it either.” You didn’t know where this was going and you weren’t sure you wanted to find out. “You know I already like someone else.”

“Right. Okay. Well, if you want to be with him, it’s fine. I mean, he’s… good-looking, I guess. And he’s very good at lacrosse so that’s a plus too, but he’s not… I mean, come on, Y/N, he doesn’t know you. He hasn’t even tried to get to know you at all. All he probably cares about is--”

You cut him off, saying, “I know, Stiles. I never said I liked him back, or that I wanted to do anything like that with him.”

“Okay. Good. I mean, you know, because you already like someone and it’s… yeah, exactly.”

You smiled and shook your head, turning back to your notebook.

“We should probably get back to this,” you said, gesturing to your homework. “Or we’ll never get it done.”

“Right.”

Silence fell upon you two for a little while, but you pushed away the pounding of your heart and the sweat that had started to form on your hands and broke it.

“At least now you know how I feel when Malia gets all… intimate with you.”

“What?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“She doesn’t get intimate, Y/N--”

“Really? So she’s constantly touching you because she just feels like it, then?”

“She doesn’t like me, Malia is just--”

“Just a friend. I know. You’ve told me.”

“Because that’s what she is.”

“Is she really?”

You two looked at each other for a moment, before he shook his head and said, “You know, Y/N, you’re not the only one who likes someone. So even if Malia does like me, it doesn’t matter. She’s just a friend.”

That was the first time Stiles had explicitly admitted he had a crush on someone, and even without you knowing who that person was, this confirmation was enough to make your heart sink.

“Are you sure you won’t just end up giving up on this person?” You didn't remember exactly when it was that he first mentioned this crush of his, but it must've been at least over half a year ago.

“I used to like Lydia, Y/N. For years,” he said. “I don’t mind waiting.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have to.”

He moved a little closer to you on the bed, pushing away the papers and pens that were lying between the two of you. “And why’s that?”

Suddenly self-conscious and with your cheeks warm, you shrugged your shoulders and looked away from him. He was right next to you now, sitting cross-legged just like you. “I just don’t think this person is worth it if they can’t see how… cool you are.”

“Y/N, I am literally the definition of uncool.”

“You know what I mean! If she can’t see how amazing you are, then she isn’t worth it.”

“You’re quick to assume she doesn’t feel the same. I haven’t even told her I like her yet.” His voice was closer than you had expected, but you still refused to look at him. You kept your eyes glued on the textbook in your hands.

“Well, why haven’t you told her yet?”

“Oh, you know, I’m just being a coward and waiting for her to figure it out herself.”

You forced your voice to remain steady as you asked, “And how’s that going?”

“It’s not so bad actually. Fun, torturous; it all depends on the way you look at it, of course. But this approach, you know, it's just…” He pushed your hair away from your face. “Not quick enough.”

You leaned back and met his lips halfway.

The kiss was brief and simple, but when it ended, Stiles gave you one of his biggest smiles. “Well, won't you look at that! Scott thought it'd take at least another month. He owes me, like, ten dollars.”

“Stiles!” You laughed and pushed him away, but he came closer again. He gave you another kiss.

“Won't this bother this very special person who's stolen your heart?” Stiles asked.

Raising your eyebrows, you leaned in and kissed him; this time it was longer, with your hands on his cheeks. “I don't know. Why don't you ask him?”

“Can I?”

Another kiss.

“He's right here, with me.”

[rason-rodd]

Snowmen and Assassins - Older!Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: This is Y/N’s first Christmas among the League of Assassins but a monastery of deadly assassins is maybe not the right place to celebrate this winter tradition. 

Author’s note: Bat-Christmas Day 12 ;-) Damian in this story is highly inspired by Batman beyond! Damian as he took his grandfather’s place as leader of the League of Assassins. And I will fight anyone who doesn’t believe Adult Damian will be the most devoted boyfriend to ever exist. (#assassinprincecharming)

Tagged: 100% Fluff

Sitting at the candlelit desk that used to belong to his grandfather, working on a personal project that could not wait, Damian Wayne could hear the unclear yet outraged groans and growls of his counsellor – whose name was Zeh-Ro - echoing outside of the door. He was clearly angry but it was nothing new or surprising.     Lately, and especially since Damian’s reconciliation with his father and your arrival in the Himalayan monastery, the old white-haired man had taken the rude habit to question Damian’s every decision as leader of the League of Assassin in ways that were highly inappropriate for a man of his status. Of course this misplaced attitude was never welcomed or tolerated by the young leader, and each tantrums had all encountered either a stone-cold stoicism or a burning rage. A type of reaction Damian had inherited from his father, Bruce.             “This is highly unacceptable!” Damian sighed, fully aware that his bodyguard, Koru, would not be able to prevent Zeh-Ro from entering his private quarters any longer. “Let me see him!” The heavy wooden door suddenly burst open, making all the soft dancing flames shudder, almost in panic, as if they were aware of the incoming wrath. “What is wrong, Zeh-Ro?”   “This woman … This woman is a disgrace! How dares she?!” The red of his angry face was clashing with the whiteness of his dishevelled hair, a scarlet colour only Y/N and her light-hearted shenanigans could give him. “I’m sure whatever Y/N did it is not that terrible.” Damian declared with a discreet amused smirk. “Not that terrible? Not that terrible?” The old man repeated almost out of breath. “That woman has a knack of bringing shame to herself … and to ourselves … and to our cause. To you. She is a foreign child who knows nothing of our culture, nothing of our traditions. I said it before and I say it again. Her place is not here!” Damian put what he was doing in the drawer of his desk that he slammed almost violently and stood up. But not even his menacing eyes or his towering stature seemed to frighten Zeh-Ro who kept mumbling his anger at him. “Your grandfather would have never approved of her! The league does not approve of her! This silly infatuation needs to end and it needs to end now!”   “No.” Zeh-ro eyes widened suddenly. He had expected more that a single word. He had expected more consideration, even more anger. “No?” Damian didn’t bother to repeat and smoothly close the gap between him and his counsellor in an attempt to establish his undeniable authority on him.           “And from now on I would not tolerate you interfere in my privacy. My love life is none of your concern Zeh-ro, nor is Y/N.”           “But she…” Damian cut him short, tired of hearing and seeing the man. “I will hear no more. Now leave.” Fortunately, he beat a retreat and exited the room while muttering insults in Arabic that Damian chose to ignore. He had other matters to take care of.           Only when the man finally was out of sight, did the leader of the league choose to relax and lose his aggressive austerity. “Will he ever learn?” He asked Koru who almost allowed himself to smile. “I’m afraid not, master.” Damian sighed again and put on his long green kimono that he carelessly knotted around his strong waist. “What has Y/N done again?”     “ I believe it is better for you to see it, master.”

***

In spite of the cashmere gloves you were wearing, your hands were red and freezing just as your cheeks and the tip of your nose. Unsurprising since you had been spending the afternoon playing in the snow with the few children of the league who had been bold enough to follow you in your shenanigans.     Not that it had been your goal all along. In fact, you had never thought about asking anyone to follow you in your “Not so top-secret Christmas mission ” as you had named it when the little rascals had found you baking Christmas cookies in the kitchen this morning and curiously asked what you were up to.           Before that, you had just planned to bake for your lover and decorate a Christmas tree in your shared quarters, away from prying eyes, perfectly aware of the fuss your silly little actions would cause if anyone caught you trying to celebrate Christmas.         But then, the children had simply said, “We’ve never celebrated Christmas.” with their little eyes shining with sadness.      

And so here you were. Building snowmen right under the noses of mighty assassins glaring at you as if you were committing the most awful crime in the world.   Their reactions had hurt you at first, just as many other things they had done – or hadn’t done- since your arrival in the monastery in spite of all your relentless attempts at fitting in. But then you had realised that they should not matter and that you should focus only on the magic, on the happiness of the children by your side occasionally fighting with snowballs and acting - maybe for the first time of their life - as who they truly were, kids.

“Beloved?” You slightly jumped and dropped the small little stone carefully chosen to be the left eye of your snowman on the ground. “Damian.” You didn’t know how to react. Usually, Damian was always there to defend you, finding excuses to all the times your attitude wasn’t appreciated or approved by the league. But there was a difference between forgetting to remove your shoes at the entrance of Ra’s Al Ghul’s temple and celebrating an occidental tradition in a monastery of assassins. Maybe had you gone too far this time. “What are you doing?”         “Look… I know this looks bad. But it’s my first winter here, my first Christmas away from my family and I thought …”           “That you could celebrate it here.” He looked so serious you couldn’t tell if he was mad at you or if he simply was tired of you not being “the right paramour” for him – a term Damian’s counsellor had spit to your face quite a few times. “I get that I might have gone too far this time. I can stop if that’s what you want.”

Damian knelt to pick the little black stone you had dropped and suddenly, much to your surprise and to those around you, placed it on your snowman’s face. “By all means, continue.” And with a gentle timid smile, he turned around to where he came from. You blinked quite a couple of times; unable to believe what you had just seen or to demonstrate all the happiness this small action had given you.           But then you gasped as a huge snowball hit Damian right in the back of his head. “God damn …” He cursed more out of surprise than out of pain and turned back around with a glare you had never seen. Your eyes widened and you looked at the terrorised children who were all pointing at the culprit. Guess boldness and courage had their limits. “How dare you throw a snowball at the Demon’s Head? And behind his back?” He growled, definitely angry and the poor children looked down, petrified. “I guess someone has to teach you how to play fairly.”  

And then a snowball hit your shoulder, making you scream loudly. “Ahhh” But then you saw that Damian was laughing like you had never heard him laugh before. And goodness, how contagious it was. “You’re going to pay for this!” You harrumphed trying to remove the snow from inside your coat. “Choose your partners, kids. This battle is to death.”

***

“I let you win.” Damian declared as he removed his thick leather boots once in your quarters. “Plus you had better partners. Mine were all incompetent. I scored all the points myself.”       “Of course, Dami. Of Course.” You smiled and removed your wool coat to place it by the fireplace where you chose to stay a little to enjoy its welcome warmth after this cold afternoon outside.       “You know. You’re starting to show, beloved.” Damian said as he approached you to lovingly hug you from behind and kiss your neck, his strong hands on your slightly round belly that were keep a four-months little secret no one knew about yet. “Yeah. We won’t be able to keep hiding it for too long.” You put your hands on Damian’s, adoring his sudden proximity and his devotion to you and to your little one growing inside of you. “I guess that’s gonna make some people boil over.”           “Who cares?” He kissed your temple and let his soft lips remain on your skin just to smell its perfume. You let go in his embrace, wondering how this loving man could be the leader of such a deadly organisation. Speaking of deadly organisation …   “By the way, thank you for this afternoon, for defending me again. I know it often undermines you especially in Zeh-Ro’s eyes.” You heard Damian sigh and tense a little before turning you around to face him. “Beloved, when will you realise I do not care about what Zeh-Ro thinks, about what anyone thinks? I’m happy to defend you. At least it shows them that I am not my grandfather and that they can’t expect me to be him.” “ But …” You tried to protest and he gestured you to be quiet with a finger on your lips. “No buts. I love all the things you do here. I love all the love you bring to this place, to me. And I want out child to experience it. I don’t want him to live the joyless loveless childhood I lived.” You smiled at his words but your eyes reflected the sadness he had in his. You knew about his past, about Talia and Ra’s and all the things they made him go through, the exhausting relentless and abusive trainings and the heavy burden they had placed on his young shoulders when he was just a little boy. And so you cupped his cheek and softly kissed him in on tiptoe, keeping his broad body against yours that seemed so tiny and fragile in comparison to his. Though, the most fragile person in this room right now was him.               “I have something for you, beloved.” Damian said as he slowly let go of you for a moment to take something he had left in his desk. “I hope you’ll like it.”

You slightly shook the box he had just given you, curious to know what’s inside. “You know it’s not Christmas yet.”   “I know. It’s not really a Christmas gift” You narrowed your eyes trying to read in his what he was hiding from you. “Just open it.” He chuckled and you grinned, your hands already tearing the wrapping up. It was a wooden small box. “You’re not asking me to marry you, are you?” You asked cheekily and Damian laughed. “Not yet.” He smirked but you chose to ignore it for now, too excited to know what was in the box.

It was a beautiful Christmas tree star, certainly made of crystal judging by how fragile and translucent it looked, and definitely very ancient. “Damian, it’s beautiful.” “You like it?” “I love it!” You corrected as you delicately touched it with your fingertips. “Good. Cause there’s a Christmas tree in the main hall that is waiting for it.” He looked at your eyes brighten instantly and as beautifully and brightly as the star you were holding, glad he could finally make you feel at home as much as you could make him feel at home. “Merry Christmas, beloved.”   “Merry Christmas, Damian.”           Merry Christmas, indeed. 

[detectiveran]

It’s been a long time since I wrote anything, practically a year and 2020 was awful and 2021 didn’t start off well either because of a relative’s death. But anyway, I hope you guys like what I’ve written.

If you wanna support me, I would be highly grateful. My paypal is: paypal.me/filterish

It was truly horrible that Ran was dealt such a awful card in her life. An alcoholic father, a workaholic mother and an innate disposition of wanting to please people whom she loved.

She could have lived with the first two cards but it was the third one that made her life difficult. Wanting to do the best she could at academics so she could get praised by her absent parents, wanting to have friends so that she could answer her mother’s questions about her friendships with conviction, wanting to work so that she could take care of the monetary burdens... wants, wants, wants.

To be honest, all she wanted was peace. To not be involved in her separated yet together parents’ tumultuous relationship. Sometimes thinking about her family made her chest hurt and throat tickle. She loved her mother and she loved her father. But she didn’t love them together. And when she came to realize that at the age of twenty, she finally let go.

She had worried and schemed to get her parents back together practically her whole life but now, she knew that if they didn’t want to be together, all her efforts would be in vain. So, at the age of twenty, with a heavy heart, she decided to let her family go. She stopped calling her mother to fix a date with her father, she stopped pestering her father about giving a fuck about her mother. And then came the realization that she was lonely. So lonely that her heart ached.

She hadn’t managed to make friends, life long friends people would go on about, because she was focused on bettering herself so that her parents would praise her. On the flip side, she had gotten into one of the best universities in Tokyo and was studying her desired subject about Medicine. Most days she could live with the pay off. Having a stable career would help in surviving alone a lot.

People in her class would invite her to hang out and she would say yes, just to sit there and observe them. For some reason, the buzzing chatter of her classmates soothed her a lot. They would gossip or discuss about classes or professors and Ran would sit there with a slight smile on her face and her heart feeling lighter. She craved companionship. 

With that thought in her mind, she decided to open up with her college classmates. She knew the names of the people in her class, thankfully and so, with a cheery smile she used to plaster on at her high school, she slid into the conversation about the college’s professors.

“... And Tsukiyama-sensei gives us so maaaany diagrams to draw,” Hayami-san was whining, “I have a part time job to do and then that teacher’s homework... I don’t get the time to unwind at all.” 

“He does push us a lot,” Ran said and noticed the sort of surprised looks of her three classmates, though they quickly covered it up. 

“You find it hard too, huh, Ran-san?” Sonoko-san said, “With your grades, I thought it would be easy for you to catch up.” 

Ran quickly grabbed the opportunity to continue the conversation, thankful that the atmosphere didn’t turn awkward at her sudden interruption, “Ah, well, I don’t actually have a lot to do, you know? Mostly studies and a part time job as an assistant at a detective agency.”

“Detective agency?!” The three of them exclaimed and faced Ran fully.

Her smile grew sheepish as she said, “Ahhhh, but, nothing interesting happens when I’m there. Usually, I just have to compile all the data and file them.” 

“But, still! You must have found something interesting there!” Aoko-san said, with her eyes shining with excitement, “A case? Or a person? Have you ever helped the detective, Ran-san?” 

Ran shook her head no, “I’m not allowed to work on the cases, Aoko-san. As a matter of fact, I’ve not even seen the detective yet, I usually work in the evening, after my classes are done.”

Hearing that, the three of them looked concerned and Hayami-san spoke, “Ran-san, are you sure that’s safe? I mean,” she shared a look full of concern with Sonoko-san and Aoko-san, “you have never seen whom you work with, right? What if it’s some super shady guy?” 

Ran chuckled a bit and said, “It’s okay, Hayami-san. I’m trained in karate. Plus, the agency I work at is super reputed. It’s just that the guy whom I’m assigned to is very, very busy and even other employees have said that it’s rare to see him in the office. He works at very odd hours.” 

That did nothing to alleviate their concern and Ran felt a bit touched. This was the first time she was having a proper conversation with them and the four of them were practically strangers yet Hayami-san, Sonoko-san and Aoko-san were so concerned about her well being. 

Aoko-san was apprehensive and she murmured, “If you say so, Ran-san,” and then in a more chipper tone asked, “Which agency do you work at?”

“Kudo Detective Agency.” Ran replied.

Hearing that, the three of them were even more animated in their response, “THE Kudo Detective Agency?” Aoko-san gasped in disbelief. 

“Wait, the famous ex-policeman one?!” Sonoko-san exclaimed.

“The one that has this hot, handsome guy working there?” Hayami-san said.

All of them turned to look at Hayami-san and she shrugged sheepishly, “What? Everybody knows that there is this rumored handsome guy who works there and is seen like once in every millennia,” she said sarcastically.

Sonoko-san swatted her friend and Aoko-san clicked her tongue, waving her comment away and turned her attention back to Ran, “You really work at Kudo Detective Agency, Ran-san? Oh, wow. It houses the best of the best detectives.” 

Sonoko-san nodded and said, “Damn, you must have impressed the Kudo husband and wife duo a lot. Seeing that they have such a strict policy and criteria to employ people.”

And with that, the three of them were off chattering about the elusive Kudos. Ran chipped in whenever she could but mostly listened while they were talking. She didn’t have the heart to tell them that only reason she works there is to spite her father in an act of rebellion. 

The Kudous were not the reason her father was a piss poor detective but she had spent her teenagers listening to him whine about how Kudo Yuusaku was responsible for the lack of cases in Mouri Detective Agency. And at that time, Ran did what she could to help him, guide her high school classmates in need, put up posters, advertise in newspapers... she did what she could but her father was too prideful to take small cases and too incompetent to work properly on big ones. And by then, the ex-policeman Yuusaku and ex-actress-turned-housewife had established a proper detective agency housing some of the brightest, youngest detectives. 

When she cut ties with her family, she decided to do what she wanted. And so, she offered her services to the Kudous. She knew she could be an excellent assistant and she proved herself by working for a week under Yuusaku Kudo herself. From organization to appointments to little treats or snacks for the clients... she did what she could have been doing for her father. 

And by the time the week had ended, she was employed with a good salary. She thought that working there would hinder her Medicine study course but the detective whom she was assigned to had a set of orders ready when she entered his office. 

She was surprised at first because no one was there to greet her on her first day, just a piece of paper telling her not to come during day time and that her work was to organize the papers that were kept on the table. Sure, there were scribbled notes scattered everywhere on the table but a quick glance clued her in that those were case notes. Case notes of multiple cases, to be exact. 

She found it extremely odd that the detective whom she was supposed to assist had never shown himself. All she knew was that his name was Kudou Shinichi, Kudou Yuusaku and Yukiko’s son, and was an excellent detective. He had grown up in the States and had come back at the age of twenty with plethora of experience under his belt. 

Ran chalked up never seeing him to some weird quirk of his. Truthfully, she liked working there. The Kudou couple treated her kindly, the assistants of other detectives were warm and welcoming, even the other detectives greeted her and indulged in small talk. The work wasn’t difficult, the pay was excellent, the timing fit her college schedule perfectly; everything was great except for never having seen her superior’s face.

Ran sighed as she brought herself back to present. Aoko-san was talking about the lab work they had just finished and Ran smiled lightly. Having friends like them would be nice, she thought. And swore to herself that she would make the effort to know them better. 

That day, she felt very calm as she entered her office. The Kudo Shinichi plaque at the door greeted her and she opened it, mentally gearing herself up for the stack of papers that was bound to be there, only to be greeted by a man, who was shuffling through them. 

“Umm... hello?” Ran asked hesitantly, not wanting to jump to conclusions about who this man was.

The man faced her and smiled a bright smile, which left Ran disarmed. “Hello, you must be Mouri Ran-san?” he asked.

Ran felt a little discombobulated, she hadn’t anticipated someone being inside the office. “Uhh... yes, I am. And you are...?” she didn’t want to presume who he was but she had a little inkling of whom he could be.

“Ah, sorry for introducing myself late,” and he walked up to her and held his hand up for a greeting, “My name is Kudou Shinichi... and ahh, I’m supposed to be working here,” he said in a playful tone with a smirk that showed a dimple on his left cheek.

The only thought that crossed her mind at that moment was what Hayami-san had said a few hours before. He really was a gorgeous man. 

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Two to Tango

Note: Wow, it’s been like a year since I’ve written any EoA, and of course, of course, my inspiration was Estoma. I always thought tango as a dance for them and so... I made a fic. Thanks to @halloweennut for her advice in the dance and the ending. The dance was modeled on this one so if any of the description seems awkward, this was what I was trying to describe. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S_L-v8zQf14. As ever, hope y’all enjoy!

Esteban discreetly wiped his brow as he bowed down to what felt like his hundredth dance partner this night.

It had been thrilling to dance again, away from the cold eyes of the tyrannical sorceress. Feel his muscle memory flip to automatic as he spun around. The music lifts and moves him in a joyous way that he never thought he would have again. He needed to enjoy the night while he could. Before he went back to the “civilized silence,” the gloomy, culture-less Avalor and all the other miseries he brought upon himself there.

But even he had to admit he was exhausted after being on his feet all night yet he didn’t want to stop. King Lars had assured him the tango would play by now, as per Esteban’s request. The tango was one of the most complex dances in Avalor. Intense, passionate, por sabor! It reminded him of his childhood, watching his parents sweep around their ballroom on date night and wondering how two bodies could move that way. It reminded him of his youth- the way the guitar strummed and the music reached a tantalizing hilt as he dipped his voluptuous partner, feeling the heat feed off each other, feeling like a man. He remembered the feeling of being fully in control, his every muscle limber and engaged in the moment. Knowing that no one else could execute the tango like he could. It was like nothing in the world. Not that he would get to fully show off his skill. After all the tango was dependent on how well the partners moved together and since they were going in a circle, each guest taking the partner to their left, who knows what kind of person he’d get. The tricky intricate dance could be dangerous with the wrong partner. Not in the physical sense but to one’s ego, immensely. For an inexperienced partner’s awkward mistakes could make them both look like fools. King Lars rang the bell that signaled a partner change. He bowed to the dashing blonde who he shared the Marswickian waltz with. He rolled back his shoulders as he stood in the outer circle as the ladies tittered, swirling the skirts and moved to their right. And the gods must have thought, like so many times in Esteban's life, that he had too much of a good thing because they saw it fit to strike him with a migraine in the form of Avalor's magister of trade.

It was clear that she hadn't been expecting him to be her partner either by the way  Doña's jaw unattractively dropped open and her nose started to scrunch up in disgust. He would almost have been insulted but he knew that he was probably making a similar face as the migraine began to assault him.

No, actually, Esteban thought to himself, he did feel insulted by how annoyed she looked. After all, she was the one who had been causing trouble all week. No matter the treaty, no matter the discussion. She contradicted each and every word he said. They were supposed to be a united front for Avalor's interests at these foreign meetings to ensure that Avalor, and more importantly Shuriki, would be satisfied and prosperous in the years to come. But instead she argued with him, that his strategies were unachievable. His ideas were too broad or too narrow. Everything he did was wrong or stupid or foolish in some way. He didn't know what it was. Most foreign trips, they'd sweep the other kingdoms aside and meet their goals efficiently. But this week, she seemed intent on refuting everything he said out of spite. He'd been hoping not to see her until the weekend. Their last argument had been particularly harrowing as it went from trade disagreements to more personal insults. He knew what she thought of him. Hell, she condescendingly held her chin up high and rolled her eyes at him as she went on about how little he knew of the real world because he was pompous, pampered, spoiled royal. That she was so much better than him, that she worked so much harder. It was infuriating to be with someone so arrogant and self-important. After two days he wanted to exile her to Nueva Vista to work as... as he didn't know what, but just far from him. But the worst thing was he couldn't do that. She was actually good at her job! This week aside, when they did work together, she had good ideas. Not as well thought out and great as Esteban's but they were effective. She had a silver tongue persuasiveness that sometimes left him speechless. She was dedicated, she knew how to get things done. Esteban was convinced that it was pure antagonism on her part that she thrived in her job. She was accomplished so he couldn't use the excuse of incompetence to put her out of office and out of his life! No, he was stuck with her. And he was stuck with her in this tango too apparently. His temple throb as he saw her lips part. A sure sign that she would add to his pounding headache. So he went for the first strike. “Let’s not talk that way, this will go faster for both of us,” Esteban cut her off, “Besides talking tends to make inexperienced dancers, like you, mess up.” Doña, blessedly, shut her mouth yet her eyes lit up with the competitive fire that was present at all their interactions. Then the music began. The guitars rumbled with feeling. The singer's voice rose from deep in his gut to mourn his lost love in the fires of the revolution. Esteban straightened up and held his arms out more stiff than what was expected for a dance but gods, this irritation always made him tense. She lightly took his hands, looking at him down her nose as if he should be so honored to be partnered with her. He couldn't stop his eye roll which she responded with a sardonic snort. Esteban thought to spare himself the further pain by training his eyes on some distant point. But her face caught his eyes first. Her green orbs weren't steadfastly ignoring him as he was planning to do with her, in fact she was seizing up his form. For a moment, Esteban thought she was watching him because she didn't know the moves. Unsurprising since she grew up during Shuriki's ban on music and dance. A fact amply demonstrated when he did see her dance. A scarecrow had more rhythm than her. However, she didn't have the look of a novice, nervously watching where to put her feet. No, she was watching him. Daring... no. Esteban could see the anticipatory look, she was waiting for him to slip. The nerve of her! He met her eye for eye, to partake in a staring contest that proved he had no need to watch his feet in a tango. He was the dance expert here. He lips curved into that taunting smirk and Esteban smirked as well, knowing for all her arrogance that he was the superior one on the floor tonight.

The tango is primarily a walking dance and so at the first 8 count, they curved and stepped. He stepped forward, keeping his weight on the balls of his feet, right foot passing over his left handily as she did the reverse, gliding across the room into the center of the circle. The spotlight that always suited Esteban best.

He swung her into a back corte, sliding his leg up hers for a gancho then she did the gancho and they repeated the arrastre. He began to move backwards so they could go to the right but she slid her leg up to his hips, forcing him to arch back into a lunge and then began to move backwards herself. Forcing Esteban to follow her to the left of the room.

Just like in a regular workday, Doña was always trying to counter him. Esteban gritted his teeth in an effort to keep his face stoic. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction.

She'd pasada, "You're spoiled, egotistical, pretentious, pompous.." He'd agujas "You're disrespectful, self-centered, high and mighty.." He'd start a giro and she'd change it midway to a colgada. Insults going unspoken between them, but it was as if they were picking up the argument just from this afternoon. "Impossible, insufferable" "Deluded, ungrateful, repressed" Each doing what made the tango so difficult yet entrancing. Taking advantage of one move to add their personal flair, anticipating and following the other's moves in the push and pull that characterized the dance. And their personal rivalry for dominance. And just like their work life, they found each other underestimating the grace the other would pull off when faced with a surprise. The dedication and focus that was turned to this dance instead of their usual inventories. The fierce determination to do it right and not stop till it was done. He gently swung her right arm prompting a twirl so Esteban could get a break from their intense stare down and the feeling that he was going to go cross eyed. He took control and instead of returning to the regular forward facing position that the rest of the couples had taken, he turned her so her back was toward him. He pressed against her back, his cheek against her smooth hair, inhaling the flowery fragrance as they took a turn around the room. Esteban felt his body relax, his arms lost their stiffness and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

Yes, he was in his element now, and with some satisfaction he knew  Doña wasn't. His hand held against hers on her stomach, and he could feel the all too purposeful in-out breathing that one used to hide nerves.

When he spun her around so they faced each other again, he didn't see a hint of uncertainty. Her eyes were narrowed in vexation at what he pulled but she still held her nose in the air like a goddamn queen. Gods, why was he cursed with her in his life? But if she wanted to act like she'd been tango-ing for years, well then he was certainly going to take this dance to the next level. Esteban cracked his neck and when the singer reached his chorus, he slid his hand to the small of her back, being careful that he was properly positioned and had a firm grip on her other hand, he lifted her up. She wobbled a bit at the surprise horizontal lift but he kept his grip on her, slowly turning around in a circle, drawing several gasps from onlookers.

Doña was too stiff and for the barest of moments her eyes widened in fear, probably suspecting that he was going to drop her on her head in revenge for many annoyances.

But he had a reputation on the dance floor to maintain and it wouldn't do if she made him look bad. He mouthed "Drop one leg down and relax." The fear vanished and was replaced with a haughty sniff as she dropped her head down for another turn around the room. He brought her back to the ground for a moment before lifting her up in a classic tango lift, settling her against his hip, arms outstretched. Another turn and she slowly, almost tantalizing if it had been any other person, slid down against his chest back to her feet. Back at first position, back in the stare down that started it all. The music sped up and they went into a triple arrastre, another corte and he spun her so they could take another promenade around the room. This time she was prepared for when he pressed against her back and she surprised him with a gancho between his legs. A gancho that was too sensually close for comfort that he decided it would be safer if they faced forward from then on. He could practically hear her self-satisfied drawl, "Repressed! I'll show you repressed!" Not that he didn't return the favor by pressing his lips against her neck for a moment, just long enough for her to gasp before he twirled her around, smoothing his face as if nothing had happened. The music hit another swell and their third back corte was when Esteban felt the moment he had been wanting. He felt free. His past, his mistakes, his flaws all meant nothing. His mind mumbling depressing days ahead we’re not in sight. He was happy. And he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. The facial muscles that had gone unused so long. But it was a relief as well. That he was capable of feeling it again. That he had something to smile about. He wanted the moment to last forever. This was the moment where everything clicked, all his senses came to life, melded together in clear focus. Everything was heightened but he didn't notice his surroundings. He was aware only of the dance, the movement of their bodies, their music and the running heat.

He was also acutely aware of the dryness in his throat, the slight perspiration that formed a sheen across his forehead. He felt the smooth silk of Doña's dress, the way it slid under his palm as his left hand held the small of her back.

It suddenly hit him how close they were to each other. How he could feel the warmth of her body radiating through the slippery fabric. The softness of her hands in his. The firm yet determined grip on his shoulder. The way her curves rested against his chest. A fact that made his chest tighten and a flush rise up his neck, reminding himself not to break their staring contest and look down. There was nothing but air that could get past their proximity. His head was swimming with her jasmine perfume that permeated the air, filling his mind with its heady scent. He inhaled deeply, before swinging her arm, signalling that he was going to spin her into an arch turn again, giving him some space to breathe. She spun back toward him, her dress slit sliding up her long leg, another item he was determined not to notice, as he brought her into a low dip.

Esteban was focused on not looking down at the curves arching under him, staring resolutely on her face, eyes landing on the red of her bow shaped lips curved in a rare unguarded smile.

He hadn't noticed before but she was wearing red. A departure from her usual cool tones but it fitted her. It matched the lipstick that brought out her tan skin that glowed under the ballroom chandeliers, the dark raven locks that were slipping from her bun. The dark eyeshadow dusting her eyes that were closed for a moment before pinning him in her sights when he brought her back to standard position. Esteban, feeling drawn to the body warmth, stepped closer than before so their foreheads touched, giving him something to press against, to literally butt heads as they had been metaphorically doing all week. But it wasn't the same stubbornness that drove their fights. It was something altogether different. There was still tension in the air but it wasn't boiling anger. It felt like an undercurrent in his blood waiting to spring.

Doña was no longer smirking. Her mouth was set in a determined line, no longer concerned with showing him up but totally in the moment that they were sharing. Her glowing emerald eyes never left his as if she couldn't look away. And if Esteban was being honest with himself, he wasn't sure he could look away either.

Esteban didn't think, he just felt, taken away by the muscle memory and music. The connection and touch of their bodies against each other. His chest pounded and a coil grew tighter in his stomach. He was the music, rising and falling with the guitar, his tension ebbing and flowing with the notes. Arising with fire when he met Doña's eyes.

The music began to reach a crescendo and Esteban knew how to finish this masterful performance. It was a move he had done dozens of times with some of the most renowned dancers at Avalor's academy. One for the most advanced, and well, he had a feeling  Doña was capable enough. Or at least, her pride wouldn't let her back out now.

He picked her up  spinning and spinning, instinctively knowing the music was coming to its peak and setting her down. It was a dizzying move and Esteban could see from the corner of his eye that Doña was going to fall backwards.

And just like he'd done it a thousand times before, he turned and he gripped her arm into his. Locking gazes once more at the final note. The music ceased and there was a dull roar in Esteban’s ears. Not from the crowd clapping and shouting praise at their performance, he didn’t notice that. Esteban's view was consumed with their locked eyes, the only sound he heard was their breathless panting. Her breath tickled his cheeks from exertion, and heat and released tension. He felt exhausted yet light like he was floating on air. The whole effect was disconcerting and he knew he needed to leave now to get his bearings because if he looked any longer at her..... He broke the stare down first to slowly let go, noting how the crook of her arm fitted perfectly in his and forcing himself to shake that irrant thought away. Esteban backed away, surprised by how he suddenly felt weak-kneed, but he straightened, turned his back on her and left the floor. There was no need for talk, they left it all in their dance.

“You make an excellent couple on the dance floor. Eh, I see you don’t save the fierceness just for the bedroom.” King Juan Ramon nudged him. “Wha-what!” Esteban staggered back, nearly falling on the banquet floor after his flawless performance. “I said, I see you don’t save the fierceness just for the boardroom. You know, negotiations for treaties... Have you had too much wine?” King Ramon put a guiding hand on Esteban's shoulder, expertly leading him away from the crowd, and the sommeliers. “Ah yes, that must be it. Too much wine-I mishear things.” Yes, it was the wine Esteban assured himself. The wine was having an effect on his brain even though he knew that made no sense. He wouldn’t have been able to execute such an excellent tango intoxicated. But it was the only explanation he had for when Esteban heard “bedroom,” his mind immediately went to the image of her lips, remembering how she felt in his arms just moments ago and the desire to take her into his arms, feel the silk slide underneath his fingertips and close the imperceptible distance between them.

He had too much wine. It was the only reason he was thinking that way. He needed to rest. The tango took a lot out of him. He would have to remember for the next time to sit out during tangos. Doing it with the wrong person was dangerous. It made him notice too much. Think too much. Yet his thoughts lingered back to the tango that was more memorable than any he had done before.

[nazyalenskyism]

Let’s Get Married 1

Summary: A Zoyalai modern AU with fake dating in latter parts.

Ao3: Let’s Get Married

Excerpt: He raised a brow, easing back in his chair, “can I help you?”

“What’s this?” Genya exclaimed without any preamble, grabbing a paper off the top of the stack in David’s hands and slapping it onto his desk.

“Paper, I assume, darling Genya.”

“I mean what’s on the paper,” she snapped, “it says you’re married.”

“That sounds great. See you at noon tomorrow. Yes, Madraya I know how to get to the Palm Court. Yes, I promise I won’t be late. Okay, I’ll see you soon.” Nikolai gently placed the receiver into the cradle before dropping his head into his hands. He was lucky that it was a Friday evening, the firm was empty which meant no one was around to witness this. He was nestled away in his favourite hidden corner in the law library which was the perfect place to get his work done, though he wondered how productive he would be now that he had to create a game plan for the following day. He was practiced in making sure his mother didn’t spill any secrets which was often the result of wanting to spite his father and one too many drinks, but no matter how good he thought he was his mother always managed to surprise him. And then there was the matter of his brother and father. He wanted nothing more than for them to burn with their continual mistakes, but he couldn’t. Whether it was out of some strange sense of loyalty to people who only made his life more difficult or to protect his mother who always stood silent at their sides when they tormented him, he didn’t know.

The only thing he did know was that he was about 15 hours away from another lunch with his mother and her gossiping group of friends where his father would decide not to show up at the last minute because Vasily wanted to go golfing in the Hamptons where they would undoubtedly spend the rest of the weekend philandering. Another weekend where his mother pretended she didn’t know what was happening, deciding to drop as much money as she could manage, just to irritate her husband. Then it would be Monday again, where Nikolai was left to pick up the pieces from the damage that his family caused, wishing that he could close his eyes and disappear off the face of the Earth for just a second if it meant he could be left without responsibility over people who didn’t care about him.

“What are you doing?” From between the shelves stepped out another lawyer, not just any other lawyer, it was Zoya. Zoya Nazyalensky was a talented lawyer who had joined the firm a few years after he had, right out of law school. She was skilled, hardworking, and an expert in making the most egotistical men shrink by simply raising her brow. They had worked a few cases together over their time at the firm, but more often than not, they had their separate cases that they chose to work on together. Most days they could be found in each others’ offices, working silently for hours with only occasional requests for advice or lunch orders. Despite all the time they spent working together, Nikolai, who considered himself something of an expert when it came to others’ feelings, had no idea if Zoya actually liked him or if she simply put up with him because he was the least terrible person at work. He always welcomed her company though.

“What are you doing here so late?”

She raised a brow before crossing the space and sinking into the couch cushions next to him. “I could ask you the same thing. In fact, I just did.”

“I’m putting some things together before the weekend.”

“Was your phone call that bad?”

Nikolai wanted to wince, “you heard that?”

“You were on speaker.”

“Saints, as if I needed that broadcast to the entire firm.”

“Oh, there’s no one here. You and I are the only ones left,” she said as she pulled off her high heels and curled her legs onto the couch.

“You haven’t answered my question, why are you still here?”

“You first.”

He sighed, she’d already heard the entirety of his conversation with his mother, it’s not like he could ruin her image of him further. “The sooner I go home, the sooner the reality of tomorrow will hit me.”

“Is getting tea with your mother really that bad?” she asked almost hesitantly.

Nikolai threw his head back, “I love my mother, but these luncheons usually involve my father ditching at the last minute to go and break his wedding vows, while my mother pretends she doesn’t know what’s happening

“And you have to go?”

“Someone has to make sure she gets home in one piece, and I trust her friends as far as they can throw me.”

“Isn’t the saying that you trust them as far as you can throw them?”

“I excel at everything I do, naturally but they can’t say the same.”

“Ah, I see.”

They sat in silence for a moment before she spoke again, her tone hushed as if speaking any louder would shatter the calm. “Is that why you don’t work for your father?”

Nikolai exhaled, “that’s a part of it.” His father was C.E.O of Ravkan Industries, and unlike his brother, Nikolai hadn’t joined the family business right out of highschool. Make no mistake, he wanted to be a part of the company, he knew he needed to be a part of it to spare the world of further misguided leadership from his family. It pained him, but they were the worst thing to happen to the company, and he often feared that he was the only person who could stop the trainwreck that was his family from derailing.

She nodded, “I know a thing or two about bad families.” Her legs had been drawn up to her chest, and she rested her head against her knees, eyes trained on him, “I can’t speak about anyone else, but your brother is definitely a jackass.”

“You’re right, I’m sure everyone who’s ever met him agrees. Speaking of which, when did you?”

“I came to your office a few weeks ago looking for you. He was waiting for you, gave me a sleazy once-over and asked me out. He got offended when I said no, and I told him that I didn’t date men who look like the Walmart versions of their younger brothers.”

Nikolai shook his head in amusement, “I’m surprised I haven’t heard him complaining about that. You must have really wounded his ego.”

“What,” Zoya said, fixing him with the withering glare she dished out when someone was being incompetent, “like it’s hard?”

“Ooh,” Nikolai groaned, rubbing a hand over his chest, “glad I’ve never been on the receiving end of one of those.”

She gave him a small smile, picking at a loose thread at her sleeve, “how do you usually spend your Saturdays when you’re not cleaning up their messes?”

“Go on a run, get pastries and coffee from the bakery across the street, read a book with my cat, catch up on some shows…”

“That sounds…. surprisingly pleasant.”

“ What did you think I got up to?”

“I don’t know… peach picking or something?”

“Aren’t you allergic to peaches?”

Zoya looked startled for a second, “yeah, how did you know that?”

“That time that we helped Genya with her groceries because she broke her leg? You weren’t paying attention and grabbed them, 10 minutes later you got hives.”

The look she gave him was intense and assessing, had he said something wrong? As much as he liked to think he knew how everyone operated, Zoya Nazyalensky was a bit of an enigma to him still. “What about you? What are you doing tomorrow?” he said in an attempt to maintain the conversation.

“I’ll go on a run with my dog, get breakfast, do some work, get some flowers and do my laundry. The usual.”

“Have you ever had lunch at the Palm Court?”

“No, but my aunt took me to the champagne bar when I graduated,” her smile was small, “it was the nicest night I’ve ever had.”

“I can’t promise that tomorrow will be anything less than a disaster, but would you like to accompany me to lunch?”

Zoya fiddled with the chain around her neck, fingers running over the seams of the locket, as if she was contemplating opening it. “Would it be proper?”

“You said it yourself, you have nothing else to do tomorrow morning, you’ll get a ridiculously expensive and delicious lunch for free.”

“But wouldn’t I be intruding?”

“My father’s going to cancel at the last minute, remember?”

“And what if he doesn’t?”

“He will. He always does, and he is nothing if not a creature of habit.” His phone rang at that exact moment, “like clockwork,” he murmured. “Hello.”

“Tell your mother that I can’t make lunch tomorrow, Vasya and I are going golfing.” The line cut before Nikolai could reply, not that he’d been planning on it.

“So, Nazyalensky, are we on for afternoon tea then?”

She sighed, “fine. But it better be as tasty as you’re saying it is.”

“It’s absolutely heavenly. The Dom Pérignon really brings out the subtle undertones in the Pistachio Dacquoise Cake. And the Devonshire cream is absolutely to die for.”

“I didn’t understand half of that.”

“Don’t worry, after the first time, you’ll be begging that we go back.”

She raised a brow, “is that a challenge, Lantsov?”

He grinned, “when is it not?”

“This is a pity lunch, I’m not going because I actually care about you.”

Nikolai nodded understandingly, “of course, of course. This is strictly a pity invite too, since this brunch will definitely be more entertaining than a Saturday spent at home.”

“Great. So we’re on the same page then,” her smile was sharp and Nikolai felt his blood rush at the sight. Maybe tomorrow would be bearable.

***

“Anything I need to know before we go in?” Zoya crossed her arms over her chest, staring up at the façade of the infamous hotel the following morning, suppressing the urge to run home. Was she nervous? For what? To meet Nikolai’s mother? No, that couldn’t be it. She was nervous to lose her bet with him, that was it. He had called her early this morning to make sure that the terms of the bet were solidified, if she fell in love with any of the food, she had to accompany him to any future lunches, whenever he asked. If she won, he had to accompany her to any errands she wanted. She had thought about making him assemble all of her IKEA furniture for the foreseeable future on the way here and had nearly bumped into him while she daydreamed about him carrying her groceries every week.

“If a question doesn’t feel like a trap, then it is one. If it feels like it’s a trap, then it’s definitely a trap. If it feels like someone is fishing for a response, then that’s a trap.”

“So, everything is a trap?”

“Exactly!”

“And you do this every month?”

“More like every two weeks.”

“Saints,” she swore, “and you don’t get sick of the food or company?”

“Well, they do let a little bit too much slide about their husbands’ schedules, most of them are on the board of my father’s company, and if I can get on their good sides they might vote for me over Vasily to take over one day.”

“You’re always playing the long game, aren’t you?”

Nikolai raised a brow, “and you’re not? We both know your ‘favourite hangout spots’ are coincidentally the same places where you can poach clients from Fjerdan Holdings.”

“Wait,” Zoya frowned, ignoring him completely. “If your father and Vasily are both skipping, who else did you invite? I'm taking your father’s place and what about Vasily’s?”

“I’m honoured you think I’d be invited in the first place.”

“You’re not invited?”

“Only when Vasily cancels, which is every time.”

“They really don’t invite you to family lunches?”

“I’m something of a problem child to them.”

“Nikolai,” she said and he could feel her gaze on him, “are you sure about this?”

“Yes, Zoya. I’m sure.”

“Let’s get moving then, we’re about to be late.”

“Ruthless as always,” Nikolai sighed, pushing open the door.

“Punctual, as always,” Zoya retorted, following him through the lobby, “you should take a lesson or two from me on showing up on time.”

“Never heard of fashionably late, Nazyalensky?”

“That’s just an excuse people with no dress sense use to justify their inability to choose a functional outfit.”

“Ruthless.”

“Honest.”

***

“Kolya!”A blonde woman dressed in beige exclaimed, beckoning him over before pulling him down into a hug . Zoya looked down at her pale blue dress, was she too colourful for brunch? But no, Nikolai’s dress shirt was the same colour as her dress, surely that meant that it was okay. She’d forgotten the ultra-rich nature of Nikolai’s family and the way that high society acted. Sure she made good money at work, but this world, the world of her clients, was something else. She’d grown up eating lunchables when she’d lived with her parents, while she suspected that he had never eaten anything that wasn’t prepared by a gourmet chef before he went to university.

“Madraya, this is my friend, Zoya,” he said, pulling away, “she’s the one I told you would be joining us this morning.”

“Thank you for having me,” she smiled, trying to put on her most charming persona, The Nikolai, as she liked to call it.

Nikolai’s mother shook her hand enthusiastically, “Zoya, this is Svetlana, Kolya’s auntie. Please! Sit, sit.” The other woman assessed her slowly from head to toe and Zoya shot her a cool glance, a challenge, to which Svetlana turned away from. Off to a great start.

Zoya reached to pull out her chair, faltering when she felt someone else’s on top of hers. “Your jacket,” Nikolai whispered, “I can take it.”

She stared at him. What? She went rigid as Nikolai helped her out of her coat, the warmth of his fingers brushing against her skin, making her thoughts freeze too.

“You alright, Nazyalensky?” he murmured in her ear as he pulled her chair out for her. “You should stop staring, it’s rude.”

She rolled her eyes at him, whatever spell had fallen over her was broken now, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he winked in return, but she could see the surprise on his face. Did he really think she was so ruthless that she had no manners?

“So Kolya, tell us about how you and Zoya met!”

***

Lunch was rather mild, and nowhere near as horrific as Nikolai has mentioned. In fact, it was pleasant, certainly much more enjoyable than any meal she’d had with her own mother. Nikolai’s mother cared for him in her own vapid way, and once Nikolai had reiterated that Zoya was not his girlfriend, Svetlana had thawed considerably, both of the women asking her about her clothes, work, and life. The lies came easily, they always did when it came to her family. She wasn’t embarrassed by her past but she saw no value in mentioning the people who had conceived her but had done nothing more than that. Zoya was also not in the mood to be pitted by these women, and she spun them a web of what they wanted to hear. A girl from a rich family who grew up doing all of the things they had.

She told them details from trips she had always dreamt of taking with her aunt but that they’d never been able to afford, easily replying to their inquiries of, “oh, I love Paris! When you went, did you eat at the cafe 3 blocks east of the Louvre? With the 100 year old bakery? It’s a must!” with an exact order of their most deep-menu items. Zoya smiled as they tittered on about the delicacies, as if an evening dining there didn’t cost more than what a month’s worth of groceries had cost as a child. To them her weekends were spent at tennis practice at the local country club instead of split between doing homework, working at her aunt's cafe and in the mail room at the law firm across the street to earn a little money. She didn’t say this explicitly of course, but she didn’t deny it either when they acted like she shared their experiences.

She’d never spoken to Nikolai about her past, nothing beyond the fact that she was raised by her aunt and that she had a younger cousin. He’d never asked, not out of a lack of interest in her, she knew that— but out of understanding that she didn’t particularly care to share that information. In the world in which she now found herself, anyone that deviated from the norm was looked down upon and she refused to be a source of entertainment for them.

The conversation quickly turned away from her however, with a few carefully timed lines from Nikolai. He brought up childhood memories of his own that made everyone laugh, recounting his numerous hijinks through the years. He told stories about the more interesting cases he and Zoya had worked on recently, his flow pausing naturally to let her throw in her own banter as well. She learned of the multiple times Nikolai had nearly burnt their beach house down, how he once “accidentally” lured a hoard of sheep to chase his brother when they were visiting Scotland, and how he was the youngest in his highschool graduating class, finishing at 15 before going to university, and then sailing around the world for a year.

As enjoyable as seeing Nikolai’s nose scrunch when his mother recounted a particularly adorable story was, by the time the desserts rolled around, Zoya felt fatigued. How did Nikolai do this all the time? When he wasn’t charming his family he was charming clients, coworkers, whoever he needed to. She had enjoyed the afternoon a lot more than she had anticipated, especially the food which was heavenly, like he’d said. But in the end she was adamant not to admit defeat to Nikolai even if it meant more meals like this. She would rather stab herself with the salad fork than admit he was right— or was that the dessert fork? Why were there so many forks? She was granted a bit of a reprieve when the ladies saw another group of their friends and decided to go chat with them at their table. Then it was just her and Nikolai, who had gone unusually quiet and was staring at her empty plate quite critically. “What’s wrong?”

***

Nikolai had been right, inviting Zoya to lunch had been a great idea, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d genuinely enjoyed one of these lunches. She had been brilliant, with the way that she handled all of their questions and discussed topics that interested them, the way that she’d chimed in at the perfect moments in his stories to add a little detail that made the anecdote even better. Everything had gone better than he could’ve imagined, except for the fact that it looked like he might be losing their bet, and after today, he didn’t think he would hate these lunches if Zoya were attending them with him.

Af first he’d been genuinely worried that she wasn’t enjoying herself since her reaction to the food had been muted, but the longer he watched her the more he was able to figure out exactly what was going on. He knew she wasn’t touching the desert tower because she knew that it would be her downfall. Most of the sweets were exactly of her taste and she was desperate not to lose to him. What had she intended on making him do if he lost that she was fighting so hard to win?

“Try it,” Nikolai mumbled, pointing at the tea tower, “it’s delicious.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, “you’ve said that about everything so far.”

“I’m serious, Nazyalensky. You’re going to love this.”

“I’m going to love it, or you’re convinced I should love it so that you win?”

Nikolai pulled a face, “why can’t it be both? Come on, it’s a dark chocolate cherry custard, that’s pretty much all of your favourite foods.”

Zoya peered at the dessert as if she was holding herself back, “it does look slightly edible…”

Saints, she would do anything to beat him, wouldn’t she? Nikolai smothered his grin, holding out a spoonful of the custard to her, “you know you want to try it.”

She let out an exasperated breath, taking the bite. Her eyelashes fluttered as she tasted it and she turned to him, scowling, “damnit, that’s so good.”

“I won’t say I told you so, Zo,” he laughed, as she smacked his shoulder with one hand, the other wielding a spoon that was digging into the custard on his plate. She hated that nickname.

“Well, Nik, or should I say Nikky? Or Niko? Or Nikola? Or--”

“Ah, that’s enough, dear,” Nikolai groaned, he definitely had worse nicknames.

“Whatever you say, Kolya.”

“Who would’ve guessed that brunch Zoya was a gloater?” His tone was teasing as he leaned in, brushing the bottom of her lip with his thumb to get rid of a chocolate smudge. “I certainly figured you were the modest type,” he trailed off, realizing what he’d done.

“Me and gloat don’t belong in the same sentence,” Zoya said, but her voice was low and her eyes were trained on his fingers. Nikolai repressed the urge to sit on his hands or flee from the table, but she said nothing and neither did he.

“Kolya, sweetheart, be a dear and wait for your father’s card.” His mother was back. Nikolai shot out of his seat, walking over to her. “We’ll be down the street at Svetlana’s daughter’s boutique. Zoya, hon, are you coming with us?”

“Oh, I’ll just wait with Nikolai,” Zoya smiled.

“Of course, dear.” His mother then pulled him aside, “you should bring your girlfriend around more often. It’s been so long since you’ve brought someone home.”

Nikolai looked at her, bewildered, “girlfriend? Zoya’s not my girlfriend. We’re just friends. Not even friends, coworkers is probably a better descriptor for our fully platonic relationship.” Was he rambling? He felt like he was rambling.

Instead of replying his mother simply patted his cheek with an infuriatingly knowing look before she followed her friends out of the dining room. Nikolai shook his head out, walking back to Zoya as they waited.

“ ‘Not even friends?’I have to admit, that’s probably the best thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth,” Zoya said, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“I was just taken aback,” Nikolai protested, “of course we’re friends, okay,” he said, raising his hands in surrender at her pointed glare, “I consider us friends at least, I don’t invite strangers to the brunch from hell.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” she scoffed, flicking a piece of lint from his lapel absently. “The food was good, and they were nice enough.”

“Oh, they’re not nice at all,” he laughed, turning to take the card from the approaching waiter, “you just knew how to handle them.”

“I suppose I’ve spent enough time with clients like them to know how to act,” she frowned, “I didn’t really have to think about it.”

“That makes you a perfect fit in their social circle,” he winked, holding the door open for her, “you’re clever enough to outsmart them all, they can’t get anything from you unless you want them to have it.”

“I thought being clever was your brand?”

“I’m okay with having a worthy companion in that bracket.” Nikolai jested, surprised when she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow as they began their way down the street. She probably just needed to keep her balance, he couldn’t imagine navigating the cobblestone path in the high heels she was wearing. He couldn’t recall her ever wearing anything but heels, now that he thought about it. Perhaps she would require further assistance walking in the future, he didn’t think he would mind that.

“But really,” she said, tilting her head up to look at him, “you’ve never thought about us?”

Nikolai turned away for a second, unsure of what exactly to say, and when he turned back to her, she was already looking away. “I can’t say I have. To be fair, I didn’t think you liked me until yesterday, or that you considered us friends until today.”

“Of course we’re friends,” she scowled, punching his bicep with her free hand, “we’ve been friends for years, you dolt. You think I waste my free time on people I can’t be bothered to tolerate?”

“Oh.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, “yes, oh. I always knew I was smarter than you but this is pathetic on your part, Lantsov. What did you think when I gave you that scarf for Christmas?”

“I thought you were just being nice?”

She groaned, “take that back. I’ve never been nice a day in my life.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes before she spoke, “you really didn’t think, ‘hey, we do our work together at the office, we have the same friends, and I’m the only person in the office that Zoya hasn’t threatened to throw out the 29th floor window? so maybe that means something?’”

“You threatened to throw me out the second floor window 3 days into working at the firm.”

“Exactly!” she nodded, “you would probably survive that fall. That was essentially me telling you I didn’t hate you that much.”

“You work in mysterious ways, Nazyalensky.”

“Hold on,” Zoya put out a hand to stop him, “your collar is up.” She stepped towards him, fingers brushing his neck as she folded the fabric, her gaze intent upon him.

“If it weren’t for my newfound knowledge that you consider us friends, I would think you were considering strangling me.” Nikolai laughed, feeling her pause in her movements.

“That can certainly be arranged,” she teased, smoothing out the lapels of his coat, her hands resting on his chest for a second. Her eyes met his and she looked away quickly towards the boutique, freezing when she saw the occupants staring out the window at them. “Why are they looking at us like that?” Zoya murmured.

“I think that Svetlana thought she could get me to marry her daughter.”

“Aren’t you all about love, is it really that bad of an idea? She owns a boutique, that’s pretty cool.” She stepped back, shoving her hands into her own coat pockets, and Nikolai instantly regretted opening his mouth.

“I’m not really her type.”

“I thought you were ‘everyone’s type?’”

“Am I?” Zoya turned away from his gaze, and he thought he saw her face flush. “She dated Tamar a few years back, and then she was with my sister for a few months, but I doubt her mother knows if she’s dating anyone right now.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You have a sister?”

“That’s a story for another time,” Nikolai grinned. “It may cost you another lunch date.”

“If they have food as good as today’s, every Saturday is yours.”

Nikolai smiled as Zoya waltzed into the boutique, an elegant but disruptive storm in his life. She hadn’t flinched when he’d called it a date, hadn’t hesitated when he’d asked her to accompany him again, hadn’t protested at the fact that he’d won the bet. Despite all the good that had come out of the day, he felt something gnawing at his chest, ‘what, you’ve never thought about us?” and he doubted it would ever leave his head now. ‘Whatever’ Nikolai thought, trailing after her. It wasn’t like even if he wanted to, they would ever be together. There was no use in worrying over something that would never happen.

[deborahdeshoftim5779]

Merlin & Arthur’s friendship: clichés versus reality (Part III)

Following on from Merlin & Arthur’s friendship: clichés versus reality Part I and Part II, here’s Part III.

CLAIM 5 #: Merlin thinks fighting is meaningless violence

Merlin certainly claimed it-- but his actions told a different story. 

It took me a long time to understand that Merlin was in fact very similar to Arthur. This realisation came while rewatching episodes 5x03 and 5x04 in particular; in the latter episode, Merlin admitted to Arthur that if someone had murdered his father, he would probably have sought vengeance. Yet we know that Merlin hated vengeance, and that he had physically intervened to stop Arthur from yielding to said vengeance. 

This led me to see how Arthur and Merlin’s friendship became a coping mechanism to deal with the loss of their respective family (literally and figuratively).  

One key way that Merlin is similar to Arthur is that he, too, pretends not to like something in public, while his actions speak differently. 

Hence why Merlin loved claiming that fighting was pointless, that it was just “sweaty men knocking the sense out of each other” (episode 4x09), and appeared not to enjoy training sessions. Episode 1x02 had a hilarious and undoubtedly genuine example of Merlin abhorring the art of war, as he struggled to hold his weaponry, tripped, tumbled, and probably ended up with tinnitus! “D’you you hear clanging?”

I used to think this change occurred much later, but episode 1x02 showed Merlin eagerly watching the tournament just one day after he complained about having to learn more fighting techniques and about being Arthur’s servant. 

Also, after being pilloried for being clumsy with Arthur’s armour, the first thing Merlin did was to seek Gwen’s assistance. Look how proud he was later, when he put everything on correctly. “That was much better,” Arthur said, to which Merlin responded, “I’m a fast learner.” 

This suggests that, being a resourceful person who lands on his feet, Merlin quickly realised that he would have to learn about warfare if he was to make his way in Camelot. 

I already have a lengthy post proving that Merlin had excellent capabilities in battle, and that Arthur had potentially trained him better than his knights. See the link below this post. 

However, the greatest evidence that Merlin respected the art of war was his insistence that Arthur stand up and fight to reclaim Camelot. This occurred chiefly in episode 3x13, when Arthur was discouraged by Morgana’s treachery, and in episode 4x13, when Arthur completely lost hope and abdicated the throne. 

In both episodes, Merlin helped take back Camelot not only using magic, but also with the sword. Notice that in episode 3x13, Sir Lancelot never questioned Merlin’s ability with a sword. Instead, he was impressed by its powers. As far as Lancelot was concerned, Merlin was “the one Arthur should knight. You’re the bravest of us all and he doesn’t even know it.” So Lancelot knew that Merlin was a capable fighter, and would embody the noble warrior so admired in Camelot. 

Ironically, Lancelot did not live to see Merlin dressed as a knight in 4x05 during the mission to trap King Caerleon. 

Of course, we have an example from Merlin’s own mouth: “You’re a great warrior,” he said to Arthur in episode 1x13. In episode 3x01, he was impressed by Arthur fighting blindfolded against two opponents, though he quickly tried pretending that he had “seen better”. In episode 3x04, he laughed at Dagr’s threats against Arthur: “I’d like to see you try!” Then he tried persuading Gwaine to stay in Camelot on the basis that, “You and Arthur: you fought well together.” During that episode, Merlin was impressed by Gwaine’s fighting before and during the mêlée. 

In episode 5x05, he watched Arthur duelling against Mordred unarmed, then stood up to applaud the king. We can safely assume this occurred many times, since Merlin attends all training sessions and is responsible for maintaining all of Arthur’s armour. Many scenes, such as in episodes 4x05, 4x09, and 5x03, show him either polishing or putting on Arthur’s armour. 

So why all of Merlin’s dismissive comments? For one thing, he didn’t like the braggadocio and arrogance of many knights-- or those who would wish to be knights. Hence why he called Valiant a “creep” in episode 1x02, much to Arthur’s amusement. Secondly, he did not see the point of certain tournaments, such as that of episode 3x11. It didn’t help that Arthur said, “The only rule is: there are no rules.” Thirdly, the death toll alarmed him. “Cause last time this tournament was held, three men died... That was just on the first day.” (Also episode 3x11.) 

Another reason that hit me while rereading this: Merlin wasn’t naturally good at fighting. Remember that Arthur said, “I’ve been trained to kill since birth.” (Episode 1x01) This suggests some natural talent on his part, though greatly improved with hard work. Meanwhile, Merlin not only fumbled with weaponry, but faced merciless teasing from Arthur about his lack of skill. To compensate for his feelings of incompetence, Merlin linked Arthur’s fighting prowess to his arrogance: “How long have you been training to be a prat?” (Episode 1x01) 

While he had a good point, it was also a way to dismiss his inexperience with fighting and other facts of life. We have to remember that he came from a tiny, poor village. Camelot could have been another planet. 

Despite all this, when it came to watching Arthur train, watching Arthur train his knights, and, most importantly, fighting to defend Camelot, Merlin had nothing but respect for the art of war. 

CLAIM #6: Arthur (mostly/always) needed Merlin to make big decisions

Untrue, as the following examples will demonstrate.

By the way, Merlin helped fuel this idea that his decisions were necessary for Arthur’s rule. In episode 4x11, he asked Gaius whether he should do anything to cause Arthur and Gwen’s reconciliation. Gaius rightly asked, “You don’t think that’s a little arrogant?” 

In episode 3x07, Arthur decided to rescue Gwen’s brother-- a complete stranger-- from the Castle of Fyrien. Just one episode later, he succeeded at the majority of his quest in the Perilous Lands despite being enchanted to lose his energy. Needless to say, the choice of retrieving the trident of the Fisher King was Arthur’s alone, made after a night of contemplation. 

Another great example comes from episode 4x05, where Arthur repented of his wrongdoing to Caerleon and his kingdom, and refused to make his men risk their lives on his account. He then took matters into his own hands, pleading with Queen Annis to invoke the right of single combat. 

In episode 4x06, Arthur only told a few people that he was riding through the Valley of the Fallen Kings. Merlin wasn’t one of those people, hence why he said, “Arthur. You are not serious...Nothing good ever happens in the Valley of the Fallen Kings. Nobody in their right mind would go in there.” 

How come Merlin didn’t know? Arthur said, “The routes are secret, Merlin: that’s why *we* chose it.” Emphasis my own. Later, we discover that Arthur had discussed this with his council, a select number of knights, and Agravaine. 

My favourite example comes from episode 4x11. Arthur negotiated with a longstanding rival, Nemeth, over the status of the lands of Gedref. We cannot underestimate that achievement. Arthur said that the lands have “long been in dispute”, and when he announced the end of their negotiations, the knights looked extremely nervous. Arthur had to allay their fears by calling it a “fair and honourable agreement”. That may have been a polite way of saying that they had avoided humiliating sacrifices and war. 

On top of that, Arthur sealed the treaty by securing an engagement to the Princess of Nemeth-- exactly the kind of political savvy that his father had encouraged. “Your marriage should have been used to form an alliance with another kingdom…” (Episode 5x03.)

The first thing Merlin said was, “How come I didn’t know any of this? How come you didn’t say anything?” I will not go into why Merlin’s reaction here was presumptuous and arrogant, but we can see that Arthur deliberately kept this information from Merlin to avoid disagreement and argument. 

Of course, the great episodes 5x01 and 5x02 show Arthur risking everything to save his men “or die trying”, because to do otherwise would be to sacrifice his beliefs. In episode 5x04, Arthur decided to rescue King Rodor from King Odin, in spite of the immense danger and the holes in Princess Mithian’s story. In episode 5x05, he decided to beg the Disir for Mordred’s life, because he did not want another innocent man dying on his behalf. 

And so on. 

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART IV

More on Merlin’s fighting skills

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Hi! Long time lurker, big fan of this blog. Can I request either a headcannon or a fic of Viv Tang?

Basically, it goes like this, it's an AU of some sort, where Viv and the Poppy leave MC. MC tried to hate them and forget them especially Viv, but couldn't do it. So out of spite and care, MC creates a whole organisation that revolves around protecting Viv and the others. (Making sure their heists go well, the police/government never finding them, making sure that their old enemies never get to them etc.) They've been doing this in private, but Viv and the others catch on, and that thought bothers them. Enough to make them distracted in their latest heist.

Their heist went down in shambles, leaving MC's crew to step in and made sure they're safe, leaving MC's mark to take the blame.

They were confused ofc, but MC's crew was just giddy and happy that they get to meet their leader's old crew.

Basically, they meet MC, MC makes them make it up to her.

And we know how in the original Viv route, we try really hard to pry her open and get her to trust us, well Viv does the same, trying to get MC to forgive her. And just angst ending with fluff please?

Lots of Love <3

This will contain both HC and story parts.

…

·         After Vivienne leaves MC poisoned in Paris, of course she’s pissed.

·         A talk with Jace (and some stress painting) later, MC feels like she has a pretty good grasp of Vivienne’s decision

“She was scared,” she muses, idly playing with one of her brushes, a thoughtful frown on her face as her mind wanders to the other members. “And they were… willing to give her a way out, I guess? Pretty messed up, considering they got me in this whole thing to begin with…”

Thing is, they hadn’t left her without something. Zoe had made sure MC could return to her normal life ‘after you lay low for a bit, probably two months’, advice left in a letter alongside some cash. Enough to buy a few plane tickets around the world. First class.

Even after their most recent decision, MC could recall how careful and welcoming everyone had been. Vivienne was always a mystery, of course, lingering at the edge while MC got to know Jett and Zoe in the Art Club they had formed, or as MC debated with Remy and Leon about a movie they had been watching. With Nikolai, it was mostly challenges Nikolai loved to issue and MC was too proud to deny. But she was always there, in the background. She had become a rather comforting presence, as MC had formed bonds with everyone.

“This was not the best course of action, but they took it anyway.” Vivienne’s choice had been driven by emotion, raw panic, but MC just couldn’t wrap her mind around Nikolai or Zoe, both logical to the bone, supporting it. “There must have been something else, there.”

·         With the anger slowly cooling off, MC thought she could almost begin to understand their reasons. The Poppy isn’t the sort of group to taint their hands with blood, not unless it’s absolute necessary.

·         Celine had pushed everyone, even if the heist ended on a positive note.

·         ‘I believe you have a place with us’, Nikolai had said. MC remembered the heist and how everything could have gone wrong.

·         Their talent and quick-thinking are the only reason they got out of that situation relatively unharmed.

·         No doubt the rest of their heists carried the same danger.

·         MC thought of Celine, gun aiming at her chest, eyes glinting in Vivienne’s direction and made a split-second decision.

·         There was no way, no way at all, that she was going to let anything happen to them.

…

·         When Vivienne had first noticed the sudden lack of danger in their heists, she was instantly suspicious.

·         She couldn’t afford to brush anything off in her line of work.

·         Zoe finds the source in no time.

·         To say they were confused as an understatement.

“I thought she was back in New York?”

“I don’t understand, why would she choose this?”

“We’re hardly so incompetent as to need a guard.”

“How long has this been happening?”

“Couple months, so maybe they started operating around March?” Zoe throws them a withering look so they’ll shut up, and lets out a long sigh once they do. “Point is, we’ve gained a new stalker, even if it’s her. She got a whole organization going, she’s pretty dedicated.”

“Of course she is, it’s why we choose her in the first place.”

“Technically, Vivienne did.”

“Well, yeah. Still, this is insane. So little time, and yet…”

“MC was always a fighter,” Vivienne says, quietly. “It’s certainly an… interesting choice…”

“She seems to have very good intel,” Zoe continues, eyes glued to her laptop’s screen. “Too good. She knows our every movement.”

“Which means she will be lurking around this heist.” Nikolai drums his fingers against his armchair, a frown firmly in place. “That might be a problem.”

“She’s been doing this for months, but we’ve never caught a glimpse of her. It’s safe to say she won’t approach us, right?”

“We probably shouldn’t, either. Not for now. We need more info on this organization of hers.”

“We’ll proceed as planned.”

·         Except nothing goes as planned.

·         Jett’s bombs don’t go off when they should, providing no distraction and thus no way of escape for Vivienne and Nikolai.

·         No safe way, at any rate.

·         The guards get suspicious of their malfunctioning equipment remarkably quick, moving to search the place.

·         Remy gets found out first, though he stalls as much as he can.

·         It’s enough time for Leon and Nikolai to think for a way out, though Remy is still with the guards.

·         The bombs go off at that moment, and Vivienne is trapped.

·         It’s at that moment that MC’s crew intervene.

·         The guards are the most important issue, and so most of her crew go handle it.

·         MC takes care of Vivienne personally.

“Well, that went great.” MC says, flashing Vivienne a cheeky smile when she finds her. Vivienne looks up at her with wide eyes, brown eyes glinting under the light of the room.

“How did you…”

“Questions later, darling. Can you walk?”

Vivienne blinks, taking a deep breath. The motion helps her get rid of most of her surprise. She knows she doesn’t have time to lose, so she accepts MC hand and follows her out. The trip is quiet, of course. Vivienne keeps a carefully neutral expression on, eyes flickering from the woman in front of her to the rest of their escape route.

It’s hard, trying to compare this woman with the one she had kissed all those months ago. She remembers how her hands grasped at her robe, passionate, truthful, those sweet words MC had muttered against Vivienne’s mouth, before the poison had taken effect.

MC had said she would never hurt Vivienne. Vivienne had poisoned her, afraid she would hurt MC.

It didn’t feel like she could hurt the woman before her, though, standing tall and strong and confident, a leader, someone made out of stone. For a moment, Vivienne had the impression poison wouldn’t even work on her anymore.

·         MC had changed. It was as clear as the water glimmering outside the organization’s HQ.

·         She wasn’t the same bubbly, hopeful girl Vivienne had taken around Paris, teaching everything she could about thievery.

·         She wasn’t the same passionate, proud artist she had been, brush in hand, smiling in wonder and then frowning in concentration when she tried to capture something beautiful. Somehow, most of the time, the subject of her painting was Vivienne herself.

·         She was steely, snarky, commanding the room with her very presence. All eyes followed her as she went, speaking clear orders for the crew to follow.

·         In the beginning, they had stuck to the Gilded Poppy like glue, curious. No doubt they were trying to see why MC cared about them so much to go through this kind of trouble.

·         One look from MC was enough to get them to disperse.

·         This change… everything it entailed… Vivienne wanted to know more.

“So, how did it feel?” MC had asked her as soon as they got a moment alone. Vivienne shot her a glance, trying to decipher something in her expression.

“How did what feel?”

“Thinking you could force me out of this. You got me in this life.”

“I gave you a way out.”

“But I told you, didn’t I? I wanted this, and you…”

“I’ve lived all my life like this. I didn’t want you to face-”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have chosen me, then. Ever think of this little thing called consequences?”

Isadora flashes through her mind, quick, too quick. It leaves a trail of golden hair in the back on her mind, all too real when she closes her eyes. Vivienne presses her lips together, forces herself to focus.

“This organization…”

“Don’t let it get to your head, darling. It’s not you I’m worried about.”

“…The others, then.”

“Yes. Quid pro quo, and all that. I’ll see what I can ask in return later.”

“We didn’t ask you to intervene.”

“You didn’t ask before poisoning me, either. I feel like doing drastic things without asking for permission are common place around here.”

“That doesn’t even-”

“Ah, ah, ah. Did I save your lives, yes or no?”

Jett had said, before they got released from the medical ward, that the plan failing was entirely his fault, after getting too distracted thinking about MC to get his usual formulas right. Vivienne didn’t doubt him – Jett was, after all, very dedicated to his craft. A mistake was unthinkable, unless something of this magnitude managed to get to him.

He felt guilty and weirded out, probably, she thinks bitterly, despite everything being my fault, as per usual.

“…you did.”

The smile that stretches over MC’s face is almost predatory, brown eyes glinting with satisfaction. “That’s what I like to hear.”

[blazedgraysons]

You're No Good - Ch. 2

C.J. Bennett is an overly ambitious student who dreams of shadowing her favorite author, Eli Jennings. The only thing standing in her way: Grayson Dolan.

warnings: this is a rough draft of a series i never finished. i'm posting the finished chapters before leaving this account. 🤍

part 1

If American Lit 1102 was C.J.’s personal hell, her job could at least be considered her own reprieve.

Sunnyside Vintage is an old shop off of Sunset, having been open for the last 30 years. It wasn’t the nicest of thrift stores — the clothes always have a weird mothball smell and everything is old - and not in the trendy way.  C.J. loves it. The windows are huge, letting California sunlight wash the stucco walls gold, and the mannequins are always dressed straight out of the 70’s. The pay isn’t always great, but C.J. is allowed to take whatever she wants more than makes up for it in her eyes.

“I just don’t understand. I mean, Stevens has praised me this entire semester. She even told me personally he’s never had a student write as well as me nor pick up on the work as fast as I have. Wouldn’t that be qualities you’d want in an intern, Bea? Even Grayson Dolan would’ve been a better pick.” C.J. turns to her boss, angrily folding flared jeans.

Another reason C.J. loves Sunnyside —  her boss, Beatrice “Bea” Walker. Once a glitzy soap star of the ’50’s, she retired with her husband and opened Sunnyside in the late 80’s. Despite being in her late-70s, she still holds on to the same glamour and charm that made her a household name a century prior.

“Maybe there was another reason. It could be something other then your application.” She croaks, lifting a pumpkin to place next to a costumed mannequin. As halloween rapidly approaches, the store was starting to transform to fit the fall season — hoping to draw in customers to purchase unique costumes for the holiday.

Before she can move to help Bea, the doors chime, signaling an entrance. Walking through with seemingly-glowing skin and a symphonic smile was Alexi, C.J.’s best friend and roommate. It’s hard to miss Alexi whenever she walks into a room — from her bleached-blue hair to eclectic style, she’s never been afraid to follow her own path, something C.J. has always admired. She walks straight to C.J., wrapping her in a loving embrace

“Are you okay? James told me what happened.” Alexi leaves an arm around her, and while C.J. knows it’s supposed to be comforting; all she can think about is how much she wants Alexi to leave. It’s one thing to rant to her elderly boss, someone who would love her in spite of her shortcomings and faults. But to know her own friend group has already heard about her misfortune, sending over someone to comfort and soothe, it was all just a little too pitiful for her to handle.

“Theta’s are throwing a party tonight. It’ll be the perfect pick-me-up, and you can forget all about Evans Jensen-“

“Eli Jennings” C.J. corrects.

“Whoever” Alexi rolls her eyes at the interruption, “is missing out on your incredible talent because of an idiotic professor’s incompetence. Everyone’s going and it won’t be the same without you, C.”

“As much as I would love that, Lex, I really just want to be alone tonight. Shitty beer, cheap Indian food, a sad movie so I don’t have to think about how these past four years have been a waste.”

“Not a waste, first of all. Look, I know that you’ve had this whole plan for your life since you popped out the womb, but shit happens, things change. This isn’t a failure, just think of it as a temporary setback. Plus, when life gives you lemons, you…” She trails off, waiting for C.J. to finish.

“Make lemonade?” She sighs.

“Use it to chase tequila.” Alexi giggles.

“I would go, but I have to close. Right, Bea?"

"Don't use me as an excuse. You should go, maybe find a boy to take home." Alexi makes a face at Beatrice's statement and C.J.'s face heats up.

“You’re going - no more buts. Wear something cute. Something that maybe doesn’t make if look like you were alive for Vietnam.” Alexi’s already leaving, kissing Beatrice lightly on the cheek on her way out.

This was how C.J. found herself standing outside the Theta Lambda  frat house, October air chilling her through her jacket. She shifts her weight between her feet, surveying the small group around her. Alexi talks animatedly on the phone, asking for whoever to meet them out front.

A random person bumps into her, forcing her to spill the contents of her purse onto the dewey grass. C.J. groans, bending down to pick everything up while mentally thinking to herself all of the other things she could be doing right now.

A pair of dirty air forces steps in front of C.J. and she slowly looks up at the girl standing in front of her. She’s pretty, stunning actually. C.J. recognizes her immediately. Channing Williams - social chair of Rho Xi sorority and the key to all the best parties on campus. Dressed in a black romper and red velvet jacket, she’s everything C.J. isn’t and a quiet twinge of jealousy plucks her heart. ‘I bet she’s never lost out on an internship.’ she thinks bitterly.

“Sorry, do you know anyone?”  Channing asks, voice soft and sweet with a clipboard in hand. C.J. looks at Alexi, waiting to hear her answer.

“Not really? I mean we know people, but we aren’t going to be on your clipboard or anything so if you could just let us slide through, I’m sure there’s someone here who could like vouch for us or something?” C.J. wants to slap her — not only did she drag her out in below-freezing weather, but she couldn’t even guarantee them a way inside.

“Well this is a greek-only party so unless you know anyone….” Channing trails off, not openly wanting to kick them out in front of so many people.

“That means no GDI’s.” C.J. didn’t even notice the miniature-sized freshman standing besides Channing. She clearly looks annoyed at the intrusion, keeping her from inside where everyone else is to deal with their little group. C.J. briefly wonders if the upturned stare is a requirement for Rho Xi or if that’s was just especially reserved for her.

“Geed’s?” Alexi repeats, raising an eyebrow.

“Goddamn independents. Y’know, not greek-affiliated.” At this point, C.J. is ready to call the whole night and retire in her bed when she see’s someone appear in between Channing.

“They’re cool, Chan. They’re with me.” Micayla Zhao enters, covered in glitter, sweat and what C.J. is almost sure to be a line of salt from a body shot. C.J. has always considered Micayla the only cool Rho Xi, having had multiple classes with her over the years. Micayla fit right in with their group: smart, beautiful and a wicked sense of humor.

Channing nods, seeming bored and just wanting to get back inside with everyone else. She does a quick finger tap with Micayla (sacred Rho Xi bullshit is what Alexi always calls it) and moving along the line.

“Are your sisters always that charming?” Micayla rolls her eyes, grabbing C.J. to move them through the house to the backyard. A huge bonfire is set up in the middle with a canopy near by for the designated drinking spot. She watches as Micayla confidently moves through the crowd, stopping from time to time to say hey to friends and classmates on the way.

“Most of the time. Look, they’re just possessive over tradition and the Rho-Theta party has always been major exclusive, Channing’s been fighting to make it open to outsiders.” Micayla yells over the thumping bass.

“Yeah, I’m sure they love all the GDI’s.”  C.J. exaggerates her voice, pinching her nose to capture the nasally, valley accent Channing is almost famous for. Micayla stops, and had C.J. not been paying attention, she would’ve ran into her.

“Dude, you’re kind of being a bitch right now. Look, I get your bummed about your internship, but Channing wouldn't have let you in if she didn't want to. Would you rather be getting drunk, in your apartment alone?”

“Yeah, actually.” Micayla stares at C.J. for a second, looking like she’s about to bitch her out. As if Alexi can sense the fight forming, she grabs Micayla by the arm.

“Let’s go get a drink, you look like you need a drink in you.” They both walk towards the house, Alexi mouthing ‘Be Nice’ over her shoulder before disappearing completely. C.J. exhales, counting to 3 in her head before walking over to where drinks are set up.She fills up her solo cup, watching as the fizzy liquid moves closer and closer to the top.  Before she can take a sip, someone bumps into her spilling half the drink over the side.

“Hey, watch it!” A thick Jersey accent exclaims, and C.J. groans, wondering if this night could get any worse.

“Bennett?”

Grayson appears in front of her, denim jacket over a black t-shirt and black jeans. She takes note of the dark spot growing on the front of his shirt, from where she spilt her drink.

“What’re you doing here?”

She simply shrugs, refilling the missing contents of her cup.“I didn’t know parties were your scene. I always imagined in your free time you’re in like a dark room, crying alone to Sylvia Plath novels.”

“Nice to know you think of me out of class, Grayson” C.J. takes a sip of her beer. She moves to walk away, hoping he would take it as an end of conversation.

"How'd you get in? Isn't this like Rho's only?" He asks, following her to the edge of the bonfire. She looks at him, watching as the light frames the features of his face.

"Couldn't I say the same about you? You're not a Theta." He just stares at her intensely until she relents, "Micayla Zhao got me in. Y'know her?"

"We had history together sophomore year. She helped me cheat on the midterms."

C.J. laughs shortly. "Sounds like her."

Grayson opens his mouth to speak again, but is cut off.

“As much as I’m enjoying this conversation, Grayson, don’t you have someone else to bother? Someone who, y’know, actually likes you?” If that comment bothered him, he didn’t show it, continuing talking to her as if they haven’t pissed each other off continuously for the past four years.

“What do you think about Michael Eichler getting the internship spot?”  He asks. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she didn’t get the spot, now she has to sit and rub salt in the wound with her worst enemy.

“What’s there to think about? He got it, I didn’t. Fucking sucks.” He laughs, holding up his own drink.

“Cheers to that.” They both clink cups, and C.J. briefly wonders if the universe is still laughing at her.

"You know, that spot should've gone to one of us." He muses, watching the partygoers continue to stumble around them. He doesn't say anything after that, and she bites.

"Why should it have gone to one of us?"

"Well, think about it. We're both the top of our class, and I know for a fact Stevens has submitted your writing to collegiate magazines. There's no fucking way Michael fucking Eichler should've got that spot over one of us." C.J. pauses. She had known that Stevens appreciated her writing, but not enough to submit it anywhere. If what Grayson was saying was true, why hadn't she gotten the apprenticeship?

"Nothing I can really do about it now. He got the spot, I didn't. I guess I can become a second rate author now." She takes another sip, and Grayson snorts unattractively.

"I'm sure you'll be okay, Bennett. If Stevens like you, I'm sure there's another author dumb enough to want to publish your work too." She glares at him.

"And here I thought we were becoming friends."

"As if you actually would've wanted to become friends with me."

"Oh yeah, that's what I do in between my Sylvia Plath crying sessions. Desperately wish that Grayson Dolan would become my best friend." Sarcasm drips off every word and he looks at her before taking another long sip of his drink.

“You know you’re actually kinda cool, Bennett. When you’re not trying to bite my head off in the middle of lecture”

“Maybe if you didn’t have such shitty takes, I wouldn’t want too.” Whatever retort Grayson was planning falls from his lips when Channing appears by his side, tucking herself underneath his arm.

"Hey, Gray. I got you another drink." Two Coronas hang from her manicured hand, and he whispers inaudibly to her, giggling between the two of them. C.J. begins to feel awkward, and coughs uncomfortably.

“Oh, you’re the GDI from earlier,” Channing looks up at her half-lidded, dark eyelashes framing red-tinged brown eyes.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Channing shifts her weight, biting her lip and feeling like an intruder. "I didn't know you two knew each other?" C.J. supplies, feeling desperate for conversation

"Gray and I had math together freshman year, "They both stare at each other awkwardly, silent tension as they wait for the other to speak.

“So, I’m gonna go." She speaks.

“No, you don’t have to." Channing is already turned back to Grayson, looking like she wouldn't mind C.J.'s exit.

“No it’s fine” Neither Grayson nor Channing seem to protest anymore, and C.J. turns back to see her friends looking at her, both amused and curious at her interaction with the duo. She begins to walk towards them, feet and heart sinking with every step, not feeling any better about her current predicament.

“Hey Bennett,” She turns around to face Grayson. “Think about what I said. About the internship stuff” She just nods, and leaves the pair. The moment she reaches her initial group, Alexi pulls her towards them.

“You and Dolan were just talking and it didn't end in a screaming match. That’s new. What did he want?”

“Nothing. Just typical Grayson Dolan bullshit."Alexi looks like she doesn't believe her, and frankly C.J. doesn't believe herself. She thinks back to what Grayson said, about how they were the only real competition for the apprenticeship. Whatever he meant by that could be handled tomorrow.

"C’mon. Didn’t  you say something earlier today about tequila shots?” She asks

“Atta, girl. That’s what I’m talking about.” She lets Alexi drag her away, sparing one last look at Grayson before entering the fraternity house.

[robininthelabyrinth]

If it's not a plot point, how did HuiSang go back in time? MingJue used his saber as an anchor, but HuaiSang didn't have his yet?

part 3 of Same River Twice (ao3) (time travel Nie bros) or tumblr part 1, part 2

-

Being four years old again was a lot harder than Nie Huaisang thought it would be.

In fairness, he hadn’t expected to go back that far, but he supposed it wasn’t really up to him – if he’d wanted to have more control over his destination, he should have used the ritual on the saber that belonged to him. 

But Aituan - dear Aituan, good Aituan, his Aituan - wasn’t strong enough to support the ritual by itself, not after all those years of playing happy paperweight instead of cultivating. It was Nie Huaisang’s neglect; he had let Aituan’s spirit grow kind but not strong, because someone should be able to be that way, the way he’d once thought he himself could be under his brother’s protection. 

No, Nie Huaisang had known that if he wanted to do this crazy stupid thing, the only one that could help him was Baxia.

Bazia, who had grown strong beyond her years with the blood of evildoers, who had always indulged him, who adored Nie Mingjue more than was usual even for a saber of their bloodline –

He missed Aituan.

After the end of it all, when he no longer needed to hide his true face away behind a mask of incompetence, he had started to carry Aituan with him at all times, the way his brother had always wanted him to, and so that meant that his long-neglected saber had been by his side when he’d knelt before his brother’s tomb to begin the ritual. And when the forbidden array began to tear his body apart, Baxia indifferent to anything but the result, Nie Huaisang could feel his saber’s spirit reaching out and wrapping around his own spirit to protect him from the pain –

He’d thought that he might see Aituan again, when and if he woke up in the past, but it was not to be: right now, he’s only four. Aituan wouldn’t even have been forged yet, surely, or at most its still-unformed spirit would be lingering in a dormant not-yet-finished state in the special forges reserved for the clan, hidden deep within the Unclean Realm.

He missed Aituan. He hadn’t thought he would, given how casually he had always left it behind, but he did; he missed it dreadfully.

But it was still worth it to come back.

It had been worth it even just for the chance to try to come back. They had all been so broken, after everything that had happened. Nie Huaisang had had no choice but to avenge his brother, no choice but to use the only means available to him when no one would have believed him, his own hand too weak to lift the saber to do the job that needed to be done. He was a Nie, when all was said and done, and even the world itself was insufficient a sacrifice to lay before his brother’s memorial tablet.

He did not regret his choices.

And yet – the result, in the end, was too much, too bitter to swallow. Lan Xichen’s eventual death at his own hand, when the guilt became too much for him and seclusion proved no remedy, had destroyed Lan Wangji, and even light-hearted Wei Wuxian had not been able to continue to smile once he realized that the injuries incurred at Guanyin Temple, both physical and mental, had damaged Jiang Cheng permanently, a decline the other man had hidden away out of either love or spite or both until it was too late to fix; they would never reconcile in that life, and the tragedy of the two heroes of Yunmeng sealed forever in stone.

Out of an entire generation of the Great Sects, Nie Huaisang was the only one left standing, and he had been broken into sharp jagged pieces so long ago that he didn’t really count.

He did not regret his choices - but in a better world, those choices would never need to be made.

He would make sure it went better, this time. Not just for himself, but for all the others, and most of all for his brother, who had only ever wanted to be righteous, to fight evil and help the innocent, and who died because nobody had listened to him, just the way they hadn’t listened to Nie Huaisang in all those years of walking alone on his road of vengeance. His brother, who loved him when he hadn’t been worthy of his love; his brother, who deserved the world and more.

His brother, who he sometimes even thought –

There’d been a moment there, when he’d been watching his brother train, that he’d had the crazy idea that Nie Mingjue had come back, too – that the burden of the future was not Nie Huaisang’s alone to bear. 

It had been when his brother had done that maneuver, the one he’d liked so much during the Sunshot Campaign, and Nie Huaisang had been the only living being who had known that the reason he’d trained the trick so hard in his youth was not because it was hard to block or because it granted the mercy of a quick death but rather purely because it looked awesome. Nie Mingjue had thrown his saber and recalled it with a flick of his wrist, and he’d grinned as if he hadn’t a care in the world and –

And that’s when Nie Huaisang ruined it by bursting into tears.

Because he was four, and four year olds didn’t have good internal emotional regulation, apparently. He’d thought at first that it would be an advantage to be so young – who would suspect a child barely old enough to wear proper clothing of scheming in the shadows? – but being four had turned out to be much trickier to manage than he had thought.

All of his feelings were so much, so immediate; it was as if the emotions of an adult were simply too large to fit into his child’s frame. Sadness, however minor or fleeting, was enough to utterly consume him, making rational thought impossible; a single pang of hunger was the same as starvation; and even joy –

His brother abandoned his training for him in a heartbeat, found and gave him a fan to amuse him, carried him around all day in his arms even though it meant he’d had to report for punishment – he said that Nie Huaisang would never be a burden to him, that he could live the life he wanted, no matter what, and that in the end his brother would always be there to hold up the world for him –

No, his brother couldn’t have come back in time with him.

His suspicions (surely even a talent of Nie Mingjue’s caliber wouldn’t have learned a trick like that so early, and so well?) simply had no basis in reality, a remnant of the paranoia he had cultivated in his heart as a guard against Jin Guangyao’s treachery. It was only Nie Huaisang’s fantasies tricking him, letting him dream that he was hearing the words that he would have given his left arm to hear when it was too late.

After all, none of the things Nie Mingjue had said were by themselves unusual – even by age four, everyone knew that Nie Huaisang wouldn’t amount to much of a talent, born as he was with weak muscle tone and barely any cultivation at all; they knew he was lazy and unmotivated, and more than likely to turn out to be nothing more than a good-for-nothing. Only Nie Mingjue had remained steadfast in believing that Nie Huaisang could make something of himself, valuing him when he hadn’t even valued himself.

No, it wasn’t so strange that his brother would say such things to him. It was only with Nie Huaisang’s knowledge of the future that the words seemed to be more than mere encouragement, that they seemed to be aimed directly at absolving him of his future worthlessness, forgiving him for having been the anchor around his brother’s legs instead of a support –

His brother couldn’t have come back with him. He couldn’t have, because if he knew what Nie Huaisang had done in his name, all those dirty tricks in the dark that were just like what he’d so disdained in Jin Guangyao, then he wouldn’t have said those words full of love, wouldn’t have thought them, wouldn’t have –

Nie Mingjue must never know, Nie Huaisang swore once again in his heart. He’d be careful, hide his tracks, make sure that his moves in the shadow couldn’t be detected by anyone at all; his brother that longed to be righteous would never need to know that his little didi that he treasured so much wasn’t worthy of his love.

He’d fix things, make them better, and Nie Mingjue would never know that things had ever gone any other way. Nie Huaisang would bear the burden alone, just as he had those many years, but this time he would have his brother by his side.

It would be worth it.  

Still, being four was hard. Nie Huaisang had started making moves right away, but his ability to manipulate people seemed to be significantly impaired – or maybe it was only that he’d underestimated the effect of his changes, that he’d acted before he’d fully figured out everyone’s personalities, and so ended up changing things more than he meant to.

For one thing, he’d never meant for Nie Mingjue to be the one to go to Yingchuan.

Nie Huaisang had used Wei Wuxian for his own purposes in his previous life, and he wouldn’t have been able to avenge his brother without him – he owed him karma, and such debts ought to be repaid as swiftly as possible. He’d figured that sending some Nie sect retainers to the area would be a good way to do that; even if they couldn’t save his parents, they should at least notice that there was a little boy in town waiting for his parents to come back from a night-hunt. At best, Nie Huaisang had figured on Wei Wuxian having a few extra years at the Lotus Pier, and maybe avoid developing that dog phobia of his.

He hadn’t expected Nie Mingjue to volunteer to go, though he supposed his brother was twelve, and therefore reckless and a little bit stupid in a way that Nie Huaisang probably shouldn’t find as adorable as he did, being only four himself. He definitely wasn’t expecting his brother to come back and tell him that he’d not only managed to save Wei Wuxian’s parents but that they were coming to Qinghe for some reason.

That was his brother in a nutshell, though. Typical overachiever.

Nie Huaisang wasn’t sure exactly how this would change things. He hadn’t intended on making such large changes, as it would swiftly render his knowledge of the future useless, but on the other hand, the future had turned out quite so badly, and after all in the end he knew the important things. He knew who was a good person and who wasn’t, he knew about the war that would come, he knew what tricks to be afraid of – no, it was better this way.

This way, he wouldn’t be tempted to blindly rely on a future that might change; this way, he wouldn’t risk the same future happening again, wouldn’t allow tragedies to take place when they didn’t have to. Instead, he’d do what he’d always done and react to things as they happened, turning each event to his own advantage.

Even if he wasn’t quite sure what possible advantage he could get from Wei Wuxian as a young child.

“Is it nice there?”

Nie Huaisang refocused and looked at his brother, who’d apparently finished his training for the day. It was so strange to see him with cheeks still rounded by lingering baby fat and Baxia disproportionate in her size; if he hadn’t later grown into a giant, he would have been seen as having been a bit too ambitious when he wielded her. “What was that, da-ge?”

“I asked you if it’s nice there,” Nie Mingjue repeated as he settled down next to Nie Huaisang in the shady part of the training field. “Wherever it is that your mind flew off to. It must be very interesting to keep you occupied for so long.”

Nie Huaisang ignored the teasing and immediately wiggled over, putting his head in his brother’s lap. His brother indulged him, moving Baxia to his other knee as he inspected her for any nicks that might need to be sharpened out later.

His brother always indulged him.

“I was just daydreaming,” he said, and it was even mostly true. The line between daydreaming and active scheming was a very fine one.

“Still thinking about maps?” his brother asked. “I know I said you were too young to take the ones out of the library, but maybe we can go to the market to buy some cheaper ones…”

Nie Huaisang shook his head, feeling guilty. He didn’t really need a map. After all, a map couldn’t tell him what he needed to know: he couldn’t be sure that Meng Yao was in Yunping City right now, even though that was ultimately where he ended up. And anyway, even with a map, it was impossible for him to find a way to go there now, as a four year old – he could do many things by mail without being noticed, but even he couldn’t think of a way to mail order a whore and her son – and even a cheap map was an expensive purchase for a twelve year old with a limited allowance.

“I just like thinking about other places, that’s all,” he temporized. “You went to Yingchaun – what was that like?”

“It’s not too far beyond our borders, so it was mostly the same, I guess?” Nie Mingjue said, sounding a little helpless. “Same animals, plants, weather…they say the further that way you go, the spicier the food, but we must not have gone far enough, since I didn’t notice a difference.”

“What about the people?” Nie Huaisang said, deciding to try to get more information about Wei Wuxian instead since he already knew that asking Nie Mingjue to act as a travelogue was an exercise doomed to frustration. “You said someone from Yingchuan was coming – are they from the sect there?”

“The sect – Yingchuan Wang? Certainly not. They’re barely a sect as it is; they were servants in Qishan once, but then either got thrown out or left in a huff and now they eke out an existence as a medium-sized fish in a small pond. They send their children to be servants in Qishan whenever they can manage it, and still ask for help from us on the sly because they can’t afford to deal with their problems themselves. No one of note there.”

That wasn’t entirely true, Nie Huaisang thought; after all they had produced the horror that was Wang Lingjiao. He wonder if there was some way to make use of her. She was about their age, and she hadn’t yet committed any of the atrocities she later would. Of course, one did need to account for the trouble that was her personality…

“– sure you’ll like him,” Nie Mingjue was saying, and then he grimaced. “It’s his parents I don’t quite know what to do with.”

Nie Huaisang sympathized more than Nie Mingjue would ever realize. Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren had excellent reputations as cultivators, but beyond that he knew nothing about them but their son – they were wild cards, their impact on the state of play totally unpredictable.

“Father has charged me with taking care of them while they’re here, because I’m the one who invited them,” Nie Mingjue said, and reached up to rub the space between his brows the way he always did when he was stressed. “It’s not like we’re doing anything special with them – they’re just guest cultivators, not joining the sect – but at the same time…I don’t want to make a bad impression.”

He didn’t say whether it was on their guests or on their father.

A moment later, he nudged Nie Huaisang a little. “You’ll help me, right?”

Nie Huaisang would burn the world down for his brother.

However, practically speaking, he was currently four.

“Of course, da-ge,” he said. “How can I help? What can I do?”

“You,” Nie Mingjue said with satisfaction, “can be a subject of conversation.”

Nie Huaisang had the distinct feeling that what his brother meant was that he planned to throw him to be a cute child at their guests every time the conversation hit an awkward point, but surely he wouldn’t –

It was exactly what he did.

Nie Huaisang really wished he could blame this on his brother being twelve, but honestly his brother had always been a little like that.  He’d only ever gotten away with his terrible social skills and even more terrible sense of humor because he was tall as a mountain, with a reputation for being taciturn (in large part due to his following the rule of “if you have nothing good to say, say nothing”), and of course there was always Baxia adding some intimidation effect.

It was a bit of a start to realize that in some ways, the Headshaker had been better at some of the parts of being Sect Leader than his beloved older brother.

It was not, however, a realization that Nie Huaisang had a lot of time to dwell on, because he had Wei Wuxian to deal with – and if he’d thought that the other boy was a handful when they were teenagers, it was nothing compared to him as a small excitable child visiting a new place for the first time.

Some things Nie Huaisang had expected: Wei Wuxian was bright, lively, intelligent to the point of brilliance, talented at whatever he picked up, and at all times inclined towards mischief.

He hadn’t, for some reason, expected the overwhelming hyperactive curiosity about – everything.

Wei Wuxian was five years old, really five, and he had some interesting gaps in his knowledge base. 

Complicated talisman craftsmanship? No problem. 

How to buy paper in the marketplace? No clue.

The particulars of setting up camp in the middle of a forest? No problem.

How to deal with servants? No clue. 

He could guide himself at night using constellations, but he couldn’t name all five Great Sects; he could cook for himself but didn’t know how to order food from a restaurant; he could sing songs but he’d never played catch-me or hide-and-seek; he could play bait for a vicious yao but had never met a cat –

That last one was a bit of a problem, since the Unclean Realm had a bit of a stray cat problem.

Well, it wasn’t a problem at the moment, since Wei Wuxian loved the cats, but it was going to be a problem when one inevitably tried to claw his face off when he tried to pet them more than they felt like accepting.

It’d probably end up being Nie Huaisang’s problem, too, since Wei Wuxian liked to stick to him no matter where he went – or rather, he liked to stick to him, follow him around, get bored, and drag him off to do something else. Usually something childish (understandable, since he was a child), and extremely distracting from what Nie Huaisang should be focusing on.

…a great deal of fun, though.

Nie Huaisang’s initial fondness for Wei Wuxian had, he would admit, been primarily nostalgic in nature, but it wasn’t very long before the other boy swept him away with all the same things that he’d enjoyed back in the Cloud Recesses: he was spirited, witty, and clever, a bundle of trouble and inventor of adventures, and he made even the most boring things a lot more interesting.

They ran around the Unclean Realm, pretending to be explorers who happened upon a mysterious realm; they went to the market and bought one of every treat; they volunteered to feed the ducks and pigs and chickens; they pretended to be vicious beasts and practiced their prowling and hunting on long-suffering Nie disciples; they climbed trees and crawled around the caves; they made their way into the laundry and tried on everyone’s clothing –

At any rate, Nie Huaisang had always been lazy and carefree by nature, and old habits were hard to resist. He was still young enough that most of his day was free and excess training was discouraged to avoid distorting his musculature, and well, he was four. Everything was funny to a four year old.

Funny, and very distracting.

Still, it couldn’t go on forever. He had scheming to do.

“Da-ge,” he whined, taking advantage of his current size to crawl into his brother’s lap. “Da-ge, he’s always around.”

“Says the one who’s leading him into trouble half the time.”

“Da-ge! I don’t! He’s the one doing the leading!”

His brother smiled. “Is a leader the one at the front of the battlefield or the one whispering plans into his ears?”

“…they’re only my idea about half the time. At most.”

Nie Mingjue laughed. “If he’s really bothering you, I can talk to his parents.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Nie Huaisang said quickly. He still didn’t know what to make of Wei Wuxian’s parents.

He’d tried studying them with an eye towards what he knew about Wei Wuxian as an adult, but the resemblance was blurry at best. Wei Changze was a gentleman, talented and charming; he always had a smile on his face, his eyes curved a little as if he was always laughing at some internal joke, and more often than not there was something lighthearted on his lips – there was definitely something of the future Wei Wuxian there. But it would be wrong to think of them as too similar: unlike his son, Wei Changze was prudent and thoughtful, contemplative almost the point of being reserved, cognizant of the dangerous undercurrents that made up sect politics; he wasn’t arrogant, and that made him nothing like Wei Wuxian at all.

No, the arrogance was all from Cangse Sanren.

She was a fierce woman, teeth bared whether in smile or grimace and hand often lingering by the whip tucked into her belt, somehow seeming both straightforward and yet mysterious – intense, arrogant, uncaring of all convention, she would let nothing in the world stand between her and her principles.

Nie Mingjue liked her on sight, of course.

Nie Huaisang was a bit more worried about the way she sometimes remarked about the ridiculousness of human law, usually during one of the enthusiastic philosophical discussions she’d been having with Nie Mingjue during their occasional spars – Nie Huaisang supervised only once, then realized that four-year-olds shouldn’t be worrying about their blood pressure and also that Cangse Sanren was probably good enough to not murder an over-enthusiastic twelve-year-old in the middle of his own sect. He’d mentioned it subtly over breakfast at one point, but that’d only gotten Nie Mingjue started up with their father about the differences between human and natural law when what Nie Huaisang had actually meant was that he wasn’t entirely sure Cangse Sanren thought of herself as a human.

She also had a way of sometimes looking at Nie Huaisang with a strange sort of smile, as if she knew, and ever since then Nie Huaisang had avoided her as much as possible.

“Well, if you don’t want him bothering you all the time, and you don’t want me to talk to his parents about it, what do you want to do?” Nie Mingjue asked.

“I just think he needs other friends,” Nie Huaisang said earnestly, widening his eyes in a way that made his brother look deeply unimpressed (but also amused). “Maybe someone at a different sect, so he can spend time writing them letters.”

Not that Wei Wuxian was especially proficient at writing, which made sense for his age, but Nie Huaisang had rather a lot invested in having managed to convince Nie Mingjue that his level of writing (full words!) was normal.

“Letters,” Nie Mingjue said, looking deeply skeptical. “Who were you thinking?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang lied. “Someone our age. Probably from another of the major sects, since he still needs to learn all about the way the cultivation world works…oh, I know! How about the Lan sect? Don’t they have a second young master right around our age?”

He wasn’t being very subtle, he had to admit, but practically speaking, who cared? There wasn’t anyone around to catch him at it.

And it would be truly a pity to rob Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian of their chance for an epic romance - hopefully one that would end a little more happily.

His brother frowned thoughtfully. Probably searching his memory for confirmation, since it was still another year before he met Lan Xichen for the first time, but in the end he nodded. “That’s not a bad idea. The Lan sect is known for their rules and etiquette, and that’s precisely what Wei Wuxian requires most, and he’ll definitely get along well with Lan Wangji. I’ll write to – no, I’ll speak with Father; if he approves, we may be able to set up a meeting. It wouldn’t be a bad thing to foster relations between our sects at an early age.”

“That’s a great idea!” Nie Huaisang said. It was, too – maybe he could knock some caution into Lan Xichen’s head when he was still young enough to appreciate it. “And maybe we can visit Gusu one day!”

“You and your maps,” Nie Mingjue teased. “All right, all right; I’ll see what I can do the next time Father’s back.”

There was a wrinkle in his brow at that, which Nie Huaisang couldn’t blame him for it: their father was extremely busy at the moment, off dealing with Qishan aggression, and that meant they only ever saw him occasionally, and even then only at breakfast. It must be uncomfortable for Nie Mingjue, who loved their father dearly, and for Nie Huaisang, well…

He’d been back in this old body for a month now, adjusting slowly, and the one thing he couldn’t quite deal with was their father, as he was now: a good man, as temperamental as any Nie but in the main part thoughtful and steady.

Nothing like the monster he remembered.

It wasn’t fair to judge a man by what he was like following a deliberately induced qi deviation, Nie Huaisang reminded himself, just as he’d learned not to blame his brother for the lashings of his worsening temper during that period of spiritual poison. And yet – Nie Huaisang truly didn’t know what he’d do when the busy period subsided and his father came back to help guide their training.

He just didn’t remember what it was like to have a father instead of just a da-ge.

Something to worry about in the future.

For now, though, he had a pair of future lovebirds to introduce – and connections with another sect to build, so as to better gather support for the upcoming war.

Still, contrary to his expectations, the Lan sect weren’t their first visitors.

It was the Jiang.

[edyacouky]

Not My Pack

Can be read on AO3

Sumary : Reverse Robin / Omegaverse

Batman and Tim are gone to a mission in space.<br />

Alfred take his first vacation since forever.<br />

So Damian is let alone with the last pup, Jason Todd, that his father adopt a few month ago.<br />

Not a big deal, right?<br />

Well until the pup start his heat ...“Are you sure everything will be alright?”

Note : 

Damian Wayne Al Ghul  Alpha 20 years old

Tim Drake: Unpresented 14 years old

Jason Todd: Omega (presented in this fic) 12 years old

Cassandra Cain: 9 years old not in this fic

Dick Grayson: 6 years old not in this fic

***

Damian sights and rolls his eyes. His father can really be exasperating, especially since he decides to add some pups to their pack.

“Tt- It’s not the first time who leave Gotham to me for one of your Justice League mission.

-This time Alfred won’t be with you either.”

Bruce could only blame himself, he is the one that force his father figure to go on vacation somewhere without cellphone so he can really relax. But he didn’t have expected having a mission on space with the Justice League.

“Maybe I should cancel his trip. He will understand …

-Father, don’t you trust me?”

Now Damian start to be really upset. With the years, they had many problem of communication and trust. Now, they both know that they love each other deeply and would do anything for the other, but they still have difficulty to talk to each other.

“This isn’t the problem. Bruce says wanting to avoid a confrontation. I am not comfortable to let you without back up.

-I will have back up. Damian roll his eyes. Colin leaves in Gotham, in case you forget, and Jon will stay in Metropolis like Iris will be in Central City. And …”

Damian looks at where Jason watches Tim prepare his bag.

“Tt- with your obsession to add unnecessary pups to the pack, we will even have a Cambion each. Oh yeah that’s true my name isn’t good enough for Drake and he change it. By what already?

-By RedBird. And we already talk about that, no pup has to be necessary.”

Bruce sights. True is Bruce is the one who convince Tim to change the name.

He never liked that Damian chosen this name and now that he got by Batson, Bruce just want this name fallen in oblivion.

RedBird is the name Tim chose and Bruce is happy with that.

But Damian never accept that. And he is particularly spiteful with Tim, refusing to accept him as part of his pack.

“Is leaving you Jason going to be a problem for you?”

Jason arrived in the Manor only a few months ago and if the little pup doesn’t seem to have found his place yet in their pack, Damian doesn’t show him the same animosity that he shows to Tim.

“Tt- as long as he doesn’t stole the silverware, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

Bruce sights and want to add something but Superman call him to know when they will arrive. He calls Tim so they leave by the ZetaTub.

“I know the “Cambion remark” was to be mean, but just in case: Jason isn’t authorized to go on the field.

Tt- I know.

-Take care of yourself, sons. Tim and I should be back soon.

-See ya.” Jason says

***

True to be told, Damian as less aversion for Jason that he has for Tim.

Todd didn’t found his father’s secret identity, didn’t come to his house after Damian’s departure because Batman “need” a sidekick.

Todd was unlucky enough to be an orphan from the Narrow and bold enough to steal Batman’s tire the day of his parents death.

Damian can respect that.

Plus, Jason mostly like to be alone, or doesn’t mind spend hours in the same room of someone without talking. Damian appreciate this quality.

“You don’t need a babysitter, do you?

-I am twelve.

-Good. You just need my permission for leaving the Manor, otherwise do whatever a kid like to do.”

Jason raises an eyebrow watching Damian who goes to the Batcomputer.

“That’s it? Aren’t you afraid that I could steal the silverware?

-I already hide it.

-Seriously?”

Damian doesn’t answer, he simply start to caress Alfred the Cat who has taken place in his leg.

Jason doesn’t insist and decide to go to his room.

***

The following days were good. Damian was doing a good job at being Batman in Gotham, he didn’t even need back up. Jason was mostly in school or in his room. They spend time together only to eat.

At first, Damian join Jason because he was sure the pup was like his father and Drake, unable to cook and survive without Alfred.

But when he enters in the kitchen, Jason was already cooking something that smell marvelous.

“Not sure I am supposed let you behind the stove. Damian says

-Like you will cook?

-I am not incompetent like my Father. Mother teach me everything I need to survive, included cooking.

-Well, my mother wasn’t in good state to teach me anything but I am sure I am better than you.

-Tt – What about we check your little hypothesis?”

And just like that, they take the habit to cook together.

Unfortunately, it is not a family habit to have so many good days without any problem coming.

When Damian goes to the kitchen, he is surprised to not see Jason already there. He waits some minutes trying to decide if he should start without him, but it doesn’t seems right for him.

He suddenly realize that he doesn’t hear about Jason for hours now.

He is not worried about his father new pup, absolutely not. After all, he accepted coming in the Manor only to replace his father as Batman. Not to form a bond about this pup that won’t be part of his pack.

He is just curious that’s all.

And if it happen that today, Todd doesn’t want to cook with him, then it would be fine. There is no need to be disappointed about this prospect at all.

He doesn’t find the pup at the library so he goes to his room.

Weirdly, Todd isn’t in there either but Damian hears the shower running.

“Todd, will you eat tonight?” Damian asks knocking at the door

No answer.

Damian knock again calling after the pup, but just the sound of the water answer him.

“Todd, I’m coming in.”

As soon as Damian opens the door he has to pinch his nose.

“That’s stink!

-Fuck you. ‘m still smell better than you.”

Suddenly, Damian recognizes the smell. An omega in heat.

Except Colin’s, Damian never liked the strong smell of an omega in heat or an alpha in rut. Not even his own smell.

Jason is sitting on the shower, cold water that keep fall on him.

“How long are you in there? Damian asks stopping the water

-No! I am too hot! Jason moans

-Tt. How long are you in there?”

Damian take a towel and put it around Jason so he can make him leave the bathroom. Jason is right, he is really warm. Nothing unusual for an omega in heat, but always unpleasant sensation.

“I don’t know. It was still dark outside.

-Tt! It’s noon already! Why didn’t you come find me?”

Jason shrugs.

“Didn’t think you would have help.”

Damian frowns.

He knows that he isn’t a member of a pack of Jason, but he though that the pup knew that he could found him if he was in trouble.

“You’re a pup, of course I would have help you.”

Once Jason was dry, Damian put him so random PJ and put him in the bed.

“Stay in bed, you should be better here. I bring food and water. I don’t want to move, understand?”

Jason keep moaning and rolling in the bed, scratching his clothes. Damian rolls his eyes and leaves him.

***

Damn, this day gets wrong with every minutes.

When Jason hears Damian’s voice, he was relieved. He wants someone to help him, telling him that everything will be fine. But no one in his life was like that to him.

Even his mother … She tried but despite how much she loved Jason, she was part of the reason Jason needed help.

It’s been a few month since he was living in the Manor. The pack is really weird.

Damian, Tim, Alfred and himself are part of Bruce’s pack.

But Damian never try to bond with them, so he isn’t really part of Tim and Jason’s pack.

And Tim and Jason don’t see each other much. Tim come to the Manor only for patrol and Jason can’t participate for now. So they don’t consider each other as part of the same pack.

Alfred tries to change Tim and Jason relationship but there isn’t much that could be do with Damian.

“What a mess.” Jason thinks

Never less, Jason though that when he will finally have his heat, it would be safe and not so lonely.

Jason couldn’t help himself but cries.

He wants the pain to stop. He wishes his mother was alive and hugs him. He wishes Bruce was there, calling him champ. He wishes to have more comfortable PJ and more blanket.

He would have prefer not have an alpha that isn’t pack near him. Logically, Jason knows that Damian is an asshole but he can be nice like when they cook together. But he can’t help but fear of being abused.

Damn, would he feels this miserable every time he will have his heat? That sucks.

“Are you crying? He hears Damian but refuse to react. Tt- there is medicament with your food. Take it.”

Jason shake his head and cowers.

“Tt! Don’t act like a child.”

Damian forces him to sit down and give him some soup and medicament.

“Take it. It would be better after.”

Finally, Jason decide takes a sip, hoping that Damian will leave him after. But the demon forces him to drink all the soup.

“More. Your stomach is empty. You will feel better.”

Damian keeps telling him that but honestly, Jason is just feeling worse.

He can’t wait for his heat to pass.

***

Damian paces in the corridor.

The pup not only stink because of his heat but also because of distress.

Damian doesn’t understand what else he could do. The pup is safely in his den, with food and an alpha to protect him. What else could he want?

Of course he tries to contact Bruce or Alfred but neither answer. And Damian doesn’t consider the situation as an emergency.

True is he is too proud to admit he is overtake by the situation.

Seriously why did that happen now?

Did Jason too young for that? Damian doesn’t think that Drake as presented yet. Himself didn’t present until he was thirteen.

How could he fail? He helps Colin frequently, so he knows what an omega need.

Colin always seems happy in his bed after some food and medicament.

Another sobs is heard from Jason’s room.

Damian sighs.

He needs backup. Quickly.

***

“Hey Dami.

-Hey Beloved.

-Still no improvement? Colin asks him after they kiss

-It gets worse. Damian admits. I appreciate that you comes.

-That’s ok. But he may not want someone that is not part of his pack to come near him.

-Well one of us, will have to come in his room, no matter what.”

Colin shrug an eyebrown.

“Didn’t you guys get close this day?

-Still not pack.”

Colin didn’t try to debate with Damian. His lover could be as stubborn as possessive sometimes.

They were arrived to the corridor, when Colin had to take a break before he was going to throw up.

“You didn’t lie, it stinks. He must have been in distress for hours now.

-He says it was dark when he wake up.

-Damn Dami, you should have call me sooner.

-Tt …”

When they arrives in front of the door, Colin knocks and just stick his head in the room.

“Hey pup, can I come in?

-Who are you?

-I am Dami’s friend, he though I could help you.”

Jason took a moment to smell the air.

“Omega?

-Yes, I am.

-And a rapist?

-Of course he is not! Damian takes offense. Why should I bring some degenerate here?

-Why should I know that? You are not pack, right?” Jason yells

Damian looks really hurt and guilty by the accusation, Colin gently caress his cheeks.

He isn’t really good to show it to people but Damian really care, so much that he may hurts him sometimes.

“I am not here to have sex with you, neither is Damian.”

Jason simply looks at him, judges him.

“Can I come in?”

Finally Jason shrugs.

“Why not?” He whispers

Colin enters and carefully sit down next to Jason. Tenderly, he caress Jason’s hair. He moans so pitifully with just this little touch and love himself against Colin so quickly.

“What? Aren’t Dami’s hugs good enough?

-Damian doesn’t hug.” Jason scoff

Damian doesn’t hear clearly what the two omega say, but by the glare Colin sent him, he knows he is in trouble.

“Are you in pain?

-Not really, don’t feel the cramps since Damian gives me medicament.

-But you don’t feel good?

-Feel like shit.” Jason admit now putting his arm around Colin

Damn, Colin thinks this pup is so cute. He can understand why Bruce decide to adopt him.

After being sure that nothing was physically wrong with the pup. Colin look around the room and see many weird things.

“Don’t you have more blanket? Maybe some more soft.

-Probably. Bruce’s mother was an omega, they must have thousand blankets here.

-True. And are you the one who took away the curtain of your canopy bed?”

Jason shakes his head.

“There weren’t when I took this room.

-May be nice if I put some. Would you like it?”

Jason hums.

“Can I change PJ too?

-Of course sweetie, why couldn’t you?

-Don’t know. Jason shrugs. Damian gives it to me.

-I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you change.”

Jason nods, happy with this information.

“Ok, kiddo. I am going to bring all of that now.”

Colin tries to stand up but Jason yells and tightens his embraces.

“No, please no.

-Hey, everything will be alright. I have only for a minute or two. Just the time for you to change, ok?”

Jason starts crying again but let Colin go.

“I know that heat suck, but that would be ok now.”

Jason snorts. Damian keeps telling him that before and he was wrong.

He really hope that Colin is right because if his heat are all like that, without possibility of getting better, then he really want to found a permanent way to stop them.

Recalcitrant, Jason leaves the bed to change while Colin goes talk to Damian.

“So?

-So it was bad, Damian.”

Shit Damian and not Dami.

“You didn’t even hug the pup. Seriously, take a book or pick a movie and simply hug him.

-What? This is things I do only with you!

-There nothing sexual in that. And heat is not share only with mate, you know?

-I only do it with you.”

Colin frowns then realizes.

“Wait, you really never share a heat with anyone than me?

-Both of my parent are alpha, and it is not costume in the League. Damian blushes. Expect with the one.”

It’s Colin’s turn to blush.

“Is that for that you were so shy the first you share my heat? Even if it was platonic? Dami, you were only fourteen …

-And I already know then that you were my mate, Beloved.”

Colin could not help himself but to kiss him. His mate always find way to make in fall in love all over again, even if it wasn’t on purpose.

“Look, I understand now that it may be uncomfortable for you, but I truly think that you should give this pup some hugs …

-Beloved …

-You see how he reacts with me, and he doesn’t even know me. He is badly touch starved. And you get to know each other this last days, to appreciate each other, right?

-Tt …

-Look, if you really can’t I will, but for the long term, it would be better if it’s you.”

Damian looks at the pale figure of Jason, he stills seem miserable and shaking. Damian want to help him, he truly do.

“You will come back?

-Oh I just have to go buy some cigarette.

-You don’t smoke. Damian frowns

-No … I mean … That’s a joke.

-Are you sure? It’s not funny.

-Go help your pack’s pup, asshole.” Colin laugh pushing Damian in the room while he goes take what Jason need

Damian doesn’t have the time to tell “Not my pack” before Colin was gone.

Jason is back sulking in his bed and seems disappointed that Colin is not there anymore.

“Tt. Do you mind if I sit down with you?”

Jason shrugs.

“Tt.”

Damian sit down at the edge of the bed. The smell is still too strong and it still feel wrong to share the pup’s heat.

At least Jason stop crying and seems to find his discomfort funny and he is in the expecting of what Damian will do.

When his father will be back home, Damian will kill him for putting him in this position.

“There, there.” Damian says taping the pup’s head

And to his horror, Jason dare laugh at him.

“You’re really bad at that.

-Tt … Colin should be back soon.”

Jason see the alpha differently now. He truly though that he has abandon him, but he is here and with back up, for Jason.

Suddenly, this dark brooding distant alpha looks like a clumsy caring bear.

“Can I hug you?

-If it can truly help you.”

Damian sit a little closer to Jason and the pup throw himself into his arm, purring like a crazy once he was well installed.

Damn, Colin was right, the pup is touch starved. How could Damian miss that? He put one of his hands on the back of the pup and the other on his head playing with his hair. Damian wasn’t sure it was a good idea to repeat same gesture he do with Colin but Jason now is smiling.

The day may not be too bad finally.

***

When Colin return with blankets and curtains, he is relieved to see Jason and Damian much more relaxed.

He gives Jason the blankets and quickly he fix his nest so he can feel more comfortable in it while Damian and he put the curtains.

Once that Jason was sleeping between Colin and Damian, Damian could really consider that they success taking care of the pup.

And finally, sharing the heat of a member of “not his pack” that isn’t his lover is not so bad after all.

[yusuke96universe]

Underappreciated Dragon Ball Character: The Crane Hermit's Story

The Crane Hermit is introduced as a very one-dimensional mustache twirling bad guy who quickly faded into obscurity, but after digging into his history and connecting the dots, I found him to be a rare 3 Dimensional villain from classic Dragon Ball.

I mean the dude starts out as a rich snob, humbles himself while befriending his one time enemy and forges a brotherhood with other martial artists under the same dojo. He even is so loyal and brave to the point of fighting alongside his brothers in arms to the bitter end against a horde of Demons. To top it all off, he was even willing to do it again when suggesting they come back and try to defeat King Piccolo again right after barely surviving their first encounter with him. This is very much in tune to what many noble members of the Dragon Team would do, meaning at one point, Crane was a redeemed villain like half the Dragon Ball cast, but willingly CHOSE to return to his old evil ways.

And this only happened after his master gave up the fight which turned his heart away from the light, as if GOODNESS itself betrayed him and/or the lure of the evil King Piccolo's power could've swayed him to be the self-serving man he is today. I would love to explore that side to him because there has to be something still awesome about him for Tien to have held such high respect for him

This is the story that I pieced together from watching a string Crane Hermit related episodes.

He is first introduced in Roshi's picture book as Roshi's good friend and owner of Inoshikacho with early designs before they shaved their heads and started wearing their master's uniform, like in the flashback of them fighting against King Piccolo. Those designs are used two more times, when Roshi climbed Korin's Tower and trained for 3 years gaining the power pole and Nimbus, so they must've looked like that for a few years at least. We get more details on their lives when Mr. Popo sends Goku to the past and meets a sort of cowardly or at least less confident Roshi, we know that this is more of a simulation of the past because this is basically used again for the humans to fight some weak Saiyans in early Z, so the events of Roshi and Crane starting out as romantic rivals in their teens and Crane's highly inflated attitude without any strength yet to combat Kid Goku implies that he came from a wealthy upbringing like a lot of similar people in old Kung Fu movies. You put these together and you got a very interesting character Here is how I rationalize it-

Roshi and Crane's bickering/ fighting over a girl likely got them disciplined hard by their mutually shared master, Mutaito. (Whom they both respected and studied under) Young Crane respected enough to restart his training over from scratch rather than being expelled during the Kid Goku goes to the past episode, so the probability that this would once again apply to a young Crane and possibly young Roshi in this new context seems pretty high. The punishments was probably super harsh and severe, probably was too much for Crane's flunkies to bare and they quit early, but NOT Roshi or Crane. They both are WAY, WAY too stubborn to quit early. Plus the thought of not wanting to be outdone by the other is what probably aided in pushing themselves past their limits throughout the harsh punishments and the intensive training.

So now it's basically two teenagers, one from a humble background and the other from a privileged background. Both with a lot of beef. Now stuck together alone. So while they're busy being bickering and competing, perhaps that girl they both were interested in, Fanfan, found herself a boyfriend in the meantime, leaving both of them heartbroken.

Now, since they are in the same boat together, they can start relating and bonding with one another as teenage punks do. Talking about mistreated they are, how unfair things, mostly complaining and roasting one another, etc. But the important thing is, they put their differences aside to overcome the challenges in front of them and this newfound bond leads them to becoming best friends.

The rivalry while healthier becomes stronger with time though because they're young and brash so Roshi goes to Korin's Tower at some point for bragging rights and Crane probably did something equally outrageous in an attempt to one up him, like maybe he won a Martial Arts Tournament or completed some grand trial of their dojo or something.

After being studying together for many years, they shave their heads and join the other students in wearing the formal uniforms of their master, so this is likely the peak of their disciplined lifestyle as Martial Artists.

Eventually this school made a stand and fought to the last man against Demons that terrorized and devastated entire cities and destroyed armies, harming countless innocents in the process. So in order to face such a threat implies a strong brotherhood and loyalty within the group.

Also the effect of his master giving up the fight being one of the factors for his turn toward evil implied that the Crane had great respect for him and that was the greatest disappointment of his life, plus the allure of power that King Piccolo showed must've been too tempting for him to resist so he left the losing side and returned to a lifestyle similar to his origin, using his skills in service of his own self and living it up in a lavish style (as shown in how much of a big spender he is and comparing his hotel room to the Turtle School's). In doing so, he purposely pushed away all the great teaching his Master had taught him, deeming them as weak or worthless for what he believed to being truly strong in his own distorted mind. He desperately needed someone like his Master to correct his misconceptions, and maybe at one time Roshi tried to, but failed because Crane closed off his heart to his once best friend (kind of like Gintoki and Takasugi frrom Gintama) who exemplifies everything he now hates and stands against.

Though some lessons still stuck, like loyalty, specifically to his brother Tao. Which is his prime motivation in the 22nd tournament was to avenge his brother and he even lamented on how they never patched things up so he tried getting justice for him instead of blaming himself. Dodging accountability, but accepting responsibility. Proving maybe even he is not too far gone, if he felt their was even a point to change.

But that doesn't mean he was the nicest brother. His pride and jealousy couldn't stand the idea that his brother was far more naturally gifted than him and so he attempted to sever one of the few remaining bonds he has in his long life of losses, with his own hand because of his own inferiority complex.

He allowed his greed, anger, pride, and jealousy blind him to what would've been his greatest legacy as a Master of Martial Arts. His students. The most well known are Tien and Chiaotzu. Who he long since failed to guide them to the righteous path which led them pass the point of no return. Tien and Chiaotzu were one in a million prodigies that he wanted to turn into a mere weapons at his command. To make matters worse, these self-centered, cruel and down right malicious teaching actively corrupted Tien's nature and forever shut his Third eye's truest abilities. So he didn't nurture his disciple like he was completely capable of, instead, he actively/incompetently crippled his number 1 student forever preventing him from reaching his full potential by stealing his birthright. Truly failing as a Master.

He makes one last appearance in the 23rd Tournament feeling betrayed and wronged, but leaves as a coward. It is such a shame to see what once was a great man, how far he had fallen.

His Death. Toriyama mentioned that he and his brother Tao Pai Pai got in over their heads and died somewhere in the middle of Z off-screen. In-spite of all of his gifts, he utterly failed as a Master by actively trying to spite everything his Master taught him and what did all of his efforts and years of experiences gift him with? An inconsequential death that will not be remembered, which is heartbreaking for a man who was once and could've forever remained as great as the fan-favorite Master Roshi. It is a shame because unlike his teacher, he never redeemed himself, not even in death. What could've been a Legend, instead turned into a Cautionary Tale.

Honestly, it is such a shame that this character wasn't utilized more. I've got a few more Crane Hermit related headcannons, some from when he was younger, some of how he could've been used after the 22nd Martial Arts Tournament, like a role in the King Piccolo Saga since that is so closely tied to his past, watching his continual, but strained relationship with his students, etc.