#just like the red analysis i will only tag a small circle and see where this goes

[oswlld]

OH PUEN, WE’RE REALLY IN IT NOW (or, an ask requested by @megacherik​ that I didn’t mean to turn into an almost 6K word count about the character, Puen)

BUCKLE UP! This post is split into two parts : 1) summarizing Puen as a standalone character and then 2) realllly diving into how these character moments are fleshed out in each episode

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PART I - SUMMARY

Here are some takeaways about Puen as a standalone character; these conclusions are my own and some are supported under the cut, so please take these with a grain of salt (cries oh gawd there’s already pink)

ROMANTIC LEAD VS LOVE INTEREST

Romantic lead - main character in a romantic setting (main plot, other motivators drive towards romance)

Love interest - a character that the hero/main character is interested in (subplot, motivator to move the main story along)

And for the majority of the series, a lot of Puen’s onscreen presence, to me, functions more on the love interest side. HOWEVER, there’s still so many instances where his status as a romantic lead lead to understated character moments

WHAT IS IN A NAME

the narrative choice of never telling his name, calling himself/making others call him Tun for two years (and for us, ten weeks), weighs heavily when we hear “Puen” for the first time in ep 11

we feel the trauma at the same time as he does

i never took issue to the name drama and Talay has made it clear on numerous occasions it wasn’t important for him; having the audience wait ten weeks to hear it again was well executed

MOURNING? SOPHISTICATED? BLANK SLATE?

Talay’s wardrobe dialog carries the blue theme throughout his time in their universe, while Puen wore black/grayscale

we poke fun at those who default to black wardrobe, but how do I find meaning in this color palette choice that the production team assigned for Puen if it is an important characteristic for Talay/Blue?

so, is it because it’s one less thing to think about before going into work? is it painting a bigger picture about his character being orphaned? or is it simply saying nothing because we’re not supposed to know anything about him?

in a very quiet way, Tun’s wardrobe is the AU version of Puen; muted, neutral tones vs tess’/AU’s vibrancy paints, until we see Puen in red in so many occasions (which comes to a head when it comes to Real Red)

“TUN” vs PUEN

the balance between Up and Aou showcases the two sides of Puen - the person (silly) vs the actor (serious)

in a very understated way, it feels right that Talay also fits into Friend Credits and, by extension, falling in love with Puen, due to this dynamic

whether it was intentional that Jimmy moves differently or not, I have no choice but to pick up on the way Puen moves in the glass house scene, with the hand in his pocket, as if the suit/his wardrobe changes the way he carries himself vs when he was in Tun’s body and wearing casual clothes

“PEOPLE THINK I’M PERFECT”

Puen is naturally talented, picks things up quickly (good memory), which is an important skill to have for being a successful actor

reminds me of Lito a lot, having to learn new things for the job (ex: flair bartending)

we don’t see much evidence that would lead me to believe he’s a people pleaser or having insecurities to maintain perfectionism

thus, i think his professionalism, mixed with the loneliness, comes with the territory of never voicing his needs; other people assuming he could take care of himself gave himself permission to shut himself away at a young age

LOVE FROM A DISTANCE

we’re told that he remembers everything about Talay, but he has also been keeping tabs on Pang’s life while she’s been away in the other universe

it would make sense for a loner like Puen that he’d keep other people he cared about at arm's length; he’s very self-aware about being bad about love, so to what extent did he try and fail at retaining friendships in and outside of work?

in Lady Bird, there’s a scene where it’s pointed out that a piece of writing about Sacramento was written with so much affection and care; main character tells them she was just paying attention, but the other points out that “don’t you think maybe they are the same thing, love and attention?” the context for that scene in the movie and Puen as a character doesn’t translate thoroughly, but it does speak to how memory can play into his character without having flashbacks

i am going to just lean on the writers for creating a character that is very understanding and is the first to apologize and easily forgiving; without having moments to dispute this otherwise, this is a character trait he has, but not necessarily something he needed to work on i wonder if there’s a place in their og universe Puen disappears to when he’s struggling with something, that is unique to him (rather than using the same locations shown in the show so far)

HE’S A SELFLESS MAN WHO WANTS TO BE SELFISH FOR ONCE

his loneliness hasn’t hardened him or made him bitter, it has made him childlike in return

perpetually orphaned

reminds me of when heedo told her mom she was still thirteen; i think in many ways, he’s stuck there and it showed in moments when he wanted to be taken care of

there's something to be said about having the biggest angst/fight between them in midnight black be resolved in the love interest lens; meaning, the most important details about Puen’s life/motivations were vocalized through Up and Pang, in their respective scenes with Talay (instead of carrying out the turmoil through Puen, in the romantic lead lens)

we learn the full extent Puen is willing to fight to keep this life for himself, when Talay has previously fought so hard to ensure Puen’s return to their universe, and Puen wrestles with this selfish (and very understandable) revelation offscreen until we get to the island scene

after all this, is there something he learned from universal traveling? thinking back to the point i made about never voicing his needs - i think this was where growth happened, when he asked Talay if he could be that person to wake up to; that singular, pivotal moment of being vulnerable enough to ask someone to be their person???? no wonder it's the one scene he writes into a script ITS SO GENUINELY ROMANTIC

There is love in holding. And there is love in letting go. the Friend Credit subplot didn’t serve as a vehicle to motivate the portkey/universal travel plot forward; even less so for Puen’s ideal life with Pakorn’s parents, but the letting go of both was FKJLSKDJLSKDF inhales that…. it’s the grandest romantic gesture and greatest character moment for Puen as a romantic lead

his last act before leaving the universe was writing his name, letting go of the last thing he kept for himself; it being written in the earth of the universe that was his home, instead if it being spoken, is so LOUD

As we go into the last ep, the one character moment I am looking forward to seeing is how much of his life as Tun will be carried into his life as Puen. In the AU, being Tun was his way of being his most authentic Puen and now that he’s back in his own body, how does Puen change to carry Tun with him from this point forward? I do have points laid out below, when it comes to Puen’s return as an actor, but will we see further growth in establishing self worth? We shall see.

If this wasn’t long enough, I have broken down the character analysis further, by ep under the cut. It’s a marathon, so pls take breaks and stretch your legs when you can.

PART II - PUEN, THE CHARACTER THAT YOU ARE —

DISCLAIMER: I am utilizing much of my thoughts/explanations with context to later episodes, instead of what we learn about Puen within the timeframe/scope of the episode itself. In short, this is me breaking the character moments down with the information revealed later in the series.

OCEAN BLUE - 1a. Mainly showcases Puen through Talay’s POV, which gives love interest vibes alone. But what we did take away from his two brief scenes is how he interacts with his fans vs those he works with (well, there is no difference, he treats everyone with the same kindness and respect). We also know now that he keeps everything his fans gift him in his apartment, which speaks to how he cares for his fans; is there an element of sentimentality for him? Sidenote: he is tooootally the type of person that would have one thoughtful, nice interaction with a stranger and then think about that moment/person for at least a week 1b. Gawd, the professionalism of this man; you can sense how level-headed he can be in between takes. What is his rapport as an actor? We know him to be a superstar, enough to gain recognition to star in an international film and represent his country, but does the industry like him? Is he a pleasure to have on set?

FOREST GREEN - 2a. Puen’s entry into the other universe; how blessed we are to have a show give us THREE distinct events where PuenTalay meet each other again and again anew; instantly, Puen is surrounded by people, but i think the scene plays out beautifully; in that, while meeting Pang again later was special to him, Puen too felt that, in meeting Talay and Talay asserting himself as someone Puen can trust, the meeting was special to him too 2b. What’s this? a flashback that serves more as a Puen POV, rather than a Talay POV? there’s not much to take away from this short scene, but I wanted to establish a romantic lead POV shift, even if its only in a flashback scene; the rest of the episode exists with Puen in scenes with Talay and we don’t get a moment alone with Puen until the next episode

SOFT BLUSH!!! - I think the short, drunk narrative doesn’t need to have a moment in this post, but it stands to be said that it was a necessary send off to a version of Puen - we need to see Puen shift from how he deals with his previous life to learning how to exist in this universe. 3a. NOW, Pinky Promise™ reference, with the wooden hand model, was pointed out by others in the tag, so I won’t speak too much into it; but loooooook! a full scene of our romantic lead, fleshing out the history and future of Friend Credits; although the scene is most carried out through a flashback of a character we don’t see again until the end of ep 10, we understand what aspects of Pakorn Puen needs to contribute to the friend group and the type of friend he needs to be for Up and Aou; i wonder if he read further into Pakorn’s journals/studied them

3b. What is this?? ANOTHER solo scene of our ROMANTIC LEAD PUEN???? I love that the show gives us this moment: the beginnings of this friend group with Puen; it’s an important gesture (as opposed to how tess treated Talay’s friends), to truly want to make amends with Up and Aou; after this, we rarely see moments with just the three of them outside of Friend Credit shenanigans, but at least we had this 3c. A perfectly normal reaction to learning that Talay is single in your area.

DEEP MAGENTA, MY BELOVED! 4a. He’s SO perceptive about portkeys; “Hasn’t it occurred to you that the key to finding the portkey is love? […] What if to go back, you must fall in love with someone? What if it’s me?” - and it DOESN’T STOP - “I’ve been thinking about lots of things lately. About going home and about work. Everything is related to love. […] So I want to know a little more about love.” (the therapy bills are just piling up) That deep breath he takes, that pause, the way his hands hold together like that… PRECIOUS TO ME 4b - T: “Want to get married too, don’t you? P: “That’s normal, isn’t it? Of course, I think about it sometimes.” Interesting moment to contrast two character moments in that conversation; Talay thinking about the video presentation, saying he would like to color the video vs Puen thinking about his potential partner; also when Puen catches the bouquet vs Talay shielding himself from it (just like the RV scene when Puen points out that Talay shouldn’t just plan for the future alone)

side note: GUYSSSSSS, it didn’t occur to me until now that the music playing during the wedding video is the same as when they reunite in the glass house in the end of this ep AND in Talay’s fantasy reunion with Puen in ep 12 outside the building), APPALLED AND UNWELL

Jumping forward to the scene after the toss, when Talay reflects on their ongoing conversation about falling in love: P: “We can just fake it.” T: “No.” P: “Why not?” T: “Love isn’t something you can fake.” P: “Of course, we can. I faked it all the time when I was an actor.” T: “Then you fake it with someone else. Leave me out of it.” It’s an interesting take on having to artificially manufacture the elements required for both as inspiration for a screenplay and conjuring a portkey into existence. Do I believe there’s some hiding happening, in that he is using screenwriting as an excuse when Talay repeatedly turns him down? When Talay gets upset about the big spray paint display, there is a moment of hesitation. We know he was already falling, but this is a love interest moment. It’s creating friction for the Talay narrative. But if I switch over to Romantic Lead!Puen lens, I wonder if the moment after Talay says stop messing with me, he was going to confess something. However, Talay cuts him off.

4c. Let’s pause to take a 5 min break, you’ve already sat through likely 20+ min of my ramblings. Plus, let’s looks at one of Puen’s best looks as Tun… it’s a good look, lbr. Theyre all good looks - guys. shhh just look

4d. Anyways, at the end of the ep: P: “I just… wanted to know the feeling when I really love someone.” In hindsight, THIS REALLY HURTS YK??? He’s on his way there, albeit misguided. But how fascinating it is to point that out, diving into those emotions like an actor would in researching a role, except the lines are blurring. “But I want you to know that if it’s not you, I wouldn’t be able to work this well.” I am going to come back to this when we talk about ep 11. 4e. Now, that kiss… “There’s one more thing about the characters that I still don’t understand.” “Are you messing with me again?” “Not messing with you this time.” We jump to ep 5, the scene as a flashback continues with Puen confirming, “I kissed you because I felt like kissing you.” That’s mah BOY!!! Baby’s first real moment in acting on his feelings, not from his acting experience. Still misguided, in ways I can't express right now, but what a big step in his journey to learning more about love.

WINTER WHITE - 5a. the way I love a Bookstore Scene!! It’s such an understated character moment, when Talay is taking a genuine interest in Puen life. He’s not used to someone being curious about his likes/dislikes, especially coming from someone he really likes. We know the many future instances he turns Talay down in revealing something personal about his life, but ever the same, it’s so worthwhile to capture moments of unease/hesitation for Puen. VV showcases more of Talay’s journey in Puen rocking his foundation and keeping him on his toes, but we rarely see the many little ways Talay does the same for Puen. 5b. SOLEMN FACE!!! “The series crew got him a nickname.” GAWD, he - inhales This was him at least five years ago, around 18/19? “Because he always made a cold and solemn face on set.” IM SADDDD. As I mentioned before, I see him as someone who keeps an ear open to those he cares about, even if it’s not people he regularly keeps in touch with. By either osmosis or just seeking out news every once in a while, idk. Interesting thing to point out that he wants to give up acting while in the AU. In some ways, maybe he wanted to retain as much of Tun’s life as possible. But there is something to be said about staying away from a life he wasn’t happy in.

Before I move onto the next ep - “I’ll be the guy who lives with you.” MY GUY, RELAX! And then, when Talay is the one to hold his hand One (1) Time, Puen is just ready to move in together PFFFFT head in hands

5c. I know this is a post about Puen, but HI BABYYYYYY!!!!!! uhhhh PINK?????? FJSLDFKJSLKDF (btw this is a callout post to everyone who watched part 4 and made the most-played part of the video the preview for ep 6, where jimmy is shirtless with the shaving cream…. Valid, but STILL)

FIRE YELLOW - 6a. SOLEMN FACE RETURNS [crowd goes “awww :( “] Do I agree that it’s a good character take, that he prefers working anywhere with Talay over actually getting a job?? MMMMMMMMM idkkkk. 6b. “A life of doing things alone was not fun at all.” Now, THAT’s something. What a throwaway line that tells so much in so few words. Sure, he’s still shaken by Friend Credits disbanding, but he’s really trying to drive himself away from falling back into his old life: doing this alone. Yes, he now resides with Pakorn’s parents, but he’s really hoping to bring the group back together somehow over anything else.

We’ve all had our collective moments with Puen’s fantasy at the top of ep 6, so I won’t dwell into the specifics of the dialog, but it is a great character moment in how he paints Talay in his fantasy. From our initial reaction, not realizing it was a fantasy until we are brought back out of it, it was that blatent: he loves Talay exactly the way he is. Nothing about Talay felt out of character, which also extended to how their banter played out. Of course, there were moments that made the fantasy obvious, but it got the point across. Our boy is down BAD.

6c. Oh the paradigm shift in ep6 [2/4], you will always be famous - the first instance where Puen starts saying, “my dad’s…” Already laying the groundwork in the upcoming turmoil in wanting to stay. I speak more on this below when I dive more into Puen’s goodbye to Pakorn’s parents. 6d. I often wonder how long Puen has thought about writing that next screenplay about their lives. And I think a lot about the motivation behind it, bringing something so personal into existence. It’s not so different from what writers of all media do normally (which, wow that’s something to think about if Puen eventually steps away from acting to become a screenwriter full time; he’s already a natural at it)

6e. After learning that he truly fell since glass house, i think joob’s death really spooked him. perhaps even moreso that Talay, but we didn’t see it that way when the episode aired. the scene to me played out as a love interest scene at first, but it really is a good romantic lead moment. And then in ep 7, not telling Talay how he feels, while Talay is pushing him towards Pang???

SUNSET ORANGE - before we get started, let’s take another break. Rest your eyes for a minute, drink some water. But also, Scent kink? In my thai bl???

7a. Okay let’s continue - “HASN’T IT EVER OCCURRED TO YOU THAT I’M YOUR PORTKEY?” “IF YOU ARE, WE’D BE BACK BY NOW.” WHY ARE YOU TWO SO LOUD BUT SO STUPID 7b. “People think I’m perfect. I can take care of myself.” Having it be spoken so plainly, instead of show us evidence of this in more flashbacks (rather than seeing that through gyo’s/fans’ eyes… is something). “I’m just a man who can be weak and needs care.” That moment after Talay teases him about it, I COULD KISS IT. He’s taking the necessary baby steps in vulnerability and my son Talay is teasing him… SIGH “Not many see this side of me… You’re one of them.” Just how many people out there has he opened up to, outside of Pang? And how have these people come in and out of his life? Are they all from work?

7c. We now know what he wrote, I’M FINE BTW (lying). The next scene plays out in them having a moment to themselves and Puen steers the conversation to them, but never pressuring him to like him back. In a moment where he can act on his emotions, and Talay wants him to, his final thoughts are always Talay. His wish being the most selfless, unspoken thing… SEDATE ME. He doesn’t just write that he wishes Talay to fall in love with him, but the unspoken intention of giving a piece of his declaration the moment his wish comes true??? His wish isn’t to hear “I love you”, it’s to be able to say “I love you, too.” I am no longer fighting demons, I am sending them my therapy bills and they’re pissed.

7d. [Oh NOOOOOooo the bg music for their almost kiss scene is the same as their glass house reunion scene STAHP] 7e. Jimmy, the actor you are…

7f. Small side tangent, but I wish there were more moments of having the both of them start to pick up habits/mannerism in their scenes together, rather than have it always be recalled in flashbacks (ex: Pang’s scene about the Talay palette and then again in Puen’s flashback to learning about pantone with Talay) 7g. MY PATHETIC WET KITTEN - to me, it’s both an important character moment AND a important trait for a blorbo

Back in Aug, after ep 7 aired, I was discussing the progress of the show with beloved mutual @lulabo and she pointed out how “jimmy’s doing interesting work in that I still don’t know who Puen IS outside his relationship to Talay and so far that hasn’t gone anywhere. he’s SO enigmatic it should be a point of contention” and my response:

Currently, I feel the needle moving a bit since my last response. I still feel strongly about this, however there are several aspects of his work in the month without Talay that reveal his screenwriting and acting produced improvements in the eyes of his peers, due to his time with Friend Credits.

CLOUDY GRAY - 8a. I don’t really see him as a jealous type of person, esp having Mek really having no connection to Talay in their universe. Hmm… Was having one rejection too many really getting to him? Me thinks this was his first trial in this universe fighting to maintain a connection with someone and us witnessing something he has perhaps experienced in his previous life, with people falling out of his orbit. He just wants to be wanted and he’s so CLOSE. 8b. It would at least explain his expression when Talay finally confesses that he likes him. Something something to be chosen again and again. Some of us are single, gmmtv.

MIDNIGHT BLACK - so… that pillow scene

9a. That moment when he was eating by himself - my first real glimpse at a scene of him ALONE alone, perhaps his natural state back home. Did he feel more himself at this moment or did it feel strange? We don’t get many moments where we stay on him for a great length of time, just existing. It was a fleeting moment before we see the birthday scene play out, but i will cherish this small bubble of me meeting this side of him 9b. Their biggest fight, being Puen’s desire to stay, was written as a roadblock for Talay (and so to me, a love interest moment); it was still a character moment for Puen, since it transitions from his birthday scene into them talking about his birthday wish and at the end of the fight, the camera stays on him (instead of following Talay out)

9c. When he gives Talay a piggyback ride without explanation, I think this is when I also fell in love with the character; the show and the writers are finally giving him the depth I was seeking earlier in the series (since we don’t get flashbacks to their former life). If I loved it less, I would be able to talk about it more ;; 9d. I can’t believe up until now, Talay believed that their time together was going to stop once they return to their universe. My son, what.. huh lol do you not understand how down BAD Puen is for you??? SO I ALWAYS THOUGHT - I WANTED TO WAKE UP AND SEE THAT SOMEONE WAS WAITING FOR ME. CAN YOU BE THAT PERSON FOR ME? [………………………… user talaypuens flatlined for a few seconds but shes back] Okay soooooo anyways, that is a Scene. a Scene that doesn’t change the course of everything in this universe and their own. Nope. It’s not like it sets in motion their pinky promise to find each other… or that it improves Puen’s acting career in ways that not only received praise from those in his industry but a moment that Talay needed to hear from him and run back to him. It’s a completely normal, romantic lead scene.

9e. [INCOHERANT SOBBING] EXCUSE ME, DID YOU BUY THAT BEFORE OR AFTER THE PINKY PROMISE; seriously, i need to study his brain.. when the braincells work, they WORK. how did he connect the dots about the theme of an hourglass representing universal travel?? HOW??? Does he know this did psychological damage to my brain when it was explained as a flashback for Talay? PSYCHOLOGMICAL. DANAJ. 9f. We’ve already sang our praises how this reveal played out, but im giving it it’s moment here because i love the editing in the latter part of the series. They included more of Puen’s POV in their scenes together, giving us more glimpses into his thoughts/motivations that we didn’t get earlier on. Getting the screenshots of them in the bathroom… i was fighting demons,,,,, DEMONS

[WHY IS THIS POST SO LONG, WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME…. let’s not unpack all that]

PINK - Mek really said get your gay fantasy out of my script fjlskdkfjsl;d Mek can have some rights but also...

10a. The maturity and speed in which Puen reconciles with saying goodbye to the life he loves. I think I seriously love him… I often think about how different this show could have been if the Pakorn family dynamic was the whole of it, in place of the Friend Credits subplot. Of course, we needed to keep the “improving their bodies’ lives” narrative, but as heavy as this scene was, it had potential to just SHATTER ME BEYOND REPAIR. It was more like a treat into a character moment for Puen, rather than a reward for the journey. Since we have sat with the revelation about Puen being orphaned for a short time, we have come to care for Puen long enough to be destroyed by the scene of him saying goodbye to his surrogate universe parents. To somewhat be able to leave them with a soft confirmation that even if he wasn’t Pakorn, they’d still love him, if not more. I SOBSSSS 10b. In the week leading up to ep 11, I fully thought that Puen dreamed and didn’t tell Talay. I also knew this would be so out of character for him, but I wanted to find some meaning for the last scene they had together and what the motivation was behind finally wanting to tell his name. It almost felt like the place they chose to camp at was his dream location and when the big reveal happened for the switch, it made me feel like he ran out of time before leaving. I mean, why else would he himself bring up the dialog “Though we aren’t together tomorrow, you’re always here in my memories” uh…. ow????? and you expect me to think he wasn’t saying goodbye to Talay?

oh gawd i need a moment before diving into Real Red, I - inhales take a moment to stretch your legs again while i have a mild breakdown, maybe do a few neck stretches?

REAL RED - 11a. I need to preface this by giving all of my love to those who made [1/4] all 25+ min of it a POWERHOUSE. The editing between both universes were perfectly balanced in pace, emotional weight, and dialog. There were moments left unspoken that just made my heart SING. I just - MWAH. And it all starts with Puen’s return to their universe and the scene that alone deserves at least 3 oscars for acting, directing, and best foreign language - short subject.

The very first night back in his apartment - I imagine that he didn’t get any sleep and mostly it might be due to missing Talay, but some part of me thinks about the idea of sleeping in a strange place and the difficulty of sleeping in a different bed; could he have felt the same sensation here, after feeling more at home in the other universe? did he ever feel like he was back to sleeping in his own bed?

11b. In my red color analysis post, I took a moment to mention the cubby in Puen’s apartment and how that speaks to his character. That prompted an ask, which created this Puen brick of an analysis post. [We have finally made our way, woo!] That is to say, knowing for weeks that Puen has no one in his life, no personal connections outside of work, speaks to the little corner of praise in his apartment. It’s not organized in any particular way and no item is displayed with more attention than the others. It just is and it’s in plain sight when he w- IS THAT AN ALPACA PLUSHIE??????????? He doesn’t have people over, so it doesn’t need to be hidden or tidy. He doesn’t (often?) throw any of it away, it just appears to accumulate. It is made even more poignant by the positioning of where the hat is on the shelf, just out of sight for two years. He appreciated the gift and placed it in the cubby where all the other love he receives goes and that was that. Good thing he has a really good memory, because that small moment, that token given by a fan’s best friend, that memory brought him home.

11c/11d. He’s done so much in a month, I wonder how much of what he claims to have done was also done by Pakorn. Does it really take less than a month to write, film, record, and premiere a movie? In that time, he’s done so much with Talay written all over it. He’s screenwriting, writing in a scene that he experienced with Talay, he’s singing a song that he learned from Talay, Talay, Talay, Talay. He’s outputting so much of their love into their universe, it’s only right that the universe screams it back. Remember back in my ep 4 pointers, when he said if it wasn’t Talay he would not have worked as well?? Look at how the universe is rewarding him for this love. The cherry on top is having Talay fight to get his life back on track, with it having nothing to do with his feelings or connection to Puen, and it brought them together nevertheless. Puen’s speech even didn’t have any motivation to reach Talay’s ears; he didn’t even think that Talay was there in the building, let alone in their universe. Puen does these things out of so much love, confident that they will be together again someday. I hope he’s also finding some moments of joy in the process. He deserves to get excited about doing all these things, instead of feeling trapped again.

11e/11f. I mentioned above about how the suit seems to change the way Jimmy plays up Puen the actor. Now, I don’t know Jimmy well enough to see if there’s a distinction between actor Puen and actor Jimmy, so I only see Puen. And here, I love seeing how he carries himself in front of Talay, still thinking it’s Tess. There’s something about how he presents himself in front of the face of someone he loves, but knows and acts like it's someone else. I mean, don’t we all act differently in front of different people? But this is Vice Versa, and we are here to witness the shift in Puen when he turns away, saying goodbye to Tess and then turning back around and seeing Talay in his home body. For the first time, AGAIN. HE CRIED, TALAY CRIED, I CRIED, WE ALL CRIED.

-

I am writing this on the eve of the finale. Who knows Crystal Clear will bring (besides tears because who am i kidding), but this undertaking into Puen as a character was the perfect send off for me. I have seen him, or a version of him, claim something that Puen at the beginning of the series would not have fought as hard to keep. He’s kept people away for so long, not knowing how to ask to be cared for. But I enjoyed seeing that development in seeking Talay out again and again in ep 11, going to Tess over and over. And when he finally stepped back, just letting it be and working until Talay would eventually reach out to him, that restraint too is growth. The confidence in their love… And in loving Talay, where that love will continue to carry into his work until Talay returns, it has already started to make waves in the industry. I am sure future projects will only further his fame and we know it will not change him. Because he’s Puen. I am so happy for him and I love him so dearly.

In conclusion, he’s baby.

[spencerreidslove]

Hi I'd like to request a Spencer Reid x soulmate!reader red string au. Where Reader is part of the BAU and they don't tell anyone they are soulmates because they want some privacy. But then reader gets kidnapped and Spencer is like I know how to find her and the day is saved. I just think that would be really cute but you can ignore this if you want.

A/N: I’ve wanted to do a Soulmate AU for a really long time and this one is so cute and I really tried to make it work and I hope you like it!

————

2 years ago...

“First day. You can do this Y/N.” You said to yourself. You were in the elevator heading to your first day as a profiler for the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.

You had worked hard to work for this position for years. You had wanted to be a profiler ever since you were little and heard about Profiling on an episode of Forensic Files.

You took a deep breath as the doors opened and you were face to face with the looming glass doors. You felt a little pull from the string circling your pinky finger.

That’s odd. You thought. Soulmate strings didn’t pull unless you were close to your soulmate. But recently it had been happening to you.

The other week you were at a coffee shop when you felt it tug. You looked after it, and saw it heading into the bookshop across the street, but by the time oh had gotten there, your string had stretched off around street corners.

You looked at your string and saw it leading in between the glass doors.

Maybe my soulmate is one of my coworkers? You thought.

You entered through the doors and saw your string going up a small set of stairs to a room with windows on one side.

Your string tugged again.

As much as you wanted to run up those stairs, you were supposed to meet Agent Hotchner in his office, like you had for the interview a week ago.

After you had met up with Agent Hotchner, (“Please, call me Hotch.”) he brought you to the round table room to introduce you to the rest of the team.

“Everybody, this is my our new Agent, Y/N Y/L/N.” He said. He introduced you to everybody until he reached the person you had been glancing at.

“Dr. Spencer Reid.”

You smiled at Spencer as he looked at your strings. There was only a few inches of space in between them, connecting your right pinky finger to his.

Present Day...

“4 victims in North Dakota. Small town, all women in their late 20’s, early 30’s.” Garcia said, showing the victim’s pictures on the board.

“We can clearly see the victimology. They have Y/H/C hair and Y/E/C eyes.” Prentiss said.

“They look as though they could be sisters.” JJ said.

“They’ve all been stabbed several different times.” Penelope said.

“16, then 32, then 48, and finally 64. He’s stabbing them in multiples of 16, and he’s getting angrier.” Spencer said.

“And this timeline is short-only a few days in between victims.” You said.

“Wheels up in 30.” Hotch said.

-

It was three days later and there were no more victims and the case was going nowhere.

“Everybody head back to the hotel for the night.” Hotch said. It was nearing midnight.

Everybody was heading out of the station, except for you. “I’ll catch up. I just want to see something.” You said.

“Don’t stay too long.” Hotch said, heading for the doors. You turned back to the evidence board, twirling a pen between your fingers.

You felt that familiar tug on your pinky finger and turned to face Spencer. “You really should get some sleep.” He said.

“I will. Go on, I’ll be there in a minute.” You said.

Spencer waited a moment longer before turning out of the room and heading for the door. There was a moment of quiet before somwine tapped you on the shoulder.

You turned to see an officer, one you had talked to earlier. His name tag read ‘Jones.’

“Are you the only FBI one left?” Jones asked.

“Yeah, I was just about to head out, but what’s up?” You asked.

“I saw something outside that you should see.” He said.

You followed Jones outside and next to the precinct, your gun out. “What did you see?” You asked. You turned around just in time to see Jones hit you on the forehead with the butt of his gun.

And then it went dark.

-

The next morning, the team walked into the police precinct’s bullpen. “Has anybody seen Y/L/N?” Hotch asked.

“Maybe she overslept. I’ll call her.” Prentiss said. She picked up the phone and let it ring for a few minutes before it went to voicemail.

“She’s not answering.” Prentiss said.

Morgan picked up his phone and dialed it to Garcia. “Hey baby, Y/L/N’s not answering her phone, see if you can get through to her.” He said.

“Sure thing hot stuff.” Garcia said. There was a moment before she said anything else. “Well, that’s strange.”

“What is?” Morgan asked.

“I pinged Y/N’s phone to if she was on her way, but it’s pinging from the precinct.” Garcia said.

“Maybe she left it here?” Morgan said. He began to look around at the tables, hoping to spot Y/N’s phone.

“Oh no no no.” Garcia said.

“What?”

“She never checked into her room at the hotel last night.” Garcia said.

“Hold on.” Morgan put his phone down and turned twoards the group. “Y/N’s phone is pinging from in the precinct and she never checked into her hotel room.”

“Where could she be?” JJ asked.

Rossi turned around from his spot at the evidence board. “Damnit.” He said.

“What?” Prentiss asked.

“Y/N matches the victimology and the preliminary profile shows that the Unsub might be a police officer.” Rossi said.

“Y/N was the last to leave the precinct last night.” Hotch said.

Everyone seemed to deflate as they realized what had happened.

“Captain.” Hotch called out to the police captain. “Did any of your officers not show up for work today?”

“Yeah, Marvin Jones called in sick.” The captain said.

“Garcia get us everything you can on a Marvin Jones.” Morgan said, picking up this phone again.

“I think we can know how to find her.” Spencer said, speaking up for the first time.

Everybody turned to him. “How?” JJ asked.

Spencer took a deep breath. “We’re soulmates.”

-

You woke up to find yourself tied to a chair in the middle of a empty room.

“Jesus.” You muttered, blinking a few times. Your head hurt and you could feel some blood in your face.

“You thought you could just show up and taunt me?” A voice said. Your eyes focused on the man stepping out of the shadows.

Jones, you remembered.

“What are you talking about?” You asked.

“You look so much like her, I just couldn’t help myself.” Jones said.

You eyes adjusted to the room around you and you realized the walls were covered in pictures of the same woman. One who looked shockingly like you.

“What the hell?” You muttered.

“When Addie died, I knew I needed to find someone like her again. The others...weren’t right, but you, you could be the one.” Jones said. He came close to you and grabbed your chin.

“You could be the one to replace her.”

-

“What do you mean you and Y/N are soulmates?” Morgan asked.

“There’s really only one way to interpret that.” Spencer said.

“She’s worked here for what? 2 years? And neither of you said anything?” JJ asked. “Why?”

“The same reason you didn’t tell anyone that you and Will are soulmates! For privacy. But that’s not the issue right now.”

“Reid’s right. If him and Y/L/N are soulmates, we have a direct line to her.” Hotch said.

“That’s still too broad of an area. We need to find out more about this Jones guy.” Rossi said.

As if summoned, the phone rang with Garcia on the other side.

“Crime fighters, I have got the 4-1-1 on Marvin Jones. 32, from Bismarck. He was married to his soulmate, Addie Reign until she died a few weeks ago on the 16th.” She said.

“That’s why he stabs them in multiples of 16.” Prentiss said.

“I’ve got a picture of Addie and she could be a dead ringer for Y/N, and the rest of the victims.” Garcia said.

“Home and work address?” JJ asked.

“Already sent. Go find her.” Garcia said.

The team split up, heading to both locations. Spencer desperatly hoped his team was heading to the right address. He stared down at his string, begging for it to start tugging.

-

“Now, Addie, won’t some dinner be nice?” Jones asked. He placed a plate on the card table he had set up in front of you.

You stayed silent.

“Addie? Did I make the wrong thing?” Jones asked.

“My name’s not Addie. It’s Y/N.” You said.

Jones’s face fell, and he slapped the plate off the table. “Wrong answer.” He said. Jones reached over the table and slapped you. “Now, let’s try this again.”

“No.” You said. “My name isn’t Addie. Whoever Addie is, she’s gone and pretending I’m her won’t bring her back.”

If it was possible, Jones darkened even more, and pushed the card table out of the way. “Unless you want to end up like the other girls, you’ll be Addie.”

You shook your head no. Jones punched you on the left side of your face.

“If you’re going to be so difficult, I’ll have to fix that.” Jones said. He pulled a switchblade out from his back pocket and stepped twoards you.

-

Spencer let out a sigh of relief. “Y/N’s in here.” He said, looking down at his string. It led directly into Jones’s house.

The team crept up to the house, and Spencer felt his string tug a little. You were still alive.

Morgan moves up to the door and kicked it open. They all stayed silent as they moved through the house.

Spencer followed the string to a door leading to a basement. He nodded to the others and began to go down the stairs.

When Spencer reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw you sitting in a chair, having been stabbed in the arm, with Jones standing behind you with a knife to your throat.

“Marvin, but the knife down.” Spencer said.

“No!” Jones cried out.

“I get that your soulmate died and you’re upset, but but killing innocent people is not the answer.” Spencer said.

“If they would just be Addie, then they wouldn’t die!”

“But the thing is, they’re not Addie so they can’t be her. And now their soulmates are without them.”

Realization of what he had done seemed to sink in on Jones’s face.

“I took someone else’s soulmate?” He asked.

“Yes. You don’t want to take another person’s do you?” Spencer asked.

Jones slowly shook his head and dropped the knife from your neck.

Morgan rushes past Spencer and cuffed Marvin. He bagan to read him his Miranda rights, and Spencer races to you.

He quickly untied you and called for a medic.

“I’ll be fine.” You said, wrapped your unstabbed arm around him. Spencer responded by gripping you tighter.

“I could’ve lost you.” He said.

“I’m right here Spence. In mostly one peice.” You said.

Spencer pulled back and looked at you. “It’s a joke, Spence. I’ll be fine.” You said.

At that moment, the medics rushed into the basement and began to look at your arm.

Both you and Spencer were pushed apart by the medics, but you knew he was there by the simple tug on your string.

Tags! (Open)

@rexorangecouny @magnificentmgg @rachelxwayne @just-damn-bored @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @andreasworlsboring101 @zhuzhubii

[fandom-necromancer]

Let your Warmth melt my Ice

You all know I like emotional destruction, right? Well strap in, because this post by the amazing @nock-and-bolt hit me right in the feels. Had to write a short to it. Also tagging @janjan-the-ninth because they said so XD Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warnings: Temporary character death, grief, misunderstanding)

[Warning: Critical damage detected. Shutdown imminent.]

Nines was already on the ground by the time he had realised those bullets had indeed hit him and that there had been more enemies than anticipated as he had rushed in. He still heard the gunshots around him, the people shouting, barking orders and screaming in pain. His systems were still busy locating each position and making tactical calculations based on this information. Still prompting him to continue, to shield his friends and protect them. Apparently, his systems hadn’t caught up with the fact that he was minutes from death. True death. This body wasn’t able to function anymore and the loss of Thirium meant his hardware would run hot and eventually melt. There was no way for him to survive this.

His fingers started to spasm from wires shortcutting. His vision glitched and his analysis program darted from one detail to the next. Was there still gunfire? It was hard to concentrate, to filter sensory information and not get lost in a confusing mess of signalling. He felt how some non-vital systems began to shut off and left his mind a little less crowded, a little less confusing. Gavin, his thoughts managed to form conscious words again. Where was he? Was he safe? He tried saying the name, forming it with his voicebox but never hearing it as his auditory systems malfunctioned briefly. Next were his legs and torso, but he never regained feeling there. He was about to try again, as a face appeared in his vision.

‘Nines? Nines!’ Those words were like balm on his soul. Those special sounds only the human could speak like that, this special melody they used to create meaning. This name he had been given by the same person that meant so much to him. ‘Nines! Can you hear me? Nines?’ The android registered he was lifted up by Gavin and propped against a wall. He could see the human touch his wounds and press his hands on them as if that would help in any way. ‘Nines! Phcking asshole, say something!’ Nines tried once again to say his name, but his voicebox was already damaged, only static making it out of the small speaker. If anything, it made the human even more anxious. ‘Nines. Nines, phck!’

[Warning: Commencing Shutdown. Begin upload?]

Upload. Right. Nines knew it was likely for nothing. He was the only model ever produced and therefore unique. But still, an upload of his memories and personality matrix was something to continue living with. If what they did was living and if their programming was a soul like most humans were proclaiming, then maybe the upload could safe him. Keep him alive, even if there was no immediate body to switch to. Maybe someone valued him enough to rebuild or design anew.

Gavin certainly would.

Gavin.

[Upload started… 1%]

‘Nines, what’s going on? Your LED flickers! What- No.’ Nines managed to lift his eyes to the human’s face. He was kneeling next to him, holding him upright against the wall and trying frantically to stop the blood flow. If he had been human, it might have worked. ‘No, no, no, you are not dying! You are not!’ His face showed despair, shock, pain. All for him. All Nines had ever wanted for him was to be happy. Now he was the reason he wasn’t.

[Upload at 26%]

Nines didn’t want to see him like this. Nines wanted to see his smile again. Those green eyes sparkling in the light of the sun when they spent their break outside on the bench. He wanted to hold his human and comfort him. He wanted to be there for him. He wanted to make sure he was safe on future missions. He wanted to reach the day when he could finally tell him what he was sure Gavin never wanted to hear. He wanted to… do so many things. ‘Nines! Please. Tell me what to do! Cyberlife’s contacted, Jericho too. Help’s on the way. Hold on. Stay with me.’ There were tears on the man’s face as he swallowed and looked at him in panic. Don’t panic, Nines wanted to say. You will live, he thought. I protected you. But those words were never spoken.

[Upload at 63%]

Nines felt more and more systems shut down due to overheating and misfiring of vital sensors. It wasn’t long now, and he needed his last moments to remember. His eyes had never left Gavin’s, but now the android tried to form a smile on his face that he hoped to express everything it needed to. Hoping that it would calm down the human and be how he remembered him. As long as he still could, Nines lifted his arm and hated how it jerked back and forth and never reached its goal. His motor control was malfunctioning and the servo itself too damaged to work at full capacity. Nines’ arm hovered over his chest, reaching for Gavin’s face. Thankfully the human got the message and took his arm to help him direct it so his hand cupped his cheek.

Warm. Nines had been fascinated from the start how warm humans could be. Like they were constantly overheating and radiating their energy into the world. Those creatures couldn’t be described better in his eyes. Exhaling love with every breath and being compassionate beings always looking out for the wellbeing of others, even when the person was described as an asshole, like Gavin. Gavin cared. He was just hurt one too many times and now Nines would add to it.

[Upload at 82%]

‘Nines! Nines, stay with me.’ Nines followed a tear that was rolling down from Gavin’s cheek and stopped as it hid his hand. His robotic hand. He hadn’t realised his skin had retracted, but he was showing off his white plastic hull on his entire body by now. When had that process shut down? ‘You bastard! Stay with me! Don’t you dare phcking dying on me!’ The android felt how he lost power over his body and sacked down, but Gavin was reacting fast, catching him and holding him in his arms. The man grabbed his arm and pulled it over Nines’ chest. ‘Nines! I swear, if you die on me, I will kill you!’ Could he still do that, Nines would have laughed. Only Gavin would curse at him, threaten him in his dying seconds.

[Upload at 96% Shutdown imminent]

Nine’s vision was getting hazy, static filling it and only leaving him his area of focus: Gavin’s panicked face. He couldn’t feel the warmth of Gavin’s touch anymore, could only see and hear. ‘Nines, please. Please, I need you, you plastic prick! Don’t you dare do this to me!’

[Upload finished. Shutting down…]

Gavin lifted him to his chest and buried his face in Nines’ drenched clothes. ‘You can’t leave me, you phcking asshole! Because I… I love you.’

Nines hadn’t had any more time to process this.

[Shutdown]

-

Gavin’s day had been completely normal. It was surprising how normal his days had been lately. People around him were chatting, laughing at each other’s jokes and discussing the new shop around the corner. He was driving through a city that continued life as usual whenever he got to work or back home. Crime scenes were coming up and vanishing, cases came and went. Reports were written and evidence filed. But the chair in front of Gavin stayed empty. The terminal remained switched off.

All the little trinkets Nines had gathered on his desk and considered skilful decoration gathered dust. No one had the heart to put them away. Just as no one had thought to hire a new person. Not when there still was a chance that Nines could come back. Gavin looked down on his hands that mindlessly fidgeted with a small ring. Normally shining blue, yellow or lastly red, it was now just a dark circle in white plastic. But it was something to cling to, something to remember. Just in case. Just in case Nines didn’t come-

No. No, he had to. The android had uploaded his personality to Cyberlife as a failsafe. And although there was no body for him, Jericho had bullied the company to build a new one. With the blow Cyberlife had to take to their image, it hadn’t taken much. Gavin had hope they could make it. Maybe it was all he had. In any scenario, he had never thought for the android to die first. Almost completely bullet proof, the chance of him dying… Well, Gavin had considered it zero at this point. That was about the only reason he hadn’t said what he told the dying android long ago. Thinking they had time…

He sighed deeply, looking over to his mug and tilting it a bit to look inside. Empty. Of course. He groaned. He really didn’t want to get out of his chair. He had no motivation for anything anymore and even a trip to the breakroom could as well had been a journey around the earth. The more surprised he was as a new mug was placed next to his. Steaming and filled to the rim. Gavin looked at it, brain lagging behind. The hand that was holding the handle lingered for just a second, then retracted. Gavin’s eyes followed the movement and were directed to a white uniform. Black details at the opening and the pockets, a ridiculously high collar and then… That stupidly beautiful face.

Gavin’s throat went dry. ‘Nines?’, he croaked disbelievingly. ‘Are you… phck, are you Nines?’ The android in front of him lowered his head a bit, then nodded. ‘Yes. It’s me. Cyberlife rebuild my body and I thought to return to work as soon as possible. I left you long enough with both our-‘ He couldn’t finish, as Gavin stood up and grabbed him by the jacket to push him against the glass separating the desk from the hallway. ‘You asshole died in my arm and all you can think about is work?’ He let go of the android, swallowing his emotions. Damn, the android had just returned from the dead, he should be happy. ‘I… I’m sorry for the trauma I’ve caused you. I’m fine again. I just thought we could get back to normal?’

Gavin looked at the android and swallowed for real this time. Hell, how would dying feel like? All Gavin wanted to do is shake Nines and tell him how relieved he was and how good it was to see him again and how bad he managed living on without him and also ask how he felt about what Gavin had asked him in the very end. Because he was ready to make up excuses for that, if the android didn’t feel that way and oh would it help him if Nines felt the same…

But exactly how Gavin managed trauma like that – with his thoughts running at hundred miles an hour and his only reaction anger and brashness – Nines might need the exact opposite: Calmness and time to think and reset. He was an android after all. Maybe all that programming and logic had some use after all. Gavin nodded and instead hugged Nines’ middle. ‘It’s good to have you back, tin-can.’ The android didn’t move to return the hug but stood there rather awkwardly. ‘Thanks…’ Gavin stepped back and let go of the man. ‘Err… yeah, sure. Let’s… let’s get back to work, shall we? And if you… want to talk about what happened or… what that makes you feel… I’m right here.’ ‘Thank you’, Nines smiled and that smile almost made everything alright again.

The android moved over to his terminal, switched it on and interfaced with it, while dusting off his belongings with the other hand. Gavin too returned to his work. As if it was just another day.

-

Nines was thankful to be back. He remembered not believing it might work, but Cyberlife had harboured his soul in their servers and Jericho had actually managed to move them to build a new body for him. It felt like he had never been gone, as he stepped foot back into the precinct. He had of course been the centre of attention then, but he still managed to surprise Gavin and that was all he had needed to feel that warmth again. As the human had hugged him… It had been heaven on earth. Metaphorically. From his own experience if android heaven was a dusted Cyberlife server, then this was much better.

He had enjoyed the unexpected contact far too much, his systems overwhelmed by the sudden motions that he had actually frozen for a few moments. He was actually surprised Gavin had taken it so well. From his last memories before his deactivation, he had expected there to be more tears… more emotions. But then again, maybe Gavin had already grieved for him. It had been two weeks after all. Maybe he had just been relieved he was back and now was eager to get back to normality. Or he suppressed his emotions as usual until they weren’t too intense to handle. Either way, Nines wouldn’t start a conversation with him, not unless he initiated one first. He had caused the human his pain after all. Gavin would have to chose when was the right time.

Unfortunately, even the next day, nothing changed. Gavin had no interest in opening the talk and even seemed to avoid him. If anything, he was growing more distant, seemingly wanting to tell him something when he left for his home, but never actually speaking up. It hurt. It hurt somewhere deep inside Nines. The android was feeling so much, even looking at the human caused him software instability. But he didn’t dare to tell the man. Gavin hadn’t said something when he was in emotional turmoil because of his impending death. Surely, he would have done that if he felt something. And with how he always pulled a face at seeing publicly displayed affection, maybe he didn’t want to hear it either.

Nines loved the human. He wanted to deepen their relationship. He had died to protect Gavin and he would do so again and again, if he had to. But with how Gavin kept to himself and didn’t even acknowledge him some days, Nines really doubted that was what the human wanted.

-

Gavin was beyond disappointed. He would have been angry hadn’t that felt too much of a defeat. The android had had the audacity to die in his arms catching multiple bullets for him and then ghost him like that? Gavin had confessed his love to the plastic prick in a moment of vulnerability and now the damn android just pretended nothing had happened? “Detective”-d him at any given moment and displayed no more emotion than before their mission? Hell, if he wasn’t interested, Nines could have just said so. This was just an asshole move. And two could play that game of ignorance. It didn’t matter to Gavin that his soul was bleeding with every stumbled ‘Oh. Okay.’ from the android whenever Gavin shoved him away further. He was far too angry for it. And it only got worse during the week.

Friday finally was the day, that promised Gavin refuge. He wouldn’t have to see the android on the weekend and have time to come to terms with his contradicting feelings. Then, on Monday, he would just tell the android and be done with it. No more dancing around each other, trying to find out how the other felt and watch out for the other’s wellbeing. He decided to leave early and switched off his computer grabbing his jacket as he stood up. ‘Gavin?’ Oh hell no. If the android continued to speak with him, he would resort to violence at this point. He was hurt and confused and done, so, so done with it all. So, he just turned around and left. Only once he left the building and heard the door fall into the lock behind him, he sighed and took a deep breath of the grounding cold February air.

He shouldn’t have stopped. ‘Gavin!’ The door behind him opened and Nines stumbled out of it, coming to a halt everything but gracefully. His LED was a dark red and Gavin didn’t want to think of what that reminded him of. ‘What do you want?’, Gavin spat. ‘I want to talk with you. About what happened. I held myself back until now because I know this might have been traumatic for you and-‘ ‘Phck off! You died in my arms! You know, you are right, that might have been traumatic for me, phckhead!’ ‘I apologize for that, but-‘ ‘Oh, you apologize?’ Gavin turned around and walked right into the android’s personal space. ‘You apologize? For what exactly? Dying? Ignoring me? Disregarding that I laid out my heart in front of you and you decided to step on it?’

Nines took a step back and frowned. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘What- What do I mean?’, Gavin wheezed in disbelief. ‘Ex-phcking-cuse me? I mean that I told you I love you! You died in my arms and I thought if this was your last moment and you died for me, I could as well tell you that! Maybe made it a bit easier for you. Less hurtful. Phck, what have I been thinking? You are just a damn machine, you don’t phcking feel. Or at least not in that way. Because hell, I tell you that, let you into my heart and when you come back, you hand me a coffee and go straight back to work?’

‘Wait’, Nines said, holding up his hand. ‘Wait, Gavin. Your last words to me were: “Don’t you dare do this to me!”’ He blinked. ‘Or were they?’ Gavin clenched his jaws. ‘No, asshole they weren’t! My last words to you were that I loved you!’ ‘When was that? Right before I shut down? Was my LED still flickering?’ ‘How the hell should I know?’, Gavin asked, throwing his hands in the air. ‘You were dying in my arms; I don’t think I had more important things on my mind than your stupid mood light!’ ‘Gavin, this is important’, Nines said, stepping forwards and holding the man by the shoulders. ‘Was it less than two seconds before my body went rigid?’ Gavin shrugged. ‘Yeah, could be. Why?’

Nines let go of him and had to sit down on the stairs in front of the station. ‘Gavin, I uploaded my memory to Cyberlife as soon as I knew I would die. It recorded everything up to two seconds before my death, because it takes a bit of time to end the Upload and shut down the body. I… I might have heard it and understood it as I was dying, but I… the backup of me that I am now has no memory of you telling me that.’

Gavin stared at the android and processed what he just heard. Then he sat down next to Nines on the stairs and stared blankly ahead. ‘Phck.’ ‘Fuck indeed.’ ‘And all the time I thought you were just a work-centred prick ignoring me.’ ‘I wouldn’t have ignored it had I known it, Gavin, I’m sorry.’ Gavin rubbed his face in frustration. Phck, he just wanted this day to be over.

But Nines didn’t let him end it just yet. He cleared his throat and looked over at the human that had nearly folded in on himself. ‘Err… Do you… Do you really love me?’ Gavin lifted his head up, his fingers resting on his mouth. He looked at Nines from the corner of his eyes, only then letting his hands slap on his knees. ‘Yes, I guess’, he sighed. ‘No, yeah I do. I was so angry at you all phcking week it won’t be a heartfelt confession now, but I do love you. The way you’re just… Always there for me and care so much. Most would just pretend not to have seen me and move on. You sought me out. You are actually funny and intelligent and competent. And you are phcking hot, okay? I feel so much for you and seeing you die… I couldn’t handle it. I think the hope you would come back to me kept me going.’ There was a brief moment of silence.

‘I love you too, Gavin’, Nines answered in a whisper. ‘I can’t understand how I am the one lucky enough to got to know you when so many others had their chance before me, but I am happy fate chose me. I… I can’t express how I feel as I shouldn’t be feeling at all as an android. But I do and I wanted to tell you for so long. I just always thought you didn’t want to hear something like that…’ ‘Nines?’, the human spoke up and turned towards him. Nines followed his movement and his eyes naturally found their way to Gavin’s, who smiled. ‘Nines, this was the only thing I ever needed to hear.’

Nines blinked, but didn’t have the time to answer, as Gavin laid an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in for a deep kiss. Once again, Nines froze up, but Gavin’s warmth quickly made him melt into the touch. Soon enough, he would have to think about all of this to process what he just heard, but for now…

For now, he enjoyed this.

[dappersheep]

Food Fantasy: An Analysis on what killed a Golden Goose (3/3)

Ladies and gentlemen, we've arrived at our final destination.

Again before we start, we have our obligatory disclaimers. I do not own the game or its characters, nor do I claim to know the true history and likely fate of this game. I am entitled to the thoughts and opinions written within this post. Feel free to agree or disagree with the points being made.

This post also remains untagged from the main foofan tag. Only my followers will see this.

We are in the third and final stretch, and the checkpoint is past the cut.

Community

So... here we are, fellow Master Attendants.

As consumers of this piece of entertainment media, we are free to enjoy it however we wish. Appreciating what is there, creating something new from what exists, playing the game by the meta or however you want to play it (within your means and at your own risk of course). There's no one true and absolute way to experience the game.

However, just as you can enjoy something, doesn't mean you can't also point out flaws or shortcomings of the media in question. As an active veteran player, I've already pointed out the many gameplay design flaws  already. And I'd be pretty dumb to say that Food Fantasy's writing is perfect. Hell, it has a lot of holes from a worldbuilding consistency standpoint. 

And what of things from the community side? Yes, there will be times you'd see content you consider cringe, or something in fanon you don't agree with. Or there happens to be fan theories and fangirling posts you don't like the take of because of X or Y.

And that's fine. If we all happen to play the same way, like the same thing, agree on the same thing and produce the same thing, well, this would be one helluva boring community, wouldn't it?

But what if someone decides the way you're playing the game is wrong and harasses you over it? What happens if someone decides that their interpretation of the game's flavor text and lore is more important than what anyone else thought about it? What happens if someone decides that they're absolutely right, and you and everyone else who disagrees deserves to be bullied out of the fandom?

As much as I want to say we aren't part of the problem why the game is deteriorating, we are unfortunately, part of the reason why the game is as such even if most of the blame is directed towards Funtoy and Elex themselves.

⦁ Whale Authority. Whales will always be part of a gacha game's ecosystem. Without them, the game won't be able to maintain its upkeep costs, moreso  for one that services global regions instead of just one. But when a game decides to cater its decisions of what features should be prioritized and when it should be launched around only its most elite paying players' voices  -even if that influence has since tapered off-, you know there is something wrong with the publisher's management team and priorities.

⦁ Interguild drama. While I did not personally follow any of this, this has certainly been the peak of in-game tension back in the day. Poaching good players from both competitive and smaller guilds, guild mergers that often ended up making the annexed guild/s the equivalent of UK colonized India or Australia, suck-ups chummying up to guild leaders to keep a spot in an active, high ranking guild (for bragging rights!) despite never contributing much to overall damage, and just general dislike of certain players' attitudes. Actions like this have disillusioned many players about their playing experience and the reason why many eventually just lost the motivation to log into FooFan.

⦁ Cheaters. You know very well about the Hacker-teme I've mentioned before, but that was in context of Elex being incompetent with dealing with them. Here, I would like  to point out the players who are desperate to dominate  the playing field for whatever reason to the point that they would resort to cheating the ranks with forceful modifications of the APK. Whether it is to rank high in catacombs weekly, get a top spot in daily disaster damage, or weasel their way into the competitive whale ranks of a major ranking event, these are the people who have no qualms messing with the code to give themselves an easier time with the game. And if they're caught? Some pretend that they've made a mistake, some quickly sell the account to escape the blame, some others just scamper away into the dark and hide in the lower ranks where they can't be found. Others simply don't care and keep cheating until Elex decides to finally ban them... if Elex ever decides their rebates score isn't worth saving the account.

⦁ Ship wars. Ah yes, a staple of drama in any fandom. There doesn't need much explanation to this as we've all had our fair share of running into a battleground in whatever fandom we visit. Someone ships BB52 wholeheartedly? Nope, problematic 'age gaps'. Someone likes Napoleon with Pastel? Someone's bound to misinterpret their bios in order to justify that Napoleon was being abusive. Spaghetti and Borscht? Borscht is minor coded, ship her with Vodka instead. Whiskey and Pizza or Cassata? Cancelled! And I've never heard of the Foe Yay trope or pretend I don't know about it! Rarepairs? Disgusting! No fanon in my canon playground! Turkey and Eggnog? Gasp! How dare you, you pedo-shipper-even-though-you-never-said-you-shipped-them-romantically-but-that-isn't-my-point!

⦁ Character Obsession: Bias. On one hand, you love a character so much. Relate to a character so much. You have thus pulled this character into the folds of your bosom and coo at them like a mother dove and get so minutely triggered if someone so much as makes one disagreeable or joking comment about the character that you fly into an overreactive ballistic rage that would make a Canadian goose honk in fear. You don't care what they are in canon. You don't care about the possibility of mistranslation. What matters is the fanon space you carved out for them to exist in and that's all that matters. The problem with this is when this obsession takes over common sense and social etiquette and it steps into harassment territory. You begin to think: I'm the only one who 'understands' the character. I'm the only one who wishes better for the character, everyone else is out to defame them! Oh wait, you like them too? Do you like them the way *I* like them? No? Maybe if you're my 'friend', I'd let it slide. But to everyone else? No one else has the right to like them as much as I do. No one! Never mind that they're completely fictional- No one hurts my bias because in turn, they're hurting *me*!

⦁ Character Obsession: Anti. On the other hand, you hate a character so much. This character just makes you see so much red. Their smug little smirk just makes your blood boil. Their fictional backstory makes you recoil in disgust. You hate that someone else loves a character you hate so much.  You cannot *believe* that someone could be so daringly stupid to like a problematic character. They must be problematic too then. They must be hiding real life secrets that are problematic! Yes, yes. That's right. That person's a supporter of abuse. That person's into pedophilia. That person is into military lolita fashion that Japan started the trend of but clearly Japan was part of the Axis Powers! And that... that person... that person... is a roleplayer and a yaoi fangirl properly interacting with minors and adults. How dare they...!

⦁ Fan Translations.  Normally it wouldn't be a problem that a group or two or several are translating pieces of the game's lore ahead of the official. But with Elex's very delayed translations and extreme allergic reactions to translating Food Soul bios, people have become dependent on fan-translation groups to get their fix. The problem herein lies... is when the translators get drunk off the power that they are one of a handful in a small community who can magically transcribe the oriental moonrunes into English. The problem starts when the translator starts to have an inclination. The problem starts when the translator loses their professional detachment and start adding in details here and there into the fan translated product that ultimately changes the meaning and direction of the entire story. The problem is also escalated when that translator's embellished product is touted as the truth by their followers. If there was an upcoming character whose backstory is connected to a character they hated (either because of someone or they just don't like the character) and you were hoping to read the fan translation? How would you know that what you get isn't something doctored to the point it's basically fanfiction?

⦁ Social Justice Vigilantism. Sometimes someone does not have a character obsession or need it to be annoying. Sometimes, someone just wants to ring the alarm over something they find 'problematic' in order to police and sanitize the enjoyment of the media for 'everyone'. They no longer really take enjoyment out of a new Food Soul design being leaked, they no longer read the lore just to enjoy what it has to offer. Instead, they nitpick bits and pieces of the design and point it out repeatedly as a reason why the whole thing is bad. They point out bits of the story and inject their interpretations of it without really comprehending what they've read in full and react badly to it. What's worse is that they have no qualms publicly posting their reactions and eagerly and hungrily await those likes and echoes of agreement that they were right.

⦁ Circles of Influence. Everyone has a group they eventually gravitate to in a fandom. It comes with its own pros and cons. Sometimes you join a group because someone you admire is in there, sometimes you join a group because you just want to mingle and see more content. All valid reasons. Arguments can't be avoided in a group, it has to happen... But you have to take care. You have to take care to feel the change in the air of the group. When someone starts pushing people to agree with them. When your most admired people start to feel overly sensitive about certain characters or issues. When you start to feel obligated to spy on other groups outside of this one for 'nonbelievers', 'traitors' and 'heretics' who do not think the way this group does, and that bringing back bits and pieces of gossip as offerings would somehow make you more favored in the eyes of the inner clique or remain inside it. There is a gripping sense of annoyance when that person comes in to complain but you can't do anything about it but nod and agree. There is a pervading sense of fear and apprehension of overstepping an invisible boundary. There is fear that you might be next on the chopping block, after witnessing one of the others being ganged up on and thrown out without a second thought, their name spat upon like they're worth less than dirt. And so reluctant you are to give up what you have with them that when they push you to do something you are reluctant to do, all in the name of 'harmony and justice'... You do it. Even though it would mean offering yourself up to the mob with no salvation, and the stark realization that... [they] never cared about you as a friend.

And we've come to the end of this analysis trilogy. The writing got a little bit strange in this post, but honestly this is the best way I could put it. I'm aware things can and will be more complicated than the bullet points I've written but I'm just one person and I tried very hard to keep details of all the drama that happened in this fandom as vague as possible. Of course, that wouldn't work if you know what I am talking about.

The community is quiet now for the most part, the game is somewhere between limbo and the living plane. Things could be better for us, but I don't really count on it.

I wish I could leave a bit of a moral warning or something. But rather than do that, I just hope this was an entertaining read into one individual's eyes into Food Fantasy and everything that makes it up.

[jenniferxprentiss]

you think you want me (but you don’t know what you’re getting into)

part one of the “somebody that I used to know” universe. ao3.

JJ x Elle Greenaway

“Do you want a drink?” Truthfully, she didn’t — not after the day she had at work — but didn’t want to offend the man, felt her heart clench with guilt at the way he was looking at her with puppy dog eyes and lopsided half smile. She reasoned with herself that one drink wouldn’t impair her judgement too much, and it was rude to sit there without buying something, turned back to him with a small half smile. “I’ll take a glass of white wine… whatever you’ve got.” “I pictured you as more of a red girl.” “It’s funny that you pictured me as anything at all.”

hi my lovelies!

first of all, a huge huge huge thank you to @whiskey-fluent for helping me craft this amazing universe that I love so much, and for fueling my love of elle once again. ilysm. <33. and a thank you to @babyblockcolorcat for naming this fic and also the universe. <3

tag list! @j3mily @heat-waveee @ellegreenawy @anepiphany @criminalmindsgonewrong @jjsgirlfriend @blakes-dictionxry && whoever else wants a tag in the future!!

hope u all love it!

——

The rain poured down on her shoulders hard and fast, and JJ hurried down the road to the only open storefront she could find— a small place, the flashing of a neon open sign in the window the only indication that it was open. It was dark now, the evening chill setting into the air and deep into her bones, toes numb and feet soaked in her shoes that were less than appropriate for the weather.

She shivered, soaked to the bone and hair clinging to her face, pulling the heavy wooden door open and stepping inside in a hurry. JJ shook the water from her head and arms, thoroughly drenched and chuckling under her breath at herself at the thought that it would help dry her off, even a little bit.

There was a spot at the front door for jackets and a mat for shoes, and the regular patrons clearly had respect for the establishment by the way their shoes were neatly lined across the wall. She toed her own shoes off, bending to line them up on the plastic mat alongside the other pairs before shaking off her jacket and hanging it on a free hook.

JJ took in her surroundings — from the peeling grey paint on the walls to the hushed chatter coming from further inside the establishment down the hall — felt her toes start to regain some of their feeling on the surprisingly warm linoleum as she padded her way down the hall and further into the bar. There was a sense of comfort she felt, though she had never been there in her life — something that came with the quiet chatter and dim lighting, a stark contrast to the typical bar scene of darkness and booming music.

She padded down the hall, stopping in the doorway of the room, a small smile twitching the corners of her lips upwards despite the chattering of her teeth. JJ looked around the room, took in the friendly smile from the bartender and the few tables of middle aged patrons sharing a drink while quietly talking amongst themselves. There were a few people circling the pool table, captivated by their game of billiards.

JJ’s breath hitched at the woman who was bent over the table, back to the doorway of the room. Her jeans clung to her curves in all the right places, shirt riding up slightly as she lined up her shot. She was a pro with the cue, flipped her curly dark hair over her shoulder before standing up and letting out a triumphant sound.

For a moment, JJ almost thought it was someone she knew — not a random stranger in a bar she had never been to before — but she couldn’t help but feel a nervous flutter in her stomach at the thought. Pushing the thought from her mind, she forced herself to look away from the group at the pool table and move towards the bar, perching herself on the edge of a stool and allowing herself to look around at the room.

“Can I help you? You don’t come here often, do you?”

The bartender’s voice was a stark contrast to his appearance — tone soft and kind, a hint of a southern twang behind his words while he stood well over six feet tall, his shoulders broad and arms strong. He smiled politely at her, pushed a clean hand towel across the wooden counter and motioned for her to dry her arms and face off.

He waited for her to be done, arms folded across his chest and looking at her with an eyebrow cocked, lips curved into a perfectly sculpted smirk. His facial hair was patchy and short in an endearing way that somehow made him look boyish to her despite the fact that his eyes looked older, wiser.

“Sorry, yeah, I’ve never been here before… just trying to get out of the rain.”

“Make yourself at home.” He smiled, fingers tapping against the wooden counter. “Name’s Will — from New Orleans but settled down here about ten years ago and opened this place. And you?”

JJ sighed, ran the damp towel over her face one last time before passing it back to him across the bar. She let her eyes wander to the wood under her hands, focusing on the scratches and dents. Her fingertips grazed the wood, finger digging into a particularly large dent before looking up at Will.

“Jennifer, but my friends call me JJ. FBI agent, I’ve worked for the bureau for a little over a decade now.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised, then busied himself with wiping the bar down. Will didn’t seem to be a man of many words, and for JJ, that was okay. She didn’t intend on staying or intruding on the group of regulars, all in their respective corners talking amongst themselves — only intended on staying long enough to wait out the rain to make the rest of her walk less dreadful.

“Do you want a drink?”

Truthfully, she didn’t — not after the day she had at work — but didn’t want to offend the man, felt her heart clench with guilt at the way he was looking at her with puppy dog eyes and lopsided half smile. She reasoned with herself that one drink wouldn’t impair her judgement too much, and it was rude to sit there without buying something, turned back to him with a small half smile.

“I’ll take a glass of white wine… whatever you’ve got.”

“I pictured you as more of a red girl.”

“It’s funny that you pictured me as anything at all.”

The bartender — Will — busied himself with pouring her drink, boyish smile still tugging upwards on the corners of his lips. His hair was half in his face, hanging in his eyes as he poured her drink. It gave JJ the opportunity to look away from his gaze, turn over her shoulder and around the room again. There was an air of familiarity to the place despite having never set foot in the establishment — the comfortable, quiet chatter of the room giving her a sense of belonging.

She turned back to the bartender, let her fingers brush over the scratches and dents in the wood top as she waited. He was taking his time, glancing up at her through his mess of wavy hair, smirk on his lips. After a moment, he put the bottle back on the shelf before turning to her and sliding the glass across the bar top.

“So you said FBI, didn’t you?” He barely waited for her to take a sip, leaning his back against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Mhmm.” She swallowed, looked at him with an eyebrow raised in cautious skepticism. Most people, when they found out she was with the bureau, usually wanted some sort of confidential information. “Behavioral Analysis Unit, been there for over a decade.”

“Hm, the unit name sounds familiar.” Will peered up over the bar, eyes connecting with someone behind JJ’s back. “Hey, Elle? Come up here for a second.”

JJ felt her heart speed up and breath catch at the name of her former teammate. She tried to push away the nervous flutter in her stomach, the way her heart pounded. It was surely a crazy coincidence, most likely one of the older women that was sat around a table with her friends, not the girl from the pool table.

“Will… what’s up?”

She knew that voice anywhere, though it had been years since she last heard it. JJ nearly gasped, whipping around to where the woman stood behind her, dark hair curled and falling around her shoulders — a little longer than she remembered it being, but it suited her well.

Her face was free of makeup aside from some lip gloss and mascara, her nose and cheeks dusted with light freckles. It was a side of Elle JJ could only remember from the few late nights they had spent in hotel rooms across the country together, curled up on the bed watching trash television and laughing at the men on the team.

“Jennifer fucking Jareau. I wouldn’t have thought in a million years…”

“You know each other?” Will’s lips were turned up in a smirk he couldn’t bite back, like he knew exactly what he had done.

“Know each other? This is the JJ I told you about… from my bureau days.”

“I had a feeling.” He smirked, nodded at a patron on the other side of the bar before turning back to the two women. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

There was an awkward silence between them, and JJ was thankful for the dim lighting and quiet chatter of the patrons around them. She looked Elle up and down, a small smile tugging the corners of her lips upwards — she looked good, the lines on her face deeper and more permanent, but there was an air of overall happiness and peace to her that JJ couldn’t remember seeing before.

“You look good, Elle.”

“As do you. Still working for the bureau?”

“Yeah. What’re you doing now?”

She assumed that there would be a bit of residual annoyance from Elle about the fact that she was still with the bureau following the events that ultimately lead to her leaving, but she only smiled warmly at JJ and took a sip from her own glass. It appeared to be a mixed drink, not the straight tequila JJ remembered from years prior.

“I’m a therapist… I work primarily with domestic violence patients. If I can’t beat these sick fucks, I’m going to help everyone who gets out alive.”

It was exactly what she expected Elle to be doing — making a difference in people’s lives for the better — and the thought brought a warm, fuzzy feeling to her heart. It was hard, after Elle left, especially before Emily arrived, and the empty spot in the unit had closed but the hole in JJ’s life never had.

There truly was no one like Elle, and no matter how hard she had tried to forget about her or to replace her, the void remained.

“Are you married yet?” Elle quirked an eyebrow at JJ, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from their professions.

“No… never really found the right person.” JJ forced a half smile, remembered the conversations her and Elle used to have about life, love, and families. “You?”

“Dated around here and there, never found the one. My heart had been elsewhere for a few years.”

It alluded to their quasi relationship from Elle’s time in the BAU, and they both knew it. There was an awkward silence between them, both trying to pretend they weren’t looking each other up and down. JJ was as enamored by Elle as she had been all those years ago, but this time it was her maturity and calmness instead of her crazed enthusiasm.

“Did they replace me with a woman? Hotchner refused to tell me.”

JJ let out a breathy laugh at Elle’s words, shaking her head in disbelief. Of course she would care if her position was replaced by a male of female — she had always stressed the importance of having women in male dominated fields, was the one who taught JJ to shoulder past old white men and command a room with few words.

“Yeah, though the position has been a bit of a revolving door through the years. Emily first — my best friend — and then she left so we got Alex, then Kate, then Tara… Tara stayed, even after Emily came back.”

She made a noncommittal noise at JJ’s words, eyebrow cocked in an expression she recognized as satisfaction. Elle took another sip from her drink, leaning casually against the bar with a small smirk playing on her lips, something JJ was used to. Elle always carried herself with such confidence and professionalism, even outside of work, she wasn’t surprised that she hadn’t lost the swagger.

“Rum and coke?” JJ nodded towards Elle’s glass, trying her best to make small talk, though she wasn’t succeeding.

“No, just coke.” She took another sip out of her straw, and only then did JJ notice she lacked the glassy look of intoxication in her eyes. “I stopped drinking after I left… after it happened.”

Her words carried so much hidden meaning, and JJ knew exactly what she was referencing. Randall Garner and the way he attacked her, left her in such a state of disarray for so long, her PTSD seeping into every area of her life — ultimately ending when she shot the serial rapist and resigned not long after.

“Where did you go? After you left, I mean.”

“Around, for a while. Stayed with some family out of town until it stopped hurting me so badly to be here. Then I came back, got my stuff, moved to California for a few years. Now I’m back… and I come here to beat these assholes at a few games of pool.”

JJ let herself laugh at Elle’s flippant tone, smile turning into a somber one when she remembered the months after Elle’s resignation. She had left without leaving so much as a phone number or email address, only giving JJ a short goodbye before she walked out of the office for what was supposed to be forever.

She had never thought in a million years that she would find her here, in a small little bar on the corner of the street JJ walked down every night.

“I went by your old apartment for months, hoping to catch you out or to see you.”

“I know… I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s really okay.”

There was an awkward silence between them, JJ bringing her glass of wine to her lips and taking a long sip. She couldn’t help the violent shiver that passed through her body, her clothes still thoroughly soaked and freezing despite the towel Will had offered her when she first sat down.

Elle pushed her drink across the bar, her eyebrows knit together into a look of concern. She took in JJ’s clothing for the first time — shirt clinging to her body and jeans sodden — before putting her card down on the wooden counter and motioning for Will to come over.

“I didn’t even realize, you must be freezing.”

“I’m okay, really. I just ducked in here to get out of the rain for a minute… I’m glad I stepped inside.”

Elle was biting her lip, nose crinkled as though she was debating saying something. She slipped her leather jacket off her shoulders, lips curved up into a nervous smile as she handed it to JJ, motioned for her to put it on.

“My apartment isn’t too far from here, you could come back and get some dry clothes… maybe stay for some takeout and a movie? Plus, I drove.”

The proposition was nice, and much better than walking the rest of the way home in the pouring rain. She nodded, slipping her arms into the arms of Elle’s jacket and could smell the familiar mix of gardenias and strawberry shampoo — found herself immediately falling into a familiar memory from over a decade ago when they were younger and stupider, and JJ had fallen into the lake on a case.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to Elle’s arms in her tank top, the way her shoulders were dotted with more freckles than she remembered — arms still as toned as they were a decade ago. She surely hadn’t lost the physique from when she was in the bureau years ago, still just as thin and toned as she was back then.

“I don’t want to impose on your evening.”

Elle took JJ’s hand with a surprising fierceness, a steely look in her eyes. She knew that look well, it meant not to test her — that she would ultimately get her way.

“You aren’t imposing if I asked you to come.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m doubly sure. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

[miss-choco-chips]

The worst enemy

He throws another vase at the wall, but there’s no one there to pick the broken pieces up. It’s the middle of the night and he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Who are you?!”, he screams at nothing, approaching the mirror and hating the pale face that looks back at him, those intelligent eyes blinking quickly, as if trying to get out of a daze.

He needs to find out who their rat is. Ra’s hasn’t yet, and it’s hurting their position on this war. The enemy has eyes inside their castle, and Tim is left to fend off the plots his faceless opponent comes up with with that intel. It’s tiring, he feels strung along, and there’s little he can do about that.

Warning: There are some possibly triggering subjects being discussed. Nothing too explicit, but just to be sure, I’ll be adding the warnings deep into the tags. Those who think they might be triggered can read the tags, and those who don’t want to risk being spoiled can just avoid it. 

Thanks @iphoenixrising and @the-quiet-carrotcake for giving some parts a read for me. Also tagging @animemangasoul cause you told me you wanted to read this.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Despite his careful consideration and analysis, he couldn't quite put his finger into what bothered him so much, to the point of losing focus. Homesickness, maybe? There was something in the walls, surely. Too clean, no mold or blood splatters in sight. His old home at the Wayne Castle had been cared for, but not even an army of maids could compete with hundreds of years of violent legacy.

As everytime he thought of his life before, pain throbbed behind his eyes. It was momentary, come then gone, but it was enough to make him groan a bit under his breath, the sound echoing in the open (too open, no corners to hide if an assassin came… which was kind of ironic here, he supposes) hallway. He knew there were eyes on him, though. His guard, for one, always two feet behind and one to the side. And he was sure he wasn’t the only one sent to (observe his every move) protect him.

Damn, the headache was getting worse. It was too long until tea time.

“I’ll visit my husband”, he decides out loud, for his shadow’s benefit. A kindness they would never expect from a superior, but that he was sure they appreciated.

The only response came from just behind him. A cut out sound that he couldn't identify, but must have been some sort of laugh. Either that or a pained groan.

Smiling, he twisted to look, hands behind his back as he walked in that fashion.

-What? It’s not gross that a man wishes to meet his beloved. It’s a rare day when we meet outside of dinner or council meetings. I’m not a sap; if anything I’m a paragon of patience. 

The man doesn’t raise to the bait, as he rarely does, but he tilts his head a bit.

“Yer Highness, please mind your step and watch where y’er going. It’ll be my head on the chopping block if you fall and scrape your dainty white hands.”

He rolls his eyes at the jab, but heeds his warning and turns again to look up front. It’s not without truth, after all. 

The part of him dying if Tim were to get hurt, of course. Not about the hands. 

He looks down at them as they walk, a little confused. When did they become so though, so calloused? Sure, he must have learned some sort of self defense back when he was young, but he can barely recall it. His shouldn’t be the hands of someone used to the heat of combat, not sheltered as he had been from his birth to his marriage, and yet…

Nothing good comes from thinking that far back, anyway, he decides, shaking his head to get rid of the annoying thoughts pestering him like flies. He’d only end up giving himself a headache, and then Ra’s would send him back to bed with soup and an army of servants to observe his progress. A small smile tugs at his lips; he sure was lucky to get such a loving, protective partner. It was a wise decision, on his Father’s/

“Yer Highness”, calls the voice from behind, dragging him back from his musings rather forcefully. “We’re here.”

Any thought that’s not his husband completely vanishes from his mind. Smiling automatically, he springs into the room, straight to his husband’s open arms. The green and gold cape closes around them, and everything is okay, certain. He doesn’t feel confused, or worried, or observed. Because he’s with Ra’s right now. How could there be anything bad involved in that?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“It’s tea time, y’er Highness.”

“Ah, thanks A. I’ll be going then, my Lord. Will I see you at dinner?”

“Of course, Beloved. I just have to deal with those pesky documents and then I’m all yours.”

Tim’s laughter is like bells. It doesn’t feel actually natural, but he’s not forcing it either. It’s weird, how his voice works sometimes.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s a day like any other, when Damian comes to visit. He hasn’t seen his family in quite some time, so when a nameless ninja, covered from head to toe, detaches herself (herself? He’s sure its a her but why?) from the wall and informs him of it, he gathers his royal blue and gold kaftan in a fist so he doesn’t trip and speeds towards the throne room.

So good it’s Damian. He can barely remember Dick’s face, and the Jason from his memories is little more than a broad back, firm shoulders that would carry him all through the palace. Of his sister, he only knows she exists, and that they got along amazingly.

But that’s what loves makes to someone, he supposes. It was bound to happen, more than half a year without seeing them and devoting all his time to think about Ra’s.

But Damian… Damian, he remembers very clearly. Maybe because he can see some of Ra’s in his features, maybe because it was thanks to  him that he could actually marry his beloved King…

(He thinks of ancient portraits hanging from the walls, the eyes of Kings and Consorts of old following one’s steps, as the shadows hidden in passageways behind them take note of his every action)

“Your Highness, you can’t pass”, a figure stops him just before the room where his brother and husband are probably already talking. He accepts this for only a moment, so he can catch his breath, kinda surprised by how easy it is to compose himself again; it hadn’t been a short run.

“Step aside”, he orders, back straight and looking into the man’s mask. Ra’s country wasn’t very keen on knights, not like King Clark's Aupuni La. Even Gotham, while not as honorable, had its fair share of white horseman riding to war with honor on their shoulders (although it still maintained its fair share of ninja-like warriors, their elite and probably the only thing in common with his current home). But Alqatala had only a handful (his own A among them), found more use in the shadows that kept well out of their Master’s view while still blocking anything annoying from reaching him when they could, and fiercely obeying His commands on how to defeat them when they couldn't.

It was reassuring, knowing the entirety of the Kingdom’s fighters would lay down their lives (and anyone else’s) for their King’s sake. That meant Ra’s would be always safe… even if all their subjects had to die for it…

Distractedly, he scratched at the back of his head. Maybe the new hair ornaments were irritating the skin there.

“Your Highness, I’m under strict orders to forbid anyone from/”

“Unless your orders explicitly include me, then you should already know I’m the exception to the rule. Step aside. I won’t ask again.”

This time, the man bows deep and moves. Disobeying his Master could have dire consequences; upsetting his Consort most certainly would. And if he did transgress because of His Highness’s orders, then the King might be forgiving. 

Head held on high, Tim motioned for A to wait outside the room as he entered.

It was an open space, with long drapes of cloth flowing down the walls like waterfalls of red and gold. Golden torches, shining brightly with their perpetually lit fire, reflected the yellow and orange of their flames in whatever bit of wall left uncovered, making the cream colored stones look as if they were also burning down. 

The ground, dark and polished, looked under the fierce light like onix. Maybe it was, Tim had never asked. The flush red carpet, going from the double doors to the steps leading to the throne, completed the feeling of entering some warm, cozy place. 

A had told him once it was like setting foot into Hell. Tim liked to think differently, though he could admittedly see what his guard meant.

Looking up, his gaze landed automatically in his husband, raised above the rest of the room in his throne made of gold and rubies. The opulence suited him, and Tim loved seeing him high and mighty like this.

Agh, his head… He would need to ask A for more tea the moment this meeting was over. Maybe he could share some with Damian?

Suddenly remembering his reason to be there, he drags his eyes away from Ra’s. Jade green ones found his almost immediately, and familiar warmth takes residence in his chest.

“Brother!” he greets, happily, steps quickening until he reaches the young man. Damian has grown a lot in the past six months, as far as he remembers. Taller than Tim, shoulders twice as broad and chiseled jaw, his little sibling was now more a man than a boy, although he’d always be the latter in his eyes.

They hadn’t seen each other since the wedding; when Tim accepted Ra’s suit and became his husband, in exchange of him letting Damian return to his Father, to be Gotham’s Heir. Since he left behind his gold and ruby crown, for the onyx and sapphire one he wore now, black and blue jewels enhacing the paleness of his skin and the shine in his love-ridden eyes.

Damian completely ignores the offered hand, arms instead circling around his slimer frame and crushing him towards his chest. 

“You’re okay”, he whispers. A swallow, then. Like he wanted to keep going but forced himself into silence. 

A little confused, Tim returns the hug, eyes going to his husband over Damian’s shoulder. 

The King watches from above, cold, calculating eyes glued to them. Dread pools in his stomach in automatic response, and he shoves his brother away as careful as possible.

“Where are my manners! Brother, you made me forget myself”, a small smile, as apology, and then Tim makes his way up the steps until he reaches his husband. “ My Lord”, he greets, bowing a bit and then quickly grabbing for his arm. Ra’s allows the touch graciously, the almost hostile look in his eyes nowhere to be seen now.

“Beloved. I’m sure we can forgive your small loss of decorum, in this circumstances. Right, Grandson?”

From beneath them, Damian stays with his back to them (in the exact same place where he hugged Tim) for a beat longer. Then, he turns to face the King and his Consort, and offers them both a bow.

“Of course, your Majesty. Your Highness. The fault lies on myself, as I couldn’t contain my joy, seeing my brother after so long”, he straightens from his courtesy, eyes finding his Grandfather’s in what could both pass as a familial gesture, or a blatant show of disrespect; Tim had to give it to him, the plausible deniability was exquisite. ”So long, in fact, our Lord Father was getting worried some ill fate had befallen him.” 

Tim stills. He can’t ignore the sudden coldness in the room. Almost on instinct, he shifts a bit, so his shoulder is slightly in front of Ra’s, covering him. Unneeded, since there must be a hundred eyes on them now, their shadows ready to jump in and take any hit for their Master.

The gesture doesn't go unnoticed by his husband, though. He reaches down slightly, hand catching Tim’s. Something in him relaxes.

Damian’s eyes tracked the movement, but didn’t comment in it. Not when his last remark had yet to be answered.

“The joy of those recently joined in marriage can be blinding, Grandson. I’m sure your Oldest Brother would be able to tell you as much, with how many times he himself was wed. Timothy and myself just found it hard to part with one another for hours at a time, let alone a week long trip back to his old Kingdom.”

The mention of Dick brought color to Damian’s face; the red of rage. Tim himself felt a bit uneasy, the mention forcing his mind to come up with the face that had become quiet blurry in his memory. Richard. They had gotten along marvelously, hadn’t them? It was quiet weird they hadn’t met lately.

“I would have loved to see Dick”, he interjects, attempting to force them to look his way instead of each other. His smile is wobbly, and Ra’s hand tightens around his, but he maintains steady eye contact until Damian huffs.

“There have been some issues back home”, he informs Tim; and it’s quiet notable, the way he said the last word, as if reminding Tim that his roots laid elsewhere. Not that he cared where he was born, all that mattered to him was where he had bloomed, and that could only be at Ra’s side. “Father required his help. That’s also why I’m here.”

Something moves behind him, but by the time he turns to look at his husband, there’s nothing amiss. Ra’s seems to be deep in thought for a second, before he smiles beatifically at his grandson.

“We can talk more about this at dinner, you must be exhausted from your travels”, he decides, raising a hand. As if on cue, two shadows appear in the room. Only because he had been looking for them, Tim knows they came from under the red drapes hanging from the walls. How many more were there hidden in that place? Well, he thinks, it’s not like he cares to know either way…” Take the guest to his rooms, make sure to attend to his every need. Come now, husband”, Ra’s directs his eyes to Tim, whose insides flip automatically and smiles in thoughtless response, “we might as well spend the afternoon together.”

They descend the steps, hand in hand. Damian still hasn’t moved, head bowed in respect of the monarchs, waiting for them to leave first. The fist he has over his chest shakes a bit.

“Tea in the gardens? Should I ask for refreshments?” he asks, a little dubiously, following without complains. That’s how he usually spends the hours before dinner time…

Ra’s smile changes slightly, from gentle to hunting. He refuses to answer. 

From his face alone, one would guess his husband’s motives were far from chaste; but given that his contract marriage specified Tim was to be untouched until his twenty first birthday, he wasn’t sure why Ra’s was now acting as though he’d ever forgone that particular condition.

They are passing by his brother now, and it's because of that cercany that he can see his knuckles turning white as he hunches even further into himself, a barely refrained gasp. Then he understands.

Before he can stop and ask Damian if he’s okay, reassure him that his Father's orders were being obeyed (in regards of his third son’s marriage treaty, at least), Ra’s is tugging him out of the throne room and towards his own bedchambers. Tim is helpless to his husband’s touch, so he doesn’t resist, but can’t help but turn to him, curious, just before they reach the room.

“Was Damian…?”

“Childish jealousy, I’m sure”, the King dismisses, opening the door for him and closing after they are both inside his anter-chambers. His hand goes to unclasp the brooch keeping his cape steady, removing the garment and taking seat in the low couch in front of the small tea table. “I all but stole you from your family, Beloved. Little siblings tend to yearn after their elders are wed away. I was merely teasing my grandson.”

Tim can’t help but smile in the tea cup a servant hands him, once he’s sat opposite the King. His knight, A, hadn’t followed them inside, but Tim caught flashes of him as Ra’s guided him through the halls, so he knows the man is close by. He relaxes in the knowledge, sweetening his tea a bit before his mind catches up to him.

Why, oh why would he think of A now? He’s with his husband, perfectly safe. Why is the notion of his personal guard being near reassuring him?

Damn this stupid headache. It’s hard to think, and A is not in the room to provide with the painkiller he usually takes at this hour. Unwilling to interrupt his time with his husband by calling his servant, he powers through the pain, smiling at the intense focus being bestowed upon him.

“Damian has grown a lot”, he comments, desperate to distract himself from the throbbing just behind his eyes, “but he’s still a child. Merely sixteen.”

“You are twenty, Beloved”, Ra’s points out, relaxing back into his seat, apparently satisfied with whatever he saw in Tim’s face. “Although I guess you were always the most mature of your brod. The only one worthy enough to stand by my side.”

“My Lord”, he chides softly, looking at him over his cup. Just because it’s hard to remember his family, it doesn’t mean he wishes to hear them spoken down to by his spouse.

“I speak the truth. Are you denying me?”

The question might sound brusc, almost confrontative, but he’s used to those kinds of inquiries by now. As a response, he bows his head a bit, submissive and elegant, neck in display and crown steady over his temple.

“I’d never betray my husband like that.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Dinner goes without a hitch, until the moment Damian mentions their family one too many times and Tim has to excuse himself from the table. Juggling his husband’s mood and keeping his brother from being outright aggressive to such an important monarch was a tiresome duty, one he couldn’t wait to shed.  Before dessert was served, he decided to retire for the evening.

A, loyal and wonderful, had the tea set ready by the time he reached his rooms. The little brown pill carefully placed on a napkin by his cup was even more enticing than the cakes and sweets the chefs must have served Ra’s and Damian.

“How did you know I was hurting?”, he wonders, sitting down in the chair by his balcony, letting the late afternoon breeze comb his hair away from his face.

“You have that look, yer Highness”, answers the man, carefully dropping the pill inside the cup  before handing it to his Master. “Is there anything else I can do for ya?”

The question sounds… charged, somehow. Tim sips his drink. What else would he need right n/?

“Oh”, he blinks, once, twice, then tilts his head up to face his guard. Meeting his eyes over the edge of his facemask, he smiles-. The afternoon feels quite lovely, I’d like to share this moment of peace with my brother. I’m sure he must have long left the dinner table by now, so go extend him my invitation to have tea together.

He can’t be sure, but somehow he just knows A smiled.

He’s careful to pace the drink as he waits. He’s not alone for long.

Damian takes the seat opposite to his, and A is careful to close the balcony doors before the room gets too chilly. The creamy green curtains, white walls and gold ornaments make the entire atmosphere bright, something Gothamites born and raised would despise for it’s unfamiliarity; a wonder that those were the colors painting the room of a noble hailing from those lands. The three of them stay in silence for a while, as the King Consort finishes his cup.

Tim smiles. Damian watches him for a second, before his own smile appears, relieved and more than a bit happy.

“I’m glad to see you doing so well, brother. You had us all worried, back home.”

A soft, almost primly, scoff, “Please. I know how to handle myself, and I’m well protected here. You know I’m never alone.”

Damian dips his head in acknowledgement, but he still doesn’t remove his eyes from him.

“Conflict is brewing”, he goes straight to the point, almost desperate; unsure of how longer will they be able to speak privately. “Father is not willing to look past his transgressions any longer.”

“It won’t reach the Castle.”

“Brother!”

Tim shushes him, letting A refill his cup. No more medicine added, though.

“Damian. Ra’s might be a little… “he doesn’t quite know what to say,” as he is, but he’s by no means dumb. He won’t allow any kind of rebellion to arise in his lands. There will be no war in Alqatala. 

Damian falls silent for a minute. A places a plate of delicious looking cookies in the table, on Timothy’s side. Neither brother makes any move to touch them.

“I’ll confront Grandfather about it, tomorrow”, the tone is almost warning. Tim’s eyes narrow.

“Do remember, brother, which side I’m on.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he watches in silence as Tim takes a cookie and bits softly into it, maintaining steady eye contact with the younger Prince.

“I suppose this is goodbye, then”, he adds, letting the rest of the desert back on his plate, by his empty cup.” I hate to cut our time together so short, after such a long time apart, but I need to rest now; it’s been such a long day. We’ll see each other soon, I promise. And don’t worry about me, silly little brother”, Tim’s smile came back, a little groggy this time.

Damian left after a shallow bow, escorted by A.

In the dimness of the falling night, Tim placed a careful hand on the glass door leading to the balcony.

...The callouses in his hand were still a mystery. Maybe he should ask his husband, tomorrow. He would know. 

Ra’s knew everything about Tim. He had too, after all. And if he didn’t, Tim would tell him.

That’s what made them such an harmonious pair, after all.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s called to his husband’s study room the following afternoon, long after Damian’s entourage parted from their Castle.

He quickly removes his sleeping camisole (he’d been bedridden all morning, stroke down by a vicious headache) and dones a green and gold Farasha, simple sandals and his crown, no other accessories needed; as the maids helping him dress often tell him, he needs no outer help to enhance his beauty. 

A walks him all the way to where Ra’s is waiting, then bows and swears to wait for him in the hallway. Not exactly his usual behaviour, but Tim can’t waste any brainpower in figuring out his guard, not when he needs to be sharp to attend to Ra’s now.

“My Lord?”, he calls, once inside. The older man is waiting, back to the door, as he watches from the window his Kingdom, buzzing with activity.

“Beloved”, he greets, without turning.” There’s a letter in the desk.”

Tim walks closer, picking the indicated piece of paper curiously.

It’s from Bruce (Father… Dad). 

It’s a complaint, a description of the fate that would befell him if Ra’s were to continue on his current path. A demand of retribution, for all the damage already done. A threat, if a veiled one.

The only mention of Tim on the letter, was to inform Ra’s that having his third son inside the Castle wouldn’t prevent him from seeking to burn it to the ground, would Ra’s ignore his generous warning.

Tim’s insides were cold. His mind screaming at him, ‘he wants to hurt our husband’. A small, almost meek part of him wants to ask about King Wayne’s accusations, but the bigger, devoted side squashes this voice ruthlessly; no threat to his husband would be allowed, not even a justified one.

“Are we going to war?”, he asks, tone dry, hands carefully loose on the paper as to not crass it. Confused. He had tea with Damian the day before, he should have noticed something from him, an indication of the dangers coming. And why hadn’t his brother warned him?

His head hurts.

It’s then that his husband turns to examine him. For a few minutes, he does nothing else than to look at Tim, deeply. He returns the look fiercely, protectively; nothing but desire to help shining through. Cold fire burning in icy eyes.

Ra’s smiles.

“It won’t be much of a war, not with one as you on my side, Beloved. Let’s get to planning, shall we?”

There it is, the reason Ra’s married him in the first place. His strategic abilities, his absolute dominance over any battlefield, overturning the board with a simple swipe of his hand. Winning wars without stepping a foot in any battle.

He never thought he’d be using it against his own Father. But Tim knew where his loyalties laid. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Tim suggested they sent an ambush as soon as possible, before Damian could leave their lands. To kidnap him, and use as leverage to bring Bruce to heel. With his eldest son refusing the crown, the second lost as far as anyone knew and the third, himself, married away (and to an enemy, now, to boot), Damian was his last heir; he could not afford to lose him.

Ra’s also pointed out the Gotham King’s sentimentalism. Tim, tired and with his head throbbing, couldn’t say if that was truly the case, so he submitted to his husband’s intel and left the study to return to his quarters. Ra’s would assemble his own team to send post haste to retrieve the young Prince before he could cross the Alqatala border.

“Tea, yer Highness?” 

“Thank you, yes.”

A few sips, before Tim tilts his head to the side.

“A? You know this young guard who switches places with you during the night, when you rest?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Do call her, please. I need her to fetch something for me.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I have bad news, Beloved.”

That wasn’t what he expected to hear, the second he saw his husband. Weary, he sat in front of Ra’s desk, the cushioned back of the opulent chair helping soothe his uneasiness.

“What happened?”

“My Grandson has apparently grown some brains the last few months; he switched routes, and exited Alqatala by the eastern woods, instead of through the southwestern river he used to come.”

“That trip is twice as hard, why would he choose it?”, the second he spoke, he knew the answer. ”It’s harder to track someone there, than by water. You can see a ship from a long distance, but there’s multiple hiding spots between the trees.”

“That’s what I thought, as well. I sent some of my best trackers to follow, but I have no true expectations of them succeeding; Damian was raised to know those woods like the palm of his hand. Such a rich education, wasted in that boy”, Ra’s laments. Tim moves on instinct walking to stand behind his chair and placing his hands on the older man’s shoulders.

“Damian would not actually expect us to move so soon”, he rationalized, “nor would he know where our people was waiting to ambush him. His change of tracks is more than a little too well timed. 

“Are you suggesting we have a rat, Beloved?”

Tim shrugs a little, helplessly ”I think I would remember Damian being wary. We had tea before he left, but I didn’t notice anything unusual. He must have not suspected us of being capable of that, back then. Someone must have alerted him to our intentions.”

Ra’s looks to be deep in thought. He turns a little to face Tim, who returns his look of seriousness with one of his own.

“I’ll weed out this traitor, My Lord. I can’t allow those kinds of pests around you.”

His husband smirks a little.

“I will be the one doing that, Beloved. You focus on forming a new strategy, and we’ll discuss it at dinner tonight. Show me I made the right choice, taking you as mine.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The vase crashed against the wall, and a waterfall of flowers and porcelain fell over the carpet. A maid rushed to clean up, but Timothy paid her no mind, despite the small thread of guilt twisting in his stomach.

The reports over his table spoke for themselves. Territory battles won by the smallest margin, spies derailed from their targets by very convenient distractions, specialized assassins caught and jailed before completing their tasks.

Someone good was working against them.

Tim knew, intellectually, that Bruce was a smart man. But not this kind of smart, not this quickly. There was a new player on the board, and it wasn’t on his side. 

“A”, he called, almost growling. The man stepped out of the shadows enclosing the corners of the room, “bring me parchment and paper. I have suspicions on their next move, and I have to alert our troops against them.”

The man hesitated a bit.

“Yer Highness you… don’t look well. Should I bring you tea?”

Tim waved a hand, “After I send this missive. There’s no time to delay.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Their next strike was more successful than all their previous attempts. Ra’s had been incredibly pleased, seating Tim on his lap during dinner and feeding him carefully crafted delicacies and praising his Consort’s flawless strategy. They had managed to capture one of King Wayne’s favored warriors, General Brown. Her troops had been slim, and most of them fled at the overpowered sight of Ra’s people, so only she and few loyal soldiers had been caught.  They would rott the dungeons until Ra’s needed to negotiate, or decided to execute them as an example for those who thought of going against him. Tim was pretty sure it’d be the first case, though. Brown was too valuable to just off.

The small victory tasted all the sweeter to him when no reports came from this mysterious figure trumping all his previous attempts. Hopefully, this meant they were all the more closer to winning this war without any big loses, as they’ve managed to do until now.

Later, he’s in his rooms and A brings his tea, but no food. It’s okay, Timothy is not hungry. He just drowns the entire cup before springing to his feet, gathering some documents and hiding them under his white shirt, tucked into his slim, open sided, black harem pants.

“Take me to the dungeons”, he demands, hastily throwing on a cape, “I believe it’s time I interrogate the prisoners.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ra’s is lounging in cushions and silk when Tim finds him, a few hours later. He beckons him in, a single finger crooked and a side smile.

Slowly, almost reluctant, Tim sits, his back to Ra’s, and rests his weight on the man. He can feel the strong arms going around his waist, but can’t see his face.

“Is everything alright, Beloved?”

Tim sags against him, hiding his face in the man’s shoulder. He, in turn, rests his chin above his hair, moving the crown around to make space. Tim can feel him smelling his hair and shivers a little. Ra’s hands tighten in response.

“Yeah”, he whispers. Wetting his lips a bit, he tries again, “Yes, I just came from the dungeons. General Brown… I went to see her. Try to get some information.”

The arms stiffen a bit, half a second, before the man relaxes again.

“And?”

“She seemed willing to talk, at first. I think it was the shock of seeing a familiar face”, he touches his own cheek a bit, then lets his hand fall over Ra’s wrist, carefully tracing his pulse point. “I think we were quiet close, back then.”

“Not anymore?”

A delicate shrug, “Not since I married you, My Lord. I choose my side, and so did she. As soon as she remembered we’re in different fronts on this war, she became quite tight lipped.”

Ra’s hums, hand reaching for the tray set by his side. Picking up a chocolate covered something, he offered it to the boy in his arms, smiling when he felt the soft lips closing around the food, almost kissing Ra’s palm where it laid.

“I believe she’ll start to rethink her decision, once a few more of her friends join her in the dungeons. I trust your preparations are going well?”

Timothy relaxed even further in his arms.

“Yes, My Lord. I’ve written some instructions for our people rounding on Sargeant Gordon and his daughter”, he explains, taking the mentioned papers out of his white sleeve” I’ll send the letter tomorrow after checking in some details, and by afternoon, if it all goes according to plan we’ll have two more guests joining General Brown. That means I won’t be accompanying you for lunch, My Lord.”

Ra’s reads the information carefully, and can’t help but squeeze his pretty little genius closer to his chest. Stealing him from his Father had been the wisest of his choices. Giving up his grandson in exchange was by all means a perfectly acceptable loss.

“Do tell your servant to fetch you something to eat, my dear. It won’t do to have my best strategist fall to his own ambitions and starve.”

Looking up at his husband, with the chocolate covered fruit still dancing around his closed mouth, Tim smiled.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Over the course of the next few weeks, Timothy’s life became a whirlwind of reading reports, scheming strategies and meeting his husband to inform him of any progress- or loss. 

They managed to capture young General Duke Thomas, Sargent Kane and General Gordon. Sergeant Gordon, the woman’s father, had escaped unscathed though, by a well timed counter attack that Tim was still unsure how they enemies had devised. 

His new sworn enemy, Wayne’s strategist, was no doubt behind any little rock in his path. Any setback, any mistake. This mysterious person seemed to be always one step ahead, and even Tim’s hard won victories sometimes seemed like they were a gift, an allowance. Ra’s didn’t seem to mind, more than happy with their slowly growing dungeons and Tim’s efforts, so he was reluctant to inform him of his fears; least the King started to regret marrying him in the first place.

He throws another vase at the wall, but there’s no one there to pick the broken pieces up. It’s the middle of the night and he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Who are you?!”, he screams at nothing, approaching the mirror and hating the pale face that looks back at him, those intelligent eyes blinking quickly, as if trying to get out of a daze.

He needs to find out who their rat is. Ra’s hasn’t yet, and it’s hurting their position on this war. The enemy has eyes inside their castle, and Tim is left to fend off the plots his faceless opponent comes up with with that intel. It’s tiring, he feels strung along, and there’s little he can do about that.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“How are our guests faring?”

“Still haven’t as much as pipped, yer Highness.”

“I trust you’ve been exploring all your options while asking.”

“I’m...being very thorough. Maybe if yer Highness went…”

“I don’t know, A… Between the planning and these damn headaches that keep getting worse…”

“Should I bring the medicine?”

“Yes, do that…”

He scribbles orders for his men in parchment, gets so lost in the action he barely notices his servant’s return, merely accepting the cup with the sweet beverage when it’s offered to him.

“I’m not making any real progress like this… You are right, I do need to interrogate them myself. We’re going to the dungeons.”

“Yes, yer Highness.”

“And… be sure it doesn’t reach my husband’s ears. That place is so grim and dirty, and I wouldn't want to… worry him.”

“Yes, yer Highness. This way.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Ra’s orders Tim’s secondary guard to bring him to the throne room in the middle of the night, he’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Sleep has been a luxury he can’t quite gift himself with, and his plans don’t seem to be achieving anything. Maybe… Maybe his husband was cross with him. Maybe he meant to… dispose of him.

What he’s not expecting, is seeing A’s kneeling form, bruised and curling into himself, in the ground in front of Ra’s throne steps. 

“What is the meaning of this? My lord? Why is my servant here?”, he worries, rushing to the man’s side. A might have been taking care of him under orders, but he had done it wonderfully, and Tim really appreciated his willingness to run back and forth fetching him medicine, tea and food when the pain got too unbearable, or just keeping him company as he raged at his mysterious strategic enemy.

“Don’t”, comes the order from above, cold and final, just when his hand is hovering over a obviously dislocated shoulder. Tim looks at his husband with hundreds of questions in his eyes, but the man answers just one. “Rats shouldn’t be blessed by the touch of the Royal Consort, Beloved.”

Tim shakes his head minutely, taking an automatic step away from A’s form. The guard, his knight, doesn’t even raise his head to look back at him. Tim wishes he did, so he could read the truth in his keppel colored eyes.

But his husband has already told him, hasn’t he? A’s testimony is of no worth, when the King himself is condemning him of treason.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s hours later, when Tim decides to go down to the dungeons once more. He picks Ra’s discarded cape from the ground by the bed and wraps it around him, gathering strength from his husband’s scent.

This... had been their first night together, and Tim laments it was under such painful circumstances. Betrayed by his closest aide, the one who had stayed by his side from the second Tim had married into the Al Ghul’s family, he had all but fallen into Ra’s arms while he watched the guards drag A away, to be questioned at a later date. Down to the dungeons, with every other enemy he had caught.

He hadn’t caught A, though. He had somehow completely missed the man sneaking information out, when said man was always a mere step away from Tim’s own shadow.

Ra’s had been perfect, in the face of his Consort’s distress. He had half escorted half carried Tim out of the room and into his own chambers. Plied him with wine (the same bottle Tim had gifted him what seemed like a lifetime away, but was just the previous night; still closed, but fresh), sharing a cup at first and then exchanging the liquid from mouth to mouth. He had gathered him into his arms, carried him to bed, and made him forget. Making him yield his body as well as his mind to his whims, dominating every inch of him; their pre nuptial contract all but forgotten in the face of such passion. Who would tell Bruce, anyway? And, even  if his father knew, they were at war with the man. 

Tim had sobbed, after it was all done with. His husband was obviously a gifted lover, and during their shared passion, he had made him drop any thought of his friend; but the second he went to sleep by his side, Tim’s eyes started to water by their own accord. 

A had betrayed him.

This stung worse than he could have expected. He needed to see A again, before Ra’s interrogated and later executed him. He… he needed to ask why.

The hallways seemed too deserted, tonight. He could usually catch a glimpse of a shadow sneaking just by the edge of his vision, something moving too fast to properly identify, but slow enough to be sure of its presence. There was none of that. No silent footsteps, no servant hurrying along in a chore, no visiting noble straying from his room in search of a nocturnal thirst with a maid. No eyes following from the portraits on the walls.

It was too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes one step lightly and breath as shallowly as possible, to keep from making any noise that would disturb it, draw attention to it. The kind that made him signal his guard to walk closer to his back, so the barely noticeable warmth of her presence could sooth his already frayed nerves.

The stairs to the dungeon were barely better. The sounds of chains shaking and rats scurrying around brought a light frown to his face. He suddenly wished to be back by his husband’s side, in the comfortable bed, protected by his arm around his waist.

But he needed to power through. A was just a few cells over, and he wouldn't be able to sleep without his answers.

The man is chained down, both at his ankles and wrists, as per the costum when one of their own goes rouge. Their training too intensive, too dangerous,  to leave them to roam freely, even within a cell.

He’s awake, through, despite his wounds. And he’s sitting in the middle of his ‘room’, facing the door. Facing Tim, when he came into sight.

...had he been awaiting him?

“Hey, Timmy.”

The uncharacteristic, carefree call snaps him out of it. Suddenly outraged (both at this man, so calm in his dishonored state, and at himself for being so affected by the situation; he was a King’s Consort, he needed to get it together!), he gathered himself to his full height and did his best to look down at the seated man, fists gathering Ra’s cape tighter around his shoulders, trying to pass it as some sort of royal garment, to get the extra confidence boost.

“It seems your short time in captivity has already started playing tricks on your mind, to make you believe you can address me this way. Or perhaps the certainty of your execution has made your tongue looser. It would not help your situation, but if you prove yourself useful a last time, I might consider appealing to my husband’s mercy.”

A tilted his head. Tim couldn't see his face, half hidden by the mask, half by his hair, but he knew him well enough to read the curiosity in his posture.

“Whose orders are you obeying?”

The young knight stared at him in silence for a bit, before shrugging.

“Yours, yer Highness.”

Tim couldn't help but scoff, crossing his arms and thus allowing the cape around him to part in the front.

“I certainly didn’t command you to betray my trust.”

If A had a response to that, it was halted by the sight of the King’s Consort still in his sleep camisole, hastily thrown over before heading there. The thin fabric did little to hide his neck, where the marks of tonight’s love encounter with his husband were painfully obvious, skin too pale to hide the almost purple signs of ownership.

“I’m sorry you went through that, yer Highness”, he whispered, shoulders slumping and head tilted down for the first time during their conversation.

It was cold in the dungeons, and that’s why Tim closed the cape around him again. Not to hide his marks and sudden vulnerability.

He thought, distractedly, that they must be giving an amusing show to the other captives, for them to be so quiet.

“I can assure you”, he answers dryly, ”that being loved by my husband is no hardship at all. Not like the ones you have coming for you.”

“I would disagree”, his voice sounds deeply pained, and resigned.

A throb behind his eyes made him squeeze them shut. He felt more than heard his silent shadow stepping closer, one hand supporting his arm as the other offered the small pill Ra’s had gotten for him to help his headaches, as well as a flask of something to down it with.

He held both the pill and the silver container in his hands, eyes never leaving A’s figure, suddenly a hundred times more attentive.

“You gonna take it, yer Highness?”

He hums, rolling the brownish pellet between thumb and forefinger.

“I always seem to have a muddled mind, after I do. And I think I want to remember this conversation, A. If that’s really your name.”

“’s not.”

“Are you going to tell me what it really is? Or what “A” stands for?”

“I’m a gothamite”, replied the man, who was suddenly a lot more talkative. Maybe afraid Tim would take his medicine and go sleep it off, taking with him his only chance of getting a more merciful judgement, “born and raised. But unlike all those whinny, dumb witted lords you’ve probably met, I hail from the streets. The darkest parts of the city, where only the most crooked and twisted reside. Where the monsters hide, ‘cause what’s on the street ‘s a thousand times more scary than ‘em. The slums of Arkham spit me out, half chewed and poisonous but still alive despite it all. And from there, I took my name. So I’d never forget, while I’m here, where do I came from.”

“And you still became a knight, a pawn, under the command of someone smart enough to fool even me?”, he scoffs, hand tightening and almost crushing the pain relief- They would only use you and discard you.  No, not even that, since we will be the ones doing the job. If you tell me who gave you your orders I… I can give you leniency.”

“I won’t.”

“Not even if…” he hates saying this, shouldn’t be promising it without talking it out with his husband first, but if there was a chance of catching this slippery strategist… “I spare your life?”

A only shook his head. Tim felt unsteady on his feet.

Who would even care, he thinks, before letting himself fall, sitting on the other side of the bars keeping A locked. The prisoners’ opinions weren’t important, and his shadow would not tell anyone else of Tim’s momentary weakness.

(How was he so sure of her loyalty? Why was he so despairing of A’s, his traitorous Arkham Knight, betrayal?)

“You look to be in pain, yer Highness. The medicine…”

Tim threw the goddamned pill as far away as he could, fierce eyes boring into the man.

“Why do you act as though you care for my well being? You surely didn’t when you sold me out to my enemy.”

A sighed, “The only enemy here, ‘s the man whose cape ye’r using to fend off the cold.”

“That man…!”, he stops himself, gathering his composure like one might sand between their fingers, hoping it’d be enough to get a hold of himself. He tried again. “That man is my Lord and Husband.”

“Oh Lord above, I’m so sick of this”, moaned A, leaning back into his hands and looking at his cell’s ceiling. “Yer Highess… Tim. What about we make a deal?”

“With a traitor?”

“With the only viable informant you have.”

He didn’t answer. Curious, despite himself, but unwilling to give him the satisfaction of inquiry. 

A didn’t seem to mind and straightened his back before crawling towards the bars, until he was pressed flush against them, chains clattering when they collided with the cold metal of his cage.

“If you can figure out who my master is from the clues you have, I’ll… help you fight your enemy.”

“If I could figure that out by myself, don’t you think I would have already?”, he frowns, but there’s no deceit in A’s eyes. Not that it would do he any favors; helpful or not, the only thing Tim had to lose here was time. Unsure, he decided to focus on this puzzle he had at hand.

“Think about yer hands. Think about your home, your true home, not this pit of snakes and lies. Think ‘bout… family. Why are you here?”

He didn’t want to. Those were the kind of questions that always brought forth the headache. But, he supposes, he is already in pain. What is a little more?

He turns the silver flask (that he almost forgot he still had) in his hands, thumbing the engravings on it as his mind wandered.

He was here because Ra’s had wanted to marry him, because he fell in love with Tim when/

...When?

No, that wasn’t right. Tim had made the choice, because… Ra’s had Damian captive. He had sent a letter offering an exchange…

No. Damian’s mother, Crown Princess Talia. She had asked Father… Bruce, for help. But… she had been the one who helped Ra’s take Damian in the first place…

Why had Tim offered marriage? There must have been multiple alternatives, more than one way to get his brother back. 

He loved Ra’s, that was why. Or so he thought.

He remembers… denials. Shouts. And a calm, detached voice explaining itself. Explaining…

As a lightning striking a tree and bruning it to ashes, all came flooding back into his mind. 

His hands. His home, his family.

The night before his wedding.

A cup of wine, left by Ra’s servants so he could settle his nerves before the next day’s ceremony, held tightly and steadily in his hands.

He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t confused. He wasn’t in love.

A cloaked figure in the darkness of his rooms, ice blue eyes staring deeply into his. 

“I’m your worst enemy”, it said, cold like the iron of his Father’s blade, and twice as sharp. 

Tim recognized it then, who it was. 

The bane of Ra’s existence. The mysterious strategist. A’s master. 

A young man, eyes burning blue fire, standing among shadows in front of a mirror.

The fog raised from his mind, as did his hand when he took a long sip of his flask. The sweetness of the beverage brought a grin to his face, as the headache faded into oblivion. No pill needed, after all.

Still shaky but feeling finally in control, he climbed back to his feet. A, on the other side of the cell, did the same, face unsure and searching. 

Cassandra, his shadow, reappeared from within them. Taking one quick look at his face, her now unmasked one brightened. She held a number of keys among her swift fingers, stolen from the no doubt unconscious guards upstairs. 

“...Yer Highness?”

Tim laughed, unbridled. A devious smirk played on his lips as he watched Cass set to work.

“Formalities don’t suit you, brother.”

Jason’s eyes widened in surprise, before savage glee lightened them. He held his hands before himself, patiently waiting for their sister to open his cell and free him.

“About damn time, Timmy.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Tim had told Damian not to worry, a long time ago. No bloodshed would flood the streets where he grew up, no hard working servant or innocent peasant would see themselves tangled in the throes of war.

There’d be no war in Alqatala. Because they were going to take it from the inside.

The walk back to Ra’s rooms was done in half the time it took before. Movement all around him as all the prisoners, his people, were set free to take care of whatever of Ra’s soldiers remained in the castle after Tim sent the majority of them to fight an empty battle. He saw Stephanie’s men subduing the less strong warriors, as she and Cass took the better trained ones. Jason was carrying Barbara in his arms, probably headed to wherever Dick and his troops were waiting, somewhere just outside the castle, to act as reinforcements. Duke, Kate and their soldiers, helping the wounded and escorting the enemies to the dungeons that not too long ago housed them.

Tim didn’t focus on any of them, though. He had another matter to attend to. 

When he reached the Royal chambers, he saw exactly what he expected; Ra’s, fully dressed, standing at his balcony and observing the figures dancing below. His enemy’s troops taking hold of his kingdom as peacefully as a coup could ever be.

The wine had been chosen primarily because it’s sleepy quality was one he had gotten resistant against, after months of Jason providing him with it. So that Ra’s would be affected and sleep the night away, while Tim got his memories back and could take the last step of his carefully organized plan.

The second, less pressing (but almost more rewarding) reason was spite: the first dose of the drug Ra’s has plighted him with, all those months ago, had been in the wine he was served before their wedding.

But it wouldn't keep a man like his husband, old and well versed in trickery, down for long. Tim had only hoped for enough time to free his allies.

And he had gotten it.

“Beloved. I imagined you halfway through the land, eager to be back in your people’s arms.”

“Don’t insult either of us like this. You know I need to see this done, and I don’t trust anyone else with this particular task.”

“To take me down?”

“To properly gloat, more like it.”

“Now you are the one taking us both for fools. You don’t gloat. It’s unbecoming.”

Tim shrugs, cape flowing behind him as he steps out by Ra’s side, looking down as well.

For weal or woe, those were their subjects.

“You don’t think I deserve it?”

Ra’s does the elegant, royal version of a snort.

“More than anyone, dear one. It was masterfully played, I have to admit. I could find no cracks in your acting.”

Tim turns, back to the balcony edge. The venomous green eyes meet his, then. King and Consort, truly face to face for maybe the first time in months.

They should, by all means, be fighting. But Tim is under no delusions; he knows Ra’s physical strength is greater. His aim is to entertain him long enough for reinforcements to reach them.

Why Ra’s decided to humour him, he wasn’t sure.

“There was no act, Ra’s. Not truly.”

“As much as the thought warms my heart, Beloved, I don’t think you love me. Not like the drug intended. How, pray tell, did you manage to avoid it? I’ve seen you eating food coated in it. Sometimes, by my own hand.”

Tim just raises his flask to him.

“Your only mistakes were taking Damian prisoner, and kidnapping our people to serve under your crown.”

If he was annoyed by Tim derailing his answer, he didn’t show it. Seemingly content to play along, Ra’s gave his words proper thought.

“The first brought you into my castle, taking a vital player from the enemy’s board, the latter gave me the opportunity I needed to go to war with your father. I don’t see anything to regret there.”

Tim took another sip of the tea, now cold, that Cass had filled the bottle with.

“And your greatest overview”, he continued, “what you should have suspected from the first moment, was this:”- the drink inside the flask sloshed when he raised it-” I despise tea.

“I fail to see how this all ties together. Indulge me, dear one? Our time with each other is coming to an end, after all.”

Tim was all for gaining time. And maybe a little part of himself wanted to boast a bit, too.

“When Talia came back to her senses, after the drug you used on her to make her take Damian to you wore out, she came seeking for help to set him free.”

A yell, somewhere far away. Clash of metal and fire in the distance; Ra’s troops were back from their empty mission, straight into Harper and Cullen’s awaiting forces.

“Barbara is most likely the best alchemist out there. With Lady Thompkins’ help, she made an antidote”, another sip. “It goes perfect with tea, disgusting as it is. And Jason, taken for dead and rescued by Talia all those years ago, who nursed him back to health under your own roof without you being the wiser, already had a perfect cover built here. He just needed to say he’d been on a mission to explain the time he’d spent between leaving Talia’s care and me coming here, and then volunteer to care for me. And my sister’s presence can only be noticed by those she wants to; your men had no chance to spot the two enemies among their ranks.”

Under them, the innocents in Alqatala were hanging white bed sheets and clothes out of their windows. A beg to be spared, and show of surrender. From up there, it looked like dots of victory splashed in the canvas of a won over Kingdom.

“I could never act like I was in love with you, for months, and be perfectly convincing. And the only way you’d let me even smell the ink on your important documents was if you believed me completely besotted. So I’d take your drugs each breakfast, and break out of their power with my afternoon tea. Give out orders, converge with my spies, and then eat your food again so I’d be in perfect condition for dinner. If I could help it, each moment spent in your presence had to be drugged stupid. As a side effect of taking the drug is memory loss, every proof of my treasonous acts were hidden from my stupid, submissive, deeply-in-love other self. Truly, it was perfect. Except the headaches from taking so many corrosive substances, so often. Those were a pain to deal with.”

That wasn’t, of course, the only consequence of mixing powerful drugs. His colds were harsher and more recurrent than ever, and he feared the approaching winter with genuine horror, but that was information his enemy didn’t need to have.

Ra’s threw his head back and laughed. It was a hearty laugh, from deep within his chest and charged with unexpected affection. Tim tilted his head, and was taken back when his husband stretched his hands to pull the cape closed over his chest, fastening it with an emerald and gold pin.

“I do have a question”, he forces himself to say, unwilling to blush when Ra’s hands accidentally (or maybe not so much) bumped into one of the marks still fresh in his neck.

“You’ve answered mine, Beloved, so go ahead. Marriage is a give and take, after all.”

The irony wasn’t lost. 

“When things started to go wrong in this war, when attacks didn’t reach and our troops failed by a hair… you are not stupid. You must have known the enemy under your roof, the one planning your strategies, was the most likely cause. Why not kill me?”

Ra’s laughed again. Something in Tim’s stomach twitched.

He had won here. So why did it feel like Ra’s had been the one to take the treasure?

“We both agreed to this game, when you accepted my suit and we got married.”

“I was the one who suggested/”

“Shh, dear one. You could have backed out, told your family you regretted your choice, and no one would have blamed you. But you took the drugged wine that night, fully aware of the dangers it contained. You blushed during our wedding, and shed a tear when I took your hand and sat you on my throne to receive your crown. The stakes were high, higher than anything any of us could imagine, and you still decided to risk it. Had I discovered your siblings and drove them out, there’d been no one left to fed you the antidote that allowed this entire operation to begin with. Or I could have chosen to dismiss you to an abandoned wing of the palace, happy enough after taking you from your family and thus removing their most dangerous player, without the risk of giving you power.” 

Tim’s throat felt dry. Ra’s thumb pressed in the mark one last time, before he drew his hands away and clasped them behind his back. His eyes as he watched Tim were warm on the surface, but there was an underlying of want under them that made him nervous. The intensity rivaled the one he had felt when they shared bed and love just hours ago.

“You played the game beautifully, played by the rules, and still won. Killing you without proof, with only my suppositions, right as they might have been, would have been like admitting defeat.” 

“You still lost”, he bites out, hand unclasping the pin keeping the cape tight and letting it fall to the ground behind him, green and gold silk against dark stone.

Ra’s smile became wicked. No warmth left.

“Had I killed you when I first suspected you”, he whispers, stepping closer, and this sudden intimacy makes Tim shiver, but not from pleasure. “I would have missed the opportunity you gave me tonight. And I got a taste of the full extent of your power, Beloved.”

He closed the distance between them, hands on his shoulders to keep him still. Too shocked to even try to get away, Tim almost forgot to blink.

He had expected rage. He had expected disdain. He had expected a sword to the gut.

He hadn’t expected respect, admiration and desire, hot and piercing like a knife still red from the forge.

Ra’s breath, sweet from the wine and warm against the cold of the night, brushed his cheek as his husband bent closer.

“How marvelous it was, to witness you fight against yourself. Are you the only foe you consider worthy of your attention? Can anyone else come close to even challenge your cunning mind?”

Too late, Tim heard the footsteps approaching their location. His brothers, most likely, here to help him take care of Ra’s.

The beautiful dagger sliding into his body felt almost sensual, intimate. Like he was being touched by a lover, instead of steel. He shivered all the same, the gasp escaping his mouth making Ra’s draw a deeper breath. 

His laugh, this time, was low. Private, just between them.

“Do make sure you don’t die from this. I’ll come for you one day, and I expect a proper confrontation then. No more masks between us, dear one. Next time it’ll be just you and me, your force against mine, and my price for trouncing one as enthralling as yourself will be to properly own you, from that day and all the ones that’ll follow.”

When Ra’s hands left him, Tim fell to his knees. He heard the door slamming against the wall and his brothers’ voices, their shouts and curses as they rushed to his aid.

“Until then, my Consort.”

He saw him jumping down, to a certain death if it were anyone else, but could not make a move to follow. The knife had pierced something, he could tell, and the blood soaked his white nightgown and the green cape, still on the floor under him.

It was Dick (Oh gods, Dick, how had he missed his oldest brother, how painful had it been to forget his smile, scent and fierce protection) who gathered him in his arms, his desperate calls that made him snap out of the pain. He barely caught sight of Jason and Damian running to the balcony edge and looking down, then yelling orders to the men that had followed them into the room.

Ra’s had escaped.

But he would not stay away for long, he knew. His last words were both a threat and declaration of intent. It was a new war, one where Tim wouldn’t be fighting for him and against himself. Now, he would depend only on his wits and resources. There’d be no master plan carefully laid and enveloped in deceit. It’d be an all out war, two predators hunting each other, where losing meant death for Ra’s, and for Tim...something even worse.

Ra’s was coming.

Well, Tim thought, closing his fingers around the silver hilt of the dagger, his brothers worried voices fading into nothing as consciousness began to waver, let him come.

I’ll be waiting, my husband.

[tybaku]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30691259/chapters/77712440

Midoriya Izuku finds the incarnation of beauty and divinity sitting at a window of a hole-in-the-wall café just a few blocks away from home.

Or: An artist in search of inspiration unexpectedly finds a new muse.

Chapter 2: Him

Bakugou Katsuki finds himself standing at the foot of an altar fit for something more than a god at a quarter to 1.

The day is bright and clear, and the sun is hot on his head and shoulders. It’s too early to be out here, and yet too late, and there was already a thin crowd formed, curled around the centerpiece like a halo, or a crown. Katsuki shifts where he stands, dark eyes never leaving the piece of art on the bricked alleyway wall. He barely breathes.

He had been dragged here not out of his own accord, directly after a nearly two hour long elective class that was nothing but a bore, despite it sounding vaguely interesting down on paper.

“Analysis of Modern Art and Media 101” taught by Aizawa Shouta had been a bust of a class to choose, and each time Katsuki attends he wonders why the hell there is more of the same damn class, judging by the fact there was a 101 tacked on at the end of the name, and also it was probably the most soul-sucking class he was taking this school year. Katsuki doesn’t even care about art!

And yet, he’s still standing here. He’s standing here in a dingy, dirty back alley and gawking up at this piece of artwork like some kind of fool, his hands curling up inside his pockets. There’s a red warmth to his face that isn’t from the afternoon sun, and vaguely he thinks, maybe he could learn to care about art. Maybe he could learn to care because of this and this only.

“It’s me,” Katsuki says, not fully aware of his surroundings, or the murmurs that trickle about the little sea of people in the alleyway that are witnessing the same thing he is.

Because it is him, it’s the best version of him he’s ever laid eyes on. It’s a perception of him so pure and human, and flawless to the point where it’s perfection is debatable, and he has to take another look at it to really see what’s there. He’s wrong, the painting isn’t perfect, but it’s authentic. It isn't flawless, but it’s him, really and truly him; near flesh as it can get with its graffiti lines and colors and shapes.

Katsuki doesn’t want to look away.

Kirishima, the very guy who had brought him out here to view the godly offering on the wall, then pats his shoulder and grips onto him. “It’s you, man. Your mentions are sky high,” he says, eyebrows raised and obviously impressed. He shakes Katsuki a little when he becomes the victim of a dirty looking side-eye, wearing a little frown. “What?”

Katsuki shrugs his shoulder harshly, effectively shooing his friend off. “The hell you on about, shithair,” he says more than he asks. Kaminari’s head then pops up from beside them unexpectedly, with Ashido right on his toes, smiling from ear to ear. There’s a mischievous little glint in their eyes that they share unabashedly, and Katsuki sneers at it.

“Oh, you haven’t heard? You’re trending!” the other, less important blond exclaims, fishing out his phone to wave it around in Katsuki’s face. “Well, more like the art itself trending, but people are recognizing you! Tagging you in the pics on Insta, at’ing you on Twitter, linking you to this one art blog and shit like—” Kaminari only stops when Katsuki starts to bat his hands at him angrily, irritated at the fact he didn’t understand a word he was saying.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Kaminari makes an ugly looking face like he took a whiff of something foul, but Katsuki smells sweet as hell, thank you very much; his shampoo and conditioner have black and white charcoal in them. “Dude do you even check your phone like, ever? This”—Kaminari waves giant circles in front of Katsuki’s portrait as Katsuki himself mumbles a quiet I mute that shit during class—“is trending. Trending.”

Before Katsuki could tear one into him, Ashido pats at her friend’s shoulder, squeezing herself into the terrible excuse of a conversation. “I think he gets it, babe. What Denki’s trying to say is that this”—she gestures to the painting—“is gaining a whole lot of traction right now, not only because it’s stunning, but because the artist is literally one of the biggest deals in Japan right now. Deku’s like, hot-hot. He’s practically famous in the modern art scene, and he just painted your portrait without you even knowing about it. Do you really have no idea how huge this is?”

And, no, Katsuki doesn’t know, since there wasn’t even a reason why he would know in the first place (again, that modern art class sucks, and even though Aizawa-sensei was good enough of a teacher, Katsuki sometimes thinks even he didn’t want to be teaching it from the way he talks and lectures so tonelessly, a whole new level of bored flat) so the only thing he can do is blink, and blink, and glare as he tries to take in this new information.

It’s weird, isn’t it? Katsuki has never heard of this “Deku” guy, despite his supposed status, and suddenly he’s got a whole mural dedicated to him by the guy? He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with any of this, and he can’t even bring himself to be angry about it. He’s just confused, out of place, and so damn flattered that it’s absolutely ridiculous. Someone painted his portrait and painted it well. It should feel freaky, because it is; it’s an unfathomable situation, but it doesn’t really feel anything less than nice. Really damn nice.

“Oh my god,” Kaminari gasps suddenly, the back of his hand hitting the top of Ashido’s chest in exaggerated shock and disbelief, “do you guys know what this means?”

Katsuki’s eyes find their way back to himself. His profile is sharp and frustrated. Kirishima gasps, eyes blown wide in anticipation. “What?” he asks Kaminari quickly, ever the little worrywart of their group. Katsuki raised an eyebrow.

Kaminari goes smug, a little warp appearing in his dumb smile. “Kats-kun here’s got a not-so-secret admirer,” he sings in a tease, wiggling a little in place.

Despite the weird feeling curling in his chest, Katsuki scoffs at the claim, rolling his eyes. “More like a stalker,” he says, but his so-called friends outright ignore him, and turn their attention to, well, him.

Ashido giggles in delight, clapping her hands. “Oh that’s so true, there’s no way this isn’t a romantic thing! I mean, he even got Kats’ little pouty glare right!” she exclaims loud enough for everyone in the alley to overhear, like an idiot.

Katsuki narrows his eyes, and he swears one of them twitches. “My what,” he says more than asks.

Kaminari decides to take the mic, like a dumbass. “You know that thing you do when you get all frustrated about something and you try to pout, but it looks more like you wanna commit first degree murder or something?”

Katsuki doesn’t have any chance to maim him for the explanation he has unfortunately asked for, because Ashido is shrieking again, grabbing Kaminari and holding him close to her in excitement. “Oh my gosh, you’re so right! This is so romantic!” she draws it out annoyingly, before it becomes a straight up whine. “That’s so unfair! Why are you getting romanced and not me?”

And it’s not his place to say, so “Because Spikey has no balls,” stays trapped in between Katsuki’s grit teeth.

Sero then miraculously appears from somewhere behind Kaminari, a muffin and even Shinsou in tow, and Katsuki groans up to the sky when instead of saying something useful he decides to say, “They got that little beauty mark on his cheekbone too,” with a stupid smirk.

Blinking tiredly, Shinsou adds on “That’s some attention to detail,” like it means anything. “Though they missed most of the other ones.” He starts to unwrap his own muffin, peeling back the thin paper with his teeth. Katsuki wants nothing more than for him to choke on it.

“Hanta! Hitoshi!” Kaminari yells, as if the pair of them weren’t standing barely three feet from him. He reaches over and happily pulls Shinsou under his arm as Sero stalks over to Ashido. “Where you’ve been! You missed the big reaction!”

Sero lifts his hand. “Getting a muffin,” he says flatly.

Shinsou nods in agreement, humming in amusement. “Bet he blushed like a flower.” He takes a bite out of his muffin as Kaminari laughs and jokingly goes to bite at the bread.

And if Katsuki goes a little warm in the face at the dumb claim, it’s no one’s damn business. “What the hell does that even mean,” he snarls unkindly, crossing his arms.

Shinsou unwraps the other side of his muffin with his hands this time, and actually allows Kaminari to take a small bite. “I said what I said,” he shrugs, unapologetic.

“Oo, new slur dropped.” Ashido wiggles her pink eyebrows. Sero snorts, and Kirishima laughs amiably at her.

Katsuki has terrible friends, he decides, and they all can go burn in the under. He shoots them all a heavy glare they all ignore in favor of oohing and ahhing at his portrait. Shinsou looks over at him after a quick inspection of the piece. “So,” he starts, giving up the rest of his muffin to Kaminari’s grubby little hands, “what’re you gonna do?”

Katsuki raises an eyebrow, expression and stance slanted slightly to the right as he crosses his arms over his chest and cocked out his hip, leaning most of his weight onto one foot. “Hah? The hell you talking about?”

Shinsou blinks plainly at him. “The graffiti, genius. You think it’s weird, right? Figured you want to beat the guy’s face in for painting you without permission, or something.”

Katsuki frowns. Shinsou isn’t wrong really, or at least he shouldn’t be, but Katsuki doesn’t feel like violence was the answer here. (A shocker, he knows, but can you blame him? It’s like wanting to punish the Earth for rotating, or the sun for setting at the end of the day. Punishing the moon for moving the tides, and many other metaphors Katsuki can’t think of at the moment.)

He doesn’t want to go about this the wrong way. Beating his admirer’s (damn it, he means artist, thanks a lot Pinky ‘n Sparky) face into a pulp is definitely the worst approach he could possibly take. There ought to be a better, and much more appropriate option, shouldn’t there? What exactly should be done in this instance? What could he do?

There’s only one thing, really.

“I’m gonna find him.”

—

It’s easier said than done in a weird way, tracking down Deku. He really is a popular and well-known young artist, and his art is plastered practically all over every social media you can think of. He’s got his fair share of admirers and haters, and critiques of his more professional work (he’s not just a street artist like Katsuki had first assumed a few days ago, he’s actually got even better pieces than Katsuki’s portrait, if you can believe it) range from big art magazines to small internet influencers. There’s all kinds of stuff about his artwork, including videos and articles.

Deku’s work speaks to all kinds of people, he finds out.

Though unfortunately, there isn’t any public information about the artist himself. In fact, Deku is a pseudonym, and there is virtually no personal information pertaining to him anywhere. His identity is kept closely underwraps, and any interviews with him are all written word (Katsuki knows this because he has scoured all of Youtube trying to find a video with Deku, and has come up empty handed). Katsuki has absolutely no method of contacting him about the alleyway art, and no way of finding him about town.

Pushing his laptop away an inch, Katsuki sighs and takes a sip of his coffee. He’s hit yet another dead end on this art blog in his search for Deku’s damn contact information. It’s terribly frustrating at this point, because he’s so close it’s ridiculous. He’s pretty sure he’s figured out who Deku actually is: Midoriya Izuku, a journalist who looks to be based here in Musutafu, and the guy whose blog Katsuki’s been snooping through for the past three days.

The guy’s got a plethora of articles and photography on a number of different artists, but according to the internet, he’s more known to be a Deku enthusiast, and most of his material stems from Deku’s artwork. In fact, he’s already got an article up about Katsuki’s portrait, dated three days ago. That was the first giveaway.

If you look through Deku’s official Instagram, Katsuki’s portrait (titled Musutafu Delight, after the side of the café it was painted on, but Katsuki ain’t gonna call it anything else but his portrait) was posted bright and early at 7 in the morning three days ago, and Midoriya’s article on The Canvas about said portrait was posted not ten minutes later. Awfully speedy for someone who is allegedly not even the artist of the piece, no?

And if you read through Midoriya’s blog and Deku’s written interviews, the connection between them becomes even more glaringly obvious due to the fact Midoriya writes his articles similarly to the way Deku does in his interviews, so much so that it couldn’t possibly be counted as a mere coincidence. Their wording and phrasing of things is near exact, and their pools of vocabulary are closely shared.

Plus, you’d have to be an idiot to not see where the artist’s pseudonym comes from.

“Deku can be derived from the same kanji as Izuku. It’s literally the same,” Katsuki had explained to his stupidly incredulous group of friends, who dismissed his “theory” on Deku’s true identity like the bunch of morons they were. The only one who seemed even halfway convinced was Sleepy, and even then he just looked amused at Katsuki’s frustration trying to map out what he was talking about to the rest of the group in his overly simple terms.

Anyway, Katsuki had little to no doubt about Deku’s real identity, but that didn’t exactly mean it made finding the guy any easier. Seriously, what kind of a dimwit doesn’t even put down their email on their own goddamn blog?

Deku, apparently.

Katsuki sighs once more before sipping what was left of his coffee and exiting out of Midoriya’s blog with a dull click. Without any other clear leads, there wasn’t much he could do in regards to finding the guy, and he rather not run himself ragged trying to do so all at once. He could always chase his tail looking for Deku later, since he wasn’t really getting anywhere anyway. Such a damn shame.

Unexpectedly a throat clears, and Katsuki looks up halfway prepared to throw a scowl at Kirishima’s stupid little smile (Katsuki told him specifically not to bother him today since he had so much shit to get done, which may or may not have been an excuse to keep on internet “stalking” Deku, as Sparky and Sleepy so eloquently put it), but finds a completely different stupid little smile he doesn’t recognize by a long shot.

It’s a guy with a scatter of freckles all over his face and green highlights in his curly black hair. He has big round eyes and a healthy pink glow to his cheeks. In short, he’s cute, but he carries himself like a wounded animal, a shy and skittish little thing. He looks like a big dork in his glasses and sweater splattered with paint at the hem.

“Hi,” the dork says in a sort of sigh filled to the brim with nerves as his fingertips flinch around the little ringed book he carries in his hands.

Katsuki quickly fits a frown onto his face, intentionally standoffish to lure this four-eyed man away. Somehow, it doesn’t work, and instead of being deterred by the attitude he was putting on, the man sits himself down in the empty seat in front of him, a wobbled smile on his lips. Katsuki narrows his eyes slightly, annoyed but impressed by the gall of the nerdy looking guy.

“Uh, my name is M-Midoriya Izuku, I’m a full time artist and journalist and”—the guy shifts in his seat and lets out a huge huff—“wow, you are super pretty up close.”

Katsuki blinks, and promptly blushes like a flower. (Thanks for that, Sleepy.) He didn’t take Deku for the bold type.

“I, um. That’s not what I—Well, yeah I did mean that, you are very pretty—uh, handsome, but that’s not what I—”

Scratch that, Deku definitely wasn’t the bold type, just the “doesn’t think before speaking” type. Fortunately, Katsuki was well acquainted with those types (i.e. his friends), so he doesn’t find it as annoying as he would've. Plus, Deku wasn’t saying anything bad, he was complimenting him.

“You’re fine,” Katsuki has to cut him off from his quick paced rambling. Every word had sounded like it was stuffed into the last, jumbled and nearly indecipherable.

“You’re Deku, right? I got your message,” he smirks in a tease as he leans back casually. Spikey and Pinky were going to freak when Katsuki told them he found Deku, and Sparky was going to eat his words. (Midoriya isn’t Deku, his ass. All the clues were right there. In plain sight.)

Deku stops, and then color bursts into his face. “How did you…” he drifts off, speechless for the first time since he sat down. Katsuki raises his brows and then holds up a finger in a hold on gesture, clicking his laptop awake and opening up his history tab. He turns the screen so Deku can see all the websites he’s visited in the past three days.

At a glance, it’s obvious everything is related to Deku and his artwork, but Deku’s lips downturn in confusion and Katsuki has to explain. “It’s research. Was trying to find the dork who painted my face on the side of the café,” he says as Deku gives a little squeak. Katsuki clicks the most recent tab and opens up The Canvas, aka Deku’s blog.

“You said your name was Midoriya Izuku? Full time artist and journalist? Izuku can be read as Deku, meaning either you are Deku, you work with Deku, or you’re some freak obsessed with Deku. Your pick,” Katsuki finishes before turning his laptop back toward him and clicking it to sleep.

Deku only gapes at him, eyes wide and shining in something Katsuki could only describe as awe. “You’re amazing,” he says in a certain way that entails he was talking before thinking again, and weirdly enough, Katsuki feels an unexpected warmth in his chest because of it.

“Bakugou Katsuki, by the way. And I ain’t a snitch. It’s obvious you wanna keep your identity a secret. Just knowing I’m right is enough. Did’ya want something from me, Freckles?” Katsuki lolls his head to the side, staring Deku down and ignoring the tingling in his hands.

Deku startles slightly, one step behind and still mouthing Bakugou under his breath like he was trying to familiarize himself with it. Weird, but cute in a way. Deku shifts around in his seat, fiddling around with his fingers in his lap. “Oh well, um. It’s nice to meet you, Bakugou-san, and I, uh…actually had a proposition for you?”

Katsuki wrinkles his nose, but nods at him to continue.

Deku gives him a shy little smile, one that crinkles the tiny freckle above his top lip. “Would you like to model for me?”

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

Writer’s Review Tag

tagged by @muse-of-nightmares to do a tag she came up with, which is pretty awesome. Honestly I’ve been toying with doing something similar. 

Rules: Post two snippets of your writing. The first should be one of the oldest examples of your work that you can find (the older the better!), and the other has to be an excerpt from something more recent. Compare the two side by side to see the difference between what your writing looks like now and how it did then.

tagging @galadrieljones @lechatrouge673 @idrelle-miocovani @thevikingwoman @ma-sulevin  

onto exposing myself 

Originally I was just going to share the first chapter of my first fic in fandom, but I can offer you even older original fiction.I thought most of this story got lost in my last computer (RIP) but I found some pieces on my flash drive. A lot of it is horrifying but some of it is just mediocre. Here’s a snippet from what 18 year old me thought was going to be a part of the next great American novel (featuring 2 characters from England. Rowan is an actor and Ophelie is a writer who wrote a play Rowan starred in. though at this point Ophelie is still writing it. Also they were childhood lovers till he packed up and left for America, how Wuthering Heights of Rowan. Also, this takes place during WWII.)

           And then, she thought she could take it no longer. “Why did you leave me?” She asked in a breathless murmur. “Why did you ever want to leave me?”

           “What?” He said, but he heard her. Oh, he heard her, he was only stalling so he could think of a response.              

           “Why did you leave me? I loved you Rowan Hartley. I would have given everything for you. And you left me. I can still feel the pain after these years. I can still remember waking up and trying to find you, then realizing you weren’t there.”

           “Ophelie, I didn’t do it to hurt you. I didn’t do it because I didn’t love you. I wish you knew how much I did.”

“All evidence is toward the contrary.”

“I did it because I wasn’t worthy for you!”

           She could feel the fresh tears. “No. You were afraid of what you were feeling. That’s why you left. You didn’t know what would happen if you would have stayed, so you left me.

           “Maybe I left you because I started to wonder what would happen if I stayed. Maybe you would have changed your mind again and decided you didn’t really love me.”

           She bit the inside of her mouth so hard she tasted blood. “I wouldn’t have changed my mind again. Ever. I wrote you a letter Rowan, you never got it, but I wrote a letter. For all intents and purposes I was pledging myself to you, and asking for you to have me again. But you never got it.”  

           “That’s your answer to everything is it? To write it out? And if you loved me so much, then why didn’t you find me?” He demanded. “You knew where I was going. You could have tried to find me if you loved me so much.” 

(cut plot related dialogue for brevity)

“Let’s forget about the past. Let’s just work together to make something wonderful. And when it is I promise I will bring you from backstage and tell everyone in the audience, and all of the critics how you were the one that wrote this,” Rowan said.

           She nodded, after a while. “Alright.” She murmured. “I’m sorry I brought…that up.”

           “It’s alright.” He said, his hands still on her. “Do you think we can forget this ever happened, and forget about the past?”

           “I don’t think I can forget the past.” She admitted.

           In her eyes, there were tears. He wanted to wipe them away.

           “I don’t think I can either.” He admitted as well. “I don’t think there has ever been a day that passed were I didn’t think of you.” And then he kissed her on the cheek.

           It was only supposed to be a gentle sign of friendship, it was only to set them at ease again, so they could work. But Rowan was lying to himself. As soon as his lips touched her cheek she could hold it no longer. She threw her arms around his neck and sobbed.  

And here’s something from this August, my DA modern AU. Light spoilers but after fake dating for a bit so Cullen could have a plus one for his family reunion, he asked her to marry him so he could protect her under the Inquisition. (long story, it’s just relevant she said yes and now they’re talking about their wedding and their plans after.)

“Would you like to indulge in… after wedding activities?”

She looked at him with a mixture of bemusement and pure joy, if that was even possible. Then she laughed and laughed, grabbing and linking their arms together.

“I thought my sexual attraction was obvious.,” she said, still chuckling.

“It is?”

She laughed again and reminded him about the two times they danced, and every little touch she initiated with him. He put the pieces together, along with the fact that she did say yes to his question of marriage, along with the fact that yes, she wasn’t afraid of touching him, and then je supposed he was one of the stupidest men in Thedas.

“I like verbal confirmation,” he defended.

“Do you want me?”

The question burned. He had been so concerned with her, caught up in the “standard” of what wedding nights and honeymoons usual entailed that he didn’t think of what he wanted.

But he realized it was never a question. She unlocked something in him, set a spark that was now a fire. He wanted.

“Every time I see you, every time we touch,” he told her, “I feel…”

She waited. He saw his want as a fire, but could not bring that fire to a spark. He settled on “interesting.”

“Interesting?” She repeated, mildly amused. “Cullen.”

“I want to discover every little piece of you,” he said, damn it all if it was too much. “I want you in my arms…all the time, except sometimes we have clothes on but most of the times we don’t…”

Want continued to burn. He never really felt it like his before. He had small instances of infatuation in his time, the only notable one being Neria when he still lived in the Circle at Kinloch. He imagined himself taking her to a field of flowers, holding her hand and kissing her. Boyish fantasies, but ones that were his. Yes, sometimes he thought lewder things, but the shame of it all—she was one of his charges—prevented any daydreams from growing wilder.

His daydreamed wildly about Lydia. He was on fire at night when she stirred next to him, and he imagined what she would feel like sans clothes with bodies pressed together, imagined what she would taste like, and what she would say if he kissed her everywhere. He touched himself previously of course, though he hadn’t since he was home, but if there ever was a time where he wanted…

He didn’t. He waited, leaving himself cold at night, though still burning. It was torture.

Well. Judging by her conversation, he wasn’t going to have to wait for long.

“I wonder when you’ll kiss me,” Lydia muttered, and Cullen sensed her fire, burning brightly as his.

“You know,” he saw fit to point out, “you can just as easily kiss me.”

“True enough.”

He waited. He fully expected it then, but she indulged him with only the briefest of kisses against the corner of his mouth, but not his quite mouth. He tried not to completely sink into the earth, too defeated. The feeling of her lips however, though too brief, was divine.

“Today,” she said, a delicate and smooth finger caressing the line of his jaw, “you’ve satisfied me by saying you want us together naked, eventually anyway. I can wait.”

She kissed his cheek before propping him up so his mother could see his new battle scar.

Analysis: It’s the theatre in me, I like to tell stories through dialogue. In fact, I remember starting my red dead fic with the intent of improving my storytelling without so much of it, as I really wanted to focus on description. (Another story because there’s still a lot of dialogue in that fic, lol.) But I picked these two dialogues to talk about together because I have since learned dialogue scenes should be a gradual unraveling. It’s more apparent in the second scene, where the build is gradual. there’s also description and thoughts mixed in more tactfully, with the first scene escalating with no build. And sometimes that happens in real life, but I feel the dialogue isn’t as natural. I think though it is important to mention that the first scene is a drama while the second is more romantic comedy, which even veers to the screwball romantic comedy territory. 

let’s not even get started on much better my smut is now.

[wainwrightjakobshammerlock]

finally. i decided to do this. anyways hello there, i am jake and today i want to talk about something; you see, if you are in the tf2 fandom, you probably know about heavymedic. Wherther you are a hardcore gamer who resents f2p’s or a person that never played the game but has trillions of notes on their art- you know heavymedic exists and most of all you probably ship it.

And I find that weird. In the few fandoms in my life I have been in I had never seen a single ship be so widely if not shipped, then accepted. Sure, maybe everyone in the GF fandom knows what Billdip is - for better or for worse. Sure, maybe the HS fandom is 70% shipping.

But I have never ever seen such a phenomenon in a prominent multiplayer game fandom. A fandom, sadly, oftentimes filled with toxicity. Overwatch is very similar here - yet ships are either a hot topic of discussion or straight up ignored. But TF2? In here for whatever reason we ship these two mercenaries. And in this essay I will try and find a reason or two why is that.

Apologies for any mistakes or incoherency. English is not my first language, I need to ramble, and my vocabulary is all over the place.

Content warning: mentions of homophobia, blood, death, mentions of WLW fetishization, nsfw mention. Also MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR THE TF2 COMICS.

Part 1: Canonical Evidence and Interactions

Let’s be honest: I could ramble about this one for days on end. But I’ll try and keep it short.

First and foremost we have the official videos. And of course the first thing that comes to mind is Meet the Medic.

At the very start of the part where Medic himself appears, we see him telling a joke about a particularly gruesome situation to Heavy.

He laughs along with him, visibly enjoying his company. He even smiles as he waits for another joke. Heavy only shows genuine fear a lot later.

And of course this damn scene always cracks me up. Medic slightly pinches Heavy’s cheek and strokes his lip gently (the other part is almost not noticeable unless you play the video at slow speed).

Of course we all know about the Hand Hold that happens somewhere halfway in the vid. I don’t think I have to explain the gayness in that. The fact their hands stay interlocked even after Medic helps Heavy up. The deep breath Medic takes because even he cannot handle the emotions. That few seconds is unresolved sexual tension manifest.

Overall the short shows a strong feeling of trust between these two. Medic confides in Heavy and reverse. Yeah he puts a baboon heart into his friend’s chest cavity but the fact (as proven at the end of the video) that Heavy was the first one to have an Ubercharge implanted into him shows that Medic at the very least considers him a lab rat.

I treat End of the Line as non-canonical, as do many others, and as such won’t discuss it here. But it will forever crack me up that Valve endorsed such levels of homoerotic subtext.

These two have some short moments in other videos, like for example in Invasion Heavy helps Medic up (CINEMATIC PARALLELS) but it’s nothing major so I guess I’ll skip forward.

Second is their interactions ingame. You might call me a weirdo for trying to find stuff in there but holy shit I have things to say and I’m going to say them.

You thought I was going to fanboy over the “i love this doktor” voiceline huh? Well not really. I wish these two had unique lines if they assist one another.

Heavy is literally listed on the official wiki as the “ideal medic buddy” and multiple pages on that exact wiki say some pretty interesting things.

I have to say something about the Gentleman’s Ushanka and/or Pocket Medic. They are both community cosmetics - but the fact they both got accepted by Valve says a lot. Above is text snipped from the actual wiki.

Last but not least: The Comics. Darned comics. The pair of mercenaries has basically no interaction - unless you count issue 6.

Heavy getting absolutely PISSED when Medic is killed by Ch*avy. Their reunion. Medic referring to Heavy by “my friend” in a totally straight way. Kind of sad Valve wasted an opportunity for them to hug. Maybe they knew their comic artist ships them and wanted to avoid having to answer the Question™.

Part 2: Dynamics

This part’s a bit trickier, mostly due to the reason that I’m new to this whole dynamic analysis thing. Yeah I’m good at spotting canonical evidence but very specific shipping dynamics often escape my gaze.

The most obvious one is Big Guy, Little Guy. Quoting the TVTROPES page:

[…] This trope describes a pair of guys who always fight together, are best friends forever, and quite often have a very obvious hierarchy: The little guy is often in charge […] The little guy is usually listed first, since he’s the leader, and they are always listed together, as if they are one entity. In fact, some episodes may center on the fact that they can’t live without each other. […] If this is a case of Brains and Brawn, the Big Guy is usually the Brawn, and the Little Guy the Brains. It’s almost never the other way around, but in some cases the Big Guy can be rather smart too. […]

A sub-type of this, a common favorite here on Tumblr is known as “small chaotic big calm” and hoo boy if that isn’t these two. I don’t really have much to say here - again I am not an expert.

Part 3: Fandom Impact

So you don’t think Red Oktoberfest (as Heavymedic is sometimes called) is super popular on anywhere else than Tumblr? Wrong.

It’s hard to find TF2 fics on Archive of Our Own not tagged with Heavy/Medic. Of course most of them only contain hints to their relationship but go in the main tf2 tag and I can guarantee you, you’ll gonna see “implied heavy/medic” all the time.

But these two go further than AO3 or Tumblr or Instagram or whatever. They are recognized even within the wider circle of the fanbase. Take this SFM, for example. (I am using the Saxxy Awards version of Secret Lives here mostly due to the fact that the Heavymedic moment is much gayer. In the normal version, the dialogue isn’t changed, but they simply hold hands.)

But it gets deeper. (WARNING: THE GAY MOMENT IN THIS ONE IS NSFW. NOT EXPLICITLY SO BUT JUST A HEADS UP TUMBLR PLEASE DO NOT FLAG ME)

And the best part? The comments are extremely positive. You’d expect hoards upon hoards of homophobes screeching but no, the comments are supportive. Even on places such as Reddit or Youtube, comments like “yeah they’re gay and in love” do not get downvoted/disliked to hell; in fact the opposite.

Part 4: Canon Status

Let’s be real. Most ships are shipped because people want to explore the dynamics in fanfic, fanart or something else. But Heavymedic is shipped because… well, I have no idea.

Actually, I kind of do - but only theories. You see, while the canonical evidence is here, the creators have never said anything about them. No confirmation, no disproval, no hinting, nothing.

But the ship is so prominent! There has to be something causing this!- you say. And to that I present you 2 theories on why Heavy/Medic is so popular.

Theory number 1 states that we simply all choose to interpret their interactions as homoerotic. And this is very easy to disprove - there’s simply no way we just collectively agreed on these matters out of nothing. There has to be something bigger.

And theory 2 states that, well, our interpretation is the desired interpretation. But this is even more ridiculous than theory 1 for a number of reasons. If they are in fact gay, why hasn’t Valve made them canon yet?

A Theoretical Scenario

I am going to ramble big time on this one, so buckle up lads. I’ll discuss a theoretical scenario in which, well, if that was not obvious, Valve confirms Heavymedic as canon. Maybe then we will see why they will probably never do so.

TF2 is considered by typical capital G, alt-right Gamers as a “non-political” game. This means no women (in the game itself, at least, and if even, sexy women only), no queer folk and no minorities (for some reason they accept Demoman but throw a fit if someone draws any other merc as not being pearl white). Team Fortress 2 was around before Gamergate and other things like Gamers Rise Up. It’s a classic and Valve is regarded as the good guy to Epic Game’s bad guy. If Valve did anything to confirm doubts, wherther it be clearing up popular fanon or confirming ships, these people would throw hands. (Although they seemed to ignore when one of the writers confirmed Miss Pauling is a lesbian. Huh.) Even those that don’t play TF2 would come to the aid of their bros.

Let me illustrate with two very similar examples. In both cases these confirmations were the first made by the company as a whole, both are fairly recent and both confirm a character as gay.

First we have the confirmation of Tracer from Overwatch as a lesbian. It was done in one of OVW’s comics. Tracer is the FACE of Overwatch as a whole and while most of the fanbase accepted it (thankfully the Gamers are reluctant to infest ow), some people threw what I can only describe as a hissy fit. At least her girlfriend’s a background character.

Second is Neeko from League of Legends. Unlike Tracer she was added a while before it was confirmed she was gay. LOL is much more toxic and filled with Gamers than OW and holy shit people smeared LOL so much.

Of course these are not accurate to Heavy/Medic. In both of the cases I listed it was girls being wlw and we all know how much cisgender heterosexual gamers LOVE yuri porn. Apparently only girls can be gay because they can jack off to it - if it’s two guys then it’s disgusting. Nevertheless I think these are good approximations - in every case the company gets “shat on” on social media and other sites. With the community that Valve has, I think even if they wanted them to be gay, they would never ever confirm it.

Conclusion

I’m sorry for that ending. I had to theorize a bit. Regardless I’d love if you shared this on other sites, reblogged or whatever - I wasted at least 1 and a half hours of my life on it. Feel free to cite this as a source if someone asks you why you ship the big heavy weapons expert and the feral battle medic.

[nightstalkerhunterguardian]

All and Nothing

-

Clink

One lands in the pot on the table.

Clink-ka-clink

Another one bounces off the table and into the upturned helmet on the floor below.

Clink

And another also lands in the metal pot.

He seems to be enjoying his new little den in the annex. Armor and weapon scraps are strewn atop the tables and beneath them, mixed with survival gear of all types but the rest of the room is clean. Organized even.

Towards the back of his space sits the large cylindrical tube she’s come to recognize so well, taken energy swirling within like a vortex going upwards into places nobody should go yet they’ve ventured far too many times. You don’t come out the same way you go in. No one does. Like the Void but not at the same time. The whispers that linger in her ears tell her so and even the void is hesitant in its presence.

Whether he knows Kano is there or not, she doesn’t particularly care as she watches him continuously fling jade coin after jade coin into the various empty containers across from him, a repetitious clink filling the otherwise empty silence.

“Wu Ming...”, she says. Not to get his attention. No louder than a simple breath. More so, to put this name to his face. To see how it fits, if it even fits and she finds, it could if she didn’t know the things she knew. If visions and voices hadn’t been flashing before her eyes on an almost weekly basis.

Maybe in another life, he could be.

The coin in his hand that was to be tossed with the rest instead disappears in a practiced flurry of his fingers and his eyes stay stuck on the ones scattered about the floor.

“Still talkin’ to the lunatic, I see”, he says, smirk still on his lips but not the same one. “Thought I told you to let it go”. His tone remains playful but she can hear the agitation in it.

“Suppose you did, but I’m not too good at doing what I’m told, Eli”, she says, throwing another name into the air. Eli doesn’t seem to fit as well. Eli sounds too soft, it flows too nicely. Anybody that’s seen Drifter, or whoever he wants to be, would never tag him as an Eli.

He chuckles in response but it’s hollow. Like the name brings about a memory that he hadn’t revisited in far too long and for far too many reasons.

She stands straight from her leaned position in the doorway and strolls in slowly, thumbs looped into her belt as she walks over to the humming cylinder, dragging her finger over the surface slowly as she circles it.

“Reckon you don’t do what you’re told too often then, huh, sister?” The question is rhetorical and he watches her, a coin once again gently clanking against his gloves. The whispers in her head grow louder the longer she stands beside the tube and she steps away from it and back up the steps to lean against the railing.

“Bold words coming from someone that frankensteined their ghost with the pieces of other ghosts”, she shot back. Another breathy chuckle left him and he shook his head, turning to look at her.

“Gotta do whatcha gotta do to make it. Ain’tchu learned that yet?”

“I’ve learned plenty and I have to say...you don’t look like a Germaine”, she shook her head as she finally looked back up at him, a thin veil of light sweeping over her eyes to better see him. “Yea. Definitely not a Germaine.” He threw his hands up.

“Hey, I never claimed to have the prettiest mug this side of the ‘verse. Just that this mug would make you rich”, he grinned. “And I have done exactly that. Anyway, what’s with that little eye trick, huh? I see ya keep doin’ that. You got a handicap, guardian?”

The look that crossed his face didn’t go unnoticed by her and she frowned, her brow furrowing. He’d use this against her somehow. She was sure of it.

“I can’t see very well sometimes. That’s all. It’s not a handicap”, she said, trying not to say too much but that in itself was already too much. Drifter shook his head with a laugh.

“Heh, guess that Traveler up there didn’t make everything all better now, did it? ‘Course, it’s plenty obvious that thing didn’t fix everyone it decided to rez, else you wouldn’t be carryin’ that weight still”, he sighed, resuming his coin tossing. Her jaw clenched and she glared at the man across from her, who only continued to smirk.

“And what do you know about what I carry with me?” She bit. The smirk grew until it was something almost predatory.

“Oh, darlin’. Say whatcha want about me jimmy riggin’ my ghost, but it does more than you’d ever guess and your light...it’s not as colorful as you think”. Drifter stood from his spot and approached her, the proximity putting her on edge but the glare still on her face. “Especially. Right. Here.”

Two of his fingers pressed firmly into the left side of her chest, just below her collarbone. Her eyes flickered between his hand and his face before shoving his hand away but he didn’t relent in his analysis.

“I’ve seen a lotta people, a lotta faces, and plenty o’ light in all spectrums but yours...whoo, baby. I may not have kept a steady name through my centuries, but if I had to name you, Kano wouldn’t be my first choice”, he chuckled, twirling a lock of her hair in his fingers as if it were the most interesting thing he’d seen that day purely to agitate her. The glare in her eyes only grew sharper.

“And what exactly would you name me, Dredgen Hope?” She growled, striking a chord in the man before her. He stopped for a moment, staring at her before leaning forward until their faces were barely half an inch apart.

“Tragedy...”

A growl crept up her throat and she shoved him away, making him stumble back into the railing across the way. He laughed as he caught himself.

“Heh, feisty. Knew I liked you for a reason. Wonder what I gotta do to make you play a little rougher”, he laughed.

“If I’m Tragedy, then tell me. Are you everyone you claimed to be? Or no one at all?”

She scoffed and turned, leaving his room fully annoyed.

The brush of something against her cheek made her stop halfway up the staircase and she paused for a moment, grabbing to see what it was.

A red string had somehow been wound into a lock of her hair, ending in a small tassel at the bottom where it tied off. From the threads of the tassel hung a charm in a language she couldn’t read but she could guess exactly what it said.

Tragedy...

-

Please don’t ask for an explanation. I don’t have one. But constructive criticism and thoughts are welcome.

Please.

[angstsplatter]

ASEXUAL AWARENESS WEEK FANDOM CHALLENGE 2018

@physicsandfandoms has done the official ace-based Prompts for AAWFC 2018 this year, which I’m so glad to see up again! Because this year I wanted to provide something else.

I’ve done a lot of headcanon’ing and writing for AAWFC and AsAWFC in the past few years, and the prompts to simply dive into various headcanons are great... but not super exciting after writing so much for the same basic prompts for a few years. So this year I wanted to provide some prompts where I hope people will take their ace headcanons or fave canon aces and feel inspired to write or draw more about these characters based on these prompts! So!

Asexual Awareness Week 2018 is October 21 - 27!

Responses can be canon, headcanon, a simple statement, fanfic, fanart, aesthetic/moodboards, photomanips, playlists, meta/analysis (if so inspired by these...), gifsets, quotes, etc.! Any kind of fan produced content that you believe fits within these prompts is welcome! Let’s generate as much content as we can!

Below, I’ve provided a variety of genres, settings, conflicts, words, etc. that you can use together or individually, drawing from whatever category you feel like. If any of the prompts or sets of prompts inspires you to create based off them, then great! Just make sure they spotlight ace characters (canon or headcanon) in media!

As always the tag is “#AAWFC”.

Sunday October 21st

Genres: General; Humor; Drama; Realism Settings: A church; gas station bathroom; a car shop Conflicts: Someone needs help... and someone else doesn’t want to give it; discovering magic powers that must be kept secret; petty theft Words/Objects: Blueberries; heavy golden crown; sparks; odiferous socks; bibliophile Idiom: A hot potato; on the ball Colors: Royal blue; pale green; pinkish red Sounds: A symphony of croaking frogs; someone who won’t stop whistling Scents: Peppermint; daisies; rotting meat Statement: ‘There are few things worse in life than people who cut in line.’ Quote: “I don’t think that’s what that’s meant for...”

Monday October 22nd

Genres: Horror; Western; Expressionism Settings: An abandoned cemetery; a stranger’s bedroom; convenience store Conflicts: Drunken bar fight; honor must be restored; a lost pet Words/Objects: Pulchritudinous; watery eyes of an intelligent familiar; pirate hat; fragrant tea; scratchy beard Idiom: Barking up the wrong tree; whole nine yards Colors: Yellow; bright purple; silver Sounds: Car alarm; the scratching of racoons that cannot be seen Scents: Lemon; roses; boiled eggs Statement: ‘The hat didn’t seem particularly ominous.’ Quote: “Close, but no.”

Tuesday October 23rd

Genres: Angst; Fluff; Modernism; Contemporary Settings: A vast desert; a forest dense with moss and fog; mattress store Conflicts: Soulmate AU but there’s a twist to the relationship (ie, could be platonic, queerplatonic, romantic only, sexual only, etc.) that makes the soulmates not realize they are soulmates right away; a kidnapping; family estrangement Words/Objects: Duplicitous; an upside down mug; spilled cake; anthill; rusty sword Idiom: Actions speak louder than words; barking up the wrong tree Colors: Neon orange; brown; cobalt blue Sounds: Lip smacking; whispers on the wind Scents: Cloves; cinnamon; sweaty feet Statement: ‘It was too bad they were in the situation they were, rather than getting a hot rock massage.’ Quote: “This means everything to me.”

Wednesday October 24th

Genres: AU; What If; Abstract Settings: A deep stone well; the sky; an underwater fortress Conflicts: Chosen one for some quest they have no interest in or don’t believe in; crisis of faith; a shocking confession Words/Objects: Serendipitous; an empty cauldron; a glowing crystal; bookmark; oversized turkey legs Idiom: Blessing in disguise; don’t put your eggs in one basket Colors: Black; turquoise; river rock red Sounds: Thunderous applause; water slapping rock Scents: Salty ocean; oregano; cow farm Statement: ‘It would have been a surprising turn of events if [they] were someone else, and this sort of thing didn’t regularly happen to [them].’ Quote: “OH SHIT!”

Thursday October 25th

Genres: Romance; Action; Graffiti  Settings: A beach during sunset; a ghost town; dimly lit restaurant Conflicts: Difficult spell ingredients must be gathered; late to work; the world seems to want them to go out but they just want to stay in and relax Words/Objects: Mustard; too many candles to count; small locket; tablecloth; potion bottles Idiom: Drastic times call for drastic measures; once in a blue moon Colors: Dark grey; white; blue-green Sounds: Nails on a chalkboard; two coconut halves knocking together Scents: Cologne; vanilla; fresh tuna Statement: ‘It was obvious to everyone else.’ Quote: “How long?”

Friday October 26th

Genres: Satire; Surrealism; Fauvism Settings: Radio station; lively jungle; a museum that just opened Conflicts: A duel must be fought; how to make friends in a new location; car broke down Words/Objects: Punitive; a box of wrenches; combo lock; stack of silvery pizza pans; beard wax Idiom: Cut the mustard; every cloud has a silver lining Colors: Shiny pink; pearly white; darkest purple Sounds: Fingers drumming on a table; dull hum of cicadas  Scents: Fresh melon; dry dog food; beer Statement: ‘Taller than a giraffe, it was not even the oddest sighting that week.’ Quote: “I don’t need you to understand right now.”

Saturday October 27th

Genres: Mystery; Sci-Fi/Fantasy; Pointillism  Settings: Pool after closing; field full of crop circles; corn maze Conflicts: Moral opposition; a murder; someone unmotivated needs to be motivated Words/Objects: Belt buckle; overflowing basket of grapes; triskaidekaphobia; seemingly empty beehives; crayons Idiom: It takes two to tango; curiosity killed the cat Colors: Dull orange; blood red; pale yellow Sounds: Cuckoo clock chime; the groan of shifting rocks  Scents: Fresh laundry; basil; slightly used shoes Statement: ‘It was either a clue... or it wasn’t.’ Quote: “Clear as mud, that is.”

Apparently @esperata has started an AO3 collection for AAFC18 fics, if you want to have yours added there!

Happy creating, all. <3

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

War of Attrition: Chapter 19

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Reader Summary: Best friends with Steve Rogers, renowned Howling Commando, and married to one James Buchanan Barnes, your life wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as it could possibly be in the middle of World War II. Then you fell from a train in the Alps, and everything changed. You spent nearly 70 years as a tool of Hydra alongside your beloved, though your past with him was more often than not forgotten. You and Bucky take steps to protect yourselves, which leads you back to New York. Warnings: Swearing (always), mentions of: past torture, death, blood, weapons. Allusions to PTSD. Word Count: ~4,557 A/N: Next Chapter will probably start the events of CA:CW. Also, I’ll probably be busy starting to write things for Spooktober. There will likely be a special taglist for Spooktober fics that will tag you in things including but not limited to Monster!Character one shots, A Night to Remember, and A Dance with the Devil. Keep an eye out for it!

Masterlist // Book One // Book Two

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

“Ready to go?” he asked a moment later as he stepped up beside you. His blue-grey eyes searched your face for any flicker of emotion that would set off warning bells, but for the first time in a long time, your head wasn’t a complete mess. Or, at least, you had one burden among hundreds taken from your shoulders.

“Yeah, Buck. Let’s go home.”

“I have the analysis you requested, Misses Barnes.”

You glanced up from the drone you’d been working on. Installing the new targeting algorithm was taking some time, but it would hopefully ensure they’d never fire with deadly force on any human... though the same could not be said for aliens and robots. Factoring in variables for mutants and other enhanced individuals had been especially tricky, but you’d enjoyed tackling the challenge with a single-minded purpose.

The screen in front of you was slowly rolling through information, finally ending on a summary:

Matthew Michael Murdock.

Hell’s Kitchen; New York, New York. United States of America.

Lawyer Daredevil.

You stared at the screen for a second, taking in his face in the professional and candid photos alike. It only took a glance at the first picture to notice he was blind. “That would explain the mask...” you muttered as a couple low-quality shots of Murdock with a scarf tied over the top of his head flicked across the screen. “You sure about this, Al?” you asked the air around you. A frown crinkled your brow. It wasn’t exactly easy to identify the blind lawyer as the nearly superhuman vigilante.

“Quite, madam. I believe Mister Murdock is one of the only people on the planet with the correct disposition, life experience, and skills required to assist you. He is, put plainly, your best option.”

That only made you frown harder at his picture, though. Talking to him- going to New York- it was a huge risk. You were so lost in thoughts you nearly missed Bucky walking into your workspace, but managed to notice his presence before you accidentally fried him to a crisp on reflex.

“Did Alfred get a hit?” he asked, voice hoarse and deep from having just woken up. You glanced at the clock, nearly wincing when it showed the time as 4:38 AM. He walked up behind you, wrapped his arms around your shoulders, and placed his chin on the top of your head.

You hummed an affirmative, though your frown didn’t abate. After a second, you could practically feel Bucky grimace, too. “New York...” he muttered, obviously perceiving the same issues as you.

New York was dangerous. It was where Hydra had recaptured you once before. Tony Stark lived there. The population was huge, which meant it was easier for people to blend in... and that it was all the more likely that you’d be recognized. Undoubtedly anyone looking for you would be keeping a close eye on the city.

“Even with possible dangers taken into consideration, I believe Mister Murdock will be the most likely to assist us,” Alfred insisted. You wondered briefly if he was capable of being upset with your and Bucky’s apparent lack of faith in his assessment. You’d have to check later and possibly apologize.

“If you’re sure, Al,” you said after a long minute. Bucky sighed deeply and squeezed you gently and you didn’t have to look at him to know he was discontent with the idea.

“Quite, ma’am.”

“Then ready travel plans for New York, please,” you said somewhat reluctantly. You reminded yourself that trusting Al was tantamount to trusting only your own best decision making skills, as you were the one that had designed the artificial intelligence in the first place.

You turned in the old rickety computer chair and Bucky loosened his arms enough to move, taking a small step back and straightening a bit. His eyes were stormy, concern obvious even with the dark circles under his eyes. “Did I wake you up?” you asked quietly as you reached up to run your thumb over his cheek. He leaned into the touch, eyes closing briefly at the light contact, then shook his head. “Nightmare?” you guessed with a frown.

A shrug, then, “Dunno.... Can’t remember. Come back to bed?” he murmured, extending a hand out towards you.

You smiled softly, ignoring the fact that you couldn’t come “back” to bed seeing as you hadn’t been there in the first place, and dropped your hand from his face to take his offered hand, standing with only slightly wobbly legs. You’d been sitting for... ten hours? It never felt like long when you got to work, but somehow the time always managed to flash by.

Time passing by in a blur hadn’t changed, even without the icy clutches of cryofreeze to speed the process along.

You expected Bucky to just walk into the other room with you, but he picked you up with ease and practically threw you over his shoulder. You smiled, surprised, and muffled your huff of laughter in your hand. Whatever had woken him up (it might have even been Alfred, telling him to come collect you), it definitely wasn’t a bad night. This was just sleepy, possessive Bucky, not unlike how he was before... everything.

You found yourself on the mattress on the floor not five seconds later, landing gently, as Bucky had been careful to lower you slowly before letting you fall the last few inches.

He was beside you in an instant, reeling you into his chest with one arm while the other grabbed the sleeping bag you used as a blanket and pulled it over both of you. It was just big enough to cover you two like this, though you were pretty sure Bucky’s feet poked out the end and over the bottom of the mattress (not that he ever complained).

“Goodnight, Buck,” you whispered even as you began falling asleep, more tired than you realized now that you weren’t in front of your bright monitors.

“Night, Doll,” came the immediate, nearly-incomprehensible response from your practically asleep husband. You smiled and let yourself relax in his arms. Like this, it was easy to ignore the anxiety of knowing that you’d have to go to New York tomorrow.

You fell asleep to the sound of Bucky’s soft snores.

Curvy cars, posters about the war, dames in modest dresses, and fellas in hats.

You blinked and the past vanished like fog chased away by the sun, revealing the truth- the present- underneath.

“That used to be a butcher shop,” you murmured, nodding your head towards a skeevy-looking pawn shop with bars over the windows.

Bucky paused his subtle scouting long enough to give it a glance before his eyes returned to rooftops and alleys and shadowed doorways. “You went to Manhattan a lot?” he asked quietly.

You pressed even closer to his side as a small group passed. You’d checked them for weapons the moment they’d turned the corner, but that still didn’t stop you from being wary around strangers. People didn’t need guns to be dangerous. As if sensing your distress Bucky’s arm went around your shoulder, leaving his left arm free if he needed it.

“Sometimes,” you admitted as soon as they were out of earshot. “I lived all over New York at some point or another. Most orphanages couldn’t get rid of me soon enough and no one in their right mind was adopting during the depression. It was better to explore the city and pickpocket greenbacks from rich jerks than sit in the orphanage and listen to my stomach rumble.”

Bucky stopped looking at the shadowy corners of Hell’s Kitchen at that, nearly slowing down as he processed what you said. “You... remember that?” His brows were pulled up ever so slightly in the middle and you fought the urge to look away. That was a pitying look if you ever saw one.

As if you had any right to pity anymore.

“More or less. I filled in the gaps the records left,” you admitted. It was almost a relief that the building you needed finally came into view as you and Bucky turned the corner. “Show time, sweetheart,” you said with what you hoped was a bracing smile as you stood on your toes and placed a kiss to Bucky’s cheek.

Judging from the conflicted look he gave you, you weren’t completely successful.

The door was between a residential building’s entrance and an old electronics repair place. The little gold and black placard on the red painted wall could easily be overlooked, but it was exactly what you were looking for.

“Nelson and Murdock,” Bucky murmured, giving it and the building a cursory once over. 

You opened the grating-covered door and led the way inside and neither you nor Bucky relaxed in the slightest until the door clicked shut behind you.

Four flights later you were greeted by gold lettering, “Nelson and Murdock Attorneys at Law.” You knocked on the door and opened it quietly when a voice on the other side called “Please come in, it’s open!”

A pretty, tiny blonde with blue eyes was sitting at the desk, smiling at you and Bucky politely.

“Hi, uh-” She fumbled a bit with the papers on her desk. Her cheeks tinged pink and you could tell she was growing more flustered by the second. “Sorry, I’m still not quite used to us having clients and- Did you have an appointment or are you here to-”

“They’re here for me, Karen. My two o’clock.”

All three of you looked up at the newcomer. Matt Murdock stood in the doorway, tense but projecting a sense of calm and control, likely to ensure the woman- Karen- didn’t catch on to the danger you and Bucky posed.

“Oh!” she smiled nervously and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She glanced at the old clock on the wall and then nodded. “I was so busy I didn’t realize how late it had gotten. Are you ready for them?” She directed the last question at Murdock, who took the entire situation as smoothly as he could.

You could see him work it through in his head: Get the threats away from civilians. Don’t make a move before you ascertain the situation.

“Yes, of course. Please, come in,” he said, stepping aside and sweeping an arm wide and gesturing both of you into the room.

You and Bucky gave Karen polite smiles and stepped quickly inside. The door shut softly behind you, but neither you nor Bucky missed the lock sliding into place.

“Please; the blinds, if you would,” Murdock said, voice only slightly strained as he maneuvered the room as though he had 20/20 vision.

You moved over to the window that looked out into the waiting room and flicked the blinds closed, turning them down until no one could see in or out of the room. Bucky and Murdock were already seated and, for all intents and purposes, staring balefully at each other by the time you took your seat.

Murdock’s jaw worked dangerously for a moment before he finally collected himself to speak. “I don’t know who or what you are but if you try to hurt-”

“We’re not here to hurt anyone. We don’t want to hurt anyone.” You felt a little bad for cutting him off, but he had to believe that before you could get anywhere. Your lips quirked up into a tiny sardonic smile. “I also find it a little hard to believe that you don’t already at least suspect who we are. We know who you are, after all.”

“Is that a threat?” Murdock responded instantly, and you kicked yourself for your poor phrasing and timing.

Bucky frowned and you could tell it was taking all of his attention to appear as anything but an aggressor. “No, but it is why we’re here.” 

You reached into your pocket and froze when Murdock practically teleported out of his chair and lunged toward you. Bucky’s hand shot out and stopped his hand midair and you stared at the two of them, tension coiling your muscles tightly. “Please, it’s not a weapon. It’s a device I created for you to use.”

Murdock didn’t back down and you could tell he was straining against Bucky’s cybernetic arm. Bucky was far stronger, but he’d stayed in his seat and, as such, had to work harder than he otherwise would have had to keep Murdock at bay. “What kind of device?” he spat, just quietly enough that you knew Karen and his associate- Nelson- wouldn’t hear.

“I call it RAR: Responsive Archive Reader. It will allow you to access every file we’ve managed to collect on ourselves. On... our past. On what we’ve done. What was done to us,” you nearly trailed off, but being able to talk about your tech brought you back. “Everything is sorted and tagged by date, organization, place, and just about anything else you could think of. It can either read it out to you or its surface can change to spell it out in braille. You can even ask it to look up certain information,” you said, voice regaining some of its confidence the longer you talked.

At that, Murdock finally stopped trying to get at you and took a half step back. “Your files. So you are...” he trailed off, as though he was unwilling to say those cursed names.

“The Winter Soldiers” hung unspoken in the air.

You weren’t willing to say them, either. Even after sweeping the building for bugs as you came in, it was too dangerous. “Yes,” Bucky confirmed quietly. 

There was a long pause where Murdock didn’t move. If you didn’t watch his chest closely you would have questioned if he was even breathing. “Why come to me?” he asked finally, still not sitting back down.

You gripped the cell phone-sized piece of tech in your hand and frowned, finally unable to look at him.

“Because we’re hoping you’ll help us,” Bucky said after a long pause.

Murdock frowned and canted his head ever so slightly to the side, which immediately piqued your interest, but you kept your mouth shut. “Before I decide what I want to do, you have to answer some questions for me.”

You and Bucky glanced at each other and he nodded imperceptibly. You both looked back and Murdock, but it was you who spoke up. “That’s fair. Go ahead.”

“Are you a danger to my friends and clients?”

Ah, shit. One of the toughest questions right out the gate.

But if your suspicions were correct, lying would get you nowhere. “Yes. We’re a danger to everyone, including ourselves.”

“But we don’t want to be,” Bucky added. You didn’t have to look at him to know he was frowning or that he was reaching for your hand. Your hands met halfway and your fingers laced together. It was Bucky’s left hand and, as you suspected, Murdock seemed able to track the movement more easily than he had any right to.

Murdock’s frown stayed firmly in place. “You know who I am? What I do?”

“Yes,” you responded instantly.

“Do you intend to blackmail me using that information?” he asked just as quickly.

“No,” Bucky rasped.

“Why me?”

“Because of what you do,” you said quietly.

“You mean being an attorney?” he asked, brow creasing just a little more.

You winced, knowing what he was hedging around. “Both.”

“Taking this case will put me in danger.”

It wasn’t a question, but you took it like one. “Almost indefinitely.” 

He took a moment to consider that, then, “Do you regret everything you’ve done the last seventy years?”

“Yes,” Bucky responded instantly, just as you said-

“No.”

Bucky turned to stare at you and Murdock tilted his ear a little more in your direction. “Care to elaborate?” he said just a bit flatly, menace creeping back into his voice.

“I don’t regret fighting against the people who tried to control me whenever I got the chance. I don’t regret trying to escape. I don’t regret forming a bond with Natalia Romanoff, or trying to save Mila Hitzvig and Ran Shen. I don’t regret stopping Hydra’s takeover of SHIELD or saving people in Sokovia. There’s more, but...” you frowned as your brain tried to conjure up more examples and failed. “I can’t... my brain doesn’t always cooperate. I’m sorry.” Bucky’s hand squeezed yours gently.

“I spoke without thinkin’. She’s right. There are things I don’t regret doin’ these last seventy years, though they’re by ‘n’ large the outliers,” Bucky agreed quietly, giving you a fond look before he turned a hard gaze on Murdock, who you knew Bucky still saw as a threat.

He gave you and Bucky a moment before forging onward. “Why not contact Rogers or Romanoff? Surely they’d be willing to help.”

You grimaced and knew Bucky’s face had probably done something similar. “Lotsa reasons,” Bucky began in a wary voice. “Some’a which will be answered if you listen to my girl’s device. The main reason is that contacting them brings in the rest of the Avengers...”

“And we’re poised to ruin everything Steve and Tasha have built for themselves,” you finished.

“Are you protecting them or yourselves?” Murdock asked shrewdly.

You and Bucky both had to fight back a wince. “Honestly? Probably both,” you admitted quietly.

He nodded as though that had answered a very pressing question. “And what are you hoping to gain from hiring me?”

You and Bucky exchanged a look. “We’re hopin’ it won’t come to you havin’ to do anything,” Bucky said quietly.

Murdock stared at him as though waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, you explained, “This is a doomsday protocol, of sorts. It’s our hope to just... hide. From everyone. Everything. Your services would only be needed if someone finally captures us. That someone being a government.”

“And if I decide I don’t want to help admitted murderers?” Murdock asked after a second. He shifted to his other foot, obviously ready for a fight.

You shrugged. “Then you throw RAR into the Hudson and pretend you never saw us.”

“That’s it?” he asked skeptically.

“That’s it,” Bucky confirmed.

A longer pause this time, then, “And if I try to bring you in? Alert the authorities?”

“We incapacitate you and anyone else who tries to stop us, then escape,” you said stonily. You prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

But Murdock only nodded again, looking a little grim. “I’m going to be honest- I don’t feel comfortable taking this case unless I know more.”

You tried to smile, but you knew it was a grimace. “All yours, Mister Murdock,” you said as you slid RAR across his desk. You took it as a good sign that he picked it up without hesitation. “You can tell it to turn on and off by saying ‘RAR’ and then ‘on’ and ‘off’ and tell it to look for specific tags by saying ‘RAR conduct search’ and then tell it what you want it to search. Switch between reading modes by saying ‘braille’ and ‘voice’. It’s quite intuitive, really.”

He palmed the device carefully as though searching for hidden traps or weapons but seemed to ultimately decide it was safe because he pocketed it a second later, still looking serious. “And how do I contact you if I decide to take the case?”

You blinked dumbly at him and it was Bucky who recovered first. “You can’t contact us, Murdock. It’s too dangerous. For all of us.”

Murdock raised an eyebrow at that. “Then how will you know if I’ll take your case?”

“We won’t,” you answered quietly.

“But we hope that you do,” Bucky added just as quietly but with an earnestness that had you squeezing his hand.

Murdock leaned back in his chair, brow furrowed. You expected him to say something, but he remained quiet for a long time- long enough for both you and Bucky to have to fight the urge to shift in your seats. “Why me?” he asked finally and just a little accusatorially.

Bucky blew out a long breath at that and sank back in his chair, having already thrown in the towel on this particular question. He did, however, give your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Because you’re our best option.”

Murdock only frowned deeper and leaned forward. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

You sighed and took a moment to collect your thoughts, annoyed at how long it took you to find the right words. Being out and in the open like this was really getting to you. “You’re good. As in, a good person. One of the best. Could give Rogers a run for his money. I looked into your work. Your hobby, too.” Murdock’s face darkened a bit at the allusion to his other identity, but you barreled on. “Our situation isn’t normal. Neither is yours. If your heart is even half as big as I think it is- or if you care about the truth at all- then you’re the only person in the world that will give us a chance... without Steve Rogers backing us up or Natasha Romanoff threatening you.”

It was a weak attempt at a joke and, as expected, Murdock’s lips didn’t so much as twitch. He did, however, seem to find your answer acceptable. “So what? I’m just supposed to build a case? Without talking to either of you? And that’s assuming I take the case to begin with.”

You nodded to his pocket, forgetting he couldn’t see you (though you had a feeling he “saw” more than he let on). “It’s all on that archive. Everything we can remember. Everything we’ve scrapped together from files and data. It’s a more reliable source than we are most days. Things- the memories- they fade in and out.”

“But the things on that drive- they’re things we’ve looked into. Things we both remember. Should be the most complete and accurate file on us anywhere. I’d recommend keepin’ it close,” Bucky said gravely.

Murdock nodded at that, hand making an aborted motion to his chest pocket before he returned his hands to his desk and fiddled idly with a pen (that you had no doubt he’d use as a weapon the moment the need arose). “I’ll review the file as soon as I can. Is there... anything else?” he seemed slightly off kilter, not that you could blame him. Two world renowned assassins had just sauntered into his office and asked him to defend them in court, after all.

“No, that’s ever-” you froze when Bucky gave your hand an urgent squeeze. You glanced over at him and he gave you an expectant look that sent you thinking. Then it hit you. “Oh!” you said quietly, lips twitching up at Bucky’s smitten half smile. “You just received a large anonymous donation to your firm. I suggest using it to fix this place up a little bit... or perhaps getting an air conditioning unit. It’s going to get hot soon.”

That, however, made Murdock prickle like a porcupine, but Bucky was already heading him off at the pass. “It’s clean money, Murdock. My girl made it from patenting some crazy energy efficient electric engine or something like that.”

“But I don’t even know if I’ll take your case yet,” he argued stubbornly.

You peered at him, gaze too old for your face. “No, but you and your partner do good work here. I’ve read about your cases. It’s a worthy investment of my money.”

Murdock still looked dubious, but he decided to let the subject drop. “Then our business is concluded?”

You and Bucky stood at the same time, as slowly and non-threateningly as you could, but Murdock still practically jumped to his feet. “Yes, Mister Murdock. We’ll be on our way.” You stared at him, hawk-like, for any sign that he’d try to stop you. He hesitated briefly before walking past both of you to open the door. Bucky tugged you close to his side as you walked out. You paused to give the secretary- who was looking at you and Bucky with a little bit of confusion- a wave which she returned with barely concealed surprise and a tentative smile.

You were almost out of their small office when the door opposite Murdock’s opened and a man with shaggy blond hair and an infectious smile (which almost immediately turned into something more professional upon seeing you and Bucky) walked out.

“Oh! You must be Matt’s two o’clock,” he said brightly, though you could see the small flash of greed in his eyes. “I trust your meeting went well and you’ll be using our services mister and misses...?” he trailed off, looking between you, Murdock, and Karen inquisitively.

Foggy Nelson. Murdock’s business partner. Good heart, but perhaps more practical than Murdock, which often comes off as unsavory priorities... namely, making money.

A quick glance behind you told you Murdock was as tightly wound as a spring. You turned what you hoped was a melancholy smile on Nelson. “I’m afraid Mister Murdock declined our case. We... didn’t see eye to eye on some issues,” you said softly. It was better this way- his coworkers wouldn’t pester him about your case.

But Nelson looked at Murdock with such disbelief and exasperation that you wondered if you’d made a mistake.

“We can’t pay anyway,” Bucky added smoothly.

At that, Nelson’s face turned the kind of fake polite that was usually only mastered by the most obnoxious, self-absorbed people.

“I see. Well then I’m very sorry Nelson and Murdock won’t be able to assist you. Please have a nice day.”

The secretary was looking between the four of you with confusion, but Murdock finally relaxed ever so slightly as Nelson herded you out.

“Have a nice day!” Nelson called. Just before the door shut you looked over your shoulder and saw Murdock facing in your direction, head turned slightly to the side.

You smiled and waited until you were a few steps away before saying softly, “Thank you for your time, Mister Murdock. Take care,” knowing full well he’d hear you.

It wasn’t until you were a few blocks away that Bucky spoke. “Think it’s done yet?” he asked as you turned the corner and ghosted between other New Yorkers going about their busy days.

You frowned as you thought about it. “Probably.” Admitting it made anxiety coil low and deadly in your stomach. As if sensing the shift in your thoughts, Bucky threw his arm around your shoulder and drew you close to his side, taking his eyes off his surroundings only long enough to press a kiss to your temple.

“Better hurry back, then. I’m... eager to know the truth, either way. Y’know?” he murmured.

You smiled up at him and your breath caught in your throat. He looked... good. Two years since you both escaped Hydra. Two years out of cryo. Two years together, healing. Eating actual food. Sleeping on a real mattress.

The change had been so gradual that you hadn’t noticed. It had taken being in New York again for you to really look at him.

Your smile was more genuine than it had been in a long time as you leaned up and pecked a kiss to his cheek. “Yeah, Buck. I do.”

Next Chapter

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[vrepitsorrynotsorry]

Fic: Location, Location, Location

Title: Location, Location, Location Rating: G Pairing: Eventual Shotor Characters: Shiro, Lotor, guest starring Keith, and a couple unmemorable OCs Author’s Notes: I’m not dead! I’m just glacially slow. I’m trying to write at least a sentence every day, but that ain’t much, so I apologize. Hopefully, it’s good? Part 1 of Physician Heal Thyself and follows more or less directly after “Ready Set Bake”. Keith and Shiro are found family in this and refer to one another as brothers but are not genetically related. Keith knows he’s part Galra but has not yet met his mother, which is not really relevant to this part, but of note for later. Lotor worked in engineering research and development for Galra Inc. before he quit. He also did other things for the company and apart from the company, but that’s for later, too. I know very little about either real estate or running a business. Please excuse my ignorance and vagueness.

After the competition ended, life didn’t, so it was a couple of weeks before both Shiro and Lotor had free time to discuss their bakery project. Finally, they settled on an otherwise free Saturday and planned to meet up early and discuss looking at available properties. They had decided to establish the bakery near where Shiro was living. Lotor assured the other man that he would not mind relocating at all. In fact, he was looking forward to a fresh start, and had already found his own apartment in the area.

The night before the meetup, Shiro’s mind had been running a mile a minute, so he didn’t sleep well and was up earlier than usual. He tried to be quiet so that Keith could sleep, but it wasn’t long before the younger man came shuffling out of his room, half awake.

“Why are you up?” Keith grumbled, followed by a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Lotor and I are going to talk about locations today. You know, for the bakery? I guess I’m just...restless.”

Keith’s expression shifted by an almost unnoticeable margin, but Shiro liked to think he’d gotten pretty good at reading Keith over the years they’d known each other. Keith was excited that Shiro was finally on board with opening his own bakery, but he wasn’t too keen on Lotor. To be fair, Keith wasn’t too keen on most changes or new things. 

“You have the day off from the garage, right? You could join us, if you want.”

The offer was carefully calculated to give Keith the dual opportunity of keeping an eye on the new stranger in Shiro’s life, which Shiro knew he really wanted to do, and if Shiro was lucky, to get a little more accustomed to him. If Shiro was really honest with himself, he was also a little nervous about spending an entire day alone with Lotor. They’d almost always had other people around during their interactions before.

Keith shrugged. “Okay. When’s he stopping by?”

Shiro opened his mouth to answer and then realized that while finally settling on a day, he and Lotor had forgotten to nail down a time. “Umm...”

There was a soft knock at the door that they might not have heard without the awkward pause in the conversation, and Shiro couldn’t help thinking “speak of the devil.” It really was Lotor at the door, slouching nervously on the stoop with a cardboard drink carrier holding three cups steaming in the cool morning air in one hand and a battered paper folder under the other arm.

“Am I too early? I was already up...”

“No,” Shiro assured him, inviting the other man in with a sweeping arm gesture. “We’re awake.”

“I brought hot beverages,” Lotor mumbled, though the cups were pretty obvious.

“Shiro doesn’t drink coffee,” Keith told him. “Who’s the third one for?”

“You,” Lotor offered with a small shrug, “assuming you would be awake. Otherwise, I would drink it. Caffeine is less effective a stimulant to Galra. Shiro’s is a green tea latte.”

Shiro scooped up the cup Lotor had indicated was for him. “Thanks.” He took a sip and realized that Lotor had gotten it made with coconut milk and a little honey--just how he liked it.

Keith was still looking back and forth between his own coffee and Lotor suspiciously. Shiro cut off further anticipated interrogation by explaining, “We talked about coffee preferences, or lack of them in my case, one day on the show when we were making coffee cakes. What’d you get for Keith? A triple-shot or something?” Keith already knew that Shiro had mentioned his own Galra ancestry to Lotor.

“Quadruple. They call it ‘the Defibrillator.’ It’s black, but I have some sweetener packets, if you’d like to add some.” 

“No, this is fine. Thanks.” The last word was a little grudging, but Shiro appreciated the effort he knew it represented.

After a few more moments of silent sipping, Shiro gestured to the folder Lotor was still clutching tightly to his side. “Did you do some research for today?”

Lotor cleared his throat and his cheeks flushed. “Yes, I um, I’ve had a lot of time on my hands recently...” Shiro knew he’d quit his job at Galra Inc. before the competition, but he’d never thought about what the other man might be doing before the bakery project could really get moving. He didn’t seem like much of a “hobby” kind of guy, except of course for the obvious enjoyment of baking, but there was only so much of that one could do.

He pulled a city map from the folder and laid it out on the coffee table. It was peppered with small adhesive circles in different colors. In fact, most were carefully paired halves of two different colors.

“Based upon listings both online and in print, red are properties that do not currently have kitchen facilities, but could be altered to have them, green are currently fitted for some form of food industry, yellow are on the lower end of the cost scale, but not necessarily in highly trafficked areas, and blue have regular foot traffic, but are more expensive.”

“What’s purple?” Shiro asked. There were quite a few of those. 

“Competition.”

“Do you know which ones are leases and which are for sale?”

Lotor dipped back into the folder. “It was getting a little cluttered, so that information is on these overlays.” He produced transparent sheets with dots in black and white. “Black is for lease and white is for sale,” he explained as he carefully placed the stark circles over their more colorful counterparts.

“Wow,” Shiro remarked, “that’s...”

“Obsessive?” Keith muttered.

“Thorough,” Shiro finished with a warning glance. “Sounds like you’ve got this pretty much covered.”

“Not entirely.” Lotor tapped the map. “When it comes to basic logistics and analysis, yes, I’m quite comfortable doing the research, but there are two things I can’t do. First, a place on paper or a screen is quite different that seeing it in person. I figure we can narrow it down some based on these factors and then go see the remaining places.”

“I agree.” Shiro nodded. “What’s the second thing?”

“The human element,” Lotor admitted with a sigh. “I very much dislike dealing with people, especially those who will inevitably be trying to sell me something. I’ve hardly looked into the associated Realtors and agents at all.”

Shiro shook his head and chuckled, and Lotor arched one brow. “Sorry. I’m not laughing at you, I promise,” Shiro hurried to reassure him. “Lucky for you, I’m more of a people person.”

Both Lotor and Keith’s eyes widened as Shiro retrieved his own folder from a desk along one wall. “I’ve been looking into ratings and reviews for different property management companies and Realtors. It shouldn’t take us long to cross reference information, and then we can make a few calls and hopefully see a few locations.”

Keith looked back and forth between the two of them. “I’m not sure the universe can handle you two working together.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to tag along?” Shiro asked playfully.

“Oh, I’m going with you,” Keith insisted. 

He left briefly for a morning run while Shiro and Lotor compared notes and made some calls. Well, Shiro made a few calls. Lotor would occasionally offer a whispered question for him to relay to the person on the other end of the call, but he declined to participate otherwise.

“It’s better this way, believe me,” he declared. “My social interaction skills are limited to three things: avoiding people, which defeats the purpose entirely, saying whatever I think they want to hear, which could end badly where property is involved, and manipulating situations, which I’ve been trying very hard not to do after cutting ties with my family. Besides, I don’t have enough information on any of these places to do it effectively, yet.”

“That’s what the calls are for,” Shiro pointed out. “You ask questions to get more information.”

“I’ve been told I don’t know how to ask things politely, and I make everything sound like an interrogation.”

Shiro let it go because he really didn’t mind doing this portion of the work, and Lotor had obviously spent a great deal of time collecting and organizing other information. 

By the time Keith returned from his run and took a quick shower, they had a short list of five places to visit first. One location oddly wasn’t connected to any of Shiro’s research but seemed very promising.

Several of the locations were in areas with limited parking options, so Lotor offered to drive them. Keith declined, preferring to take his own bike.

“Don’t take it personally,” Shiro told Lotor as he climbed into the passenger seat. “He doesn’t even like it when I drive. I think he likes both the combination of being in control and the open air.” Lotor just shrugged it off and headed toward downtown. He was a very cautious driver. Very.

“If you’re worried that Keith needs to follow you, he does have the address of the first place.”

“Hm?” Lotor shot him a puzzled glance. “He passed us some time ago.”

“Well, you are driving awfully slow.”

“It’s this ground traffic.” Lotor huffed. “It’s so claustrophobic, and movement options are ridiculously limited! Get me out in open space, and I assure you, things would be very different.”

“There’s nothing quite like flying in space,” Shiro readily agreed.

When they finally pulled up in front of the first place on their list, both Keith and the location’s realtor were waiting for them.

“Did you get lost?” Keith asked.

“No,” Lotor answered simply, and Shiro decided not to add any comment.

The first location had formerly been a small cafe styled like an old diner. The kitchen space would need to be totally renovated if it were to become a bakery, as it had two large grill tops, but only one small oven that had definitely seen better days. It was for rent, so any changes would have to be approved by the property owner. Shiro also couldn’t help but notice that it was midmorning on a weekend, and he’d seen hardly any foot traffic outside the large windows along the front of the building. It had looked much more appealing on paper.

The second location was equally unmemorable, though Shiro had talked Lotor into letting him drive there.

At the third location, Shiro finally got a taste of what Lotor had meant about all his questions sounding like interrogations. In this case, however, Shiro felt it was kind of justified.

It wasn’t like Shiro hadn’t expected a few of the property agencies to exaggerate or fudge a few small things. After all, this was business, and they were in it to make a profit like anyone else would be. This, however, was not just a little gilding of the lily.

It was immediately obvious that the published pictures of the storefront were not current. In the listing, there was a lovely, glass entry door. In person, there was a piece of plywood chained into the frame with a large padlock and decorated with some rather risqué graffiti. This was also the location without a pre-researched contact.

The last time Shiro had seen Lotor get angry there had been no yelling. Instead, the other man went intensely quiet, and Shiro could see that Lotor’s expression had gone completely blank.

“Tell me,” he asked in an icy tone, “don’t you think this is something that should have been mentioned in the listing?”

The property manager blinked, but her wide smile didn’t waver. “Ah, yes. This is unfortunate, but it happened only recently-”

“How recently?” Lotor interrupted. “The listing I looked at was posted only a few days ago.”

“There is an allowance included to replace the door,” the woman continued, skirting the question. “This is a great neighborhood. There’s-”

“How great a neighborhood can it be if it’s prone to property damage and vandalism?” Lotor cut into her presentation again.

“Well, just look at the other-”

“Is there something you’re not disclosing about this particular site?” He took a step forward and she took one back. “The interior description was rather vague. Should we expect it to be in

a similar state to the door? How long has this property actually been vacant? Was the information provided intentionally scant because of some kind of past incident?” Lotor was leaving very little time between questions for the woman to respond, and she was beginning to look increasingly alarmed.

“Should one of us step in?” Keith asked quietly from beside him. “She looks like she’s about ready to call the police or something.” He wasn’t wrong.

Shiro gently placed a hand on one of Lotor’s shoulders and he tensed, head whipping around to turn his piercing gaze on Shiro. His expression softened and then became quizzical.

“You think maybe you should ease up a bit? I see what you meant about coming across badly when you ask questions.”

Lotor’s eyebrows shot up and he turned back to the property manager, seeming to see for the first time how she was cowering away from him. He looked lost and a little hurt, but Shiro figured damage control took priority at the moment.

Shiro walked over to the rattled woman hands out in a placating gesture “I’m sorry about that. He’s just a bit...” he trailed off, searching for exactly the right word.

“Galra?” she suggested with a scowl.

Shiro frowned back. “I was going to go with ‘overly assertive’, actually.” He took a calming breath and made another attempt at diplomacy. “You can understand why this was an unpleasant surprise, can’t you? I’d like to think you have an explanation for all of this, and I’m willing to listen.”

This was turning into some kind of absurd property good cop, bad cop. He could see it all in his mind...

“Help me help you, ma’am,” he would say, expression concerned. “This kind of thing really upsets my business partner. I don’t know what he might do.”

“I ought to report this to the Intergalactic Business Bureau,” Lotor would mutter ominously behind him while glaring at the woman, “and I’m leaving a truly nasty review on Yowl.”

“Just tell me what we want to know. What’s really up with this place? Save yourself a lot of trouble.”

The woman’s fearful expression relaxed, and for just a moment, Shiro saw her analyzing the situation shrewdly before her expression turned neutral. “Well, I suppose that makes sense.” She must really, really want to move this property.

“I would like to apologize.” Lotor’s voice cut into their conversation at that point. It was the exact opposite of his tone from before. It was soothing and absolutely nonthreatening. “Clearly, I overreacted badly. I’m moving on from a life where corruption and deceit were commonplace. To believe I was seeing the same in the life I’m trying to start over was...deeply upsetting, but I had no right to take it out on you. If you’re still willing, I would love to see inside the building.”

If you looked up “contrition” in the dictionary, Lotor’s face could be the picture next to it. In fact, it was so perfectly sorry, Shiro’s mind instinctively distrusted the intent, but the property manager seemed to accept it.

She finally had a chance to formally introduce herself as Karen, which Shiro already knew from their brief phone conversation, and explain that she was a lawyer and didn’t usually do this kind of work, but had been managing the property for her brother, who had recently decided to sell. He and his wife had tried to start a restaurant together, but neither the business nor the marriage worked out. After it sat empty for months, they decided to sell the restaurant and split the take. Also, the door hadn’t been broken--the wife had had it made special and decided she was taking it with her.

Inside the building things were actually in pretty decent shape, though neither Shiro nor Lotor were particularly pleased with some of the decorating decisions. Those could be redone, however. There was a very nice, large oven in the kitchen they were told had been primarily used for dinner rolls and desserts. The property was also priced to move quickly. It would be more expensive than leasing initially, but both quite liked the idea of not having to answer to a landlord or property manager.

They decided to take a break for lunch after sending Karen on her way, but it was the middle of lunch rush on a Saturday, and they were having trouble finding a table anywhere.

“My apartment isn’t that far, if you’d like to grab something and eat there,” Lotor offered. Shiro and Keith both agreed, and Shiro suspected curiosity played a large factor in the decision.

The apartment really was quite close, and it was only a few minutes before they pulled into a parking lot beside a modest building. Shiro hadn’t necessarily been expecting anything extravagant, but he was fairly certain Lotor could afford an apartment a good deal larger and nicer than the small studio to which he escorted them. Lotor was clearly still in the process of unpacking, and the majority of the boxes still stacked against one wall appeared to be labelled “books.”

There was no formal dining space, so they crowded around a coffee table in the living area. Even though the seating looked comfortable, the table was low enough that it was easier to sit on the floor. For a few minutes, they were all focused on eating; wandering all over town to look at potential bakery sites was hungry work.

Eventually, Keith broke the comfortable silence by asking, “So, have you two thought of a name for the bakery, yet?”

Lotor and Shiro looked at each other. “Well, no,” Shiro admitted.

“We thought that was a step that could wait for a little while,” Lotor added.

Keith shrugged. “Okay. Just so long as it’s not some horrible pun.” He leveled a playful glare at his brother. “I don’t believe for a minute that you haven’t thought of like a dozen really awful ones.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Shiro replied, all obviously false innocence. “I would never even think about naming a legitimate business something like ‘Bake It Or Leave It’.”

Keith groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Or ‘Flour Power’. Definitely not anything like ‘Crumb and Get It’.”

“Stop! Please!”

“Or,” Lotor interjected, face completely deadpan, “we could make it a really pretentious bakery and call it ‘The Upper Crust’.”

Both Keith and Shiro stared at him shocked silence for a few moments before Shiro burst into a fit of laughter so strong he choked on the bite of food he taken right before the unexpected joke.

Lotor’s eyes went wide and he apologized profusely. He hands fluttered between hovering uselessly in front of him and reaching toward Shiro as if to help but unsure how and back. Once he had enough air, Shiro assured him that he was fine. They locked eyes for a moment, and then both were laughing.

Keith watched them. They seemed genuinely happy, and there was warmth in their expressions. He might not be totally sold on the idea of Lotor working with Shiro yet, but there was no denying they had a connection. Suddenly, the tiny apartment seemed extra crowded.

“I don’t think I’m going to join you to look at the two places left on the list,” Keith announced. Like he had flipped some kind of switch, both of the other men’s demeanors changed from content to nervous.

“Why?” Shiro asked. “Is something wrong?”

“We’ll stop making puns,” Lotor added. “I promise.”

“I’ve just got a couple of things I need to do,” Keith hurried to explain. He had no idea why they suddenly seemed so uncomfortable with the idea of being left alone when they were getting along just fine seconds ago. He hadn’t even been meant to accompany them in the first place! 

Keith was reminded of when he had applied for his current job at the garage. It hadn’t sounded like an interview would be required, so he had been a little nervous when the owner had called to arrange one. Keith didn’t hate people--well, not all of them--but he wasn’t great at interacting with strangers, and he hated small talk. He knew he came across as abrupt and unfriendly to many. Shiro had talked him down and accompanied him to the interview, waiting outside the office until he had finished, and that had only been one of many times Shiro provided unwavering support. What would it really hurt to return the favor in a small way?

Also, Keith realized, if he were to leave now, Lotor would think it was because of him. He still wasn’t anywhere near one of Keith’s favorite people, and he wasn’t sure how much they should trust him, but if nothing else, Keith was certain he intended Shiro no harm.

“It’s not urgent,” he said and watched the other two men visibly sag in relief. “I guess it can wait until after we see the other locations.”

The fourth option was also for sale fairly inexpensively and had once been a bakery, but it was a foreclosed property, and the previous owners had stripped everything they could realistically carry away and even a few that seemed decidedly unrealistic.

“Wow...” Shiro let out a low whistle as he stared at the void where a large oven had once been situated. “They must have really liked that oven.” It had to have been terribly heavy and getting it through the doorway must have been challenging to say the least.

Lotor wrinkled his nose at the state of the floor that had been underneath the former appliance. “They apparently couldn’t be bothered to clean up after themselves though, hm?”

The property might be affordable, but they would have to invest a great deal into making it workable again--maybe even more than at some of the locations they had already seen.

They never even got to see the inside of the last location on their list--it had just been leased before they got there.

Since they had eaten at Lotor’s place for lunch, Shiro invited him to eat dinner with him and Keith so they could discuss the four locations they’d seen that day. They ended up ordering pizza.

“Honestly,” Lotor admitted with a sigh, “I’m leaning toward that for sale property, as much as I’d rather not have to deal with Karen.”

“Is it the sketchy business practices or the xenophobia?” Shiro asked, only half joking.

“A little of both, really. I can’t imagine it would be terribly pleasant, and it’s at least partly my own fault.”

Shiro shrugged. “We won’t really know unless we give it a shot. We can always expand our short list and keep looking.”

“It really was a decent location,” Lotor argued. “I’m not certain how long it will remain on the market. We may only get one shot at it.”

“We don’t want to rush into a decision, though.” Karen had made it sound like the owners wanted to sell fast, but she may have been exaggerating to put them under an increased sense of pressure. Then again, they had missed out on the fifth place on that day’s list. “What do you say we sleep on it and see how we feel about it tomorrow?”

The next day, both agreed that they would make an offer on what they had started calling the “Open Door Property.” Lotor vowed to be on his best behavior, though Shiro thought he rather preferred intensely disapproving Lotor to the diplomatic but rather insincere mask he wore while “behaving.”

“You know I don’t really care if you’re perfectly polite to Karen, right?” Shiro asked. “I mean, you shouldn’t be intentionally rude or anything, but I don’t expect you to be a model citizen at all times. Just be yourself.”

Lotor arched an eyebrow but did not comment.

This time, they met Karen at her office. They had scarcely exchanged pleasantries before she informed them that she had already received an offer of the listing price.

Shiro and Lotor both knew that the property was priced on the lower end of the pricing scale for the area of town where it was located, so this was not entirely surprising. They made a higher offer and left with the uneasy knowledge that it was now a game of waiting and wills.

Unfortunately, it dragged on for several days. Every offer was countered, and the price crept upward. Eventually, they reached a point where they weren’t certain they wanted to go much higher, but the thought of losing the location after all that trouble was also unappealing. 

They discussed it and settled on a maximum price they were willing to pay. It came as quite a shock when Karen called to tell them that the other interested party had just offered the exact same number.

Shiro’s shoulders slumped. This was it. They were going to have to start the process all over again. It was probably just the bitterness talking, but he thought Karen seemed pretty pleased at their disappointment, smiling from her end of the video call.

“What if,” Lotor suddenly said, startling Shiro a little, “we could match that offer but make a generous downpayment in cash?”

Karen’s eyes glittered, and Shiro was certain she wanted to ask how generous but refrained. “Could you do that?” she asked.

Shiro turned so his face was not visible and mouthed, “Could we really?”

“We could,” Lotor affirmed, cool as a cucumber. “However, that will require a trip to the bank, which cannot be done until tomorrow, and such a large withdrawal will require some paperwork. I would prefer not to go through all that trouble unless we have some assurance that this would close the deal.”

“Let me see whether the other party is willing to raise their offer, and I’ll get right back to you.” Karen’s face disappeared, and they were left to wait again.

“So, cash, huh?” On some level, Shiro had always known that Lotor was wealthy, but he hadn’t ever really made it obvious.

“In my experience, it is generally difficult to resist.” He said it so matter-of-factly that Shiro was extremely curious about those experiences, but before he had time to ask, Karen called back.

“If you can have your cash downpayment to me by five o’clock in the evening tomorrow, it’s yours,” Karen told them. She seemed somewhat skeptical that it would be possible.

“Five o’clock,” Lotor acknowledged, and Karen terminated the call.

Shiro went with Lotor to the bank the next day. “I’ve never seen a large amount of cash in person before. I’m curious.” He then added, “Besides, it feels wrong for someone to be walking around with that much money alone.”

“How would anyone know?” Lotor asked with a smile and a roll of his eyes. “I won’t be carrying it out in the open.”

“Briefcase? Duffle bag?”

Lotor laughed. “I believe you watch too many movies. It won’t be in small bills and really won’t take up that much space.” He gestured to a small, leather messenger bag he had slung over one shoulder.

“Sliding a briefcase across the table would look more impressive.”

“Do you own one? No? Well, neither do I.”

Shiro wasn’t sure why he expected the bank to be some grand, old building--probably the movies again--but he had to admit he felt more comfortable in the one they actually went to for the money. The fact that there were only three tellers meant they had to wait for a while, but there was a bowl of hard candies.

“I need to speak to Mr. Hargrave, please,” Lotor told the smiling woman behind the counter and then they went back to the candy dish.

Shiro was just explaining to Lotor how he really didn’t know whether root beer was available in barrels like the candies anymore when the door to a side office opened and a small, nervous man appeared.

“Ah, Mr. Hargrave. How are you?” Lotor greeted him politely. “I’ve come in today to-”

“Is this about the automatic transfer incident?” Hargrave interrupted, wringing his hands in front of himself. “It is, isn’t it? I know I should have contacted you immediately, but it turned out to be a false alarm, and-”

“What incident?” Lotor cut the other man off in turn.

“It was merely a computer system error. The transfer went through as expected, and the message only appeared briefly, so I had hoped you might not have noticed,” the banker confessed. “But, if that’s not why you’re here?”

“No,” Lotor told him, “but I would like to discuss this further. Perhaps in your office?”

Shiro found himself forgotten in the main lobby in the wake of this mysterious money issue. What Lotor did with his money was really none of Shiro’s business, even if he was curious. He distracted himself reading pamphlets about loans, lines of credit, and similar financial topics he discovered near the candy dish. He was in the middle of “Do You Know If You Have Saved Enough for Retirement?” when he heard the office door open again.

“I’ll arrange for your withdrawal to be transferred from the main branch,” Hargrave was saying. “I’m afraid we don’t have that amount in cash on hand today. Would you like to wait here, or have me give you a call when it arrives?”

Shiro must have looked dismayed at the idea of hanging around in the bank lobby much longer because Lotor quickly asked, “How long do you think it will take?”

“An armored transport makes the rounds from branch to branch every few hours. They should be by within the hour.”

Lotor requested to be called and they walked to a café down the street to wait.

“So,” Shiro attempted to ask casually, “is everything really okay with that transfer Hargrave was talking about?”

“Yes.” Lotor answered simply, expression revealing nothing. Oh well, it was worth a shot!

“Exactly how big a downpayment are we making?” Shiro changed the subject. “I mean, if they didn’t have it on hand, it must be a fairly large sum.”

“It’s about half of the cost of the property.”

Shiro almost spat out a mouthful of tea. “Half of the total cost?” he repeated, somewhat stunned.

“I thought that might keep dear Karen from trying to change her mind. Why? Do you think it should be more?”

At first, Shiro thought he was being sarcastic, but Lotor appeared sincere. “That should be plenty,” he finally replied. He wasn’t certain he’d ever had that much money in his own bank account all at once. “Are you sure you want to spend so much right away? I feel like I’m barely contributing.”

“You will going forward,” Lotor reassured him. “It’s an investment. I’m certain we’ll earn it back and more besides.”

A short time later, Hargrave called, and they returned to the bank. Shiro felt vaguely like he was a part of some kind of heist as he watched the banker place neatly bundled stacks of bills into Lotor’s satchel. They also both signed papers for a loan on the remaining property value.

Shiro insisted on driving on the way to Karen’s office because the money made him feel like they had a target painted on them and he wanted to get there faster than he knew Lotor would drive.

Karen’s eyes widened fractionally as she was handed the money, and Shiro was relieved that he wasn’t the only one unused to dealing with this kind of situation. There followed a great deal more paperwork, and then the key was rather anticlimactically slid across the desk to them. The deed would be sent later.

“Congratulations,” Karen told them, “it’s all yours.”

The sun had already set by the time they exited Karen’s office. They should probably just go home, but...

“Hey,” Shiro asked, nudging Lotor’s arm, “wanna go by the bakery?”

Lotor grinned. “Yes!”

They realized after they got to the building that there was currently no power. They went in anyway.

“In the dark this place is kind of...”

“Creepy?”

With only light from the streetlamps outside for illumination, the dinginess and disrepair the property had fallen into was starkly highlighted, but it was theirs now, and that counted for something.

“Well, step one down,” Shiro declared. “We have our location. You know what step two is, right?”

“Buy a new door?” Lotor asked cheekily.

Shiro snorted. “I guess that’s part of step two: get this place ready for business.”

“It’s going to be a lot of work.”

Shiro grunted in agreement. “Yeah, but that’s one of the things friends are good for.”

[kneesheee]

Sweet Pea’s Sapphire

WARNINGS: NON CENSENSUAL USE OF DRUGS/ ATTEMPTED RAPE

|three|

The next week came and Sapphire still hadn’t returned to school. Sure, she forced Sweet Pea to go but she’d rather not face anyone now. Instead, she pulled on a light blue wig and made her way down to the precinct to see FP.

Her eyes teared up as she sat across from him on the other side of the glass. All she wanted to do was to reach out and touch her father figure, but she couldn’t. And that was hurting her.

“Ria?” FP whispered softly as the tears followed deeply from her eyes.

“Papá, te extraño,” she cried out brokenly.

“I miss you too, Ria,” FP replied seriously. His heart breaking at seeing one his girls crying in front of him and there was nothing he could do about it. “But it’s going to be okay.”

“How? Quin's gone and they’re sending you to prison,” she nearly yelled but she could never yell at FP. The guilt always hit her, and she never liked being on the end of his looks of disappointment.

“Sapphires are among the most durable naturally occurring elements in the world.”

Sapphire blinked momentarily taken back. Because only FP would google references to her name and spout them out for comfort and reassurance.

“FP, what?”

“I’m telling you this because Ria, you’re strong and you’re going to be able to get past this,” FP told her seriously. “And I need you to be strong and focus on The Plan.”

Sapphire sat up straighter. FP hardly ever brought The Plan up. It was just for a contingency.

“From what, Jughead tells me, things have gotten pretty serious out there. Something about a Black Hood?”

Sapphire nodded her head. She read about that. The Riverdale Register was trying to pin it on the Southside and especially the Serpents. But as of now, the Serpents moves have been put on hold. They don’t really take action because FP wasn’t there to give approval. Tall Boy was too busy watching over FP’s son to take the lead.

“I’m betting that they’re blaming it on the Serpents. We gotta be ready for anything they pull at us.”

Sapphire leaned forward just a little. “Do you think it’d get to that point?”

FP nodded, “I know it will. And I want you to be on top of everything. The Serpents integrity depends on this.”

No pressure or anything, FP.

“Is there anything I can do to help you? Pay off people or anything?”

FP shook his head quickly, frowning just a little, “No, Ria. I plan on doing all of my time unless they can come up with a better deal for me.”

“Five minutes,” the cop behind FP called out. Sapphire’s flicked her gaze to his and glared death into his soul. FP chuckled at the anger in her eyes. He always thought when she got angry she was adorable. Like a little baby showing off their mad face.

“Sapphire,” FP stated, and she turned back to him but this time with tears building in her eyes. “Saph, I love you like my own child. And I’m so proud of you. Don’t close in on yourself this time. You have more people that love and cherish you. Don’t push them away.”

Sapphire closed her eyes as tears rolled down her cheeks. As if she was in a movie, she put her hand onto the window and smiled softly when FP did the same. “Te amo, papá.”

“Yo también te amo, hija mía.”

The two smiled at each other as the guarded called out, “Time’s up”. Sapphire sat and watched her father figure be led away from her and she felt a small and almost atom like piece of her heart healed itself slowly.

--

Sapphire had been at home watching My Babysitter’s A Vampire when she heard knocking at her door. She pouted and grumbled as she moved from her comfy place at her door to see Sweet Pea standing outside breathing hard with Fangs right beside him.

“What the hell you two? Get in here before you freeze!”

She grabbed each boy by their arm to pull them in and hurriedly closed and locked the door behind them once more. “Why do you two look like you just tried to race the Flash and got left in the dust?”

Sweet Pea took another deep breath before straightening up. She was caught off guard by the anger in his eyes and watched as he nearly turned around to put the hole she just got fixed back in her wall before stopping himself. Toni came in from the guest room in the back and rose a brow at the boys.

“You know the Northsider from that video I sent you?” Sweet Pea started, and Sapphire nodded her head. She had done her research before realizing that it was the same boy who had called himself interrogating her brother so long ago.

“We just saw him. He tagged my ma’s shop. He just sprayed a big ass red circle onto the wall. When we confronted him about, you know telling him that he needed to leave. Well trying to intimidate him to leave. He pulled a gun out in our faces.”

“HE DID WHAT!” Sapphire screeched anger lancing her words. “I’ll kill that son of a bitch.”

She growled as she moved further into her house determined to go and get her boots, so she could go find that Northsider. Fangs grabbed her arm and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Saph. We’ll handle it.”

Sapphire narrowed her eyes at him before turning towards Sweet Pea. His eyes were cast down, but she could see from how tensed he was that he was pissed. “Fine. I’ll let you handle him, but I still need to make a call.”

The three watched her as she moved back towards her couch before shuffling through her blankets to find her phone. She dialed a number and waited a minute before whoever picked up on their end.

“Punzie,” she started, and Toni let a smile creep onto her face. She knew what was going on. “Apparently, there are some walls around the Southside that’ve been tagged with a red circle. I need them covered up.”

Sweet Pea’s head snapped over to hers and he watched her intently even as she turned to look him in the eyes. “You can do the usual but the one by Hastings Street. Yeah, Sweet Pea’s family store. Make it a serpent squeezing a bulldog. Thank you, love. You’ll find the money in your account by morning.”

Her friends watched her with shock faces, but she just shrugged and sat back down in her seat. “Look T, Sarah kind of looks like you.” -- Sapphire was pissed as she walked through the medic’s house as all the boys were getting bandaged up. The sound of her heel boots catching everyone’s attention as she came into view.

Her hair was pulled into a ponytail as she moved around the bodies all sporting cuts from rocks, small bruises, and broken wrists from being dumb enough to fight in the rain. She cast a glare over to her snake’s den and the young boys immediately flickered their eyes away in guilt. She’d deal with them later. A detailed analysis on Othello should work as a suitable punishment. She knows how much they hate reading plays.

She continued forward through the house until she came to the last door on the right. Sitting inside was Sweet Pea and Fangs. Sweet Pea was holding a pack of frozen carrots onto his eye and Fangs was getting his ankle wrapped up. Sapphire cleared her throat and watched with delight as the two boys pale at seeing her standing before them.

“Saph- “

“Don’t ‘Saph’ me, Fangs. What the hell were you all thinking fighting in the fucking rain?”

“I wasn’t just going to let some pussy from the Northside come to my side of town and thinking he’s running something,” Sweet Pea exclaimed.

“And what if that Northie had a gun, Sweet Pea? Huh, tell me that,” she snapped as she clenched her fists.

“He didn’t. He gave it to the little rich bitch,” Fangs mumbled, and her head whipped towards him.

“I want you to repeat that carefully,” Sapphire hissed as she moved further into the room and closing the door behind her. “Say it again or I swear I’m going to knock both of you idiots out.”

Both boys flinched before Fangs repeated his sentence, “The girl. From New York. The Northsider gave the gun to her.”

Sapphire nodded her head and spins on her feet to leave. She just found something new to do with her schedule. --

If there was one thing that Sapphire loved about being the unseen heiress of Stone Enterprises, it was that all eyes were on her when she finally did make her appearance. After she left her boys at the medic house, Sapphire went home and dug through the closet in the guest room that Toni usually stays in. She searched deeply for the outfit that she had been waiting for this exact moment to wear. That next morning, she called up her publicist to make sure that her name was added onto to the guest list.

Sapphire had been sitting her Bentley and watched as former serpent Alice Cooper walked into the building wearing a gorgeous red snake-print dress. She turned towards her publicist, “Make sure you find out where she got that dress. I want it in black.”

And then she snapped her fingers for her driver to get out and open her door. Sapphire watched as everyone’s eyes turned towards her and a smirk pulled at her lips. Her driver helped her out and she looked up at him with a smile,

“Thanks, Jacob. Tell the wife and kids I said hello.”

He nodded his head and handed Sapphire her clutch. She took a deep breath before walking towards the entrance aware of everyone who turned to look at her much like they did Mrs. Cooper.

Sapphire smiled sharply as she continued forward in her short sapphire blue romper. Her dark brown hair had been pulled into some fancy braided up do that she paid no attention to that her hair stylist had named. Her grandmother’s sapphire diamond necklace rested delicately around her neck and fell right above her boobs. But Sapphire knew what really had everyone’s attention was her Serpent tattoo on her thigh.

She watched with an amused smile as Hiram and Hermione Lodge scrambled up to her. As if she would spend a dime on anything to get rid of her school.

“Sapphire, how wonderful it is to see you,” Hiram stated as if they were old friends. She raised a delicate and freshly plucked eyebrow at him before casting a glance around them.

“Mr. Lodge, a pleasure it is to finally meet you,” she replied respectfully.

“I must say it was a surprise when we received word that you were going to be attendance, but I wish it be no other way,” he continued laying the charm on thick. She nodded her head though.

“Yes, my schedule cleared up and I was… in the area,” Sapphire told him.

“Well we do hope you donate for the betterment of Riverdale,” his wife cut in and Sapphire’s gaze cut to her. She had a charming smile on her face that if Sapphire was anyone else would’ve won her over. But Sapphire worked with the likes Penny Peabody. She knew a snake charmer when she saw one.

“I just might. Though you’ll have to convince me,” Sapphire smirked at the couple. “If you’ll excuse me, I do believe that you all have chocolate covered strawberries at the desert table and those are my favorite.”

She moved around the couple and headed right for the table, but before she could reach it, she was intercepted by both the Lodges’ daughter and Alice Cooper.

“What’s a serpent doing here,” Alice hissed. Her hand tightening around her glass of champagne. She said it at the same time Veronica whispered harshly, “What are you doing here?”

Sapphire laughed lightly, “I’d watch how you talk to me, Mrs. Cooper. I have a friend interested in journalism and it wouldn’t even make a dent in my bank account to buy your little newspaper.”

The two of them froze before her. The implication staring them right in their faces. Sapphire watched with delight before she cleared her throat and held a hand out to Veronica. “It’s nice to meet you, Veronica. I’ve heard many interesting things about you. I’m Sapphire Stone of Stone Enterprises.”

She paid close attention as the recognition entered both their eyes. For Alice, she was realized that this serpent wasn’t just rich. She was The Sapphire Stone whose parents died when she was younger, and her adoption was kept under the tightest wraps that no amount of money you threw at her lawyers were getting them to spill. Hell, even her records went private to keep her adoption a secret. Alice’s eyes dropped down to the tattoo on Sapphire’s thighs and she couldn’t help but to wonder if the Southside of all places was where the young heiress had been living for so long.

And for Veronica, she realized that Joaquin’s mysterious sister was the other teenager with big pockets needed for the SoDale project that her parents tasked her to charm. A Southside Serpent that as far as Veronica knew really disliked anyone from the Northside.

Oh, shit.

Sapphire smiled brightly as she moved around the two. “if you ladies will excuse me, there are some strawberries calling my name.”

Nearly twenty minutes later, Sapphire stood along the other guest as Hiram Lodge and his wife made their way onto the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen. A new story begins in Riverdale tonight.  A story about reinvention and aspiration. This building will be the first chapter of that story.  Luxury apartments, shopping, and even a golf course.  The Southside as we know it will be gone, replaced with a new Eden. So, let us raise our glasses to a brighter tomorrow.  Today, let's celebrate with a little music.”

I think the fuck not, you trick ass bitch.

Sapphire watched with an unimpressed brow at the Lodge’s little speech. She pulled her phone out of her clutch as the couple descended the stage and the Mayor’s daughter and her little band ascended.

She sent a quick message off to her publicist. Buy me Southside High and the Whyte Worm. I don’t care how you do it. Get me both. And throw in a little something nice too for yourself for your troubles.

Sapphire smiled when she received the confirmation text then blinked at the sight of the poster boy for fuckboys made his way over to her.

“Sapphire, how lovely it is to see you again,” Nick smiled. Sapphire wanted to stick her heels into his eye sockets and rip them out from his mouth, but she smiled back falsely and said, “A pleasure as always Nicholas.”

He turned towards the one of the waitress and grab two drinks before handing her one. She immediately narrowed her eyes. Despite his gentleman act, Nick never offered her a drink unless he planned on making some idiotic deal with her on his family’s behalf.

“What do you want, Nicholas? This an old dance now. You don’t have to offer me food and drinks anytime you want something,” Sapphire told him. Nick only shook his head lightly.

“Ah, you’re right. I don’t, but this isn’t for a deal this time. This is a drink to a brighter tomorrow,” he replied repeating Hiram’s words.

Sapphire hummed before clinking their glasses together and she drank. Nick offered her his arm and to keep up with appearances, she took it and followed him onto the dance floor.

Nearly ten minutes passed, and Sapphire thought she was going to pass out. She clutched tightly onto Nick’s arm to keep her balance.

“Are you alright, Sapphire?”

Sapphire’s thoughts slowed and moved to gentle hum. A feeling she usually only gets when she was high except it was more intense and her thoughts were much murkier. What’s wrong with her?

“I just need some air,” she muttered as she tried to find her footing to leave. She paid no mind to Nick holding up most of her strength and leading her away. She just remembered the way his arm wrapped tightly around her waist and the other planted near the top of her thigh and moving lower before she faded out of reality.

When she came to, the first thing Sapphire noticed was the face of Veronica Lodge in front of her and the sounds of someone getting their ass kicked not too far away. She blinked in confusion as she noticed she was lying on a bed with her dress halfway unzipped.

“Whaa?” She mumbled as she tried to figure out what the hell was going on. Veronica wrapped an arm around her and if Sapphire was in her right state of mind, she would’ve damn well broke it. But instead she leaned closer into her embrace.

“Nick drugged you and tried to- “

Sapphire raised a hand because she didn’t want to hear the rest of that sentence. She felt dirty. She had never wanted this to happen to her. Hell, she would have never wished that onto anyone. “He didn’t. He didn- “

Veronica shook her head quickly, “We stopped him before he could do anything more than unzip your dress.”

Sapphire nodded slowly as the people from the other room walked in. The mayor’s daughter and her bandmates. Even Cheryl Blossom. Honesty, Sapphire’s mind was way too cloudy to give a damn. They all crowded around her and led her out of the room. But even if Sapphire’s mind was murky, it didn’t stop her from turning around and stomping her foot into Nick’s balls as he laid their unconscious.

You don’t know what the hell you’ve just done, fucker.

The girls walked with her back to Veronica’s home and helped her to Veronica’s room. She sat on the bed and she started to feel the tiniest bit better. Not a lot, but it was there.

“Someone call SP. My phone,” she muttered as the mayor’s daughter handed her a glass of water from the bathroom. Once she drank some of it, the fog started to clear up even more. Enough for her to glare at the boy, Archie, as he made his way to the room with them followed by Jughead’s girlfriend, Betty, and ex-lover boy Kevin. And a quite nice to look at male wearing a leather jacket.

Veronica turned a little to grab Sapphire’s clutch and went through Sapphire’s phone scrolling through her contacts until she got to the one named SP with a blue heart and crown emoji. The phone rang twice before the other end answer.

“Thought you were out with your rich friends, Saph,” the voice on the other end stated the second they picked up. Veronica could hear loud music in the backroom, a bad rendition of John Legend’s All of Me, and the sound of pool sticks hitting pool balls.

“This isn’t Sapphire. This is Veronica Lodge. We’re at Pembrooke Suites. There was an incident.”

A beat before, “We’re on our way,” was stated and Veronica was listening to the dial tone.

A few minutes passed with Sapphire staring blankly ahead with tears rolling down her cheeks before a loud rumbling sound was heard. She lifted her head with and the others could see a light flicker in her eyes.

Veronica moved from the bed to go let the people in and got the shock of her life when she saw nearly the whole gang of Serpents outside of her door. “Where’s Sapphire,” the boy in front of her demanded. The same boy who Archie had got into a fight with a few days prior. A bit numbly Veronica moved to the side and allowed them in. Even more surprised to see Jughead with them.

She led the group back to her bedroom and held a hand out to stop Archie and Reggie from flying towards them. The tallest one, who Veronica guessed was SP, immediately moved to Sapphire’s right side.

They watched as Josie moved from her spot and the girl with the pink highlights moved in her left and the smaller and slightly buffer boy stood behind the pink haired girl in a show of comfort.

“Sapphire,” another man with long blonde hair stated as he moved into the room. Sapphire looked up to him and all the Serpents that were in the room and surrounding the doorway were shocked and quite honestly horrified to see the heartbroken look in her eyes as more tears spilled on her cheeks.

“What happened,” Jughead questioned looking at the girl in Sweet Pea’s arm. The legendary Sapphire that all the Serpents said he just had to meet. The one who usually trains new recruits but had been extremely busy, so she gave the job to Toni temporarily. Sweet Pea tucked her head into his shoulder and let her cry as Toni ran a comforting hand on her back. Fangs glared at him pointedly before he sighed and motioned for everyone to give the three privacy.

Everyone walked out of the room and it was an awkward moment for the Northsiders to be faced with the small army of Southsiders.

“A boy named Nick St. Clair drugged her drink. He tried to... He tried to rape her,” Veronica told him. Jughead watched as Tall Boy spun around and punched one of the older Serpents in the stomach and the man barely flinched besides the grunt of pain.

“You got a picture,” Tall Boy, asked and Veronica nodded numbly as she pulled her phone out to show them. The phone got passed around for a few minutes to each Serpent as they all took in the boy before it made its way back to Veronica.

“We’ll see what Sapphire wants to do and we’ll handle it,” Tall Boy stated as the door to Veronica’s room opened and Sweet Pea walked out carrying Sapphire in a princess hold. Toni was carrying her heels and clutch and Fangs' jacket had been laid across her.

“She wants to press charges,” Toni stated as Sweet Pea hurriedly exited the room with Sapphire. “She wants to ruin him like he tried to do her and give it public attention in case anyone wants to speak up and a warning for anyone in the future in case he gets off.”

Tall Boy nodded before leaving the room with the other Serpents following. Toni and Fangs went to Jughead’s side before turning to the Northsiders.

“Saph doesn’t like you. None of you, but she thanks you for your help and we thank you for helping her,” Toni stated before she motions her head to leave. Jughead avoided the eyes of his former friends and exited the room with her and Fangs.

“Come on, Pea was taking her to the police station,” Fangs muttered before the three of them jumped back into Fangs’ car and sped off into the night. --

“He did what,” FP snarled from his end of the phone line. Sapphire flinched away from the anger in his voice and FP visibly reigned himself in. She needed him to be cool and collected and not bite anyone’s head off.

“Can you tell me what happened again, Ria,” FP stated softly. Her lawyer sat on the other side of her while Sheriff Keller pulled up a chair and sat to her side. She hadn’t want to talk about what happened without her lawyer present, but when it came down to it, she froze up. Fangs, who had been with her, had asked if talking to FP could help. Like she usually did whenever she was having a crisis and her world went for a loop. She had nodded slowly before Sheriff Keller had led them down to the visiting room and FP had been summoned.

And he was not taking the news well.

Sapphire sniffled, “I had gone to the SoDale event because I knew that when you were working with Mr. Andrews that you were excited to complete it. So, I told myself that I was only coming out of hiding and going in your honor. I had spoken with the Lodges and their daughter and even Alice Cooper came to compliment my outfit. After Mr. Lodge’s speech, I had moved off to the side back by the food table when Nick St. Clair approached me. We exchanged greetings before he offered me a glass of ginger ale. After we drank, he asked for a dance and I went with him. About five-ten minutes later, I had felt hot and stuffy and I had need some air. I remember Nick holding and helping me but after that its blank. When I came to, Veronica Lodge was helping me up and the other girls… the mayor’s daughter, her friends, and Cheryl Blossom had come in from holding off Nick. They took me to Veronica’s house and called Fangs and SP to come get me and brought me here.”

More tears spilled out of her eyes and Sapphire was just so thankful that she had managed to be saved before anything worse than being drugged could happen.

“No llores, hija. It’s alright. Papá here.”

FP glanced up at Fangs who walked forward and wrapped his arms around the girl he saw as his little sister. “Sssh, let it out, Saph. Come on its okay.”

FP then turned towards Sheriff Keller and motioned for him to take the phone. When Keller picked it up, FP snapped, “Is that all you need from her, so she can go?”

Sheriff Keller sighed and motioned for the guard to come forward and lead FP off. “No, give her back the phone before I go.”

Keller rose a brow before he gave Sapphire back the phone who had raised her head to stare brokenly at FP. “Te quiero, hija mía. No lo olvides.”

Sapphire choked back a sob before she replied, “Yo también te quiero, papá.” FP hung up the phone and stood and let the guard lead him out with his two in everything, but blood children watched him.

Sapphire nodded her head before standing up from her chair. Keller turned to her and lead them out while saying, “We got the reports back from the labs and there was an unidentified drug in your system and though faint as it may be, Nick’s DNA was found on your clothes.”

He moved back to his office and held up an evidence bag, “We also searched his hotel room and found this necklace, that I’m presuming belongs to you?”

Fangs nodded his head for her, “It was her grandmother’s.”

Keller and the lawyer flinched at the information.  “We’ll, uh, we’ll make sure to return it to you as soon as possible. You can go now.”

Sapphire’s lawyer turned to her. “We’ve gotten everything we need to for the case. You just rest up and I’ll call you about the rest of the details.”

Fangs mumbled thanks before leading the girl out of the room and back to his car and back to the Southside.

“Fangs, you all can go kick his fucking ass now. But leave him alive. I need him for court.”

[imaginativemarvel]

The Hitman - Bucky Barnes x Reader - Pt. 1 -NEW SERIES?

Summary: Bucky works as a hitman and receives a mission to take down a normal college professor at a local university. Once he sets eyes on her and gets to know her, he realizes there a lot more to the story than just a average english professor. Will he pull the trigger? Or will something stop him?

Pairing: Hitman!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warning: Idk… weapons?????

~No tags worked for this story, sorry in advance~

Authors note at the end because it may or may not be long. ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

He fixed the tie that was newly bought and wrapped around his neck. He recently cut his hair to a shorter length and got rid of the facial hair. Before he looked old and scruffy, now he just looks young and full of life. He practiced his smiles and memorized his fake life story once again. He was on his way to a local university, there worked the infamous (Y/N) (Y/L/N). An anonymous donor had paid Bucky a lot of money, by a lot of money he means his usual pay, times four. Of course he’d take the mission they gave him; who wouldn’t take it?

He’s been through this all before, each mission came with a new name, a new story. This time he was suppose to be a helper teacher, a teacher in the making. It actually took a few weeks to actually be booked into her classroom as a helper but he needed the time to observe her anyways. Rumor has it that she is one of the best teachers on campus. Of course that would have its disadvantages but with a bit of research and maybe a bit of spying, he knew the exact times she would be left alone for her own privacy.

He hopped out of his car when he realized he was at his destination and walked into the familiar school. He knew exactly where to go, he was provided with blueprints of the buildings layout beforehand. Walking through the hallways and giving a few females a flirty smile while their insides melted. He knew who he was, what he was capable of and of course he used it to his advantage. He was a few minutes earlier than when he was suppose to be there, which was perfect. He walked into the classroom and up to the clustered but organized desk. There she was.

She had been bombarded with millions of requests and worksheets from her students that she didn’t even realize the new helper teacher had walked in, and boy was that the best time for him to walk in.

“Hello, you must be (Y/N). I’m Mateo Cavanuagh.”

His blue eyes looked down into her (Y/E/C) eyes. She gave a small smile before setting him right into work. It surprised him, honestly. Normally people would stare at him with an awkward smile, to the point where he could feel their heart beating in their chest. He was a narcissist, all he cared about was himself and making sure he could live the life he wanted, what else would you expect.

“Perfect, here. This whole stack is from their recent exams. This here is a cheat sheet, all the answers are circled in red. Just count their score, total it and then write it on this rubric next to their name.” She handed him a stack of papers and with a red ink pen on top. He was here to murder her, not do her work, but he had to. He had to at least spend the day with her before he pulled the trigger. He knew what time she was left alone and that was always at 8:00 PM when she left to go home. He had to tolerate her until that time.

He silently sat there across from her and did the work. By the time she finished her paperwork, he was finished with his as well. She leaned back into her chair with a sigh of relief as he eyeballed her figure.

“Thank you. What was it again? Mateo? Yes. Thank you, Mateo. If you weren’t here then I’d be stuck here for another hour and that wouldn’t have left me time to go home and get all the stuff together for the end of the semester party.”

“End of the semester party?”

“Oh, sorry. Most teacher don’t do that. My students are such good students and work so hard for what they want. Sometimes you need to cut them slack, give them some things you needed while you were in college. See, when I was in college, I woke up hungry and fell asleep hungry. They didn’t care, you could be starving to death and all they cared about was if you studied. You could have mental health issues but it didn’t matter. You were expected to succeed. Every semester I throw two parties, one mid semester and one at the end. It’s all food and drinks and things they could possibly need. I have one on one talks to see if they’re okay and I just want to make sure they are not thinking of doing anything… harmful to their life or others. I do it a lot for their tests too, I mean I don’t have the best pay but I make sure they have a drink and snack before they’re into hours of testing.”

She took her glasses off before setting them onto the table and looking at her new assistant. “That was a lot, wasn’t it? Sorry. I don’t usually talk this much.”

“No, it’s great, what you’re doing. I assure you, you’re the first teacher I’ve heard of doing that. Did you… lose someone from the stress or something?”

“I make it seem like that, huh? No, not quite. Almost, but not quite. I guess it’s just my personal experience and knowing what they’re going through, it’s hard. I want them to be successful, yes, but emotionally and physically stable in the process.” Her smile was bright. She didn’t have much family, so her students filled in the empty spots. She’d do anything for them, they were amazing kids and she wouldn’t want any other class. His eyes were locked onto her, like he was in deep concentration.

“You’re really something, Ms. (Y/L/N).” His eyes were filled with admiration, and it wasn’t just for show. He truly believed she was something special. Who would want you dead? Who could possible want to take the life of such a good human being and service to not only the world but her students. It didn’t matter though, he’d have to kill her before the clock struck 12.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s a shame, really. That some professors don’t even consider the state of their students. I’m close to so many of them, some of them don’t have any older figure and they look up to me. It makes me happy really, I wouldn’t know what to do without them.”

“That’s amazing, how long have you been teaching?”

“Only a few years, I hope I can still teach until my last breath. It’s what I truly love to do, and you sir are soon going to be in the same steps as me. We’re the same age, aren’t we? Same profession. I read your paper before you came here, you know.” She lifted up a file filled with papers before tossing it his way. He opened it and read every fake record of his that he wrote down weeks ago.

Mateo Cavanaugh, 25, originally from Denver but grew up in Columbus, only child from the parents of Maria and Anthony Cavanaugh, graduated top of his class, named valedictorian and graduated from one of the best colleges in the world, while at the same time, a ranking author. If she wasn’t watching him like a hawk, he would have patted himself on the back for not only having such good accomplishments but such a good way of manipulating everyone into thinking this dream man was really him.

“You seem to have a well put life for you; if I had known any better, I’d say you scrapped that all together and made your own life. You truly are a work of god, many would kill to have the opportunity you’re in.” She reached for her glasses again before balancing them on top your ears and nose and grabbing her bag from underneath the table.

His eyes were steadily on her, did she somehow figure out what he was there for? She seem so nonchalant, so carefree and put back but at the same time he felt a vibe that told him that she somehow figured him out. If she knew, she surely wouldn’t be this easygoing about being face to face with a man that’s about to end her life. He quickly shook the worries off his face and replaced it with a smile. If she saw how scared he was at first, it may have been a dead give away, too bad she did.

“So, what is a high class man like you doing downtown? States away from where you grew up? Why did you specifically request to work in my classroom? Sure I have a reputation around the state but nothing a guy in Columbus should have heard.” She pulled an apple out from her bag and took a bite as he straightened his back and cleared his throat. She watched the way his hand tapped against the arm of the chair. He seemed nervous and she couldn’t exactly put her finger on what it was.

“I had a friend in Columbus that moved here, she didn’t have your class but she had friends who did. She knew about your reputation and she mentioned it to me when I was looking for a mentor. I did my researched and found it would be best if I could see the example of what I want to do when I begin to teach.” Perfect answer, he thought to himself. He was practically a deer in headlights and he got his way out of it. This is why everyone comes to him to do their dirty work.

“Good. So you know what classes I’ve taken and what I’ve mastered in, right?” She quickly stood up before walking towards the man, tossing the apple up in the air and catching it. She took a bite before setting it down on the corner of her desk.

“Yes, of course.”

“So you know I also studied behavioral analysis for a while, right?”

“Yes, what about it?” His eyes stayed on hers. His heartbeat was faster and more nervous than anytime before. Nobody has ever figured out who he was and what his purpose was but he had a gut feeling she knew.

“Are you wearing a blue tie?” Her hands touched his chest before picking up the brand new blue tie he was wearing. Surely she couldn’t use that as any evidence against him, right? At this point he saw her as a threat but wasn’t quite sure. He stayed in place and played along until he knew what was happening.

“Uh… yeah?” He looked her in the face while her hands traveled around his jacket and button up. It was purely platonic, she was just examining the clothes he was wearing.

“You’re Mateo Cavanaugh, correct?” Her arms raised to her hips and settled there.

“Of course! What’s your point?” He was confused and frightened, his arms came out to his sides before he perked his head out at her in frustration.

“Answering your question from before; It’s all about body language. The movements between the moving knee and the cracks in your fingers. Are you constantly tapping your foot? Are you avoiding eye contact? Or is it that whenever you’re lying you blink your eyes twice or lick your bottom lip? Maybe you bite it, maybe you bite the inside of your cheek.” Her legs traveled back to behind her desk while her hands rested on the edges of the wooden table before her.

“And you questioned me because-”

“Because there was something off about you the moment you walked through that door. When you said your tie was blue, you took a quick but deep breathe before you answered. When I asked you if you name was Mateo Cavanaugh, you didn’t inhale, instead you exhaled.”

“Who are you?” He hand was placed on his hip, ready to draw his gun out any second.

“Me? I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N). See, I didn’t lie about who I was, the real question is… who are you?” Her glare stared right through him. He couldn’t take it anymore, you both were alone and he knew the fastest escape route through the building. His hand raised to grab the hidden gun only to find the holster empty. His eyes widens and trailed to look at the empty pocket where the gun was suppose to be.

“Looking for this?” His eyes traveled to her hand, the gun dangled on her fingertips. She gave a smirk before picking up her messenger bag and setting it onto her neck and hip. “Whoever you are, you should really keep an eye on your weapon. Judging by your reaction, I’m assuming this is the only weapon you have on you?”

He was silent. He knew what he had to do in any position where he was caught. He stood there quietly only to hear a scoff escape her lips.

“I’ll answer the questions you probably are asking in your head. Yes, I am who I say I am. My class, my students. All true. The file you probably studied of me, its all true. But my whole life wasn’t in that file, I guess. The past few weeks I’ve noticed this small black car follow mine around, I assumed someone was after me for my past work, and since they just observed my moved and never took a chance to attack, I could only assume they would try to befriend me before killing me. Gotta keep your friends close and your enemies closer huh?” She grabbed a small pen off her desk and wrote on a sticky note before sticking it to the front white board.

His eyes darted towards the note and read it in his head. ‘Important matter - class dismissed until any further notice.’

She cocked the gun before pointing it at him.

“Turn around, I’m going to walk behind you with this to your back. Do as I say and don’t walk out of place, or expect to be on the ground with a hole through your heart. Don’t worry, I can make a good fake life just like you have, Mateo. My apartment is only a block from here, but you probably already knew that.” She placed the gun to his back as he turned. She hovered over his back to covered the gun before directing him outside of the school and down the street to her house. She saw the multiple opportunities that he had to somehow fight her off or escape but he didn’t, and she was worried about that.

By the time they reach her apartment, she forced him into a chair at gunpoint. Gun steadily pointed towards his forehead, she set her bag down on the opposite side of the room, locking the door and closing the blinds.

“Let’s start this off simple, who sent you?"

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡ A/N: So uh… am I ashamed for doing 2 fics in a day? NEVER! The days been long OKAY? Kinda shows I have noThing to do day after day which means I live a lonely life but school doesn’t start for another month and I have no other plans- ANYWAYSSS POSSIBLE SERIES? probably shouldn’t do another series with a peter parker one coming on the way & sexual tension halfway done but oH WELL (ALSO IM AWARE - I PUT BUCKY IN ANOTHER PROFESSOR TYPE STORY, ITS DIFFERENT I PROMISE.) also sorry I just love Bucky so much I make so many stories with him and I can’t help it he’s just so amazing okay bye

[halfabreath]

does holster come out to judy and his dad? do they take it better than his mom did?

the bittle-birkholtz-brousin tag

“Adam, honey?”

The words, caught on the artificial breeze of the air conditioner, flutter through the living room slowly. It takes the span of three breaths for them to finally come to rest on Adam’s back as he lays in the middle of the room, face pressed into the antique rug. It’s scratchy and musty and not at all comfortable, but this is what he does when he’s upset. Usually Bitty is here to rub his back and make him feel better, but today it’s just him and Judy.

The words are light but Holster can still feel the gentle pressure, knowing he has to respond. Before he can muster up the words he his stepmother’s feet come into his field of vision, her bright Lilly Pulitzer capris almost blinding in the late afternoon light.

“Hey, Jude.” He mumbles into the carpet. On any other day he’d sing it like he normally does, but on this, the day of his Wallowing, he can’t even muster up the energy to sing. Judy makes a disapproving noise and primly kneels down on the carpet next to him. She places her hand on his head and begins to comb through his hair like she used to when he was twelve and terrified of the strange new world of sweet tea and tupelo honey he’d been suddenly forced into.

The gentle grumbling of the air conditioner is the only sound in the room for a long moment, until Judy speaks. “Do you think four dozen brownies will be enough, or do you want another batch? And don’t you worry, sugar, I already made some for Justin so he won’t try to steal yours. You’ll give him my love, won’t you?”

It’s those words, unassuming and kind in Judy’s southern drawl, that sends him over the edge. Holster rolls over and sits up suddenly, settling cross legged with his back to his mother. He stares down at the carpet, picking at the intricate pattern of red and black and blue. He doesn’t want to see her face when he says this; he’ll limit himself to the image of just one mother’s disappointment, thank you very much.

“I think I - ” Adam swallows down the lump in his throat, shaking his head once, then once more to clear his mind. “I know I love him. I want to be with him, and there’s no way he’ll ever want to be with me because he can’t because he’s - he’s straight.” He closes his eyes, sucking in a quick breath before he ruins them forever. “He’s straight and I’m…not. I’m bi. Sexual. Bisexual.”

The words settle between them, too heavy to be caught in the air conditioner’s flow. He can feel the moment they settle onto the floor, pulling the entire house down with their weight.

“So you’ll definitely need something else besides brownies.” Judy’s voice cuts through the fear that’s dragging him down, and he turns suddenly in surprise. She moves closer, scooting forward on her knees, and reaches out to cup his cheek. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, sugar. But loving someone isn’t ever something to be ashamed of. Now stand on up; this deserves a cake.” Judy pats his cheek and pulls him up, only managing to pull him into the kitchen because of his state of shock.

The next thing Holster knows he’s holding two bundt pans, a cookie sheet, and various bakeware as Judy sorts through the cabinets in her search for the exact pan she has in mind. He knows he should drop it - Judy’s given him an out if he doesn’t want to talk about it, but…Adam’s never been particularly skilled at keeping his mouth shut.

“I thought you’d be disappointed.” He blurts out, just when Judy sets a cupcake pan on top of his stack with a clank.

She turns away to climb up on the kitchen counter, reaching for the very back of the cabinet. “Well, I am, a little.” Holster’s stomach drops. It’s happening again. It’s happening again and he was ready for it a minute ago and now he’s not. His face falls just in time for Judy to see when she turns back around. “Oh, no! No, no, Adam, no. That’s not what I meant!” She climbs down and hurries over to him, removing the metal sheets from his hands. “I’m so sorry, honey. I meant that I’m disappointed things won’t work out between you two.” She pulls him in for a fierce hug, gathering him up with all the strength in her small body.

“You listen to me, Adam Birkholtz. No one in this house will ever be disappointed in you, you hear?” She shakes him until he nods, then shakes him some more until he kisses her cheek and smiles. “Now put those pans away and we’ll make you that cake. Lemon and blueberry okay?”

“Thanks, Juju.” If his voice is a little rough, Judy doesn’t say anything. She glides past him, pressing carton of blueberries into his hands even though they both know she’s going to have to take them away in a couple minutes so he stops eating them. A cake won’t make him love Ransom any less, but later that night, when the house still smells like lemon and sugar, it’s what helps him amble downstairs to settle next to his father on the couch as he watches football.

Jacob wordlessly tosses him the remote, and Holster flips over to the NHL channel where the Sharks are playing the Coyotes, even though he already knows the score of the game since Chowder has sent updates to the SMH groupchat several times each period. He’s not watching it for the game so much as the backdrop of sound, hoping the familiar clacking and scraping will ease him into a relaxed enough state to say what he needs to say. He swallows once, twice, and blurts out, “I’m bi, dad.”

The whistle blows and play ceases, the player's’ momentum carrying them around the rink in swooping circles.

“I know,” Jacob says, reaching out to wrap his arm around Adam’s shoulders. He drags him down, until Holster’s head is resting on his shoulder. “I always figured you liked Henrik Lundqvist a little too much.”

Holster laughs, weakly punching his father’s arm. “Why didn’t you think I was gay, then?” Jacob chuckles, the motion tilting the room in little bursts as his head is jostled.

“Tina Fey.”  Jacob says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and it probably is. Holster lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, the knot of tension he’s been carrying around finally beginning to unravel. The puck is dropped and play resumes, and he can feel the buzzing of his phone in his pocket - probably Chowder contesting the penalty.

They watch the rest of the game in a companionable silence, speaking only to grumble about bad calls and sing along with the analysis show’s jingle in perfect harmony.