#problem is a bit two-fold in that he's also still in love with ed AND there was an unintentional order in 'above all else is loyalty to your

[something-about-sunflowers]

Ooooooohhhhhhh now I’m thinking of an Izzy with an Ella Enchanted style curse on him hhhhhhhhhh

Read-more cause this got away from me lmfao

He keeps it fairly under wraps for most of his life, sets out to sea at twelve, gets picked up by a press gang at seventeen. He manages, its  expected, for a sailor to follow orders on a navy ship, after all (of course ‘no’ isn't an option available to him anyway).

They get boarded by pirates when he's about twenty one and he’s taken on as part of their crew, the captain is after crew more than loot, tells him he should join (saying ‘no’ would have just had him killed, and he's doing his very best to live).

Some time after, he's nearing twenty five, they’re raided by another ship, the Ranger. Benjamin Hornigold likes a ruthless sailor (a ruthless pirate) and Israel Hands has never allowed himself to be anything but. He decides he wants to keep this one. He offers, Izzy accepts. Ben tells him to kill his former captain (wouldn’t have said ‘no’ even if he could have, the man was a bastard).

He earns a reputation of being kind of a kiss-ass, he doesn’t really mind, it keeps most people from asking questions. But Ben’s got his pet projects Edward Teach and John ‘Jack’ Rackham and they’re both too sharp for their own good (though, Jack is better at playing dumb). They notice its not just Captain’s orders he follows to the letter, but everyone’s. They test him, subtly at first, but eventually they show their hand. Tell him that they know there’s more to Izzy’s obedience than he lets on.

He’s terrified for how they might use this against him (the usual ways, which most men abused without even knowing about his curse, easier, safer to let them think he wanted it) but they tell him they don’t want to take his agency from him like that. They offer to help him. He’s not sure whether to trust it (he knows, by rights, he shouldn’t) but he can’t say ‘no’ to ‘trust us, let us help’ (whether Edward is aware of the command, Izzy will never know, decades later Edward doesn’t even remember what he said to convince him).

So they stick by him, as best they can, if someone gives an order he doesn’t want to follow they’ll tell him, quietly as they can, not to. It works, for the most part. Though eventually, Ben notices Izzy’s not quite as obedient anymore (though he still never says ‘no’ to his captain’s orders). He doesn’t like that. He notices Izzy’s been spending more time around Teach and Rackham, decides they’re bad influences (he intends them to captain other ships in his fleet, they’re allowed to push back on orders, Izzy will never have a command of his own, he is not). He separates them. Puts Teach and Rackham on the Marianne with the flimsy excuse of ‘getting practice in’. (he sees them off with Izzy at his side, a claiming hand on his shoulder, Ed and Jack aren't sure how they manage it, but they don't try to kill him right then and there) They now only ever see each other when they all make port. Its a trying few months (for Ed and Jack, for Izzy. . .).

They meet at port one last time (apart, at least). Edward has a plan. They’re going to mutiny. They’ve been stirring the pot on the Marianne (whispers had already started before they got there, not too many of the crew were happy to miss out on loot just because Ol’ Ben had an apparent soft spot for the Crown). He presses his knife into Izzy's hands. Tells him, back on the ship, when everyone else is asleep, he’s to slip into the captain’s cabin and kill Ben, in his sleep, so he can’t order him to stop (Izzy is never sure if he would have said ‘no’ to that unintentional order, had he been able).

The mutiny goes off without a hitch (Ben wakes when the knife plunges into his throat, but he can’t give orders around the steel and the blood that choke him). Edward makes Izzy his first mate, gives Jack the Marianne. He and Izzy go on to create a legend.

Things are good, for a long while they're good. Edward is an inventive and charismatic captain, the crew love him and the loot he leads them to, and Izzy's position (and Edward's possessive protectiveness over him) means that anyone who dares order Israel Hands around, that doesn't have the title of 'his captain', meets a quick end.

Unfortunately, for Izzy, 'good' never tends to last. He'd hoped (and damn him for daring to hope) that he was free, as free as he could be, from his curse, sailing under Edward (Blackbeard), and he was. For a while. Its about a decade later when Edward starts to get bored. He never orders Izzy to do anything degrading or dangerous (more dangerous than he can handle at least) but it still hurts somewhere deep in his chest the first time Edward gives a casual order and doesn't look to see if Izzy wants to follow it.

They come across Jack every now and again. It always takes him a bit to readjust to Izzy, to remember he needs to phrase things as suggestions rather than orders, he always manages eventually. (that little pain in his chest digs a little deeper when he notices Edward avoids giving him orders when Jack is around, though he can't say why) Their crossing paths wind up fewer and farther between as the years go on. One notable visit involved Jack asking Edward to marry him and Anne Bonny ('why not just have your first mate do it?' 'Annie is my first mate, man, 'sides, I want my two best buds to be there for it!'). Izzy isn't sure what to make of Edward's renewed willingness to run into Jack afterwards (only knows that the pain in his chest grows all the sharper for it, and at seeing Jack, happy with Anne, he feels a bit monstrous about that). It doesn't matter much in the end, things go back to normal once Mary/Mark (depending on the day) Read enters the picture and (mostly) steals Annie away from Jack.

And suddenly Izzy finds himself at fifty five, on a beach, wondering ‘what kind of fucking idiot runs his ship aground‘. Edward is intrigued, Izzy can't tell him 'no'.

He hates the Revenge with every fiber of his being. None of the crew listen to him, Edward doesn't back him up (and neither do Fang or Ivan, following their captain's lead). The first time one of the crew gets it into their head to give him a mocking order he nearly passes out with the force it takes him to not jump to the task immediately. He retreats to his cabin later and vomits at the feeling of violation he hasn't felt in decades (he tells himself he hasn't felt it, Edward is his captain, above all else is loyalty to his captain, his own feelings don't matter).

He hates stupid fucking Stede Bonnet most of all. Hates him for putting a light back in Edward's eyes that hasn't been there for a long while. Hates his pompous attitude, his flippant disregard for the institution of piracy, how little he seems to actually care for the safety and well-being of his own men (leave alone the danger he poses to Edward). Most of all he hates that he calls him 'Iggy'.

So when he challenges him to a duel, and he accepts, its only for Edward's sake that he sets the terms at 'banishment' and not 'death'. When he loses he finds he rather wished it had been to the death. (he doesn't understand, Edward wanted this, he hadn't even told him to stop, hadn't ordered him to stop)

He retreats to Spanish Jackie'z to lick his wounds and to work out a plan to pull Edward out of the steady march towards his own demise that he faces aboard the Revenge. Jackie, Izzy is fairly certain, knows about his curse to some extent (he suspects she doesn't abuse the knowledge for the sake of having a bargaining chip, should she need it), she talks him out of any corners the navy bloke with a grudge against Stede Bonnet inadvertently walks him into. She also runs him into Jack Rackham (and Izzy realizes, at the sight of the silver starting to peek its way through his dirty blond, that its been nearly ten years since they've last seen each other, that pain in his chest not any duller for it) and the last piece of the plan falls into place. Jack tries to talk him out of it, says its not a good idea, even offers him a position on his own ship (not that its his ship to offer anymore, since Annie took over captaincy and made Mary/Mark her first mate, but they've both always had a soft spot for Izzy on account of Jack's soft spot for Izzy, they'd be more than willing), not once does he order though and Izzy can't let Edward keep doing this to himself. Jack will understand when he sees him, Izzy says. Jack goes.

(Izzy hears, when the navy gunners crow triumphantly about hitting the dinghy, the one that Jack and Edward were in, the one that Edward jumped out of, he tells himself not to let it show when that pain in his chest comes back twenty-fold at the thought)

Edward claims the Act of Grace. He and Stede Bonnet leave to lick the king’s boots. Izzy doesn't make it a single day as captain. Edward comes back just before he goes overboard with the anchor to follow. He comes back wrong. Izzy can't take it. Edward can't take it.

The Kraken wakes and Izzy is introduced to the concept of a living hell. (even the captive crew stop trying to give him orders, at the haunted look in his eye, when they see how the Kraken orders him around, when he discovers Spriggs alive, if a lot worse for the wear, he doesn't even need the order to keep it under wraps, he doesn't want to know what the Kraken would order him to do if the boy is found out, he shudders at the thought)

When stupid fucking Stede Bonnet (and his marooned crew) finds his way back to the Revenge Izzy allows himself a single moment to feel relieved. Until, at least, the Kraken orders him to kill the man. He can't. He fights. The crew are all shouting at him not to, it eases the strain. The Kraken levels his pistol at his head, the crew goes silent.

'Israel, I order you to kill Stede Bonnet'.

His sword is in his hand. Stede's gotten better with his own sword, is managing to hold his own against Izzy (in truth, its mostly due to Izzy straining to not follow the order, but there is a marked improvement). The Kraken growls 'Kill him Izzy, fucking- kill him!' Izzy loses his sword to the mast again (he's grateful this time), his knife is in his hand a second later. He's got less reach than Stede does but Stede is trying not to hurt him. Why is he trying not to hurt him?

'Bonnet. Bonnet, you have to stop me. I can't. I can't kill you. I can't let him do that to himself. You have to. Run me through. Right here-' he taps his chest with his free hand, the one that isn't swinging the knife around, the left side, right over his heart '-only way to stop this. He might even listen to you afterwards.'

'Izzy. Izzy no.' In his shock, Stede lowers his sword. Izzy swears as he knocks it out of his hand. Presses close, crowds him against the doors to the captain's cabin, knife against his throat.

'Just fucking kill him already!'

A bead of blood wells under the tip of the blade. Izzy meets his own eyes in the polished reflection of his knife.

'Izzy stop fucking around and do what I told you to!'

His hands shake with the weight of the order. There are tears in his eyes, he can see them in his reflection.

A memory comes, unbidden: He, Edward, and Jack hiking through dense jungle to find a witch that Jack thinks might be able to break his curse, or at least tell them how to break it themselves. Her words 'I cannot break this curse Israel, this is something you must do for yourself. I can tell you this, however, to do this you'll need to face yourself. Face yourself and free yourself. That is all I can say, I'm sorry, I'd tell you more if I could.' They'd left disappointed, Jack cursing about scams and 'you can't even trust witches these days, man', Edward contemplatively silent.

Face yourself and free yourself. Izzy's eyes flick upwards to Stede's concerned face, back down to the blade. He meets his own eyes again.

'Izzy-' The rest of the Kraken's words go unheard.

Izzy tells himself, voice scarcely more than a breath: 'You will not be obedient.'

He feels, more than sees, Stede's gasp. He ignores it. His hand still wants to press the knife upwards. He tries again.

'You will not be obedient.' A little louder this time.

'The fuck did you just say-' Again.

'You will not be obedient!'

The knife flies across the deck, lands with a clatter. Silence (but for the sound of Izzy's labored breaths).

He turns, ignores the shocked crew, meets Edward's wide eyes with his own watery ones (when had the tears started falling so freely?).

'. . . Iz. . . ?'

Everything goes black.

[kenacoki]

After Nightfall

// Pairing // Eddie Diaz x GN!Reader

// Request // Y/n has a nightmare about Eddie dying and wakes up scared which accidentally wakes Eddie up. She reverts into flight mode and runs out of the house and Eddie runs after her. She runs into an alleyway and starts crying and Eddie finds her and comforts her.

// Word Count // 7k

// Warnings // mentions of death and blood

// Dividers // sister-lucifer

As you walk through the front door into Eddie’s house, you set your bags on the floor, “You really didn’t have to do this, Ed’s. I-I coulda got a hotel room or something until they get the gas leak fixed in my apartment.”

Eddie shakes his head, closing the door behind you and locking it. He turns to face you, a reassuring smile on his face.

“Don’t worry, it’s no problem.” He averts his attention to the small boy sitting on the couch. “Besides, you know how much I-Chris—How much Christopher loves having you around.” The tips of his ears flush red with embarrassment at his almost slip-up.

You smile at his words, thoughts of his adorable son bringing you a sense of comfort. He takes a step closer, his eyes studying your face closely.

“And besides, you know I’d never let you pay for a hotel room when you could just stay here instead.”

You can feel your face heat up slightly, a mixture of emotions swirling inside you at his words. You know he’s just being friendly, but there’s a hint of something else in his eyes that you can’t quite put your finger on.

“I...I just don’t want to impose or anything…” you nervously mutter.

Eddie chuckles softly, his expression growing a bit softer, “You’re not imposing, you know that. Besides,” His deep honey-colored eyes pierce into yours, “I like knowing you’re here…close by.”

His words send a flutter through your stomach. You’re not sure what it is, but there’s something about the way he says it that makes you feel almost giddy.

He continues into his kitchen, opening his fridge and scanning the shelves. “You hungry for anything particular?”

You follow him into the kitchen, your (e/c) eyes taking in the familiar small space. It’s cozy and comfortable, just like the rest of his little home. You lean against the counter, folding your arms over your chest as you shake your head.

“Not really, just something small is fine..“ you reply a bit absentmindedly, still a bit distracted by his words from before and the fluttering in your stomach. You snap your attention over to Christopher, “What about you, Chris?”

Eddie rummages through his fridge for a moment before pulling out a Tupperware of leftovers and placing it on the counter. He smiles, his eyes sparkling with a sort of fond excitement at the mention of his son.

“Actually, he’s spending the night with a new friend, a kid named Dustin. They met a few days ago and practically bonded instantly. I swear, those two are like peas in a pod..” he chuckles softly, his voice filled with genuine happiness.

“Sounds like about like you and Buck…” you joke, glancing back at the small boy on the couch.

Eddie smiles, a sly twinkle in his eyes at your comment. He leans against the counter next to you, nodding slightly in agreement.

“Yeah, maybe a little. Except I’m smarter than Buck so...” he says jokingly, his teasing tone playful.

You chuckle, rolling your eyes at his comment. You know he’s just teasing, but you can’t help but banter back.

“Oh yeah, says who?” You challenge, your eyes flickering to his, a small smile on your face.

He grins, enjoying the playful back-and-forth. He leans in a bit closer, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Says me,” he retorts, his tone confident and sure. He pauses for a moment before adding, “And also Buck. He’s admitted multiple times that I’m the smarter one.”

You snort, shaking your head in amused disbelief.

“Yeah right, I’m sure he said that..” you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You know Buck all too well and know for a fact that he would never admit Eddie is smarter than him; even if it was partly true.

You watch as he opens up the leftover container and grabs two bowls from a shelf in his cabinet. He grabs a spoon and evenly divides the food into each one.

He hands over one of the bowls, your fingers just barely brushing against his. For a brief moment, your eyes lock, and for a second you swear you see a tiny flash of something in his gaze. However, it’s gone in an instant, quickly replaced by his usual playful confidence.

“Oh, believe me, he did.” He says, a hint of pride in his tone. “He’s just too stubborn to admit it in front of anyone else.”

Taking the bowl from him, you roll your eyes once more. But can’t help the smile that sneaks onto your face at his insistence. There’s just something so undeniably charming about his confidence, his ability to banter back and forth with you like this…

“Alright, whatever you say, Ed’s. Just don’t let it go to your head, okay?”

He chuckles, grabbing his own bowl and joining you at the counter. He raises his bowl slightly in a mock “cheers” gesture.

“No promises.” He says, his tone jokingly cocky. He takes a bite of his food, a satisfied hum leaving his lips at the taste. He eyes you from the side, a sly smile on his face.

Chuckling slightly, you shake your head at his smugness. You take a bite of the food, mirroring his satisfied hum. The food is actually pretty damn good, just the right amount of spices and seasonings.

“what is this?” You question, slightly muffled by the food in your mouth.

He grins, taking another bite before replying, “It’s something my abuela used to make,” he says, fondly recalling a memory. “It’s a sort of chicken and rice dish with this secret blend of spices. I’ve gotten pretty good at it if I do say so myself.”

There’s a hint of pride in his voice as he explains.

Humming in approval, you take another bite. It really is good, and the fact that it’s something his abuela used to make makes it taste even more special.

“Yeah, I’d say that’s an understatement,” your mouth still half full as you speak. You swallow before continuing, “This is really good, Ed’s. I’m impressed.”

Eddie has a tiny smile on his face as you praise his cooking. He seems almost shy as he ducks his head slightly, a small blush appearing on his cheeks.

“Thanks,” he mutters, his voice suddenly a bit bashful. He takes another bite, trying to hide his slight embarrassment.

There’s a knock at the door, Eddie sets his bowl down on the counter, “That must be Dustin’s parents. Let me grab Christopher’s stuff real fast.”

You nod, finishing the last bite of your food. You set the bowl down on the counter next to his, watching as he heads down the hallway toward Christopher’s room.

After a moment of silence, you can hear snippets of their conversation through the house as Eddie greets Dustin’s parent and hands them Christopher’s bags.

“I love you, bud…” your heart swells as you hear Eddie say goodbye to his son for night. They exchange their thanks and leave, saying their goodbyes to Eddie as they do so.

Hearing the front door close, Eddie reappears in the kitchen after a few moments. He looks a bit distracted though, leaning back against the counter and letting out a small melancholy sigh.

You study him momentarily, noticing the slight shift in his demeanor. You’re not sure what’s on his mind, but you can tell something’s off.

“Everything okay?” You ask him, your voice soft and concerned.

He seems surprised by your question as if he had been lost in his own thoughts for a second.

“Hm?” He hums, blinking a few times before his brain catches up. “Oh.. yeah, I’m fine…Just-just lost in thought for a moment, is all.”

You eye him doubtfully, clearly not entirely convinced by his response.

“Are you sure?” You question a hint of worry still in evident your tone. You lean against the counter next to him, studying his face closely in an attempt to read his expression.

He flashes a faint, reassuring smile, trying to downplay whatever is going on in his head. But his eyes give away his true thoughts, the slight unease and tension still lingering in their depths.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Don’t worry about it.” He says, his voice sounding almost forced. He notices that your bowl is nowempty and grabs it, turning around and placing it in his sink.

You don’t quite buy his response, not fooled by his attempt at nonchalance. But you can tell he’s not in the mood to share or talk about what’s going on in that head of his, so you decide not to press him too much.

Nodding slightly you just hum in acknowledgment, suppressing any remaining suspicion. Eddie quickly changes the subject.

“Hey, you want to watch a movie or something?”

You can tell he’s trying to deflect and change the subject from what’s going on in his head, but decide to let it slide for now.

“Sure, yeah. What do you have in mind?”

He grins, his eyes lighting up slightly.

“How about a horror movie?” he suggests a hint of mischief in his voice.

You let out a small scoff, immediately catching on to his game. You narrow your eyes at him, a scowl forming on your face.

“Very funny, Eddie.” You cross your arms over your chest, giving him a disapproving look.

He grins innocently, the mischief now clear in his eyes. He knows the effect movies like that have on you, and he revels in it.

“What? I’m just asking a simple question..” he says, feigning ignorance. He leans a bit closer, his tone becoming more teasing. “Scared you won’t be able to handle it?”

You glare at him, the annoyance evident on your face. Damn him for always finding ways to tease and rile you up like this…

“Oh, please. I can handle a damn movie, no problem.” You practically growl out, your pride taking over. You strut over to the couch and plop down.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying how easily he’s getting under your skin. He follows you over to the couch and takes a seat next to you, still grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“If you say so.” He replies, his tone still playful and smug. He grabs the remote off the coffee table and scrolls through the movie selection. “Any particular one you want me to put on? Or should I pick?”

You roll your eyes, not even dignifying his smugness with a response. You can already tell he’s going to pick the most horrifying movie possible, just to mess with you.

“You pick.” You dramatically grumble, your voice filled with both annoyance and a hint of resignation.

His grin widens at the response, clearly overjoyed at the opportunity to pick something that’s going to make you squirm. He continues browsing through the selection for a few moments before stopping on a particularly scary-looking movie.

“What about this one?” he holds up the remote and points it at the TV. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, a sly smile still plastered on his face.

Looking at the TV, your eyes widen as they skim over the screen. As soon as you catch sight of the movie title, a shiver runs down your spine.

“No way,” you say, voice firm and resolute.

He feigns shock at my refusal, his brown eyes widening, “What, why not? It looks like a good one...” he says, his tone overly innocent. He turns to you, his eyes practically glittering with mischief.

“You’re not really scared, are you?”

You scoff, annoyance growing with every word that leaves his mouth. You can practically see the taunting gleam in his eyes, and it only irritates you further.

“Of course, I’m not scared.” You quip back, voice full of faux confidence. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting that the movie is actually terrifying.

He smirks, clearly not buying my act for even a second. But he plays along anyway, his voice dripping with faux concern, “You’re not going to get nightmares, are you?”

Your (e/c) eyes playfully glare at him, your irritation continuing to rise.

“Oh, please. I don’t get nightmares from stupid movies, dumbass. And even if I did, I’d just wake up from it. No big deal…” You retort your tone laced with annoyance.

You yank the remote from his hand and press play, sinking back further into the couch.

He lets out a soft laugh at your display of defiance, clearly amused by your stubbornness. He watches the TV as the movie starts to play, his gaze occasionally flickering back towards you. His eyes sparkle with a hint of anticipation.

“Whatever you say,” he responds, his mocking tone making it clear that he doesn’t believe you.

The movie continues, and you keep your focus strictly on the screen, refusing to give Eddie the satisfaction of seeing you scared.

As the movie progresses, the tension in the room thickens, almost palpably. Despite the gore occurring on screen, you force yourself to keep up a neutral expression.

However, as the movie becomes more and more intense, your heart rate quickens ever so slightly.

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie notices the slight shift in your demeanor.

He sees the way your body tenses up as the movie becomes more intense, the subtle clench of your jaw as the suspense builds. But he doesn’t say anything, not yet anyway. He just continues to watch you closely, waiting for the moment when you finally crack.

As the movie's plot takes a particularly sinister turn, the tension in your body reaches its peak. Your fingers grip the edge of the couch tightly as your heart beats faster and faster, the sound of it thumping loudly in your ears. You try your best to keep up the facade, to keep a stoic expression. But as the movie gets progressively more horrifying, you can feel your resolve starting to waver—

“Boo…” Eddie's breath fans against your ear.

You nearly jump out of your skin at his sudden voice. Your heartbeat practically shoots through the roof. A surprised squeak escapes your lips before you can stop it, your body jolting forward instinctively.

"Jesus Christ!" You yell, your voice a mixture of fear and annoyance as you turn to glare at him. “Don't do that!"

He grins at your reaction, clearly relishing in the fact that he’s successfully scared you. He chuckles softly, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement, "I Couldn't help myself."

“You..you’re an ass sometimes.” You swiftly reach over and mess up his hair, teasing him playfully.

He gives a faux indignant scoff, attempting to look offended by my words, but the grin on his face betrays his true amusement. As you mess up his hair, he laughs softly, trying to duck away from your hand.

“Hey, hey!” He protests in a mock-upset tone, playfully batting your hand away. “Watch it. You’ll mess up my hair.”

Hearing his somewhat dramatic response to your little attack, you can't help but chuckle in response. You know he's just messing around.

"Oh, right. My bad. Can't have that perfect hair getting messed up, can we?" You tease, voice dripping with sarcastic sympathy as you ruffle his hair up even more.

Eddie laughs again as you mess up his hair, the gesture sending his bangs falling across his forehead in a disheveled mess. He tries to feign annoyance again, but the laughter keeps slipping out. He lifts his hand to try and fix his hair, but it's no use. You’ve completely ruined the carefully-styled look he had going on, and he knows it.

However, after you playfully mess it up with your fingers, it becomes more tousled and disheveled, sticking up in a way that somehow makes him look even more ruggedly handsome. A hint of annoyance flashes in his eyes as he quickly runs a hand through his hair to try to smooth it back down, but he can't quite hide the amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

It’s quite a contrast from his usual meticulously-styled look, but somehow it suits him just as much. Despite the slightly ridiculous appearance, he still looks effortlessly attractive.

“You look like a freaking mess now.” You comment, a playful grin on your face.

He rolls his eyes, but the laughter still tumbles from his lips. He gives you a half-hearted glare, pretending to be irritated by the comment, but there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Gee, thanks. You really know how to flatter a guy, don’t you?” He retorts, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm.

You give an exaggerated shrug as your grin widens.

“What can I say? I’m just that good.” You slyly tease as you lean back further into the couch. Your eyes grow heavy as they look at the clock on the wall.

Eddie shakes his head in mock exasperation, still trying and failing to fix his hair. He glances over at the clock as well, his own eyes growing a bit heavy.

“It’s getting late.” He yawns out, the corners of his eyes crinkling up.

You nod in agreement, a small yawn of your own escaping your lips once again. Carefully, you stretch your arms above your head, your muscles protesting at the motion. As you do this, the hem of your shirt rides up an inch, exposing a sliver of bare skin.

“Yeah, it is.” You agree, voice a bit groggy. You lean your head back against the couch, eyes fluttering slightly. “Maybe we should get some sleep..”

Eddie notices your exposed skin as you stretch, his gaze lingering on it for a moment before he quickly averts his eyes. He clears his throat softly, trying to distract himself from the sight. He nods in agreement with your suggestion.

“Yeah, you’re right. We should get some sleep..” He agrees, his voice tinged with weariness.

You notice his brief glance at you, but as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone again. It makes you feel strangely self-conscious for a moment, but you shake off the feeling quickly. You’re both tired, it's probably nothing.

The movie on the TV continues to play in the background, but neither of you is paying attention to it anymore. It’s mostly just white noise now. Eddie stands up from the couch, his body stiff from sitting for so long.

“I’m gonna go brush my teeth and stuff…” He says, stifling a yawn with his hand. “Goodnight.

“Okay…” you call out, voice soft and groggy with the need for sleep. You watch as he heads off down the hallway towards the bathroom. Letting out a small yawn, the exhaustion from the day finally starts to get to me.

“Night…” You mutter, your words slurring together slightly in your sleepy state. Slowly, you head down the hall to Eddie’s guest bedroom.

After a few minutes, Eddie returns from the bathroom, now clad in a pair of pajama pants. His hair is still messy from earlier, the strands sticking out every which way. He makes his way down the hallway to his own room and crawls into bed, the exhaustion now taking over as he closes his eyes and drifts off into sleep.

Carefully, you crawl into the bed and pull the covers up to your chin as darkness starts creeping into your vision.

The soft, welcoming embrace of sleep begins to envelop you, as the fatigue of the day starts to take over. You feel yourself begin to sink into the bed, the mattress molding perfectly to your form. Your thoughts slowly start to dissolve as sleep finally pulls you under. You can feel your eyelids closing as your mind begins to slip into unconsciousness.

The gentle sounds of night filter in through the window, the crickets singing their melodic lullaby. The moonlight casts a silvery glow over the room, creating a peaceful, calming atmosphere.

As you sink deeper and deeper into sleep, your mind begins to wander, slowly losing touch with reality. Your breathing slows, and your body grows heavy and relaxed. The world around you fades away, your mind drifting off into a dream, blending reality and fantasy into a vivid, surreal world.

When your eyes open again, one thing is for sure; you’re inside your apartment; more specifically your living room. You can practically smell the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air from earlier in the day. The furniture is exactly where you left it, nothing amiss. The room is silent and still causing an uneasy feeling to form in your gut.

Walking further into the apartment, your footsteps echo softly throughout the quiet space. You glance around as you move towards the kitchen, your steps getting more cautious. There’s a small part of your mind that’s screaming at you, telling you that something's wrong, that this isn’t right.

Entering the space, your eyes scan the room for anything out of place. Your breath hitches in your throat as you see the silhouette of a man behind your kitchen island.

“Eddie…?” The figure whips around. They look exactly like Eddie, down to every last detail. Their clothes, their hair, even the faint scruff on their jaw.

You freeze in place, your heart nearly stopping as you take in the person standing in front of you.

“Wha-how…how did you—how did we get here? I thought we were at—”

“Shhhh..”

Your heartbeat quickens in your chest, the fear starting to take over. You take a small backward step, your wide (e/c) eyes locked on the figure in front of you.

He takes a step closer to you, his gaze fixed on you. The gesture is so familiar, mirroring the way Eddie moves and acts so perfectly it’s almost eerie.

“Why…why didn’t you help?” He questions, a twisted smile on his face.

His words send a shiver down your spine, your blood turning cold. The smile on his face is almost sinister, a sharp contrast to how Eddie usually smiles.

“What?” You manage to croak out, your voice coming out small and afraid.

He takes another step towards you, his footsteps silent on the floor. He moves unnaturally as if he’s simply gliding across the room. Your heartbeat thumps loudly in your ears as he gets closer, every one of your instincts telling you to run.

“Why didn’t you help me?” He repeats, his tone cold and curt.

Hearing his repeated question, a wave of confusion washes over you. Help who? Him? You lost, unsure of what he’s talking about.

“H-help—Eddie what are you talking…” you trail off, your voice hoarse with fear as you notice a tiny, almost missable stain on his shirt.

Then slowly, almost tauntingly, a sickening pool of crimson starts to spread across and stain the shoulder of Eddie’s grey shirt.

The sight of the red stain sends a jolt of fear through you, your eyes fixed on the growing spot of blood as it spreads across his shirt… just like when he was shot by the sniper.

He doesn’t seem to realize it’s there, or he just doesn’t care. He keeps moving forward, closing the space between you.

A million thoughts run through your head, each one more terrifying than the last. You try to back away further, but you can’t seem to move your feet. It’s as if you’ve been frozen in place, trapped under his intense gaze.

“Eddie..” you manage to whisper out, your voice barely a hoarse whisper. “What’s happening?”

He smiles again, the expression sending another wave of chills down your spine. He stops moving, standing just a few feet away from you. His gaze scans over your form, taking in every detail.

The intensity of his gaze causes you to shrink in on yourself, your body instinctively trying to make yourself smaller. The urge to run away is stronger than ever.

“Please,” you plead, voice shaking as you try to keep yourself together. “please wake up…please wake up.”

He seems to find the request amusing, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. It sounds like Eddie’s laugh, but there’s an undertone of malice in it

“Wake up?” He says, his tone almost mocking as he takes another step towards you. “But aren’t you already awake?”

Abruptly, he grabs your hand and brings it against his damp shoulder, staining your hand a crimson red

Gasping, you can feel the sticky, warm liquid against your palm and fingers as you're forced to touch it, the feeling causing a wave of nausea to wash over you

“No...no this isn’t real.” You mumble, denial and disbelief warring with each other.

once again you attempt to wrench your hand away from his grasp, to break free, but he holds it firmly in place. He keeps it planted against his shoulder, forcing her to feel the blood seeping through the fabric of his shirt.

“Isn’t real?” He replies, his tone almost mocking as he speaks. “Looks real to me.”

He glances down at the stain on his shirt, acting as if he’s just noticed it for the first time. His brown eyes widen in horror as he looks back at you before collapsing to the floor of your apartment.

“Eddie!” You scream, your knees hitting the floor as you crumble beside him.

Blood pools on the floor beneath him, seeping out from the bullet wound in his shoulder, staining the wooden floor a sickening shade of red. His face is twisted in agony, a silent scream caught in his throat as his body tremors uncontrollably. Despite your best efforts, it's clear that he's fighting a losing battle, his strength and resilience gradually being overpowered by the onslaught of pain and injury.

“G-Get up! Eddie…” The sight of him lying there on the floor in agony, his life slowly slipping away, sends a wave of anguish through your heart.

Your hands shake as you try to stop the flow of blood oozing from his shoulder. You can see the life slowly draining from his eyes, the light fading as he struggles to stay conscious. His breath comes out in shallow, ragged gasps, each oneweaker than the last. It's like watching a slow, torturous countdown, every tick of the clock bringing him closer to the end.

“Eddie!” Your body jerks up in the guest bed as you’re snapped out of the horrible nightmare.

Panting heavily, your body is coated in a thin layer of sweat. You look around the room in a panic, trying to make sense of your surroundings. It’s dark, but you can see the familiar contour of Eddie’s furniture in the room.

You sit there for a few more moments, trying to slow your racing heart. The nightmare had been so vivid, so realistic…you can still practically feel the blood on your hand, the wetness, the warmth of it.

You can’t help but shudder at the memory, wiping your hand furiously on the blanket as if trying to rid yourself of the phantom sensation.

Still slightly disoriented, you stagger up from the bed. Flinging open the bedroom door, you practically stumble out into the hall. Your body still shakes slightly from the after-effects of the nightmare. You can still see the image of it fresh in your mind…

Logic tells you that the nightmare isn’t real, that it was just a fear-fueled dream, but the fear and adrenaline coursing through your veins makes it difficult to think straight. The silence of the apartment is almost deafening in your heightened state.

“I-I can’t be here…” It feels like you can’t breathe like the air is suddenly too thin as panic starts setting in. The fear coursing through you outweighs your common sense. Your brain tells you that you need to get out of here.

“Mmm..? (Y/N)…?” The sound of Eddie’s voice jolts you out of your panic for a moment. Whirling around, your gaze lands on Eddie as he emerges from his bedroom, rubbing his eyes sleepily as he yawns. “What are you doing?”

He’s clad in a pair of grey pajama pants, his hair sticking up in every direction. He looks tired and disoriented, his eyes half-lidded as he takes in the sight of you.

You feel your heart flutter in your chest. The sight of him standing there safe and unharmed fills you with a sense of peace. However, the fear from the nightmare is still there, lurking in the back of your mind.

You struggle to find your voice, your throat dry and constricted.

“I-I’m sorry…” You fling open the front door, the warm night air engulfing you as you take off down the sidewalk.

Eddie is taken completely off guard by your hasty exit, his sleep-addled mind trying to process what just happened. He stands there at the door for a moment, dumbfounded and disoriented.

It takes him a few moments to snap out of his stupor, his tiredness instantly replaced with worry once he realizes that you’ve left.

“Wait…!” He calls out, stumbling out the door after you.

He struggles to keep up with you, his tired legs slower than yours. He tries to call your name again, but he’s out of breath from running, the words coming out as more of a gasp.

“(Y/n) wait, stop-!” He manages to catch up to you, reaching out to grab your arm.

You flinch at the feel of his hand on your arm, it can’t help but remind you of the nightmare…but in the back of your mind, you know it’s just Eddie.

Your Eddie.

Halting, you tear your arm away from his grasp, whipping around to face him.

He’s breathing heavily, his face flush from the short run. He looks at you with confusion-filled eyes, bewildered by your sudden exit and the look of fear etched on your face.

“What the hell’s wrong…?” He pants out, trying to catch his breath.

You look at him for a moment, the fear and panic still lingering in your eyes. The words spill out before you can stop them.

“I-I had a nightmare..” you stammer out, voice trembling slightly as you force yourself to continue “About…you.”

Your voice softens at the last few words, guilt seeping into your tone. You feel bad for just tearing out of his house in the middle of the night.

He looks down at you, his expression still confused and a bit bewildered. He runs a hand through his messy hair, processing her words.

“About me…?” He asks, the confusion evident in his voice. He doesn’t look angry or offended, just curious.

Your lip quivers as you avert your gaze down to the cracked sidewalk, “Back…Back when you were shot by the sniper.”

Recognition flickers across his features as you mention the sniper, his body tensing slightly. He’s silent for a moment, his expression turning into a grimace as he remembers the painful memory.

“Oh..” He mutters, his voice low.

He reaches a hand up to rub the spot on his shoulder where the sniper had shot him, a ghost of pain flaring up temporarily. The gesture seems involuntary, almost like an instinctual reflex.

“Yeah…that was a pretty shitty experience.” He mutters, his tone dry and humorless.

A pang of guilt shoots through you as you watch him rub his shoulder. You hadn’t meant to bring up the painful memory, you’d just blurted out the first thing that came to your mind.

Fidgeting under his gaze, you shift awkwardly where you stand. With your (e/c) eyes filled with hot tears, you keep your attention fixated on the ground; you don’t want Eddie to see you in this state.

He looks at you, surprise flickering across his face for a brief moment at your apology. He shakes his head “Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault.” He replies, his tone softer than before.

You know that, but still, “I know it’s not..but…but the nightmare…” you trail off, struggling to put your thoughts into words.

He lets out a deep sigh, his expression turning sympathetic. He takes a step closer to you, his gaze fixed on your face.

“Hey, it was just a dream…” He says gently, gesturing to himself as if to prove his point. Exhaling, He grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it above his shoulders.

before you can process what he’s doing, the sight of his bare chest stops all thoughts in their tracks. Even in the low lighting, you can make out the definition of his muscles, and the smoothness of his skin.

Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes widening slightly as you stare at his exposed skin. You can feel your heartbeat quicken again, the sight of his bare chest sending a wave of heat through your body.

He seems completely oblivious to your reaction, his attention focused on his shoulder as he turns to point out the healed bullet wound left behind by the sniper.

You can see the pink puckered skin, the evidence of the traumatic injury marring his flawless skin. The sight of it only increases the guilt that’s already churning in your gut.

“I’m fine, see?”

Swallowing, you try to compose yourself as you force yourself to speak again.

“Y-yeah, I see it...” you try to keep your tone even. However, your voice still wavers, showing the effect of Eddie’s actions.

He lowers his shirt back down, his attention returning to your face. He studies you for a moment, a hint of concern in his gaze as he notices the way you’re staring at him, the way your voice trembles.

He takes a step closer to her, “Hey, it’s okay, alright? I’m fine. That’s all in the past now..” He mutters gently, his tone soothing.

Nodding, you look back down at the cracked sidewalk.

He reaches out and places his hand on your shoulder, his touch warm and gentle. He speaks softly, his voice laced with concern.

“Hey, look at me.”

Slowly, you peer up at Eddie through your eyelashes. The feeling of his hand on your skin is almost grounding, bringing a small comfort in the torrent of emotions that you’re drowning in.

Tenderly, he pulls you into a safe, secure hug.

As he pulls you against his chest, you can feel the warmth of his skin through the thin shirt. The feeling of his body pressed against yours causes goosebumps to prickle your skin.

He rests his chin on top of your head, his grip around you tightening as he holds you close.

Your bottom lip trembles as Eddie's words sink in. Every gentle stroke of his hand, every soothing word he speaks, chips away at the barriers you’ve built around your heart, leaving you raw and vulnerable in a way you’re not used to. You can't hold back the tears any longer, the dam breaking as a choked sob escapes your lips.

Every soothing word he whispers in your ear, every gentle touch he uses to comfort you, only serves to make you cry harder. Your emotions completely overwhelmed by the love and tenderness.

Your body shakes with sobs, your tears soaking through Eddie's shirt, leaving small damp patches against his skin. You cling to him like a lifeline, your fingers digging into his back as you try to hold back the flood of tears.

Eventually, you let yourself relax into his embrace. The steady beat of his heart under your ear is soothing, the sound chasing away the residual fear from the nightmare.

Eddie says nothing. His fingers gently glide up and down your back in a soothing motion, his touch comforting. He can feel your body relax against his, the tension slowly draining from your muscles as you sink into his embrace.

“C’mon, let's head back…”

You nod against his chest, not ready to break away from his embrace quite yet. When you finally do break away from his embrace, you can’t help the pang of disappointment that shoots through you. You look up at him, your (e/c) eyes locking onto his.

There’s no anger visible in his eyes, no trace of annoyance or irritation, just concern and gentle affection as he gazes down at you.

He reaches out a hand, his fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face.

The feel of his fingertips on your skin causes a small gasp to escape your lips. It’s such a simple, innocent gesture, but it’s enough to send your heart into overdrive.

You look up at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of desire and uncertainty.

Eddie’s fingers linger on your face, tracing a slow path down your jawline. His touch is incredibly gentle, but it sets your skin on fire.

He leans down a presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

Your eyes widen at the feel of his lips against your skin, your body responding involuntarily to his touch. The kiss is brief and gentle, but it’s enough to send a wave of heat coursing through your body, your heart skipping a beat in your chest.

You let out a small, shaky sigh as Eddie intertwines his fingers with yours, his grip warm and firm. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his touch sending another wave of heat through your body.

He leads you back to his house, walking slowly alongside you. He glances down every now and then, his gaze filled with affection.

As you reach the front door of his house, the soft glow from the porch light washes over the two of you. He pauses for a moment, reaching down and brushing a strand of hair out of your face once again.

“You okay now..?” His voice is soft, almost inaudible as he speaks

Nodding, your heart pounds wildly in your chest as his fingers brush against your skin. You meet his gaze, your chest flooding with a confusing mixture of emotions—

Comfort…

Desire…

Longing…

He looks down at you, his gaze scanning your face. It’s as if he’s trying to read your thoughts. He can see the emotions swirling in your eyes, a mix of confusion and desire that’s almost palpable in the air. It’s a familiar feeling, something he’s felt himself on occasion.

He lets out a soft, ragged breath, his heart rate increasing slightly.

You look up at him, noticing the way his breathing has quickened, the way his heart is beating a little faster in his chest.

It’s a subtle change, but it’s enough to send a spark of hope through you.

Taking a small step forward, your body moves closer to his on instinct, the need to be close to him growing too strong to resist.

Eddie swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Your proximity is intoxicating, your mere presence sending his senses into overdrive.

He tries to keep his composure, but it’s a losing battle. His gaze wanders down to your plump lips, his eyes lingering on them for a moment, his thoughts racing with a thousand sinful ideas.

You notice the way he’s looking at you, the heat in his gaze sending a jolt of electricity straight down your spine. You can see the desire in his eyes, the barely restrained need written all over his face.

“Eddie...?” You look up at him through half-lidded eyes, your breath coming out a soft, ragged gasp.

He swallows hard, your soft gasp sending a shiver down his spine. He can feel your body pressed up against his, the heat of your skin radiating through his shirt.

“Yeah..?” His voice comes out in a low, rough whisper, the word carrying the weight of all the desire he’s been holding back.

“Kiss me again.”

His breath hitches at the words, the pure need in your voice sending a wave of heat coursing through his body. He looks down at you, his gaze fixed on your lips, your flushed face, your stunning (e/c) eyes.

He reaches out, cusping your face in his hands, his touch gentle and firm at the same time. He leans down, his lips hovering just above yours.

“Please…” That’s all Eddie needs, crashing his lips against yours.

You sigh into the kiss, It’s gentle and tender, soft and sweet. You press yourself closer to him, hands snaking around his neck.

Eddie takes his hand and weaves it into your hair, the other sliding down to rest on the small of your back, holding you firmly against him.

You let out a soft gasp as you two break away, your breath coming out in short, ragged pants. Looking up at him, your vision is dazed and unfocused as you try to catch your breath.

Your body feels like it’s on fire, your skin tingling from where his hands rest. You can feel his heart beating erratically against your chest, the rapid pace mirroring your own.

He runs his hand through your hair, tracing a slow path down your back, “God, you’re beautiful.” He admits, his voice low and hoarse.

The feeling of his hand in your hair, the sound of his voice, low and gravelly in your ear; sending a shiver through your body. You lay your head against his chest, listening to the steadying beat of his heart.

“I guess you’re not so bad yourself.” You shyly smile, your tone teasing.

He lets out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating throughout his chest. Tightening his grip on you, he pulls you even closer to him.

“And there’s the smartass I know.” Eddie jokes, his tone warm and affectionate.

He unlocks the door, holding it open for you while he gestures for you to go in with his head. A small smile tugs at your lip, your heart fluttering in your chest as you feel his breath against your skin.

Carefully, you step through the door. Your body still tingles from the feel of his touch. You glance back at him, “You’re lucky that I love you.”

He raises an eyebrow at your words, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips as he trails in behind you.

“Oh! You love me now, do you?” He teases, closing the door behind him and locking it with a soft click.

[howl-fantasies]

Hiya it’s ya girl Elsie, finally got my main account back (whoop whoop!) I was wondering if you would do a NSFW headcanons about Edward Nygma/ The Riddler and Jonathon Crane/ Scarecrow, if their SO was proud of them for getting a promotion/doing well in the villain area and decided to surprise them with a little treat. (I’m thinking candles, wine, roses, black slip and heels, Rom-com style) Maybe them coming home from, work, breaking into a bloody bank or something etc, and finding little clues and eventually their SO their all like “Hi Sweetie what took you so long?”

Sorry if this is too much, I a little nerd that has too much time or her hands 🤣. Yours, Elsie xx

A/N - Hi dear! Oh, how I like this idea! 

Our little cinnamon rolls definitely need some ahem... attentions... for their great villain work in good old Gotham I'm positive! 

I’m not really comfortable enough to go full smut in english, but I tried to work on some slight NSFW, I hope it will be ok for you. 😖 

Warning : slight NSFW, minor please DNI. English mistakes, sorry it’s not my first language, I’m working on it. 

Word count : 1,762

GOTHAM VILLAINS WHEN THEIR S/O WANTS TO SURPRISE THEM

EDWARD NYGMA / THE RIDDLER

Lately, Riddler and Ed gained more and more influence around Gotham and managed to rob so many banks successfully, putting the GCPD on the edge. Tonight, he told you he’ll attack no less than Gotham Central Bank. You had to do something to show him how proud you were of him and his work. 

Ed 100% is a romantic, you know it perfectly. And Riddler, too, even if he would have you head if you dare saying it aloud. Both also are obsessed with intellectual challenge. So, why don’t mix the two to prepare a little something something for when they’ll get back home? 

.

Ed would open your flat’s door and find... nothing? Everything would be in the dark, minus one lonely candle lazily burning on your table.

.

Since he’s a logical man, the idiot still would try to switch the lights. But  you’re his s/o and you KNEW his freaking rationality could ruin your plans, so you just turned the power off before he came back. HA!

.

Obviously, he would think about an electrical problem first and that the candle on the table is because of it. “Y/N?” He would try to call. But you know better than answer him, don’t you? 

.

He would walk to the candle and see a piece of white paper fold in two. Curious, he would take it and open it, just to see a red rose petal falling from it and landing at his feet. 

.

The room being too dark to see exactly where it landed, he had to take the candle and crouch to grab it, only to see many more petals on the floor forming a path. “Oh.” Yes, he FINALLY got it. And a lovestruck grin would grow on his face before the little simp started to follow your clue. 

.

You were laying on your shared bed currently covered by hundred rose petals, lazily sipping champagne from a flute, while holding another one, patiently waiting for your lover to come to you.

. 

And when he did, opening the door slowly, you felt your own grin growing. Ed stopped at the door, looking truly amazed by your work in the room : candles were burning, creating a beautiful and intimate atmosphere, red roses and carnations were put on each of your nightstands and on his, he could see a huge bottle of champagne, some strawberries and a whipped cream bowl. 

.

When his eyes landed on you, you perfectly heard his breathe stops. Your little decoration was something yes, but you had an important part to play in your surprise. Not only for the evident part which will follow in a minute or two, depending on his brilliant mind. 

.

“Hi my love. What took you so long?” You purred, finally deciding to get up and walk to him, extending your arm to offer him a flute he took a bit absentmindedly, too focus on you, your beautiful face and oh dear god, the gorgeous dark green lingerie you put. “Is it to your liking?” You asked, clearly playing coy with him.

. 

“Hm-hm” He confirmed in a very deep voice, his smile growing even more, this time devilishly. Clearly Riddler was the one in front of you right now, but letting Ed enjoy the show, judging by the crimson of his cheeks.

. 

He snaked an arm around your waist to pull you closer and didn’t wait any longer to attack your neck with kisses, making you shiver and grin while one of your hands would burry itself into his hair and play with it. “Thought we needed to celebrate your hard work and achievements. I suppose Gotham Central Bank was a success since you’re here with me”, you said, moving just enough to be able to see his eyes glinting with happiness and a growing lust.

. 

“Correct, my dear”, he purred before kissing you hungrily, making you moan in his mouth. He grunts when he felt your erected nipples through the thin fabric of the lingerie and started to feel really tight in his pants when you went even closer, letting your free hand wander on his torso, unbuttoning a few of his shirt buttons, then going down to play with his belt. 

.

His left hand traveled from your womb to your back, slightly touching your bum to tease you, but continued its course until reaching the opening of your bra to unclip it.

. 

Only to find out it didn’t move. Now it was your turn to grin devilishly. “Now, who is teasing who, Riddler?” You taunted, taking the opportunity of his surprise to show him your back and the mechanism of the bra. On the top, a little “?” was visible and you looked over your shoulder in mischief, just in time to see his grin growing madly as well as the lust in his eyes. “Oh, you little minx”, he breathed, admiring the mechanism again, then started to work on it. 

. 

It took him exactly 10 seconds to figured out how to unlock it and five to do it. He took it off and grab your hand to make you face him, kissing your knuckles in the process. “Now, that was truly adorable my dear”, he praised, letting the bra go to resume is hungry kissing, both of his hands now working on your body and its more sensible spots.

.   

“Let’s see how long it would take to solve my favorite conundrum” He muttered against your mouth while you could feel one of his hand slowly making its way to your lower regions. “But most importantly how many times I can do it using many different methods” He continued, making you shiver. 

(ADULT) JONATHAN CRANE / SCARECROW 

You turned off your tv with a huge smile after hearing your boyfriend latest shenanigans. The last few months, Scarecrow was becoming more more menacing in Gotham, just saying his name was enough to make thugs and mafiosi run for their life. Where you proud? Yes. Definitely. You remembered vividly when Gotham punks and the GCPD was talking about him like some stupid lunatic, never taking him seriously. Oh. How they were wrong. Now he was like a shadow, terrorizing citizen and criminals alike. So, to show your support and how proud you were of him, you decided to make a little something for him. 

Like Ed, Jonathan is a true romantic and would totally appreciate the surprise you have in mind to help him relax. You just have to find the perfect balance between old fashion romantic and angst, after all, Scarecrow is never too far from your loving and doting boyfriend and you know it. It’s probably why you survived so well being his s/o.

.

Jonathan was on cloud nine. Tonight, he managed to gain a few territories near the industrial district he stole from Penguin. The little man’s goons were running wild all around Gotham after a little taste of his brand new toxin. Now he just wanted to go back to the hideout he shared with you near the end of the city, a big mansion lost in the middle of cornfields. 

.

When he arrived at the front door, he had to raise a brow seeing a little pumpkin put on the doormat. The little candle inside of it illuminated the carved hearts supposed to be its eyes. On the side of the vegetable a little branch looking like a hand pointed something on his right, in direction of the barn situated just next to the house. 

.

Now that he looks at it better, he could see cute little ghosts candles slightly illuminating a path. Jonathan being an intelligent man, he quickly got your message and let a little chuckle out before starting to follow the little ghosts, until arriving in front of the gate. 

.

You spent all your afternoon arranging the barn, and even managed to bring a spare mattress inside of it, on which you where currently waiting and also, like your boyfriend did outside, taking the time to admire your hard work. 

.

Earlier, you collected beautiful fall leaves, dozen of roses and stopped in a shop in town to buy fake head skulls you next put strategically all around the place with just enough candles to create the perfect mood. As you were mentally patting yourself in the back, you heard the door being opened and saw your lover standing a few feet from you, amazement by what you created in here clearly visible in his eyes. 

. 

“Welcome back honey”, you whispered happily, just loud enough for him to hear. You heard and saw how he released the breathe he was holding. “Wow.” He stupidly said at first, not yet accustomed to all the genuine love and loving attentions he was receiving since he started dating you. “How did you-...?” You didn’t let him finish his question.

.

 Tonight, you weren’t the one supposed to receive all the praises. So you cut him and looped your arms around his neck to kiss him sweetly. “Later”, you said after separating a few inches away from his mouth. 

.

You can see a small smile on his face, growing more and more when you spoke. “I wanted to prepare a little something for my lover, to show him how much I’m proud of him and how much I love him. He deserves it, don’t you think?” You asked mischievously, letting out a squeal when he lifted you from the floor to kiss you hungrily. 

.

When he had to let you go to breathe, you could see his piercing blue eyes lowering on your body and the lust in them, noting your outfit : a black corset linked by satin strings to your black panties, garter belt and a pair of black high heels. You felt your cheeks burn a bit seeing how he bites his lower lips, clearly admiring your audacity.

.

“You really spoil me rotten tonight, my love”, he muttered, finally deciding to let his hands wander on you, making delicious shivers shaking you. You felt both of his hands sliding down your back, tugging the strings of your corset until successfully untying it, then letting it go to caress your bum, your upper thighs and grabbing them to lift you up, guiding both of you to the bed you created here. 

.

When he put you down on it, he quickly moved on top of you and resume his kissing and touching, consuming you and making you a panting mess, before dropping off butterflies kisses on your jaw and whispering in your hear, “Now, my sweet, let’s see what excites you the most”, while one of his hands traveled down your womb to reach your panties. 

-- 

A/N - Let’s cut it here since I’m still terribly uncomfortable with writing smut in english. 🙈 I’ll let the rest to your (fertile i’m sure) imagination. I hope you liked it even if it was just slightly NSFW. 

Have a beautiful day/night my dear and take care!  

[taeyamayang]

hq boys as fur parents

disclaimer: purely based on how I perceive each character

PRETTY SETTERS ed.

🌃 KAGEYAMAㅡSTRAY PUPPY

a stray dog followed him on his way home from practice one day. he tried to shoo it off but the little puppy has already fallen in love with him. left with no choice, he takes the dog home. he convinces himself that he would let it stay for a night or two until he finds an owner. he hopes hinata is fond of dogs. upon reaching his home, the puppy kept biting onto the hem of his pants as if it's asking him for something. maybe it's hungry, he thought. albeit, having no experience of taking care of a pet he googles 'how to take care of a puppy'. he pulls the handle of the refrigerator open to search for leftover table food. he spoons out marinated sweet pork from the container then proceeded to feed the puppy. he squats down, folding his knees as he observes it eat. "finish it, i can't put it back in the container. don't throw food, you asked for this." he talks to the puppy using his normal voice. the poor dog glances at him for a bit after hearing him talk before going back to devouring the remaining bits and pieces of the pork. shortly after, the puppy falls asleep. it is probably tired from the long walk on the way home. kageyama proceeds with his usual routine. he lies down on his bed tossing a volleyball in his hand. his mind wandering off somewhere mostly about volleyball. a tiny bark surprises him, reminding him of the tiny intruder in his house. he squints at the small puppy wagging its tail next to his bed. its front legs are slightly bent down and his butt in the air. he barks at him one more time. kageyama crosses his eyebrows at the dog. "what do you want?" he says spinning the ball in one hand. the dog barks at him again. his lips purses and his eyebrow raises. "you want to play?" he wiggles the ball in the air making the dog jump excitedly. "alright." he pushes himself off his bed to sit on the floor. he spends the next few hours playing with the puppy until both of them pass out.

🌃 OIKAWAㅡPOMERANIAN

iwaizumi didn't trust him with the dog, obviously, but oikawa insisted on taking care of it for a while until mattsun comes back from vacation. knowing how impatient oikawa can be iwaizumi agrees with his plan but with the condition of sending him an hourly update and a permission to visit his house whenever he wants to. like a parent in shared child custody. the first few hours were smooth sailing and oikawa is high on his horse. he even sent pictures to iwaizumi gloating about his perfect parenting. not until the pomeranian decided to bark consistently at him. even though, he has given it food, toy and even played with it, and a nice comforter to sleep on. "what is it?" oikawa exasperatedly says to the dog. the pom barks at him in response. "do you want me to hold you?" he nears his hand to the dog's torso but it wriggles his hand off as it bounces off the ground catching his hands using its mouth. "i don't understand what you're trying to say. what do you want?!" oikawa's patience is getting thinner. the dog has been barking at him for more than five minutes straight now. an petty idea struck him. if the dog won't shut up then he won't too. he does the thing that only an oikawa breed does; he levels his body down to the ground to meet the dog's eyes before barking back at him. for a second, the dog pulls back tilting its head to the side confused with what he was doing before barking back at him more aggressively this time. this has become some odd battle of dominance. the front door of their house opens to a dark-haired boy. "hey, toru i brought some dog treats." his mouth falls at the sight of a human turned dog. oikawa stops and their eyes meet. "iwa-chan." his voice came out in a whisper. "unbelievable." iwaizumi shakes his head before shutting the door close.

🌃 KENMAㅡCALICO CAT

kenma isn't the best at taking care of a living breathing thing. he barely has the energy to look out for his well-being what more to a pet. but this calico cat outside their house pleads the bare minimum of attention and affection. so, they work perfectly well together. it only asks him for food then it goes off to sleep on their roof and food isn't his biggest problem since he spares her food from dinner. everything was going well until one day when kenma was walking down the empty streets of his neighborhood. he hears a whimpering sound of kittens near his house. no way, he thoughts to himself. but as his footsteps near his home, the sound gets louder. he opens the gate to his home. lo and behold he sees the calico cat with her four kittens in front of their house. "you can't bring them here!" his duffle bag falls from his shoulder as he reprimands the mother cat. the cat meows back in reply. "put them back to where they were before. you only eat here. you don't get to stay here!" the calico cat rubs its body against his leg as it purrs. the kittens follow their mother, surrounding kenma. "you're too many." he puts his face on his hands. his mind go through possible solutions. then it hits him. he fishes his phone out from his bag and his finger navigates through his contacts knowing exactly who to call. he picks up after three rings. "kuroo, the calico cat has kittens. i can't take care of four more cats. take the kittens." he says in one go. kuroo convinces him to house the cat family for now. left with no alternative, kenma agrees. sigh escaping from his mouth. the older promises to find the kittens an owner. the kittens look at him with their big rounded eyes. kenma grunts to himself unable to leave the hungry cats on his porch. he goes to the kitchen to grab spare food and milk. he places the food near the mother cat for her to eat while kenma tilts his head back to taste the milk. "you're lucky the milk isn't spoiled yet. here have it." he pours the milk in a small bowl watching the kittens waddle their way to their fiest.

🌃 AKAASHIㅡOLD ENGLISH SHEEPDOG

generally, akaashi is a perceptive person so that makes it easier for him to see through people or living things and give them what they want. which points us to the fact that he has knacks for taking care of dogs. it's only been a few months since their family adopted an old english sheepdog but the dog has already learned a lot of tricks from him. he knows how to sit, lie down, roll over, and fetch. he has taught their house pet where to pee and poop and the dog follows his orders when he reprimands him for chewing on their slippers. although, still remaing nameless since they adopted him they seem to get along pretty well, to say the least. oddly, though, the dog has a weird habit. it tends to goof around a lot, barking at other dogs to play with while him as he jumps and turn in the air like a fool. he has his tongue out all the time and his eyes are round yet droopy as if he was excited yet sleepy at the same time. the dog also loves praises. every trick has to be followed by praises and treats. if you skip the praises though still giving him the treats the old english sheepdog goes through what seems like a cycle of depressive thoughts. weirdly, it reminds him of someone. someone with the same habits and same way of thinking. even the coat of the nameless english sheepdog reminds him of him. the next day during break from practice their manager, kaori, approaches akaashi to ask him about his new still nameless dog. "how do you teach it when it doesn't have a name yet?" she questions him. " I call him 'boy' before. though, it has a name now." akaashi says crossing his arms over his chest. "what is it?" kaori's eyes glimmer in curiosity only for it to dissipate as his point finger leads her sight to grey and black-headed boy. the subject of interest then turns his head pulling a big smile. "you called for me, akaashi?" bokuto says. his dog's name is bokuto.

a/n: thanks for reading!

Masterlist

[lilikags]

ೃ‧₊› a b o u t  t h i s  p o s t° ➮ Pairing: Miya Atsumu x reader ➮ Oneshot ➮ Tags: fluff ➮ Word Count: 2182

A/N: This is for @serowotonin​! [for Luna’s Valentines Day collab] Ik I said I was doing Atsumu bc “I was bored” but I always say “imagine being bored” and truly, I haven’t been bored for so long. I forgot that this was for the collab for a fat moment then when you saw the preview I was like, “Wait- no- it’s a surprise.” 

Premise: You and Atsumu are cleaning out the apartment, when you find a few letters you thought you would never see again… 

“Oi, (y/n), look at what I found,” you heard Atsumu say, leaning over the contents of a drawer he had been sifting through. 

“What?” you walked over to see what he had found. The two of you were cleaning out the apartment, as you were going to be moving out soon. Atsumu had a habit of keeping things that connected him to an important memory of his, unless he wanted to forget it- and this was one of them. You didn’t know he kept them- actually, it did make sense of him to, but you had simply forgotten about it and you somehow expected the same for him. You looked down to see what he had in his hands, and your face literally went emotionless as you saw the letter in his hands. 

You really didn’t mind the letters, for the most part. Actually, they held dear to you. However, that first one… you were grateful for it, but you also remembered just how bad you wanted to buy a grave space and bury it for eternity back then... 

Miya Atsumu.

This was a dare. This is a love letter. For Valentines. Happy valentines day. If you have extra chocolate, send me some. 

Sincerest thanks, (y/n). 

Atsumu usually threw away the letters he received every Valentines. It wasn’t that he was trying to be rude; it was just that there were too many letters for him to read (and reply to), so he usually just threw them out. Osamu often teased him for this; he boasted that he at least read his letters.

“Oi, ‘Samu, look at this one,” Atsumu called out to his brother. 

“What?” Osamu looked at him, with a face of disbelief. “Yer actually lookin’ at them?”

“Nah, not really, but this one’s hilarious,” Atsumu laughed. 

“Okay, not funny, keep yer lame humor to yourself.” 

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

“(y/n), truth or dare,” (b/f/n) asked. 

You smiled, “Dare.” 

“Hmmm… alright, send a love letter to Miya Atsumu- it has to be at least one line long.”

“I’m- okay then.” 

You brought out a piece of paper, wrote the first things that came to mind, and once you reached one line, you stopped. You folded the paper and grabbed whatever envelope you could find and sealed it with tape. The dare required actually giving the letter, much to your dismay, but it wasn’t like you could back down from a dare. After all, it was (b/f/n), and the nonstop teasing would definitely occur if you failed to complete the dare. 

Dearest (y/n), 

I did in fact receive your rather interesting letter, and I have decided to bring you some chocolate as you wished. I wish you, as well, a very happy valentine’s day this year.

Most sincerely, Atsumu. 

Atsumu was intrigued enough to write a reply; in fact, he decided to write in the most formal way possible. He knew from the letter that you were either a tsundere or someone who was actually dared to do so, and decided that it would be fun entertainment for the both of you. 

When you received the letter, you were surprised to see a reply. It was known he didn’t send out replies, yet you had received one. As you read it, you felt a need to reply; you’d simply feel bad if you didn’t. However, what was there to talk about? How the chocolates were good? He had stuck it on your first period desk, out in the open. And you also sincerely wondered what was with the overly formal tone. You do remember writing the most shitty letter you’ve ever written to him, and that volleyball-obsessed dude just writes something formal to you? Baffles the mind.

Well, then, if he was going to reply, you would too. 

Miya Atsumu,

Thanks for the chocolate- your fans make pretty good chocolate, I have to say. Bet I could make better chocolate than ya, ‘cause all ya focus on is just volleyball. Anyways, what was with the overly formal tone- ya like me or somethin’? Would be funny if ya did and I turned ya down. XD  

(y/n) 

You never really thought of Miya Atsumu, but this really sparked your interest. It was amusing, his reactions. It was definitely something you didn’t expect- you actually didn’t expect a reply at all. The reply you received was definitely out of the ordinary as well, one you never thought a hotshot volleyball player would write. It seemed he was interested in you in some ways- and you as well. 

(y/n),

Pfffft, you think I might like ya? I just thought yer letter was interestin’, that’s all. Ya really think I can’t make chocolate? Bet I could make better chocolate than ya, I’ll show you. I make you chocolate myself and we’ll see how it tastes. Just you watch, I’ll make ya say I make the best chocolate ever! 

Atsumu. 

You saw that in your shoe locker the next morning- and everyone saw it. You were beginning to regret actually replying to him, but there was no backing out now. (b/f/n) really hit the goal here, for her. People were probably talking about it. It’s always some event that involves romance that catches everyone’s eye. And since it was just after valentine’s, everyone would automatically assume it was a love letter. In reality, it was simply a little bit of playful banter. 

You wondered if people actually knew who it was. You hoped not; it would gather way too much attention for your liking. You’d have an entire fanclub after you, and it was definitely (b/f/n)’s fault that you got into this entire mess. You had absolutely no idea if anyone saw him slip that into your shoe locker, since it had probably been there for a good hour or so before you and most of the other students got there. In any case, there was nothing you could do about people knowing things they already know, so you headed onto class. It was exam week, and you sighed; it would be a long day. 

When you arrived at homeroom, you were not-so-pleasantly surprised with what you found at your desk. You just wanted a quiet day; go to school, take the tests, and get out so you could relax at home. But no, you just had to see this and you knew there was a thing called rumors you had to deal with. Well, you could just be like “whatever” and not care, but you definitely knew who’d be after you, for real. Atsumu’s fanbase was quite scary, and definitely large- a group of people one would regret messing with. 

“Ugh- what am I going to do with this chocolate now, he gave me a lot yesterday…” 

“(y/n)! Oiiii, you got chocolate?! From who from who-”

“(b/f/n), if you say a word, you are going to be dead to me.”

“...” she looked away, but then turned to you again and whispered in your ear. “So, Miya Atsumu, who has a fanbase, likes you.” 

“I’m- no-”

“But what I’m seeing says otherwise?”

“Ugh, you’re coming to my house and you are going to pay for that dare.” 

“Oh ho ho, seems like I started something…” “Bet you did.”

Pisshead Atsumu

LMAO bet ya didn’t make the chocolate, yer terrible at lying <///3 seen this chocolate before. And like wtf you put a box of chocolate on my desk with YOUR NAME on it. Ya know that people will do a thing called assuming things, right? Smh, think before you act. Anyways, I’m counting on ya to fix up this mess.

(y/n)

When you finished class, the first thing you did was write the note. You were absolutely paranoid with this mess, and you were going to have Atsumu fix it. Yes, you did technically initiate contact first, but that was (b/f/n)’s fault and this could’ve avoided this if he hadn’t pulled off a whole stunt. 

It was already around 6 when he saw the note. A small smirk filled his expression, he was so sure that he would be able to get a good reaction out of (y/n). It was written on scrap paper, the back of a phys. ed worksheet. You wrote it in a rush, very obviously. That wasn’t really what caught his attention though; he was puzzled as to how he would fix this. Tell his fans to fuck off? Osamu would tease him for eternity.

“Oi, what’cha starin’ at?” he heard Osamu nag. “Mom’s waitin’ for us for dinner.”

“Hey, ‘Samu…  ya know how to fix this?” 

“... ARE YOU AN IDIOT- YOU ARE AN IDIOT.”

“I AM NOT! YOU ARE THE IDIOT HERE!” 

“SAYS THE ONE WHO GOT INTO A MESS LIKE THIS!” 

“Oi, ya shouldn’t be fightin’ at this hour,” the two heard Kita say, as he gave them a certain look. “... ‘m sorry…” the twins apologized.

Even after a fulfilling dinner made by their mother and a nice, hot shower, Atsumu still couldn’t think of a solution. Osamu almost snitched on him, but he decided that there was enough on their mom’s plate of problems at the moment. 

“What if ya said you were dating?” Osamu offered. 

“HAH?! ARE YA INSANE?!” Atsumu yelled at him.

“That would explain what happened at valentine’s.” 

“But there’s nothin’ between us-”

“Yer fanclub wouldn’t really believe anythin’ else.”

“Yeah…” 

(y/n),

Can we meet when practice ends at 6 on Thursday?

M. Atsumu.

“... I’m- Is he just going to apologize then run away? Tch.” you sighed. You had the idea that Miya Atsumu was overconfident and carefree, but not to this extent. The least he could do was fix this- he had power over his fandom and what people said about him, unlike you. You had to go, it wasn’t like you really had much of a choice if you wanted to talk it out and fix it. 

“Hey, (y/n) are you and Atsumu dating?” one of your classmates asked, and a bunch of others hovered around the table, waiting to hear a response. (b/f/n) had told you rumors had spread around the entire school; you figured that would’ve happened. Any topic related to the twins spread like wildfire, especially the blonde-haired one. 

“... Can you not try to pry into my private life?” you replied, which you instantly realized was exactly a wrong answer to give. This implied that you were in fact dating Atsumu secretly, and you just made your life 10x worse. You figured you should just tell everyone what had happened, then the blame would be on (b/f/n)- it should preferably be placed on Atsumu, since he started it, really. 

When you met him at 6pm, you expected no contribution from him. Instead, you were met with a solid plan for something you weren’t really happy about, but it seemed the easiest to convince the public of a story they put out. 

“(y/n)... let’s tell them that we’re dating.”

“Hmm… well, they already think that…”

“I’m sorry… I wasn’t thinking…” “It’s fine. All we can do is move forward, I guess.”

“Yeah… ‘Samu gave me this solution; it’s all I have, I’m sorry if it’s-”

“It’s fine. Let’s go through with it. Just protect me from the crazy fangirls; that’s all I want.”

“Ya.” 

“And we’ll need to put together a coherent story; what’s yer number?” 

“Ahaha, seriously, maybe (b/f/n)’s a prophet. She told me that she was aiming for somethin’ to happen between us,” you commented, remembering what happened years and years ago. 

“Ya were just so unnecessarily worried about the fangirls,” Atsumu mentioned. 

“Oi! Yer fangirls were hella scary back then…” 

That night, you stayed up coming up with a story, which ended with the two of you breaking up so that you could go on your separate ways again. However, the story didn’t last too long, as (b/f/n)’s parent’s investigations went a little too far and spread the truth a little too much. (b/f/n) is one thing, but you had almost forgotten her parents were another, seriously. They’d been a little busy over the last few years, thus the lack of investigations of local drama, but they had been doing so for decades, what could you expect from them? 

Nothing was Atsumu’s fault to the fanclub, unless he seriously convinced them that it was. You were guilty until proven innocent. Unbeknownst to you until after, he gave them a whole (to be honest, not-so-great) speech on how he kind of went too far with the joke, but also placed the blame on everyone else for assuming things. People were absolutely ridiculous; their ideas and their insane imagination should learn that the left side of the brain exists too. 

“Funny how we met again after college, after all that time.”

“Ya… a real wonder” 

Another A/N: OMG THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING FOR ‘TSUMU FORGIVE ME IF I WROTE HIM LIKE, WRONG IN THIS AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

『••✎••』 Extra Info * ˚ ✦ ⇢ If you would like to read some of my other works, find them here! * ˚ ✦ ⇢ Taglist: @serowotonin​ @luna-la-ley​ // send me an ask if you would like to be added!

[wouldpollyapprove]

I’m Not Like Her

Summary: Y/n never thought she’d take a job as a barmaid, but she had to do what she had to do. Fleeing from a mob in Aberdeen, she was willing to do anything to live a peaceful life. And if that meant working for the Shelby’s then so be it. Life was normal until the mob decided to make an appearance in Birmingham, leading Tommy start to believe Y/n wasn’t exactly who she said she was.

Request: 17 from humor and 4 from misc? With tommy please 🥺❤️

Requested by @jenepleurepasbaby

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Language, alcohol, violence, angst 

A/N: This is barely edited b/c I have no paitence for that, but I really like how this turned out. Oh, and the cocktail I mentioned is from the 1920s but I’m not sure if it was popular in the UK or not. Anyway, I hope you guys like it and sorry for the angst, I couldn’t help myself.

Part Two

Masterlist

The noise filled the air, keeping people focused on what they were doing. It was too loud for anyone to notice much more than what was in front of them due to the alcohol in their system. It was always like that in the Garrison on a Friday night. Men clocked out of work, grabbed a girl, and headed for the pub. That’s how it always went.

Y/n had no time to think about anything but cocktail recipes as she filled orders. The men of Small Heath ordered everything straight out of the bottle. Whether it be whiskey, gin, or rum, it was always served either plain or on the rocks with a splash of water. It all came down to how much they wanted to stumble when they walked out of the door. The woman that tagged along were the ones that wanted to drink something fancy. They wanted to be more than some dirt poor girl from the wrong side of town. A lady in a countryside manor or a duchess in a French Château is what they wanted to be.

And that is what Y/n tried her best to do, give them a piece of a reality that would never be theirs.

She was too busy filling orders to notice the men that had entered the bar. Their appearance was almost identical to that of the Peaky Blinders that frequented the streets. They all wore neatly pressed suits, bulky overcoats covering their suit. No suspicion would have been drawn if it weren’t for the hats that sat upon their heads. 

Handing over the fifth Sidecar she’d made in the last fifteen minutes, Y/n wiped her hands off on her apron. “Good Lord, is it ever gonna slow down?” 

Edith shook her head from beside her. “I fuckin’ wish. I’m sick of this Irish beer Arthur ordered. Everyones to pissed to realize it’s shit.”

Y/n chuckled, “That they are.” Her eyes wandered around the packed bar, landing in bursts on the drunks that stumbled around. Just as she was about to turn back to her work, her eyes landed on three well-dressed men at the door. All the blood drained from her face, turning it ash white. The tammies they wore picking them out of the crowd

“Are you alright?” Edith asked, turning from pouring another glass of whiskey on the rocks. 

Her coworker nodded, before glancing at the clock on the wall above them. “Yeah, yeah, I’m alright. I’m off in five-” Mary passed behind her, on time for her shift for once. “-and Mary’s here so I think I’m going to head home.”

She wasn’t given a second glance as she stripped her apron off and fetched her coat from the back room. Eyes followed her like a hawk until she reached the door. Y/n didn’t bother to look at the three men that stood in front of the door, she shoved past them, knowing they wouldn’t make a scene. 

With the door to the Shelby’s private room open, Tommy kept his eye trained on the men while he kept up with the conversation he was having with Michael. The grip on his glass tightened when Y/n appeared and shoved passed two of them. He would have thought that by the time Y/n got off the men would have ordered a drink and found a table, but the stood near the door like statues. Only moved, turning on their heels, when Y/n shoved them out of her way and followed a few feet behind her. 

It was odd. Everything about it was odd. The men that had entered the bar ten minutes before were odd. Tommy could have sworn he’d seen the men once before. London came to mind when he thought of them and how they’d dressed. But no one in London would be caught dead dressing like that. And the man found it odd how Y/n shoved passed them, something he knew she would never do.

Tommy and Y/n had an interesting relationship.

Tommy was in love with her, there was no way he could deny it. He could ignore it, though. After what happened with Grace two years before, he wasn’t sure he was ready to wear his heart on his sleeve. Every once and a while, a sharp pain would overtake his heart and make him remember why he was afraid to love so openly again. He tried though. He tried to do as much as he could for her with what he had. Tommy did his best to protect and behind closed doors, he showed her his heart.

But that could never be aired out in the open.

Thomas Shelby couldn’t have people seeing him weak over a woman. He couldn’t be seen once more being destroyed by the touched of a woman who’d betrayed him.

Y/n was much different than her lover. She was as loyal as they came and would never betray him, not when he owned her heart. Not one to love as few had ever shown her such a thing, she had no problem giving Tommy the love he deserved. She didn’t care about the blood on his hands or the damage caused by the war. She saw past his outward appearance and his tough exterior, loving who he was before and after damage had been done to his heart and soul.

Though he was concerned, there was business to be done and it couldn’t wait. No longer a believer, Tommy prayed to God that he wasn’t making a mistake for not following after her.

Stepping out onto the dirt-covered cobblestones, the cold air bit at her exposed skin as Y/n waited for the men to exit behind her. She turned when the door creaked open, more light pouring out onto the street.

The tallest of the three linked his arm with her’s, dragging her down the street, her protests drowned out by the sound of the other men lighting their cigars. Once he believed them to be far enough from prying eyes, in front of a factory that was closed for the night, he stopped and swung the girl in front of him. “Didn’t think I’d fin ya, did ya?”

“You fuckin’ bastard,” Y/n spat, pulling her arm out of his grasp. “What the fuck are you doing here, Roger?”

It had been ages since the two had last seen each other, parting onto a hill that overlooked Aberdeen, blood and tears on both their faces. They’d shared some good times, getting into all the trouble they could. They ran from the law in Edinburgh, jumping a train with a bottle of whiskey in their bag. Y/n stayed by his side when his father put him in charge of his family’s company and she watched him turn into a hungry monster, out for money and blood.

A laugh vibrated his chest, he leaned forward, moving a piece of curly hair out of her face. How he’d missed those curls of her’s. “I’ve come to ask for your help, love.”

Swatting his hand away from her face, she pushed him away, wishing to create distance between them. The men beside him, supposed to be his body guards, did nothing, believing she held no power. She rolled her eyes at their dismissals, Ed and Jim had never been very good at keeping their boss out of danger. “No fucking way will I ever help you.”

“Ya used to help with everything. There was nothin’ ya wouldn’t do fer me.”

“That was before you killed Charlie-” Y/n folded her arms across her chest, wrapping her coat around her tighter. “He was my friend, Roger.”

The man rolled his eyes. He never cared about what he had to do to keep his business running. “He was taking you from me.”

“Your brutish behavior was taking me away from you. Don’t confuse the two.” Y/n reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She waltzed around the men as she dug around for a lighter, knowing the men in front of her weren’t gentlemen and would never offer over their lighters. 

Before she could get her cigarette lite, a crash from the alley across from them caught everyone’s attention. Roger, Ed, and Jim reached under their coats for their weapons. Y/n turned to see a couple of Peaky boys walk out of the alley. She’d seen them before, they normally helped in the betting shop and had accompanied their boss to London a time or two. “Roger, don’t shoot them,” she demanded, trying to step in his way. 

The Peaky Blinders drew their own weapons, ready to fire if they had to. 

Y/n rolled her eyes. Why were men the way they were? Instead of staying and watching blood spill, she turned her back to the group of men. “Don’t do anything too stupid, Roger. No one here will save you arse,” she warned him, walking into the darkness of Small Heath.

*~~*~~*

The two Peaky Blinders that escaped unscathed from their encounter with Roger Flint, which was a relief. One of the men knew exactly who Roger was as he came from Scotland. He also knew how rare it was for Roger to let someone live in a firefight. 

With ragged breaths, the two men rushed into the Garrison and wasted no time to find Tommy. Their boss was still where he was when Y/n had left, leaning in his chair, cigarette between his lips and glass of whiskey in his hand. 

The Shelby’s all turned when Ricky entered the private room panting like a dog. “What the fuck happened to you?” John asked, a little laugh ending his sentence. 

“W-we were out… out by the factory,” he started, clutching his side. “And Roger Flint was out there with some of his men.”

“Y/n was there with ‘em,” the man beside him added.

The mention of her name forced Tommy to his feet, his glass shattered to the floor. “Was she hurt?”

Ricky shook his head. “No, no-” He took a deep breath, trying to expand his lungs. “She seemed to know him. Personally.”

Was that worse than being caught with a copper? The mobster hadn’t the faintest clue, but he didn’t like the sound of it. “Where is she now?”

The two men exchanged glances, surprised that they hadn’t been chewed out for leaving her. “Don know. She left, I think she went home.”

Dragging his hand over his face, Tommy sat back down. How did Y/n know Roger Flint? That wasn’t a man anyone knew casually. A sigh escaped his lips as he took Arthur’s drink. The alcohol burned his throat as he emptied the glass. He thought Y/n was nothing but honest with him, but that was clearly a lie. 

So there Tommy sat, his family exchanging worried glances from around the room, while all his fears washed over him like a raging river.

*~~*~~*

Y/n slept like a baby, Roger easily faded from her memory as she slept. He was never much to remember. The man was nothing but an overgrown baby trying to make a name for himself as a mobster. It was pathetic. All that went through her mind as she dressed for work was the amount of glasses she’d have to clean off of tables and the shattered glass that would need to be swept off the floor. 

As she did every morning, Y/n stopped by the small cafe around the corner from her house. She was never one for cooking and her kitchen didn’t permit more than a sandwich to be made. It always seemed to bring her joy, stopping in to get a scone, and chatting with the owner. It was the start she needed for what she knew would be a long day.

Once she was feed, Y/n wasted no time walking to work. Dodging children, who ran through the street like monkeys, and women gossiping as they headed to the market, she finally arrived at the doors of the Garrison. Fetching the key out of her purse, she dropped it back in when she found the door unlocked.

The Shelbys had obviously arrived before her.

A smile tugged at her lips upon entering the pub, memories from the night before playing in her mind. Though the place was a mess, she was happy to be at work then to be helping Roger. Anything was better than being in the same room as him. Her smile faltered when she caught a glimpse of Tommy behind the bar. His muscles were tight and there was fire in his eyes. He looked up at her and all Y/n could see was boiling anger. 

She did her best to send him a smile as she tugged off her coat, placing it on the bar. “Good morning, love.”

His knuckles turned white against the bottle of whiskey he’d grabbed off the shelf. “Don’t bother, Y/n,” he growled. 

The smile dropped to the floor along with her eyes. Roger clearly hadn’t killed the Blinders, damn. It would have been much easier to pretend that her time with the Scottish mobster never happened then to ever have to explain it to the man she loved. “What’s wrong, Tommy?” she asked, deciding it would be easier to play dumb. 

It was a long shot, but there was a chance she could get the man to believe her word over that of his men.

Tommy shot her a dangerous look. A warning that stated he wouldn’t believe a thing she said. “Who were you with after work last night?”

“No one.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” she snapped. 

There was a pause, making Y/n nervous, as Tommy opened the bottle of whiskey and poured it into the glass in front of him. The pub was silent while he sipped at it before he placed it back on the bar. “Let’s not play this game. I know a liar when I see one, Y/n, because I’m a liar.”

Y/n rolled her eyes at his words. “What do you want me to say? That I was with someone that wasn’t you?”

“Don’t play dumb, Y/n. Flint is the fucking enemy! And there you were waltzing’ around with him! How fuckin’ loyal!” he yelled and in a fit of rage grabbed his glass and threw it at the wall beside him. “I thought you were better than her, turns out you’re the same type of snake.”

His words burned against Y/n’s ear, causing her heart to shrivel up in pain. “Bite me,” she seethed. Before any more damage could be done, she reached for her coat and ran out the door., shouting, “I quiet,” on her way out.

How fucking stupid could she be, thinking she outrun away from Roger? He would always come back to haunt her. 

The door slammed behind her and once her feet hit cobblestone, she ran like a freight train, dropping her coat as she gained speed. She needed to create as much distance between her and Thomas Shelby as she could. God, she hoped to never see his face again.

Running along the streets of Small Heath, people shot her confused looks and moved out of her way as they saw nothing would stop her. Y/n ran, one foot in front of the other until her legs gave way and she tumbled to the ground. She pushed herself off the ground, sobs racked her body as she wandered into an alley, sliding down the wall of the brick building beside her.

“I’m not like her,” she muttered to herself between sobs. “I’m not like her.”

What Tommy didn’t know, was Roger was a no one to her. He had been nothing for a long time and she never planned on allowing him back in her life, not after all the pain he caused. But it was too late to explain that now. She had been labeled a traitor and there was no way to scrub that off.

The words tattooed across her forehead and the pain in her heart were nothing compared to the pain she felt for hurting Tommy as she did. He trusted her and, slowly, he was starting to recover from what Grace had done to him only for it to happen once more.

It killed her to think that she had done then one thing she swore to never do.

*~~*~~*

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[birbleafs]

[fic] A Tragicomedy In Five Acts

Series: Saiki Kusuo no Ψ-nan || The Disastrous Life of Saiki K. Rating: T Genre: Friendship, Humour, Breaking the Fourth Wall Character(s): Akechi Touma, Saiki Kusuo, Saiki Kurumi, Saiki Kuniharu, Saiki Kuusuke Warnings: None, save for the canon-typical shenanigans Summary: Akechi has made a habit of showing up unannounced, uninvited at the Saiki residence. The inevitable "bonding" occurs and Kusuo despairs; the world continues to turn. A/N: A piece I wrote for the Disastrous Life Zine, a charity zine. I wanted to share the uncut version here since I like how it reads more (it's not too different from zine version, though). Leftover sales are currently still live, so here's your last chance to grab some limited items if you had missed the pre-orders earlier! Thanks to the mods & other contributors over at @disastrouslifezine, for all their hard work on this project. Many thanks also to my bro Digi for the awesome beta work and for always being an all-round great pal ❤ Fic can also be read AO3. _______ i. It’s a problem Saiki Kusuo should have—could have—nipped earlier in the bud, when he���d been forced to spend a whole Sunday with Akechi Touma betting on horse-racing. But between Akechi being (begrudgingly) accepted as one of the PK Psychickers to Kusuo having to stop a meteor from slamming into the planet—well, a lot had happened. Akechi had since taken to visiting the Saiki residence at random, with little notice in advance. On his second visit, Mom had invited him in before Kusuo could intervene. If it weren’t for the cupcakes Akechi had brought along—not to mention the terrifying heat of Mom’s demonic glare at the first sign of a protest—Kusuo would have teleported him miles away without hesitation. That’s how Kusuo finds himself now—glowering at Akechi who’s sitting politely in his room and firing a running commentary about nothing and too many things all at once. Resigned, he leans back into his study chair and asks, point-blank: What do you want, Akechi?

“Your mother is lovely as always,” Akechi replies instead, dancing around the question. “I’m grateful she’s gone from remembering me as ‘Pee Boy’ to ‘Kusuo’s Friend Who Only Ever Wets His Pants Occasionally’. Surely that’s a sign we have gotten closer.” It sounds just as terrible as the first—only a simpleton would be okay with that as a defining trait, Kusuo retorts. In any case, we’re hardly more than classmates. So, why are you here again? “I thought you would have realized it by now with your telepathy. But I suppose I can explain it for the sake of the readers!” Akechi beams, holding up a small case in his hand. Don’t just casually break the fourth wall, Kusuo frowns, even as he leans forward for a closer look. Akechi pops the case open and turns towards the game console. “I was recently gifted this game by my cousin, who assured me that, while underrated, it’s still a cult hit among fans. I thought it would be fun to play it together.” Kusuo stares flatly at the title OVERWORKED displayed on the disc as it slides into the console drive, already unimpressed. That is such a blatant rip-off. “Oh, no, it's a completely different game from the one you’re thinking of!” Akechi says. “Here you play as the overworked waiter of a cafe who serves multiple orders at once and takes over the cooking whenever the head chef throws a tantrum and storms right off.” How is that different from OVERC***ED? It is totally OVERC***ED! “Regardless, shall we have a play-off?” Akechi offers the controller to him. “Winner gets this box of cupcakes. I got them from the best pâtisserie in town, which is no easy feat. Why just this morning I left home at the crack of dawn to secure a spot in the queue, and even then, there were already about 30-odd people ahead of me! Who knew it was so popular—A-ah!” Kusuo yanks the controller easily from Akechi’s hand towards him with telekinesis, a glint of determination in his eyes now. Best two out of three levels. Loser also has to leave immediately. Akechi grins knowingly and cracks his knuckles, reaching for the second controller. “You’re quick to assume victory, Kusuo-kun. Very well, then!” Thirty-seven minutes later and Kusuo’s left staring at the final scores, appalled. He would have won if his character hadn’t kept freezing in place and glitching at crucial moments, messing up in the kitchens and sending out wrong orders. How is he always losing to Akechi like this? Clearly the universe is still conspiring against him. “You were so close to beefing my lask score dhoo,” Akechi says shamelessly through a mouthful of strawberry frosting. “And my, deez fupfakes are s’per dhasty!” Are you taunting me now? Kusuo scowls enviously at the cupcake in Akechi’s hand before he huffs, slinking back into his chair. Well, I’ll be staring dejectedly out my window for a bit, so feel free to eat your cupcakes and then leave. But Akechi only laughs then and, to Kusuo’s surprise, moves to place a chocolate cupcake before him. “You’re so melodramatic, Kusuo-kun. I never said the winner can’t share.” ... I guess you didn’t. They spend the rest of the afternoon eating cupcakes. _______ ii. This again? It’s been a month, but Kusuo already feels a sense of gloom settling over him when Akechi steps into the genkan. He would have been fine with leaving Akechi outside blathering away through closed doors for the entire day while he pretended not to be home, but obviously Mom is having none of that. “I’m so glad you’ve been coming over to play with Ku-chan!” she greets cheerfully. “I couldn’t believe it when I first heard, but you and Kusuo are getting along well, huh, Akechi-kun!” Dad says with a sagely nod, looking every bit the part of the morally upright, reliable father. Bold of you to believe such delusional notions of camaraderie, or that you even look the part of an admirable adult, Kusuo comments drily, before turning to leave. “We don’t just get along,” Akechi chimes in reply. “You could even say our friendship is super-califragilisticexpialidocious!” GET OUT. If looks could kill, Kusuo’s current expression is pure genocide. But his parents are already fawning and AH-HYUU-!!-ing at Akechi’s words, tears of joy gushing down their cheeks like an endless waterfall. Kusuo watches in quiet despair as Akechi is readily accepted into their fold with welcomed embraces, a key development in this romantic soap opera. Oi, what’s with the misleading narrative?! We’re not in that kind of fanfic right now! Dad and Akechi hit it off well enough, one thing leads to another, and Kusuo suddenly finds himself roped into playing MECH-O ARENA VR on the WAB station in Dad’s study. Seriously, stop it with the terrible rip-offs of actual games already, Kusuo frowns as he watches Dad’s and Akechi’s characters flitting about on the screen to fight off an incoming attack. “I suppose it’s not very original, is it?” Akechi says, punching the controller buttons in a flurry of movements. “But it’s different enough that we can probably avoid any unwanted copyright lawsuits.” That’s completely beside the point. Dad’s wholly immersed with the game now, so it’s impossible for Kusuo to get rid of Akechi without Dad throwing a childish fuss about losing his new gaming buddy. Not to mention Mom’s uncanny ability to appear with coffee and snacks each time Kusuo had tried to inconspicuously retreat back into his room, all while exuding an ominous aura that effectively dissuaded his need to leave immediately. Good grief—everyone’s being such a pain today, Kusuo sighs, before he finally relents to Mom’s cajoling to team up with her against Dad and Akechi in the final round. He figures it can’t get worse than this anyway. That is, until Kuusuke gets involved. _______ iii. When Kusuo returns home from a quick grocery trip for Mom, he walks into a surprisingly empty living room. He can hear Dad and Kuusuke’s voices from upstairs but for some reason he’s not quite able to perceive the atmosphere within—it’s as if his senses are partially blocked by a cognitive fog with the study engulfed in a dead zone. Must be that prototype “router” Kuusuke had installed in Dad’s study yesterday. Kusuo has zero interest in his brother’s tiresome antics, but is compelled nonetheless to check on them, if only to ensure Kuusuke isn’t playing Mad Scientist and coaxing Dad into yet another deranged human project. He opens the door, nearly lashes out in shock with telekinesis when he sees Akechi staring through the doorway with a creepy, owlish expression. “Oh, were you actually surprised, Kusuo-kun?” Akechi says. “My apologies for frightening you like that.” Kusuo studies the room cautiously, only to realize he’s unable to hear anyone’s thoughts with telepathy. He glares at his brother in suspicion. “Welcome back, little brother!” Kuusuke greets him with a Cheshire grin. “I see you’ve got yourself a new playmate. Hmm? Ah, you must think it strange that I've taken to Akechi-kun so readily.” Strange and highly dubious, Kusuo counters. What are you scheming? “Well, Akechi-kun shows the most potential and capacity for mental growth amongst the lesser primates close to you—” What a disparaging worldview. And stop deflecting! I know you can still understand me. “—So, he may yet make a good test subj—Ah, I mean, a good friend! Interesting specimens tend to gravitate towards you, after all. Though his propensity for peeing sure is troubling, isn’t it? Haha!” You can excuse questionable human experimentations, but you draw the line at incontinence? Kuusuke attempts a nonchalant shrug. “Priorities, amirite?” “But this is amazing, Kuusuke-san,” Akechi says, glancing up in awe at the blinking device on the ceiling. “The telepathy canceller really does block our thoughts efficiently!” “It’s child's play compared to Kusuo’s abilities,” Kuusuke says, seemingly modest, but Kusuo doesn’t miss the devious glint in his eyes when he reaches into his coat pocket to pull out what looks suspiciously like a detonator with a giant red button. “Still, with this, Operation SM☆SH can now finally commence—” Wait, Operation what?? Kuusuke, don’t you dare...! But Kuusuke is already pressing the button, and the study is plunged into darkness as the lights flicker off and the blinds draw shut. Alarmed, Kusuo wrenches the detonator away from Kuusuke’s grip with his telekinesis. What did you just do?! There’s an electronic whirr, a blinding flash, and Kusuo finds himself suddenly staring at a large LCD screen as it emerges from the ceiling. Music blares from overhead speakers as a cinematic opening sequence begins to play. “There you are, Kusuo!” Dad looks up from behind the coffee table where he’d been fiddling with the game console. He adjusts the VR headset over his eyes. “It’s time to finally beat you at SUPER SM☆SH BUDS as payback for last time! HII-YAAAH!!” ... Oh. So it’s just another game. “That’s right!” Kuusuke claps his hands together, blissfully ignoring the heat of Kusuo’s baleful glare. “I heard about your horse-racing bet from Akechi-kun and found this as the best way to even the odds for other types of games.” “The idea came to me while peeing in the shower; to find ways you could play and not get bored easily, Kusuo-kun,” Akechi adds in unnecessary detail. “But I didn’t think Kuusuke-san could actually pull it off.” “Here, Kusuo,” Dad says, waving his controller. “Come choose your character—” But Kusuo’s already teleporting away, fleeing the wretched upheaval within his own home to hide at Cafe Mami for the rest of the day. _______ iv. Akechi corners him after school three weeks later. Kusuo is surprised and unsurprised all at once; he had worn the germanium ring to class, after all, in a bid to avoid spoilers for the direct-to-streaming release movie adaptation of a book he’d been fond of. It’s easy to ignore everyone’s spoilery chatter when it isn’t droning directly into his mind—he’d kept his fingers stuck into  his ears each time class ended, oblivious to the strange looks thrown his way, and had even hidden away in the restroom cubicle during breaks, successfully avoiding any interaction with the usual human nuisances. Until now, that is. “Let’s walk home together, Kusuo-kun!” Akechi calls, jogging after him. I’m suddenly deaf and sound has eluded me, Kusuo deadpans as he breaks into a sprint, determined to leave before Akechi starts blabbing spoilers. “I noticed you weren’t quite yourself today,” Akechi continues, catching up with him.  “And I thought it might have something to do with the ring on your left index finger that you’ve fondled precisely seventeen times throughout the day.” What an awful way to describe it. I didn’t fondle anything. “Perhaps the material of that ring works in the same manner as the telepathy canceller—which would explain why you seemed uncharacteristically skittish today since you’re pretty bad at discerning people’s intentions without your telepathy.” What are you? A psychic? But Akechi only persists. “I realized later that you’d always leave whenever anyone started talking about that new movie on Netfl*x—” Can’t hear now, Kusuo slaps his hands over his ears. Gone horribly deaf. “And I figured it must be that you haven’t watched it yet for some reason, like maybe your home internet is down because your father forgot to pay the bills for three whole months and so it got cut—” How did you even..? Kusuo grimaces. N-nope, not listening! 100% deaf! “I know you don’t have a mobile phone to watch it on either,” Akechi continues. “So, that’s why I wanted to invite you to my house today, to watch it together. Oh, don’t worry, I know absolutely nothing about the movie. In fact, I’d only heard Kaidou-kun screaming out the title just ten minutes ago.” Kusuo pauses then, glancing back at Akechi in hesitance. Akechi only meets his wary gaze with a knowing smirk, and says, “We also have strawberry shortcake in the fridge.” _______ v. I don’t suppose there’s a good reason this time either, Kusuo sighs wearily, closing his book. Still, there’s a glimmer in his eyes; he knows Akechi had come bearing gifts—a selection of coffee jellies topped with cherries and chocolate drizzle. “I’ve made a habit of crashing your place unannounced, haven’t I?” Akechi offers a contrite grin, watching as Kusuo helps himself to a spoonful of jelly. “I do apologize, but whenever I get restless, I find myself wandering here by instinct. Admittedly, I was worried about being a bother, but your mother is always so welcoming at the door despite that dreary, constipated look in your eyes—” You are being a bother. Like a persistent mosquito that thinks it's summer all year round, Kusuo grouses with his Most Annoyed Expression, knowing how ineffectual his Feigning Ignorance Face had become over time. Also, have you graduated from pee references to shitty jokes now? Disgusting. But Akechi takes it all in stride, undeterred by Kusuo’s ugly grimace and acerbic jibes. “—Plus, it’d be considered extremely rude if I didn’t come in after that, and I certainly do not want you to think of me as rude. You’re a friend I hold in high regard, after all. I always have, ever since I found out it was you who saved me from the bullies back then.” The earnestness in Akechi’s words stumps him, if only a little. And though Kusuo is careful to keep his surprise from showing, there’s a part deep down in his not-so-granite heart that feels a touch of warmth at the sentiment. Akechi’s already placing the Scrabble board on the floor, so he misses the ghost of a smile that crosses Kusuo’s lips. Did Akechi honestly think he could beat a psychic at Scrabble too? How naive. “You’re probably thinking how naive I must be, believing I could beat you at a board game with your powers and all,” Akechi notes cheerfully, almost as if he’s a mind-reader himself. Kusuo frowns, slightly disgruntled by the fourth-wall breaking once more and wishes they would give it a rest for once. Overusing a trope gets really tiring, you know? Still, he smiles again as he takes a seat across from Akechi—who is now shuffling the Scrabble chips while nattering away about the history of board games and how the loser would have to give up his share of coffee jelly (as if Kusuo would allow it to come to that again). Two Sunday visits per month only, Kusuo says, lifting several chips into the air with a wave of his hand. If you beat me... I’ll allow it. Akechi’s eyes widen, before he breaks into a playful grin. “Very well, then. May the best man win.” Kusuo only lets out a soft laugh. Perhaps it’s not too late to pick up where they had left off in grade school. —End—

[caithyra]

Mean (Old) Girl

Sometimes I wonder if I read these books wrong (I know that they sort of blended into one, grey mass and somehow mixed with bits and pieces of Dragon Age, Witcher, David Eddings and a bunch of other inside my head because I was reading them too fast while playing games and reading other fantasy books with similarities, on top of historical fiction as well), but I do remember when I began disliking Olenna Tyrell and checked the internet to see if anyone else caught it. I saw no one discussing the topic in question so of course I make a post about it, enjoy...

Anyway, first, here have a quote from a prepubescent, resentful, little sister thinking the worst about her older sister and would have rejoiced if there was one part of her that wasn’t "perfect”:

Sansa had a grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily, Arya thought with dull resentment.

Then here have the quote from the grandmother of a “romantic” rival who wants her to betray her abusers, risking death, for the grandmother’s family’s benefits:

“[...] No, don’t blush, with your hair it makes you look like a pomegranate. [...]”

It is the complete opposite of what we know about Sansa’s beauty, and comes on the tail of Olenna dispensing unfortunate truths/advice, thus setting her up as an authority in Sansa’s mind.

Here’s the thing, that sort of remark is one of those that can make a girl very self-conscious when it comes to expressing her emotions. Bad self-confidence is unattractive and if a girl is taciturn, she is at best, boring, but Sansa is too pretty to be boring, and her reserve would instead be taken as her being ungracious and a frigid b*tch. Her manners would, in other words, make her unattractive, whereas confidently displaying emotions is very attractive.

Like, imagine this instead:

“No, don’t smile, with your crooked teeth it makes you look like a failed pugilist.”

We all know that it is extremely rude to tell people to smile and to not smile, and it part it is because it ruins people’s confidence in social interactions. It is also a favorite tactic of the more sophisticated mean girls in middle and sometimes high school to give backhanded “advice” to give the appearance of being greater people than they are when they are just being petty a-holes.

Here’s the thing, though: Sansa is Margaery’s very real, very dangerous, rival for being Joffrey’s queen.

In that first meeting the Tyrells bring up their great complex before Olenna’s put-down of Sansa: They’re jumped up stewards with no more right to rule the Reach than several of their bannermen.

Sansa, on the other hand, is the most highly bred, eligible lady in several generations and very close to inheriting both the North (with all its timber and fish and deer) and the Riverlands (Westeros’ secondary bread basket after the Reach). There isn’t even a drop of lowborn blood in her for hundreds of generations (if ever, unless magical beings like Wargs and Children of the Forest from the mythical ages counts).

She is also, we are told, the most beautiful, eligible noble lady of her generation, evident even when baby-fat face and an undeveloped body should disguise it.

Joffrey might not want to let that go, might back out of marrying Margaery for an attractive Sansa.

Even if he wants to marry Margaery, he might want to keep Sansa on the side. The problem is, of course, that Sansa is the ward of Joffrey and his Lannister mother and of too high status, breeding and power (once she inherits) for that to be acceptable optics to the world, and thus, unacceptable to Tywin Lannister.

If they would do that to Sansa, what would the Lannisters do to their other wards, such as young lords and heirs sent to squire and foster for them? (Well, we know that Cersei molests and grooms them if they’re close enough related to her, like she did with Lancel and Tyrek, but Sansa isn’t family so her treatment reflects, in a way, how everyone else will be treated.)

If Joffrey beds Sansa even once before his marriage is consummated to Margaery, Sansa will be queen to save the Lannisters’ reputation and pride (and future influence of other houses, which is what the fostering system promotes), the two things Tywin values the most.

So Olenna tries to essentially neg a 12-year-old girl to be less attractive. After all, they don’t know yet if Sansa still wants Joff (Sansa tells them in the next couple of pages what Joff has done), and if he wants her.

And because they’re questioning Sansa so insistently about Joff, we know that they have already confirmed with witnesses (not that there was a lack of them) how she’s been mistreated. Yet Olenna decides to attempt to destroy her confidence anyway.

That whole confession was actually a trap for Sansa as well.

It was to make her a co-conspirator with the Tyrells.

Because Tywin will ensure that the North and Riverlands’ liege is safely in Lannister custody, and preferably loyal, Sansa is all but guaranteed to inherit in the absence of her siblings from captivity. Tywin will kill all other Starks and Tullys and that will be that (and when the Freys return to the fold, it is his sister’s husband and children who will inherit the Riverlands).

If Sansa is an invested co-conspirator with the Tyrells, she will be loyal to them over Joffrey.

They also take pains to present themselves as a matriarchy under the Queen of Thorns (but which lord spent Robert’s Rebellion dining and partying while his opponent starved? Mace Tyrell, of course! It’s transparently an act, and notice how they always manages to worm their way out of sticky situations and into their winning opponents’ good graces? You can’t do that with an incompetent liege lord since Olenna’s gender and status as a widow would bar her from being there most of the time, so Mace would have to act on his feet) while claiming that their men are their obedient puppets.

This is because they already know of the abuse, that they retraumatize Sansa with by pressuring her to recount them. In a matriarchy like the Reach, a lowly boy like Joffrey could never! Lowly boys like the Kingsguard could never! Sansa would be safe there...

And House Tyrell would inherit the Riverlands and North through her (and perhaps even the Vale, depending on what Lorra Royce and the Arryns’ complete inability to have many kids means, especially with the Robin-Lysa-Catelyn connection).

House Tyrell would then essentially control something like 70-80% of Westeros’ food and firewood production while having a Tyrell Queen on the Iron Throne. On top of their heirs being descended from the oldest ruling houses on the continent.

In time for a 10-year-winter (of course, this was before it was clearly too late to bring in a last harvest from the Riverlands, and before the North was divided).

(Oh, and if King Robb against all odds win, presenting themselves as the saviors of Sansa and family by marriage... Well, remember how Mace remained a Lord Paramount after Robert’s Rebellion? How they returned to the Iron Throne after Renly? The Tyrells hedge their bets. Heh. I made a pun! ^_^)

Yeah, Olenna’s little barbs seem a lot less amusing, doesn’t they?

As does her desire to tear down an abused, little girl for her own benefits. And I haven’t even mentioned the Purple Wedding. Or everything else...

♪Little Melara Hetherspoon, who was such a fine friend fell down the well, and then there was fine husband Luthor Tyrell, down the cliff as well. If only they had known better, than to love those above, those their betters~♫

[thewintermusketeer]

This started off as a little reddie drabble to cheer up @skinks , based off her tags and thirsting for bill hader, particularly inspired by this post. It’s now over 1.5k and I absolutely did not read it over before punting it off to my love @benevolentbridgetroll to look over, so if this makes sense it is only due to her help.

Disclaimer: I have not seen the movie/read the book/am not part of this fandom so this is purely based of the SCU (skinks cinematic universe).

They’ve been couch shopping. Of all the things, that’s the catalyst. If Eddie were a pessimist (which he’s not, he’s just sensible, Christ, Richie, it is literally my job to think about worst case scenarios) then he’d say the whole ‘being stabbed in the face and then stabbed again in an even more vital area, in a manner commonly called impaling’ had messed with his judgement. However, that would imply that something else is messing with his reasoning, and Eddie has been through enough therapy by now to understand exactly which thoughts and behaviours are his own. And this? Unfortunately, this is all Eddie.

Anyway, the issue is that Richie sat on a couch. A couch that they were buying together, because they live together. They live together, and they cook together (or rather Eddie tries to cook healthily, and then when he ruins it Richie makes something with far too much fat and salt in it, that’s still better than take out at least). They go shopping for groceries together. They’re the most boring middle-aged couple in the world, and yet neither of them have actually got the balls to call themselves one. They both know there’s something there. Something hanging in the space between them, important words swallowed behind more and more insults because Eddie never thought he’d feel like he’d die if he didn’t hear another ‘yo mama’ joke. It was strong enough for Eddie to move to Florida with Richie, to get away from New York and Myra, even if the latter was something he’d have done anyway, as soon as his memories started coming back. But it’s still unsaid. Not acted upon.

And Eddie is pretty sure they’d have stayed like that for a while longer, in a holding pattern made comfortable by the fact it’s not comfortable; Richie pushes him, dares him and goads him like he did when they were children, and Eddie still can’t believe he forgot how it feels to want to shove Richie right in his stupid square face, even as he can’t stop laughing. Richie makes him feel like life is actually worth living, and not something to be calculated and analysed and rationed. Of course, Richie also makes him feel fucking horny. Which is exactly the problem.

Richie sat on a show couch – and Eddie doesn’t even want to think about how many other fucking people have been near that thing – and Eddie barely stopped himself from crawling onto his lap right there in the shop and jerking off onto his shitty logo t-shirt. He was wearing converse for Christ’s sake. Shoes that provide no fucking ankle or arch support. No forty-year-old man should look sexy wearing converse and a baseball cap. And yet Eddie wanted to measure the exact diameter of Richie’s chest using his thighs. Maybe years of being called a loser and a square had sunk in, subliminally, because the fucking stupid rectangular breadth of Richie’s chest had made Eddie feel crazy.  He wanted to be wrapped up in Richie’s gorilla arms, wanted to feel the gentle scratch of his arm hair against his own bare skin. Wanted to watch the clench of Richie’s hands against the back of the sofa if Eddie dropped to his knees in front of him, telling him not to touch his fucking hair until he’d washed his hands, Jesus Christ. Wanted to see if Richie would laugh during sex, as well.

But he didn’t. Instead they bought the couch, after he’d checked the fire regulations. He had left the shop with Richie, who’d slung one arm around his shoulders, and the weight of his arm, the warmth of him against Eddie’s side, was as reassuring as it was a turn-on.

“Guess we’re parents now, Eds. Or, we will be when our bouncing baby boy gets delivered next week.” Eddie feels the laugh building in Richie’s chest before he even speaks. “I’m so glad you kept your figure though, babe, a couch that big must’ve been murder on your hips.”

“You’d know all about bad hips, fuck face, or am I imagining the old man complaining I heard this morning?” Eddie would say he’d replied on autopilot, but a larger portion of his brain than he liked to admit was always focused on Richie, like a radio that always tuned back to one station.

“It’s not my fault your mom rode me so hard last night, is it?”

Eddie hadn’t been able to stop his snort. Forty fucking years old and the same joke was still funny. He’d looked out the corner of his eyes at the dumb smile Richie was sporting, all because he’d made him laugh. Richie needed a shave and stepping outside the air conditioned shop was enough to make his glasses steam up a bit, but it hadn’t stop Eddie’s raging, improbable thoughts about the line of his jaw beneath the stubble, about how he wanted to turn it into a slip n’ slide with his dick. About how he wanted to feel the bob of his Adam’s apple fucking massaging Eddie’s armpit, or something. 

Eddie hadn’t even realised they’d reached the car until Richie’s arm left his shoulders as he walked round to the passenger door. But now he was here, sat in the driver’s seat of the car – of course I’m fucking driving Richie, you drive at about 100 miles an hour even though you get car sick – sweat drying on his skin as the A/C blew, unable to tear his eyes away from the long, be-denimed legs that were currently folding themselves into the car. The slight jolt of the car’s suspension as Richie settled the breadth of his shoulders against the seat felt like it went straight to Eddie’s dick.

Fuck it. Fuck this ‘unsaid thing’ bullshit. Fuck pussyfooting around, when the two of them already share a life together. Fuck Richie Tozier in particular, and hopefully fucking soon.

“What’s wrong? Have I got something on my face? I don’t think I do, I’ve been told that that’s unfortunately just how my face is.” Richie’s eyebrows look like they’re attempting to perform the macarena with the kind of enthusiasm only seen at an eight year old’s birthday party when cake time is announced. Eddie wants to lick them.

“Should I get a cool face scar? I mean you’re really pulling it off - ” Eddie cuts Richie off with his mouth. He was aiming for Richie’s lips but he’ll take the chin he gets, mouthing openly, the stubble stinging his lips.

“Wha-” Richie gets out, more an exhalation of air that Eddie feels against his face. He steals Richie’s next breath, kissing him properly, one hand leaning across to brace him against Richie’s thigh. One of Richie’s hands comes up to cradle his face and fuck, Eddie wants it to never leave his body, wants it on his face and his neck and his legs and his back, and to hold it with their fingers interlaced like a promise. Richie pulls back just far enough to press a kiss to the scar on his cheek and Eddie feels like he might cry.

Instead, he says, “I love you. Dickwad.” The insult is tacked on the end almost as an afterthought, because for all it’s funny to insult each other, Eddie wants Richie to know how serious he’s being. The problem is that the moment feels too serious. They’re in their own little bubble in the car, but Eddie is still acutely aware of the people walking past on the other sidewalk, can hear the sounds of traffic. He suddenly wishes it was just the two of them, back in the home they’re making together with their terrible decorating choices and the orthopaedic mattress Eddie is now hoping they’ll be sharing.

Richie’s face turns soft. “I wanted to say it first, asshole. Always stealing my thunder. I can’t have anything in this relationship. Didn’t even get to choose our anniversary date.”

Eddie tightens his grip on the thigh beneath his hand, sliding his fingers down onto Richie’s inseam; Richie’s legs spread gratifyingly fast, and Eddie can’t help but lean back in for another kiss. Richie seems to be trying to suck his tongue into his mouth this time, and he can’t help but be extremely into it. They’re only interrupted by a honk from a passing car, and Eddie is reminded again that getting home is a good idea. He separates himself from Richie reluctantly and fastens his seat belt, raising an eyebrow at Richie until he does the same. He starts the engine, but just before he prepares to pull out the parking space he considers Richie’s last statement.

“You can decide our anniversary if you propose. Of course, your mom might get there first, but if you think about exactly what you want do to when we get back to the house, it might net you preferential treatment.”

Richie looks a bit dazed. “You want a list, baby? I can do that, Mr Sexy Analyst. Alphabetical?”

The look Eddie levels him is particularly judgemental. He cannot believe he’s about to fuck this man. “Chronological, moron.”

“Anything you want, Eds.”

Eddie doesn’t think Richie knows exactly how long that list is. He’s looking forward to finding out himself.

[thejilyship]

No Charge

Alright, so I wrote this fic for jilytober, but it kind of got lost in the flood of amazing fics that everyone puts out at the end of the month, and when I went back and read it, I wasn’t thrilled, so I decided to edit it tonight, because @women-inthe-sequel and I were geeking about fem!james recently and I after I started editing it, I saw even more people talking about fem!james, and I just think that everyone should be talking about it because jily can only be improved by them being lesbians. Obviously. 

Anyway: “Bartender!AU where the bartender says ‘we don’t charge pretty girls here’ and is then super embarrassed.”

wc: 2k

ff.net | ao3

Jamie Euphemia Potter sometimes worked at a small pub down by the river. Her friend, Emmeline Vance technically worked there, but sometimes she couldn’t come in to work her shift, because her kid was sick, or her babysitter canceled. James had worked there during her days at uni, and now, since it was off season and she wasn’t traveling to play games, she had offered to cover any shifts that Emmeline needed her too.

She was feeling nostalgic as she wiped down the counters, remembering all the times she’d gotten to throw grown men out on their arses because they were too drunk and had run up their tabs too high. She remembered all the hot wing eating contests between her and Sirius and whoever else wanted to try and out eat them. She remembered her and Remus hustling just about everyone at pool and darts. Her and Peter’s rendition of Somebody to Love had left no one wanting for... well they had all wanted them to stop singing actually.

They had had fun here and she was having fun remembering all of it.

The shifts were easy enough, making all the drink orders came back to her like riding a bike, and some of the regulars remembered her and made friendly conversation, something that made the clock tick by faster.

Enter the redhead.

Lily Jane Evans was new to town. Jamie knew that because her old boss, who was also the other bartender, had talked to Lily the first time she’d come into the bar, and then answered all of Jamie’s questions rather patiently.

Well, he had been patient to a point.

“Just go and talk to her yourself, Jamie.” Benjy said, picking up the cash box to take to the back office. “I only spoke with her for like, five minutes. Not even.  She’s friendly, I’m sure she won’t bite your head off. Though I’ll likely to if you don’t shut up soon.”  

Jamie huffed. “I can’t just go and talk to her.”

“Actually, it’s your job. Go and get her order and ask her your weird stalker questions directly.”

“Fuck off,” Jamie muttered, causing Benjy to laugh at her before he turned around and walked away. The two of them had always gotten on well.

Jamie looked down at the end of the bar where Lily was sitting. She started chewing on her thumb nail as she watched Lily twirl a stray coaster that someone had left on the counter. Her red hair fell in curls, stopping just below her shoulders. Her eyes were wide, round and a beautiful green. There was a light smattering of freckles over her skin, so light that if you weren’t staring at her as intensely as Jamie was, you probably wouldn’t notice them. Long thick lashes, a slender nose that was slightly turned up at the end, and her lips…

Jamie cleared her throat and forced herself to stop staring at the strangers mouth.

Apparently she wasn’t done staring in general though.

She had a bag with her, it was leaning up against the bottom of the stool that she was sitting on and Jamie could see a laptop peeking out of it, a few notebooks, a very fluffy pink pen and when she looked back up at Lily’s face, she realized that she had been caught staring.

Which wasn’t really a surprise now was it. Jamie still flushed.

Lily’s bright green eyes were looking at her curiously, probably wondering why on earth the bartender was staring at her instead of walking down to get her drink order.

Jamie grabbed a rag and started wiping off the counter in front of her to make it look like she was busy. Then she rearranged some of the glasses before she ambled on down to the far end of the bar. This wasn’t a fantastic tactic since she hadn’t been doing anything when Lily had first looked up at her. The look on Lily’s face let her know that it had been a shite plan.

“Evening,” She said, rubbing her palms together before she rested them flat against the bar top and leaned forward, not sure if she was showcasing any particular asset or just going with a pose that would show off whatever Lily might want to look at. If she wanted to look at anything. She might be here to meet a boyfriend or she might think Jamie had been rude instead of stupid. “What can I get you?”

Lily pursed her lips slightly, lips that had been painted a candy pink color, like starbursts. The pink ones were Jamie’s favorite.

“You seem awfully busy. I don’t want to bother you.” Lily looked down the empty bar and Jamie’s heart gave a leap. Not because she was being called out though, but because this girl came to play.

“I always appear to be the busiest when I get caught staring at the customers.” She shrugged a shoulder and pulled the rag down again, wiping down the counter in front of Lily now. “I can always take a break from appearing busy though, to get your order.”

“Right,” Jamie couldn’t tell if Lily was trying to hide a smile because she looked down for a moment and when she looked back up, she just looked as though she were considering her. “Can I have a vodka tonic.”

“Sure thing,” She nodded and walked down the bar again to make the drink.

It was only a moment before she was standing in front of Lily again, sliding the drink across the bar to her. “So you’re new to the area?” She asked, running a hand through her short, messy hair, not realizing that she perhaps shouldn’t know this about Lily seeing as how Lily hadn’t told her.

“And what makes you think that?”

“Never seen you around before,” She tried, shrugging a shoulder. “Also that’s what my boss told me.”

“Gossiping about the customers?”

“Only the really cute ones.” Lily laughed and picked up her drink, taking a quick swig that downed half the alcohol. Jamie wished that she could take a shot or two just then. Calm her nerves a bit.

“Right. But yes, I am new to the area. I moved here two weeks ago for a teaching job.”

“Oh? What year are you teaching?”

“Uni.” Lily corrected. “I’m teaching a uni course on calculus.”

“That sounds dreadful.” Jamie’s forehead crinkled as a hoard of number clouded her brain. And the answer did not match the fluffy pink pen that she’d spotted in Lily’s bag. Or the pink lip gloss. Calculus professors were supposed to be stern and monotonous and old. At least that’s what they had been in Jamie’s experience.

“Well if I want the universities funding, I’m required to teach a course. It was that or teach a gen ed lecture. And I have no desire to talk for two hours straight to a classroom of two hundred scholarship athletes not listening to me.”

“I was a scholarship athlete, so I know what you mean. Some of us are terrible.” Jamie nodded sympathetically and this earned her a laugh. Jamie stood up a bit straighter. “But is calculus really better than that?”

“Numbers come easy to me.” Lily shrugged. “And if you’re taking a calculus class, you’re probably going to try at least a little bit. I can work with that.”

“What is your research about then?” Jamie was leaning on the bar now.

“Oh, well, it’s not just my research. I have a partner. We’re studying the metabolic structures of plants to see if they can be altered or replicated synthetically to repair damage to living tissue on the human body.”

Jamie blinked at her for a moment trying to digest something that sounded as though it had come straight from a science fiction novel. “You want to make plant band aides?”

Lily laughed. “Basically. But bandages that don’t come off. Band aids that become a part of you and work just like the rest of your body.”

“That sounds like some science fiction shit.” James shook her head. “And cool as hell.”

Lily bit her bottom lip and smiled. “Yeah, it is cool as hell.” They smiled at one another for a moment longer than was friendly and then Lily looked down. She swirled her drink and then took a sip. “What do I owe you for this?” She asked, reaching down for her bag.

Jamie shook her head. “Oh no, we don’t charge pretty girls here.” And It was only slightly more than what she’d said earlier, but she still felt the flush creep up her neck.

“That’s absurd.” Lily grinned, though she sat back up, leaving her bag where it was.

“It’s the truth.” Jamie held up her right hand.

“You just get to drink here for free whenever you want then?”

It took her a minute to register and then fully appreciate what Lily had said, but when she did, she started laughing as she reached for a napkin and pulled the pen she carried out from behind her ear. “I like you, Lily Evans.” She started scrawling out her number on the napkin. “And no, that discount only works when I’m the one on this side of the bar, unfortunately.”

“Well that’s probably best. Otherwise it’d be pretty hard to keep the place stocked.”

Jamie quirked a brow, “Are you implying that you think I have a drinking problem?”

Lily laughed and Jamie clicked her pen and stuck it back behind her ear. “No, only that a lot of pretty girls would start hanging around here if-” Lily stopped midsentence as Jamie slide the folded napkin across the bar, stopping it right beside Lily’s drink. She unfolded it and then grinned before looking up at Jamie. Her eyes bright and shinning. “And to think, I almost didn’t come in here.”

Jamie ran her hand through her hair and that flush ran up her neck again. “How tragic that would have been.”

Lily opened her mouth to say something, but Benjy was done playing it cool apparently. “Oi! Potter! I don’t pay you to stand around a flirt!”

Jamie clicked her tongue and spun around to face her boss. “Actually, you do! It’s half of my job!” Lily laughed and Jamie quickly turned back to catch a glimpse of her smile.

“Go and clean the tables in the poolhall or I’ll sack you right now.” He went back into the office and Jamie shook her head.

“He threatens to sack me at least once a shift. And the real kicker is that I don’t even work here really. I’m just covering for a friend.” She shrugged but then reluctantly picked up the rag. “Though I should probably go and do as he says anyway.”

“Probably.” Lily took another drink and then inspected her glass. “You know, I’ll probably be in need of another drink by the time you get back.”

Jamie winked at her, “I’ll be back in a flash.”

“Not too quickly, I’m not trying to get drunk tonight.” Lily called after her.

“Perhaps you need to order some food in a few minutes then.” Jamie turned, walking backward as she talked to Lily now. “Stick around a while and give me the chance to ask you out.”

“I get your number and a date?”

“Yes, I might be jumping the gun, but you’re the one who keep smiling at me like that.” Lily’s smile only got wider at that and so Jamie spun back around and rushed off to clean some tables.

And just like that, Jamie was pretty sure that she was going to be thanking Emmeline for asking her to cover this particular shift, for the rest of her life.

[batwake]

wearing yellow to a funeral - reddie

ao3 link

summary:  The Losers Club find the strength to carry on after killing It, and Richie deals with his feelings by politely ignoring them.

In the months following It, the Losers miraculously find some way to carry on. The cuts on their hands scar over and fade, Stanley gets his bandages taken off, Bev keeps her hair short and choppy, and September arrives with little fanfare.

Turns out that killing a demon clown doesn’t change much as about their status in the middle school hierarchy, but Henry Bowers isn’t around to shove Eddie into lockers and they only get called slurs every once in a while. Eighth grade, Richie decides, is the best year yet.

Puberty hits them all at full force by November, and it’s nice to see Beverly starting to laugh and smile more often as the boys’ voices crack as they get deeper, or they hurry out of the classroom with their notebooks held discreetly in front of themselves. Richie thinks it’s funny too, even has his limbs practically grow overnight and he has to actually start shaving, even if it’s just the fuzz on his upper lip.

Focusing on his developing body is a good distraction to his developing mind, as well. He thinks about how wild his hair is becoming, instead of thinking about how soft Eddie’s looks. He avoids the arcade and tells himself that it’s because he has a Sega at home, or that he’d rather be listening to his records instead.

Mike tells them all about his first kiss with some girl who hangs around the farm because her father works there. That’s the first time Richie notices how handsome Mike is, with his jaw that is just starting to square up and big, working hands.

Richie’s not stupid. He knows the other Losers are attractive, and what this means for him. It’s just starting to become a problem.

When Bill tosses his arm around him in the hallway, Richie is quick to stumble out a laugh and brush his arm off. When Ben and Stan are hovering on either side of him, looking at something in a textbook, Richie leans as far back as he can without breaking the rickety old library chair.

When it gets warm enough again, Richie spends a Saturday morning by himself at the Kissing Bridge, trying to force himself to scribble out the letters that he scratched there himself nearly a year ago. They’re going into high school, how could Richie still feel like that, after everything? He had sort of been hoping that the clown had snuffed out his Eddie-Libido. Instead the damn thing had added fuel to the fire.

Instead Richie sits in the still-wet grass for an hour or two, digging his pocket knife even further into the wood and forcing the letters back to prominence after the last eight months of wear and tear.

It feels childish. The whole walk to Eddie’s house, he contemplates turning around, running back to the bridge, and kicking the damn post over and off the cliff for good. Instead he just ends up in Eddie’s bed, laughing and reading comics and thinking thoughts he shouldn’t think, relishing in their private moments, where it’s just them, before they leave to meet up with the other Losers in the afternoon.

It’s easier to pretend, if he lets himself be present. Poke and prod Eddie like he always does, but avoid skin. Call him the stupid nicknames, but not my love, or dearest, as he had when they were younger, grinning and shoving at each other. He throws a few extra mom jokes in there, and Eddie even laughs, bright and warm and beautiful.

One ounce of honesty per day.

+

By the summer before their junior year, it almost feels like they’ve moved on with their lives. Richie can walk through the park again, Stan can hear the sound of a flute without a panic attack. Bill’s stutter is even mostly gone, which the Losers figure is the miracle of miracles. The sunshine after the storm, the good omen to put the past behind them and be semi-normal teens.

Hey guys, Richie doesn’t say, remember when we fought that evil clown a few summers ago? Wasn’t that fun?

Sometimes Richie feels like the only one who remembers. None of them bring it up unless it’s on accident. And even then, it’s fleeting. Just a moment, a second of silence if someone says something about a clown, or balloons, or Georgie.

Ben and Richie are by themselves in the clubhouse one afternoon. Richie’s stretched out in the hammock, his gangly limbs poking every which way.

“I can’t believe we used to fit multiple people in here,” Richie says, offhand. There’s the beat of quiet, as both Richie and Ben remember the Summer of It when Eddie and Richie used to share the thing all the time. Then, Richie continues, “we should get another one.”

Ben scoffs. “There’s no room for that. Besides, I’m sure you and Eddie could find some way to squeeze in there together.”

More silence, but it’s not the heavy, thick kind that usually befalls them as they remember that summer. This silence is a bit more awkward, more friendly. Well intended.

“Why’re you signalling Eds out?” Richie laughs the weight in his chest away. “You could come cuddle with me, Benny-boy.” He makes kissing noises as Ben huffs out that almost-laugh that he does when he isn’t really sure what to say.

Well, that makes two of them.

“I mean, that’s yours and Eddie’s spot,” Ben finally says, albeit a bit sheepishly.

Richie leans forward as far as he can in the hammock, trying to get a good view of Ben. He’s sitting on the floor, writing, or drawing, or something. Stan and Bill have already begun college applications, Richie wouldn’t be surprised if Ben was hopping on that train too.

“It’s not our spot,” Richie says defensively. “Bev sits in here all the time.”

“Sure,” says Ben. He sounds sarcastic, which is rare for him. “You guys might as well write your initials on the side of that thing.”

Richie very carefully tries not to choke on his spit or fall off the hammock. Ben continues, “maybe we should just get a new one, so you can both fit.”

“No!”

“Weren’t you the one just campaigning for a second one?”

Frustrated, Richie flops back onto his back, closing his eyes as the hammock rocks beneath him. Sure, it’s getting old, more brown than yellow these days, and there’s definitely several holes from where Richie and Eddie had dug the heels of their feet into the nylon a few too many times. It smells like dust and water from the quarry, and maybe a little like the lemon cleaning supplies that Sonia Kaspbrak uses. It isn’t hard to imagine Eddie sitting with him, as much as they have grown in the last few years. They’d find a way to force themselves in just to annoy each other.

There’s the sound of shuffling, like Ben putting down his papers and crawling across the space to sit next to the hammock. Then, a reassuring hand finding Richie’s shoulder.

Richie opens his eyes. Ben is looking over the edge of the hammock, a knowing look on his face.

“Benjamin Handsome,” Richie presses his hand against Ben’s face as he laughs, “I hate you.”

“You don’t.”

Folding his arms, Richie looks back up at the ceiling. Some dust falls. Richie opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by the sound of voices, quickly followed by the hatch opening.

“Hey,” says Mike as he climbs down, followed by Eddie. If Ben notices the hitch in Richie’s breath, he doesn’t say anything.

“We were just talking about how old this hammock is, do you think we should replace it?”

Eddie’s face appears over Richie’s, an odd look on his face. “Why should we?”

“Ben doesn’t think we can both fit in it anymore!” Eddie yelps as Richie grabs him by the shoulders and hauls him into the hammock. They spend a few seconds laughing and flailing, almost falling off the damn thing several times, before they manage to steady themselves, Richie still sprawled out and Eddie place precariously on his lap, legs on either side of Richie’s hips. Both of their faces are red, and Eddie is breathing sort of heavily.

“I knock the wind out of ya, eh Eds?”

He can’t be totally sure, but Richie almost swears that Eddie gets a bit pinker around the ears. “Fuck you, Trashmouth, you could’ve killed both of us just then! Crack both of our skulls open-- ”

Mike and Ben are laughing somewhere to Richie’s right. Eddie’s going off on some tangent about hammock safety, but makes no real effort to move, and doesn’t even say anything once Richie’s hand finds purchase on his calf, right above where he used to wear those ridiculous socks. The skin there is soft and smooth, unlike Richie’s legs, whose growth spurt also included dark hair on most parts of his body. Richie takes a moment to revel in that, think about what that means, before he tunes back in to what Eddie is saying, his face screwed up in a very cute way.

Mentally, Richie sprays himself with water. Down, boy.

“--and what would have even been the point, a total waste of time.”

Eddie shakes his head with a sigh when he realizes that Richie hadn’t been listening. “If this thing breaks with both of us on it, it’s your fault.” Then, he flops onto his back, unfolding his knees and sticking his feet in Richie’s face. They’re more on top of each other than they ever were as kids, and something feels a bit different than how it did when they were thirteen. Eddie even kicks of Richie’s glasses.

His vision is fuzzy as he looks over the yellow nylon, glasses disappearing somewhere between their tangled limbs, but can still tell that Ben and Mike are flashing him two thumbs up.

+

It’s kind of ridiculous, that the whole thing comes to a head during their senior year.

At this point, Richie is fairly sure that most, if not all, the other Losers know about his crush. He hates calling it that, feels like a twelve year old carving their initials into the fucking kissing bridge. He keeps thinking that one day he’ll wake up and the feelings will be gone, that he’ll realize that it wasn’t romantic at all and that it was just the lingering side effects of It or some shit. It doesn’t help that Richie’s still a teenager who has needs and likes sex.

Eddie, in his track uniform, sweaty after a meet. In the quarry, stripped down to his underwear, wet and smiling like the sun. Even during the goddamn winter, Eddie’s nose pink and eyelashes covered in snowflakes and shouting profanities as Richie throws snowballs at him. It’s enough to drive an eighteen year old closeted, flaming homosexual crazy.

Beverly likes to look at Richie knowingly over cigarettes, just as Ben does whenever Richie and Eddie are in the hammock together. Bill pats his shoulder in a sorry, buddy, gesture. Mike and Stanley like to give vague speeches, about patience and idiots who just need to shut up and make out already.

Mike and Stan aren’t the most subtle, to say the least.

They go to prom, all seven of them as each other’s dates. Richie wears this hideous powder blue suit that he found in an antique store for three dollars, and Eddie manages to keep a straight face as Richie bows and asks him for a dance.

To his surprise, Eddie takes the hand that Richie had extended, pulling them head first onto the dancefloor full of girls with too much hairspray in their hair and guys who aren’t wearing enough deodorant. Behind them, Richie can hear the other Losers cheering and whistling.

“Y’know Eds, I had kind of expected you to throw punch in my face or something,” Richie says, loudly enough over the music once they’ve stopped in the crowd of people. Eddie shrugs, and starts moving his shoulders and legs in the most perfect, awkward way possible. Richie follows his lead, bouncing lightly on his toes to the beat.

Just as the chorus kicks in, they both open their mouths to sing along, grinning goofily at each other.

There’s a room where the light won’t find you, holding hands while the walls come tumbling down. When they do, I’ll be right behind you.

Eddie’s sort of screaming it, and Richie supposes that he is too. Their hands are held tightly together as they dance playfully, spinning and wiggling their arms and laughing the whole way through.

So glad we’ve almost made it, so sad they had to fade it, everybody wants to rule the world.

Despite the people all around them, Richie feels like it’s just them. Richie and Eddie, Eddie and Richie.

When the song ends and transitions into something else, they’re pressed closely together. More people have joined the dance floor, and it takes a second for Richie to realize that it’s because a slow song started to play. Couples with matching dresses and ties start to pair up, or hopeful looking boys hover awkwardly around a bored looking girl who looks out of their league. Richie even spots Ben and Bev over Eddie’s shoulder.

His eyes drop back down to Eddie, who is still looking up at him. Eddie’s sort of standing between Richie’s legs, and one of his hands holds onto Richie’s sleeve. They’re both breathing heavily.

“Hey,” Richie says breathlessly. “Wanna go outside?”

“Yes please,” Eddie huffs, and it’s maybe the sexiest thing Richie’s ever heard.

They shuffle through the crowd of high schoolers until they get to the gym’s side door, slipping out into the warm night unnoticed.

The door clicks shut behind them. The music is muffled, but still audible. Richie laughs and leans against the brick wall. “You sure know how to treat a lady, Eds.”

Eddie shakes off his black suit jacket and seems to relish in the relief for a moment. It’s only then that Richie realizes how warm he is, too.

Richie is quick to follow suit.

“That suit is hideous.”

“You’re hideous.”

“Real smooth, Trashmouth.”

Richie shrugs, tossing the jacket onto the concrete. Eddie winces, but lets him do the same to his own.

There’s only one light on this side of the building, casting their little alleyway in an eerie sort of glow. As they collect themselves, Richie doesn’t have to even say anything to know that they’re both thinking the same thing. It.

Richie holds out his hand. Their fingers slip together easily as Eddie steps forward and back into Richie’s space. Neither of them have really slow danced, unless you count the time they drunkenly celebrated New Years in Bill’s basement and broke a vase as they attempted the Dirty Dancing dance.

It’s not too hard to get into. Richie’s hands go to Eddie’s waist, and Eddie wraps his arms around Richie’s neck. The height difference makes it slightly difficult, and it’s only when Richie laughs lightly does Eddie step on Richie’s foot.

“Dick,” Richie mutters into Eddie’s hair as he hunches his shoulders. Eddie can wrap himself around Richie properly now, one of his hands tangled into the mess that has become Richie’s hair. Then, “you look good tonight. I, ah.” He huffs nervously as he feels one of the hands on his neck tighten. “Yellow is your color.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to laugh into Richie’s shirt. He pulls back a little, just enough to look up at his taller friend. Richie takes him in, with his yellow dress shirt and cute curls and a stupid smirk on his face.

“Thanks,” Eddie says simply. He let’s Richie spin him, and it feels oddly elegant, even if they’re just two teenagers poorly slow dancing in an alleyway behind their senior prom. “I’d say you look good too, but I don’t think baby blue suits you.”

“Yeah, I agree, I’ll have to ask your mom if I can borrow one of her yellow blouses so we can match next time.”

He just manages to catch Eddie roll his eyes before he realizes that his head is being tugged down and their mouths are being pressed together.

Well then.

Richie spends a second trying to decide what to do, while also battling with the thirteen year old horndog in the back of his brain that is two seconds away from getting on his knees. Just as he decides to tilt his head, though, Eddie is stepping away. He looks surprised, if anything.

Eddie opens his mouth, like he’s about to say something, then closes it with a click of his teeth. Christ, Richie was just kissing that mouth.

“I would’ve asked to borrow a shirt from your mom years ago if I had known you’d do that,” Richie finally manages.

Eddie groans and runs his hands through his hair. It sticks up in several directions, and all Richie can think is cute cute cute. “Can’t you be serious for two seconds?”

“I am serious!” Richie waves an arm vaguely. “I’ve been in love with you since we were like, eleven! And don’t even get me started on that stupid cl--”

They’re kissing again before Richie can finish the sentence, which is just as well. Eddie’s up on his toes and Richie’s leaning down, wrapping his arms around him and pulling Eddie as closely to his chest as possible.

“You’re so stupid,” Eddie mutters into Richie’s mouth. It sounds more like Oar Show Shoe Ped, but Richie is basically the leading expert on all things Eddie Kaspbrak, and gets the jist. Richie’s about ready to add very good at kissing to the list of Strange Things About Eddie Kaspbrak, right between wears socks to bed and can say the alphabet backwards.

+

When Richie leaves for LA, Eddie gives him a little black journal. “For your jokes,” he says with a final kiss to the side of Richie’s face.

It’s only once Richie is on the plane does he find the flowers, dried and pressed carefully between the front and the first page of the notebook. They’re the same yellow ones that grow in Richie’s backyard back in Derry. The same ones that Eddie braided into Richie’s hair, and the little blue and yellow ones that Richie liked to decorate Eddie’s windowsill with.

The old lady on the plane beside him tells him that the yellow ones are called butterweeds. Then, with a sweet laugh and a hand pressed to her heart, “and those blue ones with the yellow in the middle. Forget-me-nots. ”

“Makes sense,” Richie says shakily, although he doesn’t know why. “I’m leaving my hometown to go to LA.”

The woman pats Richie’s leg reassuringly, sensing the trepidation in his voice. “I’m sure it’ll all work out fine.”

+

People ask Richie all the time; what’s with you and the color yellow?

The Lie: It’s my favorite color.

The Truth: I have vague memories of yellow shirts and yellow sneakers and yellow hammocks. When I first moved to LA I always painted my nails yellow because it made me feel less homesick. I keep these pressed yellow weeds taped in this thirty year old notebook and I’m not sure why. The smell of cleaning supplies makes me sick. Sometimes, I have these strange dreams, of the sun reflected on clear water and a yellow raincoat. There’s laughing, and smiling, and joy, but there’s also something like fear. Shame. Guilt. And the yellow that got me through it, the light within the darkness. You know when you press your fingers to your eyes, and you start to see spots? That’s what yellow feels like. So I surround myself with yellow. Yellow flowers in the green room, yellow lights on set. Ugly yellow patterned shirts because they make me laugh and I know they make someone else do, too. Yellow phone cases, yellow ties, yellow posters for my Yellow! tour, where I tell an odd joke about being allergic to lemons, even though I’m not, and I don’t know anyone who is. I remember a yellow hammock, and a warm, sunshine filled body pressed close to me. I remember how yellow the sun seemed after… something. Darkness. Something that I see in my nightmares but I forget the words before I wake up. Something yellow.

+

When the Losers Club officially reunites 27 years later and Richie remembers why he hates arcades so much, he waits for the memories of yellow to return to him. In the clubhouse, there’s the yellow hammock, where he wonders if he and Eddie would still fit. They pass by Richie’s old house, and he can almost see the yellow weeds peeking out from behind a fence. Eddie says something about lemons, and he remembers that it was Eddie who had claimed to be allergic to them, all those years ago, and how his house smelled like lemon cleaning supplies anyway.

They fight It for the second time, and they’re pretty sure they killed it for good this time. When Richie got caught in the deadlights, the glowing yellow of them was so bright that they were almost white. Something about it doesn’t sit pleasantly in Richie’s stomach, as if the color has been ruined for good.

They make it out alive, climbing out of the wreckage of Neilbolt and back into the daylight. Richie is supporting Eddie, who limps slightly but is otherwise unscathed. They watch, all seven of them, as the house crumbles in on itself, darkness and evil crumbling until there’s nothing but them and the sun. Stan says something about how glad he is that he made it, just to see this house finally disappear for good. It makes them laugh, in the tense moment, and when Richie looks down and over at Eddie, he’s glad he made it here too.

+

“I hate this,” Eddie groans, almost as soon as he comes back up for air after jumping into the quarry. The sun reflects off the water and onto their faces, just like Richie remembers it.

“I knew you’d say that!” Beverly splashes him for good measure, which just makes Eddie sputter and gag more than he already was.

It feels like they’re thirteen again, splashing each other and squealing at the feeling of something brushing their feet. By the time they’ve tired themselves out and begin the walk back into town, Richie’s starting to feel like he’s missing something, as their long and weird journey comes to an end.

“I don’t remember this walk being this long when we were kids,” Mike groans. He raises an arm over his head and audibly cracks it.

“That’s what happens when you get old,” Ben says, who’s one to talk. He’s easily the most in shape of all of them.

“We've almost made it,” Bill reminds them, putting on his Leader voice. Even as an adult, that tone in Bill’s voice makes Richie want to believe it.

Stan hums something from beside Richie in response to Bill.

Richie freezes, as if a shock went through his entire body. It’s enough to make Stan and Eddie stop to look at him worriedly, signaling to the others to pause.

“Stanley,” Richie says, looking at his old friend, who really hasn’t aged a day. “What were you just humming?”

He looks surprised, like that’s not what he was expecting Richie to ask. After a moment of confusion, he says, “Everybody wants to rule the world. Tears for Fears? I’m sure you know it.”

There’s a second, a moment, where Richie processes that information. He’s used to this feeling by now, his brain struggling to catch up to what his heart knows--

“Prom!” He shouts excitedly, spinning around to face Eddie, whose eyebrows are raised adorably high on his head. “I can’t believe I forgot!”

Eddie’s about to say something, but he’s cut off by Mike asking something, but Mike is cut off by Richie rushing forward and kissing Eddie right on the mouth, hand on his cheek over the bandage.

Once Richie parts to breath, he pumps a fist in the air. Eddie’s eyes are far away and his head is slightly tilted, clearly also processing this information.

It’s Ben who speaks first. “Jesus, I can’t believe you guys forgot that you were in love.”

Eddie’s mouth is on Richie’s again in a second, and it feels like the first time. Eddie on his toes, Richie leaning down. Except this time their friends are here, and they’re soaking wet, and they killed that fucking clown for real.

“Eddie, light of my life, sunshine on my rainy day, how on earth are we so fucking stupid?” Richie is shouting this to the open air as he spins Eddie around. He doesn’t ever remember feeling this happy. Not since the first time they fought It, not since he last kissed Eddie 27 years ago.

The other Losers are quick to wrap their arms around the two of them, even as Eddie is laughing through the tears that are welling up in his eyes. He shoves good naturedly at Richie’s glasses.

“This would only happen to you two.” That’s Bev, from somewhere near Richie’s elbow.

“Please,” says Bill, who sounds like he’s pressed to Eddie’s back. “As if you and Ben didn’t just go through the same thing.”

God, Richie thinks. 27 fucking years. How had he never realized how sad and empty he had been? Without his best friends, without the love of his life. He woke up every morning feeling like he was about to go to a funeral, not some talk show or red carpet event.

They begin their walk back once again, and this time, Richie holds tightly onto Eddie’s hand.

“So, Eds,” Richie begins. Eddie looks over at him, eyebrows raised and suspicious, but eyes full of light and love. “For our wedding, I’m thinking butterweeds and forget-me-nots. Yay or nay?”

+

They have sunflowers, on their wedding day, because the sight of forget-me-nots makes Ben start crying, and if Ben starts crying, the rest of them do too.

It was a pointless effort, considering they all end up crying anyway.

The seven of them get a picture, decked out in their finest yellows, and Richie finds himself remembering the days after It, the first time. When they could hardly sleep without one of the others in the room, and Bill still stuttered, and there was that lingering sensation of this isn’t over yet.

Well, it’s over now. And they can finally carry on.

[sarah-wants-to-write]

Searching My Dreams for a Lifetime; Chapter Two (Criminal Minds)

                “Be sure you put your feet in the right place, then stand firm.”                 -Abraham Lincoln

◊

        “She did WHAT?” Rossi asked, surprise written all over his face.

        “Wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t see it myself,” Derek replied, folding his arms over his chest “just popped it right back in place like it was nothing.”

         “Well it makes sense,” Reid declared, turning to see Shira talking to one of the detectives “people with EDS have problems keeping their joints in place all the time. Makes sense she’d know how to put them back where they need to be without medical help.”

        “What was weirder was how much Hotch knew of her condition,” Emily added, voice quiet “rare enough that it doesn’t seem like something he’d need to know off-hand.”

        “Maybe researching genetic conditions when Hayley was pregnant,” Rossi mused “and it stuck.”

        “Well, no matter how you look at it, Hotch definitely gained her respect with showing he knew about it,” Derek said “starting to look more like you might be right, Rossi.”

~

        Shira was tucked into her own corner of the conference room, where the team was set up to work. Sketching out the crime scene, with the sigils, and the distances, Shira couldn’t figure out what was going on. To the untrained eye, it seemed like a complex ritual layered with meaning. Yet to Shira, who had done her masters dissertation on ancient blood rituals with a focus on the Norse, she was just confused.

        They didn’t mean anything. Not in context. Though the arrangement was definitely familiar.

        Ehwaz, Othala, Ansuz, Gebo.

        “Loyalty, home, communication, gift,” she muttered “nothing to do with…wait…”

        She knew those positions anywhere. How hadn’t she seen it right away?

        Getting up, she made her way to the white board, quickly mapping out the scene with the runes and positions.

        “Make a connection there, doctor?” Rossi asked, watching her “what’s the meaning behind the symbols?”

        “I still can’t figure out the one that’s directly ahead,” Shira replied “but the others I recognize. Looking at them by themselves, their meaning is totally unrelated, but together? It’s one of the interpretations of the runed Helm of Awe.”

        “A Norse symbol that serves like a compass,” Reid added, looking at the board “not much is known about it.”

        “In mythology, it’s also been known as a symbol of protection, for those who cause chaos,” Shira continued “in the Poetic Edda, the dragon Fafnir gave the Helm credit for his seemingly being invincible. 'The Helm of Awe I wore before the sons of men in defense of my treasure; amongst all, I alone was strong, I thought to myself, for I found no power a match for my own'.”

        “So, he’s basing the staging off something that gives power to those who cause chaos,” Hotch mused “he’s declaring himself invincible to our efforts. Getting off on the torture and the lack of progress from the officials.”

        “He likes watching the police squirm,” Shira muttered “hopefully you’ll find a pattern with the victims before the next abduction.”

        “That’s something we needed to speak with you about,” Rossi declared, earning cautious attention from her “all the victims; they’re women in their early thirties, with dark brown hair and blue eyes.”

        “You fit the victimology to the letter,” Hotch added “and with your involvement in the case, that makes you more of a prime target. Needless to say, if you’re leaving the station, it won’t be without one of us or a detective.”

        “You’re telling me this like I didn’t make the connection already,” Shira told them, smiling to reassure, though the glint in her eyes was a bit cheeky “a woman sees six of her near-doppelgangers dead, she connects the dots.”

        “This could also mean that you might be the intended target,” Hotch continued, watching her “if it comes to that, we’ll have to interview you, and ask you to step away from the case.”

        “Then I best do as much as I can, shouldn’t I?” she countered “give you all the help I can. After all, he isn’t gonna wait. Though if my presence hasn’t been made public or obvious, then that might buy some time, or it might make him angry. Either way, he might slip up.”

        Watching the two talk, Rossi was both impressed and amused. Shira didn’t seem at all fazed that she might be a target. More that it seemed like fuel for her work. With her knowledge of profiling, as well, she almost sounded just like Hotch when she was talking. A quiet authority that had people listening whenever she spoke.

        “I’ll bet you’re a favorite among students,” Rossi declared, earning a pleasantly surprised smile from Shira “direct and personable. How quick do your classes fill up?”

        “Don’t even make it to the end of the first day of enrollment,” she replied, straightening up in pride “most students love having a younger teacher, and I like to think that I’m quite good at what I do.”

        Rossi smiled at that, catching a quick glance at Hotch as Shira spoke. The slight smile on the younger agent’s face was a surprise, gone just as quick as it was seen, but Rossi was certain he saw it.

        Already Rossi knew one thing for sure, about those two; Hotch was doomed, in the best way.

~

        It was late, and the team was taking a break for dinner before calling it a night. Still at the police station, in case a call came in, Chinese food and small talk were the order of the night, as a reprieve from the work throughout the day.

        Most of the talk was directed at Shira, the team wanting to get to know their consultant better.

        “One of the youngest professors at the University, huh?” Morgan huffed, smirking a bit “starting to give pretty-boy here a run for his money.”

        “Ah, I couldn’t measure up to the famous Doctor Reid,” Shira laughed “not many people who could! I was lucky to be granted one PHD.”

        “Those committees are vicious,” Reid agreed, laughing “makes staring down an unsub look like nothing, sometimes. Takes guts to stand in front of people and have them question everything about your work. Give yourself credit, Doctor Amell.”

        Shira laughed at that, dipping her head a bit in thanks at the compliment.

        “And how about your personal life?” Emily asked “any pets?”

        “One, a dog, though I definitely want more,” Shira replied “his name’s Michael. He’s a retired MWD.”

        “Adopted a military working dog?” Rossi mused “good on you. They’re loyal and incredibly smart. Malinois?”

        “German Shepard,” she answered “poor thing’s still skittish sometimes, but it makes sense. Most loyal man in my life, being the only one.”

        “No soul mate yet?” Morgan wondered, noticing Hotch starting to watch her more closely “someone as smart and pretty as you should have found him by now.”

        “Been busy,” Shira replied “master’s thesis, doctoral dissertation, books, teaching, and guest lectures. I noticeably value and show my intelligence. Most men are intimidated by that, and even if they aren’t…”

        She trailed off for a moment, sitting up and rolling her shoulder a bit, before it audibly popped. Her smile was sad as she looked to Morgan.

        “Even if they aren’t,” she continued “who would want to be saddled with all this?”

        She gestured to herself, her joints, and shrugged. Looking down as she continued eating, she missed the surprise on most everyone’s face, including Hotch.

        How much had she been through?

~

        It was early morning, and the team was preparing to leave the hotel and go back to the station.  Wanting to get in some quiet time to eat and think, Hotch made his way down to the dining room for some breakfast. Not many people were there, and he knew it wouldn’t be that way for long. Going to the coffee pots and water kettles, Hotch poured himself a mug, as someone came up beside him. Glancing over, he saw the person was in a sling, and was forced to do a double-take when he realized who it was.

        “Doctor Amell?” Hotch felt his eyebrows go into his hairline, seeing her turn to him with a confused look “your arm?”

        “It’s my shoulder, actually,” she replied, smiling sheepishly “won’t stay in easily, and it hurts. Afraid I won’t be doing any hiking today.”

        “Hopefully it won’t come to that,” he mused “I imagine it must hurt quite a bit.”

        “Nothing more than I’m used to,” she promised, reaching with her left hand for a mug “though it sucks that it’s my right, being right-handed and all.”

        Hotch watched as she grabbed the mug, reaching for a hot kettle as she picked out a tea bag. When she had the package open, and bag in the mug, he went and filled her mug for her.

        “Oh, thank you,” Shira declared, smiling, as he finished “my arm definitely couldn’t support that for long.”

        “Least I can do,” he replied “we should eat while we can, before the rest of the team wakes up.”

        The way he said ‘rest of the team’ was something she definitely noticed, yet she didn't get her hopes up. Clearly, he was referring to his relationship with the team, and not her.

        “Are you always up before the rest of them?” She asked “burden of leadership, I imagine, getting ahead of everyone so you can stay on top of your game.”

        “Doesn't help that I don't sleep much,” Hotch replied, taking her mug as they went to a table “hard to sleep in new places.”

        “Yet you're used to it, from how you're handling this,” she mused, smiling “not all professional experience, I think. Kids?”

        “Pity you weren't able to join the Bureau,” he declared, amused “just one. My son, Jack.”

        “You fight for justice and come home to your son,” Shira grinned, sitting and taking her mug with a grateful nod “a family man. Regular Captain America.”

        “Just a man raising his son on his own, trying to make the world safer for him,” Hotch countered, sitting across from her “hardly have time for much superhero work.”

        “Says the one who's basically a superhero,” she teased, smile widening as she saw him smile “your son has a wonderful role model to look up to, with you.”

        “Thank you,” he replied, dipping his head slightly “it’s been tough, especially after his mother passed, but we have a good support network.”

        “I’m sorry to hear she’s gone,” Shira declared, eyebrows knitting together as her heart went out to him “was she your…”

        “No,” Hotch shook his head “but we both didn’t think our marks were the be all, end all. Love is love and can last a lifetime no matter what, or so we thought.”

        “Nothing wrong with that,” she reassured him “I’m sure she’d be happy, when you do find the one.”

        The silence wasn’t as tense as Shira expected, and she was surprised when Hotch straightened up and looked her in the eye.

        “Doctor Amell,” he started “I wanted to apologize for my behavior back at Quantico, and on the plane. You’re here to help us, and I was disrespectful.”

        “Believe it or not, I figured it might have been out of character for you,” she replied, smiling to try and comfort him “though I had chalked it up to how bad this case is. Besides, you came around eventually. In my mind, there’s nothing to forgive, but I know it helps to hear it, so I’ll say it; I forgive you, Agent Hotchner.”

        Shira watched as his eyes softened, and a small smile came back to his face. A soft, vulnerable, almost happy glance that showed more than she was sure any of the team saw on a normal basis.

        “And please,” she continued, smiling as a twinkle came to her eye “you can call me Shira. If you want to, that is.”

        “And you can call me Hotch,” he replied, giving the smallest chuckle “the rest of the team does.”

        “The way you keep saying that,” Shira mused, slightly hesitant “it’s a bit strange…”

        “Because you feel like you’re not part of the team,” Hotch mused “that I’m just referring to their connection to me, but it’s entirely the opposite. It’s temporary and new, but you’re doing just as much work to solve this as we are. We brought you in. You’re just as much a part of the team.”

        The way her heart fluttered made Shira blush, and she smiled for him.

        “That’s sweet of you to say,” she replied “thank you, Hotch. We should probably eat something, before we head into the station. Don’t know about you, but a muffin of any kind sounds great.”

        Hotch smiled, turning to look at the tray that he could see she’d been eyeing. Going over and grabbing two, he brought them back to their table. Shira smiled wider when she saw the flavor that he brought for her.

        “Blueberry?” she asked, immediately taking the top off so she could enjoy it last.

        “Fruit tends to go better with black tea, in my opinion,” he answered, watching her closely “balances it out.”

        “Only someone who enjoys tea could come to that conclusion,” Shira laughed between bites, grinning “blueberry’s one of my favorites.”

~

       When he came down for breakfast, Rossi was distracted by thinking on the case. Yet when he heard familiar voices engaged in conversation, he was jolted to clarity. Looking around, he saw Hotch and Shira tucked into a corner, deep in conversation. The smile on Hotch’s face brought one to Rossi’s, seeing the way that the two were relaxed around each other.

       “Is that Hotch…smiling? And eating?”

       Rossi turned to see Morgan and Reid behind him, both looking equally shocked.

       “This whole case just got more interesting,” Rossi chuckled “but we’ve got work to focus on.”

       As the rest of the team came down, and everyone was able to eat something, they were getting ready to head in before Hotch got a call. Watching as he took it, expression falling, they knew it was bad news.

       “Unsub’s taken another woman,” he told them “let’s get going. We have work to do.”

◊

                “A heart worth loving is one you understand, even in silence.”                 – Shannon L. Alder

∞

[daybreak-academy-fanfic]

Daybreak Academy: Chapter 93

Part Of The Family

Summary: In which Kieran celebrates his birthday with his family and his fiance learns about Brain. Word Count: 1,560 First | Previous | Next ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆

Anora could no longer look at Brain without blushing profusely. Every time she would glance over at him, she'd imagine -or rather, remember- all the things they did in a moment of accidental bliss. It made her antsy. She wanted to do it again; but Brain told her to wait. 'Give your body time to relax.' But giving her body time to relax only meant she had more time to fantasize. And offhandedly contemplate if it was obvious she still couldn't sit still.

Brain knew what he had done. You could tell when he looked over at her- his eyes softening and at the same time filling with guilt. He even went over a whole laundry list of things they needed to do after- things that Anora couldn't even remember were covered in sex ed or not. That alone had made her more tired than the act itself. Brain told her that it was normal- that it was just the adrenaline wearing off. What Anora knew was that, after she finally got some sleep, she ended up missing dinner. Brain must have come up with some really good excuse to not raise Aunt Dawn's suspicions.

The fact that he had taken to calling her 'Razz' also made the whole situation more embarrassing. Especially when she'd walk into the room and hear the near unison call of 'Razzie!' and 'Hey Razz', each with their own message of love and endearment. It was almost humbling, but still embarrassing. Very, very embarrassing.

Anora had been so caught up in her own thoughts that it didn't occur to her that Kieran's birthday was coming up. When Aunt Dawn called Anora into the kitchen to help make his cake, Anora was practically blindsided. Her voice was the smallest when they sang 'Happy Birthday' to him. As everyone began to enjoy their slices of cake, Anora went over to Kieran just to apologize.

“I'm sorry I didn't get you anything...” she sheepishly muttered.

“It's all good, cousin. Just having you home for the holidays is gift enough!” Kieran assured her, kissing the tip of his fingers before slapping them against her forehead. Anora flinched at the impact, then scrunched her face in mild distaste. She even rubbed her forehead a little as if he had stuck something on to her. Her cousin then had the audacity to laugh at her expense.

“But if you really feel that bad,” he then mused with a teasing tilt of his head, “I promised Lottie I'd give her a call around lunch, want to join with me? She hasn't seen you since…” Kieran paused for a moment, thinking back to how long it's been. “Since this time last year, if I remember correctly. What do'ya say?”

Anora didn't even try to think it over before giving him an affirmative nod. Lottie, or rather Charlotte, was Kieran's fiance. This time last year they were still dating- but during New Years, Kieran decided to propose, and Charlotte had agreed amidst a barrage of happy squeals. Kieran and Charlotte had been dating for a good three years before then. Anora didn't mind Charlotte, but there were moments when Charlotte's bubbly personality clashed with Anora's more meek demeanor.

And so, after everyone had at least one slice of cake, Kieran and Anora headed up to his bedroom. Kieran immediately sat down at his desk to get his computer started up, but Anora paused at the door. Brain had followed them up and was now decisively leaning against the door frame. Anora gave him a curious tilt of her head. It was an invitation of sorts.

“I'll stay out here.” Brain insisted. “This seems like a 'family matters' kinda deal.”

Anora nodded before moving a little to kiss him. The small contact shot like electricity through her body. When she pulled away, she must have looked like she wanted something else because Brain offered a small half smile.

“Don't even think about it.” he teased. “You still need to relax a bit more. And your aunt can't be around. That part's kinda imperative.”

Her pout was rather cute, Brain would admit, but not cute enough to give in with her cousin right there.

“Razzie, whatcha doing?” Kieran called from over his shoulder. “Lottie's about to come online!”

“Coming.” Anora promised before heading over to the desk. Kieran let her sit in the desk chair, while he had pulled up a folding chair that he, for some reason, had right there. Not long after that, a video screen popped up on the computer. Even from where he was, Brain could see who this Charlotte was. She appeared to be about the same age as Kieran, with short -possibly permed- blonde hair, and an absolute cherub-like face. If Brain didn't know any better, he'd say that she waltzed right out of a fashion catalog from 1920.

“Hey Lottie.” Kieran greeted. His voice was suddenly much softer. Brain snickered a bit- he had a feeling he was going to learn very quickly why Anora was the way she was.

“Hey Ki-” Charlotte started to say before she noticed Anora. What came next was a surprised squeal that cut out the audio for a moment. When it came back, the only thing you could coherently hear Charlote exclaim was, “Anora! Oh such a sweet little thing you are! Have you grown? You look like you've grown, sugar!”

Anora sheepishly blushed as she shrunk a little in place. Kieran laughed at it before turning his attention to Charlotte.

“Did you just get done with lunch, Lottie?” he asked.

“Oh yes!” the bubbly 30-something agreed. “We went to Tiana's place and had the absolute best gumbo. You should have been there, sweetie; Tia always makes the best soups. And desserts! You know that Big Daddy almost eat half his weight in beignets today? He worries me you know, eating that much, and his doctor would agree! Oh my gosh, honey, if Big Daddy gets any more weight around his middle, he's going to have his own orbital system!”

Kieran chuckled. “I don't doubt that.” he agreed. “Tell him that he needs to lose that weight before we get married- he's got to live to see his first grandkid.”

“I did!” Charlotte declared, the audio cutting off for a moment before coming back. “But does he listen to me? Noooo…!” At this, Charlotte let out an annoyed huff. But then she gave a wistful sigh of thought. “Isn't it just adorable that we share times even though we're in different countries? It was like you and I were just meant to be!”

“As if that would stop you from trying to call me in the middle of the night.” Kieran retorted, but the smile on his face was soft. His eyes almost glittering with adoration for the plucky woman on the other end of the video call.

“True enough!” came the happy response. After this, the duo started to catch up. Most of it was about Anora, though, since Charlotte had apparently been over for Thanksgiving. Which, Brain realized with a snort, would explain why the room he was borrowing had what they needed in one of the bedside table drawers.

“Sorry I can't make it to your place for Christmas, sugar.” the woman eventually said. “Big Daddy's got all kinds of hang ups this year.”

“It's no problem Lottie.” Kieran smiled. “Besides, Razzie's got someone occupying your bed. Isn't that right, cousin?”

Anora shook her head, her face turning a dark pink in embarrassment. Seeing it made Charlotte let out a gasp that almost became a surprised screech. “Don't tell me the raspberry princess has a boyfriend now!”

“I like the term 'male cohort' better.” Brain smirked, making himself a bit more visible in the webcam. He knew a cue to make himself known when he saw it. “I'm technically the rebound.”

“Oh sugar, don't be like that!” Charlotte dismissed with a wave of her hand. “You're a right prince charming you are! Anora should keep you! Anora! Keep him!”

Anora sheepishly shook her head- her face flushing even redder. Oh, Brain was very much occupying Lottie's bed, alright. With Anora in it. But they didn't know that. Or they would, if Anora couldn't stop blushing like she had gotten a sunburn. Kieran was definitely looking at her as if he knew what happened.

“We've got to continue this later.” Kieran then said. “Will you be here for New Year's?”

“Well I will now!” came the gleeful squeal. Kieran offered a small chuckle in return.

“See you at New Year's, Lottie.”

“You bet, honey!”

And with that the video call ended. Kieran turned off the monitor of his computer with a light grin before turning to Brain and Anora.

“Let's see,” he entertained to the two of them, “We've had cake, I've talked to the love of my life. So how about we wrap up this birthday with a skirt around the pond? Brain's going to learn how to skate properly if it kills him.”

“Do I get a say in the matter?” Brain asked, folding his arms in a mock defiance.

“Absolutely not.” the cousins replied in unison. They looked at each other with a bewildered expression before bursting into laughter. Brain couldn't stop himself from joining along. He liked this family- he could be a part of it forever.

[stitch-n-time]

Topic of Conversation

The setup: I have ehler-danlos syndrome. My primary care physician (PCP) is the one that finally agreed to have the test run, after my seeing like 6 or 7 other doctors that just totally dismissed the idea. I love her. She's fabulous. Would recommend to at least most people. She's also gotten used to me over the past 3-ish years. She's told me in the past that she knows it's going to be an "interesting day" when she sees my name on the patient list. Everything from "my foot folded in half" to "I need you to help slice my toe open to fix this particular thing" to "I touched my leg and the skin split" to the latest one - "I woke up and my thumb was dislocated". All while having conversations that range from "we're going fishing tomorrow" to "haunted museum tours, you should totally bring your kid!" to "no no no... If you're still pregnant on Halloween, you should TOTALLY do the chestburster!" and a little bit of everything in between. So yesterday I go see her because... well, my thumb dislocated in my sleep. Like 2 weeks ago.  It hasn't been quite right since. It keeps subluxating (not quite dislocated, but not quite in the right spot), my grip strength is nonexistent, and it's becoming a problem. While there, I show her a ring brace that I think may help and ask her opinion. (Also about some supplements made specifically for people with conditions like mine, and she’s all gung-ho about my being a guinea pig for this particular one. Will update after they come in, and after taking them for a while.)

“I don’t know. I think it may help? But they’re also really expensive, and I don’t want you to have to spend that much without knowing more. Would you mind going and getting some x-rays? Maybe seeing a sports medicine specialist at the building I used to work in?”

me: “Sure! I would actually feel a little better getting a third* opinion on this, and having the images might help. It doesn’t feel like there’s bone chips or anything but still...”

Dr B: “OK. Let me print out a referral for you. And I’ll get the order for the blood test, so after you’ve taken those supplements for about a month, go ahead and get the bloodwork done. I want to see what happens there.”

me: “Yeah, great. That’s totally doable. And if anything happens with those, I’ll let you know and discontinue use.”

A little later yesterday, I get a phone call from her assistant. “Dr B told Dr D about you over lunch, and he said to go ahead and get just an over the counter soft brace for now. He’ll confirm when he sees you.”

Which... great. Now I know these two are friendly. Cool cool cool.

I call this morning to see if Dr D has openings for some point within the next couple of weeks. “Yeah, we’ve got an opening in about a half an hour. Can you be here?”

“Sure! I’m on the way home from work and haven’t passed that turn yet. Let’s go ahead and do it.”

Now, some important information here: I met Dr B while she was at the teaching hospital. I followed her from her observation, through where she was doing the observations, and into the new building where she works now. Dr D is currently at the teaching hospital, where he is doing the observation of upper level students who are working through their rounds and getting practice before being sent out into the world.

So I get there, go through the weight/height/blood pressure thing again, and go sit in a room. Student doctor comes and does an exam. She’s really taken aback by the whole “Yeah, Dr B had no idea either. But she was the first person to take me seriously. Mostly because she admitted that she had heard about ehlers-danlos but had never seen it, so she looked it up on the internet and essentially ran down the checklist while I listed off symptoms. Immediately ordered the test. Which, really? Just a simple blood draw? That could have been done years ago!” thing. Then we get to laughing about it.

SD: “Can you do that thing where you touch the ground, but with your hands flat? I can’t even touch my toes.” She demonstrates.

I laugh. “Yep!” Stand up, smack my hands flat on the floor and keep walking them back until my shoulders are behind my knees. “Want me to keep going?”

At this point she’s laughing, too. “What else can you do?”

“Touch my nose with my toes. Put one arm up and one arm down and grab my wrists behind my back. Before I had kids, I could bend backwards and put my heels on my chest. From behind. But I can’t do that anymore.”

Student doctor leaves. I can hear muffled conversation through the wall adjoining the exam room to Dr D’s office. Student doctor comes in. Dr D comes in, with a really amused look on his face. Introductions are made, he repeats the exam, checking a couple of things that student doctor didn’t know to check. He’s explaining why as he’s doing the exam. I’m nodding along, because this is familiar territory to me, thanks to previous work experience.

Dr D is doing the “Does it hurt here? Here? Here? What about if I do this?” thing while poking at the thumb and wiggling it around.

me: “No, not there. Pain receptors don’t quite fire correctly because of the EDS. The pain is specifically here, here, and here,” said while I put a finger on the spots.

Dr D: “Oh yeah. I forgot about that.” He leans back against the counter. “Honestly, you’re the first person I’ve ever actually seen with EDS. So a lot of my knowledge is more theoretical. What did you do that might have caused this with your thumb?”

me: “Slept?”

They both blink at me a few times. It takes a minute. 

Dr D: “No, no. I guess that makes sense. With your condition and all.”

me: “Yep. It just kinda happens. Now I know you talked to Dr B yesterday and approved a soft brace, but I want to show you something and get your opinion. Because I research everything. It’s what I do.” 

I pull out my phone and show him this:

“I’m more worried about the lateral movement than the hyperextension, since the hyperextension is something that’s happened ever since I can remember and has never been a problem.”

Dr D: “Oh yeah, that will do everything I would hope for. Probably a little more. That looks better than anything I would have been able to recommend.”

me: “Perfect! I’ll see about ordering one, then. I was reluctant because of the price.” I stare at it for a minute. “Or maybe I’ll see about getting some sturdy wire and just making it my own damned self.”

Dr D: “I’m still going to send you for x-rays. I don’t think there’s anything there, but it’s a safety precaution in case of bone chips.”

me: “Yeah, Dr B and I talked about it yesterday, but I thought it would be a good idea to see you first. I don’t think there’s anything in there, but...”

Dr D: “You know we’re having lunch with Dr B today, right?”

me: “Yeah, I kind of figured. She fan-freakin-tabulous. Just don’t tell her I said so.”

Dr D laughs at me. “Yeah, we’re best friends. It may just slip. That happens sometimes. You already know we’ve talked about you, since her office called you yesterday.”

me: “More power to ya. Hell, if you want to talk about me to more people, let me know. Especially if there’s a new doctor you want to freak out a little bit. I’m an interesting case, and will absolutely tell them when they’re wrong.”

Dr D: “Oh. We are definitely going to be having a talk over lunch today...”

*third opinion, as she is confident that I have stupid amounts of self awareness, and actually know if something isn’t right before test results would show anything, so her confirmation counts as a second opinion when it’s just the two of us in the room

[winryofresembool]

Edwin Week, Day 5: Secrets

Summary: Ed brings Winry a gift from Creta. (Part 1/2)

A/N: I know, I’m late with this prompt. But since this is a two part fic, and the second part will (hopefully) be posted tomorrow as a part of the Promise prompt, I think it worked out pretty well in the end. I guess I don’t have much else to say, please enjoy :) And reviews are /always/ loved!!! (ps. I’ve been ranting about this fic quite a bit to @criis55 and @randomlyopeneddictionary, and I’m sorry about that) @503week

Second chapter

AO3: [x]

Words: 1700+

Genre: floof, the usual

Warnings: Ed’s language, the usual.

As the winds started getting cooler in Creta, an unfamiliar feeling settled into Ed. One that told him it was time to go home soon. There was a time when he had thought he would never get tired of traveling, or that he would always need to be on the move if he wanted to live his life to the fullest. And maybe that feeling still lived in him, but it had become gradually less notable while a new feeling in him was growing. He… he wanted to see what the new chapter of his life that he had started back at the Resembool railway station would bring him. Never before had he had a situation that he actually had the possibility to choose, but now that he did, his choice surprised him. He wanted to get married to Winry. He wanted to see her succeeding as an automail mechanic and be there to support her. A tiny voice spoke in his head added: he did also want to start a family with her.

“Hey, Elric,” a low voice said suddenly, snapping Ed out of his thoughts. “Huh, did you just flinch?” the man continued. “You must have been thinking about that lady of yours back at home.”

Ed’s host, a Cretan man called David, patted him on the shoulder sympathetically. “I’ve been there, son. When I met my wife, I couldn’t get her out of my mind.”

“Ye-eah? I wasn’t really…” Ed started hesitantly, but he didn’t see any reason why he should lie to his host. “Uh, I don’t know. Lately she’s just been popping into my head more often.”

“You’re feeling homesick, boy,” David said knowingly. “It’s perfectly understandable. So, tell me about her. What is she like? How did you meet her?”

“Winry is a childhood friend. I guess we have known each other pretty much since we were born because she lived in the house next to ours. She’s also an automail mechanic, a real gearhead…” A brief smile played on Ed’s lips when he thought about Winry working on one of her projects, a passionate expression on her face. “You should hear her nagging when I forget to oil my leg…” he added quickly, to not come off as too soft. “And every time I broke my automail arm, she…”

Ed didn’t realize his slip until David asked: “Wow, you had an automail arm too?”

“Yeah,” Ed admitted and stretched the neckline of his shirt a bit to reveal the huge scar on his shoulder.

“Then how… How did you get it back?” Ed’s host asked with awe. “Limbs don’t just grow in trees…”

“They don’t,” Ed agreed. “It was a long and painful journey that involved having to fight the truth itself… Luckily I didn’t have to do it alone, but I definitely wouldn’t recommend the same journey to anyone.” He stopped to consider his next words. He didn’t want to reveal too much about his involvement in the events of the Promised Day, because the last thing he needed was publicity for something he really wanted to leave behind. “Even so… I wouldn’t change… well, most of the things that happened to me and my brother on that journey. It made me the person I am now.” Nina Tucker’s picture flashed in front of Ed’s eyes. He doubted that he’d ever get over the guilt fully. But he’d continue to research ways to use alchemy for the good, for her sake.

“You are a weird man, Edward Elric,” David said. “When you first showed up here, I thought you were going to be just some random brat with mediocre alchemy skills, but you’re really proving to be something else. Catching sharks, studying at the library until you fall asleep on the books, apparently fighting ‘truths’ and daydreaming of your girl… I must say I’m quite impressed.”

“Eh…” Ed rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m just a regular alchemy nerd.”

“Anyway… I believe I interrupted your story about your fiancé…” David remembered.

“Fiancé?” Ed considered the word for a moment. “I’m… not sure if I can call her that…”

“But didn’t you mention once that you had proposed her right before you left?”

“I kinda did… but I don’t know…” Ed started rubbing the back of his neck, like always when he felt awkward. “It wasn’t very official. She just… kinda said she’d give me 85% of… Uh, why am I explaining this again?”

“So, you never gave her a ring?” David asked, mildly shocked.

“A ring? I didn’t realize I needed to…” Ed said, embarrassed that he had forgotten something so crucial.

“Of course you do! You are lucky she said yes with that kind of proposal! Luckily for you, this is easily fixable. I happen to know the best goldsmith in this town very well. I can give you the address if you want to.”

“I guess… that won’t hurt.” Ed noted, his cheeks flaming.

“Quite the opposite! Imagine her face when she sees the ring you have picked for her!” the host exclaimed, and that was enough for Ed to decide he was going to get the ring already the next day.

…

Soon Ed found himself at the goldsmith’s his host had recommended. However, the rings he had in his shop were not what Ed could picture on Winry’s finger. Sure, if it was up to him, Winry would get the prettiest ring in the entire country, but Al’s voice in his head nagged that he also needed to consider what was suitable for her. For one, she was wearing working gloves all day long, meaning that whatever stone it might have had couldn’t be huge. Secondly, he had known Winry long enough to know she didn’t care about anything flashy. Sure, she did admire the expensive automail parts in the shop windows of Rush Valley, but it was different to be able to build one than own something that pricey.

He explained his problem to the goldsmith, and the man nodded understandingly.

“How about this option? You could give her a necklace, the ring hanging from it? That way it wouldn’t be on her way constantly.”

“I think that sounds pretty good,” Ed told him after considering it a bit.

“Well, what kind of chain would you like to have for the necklace? Gold? Silver? Here we have…”

“Umm…” Ed stopped the goldsmith before he got any farther. “I was just looking at these rings and nothing really looked like her. I recently scraped the cover plate of my automail when I tried to catch a shark.” He lifted the hem of his pants to prove his point. The plate was hanging from its screws awkwardly, looking like it was about to fall. “… So I’d need a new one anyway. So… would it be possible to make a ring and a chain of this metal?”

“Uh… you really want to make a ring out of that cheap metal?” the goldsmith stared at Ed disapprovingly.

“It’s not some cheap scrap metal!” Ed exclaimed. “She has done a LOT of research to find out what the best possible composition for the metal is, so that the automail is both durable and light enough to use! She spent days making this for me, and I think it would mean a lot to her to wear something that is made of her automail leg.”

“Okay, your point is clear. But what about your automail? I don’t know your mechanic, but if I was her, I wouldn’t be thrilled if you came home without the top plate.”

“You… have a point there.” Ed looked lost for a moment. “But my brother is an alchemist, he will know how to fix it! Just take a little piece of it and screw the rest back on.”

“Fine, then. I must say, this is probably one of the most extraordinary wishes I’ve ever gotten...” the goldsmith said before starting to work on Ed’s request.

…

A couple of weeks later, Ed was back in Resembool. Winry was still on her way from Rush Valley where she had been completing her apprenticeship, for which Ed was grateful because he and Al had some business to deal with.

After hearing that Ed was coming home, Al had decided to take a vacation from his alkahestry studies in Xing, and the three of them had made plans to spend some time together for the first time within a year. But right now, the boys had something else in their minds than the upcoming sheep festival or going to the lake for a picnic.

“Brother, it won’t work! She will definitely notice!” Alphonse protested when he heard Ed’s plan. Ed folded his arms and glared at Al equally judgingly.

“So what? The harm is already done. It will take you like a second...” He clapped his hands together like back when he still could transmute. “… To make it at least look more presentable. This way, I might have 5 extra minutes to live before she kills me. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, brother. But fine.” Al sighed. “I’ll do it on one condition. That you will let me change your ring into gold because you can’t give a ring made of scrap metal.” “I already told the goldsmith, it’s not scrap metal!” Ed exclaimed. “And you know it very well! She has spent hours…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Al stopped him before he could get any farther. “But seriously, this… isn’t just some random promise, you are promising to get married to her and spend the rest of your life with her! Do you really want to do that with a piece of your automail hanging from her neck?”

“Fine,” Ed finally gave up. “But if she doesn’t like it… or if she finds out we broke the law… I will blame you. Understood?”

“Understood. So, you will let me do it?”

“Yeah.”

With just a clap of his hands, Al changed the ring into gold. Then he attached the now gold chain into the wires of Ed’s automail, and screwed the plate back on. With another clap of his hands, he made the cover plate look more presentable. For a normal eye, it looked just like it had before. Now, the boys only had to hope that Winry wouldn’t notice, at least not right away.

[sunlitroom]

Thoughts on ‘The Beginning’

So - as with The Trial of Jim Gordon, I'm going to regard this episode as an extra, and do some meta as opposed to a full recap.   My rationale is pretty much the same: this is an optional easter egg, and one that can easily be regarded as outside canon if desired.  

Also - I found the deeper message, like that in The Trial of Jim Gordon, was so unpalatable it strained the show’s broader ideas and themes.  So I’ve decided it’s not part of canon, for me.

Thoughts after the cut.  Same disclaimer as with The Trial of Jim Gordon.  I love the show.  I tweeted like a maniac as episodes were airing, and got booted from Twitter.  I want another network to pick it up.

However, my idea of meta is the old fandom one, which is critical analysis.  If that’s not your thing, fine - but that’s what I’ll be doing here.

So, first things first.

I understand the rationale behind the time-jump, to an extent.  The two extra episodes were just that - extra.  One was spent on The Trial of Jim Gordon, which I have already been salty about in another post.  This one was a sort of nod to the fans - offering Batman as a sort of reward.  I’ve always been more interested in the story Gotham actually set out to tell, though, the story before Batman.  The story of the city and its inhabitants.  As such, I was always going to be less taken with an episode which was fundamentally mostly interested in giving us Batman. 

But there were a couple of other issues that confused me.  Gotham has always presented its own vision of the city, the characters.  It’s shown it can be creative with canon, as well as adding its own ideas.  Not only, for example, is their take on Oswald unique, but Fish Mooney – so pivotal in his development – only exists within Gotham’s universe.  We got the Executioner and Cyrus Gold – yes, but we also got Nathaniel Barnes and Butch Gilzean, who had character and stories and lives all of their own.

I like that it thumbed its nose at Jim’s moustache.  But go all the way with it.  Yes, we know Batman’s coming.  But if you want to continue to focus on Jim, and his wrestling with the notion of heroism – then just do that.  Have the courage of your convictions.  You can draw inspiration from the 60s series if you want, but you’re not shackled to it: Oswald doesn’t have to don a top hat and become 60s Penguin if you don’t want him to.  The city doesn’t have to morph aesthetically into something we saw in the movies.  You’ve told your own story. See it through.

That aside - the details.

The flash-forward was also a difficult ask because the story has been unnaturally cut short.  Characters who were still wrestling with huge issues didn’t really get to address them in a truncated season and - as such - it’s sort of hard to accept where we find them now.  

For example

We’ve seen Jim deal with several demons over the years.  He has major issues with authority.  His relationship with his father looms large.  He wants to be a hero, but gets on better with the villains.  He compartmentalises like crazy.  He’s emotionally dishonest with others and himself.  He enjoys playing dangerous games.  He can’t resist a pissing match. 

Am I to honestly believe that Jim has been entirely clean and pure in the interim?  Why?  Because the city was saved after near destruction?  That’s happened before – he didn’t change.  If anything, he’s more likely to have reverted to old habits once the crisis was over.  Is he reformed because he’s a father now?  Didn’t stop him killing Theo Galavan while Lee was pregnant.  

Jim’s development was still very much in progress.  As such, he feels unsatisfying here and - given what we know about him - you can’t help but feel he’s probably been up to his old tricks, but we’re just getting to see the sanitised surface of his life.

Lee likewise generally suffered quite a bit from the truncated season, and is  good example of how the flash-forward doesn’t serve characters well.

In season 4, we saw her explore a darker side to her personality that the show has strongly and consistently hinted at since way back in season one, explicitly – when she says that Jerome’s confession of matricide thrilled her, and implicitly, when we wondered why the hell she was working in Arkham.  We also saw her enjoy power in season 4.  We saw her deeply committed to improving the lot of the residents in the Narrows, even if her way of going about it was short-sighted. We saw her shoot Sofia Falcone point-blank in the head in cold blood.  We saw her, although many hated it, form an intense romantic relationship with Ed, where she seemed to find a fulfilment and recognition that she never found with Jim or Mario.

However, in season 5, the show clearly needed her to quickly step into the role of Mrs Jim and stepmother to Barbara.  This meant becoming the angel at the hearth again, so it essentially erased those experiences, all that new characterisation.  

As such, like Jim, she feels flat here – like we’re only getting to see a facade.  She’s back in her old post of intermittently saying supportive things to Jim, and apparently quietly looking forward to him quitting his job.  When she's bizarrely given the task of defusing the bomb, as Lucius the tech specialist stands by the side - it really only underlined that stripping her of all that history and characterisation meant that she doesn't really have a real role of her own in the wider workings of the city.

Now to the heart of my problem with this episode.

We’re told, without any explanation, that Oswald was sent to Blackgate shortly after reunification, and Ed to Arkham.  

Now, to be honest, I find this fairly implausible.  In all the rebuilding efforts, I doubt the authorities would have the will or energy to go back and rake over who committed what crime when the city had been abandoned by the government. And even if they did, both their actions – willingly manning the barricades (Oswald sustaining an injury when doing so), would have likely gone some way to mitigating everything else.  

You could argue that it's for some nameless crime they committed later - but the show could easily have indicated that by throwing in a line about some heist or scheme they tried to pull off that ended up with them being put away.

Mayor James - ‘Oswald Cobblepot is getting released tomorrow’

Harvey - ‘Should have got 20 years for that stunt he pulled after reunification - not 10.  So should Nygma.’

It didn't take the trouble to do that - so I'm left assuming they were sent away on the basis of crimes committed during the split.

However, this poses us with some problems both in terms of the plot, and more deeply in terms of narrative repercussions.  Because if we are going to start to get persnickety about charging people with crimes they’ve committed, and then having them face actual consequences – well, we saw Barbara shoot loads of randoms in season 5.  Going back not too far, Lee shot Sofia Falcone in the head.  Going back further still, Jim murdered Ogden Barker and Theo Galavan, and was indirectly responsible for several deaths by inviting Sofia Falcone to town.

So – then – if we’ve decided that actually charging people and sending them to prison is now the done thing, why are we so selective with who’s punished? Gotham is a show with a million shades of grey.  It gives its villains humanising back stories and motivations – but it ultimately still wants to punish a select few like it’s a black and white universe.  You can’t do that when your good guys are equally tainted. Not unless you want to give off an unfortunate stench of hypocrisy, anyway.  

Oswald flat-out asks Jim on the pier.  I could have escaped this city.  I chose to stand shoulder to shoulder with you and defend it.  Why was I punished?

It’s telling that Jim never actually furnishes Oswald with any good answer to his question on the pier.  Because - over the years - the show itself has never quite figured out how to answer this one.   He can’t answer.  What could he possibly say?

Why then, do some get away scot-free, while others are punished?  Why, as Ed observes, do some get to make choices - while others never get the chance?

Jim and Lee are ‘heroes’ (arguably wandering into designated hero territory, at points).  They're never going to face consequences for anything.  Jim going on a self-pitying drinking binge doesn’t count - not compared to a ten-year stint in Blackgate or Arkham.  Lee never expressed any remorse for Sofia.

As for Barbara, well Barbara is brought back into the heroic fold, too.  

First and foremost, she’s offered moral redemption by bearing Jim’s child.  Becoming a mother meant all previous sins were forgiven.  

When we meet her here, we see now that she’s wealthy and powerful – playing a serious role in the city.  It’s empowering in a way – but it’s also a means of re-affirming the established order and putting her back in her box.  Remember that Barbara is from one of Gotham's elite families - and she's finally behaving like someone from an elite and wealthy family would do.  To make her position clear - she’s explicitly placed in the same category as Bruce here in terms of her wealth and control of the city.  I’m assuming that pregnancy also made magically clean whatever money she used to buy up the city when it was on its knees.  She didn’t seem to have access to her parents’ cash before now - so she must have used her ill-gotten gains.  

(I would argue that strategically buying up parts of the city post-reunification is screamingly Oswald, but like other chunks of his characterisation and storyline, it got sent Barbara’s way in season 5 in a bid to flesh out her character)

Last up, she’s not demanding a romantic relationship with Jim anymore, but they’re now forever safely tied in that context due to their daughter - there’s no mention of Tabitha, or casual mention of a new partner.   Troublesome, restless Barbara, poor little rich girl – demanding of Jim’s time and attention, namelessly unhappy, and with a murky ‘past’ is now ‘fixed’ and neutralised.

Thinking about those brought into the fold necessarily asks you to think about those who were excluded.

Oswald might have roots in an elite family, like Barbara, but - crucially - he’s also one part poor immigrant (as well as all his many other markers of 'otherness').   He can’t escape this - we got his jangling east European music as soon as we saw him in this episode, and we were reminded of Gertrud when he said he would lay flowers on her grave as his first act after his release.  

Ed’s background is unknown, but we can safely hazard a guess that there’s no moneyed upper-class upbringing there.  He was also willing to step up when it counted, and was even used by those in power for their own ends during the break – but none of that counts for anything, apparently, and he finds himself in Arkham.  You could argue that Ed is unwell, and needs to be in a hospital – but Arkham is not shown as a hospital in any meaningful sense in the show.  It’s an oubliette, where you send those you just can’t be bothered dealing with.  It doesn’t look any better here than we’ve seen it before.  Why hasn’t anyone tried to improve it? Again, they don’t have to succeed - if you’re determined to stick to canon, but why not suggest that Jim or Lee or Lucius has at least tried to have conditions improved or an official review launched into treatment of inmates?  It would go a long way to nodding to the long and complex histories these characters have.  However things ended – Lee and Ed had a pretty intense relationship.  They cared about each other.  She can sleep at nights knowing he’s in Arkham?  

Jeremiah might have been clever enough to win himself a scholarship and a way out of the circus – but it’s not enough to enable him to escape his past – either explicitly, when he was hunted down by his resentful brother, or implicitly – when he winds up in a similar situation to the other outsiders.  Yes, Jeremiah might have been manipulating the situation – but he was still sent to Arkham and left vulnerable to casual abuse.  Whether it’s intended or not, Jeremiah’s accusation of abandonment can be read more deeply.  Bruce left town - but, just like Oswald and Ed, the city in general abandoned him.

Selina’s an example who, I would argue, reinforces that this moral order of the universe.  She's always been depicted more ambiguously - capable of villainous acts, but tied to the heroes through her bond with Bruce.  This is reflected in what we learn about her here.  Like Jeremiah, she's been punished by Bruce's abandonment, but her grey heroic status means that she doesn't lose her freedom, despite living a life of crime.

So what picture are we painted of the city?

Aubrey James is back in charge - corrupt as Oswald ever was as mayor, but less competent.  The city’s remains were picked clean by Barbara - it’s now seemingly largely owned and controlled by two scions of the city’s elite. The commissioner’s got more than one murder to his name.  His wife has one attempted murder to hers - giving her the benefit of the doubt and assuming that Sofia’s still in her coma.  Arkham’s still a hellhole.

What does all that say?  Like I said before, you can argue that this was the inevitable endpoint – but you’ve changed the story already, so that doesn’t wash.

What you’re left with is the outsiders comprehensively punished.  You can sacrifice your chance at escape and an easy life in favour of standing shoulder to shoulder to defend the city, you can be unwell, you can be a victim – doesn’t count.  No matter what you do – you’ll always be an outsider anyway.  You can’t win for losing.  Some are chosen, some aren’t. And if you’re not, tough luck.  

So in this universe, why the hell not don a showy suit and your best hat and commit yourself to villainy?  Go for it, I say.

(Yes - I’m aware this is more analysis than it warranted, and it really just wanted to say ‘look Oswald has a monocle and Batman’s here now!’ - but I felt the need for venting meta)