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ofheroesandvillains · 5 years

Text

To Catch A Ghost 2 - B.Russo

Words: 2.5k Warnings: None Summary: You find a way in.

Hi everyone! Thank you so much for reading and commenting on part 1. It’s a bit of a slow start - bear with me. I did some research for this chapter and it was super underwhelming. Reader is a sniper in this story and the US military doesn't have much info on them so...creative licence and all that. The squad mentioned is not real (to my knowledge).

(Not my gif, credit to the creator!)

“He got any family? Friends?”

“Grew up in the system. Surrogate family was gunned down in broad daylight.”

“The Castles.”

You remembered hearing about that particular tragedy on the news. Your eyes travelled to the black and white photo paperclipped to Russo’s profile. They both looked like hell, covered in dirt and sweat-soaked clothes, but their smiles were blinding.

“That’s right. Castle’s skipped town until this mess with the CIA dies down, so he shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Alright. Anyone else I should know about?”

“Curtis Hoyle. Former Navy SARC.”

“Connection?”

“They served together. Hoyle runs group therapy sessions at St. John’s for vets - sessions funded by Russo.”

---------

3 months later...

Most assumed that Billy Russo was a man of fine taste - he had enough money, good-looks, and charm to ensure that people swiftly forgot that he was the product of a broken and abusive system. That was Billy Russo the businessman, and while he took his job very seriously, that man would never be who he really was.

Billy Russo was a soldier. A man who was happy to get his hands dirty if it meant getting the job done. And his hands had been covered in so much blood lately, he could barely recognise them. It was all worth it, of course. He’d do anything for Frank, and if that meant putting his benefactor six feet under, then he’d do it with a smile on his face. And he did.

Thinking about Rawlins put a bad taste in his mouth. To know that he’d been reliant on the bastard responsible for tearing Frankie’s family apart, his family apart…if he could kill him again, he would.

Unfortunately, killing Rawlins had left ANVIL in a precarious position. The company had been slowly gaining a reputation, but he knew these things took time.

Not only was his biggest investor gone, but he’d also lost a lot of Rawlins’ contacts and personnel. Recruitment was slow. Though ANVIL was kept out of the papers after all that went down with Rawlins, his employees knew about the investigation and many had jumped off what they believed was a sinking ship. His credibility had gone down and building it back up was costing him money he didn’t have.

Money he wasn’t sure he’d make without that elusive government contract he’d been chasing.

“Goddamn it.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. The numbers in his excel spreadsheet were starting to blur together, and he wasn’t sure how much more he could take on two hours of sleep. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to see Frank. He wanted to talk to Curtis.

He wanted to do anything but what he was doing.

---------

“My cover?”

“Will have to be military - Keres Squad. You have the training, and the confidentiality will allow minimal exposure when he inevitably starts snooping. I’ve called in a favour with the DoD, we’re working on making this air-tight.”

“Why does it feel like you’re turning me into a female version of Russo?”

“He’ll be more sympathetic if you share similarities. The more of himself he sees in you, the more likely he’ll be to take you on.”

“Which fortune teller told you that crap? The more we have in common, the more he’ll dig.”

Coulson’s lips twitched into a barely-there smile.

“Yes, and you’re going to let him.”

---------

After months of watching him, you’d come to learn that ANVIL was pretty much Billy Russo’s entire life. He worked hard, you’d give him that, but that was pretty much all he did. Some nights he’d go out and find himself a distraction, others would be spent away on a job. But there was one day each fortnight that was untouchable.

Every second Thursday would see him out of ANVIL by midday, cheque in hand, and a small smile on his face. Today was one of those days, and the wait was finally over.

“You don’t have to do that, Ri.”

You shooed Curtis away when he tried to take the chair off your hands.

“And you don’t have to sit here listening to our crap every week, but you do. ‘Cause you’re a good guy.”

Curtis smiled wide and his eyes narrowed.

“That your roundabout way of complimenting yourself?”

“Hey, you’re the one always preaching about acknowledging the good inside each of us,” you recited with a pointed look.

He shoved your shoulder in good humour.

“Alright, smartass.”

You smiled. Curtis was a damn good guy, one of the most likeable people you’d met so far. But damn, as soon as he considered someone a friend, or worse, his responsibility, there was no chance of getting out of some serious talking. So when you turned around after stacking the last chair, you weren’t surprised to see him studying you as he so often did.

“Can I ask you something?” He crossed his arms, that appraising look in his eyes.

Of all the tough nuts he’d had to crack in his life, you’d been one of the toughest. He wasn’t quite sure he’d cracked you at all, to be honest.

“And don’t get me wrong, I’m happy you’re here - hell, I’m proud of you. You got a good head on your shoulders.”

“So do you, Curt.” You huffed a laugh. “What’s the question?”

Curtis shrugged, and you could see his discomfort plain as day - he wasn’t one to hide his feelings. You knew there was a question he was dying to ask, one he never wanted to ask one of his people - why are you here?

Or at least a variation of it...you gave Curtis Hoyle credit, he was sharper than you thought he’d be. That was a problem for another day.

“Do these sessions help you?”

He’d never drive anyone who needed help away, and he knew better than most that some people hid their scars better than others - especially those trained to do so.

But you were something he’d never be able to understand, not really.

Soldiers...they were used to an enemy they could see, one they could fire at. Most of your life was spent killing ghosts stuck in the shadows - people like yourself. There came a point where feeling no longer came into question. Desensitisation was a blessing in your line of work.

You couldn’t tell Curtis that, because no matter how much it felt like it, he wasn’t your friend. He was just another person who knew the woman you were pretending to be - Sergeant Riley Jameson, Keres Squad Sniper, doesn’t talk much about what happened over there. And he was absolutely vital to your investigation.

That didn’t mean there wasn’t truth in your answer, a truth you’d never thought to confront before. On those days you spent alone in the cabin with nothing but time, you refused to admit to yourself that maybe you missed your old life a little more than you let on.

Sometimes you hoped for a knock on the door, a familiar face to try and rope you into a familiar situation.

You might even thank Coulson for this opportunity in the end.

“I just...sometimes I miss it, y’know? I mean, yeah, some of the things I’ve done…” you shook your head. “But there’s that familiarity to it all, that routine that kinda becomes the new normal after a while - a place to belong, a family you become a part of. It never really leaves you.”

He didn’t say a word, and you were grateful. It was the first time you spoke about something like this in the month you’d been attending his sessions. You’d admit that things were easier around Curtis though. They needed to be or you’d get nowhere.

“So maybe I deal with it better, but I think I do need to be here...just to feel that familiarity without itching for a gun in my hand again, y’know?”

A beat passed where he just stared at you, and then he smiled one of the softest smiles you’d seen him wear. It looked a lot like the one Clint had given you when you’d hit your first bullseye.

“Did that- did that make sense?”

“Absolutely.”

Surprisingly, it wasn’t Curtis who replied. William Russo, you recalled, had a voice like velvet. And his steps were annoyingly silent.

Right on time.

“Well, well,” Curtis teased with a grin. “Look who it is.”

They met each other halfway, sharing genuine smiles and a hug for good measure.

“How you doin’, man?”

“Gettin’ out of bed is a bastard, but I’m still kickin’.”

“Damn right, you are.” Russo smiled.

“Oh,” Curtis shot you an inviting smile and waved you over. “Billy Russo, meet Riley Jameson. Ri, this is that hotshot CEO I was tellin’ you about the other week.”

Billy’s brows arched. His suit was immaculate, his hair and beard groomed to perfection, and not for the first time since you started this assignment did you wonder just how someone got that lucky.

There was a spark of recognition in his eyes when Curtis introduced you, but ‘Billy the friend’ quickly slipped back into ‘Billy the CEO’. It was one of the reasons you hated espionage - no one was ever themselves. Everyone had a different face to show each person they knew, and you didn’t have the time or patience to figure out which one was real.

Come to think of it, that was why you hated human interaction in general.

“Well, damn. It is a small world,” Billy said with a smile.

As small as I need it to be, you thought with a smile of your own. Curtis’ gaze darted between you in a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“You two know each other?”

“In passing,” you answered. “It’s nice to see you again, Marine.”

Russo laughed, flashing those pearly whites with a contagious smile.

“Likewise.” His smile died down and he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m uh, I’m sorry about that, by the way. Couldn’t help but overhear…”

You waved him off.

“It’s no problem, Mr Russo.”

“Billy, please.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and there was a sudden intensity in his dark eyes. “Y’know, if you find yourself missing it very often, you’re more than welcome to come by ANVIL and see how things work.”

“Billy,” Curtis warned.

Billy held his hands up in surrender, lips quirking into a bashful smile. “I’m just sayin’. The offer’s always there.”

You cocked a brow. “ANVIL? That’s the security company, right?”

He seemed to perk up at your interest, and you heard Curtis sigh quietly.

“We focus on reintegrating ex-soldiers like yourself back into the world in an environment more suited to their skill set.”

“Sounds like hard work.”

“It can be,” he nodded. “But it’s worth it.”

His lithe fingers plucked a card from the inner pocket of his suit.

“Here, feel free to call or swing by sometime. I could give you a tour of the facility.”

You took the sleek card with a nod.

“Thanks, I might take you up on that.” You smiled and looked to an unusually silent Curtis. He wasn’t quick enough to wipe the frown off his face.

“Well, I should probably head off. I’ll see you next week, Curt.”

“Yeah, of course.” Curtis clapped a hand onto your shoulder. “Thanks again for helping out.”

“No problem. It was nice seeing you, Mr Russo.”

“And you, Miss Jameson.” He smiled politely, the words rolling off his tongue like a purr.

“Riley.” You called out from the doorway, and he responded in kind.

“Billy.”

He watched you disappear for the second time, this time with a satisfied smile. Your first encounter had left him intrigued, and he’d even admit to hoping for a second whenever he went to his little bar after a particularly rough day. It hadn’t happened, and he’d almost forgotten that one night entirely.

“Don’t even think about it, Russo,” Curtis said with an amused shake of his head.

“It’s nothing.”

Curtis rolled his eyes. Billy would have been a lot more convincing if he wasn’t still staring at the doorway. “I’m serious, man. She’d hand you your own ass on a silver platter.”

He turned his stare to Curtis with a devious smirk.

“My kind of girl then?”

Curtis glowered at him, but it only earned him a chuckle.

“I’m just messing with you, man. After all that shit with Madani...” Billy shook his head and ignored the sympathetic look Curtis shot his way. “What’s her story, anyway?”

“Who, Riley? She doesn’t like talking about it.”

Yeah, no kidding, Billy thought. He couldn’t even get a name out of you, and it was clear that Curtis was going to respect that.

“Nothin’ at all?”

“Look, I know that thing with Rawlins hit ANVIL hard. You need new recruits, I get that. But I don’t know about this one, man. You have no idea how hard it is to get a read on that woman. The shit she had to do...something tells me I don’t wanna know about it.”

Billy’s eyes darkened and Curtis should have known that that would be the wrong thing to say.

“Spec Ops?”

He hesitated, and Billy could almost see the conflict play out in his head. The confidentiality between his group pitted against the trust he had in his friends. His friends would always win, and they both knew that. But something else was at play here that Billy didn’t know about.

There was a wariness in his old friend. He didn’t blame Billy for working with Rawlins, he hadn’t known about the man’s role in the death of the Castles, after all. But Billy had always wanted more. As someone who’d grown up with nothing, the prospect of having the best, of earning it and affording it, was something that fueled a lot of his choices.

He wanted ANVIL to thrive and that meant having the best employees. He’d listened when warned about Lewis, but these were desperate times and Curtis worried about his friend’s judgement. Someone like Riley could be a great asset, but she was far too closed off to be entirely trustworthy.

His shoulders slumped and he sighed.

“Keres Squad.”

“No shit?” Billy’s brows arched. They’d all heard the rumours: an elite squad of female snipers. The theory was that they were easier to overlook, and physiologically more suited to the position, but the military never seemed to give that much thought.

Curtis shook his head. “That’s all I’m saying. Just...promise me you’ll be careful.”

A genuine seriousness settled over them both and Billy nodded. “You know I will.”

Between Rawlins and Madani, he had learned a valuable lesson in trust. That was something he wouldn’t be giving away so freely. He was done with those games, the next person that came for him or for his company would be leaving in a body-bag.

“Enough about that, it’s not why I’m here anyway.”

“If you’re offering me a job again, you can forget about that too!”

Billy laughed.

---------

“You rang?”

“Where were you?”

“Getting that therapy you keep telling me I need. Don't worry, he hasn’t found me out yet.”

“Is it done?”

“Of course. You have any news for me?”

“Stark fundraiser in Manhattan next week. I’ll have Vivian make contact. If he goes for it, it’ll give you time to bug the place.”

“Oh, he’ll go for it. He can’t afford not to.”

“Good. Keep me-”

“Updated, yeah. I got it.”

“And, Nine?”

“Yeah?”

“...be careful.”

---------

Not sure how I feel about this one.

TAGS: @its-my-little-dumpster-fire, @sylphene, @ariminiria, @gollyderek

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fic #billy russo imagine #billy russo fanfiction #the punisher #the punisher fanfiction

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minijenn · 5 years

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Across the Universe Falls: A UF Fan Zine

So in order to celebrate Universe Falls’ 4th anniversary/birthday/what have you in September, I decided to go a step further than last year’s anniversary extravaganza by deciding to once again open the field up to you all, the fans of the fic, this year be creating.a digital zine!!!!

So in case you have no idea what this is, basically the digital zine will be a repertoire for any and all kind of UF fan works that you guys might want to make! Wanna draw something? Go on ahead! Write a drabble or oneshot! Go for it! Even just share your thoughts or theories on the fic? Fair game! Anything goes really, go as wild and free as you want on this (within reason, of course, as we’ll discuss in a sec).

Anyway, below will be a link to a Google spreadsheet where you, yes, YOU can go and sign up to contribute to the zine, which I’ll then compile together and release for everyone to share and enjoy! On that spreadsheet, all the info I need is a name (tumblr or discord moniker), what kind of piece you’ll be doing (art/writing/ect) and either what AU (if any) you’re going to be working in or maybe a brief sort of concept (can include ships, certain chapters or characters you want to focus on, so on). Like I said, anything goes here so feel free to get creative!

Now of course there are a few rules for this that I should lay out before we get to the timeline of things. Please keep all submissions T rated at the most! No smut or lemon is allowed, no excessively graphic violence or gore (blood is ok but nothing too gross), swearing is ok in writing but not too excessively, no... icky ships (you know what these are), and so on and so forth. I will be looking over all submissions personally, and while I do intend to approve pretty much everything (regardless of quality when it comes to art, so if you don’t feel like your art skills are the strongest, don’t worry!) I do reserve the right to reject a piece based on inappropriateness! As far as tone goes, anything is fine, angst, fluff, romance, humor, anything and everything! same with AUs! If you wanna combine AUs, tackle theories and ideas for UF2 or even further out than that, or just come up with an AU entirely of your own, go right on ahead! Like I keep saying, the sky is totally the limit! And now, for the list of artforms that will be accepted:

Art (digital or handrawn, single piece, character drawings, comics, basically anything)

Writing (short drabbles, longer oneshots, poems, songs, ect)

Crafts (paper craft, paintings, so on and so forth)

Theories/Ideas (any sort of concept you think would be cool to see in UF, could even include outlining your own AU idea (these don’t have to be formal writing pieces, they can be in the form of bullet points or something looser like that)

Videos (AMVs using clips from both shows, original songs, fan readings, fan edits, so on)

Gifs

Moodboards

Pretty much any other idea you might have in mind not listed here!

Also, you can submit more than one piece to the zine if you want! If you want to send multiple pieces of art or writing, that’s fine, just make sure to put them down each in individual lines in the Google Doc please! Now with that out of the way, let’s go onto the schedule of things, which goes as follows:

August 1-18: Sign up period: This is how long the Google Doc linked below will be open for you to sign up to participate in the Zine! I’ll remind you guys up until that point regularly to sign up. Pretty much as soon as you do, you can start working on your piece!

August 18-October 31: Work period: Basically this is how long you guys have to complete your pieces for the zine. Yeah it will sorta miss UF’s fourth birthday in September, but I’m sorta late to the ball on this and I wanna make sure i give you guys plenty of time to get your stuff done for it!

November 11: LAST CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS (all submissions need to be sent to me by this date! (All Submissions can be sent either through tumblr or Discord PMs or to my email at [email protected])

December 15: Zine Release! When the link will be up for the zine for all of you to see and enjoy, completely for free, complete with a credits and shoutout list for everyone who participated!

So yeah, hopefully all that makes sense. I feel like I’m probably leaving something out here, but ah well. If you guys have ANY sort of questions, feel free to send them my way! All the same, I’m SO hype to see what you guys come up with for this! UF has such an amazing fanbase and I’m always completely stunned by how talented and awesome you guys are! So hopefully, this will be the ideal place to display just how talented and awesome you all really are! So get ready to create! :)

Link to sign up sheet: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1by85G5l1BWnbppxN8VIgb3aUl51aelf6oIlqOiUKbC4/edit?usp=sharing

#universe falls #gravity falls #steven universe #crossover au #across the universe falls #fan zine #zine announcement #fanfiction #fanart

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get-your-fics · 5 years

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Violent Delights - Chapter Eight

Forget

Summary: Bruce Wayne is addicted to a lot of things to distract from his dark urges, but his addiction to you might only increase them.

Pairing: dark!Bruce Wayne x reader

Series warnings: Violence, language, smut, rape/non-con, stalking, kidnapping, underage drinking, drug use, torture, abuse

CHAPTER SEVEN

Wayne Enterprises also had your phone number on file.

You picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”

I smiled. Hearing your voice put me in a good mood. “Hey, gorgeous. It’s Bruce.”

“Bruce?” I could sense the confusion in your tone. “How’d you get my number?”

“Well, I’m calling on official Wayne Enterprises business. I was thinking of donating some money, but I didn’t know which organization to give to. So I thought, who could I call that could help me find some place to put my money?” I spoke as I reclined in my desk chair.

“Well, you called the right person for the job.” You chuckled, and my heart fluttered. “How much were you thinking of donating?”

“Uh...” I tapped a pen against my bottom lip. “About ten million.”

There was silence on the other end, and for a second I thought you had hung up. “Ten million?” you repeated.

“Yep. So, do you have any ideas?” I leaned back and kicked my feet up on my desk.

“I think we’d have to talk more in person. I don’t think I could just give you advice over the phone.”

I smirked. I had depended on you saying that. “Well, when are you free next? I know you’re a busy girl.”

“Well, technically I’m supposed to be on a break.” You sounded tentative. “But ten million. That’s a lot.”

“Are you doing anything later today? Say, this afternoon?” I glanced at the Cartier watch on my wrist.

Another pause, and then a small sigh. “No, I’m free. Where do you want to meet?”

“How about Roosevelt’s downtown? I’m craving coffee.”

“Okay.” Your tone perked up. “I’ll meet you there. Thanks so much for calling me, Bruce. I promise you we’ll find a good place for your money to go to.”

“I know you will.” The grin on my face was uncontrollable. “Bye, gorgeous.”

A couple hours later, I showed up at Roosevelt’s a little earlier than the time we had agreed to meet up at. I wanted to show you how good I could be to you, how we were meant to be together. I got your usual order of a vanilla latte and a piece of coffee cake plus a plain, black coffee for myself. I took a table towards the back of the cafe away from all the other patrons so we could have some privacy. The cafe was the perfect hangout for hipsters and college students taking advantage of the free wifi. It was all rustic wood and shiny metal and green, potted plants in white ceramic vases.

The bell rang on the entrance to the cafe, signaling a new customer had arrived. I looked up to see you strutting through the door. You wore a long, flowing dress, perfect for summer, that had buttons all the way up the front and strappy sandals. You had a giant tote slung over your shoulder and pushed your Dolce & Gabbana tortoiseshell sunglasses onto your head, searching the cafe for me. It was probably the most casual I had ever seen you look, and it made me happy to think you felt more comfortable around me than anyone else.

“(Y/N)!” I shouted over the sound of clinking glasses and indistinct chatter. I waved to you. “Hey, gorgeous! Over here!”

Your head snapped in my direction, and a smile came over your features when you saw me. It made my heart race. You weaved through the tables until you came to mine. “Hey. Just let me go order, and then we can start.”

“Don’t bother. I already got something for you.” I gestured to the steaming mug of light brown liquid topped with foam and slice of coffee cake on a ceramic plate on the table in front of me. “Is a vanilla latte and coffee cake okay?”

Your eyes widened. “Um, yeah, that’s like my go to order.” You laughed. “How’d you know?” You pulled out the chair across from me and slid into the seat.

“Well, Roosevelt’s coffee cake is famous, and then I just picked something with lots of caffeine that was sweet like you.” I winked and took a sip of my coffee. It was piping hot, but the burn almost felt good.

Blush crept its way to your cheeks. “Well, thanks.” You dropped your purse in your lap and started digging through it. “I brought a few things. I hope you don’t mind.” You lifted binder after binder out of your purse and dropped them onto the table with a heavy thud. You started flipping through them and revealed pages upon pages of files and data and info all separated by dividers and in alphabetical order. I found it adorable how neat and tidy you were.

“That’s more than a few things,” I joked.

You laughed. “Okay, where to start...” You pursed your lips as you stared at a page lined with black, minuscule text. “Well, what are you looking to get out of your donation?”

I quirked a brow. “What do you mean?”

You looked up at me. “Well, most people want something named after them or to attend some exclusive event or something.”

“I thought the whole point was to be giving back.” I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “Make it anonymous.”

“You want it to be anonymous?” You sounded surprised.

“Yes,” I confirmed.

“Okay.” You opened another binder. “That opens up a lot more options for you, then. I have a few ideas of organizations that could really use the ten million to do great things.” You landed on a page outlined with a spreadsheet. “Gotham Children’s Hospital needs at least five million to build a new wing for their patients with cancer, plus three million to keep it running for a year.” You turned a page. “Or the Gotham City Animal Shelter needs to rent a new space to house all of their animals. They’re dealing with some overcrowding right now. The money would be enough to keep them afloat for a couple of years.” You looked up from the binder. “I’ve donated to these organizations before, and I can tell you that they deliver on what they promise. Here, I’ll show you some of the projects I’ve worked on with them in the past.” You thumbed through a section of packets stuffed in clear sheet protectors.

I could hear all of the things you were saying, but I was too mesmerized by the look on your face. You were so animated when you talked about giving, so utterly passionate and devoted, that your eyes lit up and your face glowed and your lips tugged upwards into an uncontrollable smile. You talked about some of your past donations, but I knew about them all already. A simple google search had brought up article after article praising you for the work you did with these organizations. They were always accompanied with pictures of you holding up giant checks marked with multiple zeros, a smile plastered on your face. I had seen many like them before, with celebrities or big name CEOs, but yours were unlike any I had seen before. The look on your face was genuine. It didn’t conceal any ulterior motive. You weren’t doing this for the attention or the notoriety, like the rich narcissists you so often gave advice to. You were doing this all for you and the people you were helping.

“So,” you looked up at me with a sense of finality, “do you have any questions?” Your bright, cheery expression faltered slightly when I didn’t respond at first. “Bruce? Are you listening?”

“I guess I just don’t understand why,” I finally mumbled after a bit.

“Why... what?” You let out a nervous giggle.

“Why do you do this?” I leaned forward with my elbows on the table. “Why do you give so much? Why do you spend every waking moment running around and collecting money from people who couldn’t give a shit about anyone expect for themselves? You could easily just shrug off all responsibility like everyone else, live in the lap of luxury, hole yourself up in some giant mansion on the coast of Saint Tropez. Lord knows you have the money.” I tilted my head to the side as I studied you intently. “Why do you feel so indebted? What do you get out of it?”

You clasped your hands together and folded them in your lap, your legs crossed. You were quiet for a while, your brow tensing every now and then signaling that you were gathering your thoughts. “When my dad died, I was in a really dark place,” you answered at last, your voice soft. “I felt useless, hopeless. I was hurting all the time. Thinking back now, I could’ve gotten mixed up with the wrong people, with some really dangerous stuff...” You trailed off, and for a moment I thought you were done until you started up again, “But then I went to this charity event, and it was the first time I had felt good in such a long time. It felt good to know that I was helping people, making other people’s lives better. It made me feel like I had a purpose again. Like all the shit I had been through was worth it. I didn’t want anyone to feel the way I did. Giving back makes me feel like I’m actively doing something about it, you know?”

I just stared at you for a moment, letting all your words sink into my skin. “No, I don’t,” I murmured.

A grin spread across your face. “Well, that’s why we’re here today, aren’t we? I promise to help you to the best of my ability.”

“Oh, you are helping me.” In more ways than you can imagine, I wanted to add, but I bit my tongue.

“Now, it’s my turn to ask.” You squinted at me. “Why are you donating, and why such a big amount? At first I thought it was for good publicity, but then you said you wanted it to be anonymous. This isn’t for some kind of tax break, is it?” Your eyes widened, and you bit your lip. “Sorry. I don’t usually ask so many questions. It just seems so out of the blue.”

I smirked at how flustered you were. “It’s all right.” I raised my mug to my lips. “You’re not the only one who’s looking for a way to escape their pain. But if I’m being honest, I also just wanted an excuse to see you again.” I took a drink as I gaged your reaction.

The corners of your lips lifted into a smile as a chuckle spilled from your lips. “Well, that’s a hell of an excuse.” Your laughter rang out freely now. “An expensive one too, might I add.”

“Worth every penny.” I winked. “Besides, you and I both know I have more than enough to spare.” I set the mug down and grabbed your hand that was resting on the table. “Tommy and I are going with some friends to the Sirens Club tomorrow. Why don’t you come with us?” You looked down at our intertwined fingers. “You don’t remember anything about me at all, do you?” There was a hint of sadness in your tone, and your lips pulled down into a pout.

My grip on your hand tightened. “Why don’t you just tell me?”

“I guess I was hoping you would remember on your own.” You unlaced your fingers from mine and pulled your hand away, leaving mine cold.

There was this look of disappointment in your eyes that made my heart sink into my gut. I wanted to tell you it didn’t matter what had happened between us in the past because I loved you now, you consumed all of my thoughts every moment I was awake, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t without completely snapping. So I had to sit and watch everything I had worked for for months now crumble and give way to oblivion once again.

“I understand if you don’t want to give me the ten million.” You started to pack up your things in a hurried manner. “And I can pay you back for the food and the latte.”

“Hey, don’t be ridiculous.” I put a hand on your shoulder, stopping your actions. You looked up at me, and I gave you a smile. Even now, I still couldn’t be mad at you. You were just too perfect. “Of course I’ll give you the money. You’re busy, and I wouldn’t want to waste your time, now would I?” I let go of you. “Hold on.”

I took out my checkbook and a fountain pen. I clicked it before writing on a check in neat, discernible handwriting. You anxiously picked at your manicure and took your bottom lip between your teeth as you waited for me. I wrote down double the amount I had promise and ripped it out of the book. I held it out to you with a wide grin on my face.

“Here. Give to both the hospital and the shelter.”

You looked down at the check in my hand, and your eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Bruce, that’s too much. I don’t think I can accept this.”

“Don’t be silly.” I shook it slightly. “Take it,” I urged you.

You smiled. “Okay. If you insist.” You laughed slightly and grabbed onto the check, your fingers brushing against mine. “Thank you so much.” You took it from me and yelped. You raised your finger to inspect it. You had a large paper cut splitting the pad of your pointer finger down the middle. Blood the prettiest shade of vibrant red I had ever seen trickled out and spilled down your smooth skin.

Without thinking, I reached for your hand. I wrapped my fingers around your wrist and brought your wounded finger up to my lips. I stuck it in my mouth and sucked the scarlet blood off. The metallic taste hit my tongue, but it tasted sweet and intoxicating unlike any liquor I had ever had in my life. I curled my tongue around your finger and lapped up your blood, not wanting to waste a single drop. I closed my eyes and could barely keep from letting out a low moan of pleasure.

I heard a small squeak, and my eyes snapped open. You stared at me, your eyes wide and your cheeks flushed. Your whole body was frozen and tense, like you were unsure of what to do. I popped your finger out of my mouth with an obscene squelch. I could still taste the remnants of your blood on my tongue, and it filled me with this deep, insatiable hunger like nothing I had ever known. It made me stare at your skin and wonder what it would look like all marked up, if I peeled it back and stared at the blue and purple veins pumping blood concealed underneath.

I shot up out of my chair. “I have to go.” I looked over you one last time, and a shiver ran down my spine. “Bye, gorgeous.”

I stormed out of the cafe before you could get a word in and rode home in my town car. Not even you were safe from me. I could feel the darkness plaguing my thoughts like a storm cloud hovering over my head. I thought you needed me, but maybe you were better off on your own. You had your mom and your work, and all I had done was meddle and screw shit up in the first place.

Wayne Manor was quiet, even quieter than usual with Alfred gone. I thought I would be relieved knowing that he couldn’t pester me anymore, but it only filled me with a strange sense of emptiness. I stumbled into my room, feeling lost, confused, hopeless. I was exhausted even though I hadn’t done anything all day. I held onto the giant, oak dresser to steady myself and grasped for a bottle of whiskey. They were scattered all over the manor these days. I wanted nothing more than to drink and wallow and numb myself until I forgot everything and the world was nothing but a blur of color around me.

Forget. I twisted the cap off and tilted my head back, pouring the whiskey straight down my throat. I barely felt the burn, and what I did feel pleased me and made warmth spread across my cheeks. My gaze lazily drifted down to the dresser where I spotted a wooden case in the corner holding several expensive watches, but the one in the middle caught my eye. It was silver and ornate, and its face was midnight black. Compared to all the others, it was priceless.

My father’s watch.

Wait...

The bell rang shrilly and echoed throughout Anders Preparatory Academy as I climbed the black, winding staircase. I kept my head down, ignoring the pointed glares thrown in my direction, and stayed as close to the banister as possible and out of people’s way. A pair of large dress shoes came to a stop in front of me on the landing, and I skidded to a halt. I looked up and made direct eye contact with Tommy Elliot.

“Hey, Brucey.” He grinned like a crocodile who had just spotted its prey. His gang of schoolyard bullies filed down the stairs behind him, Brant Jones among them.

“It’s Bruce.” I lifted my chin, trying to seem like I wasn’t shaking. “No Y.”

“No parents either, so I can call you what I like.” He curled his upper lip at me.

I stood, rigid, frozen to the spot. “Please get out of my way.” My tone was sharp.

“Snobby, little jerk, isn’t he?” he sneered to his friends. “For an orphan.” “You’re being very unkind.” I furrowed my thick brows. “I don’t understand why.”

He chuckled. “Boy, you’re a weirdo.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his school uniform. “Your mother must have-”

Without hesitation, I brought my hand down on his cheek with a resounding smack. He turned his head to the side, his lips parted in shock. “Don’t talk about my mother,” I hissed.

He faced me head on, a large smile spread across his face. He barely seemed affected. He swiped the corner of his mouth, checking for blood, but there was none. “Oh, really?”

I kept my serious gaze trained on him, not backing down for a second. He towered over me, intimidating me with his height, and in a flash, his fist came into contact with my cheekbone. Pain blossomed throughout my skin, and I clutched the side of my face. I didn’t have time to retaliate before he was on me again. He was so much bigger than I was that he overpowered me easily. His fists barreled down on me, landing blow after blow to my head until it felt like my brain was rattling around inside my skull. He punched and kicked me until I was curled up into a ball on the floor, my hands shielding my face. His friends closed around me, smiling and laughing at the broken orphan boy cowering out of fear.

Tommy gave one last kick to my gut, and I jolted with a high-pitched yip. “Come on, let’s go. I think he got what was coming to him,” he commanded his friends.

Their dress shoes shuffled past me on the polished floor. I didn’t dare move until I popped one eye open to make sure they were all gone. I could still hear their cackling echoing from a distance as I unfurled from my position. I groaned as my whole body ached all over. No doubt I had more than a few bruises forming on my face from the abuse. I leaned back against the banister and kicked my legs out in front of me, collapsing with a sigh. My chest heaved up and down, sucking in the air that had been kicked out of me by Tommy’s solid dress shoes. I could taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth and spat onto the floor next to me. Sure enough, the bright red hue of my saliva stood out against the black hardwood. My head lolled, and my arms fell limp at my sides. There had been no one around to witness my beatdown, no one around to stop it.

Well, almost no one.

I saw one eye peering around a column at the top of the stairs. I drew my thick brows together and sat up slightly. “Who’s there?” The eye widened before disappearing completely. “Wait, don’t go! I just want to know who you are,” I called out, my voice cracking desperately.

For a moment, there was silence, and I thought whoever it was had gone. But then, you stepped into my view. You stood at the top of the steps, dressed in an Anders Preparatory Academy uniform. Everything about your posture and your stance screamed shy and reserved. You had your hands clasped together and your head down, your shoulders hunched. I could barely see your face through the curtain of hair concealing it from me.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice wouldn’t have been audible if it weren’t for the echo of the room.

“What are you sorry for?” My voice was weak and groggy. I slowly blinked, trying to clear the fuzziness in my head.

“I should’ve done something.” You fidgeted with your nails. They were chewed to the wicks.

I shook my head. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“I could’ve gotten in between you two.” Your black Mary Janes slapped against the wooden stairs as you rushed towards me. “I could’ve gotten someone. I could’ve told him-”

I cut you off by shushing you, my eyes fluttering closed. I groaned again as a dull pang of pain shot through me. It felt like I had just been hit by a truck, like I would never be able to walk again. Your gaze raked over my pitiful state.

“I think I have an ice pack in my bag.” You kneeled in front of me and dropped your leather backpack to the ground. You rummaged through it before retrieving a blue gel ice pack and held it out to me. “Here you go.”

I attempted to reach for it, but barely raised my arm before pain shot through me again. My arm fell to my side as I winced, leaning my head back against the banister. You hindered for a second, unsure of what to do, before scooting closer to me.

“Here,” you murmured and held the ice pack up to my face. Your touch was cautious and gentle. I relaxed the instant I felt the cool, wet ice pack against my cheek and let out a sigh of relief. I felt like my body started to heal itself immediately; it was almost like magic. Or you were like magic.

“You’re (Y/N) (Y/L/N), right?” I grumbled. “You’re in my math class?”

You nodded. “Yeah.” The sound was short and concise.

“Brant Jones is your stepbrother?” I continued, and once again, you answered me with a firm nod of your head. “He was there, with Tommy. When he...”

“I know.” You lowered your gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry. He’s a good person, really. He just runs with the wrong crowd.”

I hummed in response. A silence fell over us, but it was almost comforting. I watched as you moved the ice pack around my face, to my jaw, to my neck. Your eyes flitted across my features, searching for any bruises or scrapes or cuts. You were so tender and kind and caring, the complete opposite of your brother.

“I heard about your parents,” you squeaked after a bit. “I’m sorry.”

I wanted to roll my eyes, but I couldn’t due to my current condition. “It’s okay, really.”

You lifted the ice pack and shifted your ministrations to my other cheek. “You know, my mom died, when I was little.” You pressed the cool substance to my skin. “All I ever wanted was for people to stop feeling sorry for me.”

I laughed, but it sounded more like a wheeze. “Yeah. Sometimes, I just want to lock myself in my room so I don’t have to hear people apologize to me anymore.” I started to laugh again, but it turned into a full-on coughing fit. It didn’t stop until I hacked up some blood, red spittle dribbling down my chin.

You shoved the ice pack back into your bag and took out a napkin instead. You swiped at the blood on my chin delicately, like you were afraid I might break if you pushed too hard. Like I was a baby bird who had fallen from his nest. “Maybe I should take you to the nurse.”

“No, please.” I raised my hand and latched onto your wrist, despite how every bone in my body was aching for me to stop. “I... I just want to forget this ever happened.” I hated how vulnerable I sounded.

You looked down at my hand on yours, your lips pressed into a straight line. “Okay.” Your voice was soft and faint. It was soothing. “Okay, I won’t tell anyone. Just, please be careful? I don’t want to see you get hurt anymore.” There was genuine concern in your eyes. It surprised me.

“Thank you,” I breathed out. “Can you please help me to my next class?” I cracked a feeble smile. “I don’t think I can make it on my own.”

You nodded. “Of course.” You gathered your things before grabbing my arm. I grunted as you threw my arm over your shoulders and helped me to stand. You supported me as I limped down the halls, gasping with every step I took.

Later that day, I would get my revenge on Tommy Elliot and beat him up on his doorstep. Alfred would gift me my father’s watch, and I would drop out of Anders Preparatory Academy soon after.

The memory hit me like a freight train, and I sat on the floor of my bedroom, leaning back against the footboard and soaking it all in. I fumbled for my phone in my pocket. I had completely blocked out my encounter with you, but you had wanted so badly for me to remember it. Why? Could it be you weren't as complete and content with your life as you seemed to be?

I dialed your number and held my phone up to my ear. I chewed on my bottom lip as I listened to it ring, growing more anxious by the second. “Hello?” I heard your voice on the other end.

“I remember,” I blurted. “You were there the day Tommy beat me up. You helped me and promised not to tell anyone about what you saw.” I furrowed my brow. “Why did you come to the Towers that night?” There was a pause, and I could feel the tension eating me up inside. “I had the biggest crush on you when I was younger.” You let out an embarrassed giggle. “I used to follow you around the courtyard before school started, but always stayed at a distance so you wouldn’t see me. I would doodle hearts in my notebook as I stared at the back of your head in math class.” I could hear the smile in your voice. “That day was a couple of months before my dad died. I remember thinking that we had so much in common, that we were so alike,” you reminisced. “I had heard you resurfaced about a couple of months ago. I went to the Towers that night searching for the boy I had developed a serious case of puppy love on when I was younger, but he wasn’t exactly who I found, was he?”

My heart was practically leaping out of my chest. You cared for me. You needed me. Even after all these years, I still mattered to you, and you still wanted me in your life. “I still am that boy, (Y/N),” I insisted. “I can still be that boy, for you.”

“Maybe you were right.” You let out a deep sigh. “Maybe some things are just better forgotten.”

“Please, come with me and my friends tomorrow,” I pleaded. “I promise you’ll have a good time. And if not, I won’t bother you ever again.” You laughed on the other end, and the sound was like music to my ears. “Okay, Bruce.” Your tone was filled with renewed hope. “I’ll go.”

An uncontrollable smile spread across my face. I had you now. “Great.” I scratched the back of my neck. “Uh, text me your address, and I’ll pick you up tomorrow around ten. Does that sound good?”

“Yep, sounds great.” Pause, and then... “Bruce?” I perked up. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

I cocked my head to the side. “For what?”

“Just... thank you.” You sounded so relieved.

I grinned. “Believe me, gorgeous. The pleasure is all mine.” And soon, you would be too.

CHAPTER NINE

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x you #playboy!bruce wayne #dark!bruce wayne #gotham #gotham imagine #gotham fanfiction #gotham fanfic #dark!fic

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punkscowardschampions · 4 years

Text

Mia & Jimmy & Janis

Mia: [Computer Science project that you have to make a company/logo/business cards/spreadsheets/website/everythang you could think of so it takes a full term or whatever and you have to work with each other in every lesson] Mia: Right, I think we should do a law firm for our business Mia: because my dad is so we can actually use examples to make all our products legit Jimmy: what, like no win, no fee? 👍 can do a funny ad piss easy Mia: That is NOT the kind of lawyer my dad is Mia: funny isn't gonna get us good grades either Jimmy: 💔 Dunno who I'm gonna get to chase my 🚑 now Janis: I'm with Chuckles Janis: you're just trying to make this project most beneficial to you Janis: I don't wanna be a vulture when I grow up Janis: go generic as possible or it ain't fair Jimmy: don't reckon your dad needs the free promo any road, rich girl Jimmy: unless this is a cry for help that he can't get the prey Jimmy: 🎻🎻 Mia: Obviously I want to make it beneficial, I CARE about my grades and future Mia: but I'd love to hear your suggestions I'm sure Jimmy: you after a 🏆 or just a 👏 for trying to get an A? Mia: I get As, new boy, I don't just try Jimmy: I get it, you want 🤤😍 Jimmy: there Mia: Don't be so disgusting Mia: If you two are going to try and sabotage my grade, I WILL make my dad make Sir let me move Mia: I'm not being dragged down Jimmy: crack on, we've worked out your dad ain't busy with accidents at work Janis: Like, please try and use all daddy's clout to get that stubborn prick to do anything he's deciding he's not gonna do Janis: I already said I'd do this shit alone and no 🎲 Jimmy: don't sound like him that Jimmy: go on, rich girl, love to witness another failed flex Janis: You reckon we'd get extra points for fluffing our business expenses like your dad or what? Janis: I'll go along with it if we can convincingly hide our fake funds in a tax haven and make ourselves look LEGIT 👌 Jimmy: Me an' all Mia: You know as little about my dad as you do about your own, Janis Mia: you wish he was as crooked too but he's on the right side of the law so Janis: above the law Janis: can't do no wrong in your eyes, so I've heard Janis: but doubt new boy finds your family drama any more interesting than I do Janis: be a fucking law firm if you like, let's just split the jobs up equally and we don't have to talk until it's time to piece it all together Jimmy: I'll have the ad and the logo, tah very much Janis: you mean the fun bits Jimmy: I mean the 🎨 bits Jimmy: rich girl wants her A Janis: obliging Janis: I'll make the website and business cards, I've done it before Janis: Mia, do the data input, yeah Janis: star in Tarantino's ad, you'll love that Mia: No, no Mia: I don't feel comfortable leaving you completely to your own devices Mia: that's not a totally terrible split of the workload but I intend to oversee every step of the process Mia: we have to do a writeup at the end, you know Jimmy: it's almost like the other lass ain't as thick as you'd feel comfortable her being, funny that Mia: I literally want to do well and as far as I know, I'm the only one here who consistently gets good grades Mia: so hostile Mia: I agree that's how we should split the work but I'm not going to just assume you'll both do it well, we can all have input in every part Jimmy: could LITERALLY fill a book the size of sir's big head with all the shit you don't know about what I do well Jimmy: but alright Jimmy: watch me, if you don't get enough of it already, better uniform at work though, don't you reckon? Mia: Oh my God, brag much? Mia: hit the nail on the head with big head 🙄 Jimmy: stalk much? 🙄 Jimmy: least your dad could take my case Mia: It's HER sister that likes you, not ME Mia: get a grip and take it up with her if you're not feeling it Jimmy: I'll still give your dad a bell, chuck him that 🦴 as he's struggling Mia: As I said, he doesn't DO no win no fee, so you couldn't afford him Jimmy: 💔🎻 Janis: Now we've established it's justice only for those that can afford it Janis: and rich girls can do whatever they want Janis: what are we doing first, oh mighty project manager Jimmy: I'll do the logo in blue, sounds about right, that Janis: #bluelivesmatter is already taken for a tagline but I'll get to thinking Jimmy: 👍 Jimmy: I'll have a think if I wanna use gold for her 👑 or silver for the 🥄 Janis: 🥄 might imply a problem with amphetamines and obviously, you want everyone to know you WORKED for that 💀🦴 all by yourself, you know Mia: You'd know all about that, wouldn't you Mia: taking over the family business, yeah? Jimmy: Oi, it ain't that grim up north Mia: Grim is right Jimmy: Gutted Rosso didn't make you feel like the WAG you deserve on your last visit babes 🤞 next time you'll spot them celebs Jimmy: or you'll keep to Bijou, that glam dress code would never do you dirty Jimmy: 💕 Janis: I get it Janis: you want me to make sure you're infertile Janis: all those cheat days and binges got you feeling unsure, no problem, just ask Jimmy: lend her the 🥄 Mia: You are both SUCH freaks Mia: what does any of that even mean Jimmy: bit rude Jimmy: only a freak on the weekend, me Mia: NOT interested, new boy Mia: I HAVE a boyfriend who's a lot hotter than you, right Janis? Jimmy: makes two of us, rich girl Janis: For someone who thinks my bloodline is filth, you LOVE being surrounded by 'em, yeah Janis: bit weird but everyone likes their bit of rough Janis: how disadvantaged is your dad's newest mistress, I mean secretary? Janis: SO charitable 💙 Jimmy: might be northern, sounds like they've been there loads Mia: Are you gay, new boy? Mia: I'll have to let down Gracie for you Jimmy: only for sir Jimmy: he's well fit Jimmy: crack on with letting your bestie down though and if my mum's the one with your dad, tell her she left the oven on but I sorted it Mia: ??? Mia: What EVEN Mia: you're cracked Jimmy: brb gotta go dry my eyes Jimmy: 🐣💕 Jimmy: I do feel #seen tah for that, hun Mia: I can't even Mia: fine, you two come up with our company branding Mia: I'm going to write out all the info to put on our website when it's done Jimmy: Oi, bad blood, you wanna be the star of my ad or what? Janis: no Jimmy: alright, I'll ask sir Janis: good taste Janis: rinse her dad in a fight Jimmy: tah for the meet cute opportunity Jimmy: when he's her dad's new mr I wanna 🎥📸 the wedding Janis: awh, full ⚪ Janis: she'll look adorable in her flower girl dress Jimmy: 🤞 Gracie catches the 💐 Jimmy: she is on a lad hunt Janis: 🤞 Mia's da has a brother Mia don't also want to fuck Jimmy: don't leave us in suspense 👑 does he or what? Mia: Shut the fuck up or I'll show all this to Sir Jimmy: Go on Jimmy: he'll think I'm 😎 and I'll be well in Janis: Do it, little miss perfect Janis: the part where you shit on my dead dad's grave will be well more shocking when I open the floodgates 😭 Jimmy: ⏲ Janis: ... Jimmy: ........ Janis: guess Sir won't wanna pet you no more when he finds out a. you're a cunt b. new boy is interested in your position Jimmy: he'll do til I can get Mr Lucas Jimmy: you can have him back then Janis: LOVE a happy ending Jimmy: I'll look top in my 👰 Janis: gutted about the lack of uniform though, yeah Mia? Jimmy: What do you make your boyfriend wear? 🦺? Mia: New boy, don't even go there 'cos he could beat you down so easy if I asked him to Janis: that means she pisses on him so they know he's hers Jimmy: makes sense that'd be your kink Janis: dog eat dog world, right babes Janis: stories you was raised on come straight out of your dad's man's man motivational speaker bullshit Jimmy: Oh shit, are you my half sister, rich girl? Jimmy: brb gotta pack my shit so I'm ready to move in Janis: get a princess dress to go with that 👰 Jimmy: order my 👑 in XXL tah Janis: can share with your sister Janis: big happy family vibes xoxo Jimmy: 🤗 Janis: get in here sis Janis: finally not a lonely child Mia: Yeah, I SO want 1000s of siblings like you Jimmy: You're alright, I've only got the one brother and the one sister Jimmy: be piss easy to fit us in your palace Mia: You AREN'T invited Mia: might steal the silverware 🥄🍴 Jimmy: I'll leave you a 🥄 to stick down your throat after dinner Jimmy: got some manners, me Mia: That's lovely, isn't it Mia: eating disorders are really serious, you shouldn't make some jokes Janis: respect the 🎨 Jimmy: cleaning the 🚽 after you lot is an' all Jimmy: part of the job description btw, I get that you'd have to have one to know what that means but Janis: 😏 Janis: staff know all your dirty little secrets, babes Janis: better than a tip, like Jimmy: be 👻⚰💀 before I get a tip off her Janis: if we were all walking 'round looking as SICK as her, what would be the point of corroding away her esophagus and not-so pearly whites? Janis: gotta find your own tricks, boy Jimmy: I'll put a ❄️ in the logo for you, babes Janis: cannot escape those coke vibes omg Janis: you're a PR nightmare Jimmy: 😱😱😱 Jimmy: #whitelivesandwhitelines Janis: GREAT slogan Janis: basically done over here and you're just texting 💀💩 Janis: tsk tsk, Mimi Jimmy: tick tock or tik tok if you'd rather Jimmy: 😘 Janis: 😂 Janis: make us a law tiktok, hun Jimmy: starring your dad, OBVS Janis: share that 🤤🤤🤤 with the world, not just the local 18-35s Jimmy: 💰 on him being a 🔥🔥🔥 dancer Janis: all middle-aged white men are Jimmy: DUH Janis: POV- you're my client, I'm overcharging you Jimmy: 🤤🤤🤤😍😍😍 Mia: You're obsessed with me, I get it 🙄 Jimmy: busted Janis: If that's a crime Janis: get to spend more time with your dad than you do Janis: 💘 Jimmy: SO romantic Jimmy: 👨💕 Janis: can't wait 'til he wants a couple grams Jimmy: refill the silver 🧂 Janis: you know it Janis: sugarbowl never tasted so sweet Jimmy: 😋 Janis: careful Janis: her boyfriend WILL fuck you up Jimmy: I get it, he's obsessed with me Janis: can't blame him Mia: OMG Mia: that is soooo fucked Mia: know your family doesn't see blood relation as an issue but he'll 🤢 when I show him this Jimmy: if he's that bothered, he can come find me Jimmy: you've had my shifts memorised since I started Mia: You wish Jimmy: to give him a smack, yeah Jimmy: why not? Jimmy: sounds like a right knobhead Mia: [sends a picture of Pablo like he's a prize bull or some shit gross Mia] Mia: you reckon, do you? 😂 Jimmy: I reckon he looks like a right knobhead an' all now, since you asked Mia: You've got a deathwish like Mia: wow Janis: kindred spirits Jimmy: 'cause you reckon he looks like a knobhead an' all? that's just sense Janis: was talking about her eating disorder which is VERY serious and we MUST NOT joke about Janis: but yeah, the fuckboy radiating from that selfie must be the appeal Jimmy: Soz mate Mia: She doesn't DO boys, I'd save your breath Jimmy: weren't breathing down her neck, that's you Jimmy: I get why now though, it's a blatant crush Janis: Stalking's your kink, right babes? Janis: Or am I just that special Jimmy: [draws these gals as snowflakes holding hands but Mia is melting] Janis: That's good Janis: but horrific Jimmy: #allherkinks Jimmy: [doodles on the picture of Pablo that she sent in hilarious ways] Janis: 😂😂 Janis: Send him that, whilst you're at it, Mimi Janis: really get him 'roiding out Mia: 🖕🖕🖕 Mia: you're both jealous, both for weird freaky reasons Jimmy: Of what? Go on Mia: You're jealous because you think every girl here wants to ride you and I DON'T Mia: because my boyfriend is better looking and fitter than you 💁 Mia: and she's jealous either because she wants me or she wants her own brother Mia: either way 😷😷😷😷 Jimmy: if every girl round here wanted to crack onto me why would I give a shit if you do or don't? Jimmy: all your mates are fitter than you and they ain't close to this paddy school's top tier Jimmy: and you just said she don't do lads so why would she wanna have a go on her brother unless the steroids have fucked him up harder than advertised Mia: yeah 👌 narcissist Mia: neg me, that'll totally make me interested Jimmy: 🤞 it'll keep you well clear Jimmy: that'll do Mia: I want to be working with you as much as you do me, I've said Mia: leave me alone and this can be as painless as possible Jimmy: I get that you're fuming your boyfriend is growing bigger tits than you but that ain't my problem, my dear Mia: So immature Jimmy: still got a deeper voice than him Janis: imagine defending your man this hard when he fully cheats on you Janis: 💔 Janis: daddy all over again, am I right? Jimmy: 🎻😭🎻 Jimmy: Dunno what I'm more flattered by, that you reckon I'm gay after seeing the state of all the straight lads round here or not wanting to ride me 'cause I ain't a cheating dickhead with massive tits or in your dad's case a hair transplant Jimmy: either way, tah Janis: could donate some to the cause, new boy Janis: hair, not tits Jimmy: you could an' all Jimmy: cause a scandal Janis: #cancelling bitches is a solid hobby Jimmy: there you go Janis: can't lose my only beauty though Janis: 🎻🎻 Janis: have to keep being #problematic yourself babes, so soz Jimmy: 👍 Mia: Stop nerd flirting Mia: send me what work you've done today Jimmy: Hang on, I'll 😎🚬 Jimmy: 💕 Mia: Gross Jimmy: What, I'm only fit and mysterious if I starve myself to 💀💀💀? Alright Jimmy: [sends her the work like oh I must be a nerd then] Mia: Thank you Mia: I'll go over this and give feedback later Jimmy: Gross Mia: 🙄 Mia: I've got to do a speech in Politics and Society after this, so I need to prepare Jimmy: 🙄 Janis: 👋 Janis: pleasure as always Jimmy: bit rude if you two get to nerd flirt Janis: what's 'fuck off' in Arabic? Jimmy: تخلص من Jimmy: probably means ILY or some bollocks 'cause I google translated it Janis: beautiful Janis: love double-meaning Janis: Qué te folle un pez espada, new boy Jimmy: ? Janis: I hope you get fucked by a swordfish 💘 Jimmy: [draws their teacher, Mr Lucas, Pablo and Mia's dad all as swordfish so she can vote for who she ships him with] Jimmy: ✔ or ❌ Janis: [❌ out Pablo's eyes and Mr Lucas' junk like no] Jimmy: [IRL 😏] Janis: [does very unflattering drawing of Mia all up on her father] Jimmy: 🥇 Janis: not an A though, is it Jimmy: [makes it even more unflattering somehow like now it is and now it's also teamwork so even better] Janis: 😏 Jimmy: LOVE a #collab Janis: been waiting for a group project to come along Jimmy: rigged it to work with 👑💀 obvs Janis: duh Jimmy: SO obsessed, her dad will get me off though, he can TOTALLY relate Janis: should but it in our ad Jimmy: 🔪🔪🔪🚿 Janis: 😱😱😱 Jimmy: 💘 Janis: Sir will kill that role Jimmy: Literally Janis: ha ha 🙄 Jimmy: Chuckles is right 🤡 Janis: keep 'em coming Janis: 👑💀 might have an aneurism Jimmy: 🤞 might get an A if she dies Janis: it's what she would've wanted Jimmy: you do love a happy ending Janis: who don't Janis: be my tragic family's fault, no doubt Jimmy: so I've heard Janis: not gonna apologize, new boy Jimmy: weren't waiting for one Janis: 👍 Jimmy: 👌 Janis: please stop nerd flirting with me Jimmy: you started it Jimmy: calm YOURSELF down, mate Janis: did I fuck Jimmy: neg me, that'll totally make me interested Janis: [IRL 😏] Jimmy: [sends her a pisstake version of the logo to fully drag Mia] Janis: is it RGB #374E88 though Jimmy: what? Janis: it's called tory blue Jimmy: is it? Jimmy: [does a colour corrected version immediately] Janis: Better Janis: solid 🥇 Jimmy: Tah Janis: [the pisstake business card with the logo for her dad] Janis: we've absolutely SMASHED it Jimmy: I reckon we can go Jimmy: 😎🚬 Janis: alright Jimmy: [IRL 😘 to sir] Janis: [we're loving this so hard but gotta hide it] Jimmy: [strutting out cos bad bitch global] Janis: [when you wanna go for all the reasons but also the rumour mill would go off immediately so you're like hmm] Janis: [fuck your life amirite babe] Jimmy: [gutted we ever have to end this convo so same]

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longsightmyth · 5 years

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Myth reads The Riddle, Chapter 1

Alrighty, folks. I can’t to a direct book-to-book comparison (there are seven ToG novels not including The Assassin’s Blade, which is a collection of five prequel novellas, and only five Pellinor books including the prequel novel) so I made a spreadsheet to figure out what should be read with what. The Riddle gets to be compared to Crown of Midnight, Heir of Fire, and a not insignificant amount of Queen of Shadows. The Crow gets the rest of Queen of Shadows, the entirety of Empire of Storms (Hem doesn’t deserve that but them’s the breaks), and a good chunk of Tower of Dawn. The Singing has the rest of Tower of Dawn and all of Kingdom of Ash, for which it has my sincere apologies.

The Bone Queen is going to be compared to The Assassin’s Blade on the premise that they are both prequels and that at some point I could use a break from doing anywhere from 40-90 pages at a time of ToG. I may do those two directly after The Riddle so I can have the aforementioned break.

I COULD, of course, read two books for every Pellinor book except the Bone Queen, which would still be read only with The Assassin’s Blade, but a, I didn’t think of that until I was already done with my spreadsheet, and b, that would involve reading exactly 1.628 pages (Tower of Dawn and Kingdom of Ash) with The Singing, which is 444 pages. As various friends correctly pointed out, that sounds torturous (and comes out to about 4 pages of ToG for 1 page of The Singing). After that discussion, I decided my spreadsheet should not be in vain.

Here we go.

The Riddle, being the second of the Books of Pellinor

Chapter 1

The Riddle

Do not twine garlands of myrtle for my forehead Nor pluck sweet roses to adorn me Make me a crown of somber violets For I am dying

The sweet lips of the maidens of Busk And the flashing feet of dancing goatherds Will never again quicken my desire For I am dying

Come to me merciful Meripon In your ebony chariot drawn by swallows From the dim halls beyond the Gates For I am dying

I kiss the peaks of Lamedon with my eyes And the white arms of the passionate sea Which loves this beautiful island that I love For I am dying

Thus begins the first chapter of the first section of The Riddle, called Thorold.

Yikes.

Maerad has a dream vision of a lot of armies marching through a desert, and not even a cool natural desert. Something about it feels bad and poisoned. She freaks out and falls…

Maerad woke, gasping for breath, and sat bolt upright. This was an unwise thing to do, as she was sleeping in a hammock slung below the deck of a small fishing smack called the White Owl. The hammock swung dangerously and then, as she flailed for balance in the pitch dark, tipped her out onto the floor. Still trapped in her dream, Maerad screamed, putting out her hands to break her fall, and hit the wooden floorboards.

Cadvan of course rushes to check on her. Maerad says she had a bad dream and apologizes if she cried out. Cadvan jokes that it sounded like there was a hull on the boat and asks if it was a regular nightmare or a foredream. Maerad says definitely foredream, definitely horrible, also she is not a fan of boats because she gets seasick.

Foredreams, in Maerad’s experience, we always horrible.

Cadvan, when Maerad tells him about it, says it definitely sounds like the place the Nameless One started out from when he marshalled his armies to bring about the Great Silence. Maerad asks hopefully if maybe she’s just seeing the past, and Cadvan says there’s always the possibility but he doesn’t think so in this case, because Cadvan is a negative nancy.

Maerad gives us some ‘last time on’ info while she and Cadvan consider the implications, including that Turbansk, Saliman’s Bard school and where he and Hem went, are going to have it rough.

“...even that vast force is only one piece in the great strategem the Nameless One is now unleashing. And you, Maerad, are as significant to him as that huge army. Maybe more so. Everything turns on you.”

Maerad bowed her head, oppressed beyond measure by Cadvan’s words. On me? she thought bitterly. And yet she knew it was true.

Cadvan, I don’t mean to criticize, but you seem to forget a lot that Maerad is a teenager who was pretty recently yoinked from slavery. Maybe, like. Chill for a second on the whole ‘the fate of the world is on Your Shoulders Alone’ thing? (It’s a different matter from how I feel that in ToG the books have forgotten that Celaena is a teenager pretty recently yoinked from slavery. If I fail to mention this in the comparison yell at me in the notes and I’ll talk about it)

More ‘last time on’ but I don’t mean it as a criticism: it manages to be couched into Maerad’s thoughts about Cadvan and her Foretold-ness, and honestly I feel like more books should have some ‘last time on’ thoughts when they’re sequels. If nothing else it would remind the authors themselves what happened in the last book.

Naming no names, re: sequel consistency (oh we’ll get to that)

They’re two days out from Busk, and Maerad, at a loss for anything else to do, offers to keep watch so Owan or Cadvan can nap, since they’re the only two who really know how to sail. They would have taught Maerad, but Cadvan has a magic wind still going, which makes teaching difficult, and when it’s not going he’s asleep and Owan is busy actually, you know. Sailing.

Maerad had already witnessed Cadvan’s powers of endurance, but his stubborn will impressed her anew: his face was haggard and his mouth grim, but he moved the with alertness of a well-rested man.

So many jokes I could make. I will refrain.

Maerad sees something in the water and alerts the other two. Cadvan tries to make them go faster but whatever it is keeps up.

It’s an ondril, which are usually pretty benign sea serpents. This one is big, they’ve already gotten out of whatever territory onril would normally defend, and they can’t see to outrun it.

Welp, says Cadvan (lightly paraphrased), guess we’re gonna have to fight. Let’s charge it.

Owan cocked his head and thought briefly. “Aye, easily enough, if you put more breeze in the sails,” he said. “Think you that’s a good idea?”

“I don’t,” Maerad said. “I think it’s mad.”

“We may be able to wrest the initiative,” said Cadvan. He looked at Maerad and smiled with a sudden sweetness that illuminated and transformed his somber face. “Come, Maerad. It is far better to put away fear than to be driven by it. You know that.”

Yes, I know that, Maerad thought sardonically. But I’m tired of having to be brave when really I’m so terrified I scarce know what to do.

He lets his wind die, has Owan turn them around, and whips of an opposite direction wind to charge the ondril. Maerad isn’t pleased but readies her sword and magic. Cadvan magically fastens Owan to the boat so he won’t get thrown out and gives age-old fighting advice: go for the eyes.

They do.

Anyway they have a battle, Maerad hits it with fire (some of which glances off), they run, the ondril pursues, both Maerad and Cadvan go for the remaining eye when it catches up, and they finally manage to escape. The men congratulate each other and Maerad.

Maerad looked away over the sea, feeling nothing but a vast emptiness. She had no sense of triumph, nor even relief. All she felt was a returning wisp of nausea. The only good thing about being frightened half to death, she thought, is that it makes me forget all about being seasick.

End chapter.

Throne of Glass

Are y’all ready for Crown of Midnight? I bet you aren’t!

Confession: this is the one I remember least, so we’re going on a journey together basically. I hope that comforts you as it has failed to comfort me. Anyway. Chapters 1-6 (and the first 51 pages) of CoM, here we come. (I also have to remind people that if I didn’t enjoy this on some level I wouldn’t be doing it: no one is forcing me. I’m just being dramatic)

Also can we discuss how I actually LIKE Crown of Midnight as a title, even if it’s pretty irrelevant to this book? Just saying.

We start with part 1, titled ‘The King’s Champion’ which is a departure from the first book, which was separated only by chapters. All subsequent books follow this format for reasons I don’t entirely understand, but we can talk about that in the comparison section, probably in more than one of these chapter/section comparisons.

Chapter 1!

Celaena sneaks into a house in a storm with many s words describing movement. She’s concealed in a black mask and hood, which is not a good way not to attract notice. Human-shaped splotches of solid black aren’t exactly blending in with the shadows (you’d want lots of different shades of brown and grey and black and yes even red, especially if there’s a lot of brick around. Fun fact: red is one of the first colors to register as grey to human eyes in the dark) and not exactly great for blending in with the crowd (unless that’s a new fashion in Rifthold?). She might have done better to disguise herself as a servant once she was in the house, or even to get in the house.

To give Celaena her due, she is trying to make An Impression on the dude she’s supposed to assassinate so he’ll take her seriously. To harp on my own pet peeve, making everyone around him less competent to make Celaena seem more badass is not the way to make a badass character (“the [servant] girl hadn’t noticed [Celaena’s] wet footprints on the floorboards,” really? She has to clean those floors. That girl is going to notice when they’re dirty).

We are two paragraphs into this book.

Anyway. I might also have to start counting uses of the word ‘wraith’.

Celaena notes that Lord Nirall’s wife is pretty and wonders what these nobles have done for the king to want them dead. Remind me to talk about Celaena’s weird compassion for high ranking Adarlan citizens vs everyone else in the world in the comparison.

She crept to the edge of the bed. It wasn’t her place to ask questions. Her job was to obey. Her freedom depended on it. With each step toward Lord Nirall, she ran through the plan again.

Her sword slid out of its sheath with barely a whine. She took a shuddering breath, bracing herself for what would come next.

Lord Nirall’s eyes flew open just as the King’s Champion raised her sword over her head.

Chapter 2!

Celaena’s walking down the hall to the king’s council chamber. I personally would have my assassin report to me in my study barring some really specific circumstances but I am but a young girl unschooled in the ways of politics and murder.

Also Rifthold is spelled Rift-hold for some reason. I assume it’s just a formatting error or typo.

Celaena bows to the king, notes Chaol and Dorian, and removes her hood when the king tells her to rise, which just makes these guards even more incompetent. You’re letting a hooded chick with a bloody sack just walk into the council chamber?

Wait why does the council chamber have the glass throne. Does the king just have multiple glass thrones? The glass throne has been mentioned all of once and it already has more impact in the book NOT named after it. Anyway.

Celaena produces a head (mauled unrecognizably) and seal ring, and then when the king asks about the guy’s wife she hauls a “slender, pale hand” wearing a wedding ring from the sack, saying that the wife is chained to the remains of her husband at the bottom of the sea. Dorian looks sick and Celaena decides she should give him credit for not throwing up.

The king says fine, and tells her that her next assignment is to root out and get rid of a growing rebel movement.

“There are several people on my list of suspected traitors, but I will only give you one name at a time. This castle is crawling with spies.”

Well that’s stupid on a scale rarely seen. You aren’t going to hand her a physical list, after all, that would be -

Chaol stiffened at [the comment about spies], but the king waved his hand and the captain approached her, his face still blank as he extended a piece of paper to Celaena.

- exactly what you’re doing. Okay.

Keeping her features neutral, she looked at the paper. On it was a single name: Archer Finn.

Celaena actually knows him - he trained for a bit with her, because he’s a courtesan and needed to be able to defend himself from his clients’ jealous husbands, apparently. No gay people in Rifthold, no siree. Celaena had a crush on him back in the day and she hasn’t seen him in several years.

“...she’d never thought him capable of something like this. He’d been handsome and kind and jovial, not a traitor to the crown so dangerous that the king would want him dead.”

Sounds like a perfect spy tbh.

Somehow despite Archer being a famous and highly sought-after courtesan, the king thinks it’s salacious that Celaena might know who he is. Then the king gives her a month to kill Archer or he’ll reconsider her position. When she’s killed Archer she’ll get the next name on the list.

Surely there isn’t an actual physical list somewhere of everyone the king considers a traitor. Surely he at least has it in code. Surely his spymaster has different bits of info kept different places or with different people. Surely he has a spymaster?

Leave me my hopes and dreams.

She had avoided the politics of the kingdoms - especially their rebel forces - for so many years, and now she was in the thick of it. Wonderful.

Ah. Sorry to mention this, but…

“We kill corrupt officials and adulterous spouses; we make it quick and clean…”

Maas, Sarah J.. The Assassin's Blade: The Throne of Glass Novellas (Throne Of Glass Series) (p. 41). Bloomsbury Publishing. Kindle Edition.

Killing corrupt politicians is not avoiding politics. I’m just saying.

The king tells her that her payment for killing Nirall is in her chambers. She pulls a salary and gets bonuses? Sweet gig. Aside from, you know, the murder.

She leaves the throne room, keeping the piece of paper with Archer’s name on it because this is Celaena we’re talking about, and we swap to Dorian’s PoV.

He’s worried because Celaena is killing people and not dressing up anymore and starts to think that maybe she just manipulated him into getting her the position of King’s Champion, which would make sense except for the fact that he pulled her out of the salt mines having never knowingly met her (and she doesn’t know they’ve met either: it’s a prequel thing) for the express purpose of making her King’s Champion, no seduction required.

Also, she’s an assassin who kills people for money. I am always surprised at how characters, knowing that fact, are surprised when she talks about killing people for money.

Dorian couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought. He’d visit her - tomorrow, perhaps. Just to see if there was a chance he was wrong.

But he couldn’t help wondering if he’d ever meant anything to Celaena at all.

Back to Celaena’s PoV!

She goes to the sewers to dump the body parts and Chaol follows her. She wonders why everyone seems shocked that she’s willing to murder people, which is the first and possibly only time Celaena considers that as far as I can recall.

Chaol gets mad at her for being unwilling to share her murder details because for some reason that links in to missing her? I guess bonding over working for the apparently murderous conquering dictator is one way to strengthen a relationship.

They hug because she realizes he was worried about her and we are reminded that Celaena is warm for Chaol’s form. He says she smells really bad. She complains that she wasn’t allowed to shower before going to see the king, which I will acknowledge is a fair thing to be peeved about.

Chaol walks her to her room and agrees to come back for dinner, after which Celaena gets fussed over by Philippa in summary and then ruminates on how she hadn’t actually killed Niral and his unnamed wife or the named first target (Sir Carlin). Apparently there are sick-houses that dump lots of bodies, so Celaena stole a couple that looked like the victims and slashed them up a little. Celaena thinks about how the pale and slender hand had come from a girl “barely past her first bleed” which marks the beginning of the interesting relationship these books have with menstrual cycles and somehow knowing if someone has them or not.

She tries to think of how she can fake Archer’s death and draws a blank because he’s so well-known (but somehow it was surprising that she knew who he was back in the throne room?), then that she still can’t believe he’s a rebel, then that she can’t think of what else the king could conquer unless he’s looking at the other continents.

There were other continents, of course. Other continents with wealthy kingdoms - like Wendlyn, that faraway land across the sea.

Celaena’s mother was literally from Wendlyn. It irks me that the book pretends she has no idea about the country.

Celaena thinks that if the king finds out what she’s up to he’ll destroy her.

Chapter 3!

Celaena has a nightmare where Cain and the ridderak chase her through the secret tunnels. Cain almost catches her and…

He whispered her name, her true name, and she screamed as he -

When the book acknowledges Celaena’s Super Secret Long Lost Heritage and when it doesn’t has never quite made sense to me, but here we are.

She wakes up, cuddles her dog, and goes back to sleep.

The next morning Celaena and Nehemia play fetch with Fleetfoot the dog who hates everyone and everything but Celaena per the text. Celaena considers that Nehemia is a spy but the king definitely can’t know about her or he wouldn’t trust Celaena to be his Champion.

Fleetfoot is apparently abnormally large, as a sidenote.

Nehemia wants Celaena to tell her anything Celaena figures out about the king’s plans, because Nehemia is a reasonably competent spy in enemy territory using every advantage. Celaena promises to do so but thinks that she won’t, actually, because the king promised if she worked against him he would murder Chaol, Nehemia, and Nehemia’s family one by one in that order, which is really the wrong order to go in if you’re an evil king bent on bending a mostly morally incompetent assassin to your will. You kill somebody just close enough to prove you’re serious first. You don’t give up your hostage grown princess or loyal captain of the guard until other options have exhausted themselves. The hostage crown princess keeps an entire country at bay. The loyal captain of the guard is a, loyal, and b, captain of the guard. Those are the people you get rid of when you’re just Over It. You won’t have anybody left to bargain with after you kill the people Celaena actually cares about.

Look if you’re going to write evil, calculating characters, make them evil and calculating. Moving on.

If Nehemia talked more about the rebels, [Celaena] didn’t know how much more of it she could take. Yes, she wanted to be free of the king - both as his Champion and as a child of a conquered nation - but she wanted nothing to do with whatever plots were brewing in Rifthold, and whatever desperate hope the rebels still savored. To stand against the king would be nothing but folly. They’d all be destroyed.

Nehemia talks about Calaculla, which is supposed to be a work camp even harsher than Endovier and reserved almost entirely for citizens of Eyllwe, and says that the king won’t meet with her to discuss the conditions there.

“Apparently, he’s too busy finding people for you to kill.”

Get her.

Nehemia calls Celaena Elentiya, which if you have forgotten means ‘spirit that could not be broken’ in the language of Eyllwe and which you might have REPRESSED that Nehemia gave to Celaena, possibly in a fairytale hope that if you name something you influence the nature of it.

Sorry, Nehemia. You tried.

Anyway she does that while demanding when they can actually act.

But when Celaena said nothing, when she promised nothing, just as she always did when Nehemia spoke about these things, the princess dropped the stick on the ground quietly and walked back to the castle.

Celaena thinks about how she has to go meet Chaol for a run in a few minutes and she’s going to go hang out in Rifthold afterwards.

After all, the king had given her a month, and despite her own questions for Archer, she wanted to get off the castle grounds for a bit. She had blood money to burn.

Chapter 4!

We start with Chaol’s PoV. He and Celaena are doing their morning run and it’s cold. He looks over at her.

Noticing his stare, she flashed him a grin, those stunning turquoise eyes filled with light.

I just wanted it noted for the record exactly how noticeable her family eyes (from her Wendlyn side) storied in song and legend are.

They tease each other and run faster. Chaol thinks about Cain and how he killed him and asks Celaena how often she thinks about the people she’s killed. She drags him to a stop and says he shouldn’t pass judgment on her before breakfast. In the book it’s not bantery, it just sounds that way in summary.

Chaol assures her he wasn’t judging, and when she asks if this is about Cain he says yes. Celaena launches into a speech about never forgetting the people she’s killed, which would be a lot more moving if we knew anything about the people she killed or if she actually, like, remembered them in her PoV. we don’t even know who the guy she killed when she was in the single digits (mentioned in ToG) was. This is what I mean by these books telling instead of showing. We’re in Celaena’s head for most of these books. We should know more things.

Celaena assures Chaol that what he did wasn’t dishonorable and that she’ll never forget he saved her. Chaol reflects silently that he doesn’t know who he’d chose if it came down to Celaena vs the king, which, uh. Really dude?

They run some more.

Celaena’s PoV!

They’re walking back to the palace through the gardens. It’s still really cold.There are lots of women out to ogle Chaol as he removes all his layers but his shirt. Celaena is irritated. Chaol offers to help her with surveillance on Archer, she says she doesn’t need help, and they run into Dorian and a blond young man.

Blond dude is Roland. He makes Celaena nervous, which I’m not actually going to make fun of. Sometimes dudes just give off unspecified Bad Vibes. Dorian introduces them.

They still used her alias whenever she couldn’t avoid running into members of the court, though most everyone knew to some degree that she was not in the palace for administrative nonsense or politics.

Administrative.

Nonsense.

Fine whatever.

Roland didn’t expect the King’s Champion to be so lovely, apparently. He’s here to take a position on the king’s council. Chaol gets grouchy. Roland ogles Celaena. Dorian breaks up the party.

Dorian’s PoV!

Roland comments that Celaena/Lillian is an unexpected choice even with the competition. Dorian hates him and remembers that time Chaol punched Roland in the face and knocked Roland unconscious. He says Roland deserved it but does not explain why, though apparently he deserved it enough that the entire court took Chaol’s side.

Roland asks some more questions. Dorian gives no answers and thinks about how Meah (where Roland is from) is a prosperous coastal city with no army and no political power, which makes me question everything. Also I wish the throwaway comment early about Celaena ‘killing’ a dude in Meah linked into Roland somehow, but that would mean this was a different book.

Celaena’s PoV!

Her salary as King’s Champion was considerable, and Celaena spent every last copper of it.

Where does all your money come from later if you spend it all? I guess we’ll talk more about that in Queen of Shadows.

She returns to her room to find Dorian waiting for her. They banter, mentioning Dorian’s flocks of ladies.

Actually, the thought of Dorian with other women made her want to shatter a window, but it wouldn’t be fair to let him know that.

Yikes.

Celaena says she has to head back out into Rifthold.

Dorian took a step closer, exposing his palms to her. “Do you want me to fight for you? Is that it?”

“No,” she said quietly. “I just want you to leave me alone.”

His eyes flickered with the words left unsaid. Celaena stared at him, unmoving, until he silently left.

Alone in the foyer, Celaena clenched and unclenched her fists, suddenly disgusted with all of the pretty packages on the table.

In a weird way, I think this might be one of the most telling passages about Celaena. When Nehemia tries to talk about helping people, Celaena goes shopping. When she reiterates to Dorian that she doesn’t want to date him, that is when she can’t stomach shopping.

It’s just interesting to me, is all.

Chapter 5!

Up on a rooftop reindeer paw, down jumps good old Celaena Sardothien.

Ahem.

On a rooftop in a very fashionable and respectable part of Rifthold, Celaena crouched in the shadow of a chimney and frowned into the chill wind gusting off the Avery.

She’s waiting for Archer to leave his current appointment. She remembers Sam Cortland and vague events from the prequel novellas, but not in any helpful manner. When Archer exits (apparently after two hours instead of the one his previous appointments took).

While she was in no hurry to seek out the truth behind her own capture and Sam’s death, and while she was fairly certain the king had to be wrong about Archer, part of her wondered whether whatever truth she uncovered about this rebel movement and the king’s plans would destroy her, too.

And not just destroy her - but also everything she’d grown to care about.

Later, Celaena and Chaol are chilling in his room (she notes that it’s one room with a bathroom, not the suite that she has). Celaena is studying Archer info. Chaol is presumably doing captain of the guard business, which should involve a lot of writing and accounting so at least that’s happening. Good for you, book.

Celaena learns that Wesley (Arobynn’s bodyguard) killed the crime lord who killed Sam. Arobynn apparently killed Wesley right afterwards.

Celaena ruminates on how Arobynn betrayed her and…

How much she’d make him suffer - and bleed for it.

Chaol asks why she cares, and she explains about Sam and being captured.

“I failed him,” she said. “In every way that counted, I failed him.”

Another long silence, then a sigh. “Not in one way,” Chaol said. “I bet he would have wanted you to survive - to live. So you didn’t fail him, not in that regard.”

I feel like it’s moments like these where my extreme disgust and disappointment in the way Celaena is handled as a character gets in the way. This would normally be a sentiment I’d be down with. It’s not terribly written. I just can’t make myself believe that Celaena really gave a damn about Sam.

It’s a problem.

Chaol opens up about his own romantic past, in which Roland stole his ladylove away and whisked her off to Meah, never to be seen again. I want to be clear that it wasn’t a kidnapping, it was Roland sleeping with Chaol’s girlfriend.

Look. Not to be all ‘ladies can’t make their own choices’ but I gotta say if the cousin of the current murderous dictatorial king was like ‘sleep with me’ I probably would out of fear for my own safety. The situation might not have been like that, but it kinda seems like that.

They banter. Chaol goes to walk Celaena back to her rooms and she asks if he’d do the same for Dorian or if he only does it for women. He doesn’t reeeaaally answer and walks her back.

Celaena tells him that if Lithaen (a wink and a nod towards Celaena’s secret identity in Queen of Glass) chose Roland over Chaol then Lithaen is ‘the greatest fool who ever lived.’

Please see above, re: consent being debateable.

Celaena is also grateful that Lithaen is gone.

Midnight! Celaena heads for the library, being unable to sleep. She plans to grab a book and hightail it back to her room unless there are still some fires lit in the library and I’d ask why she wasn’t reading one of the eighty zillion books she apparently bought earlier but I have been in the frame of mind where nothing you have works for your brain. It’s like with some people and clothes? But with books.

With the chill tonight, it was no surprise to see someone completely concealed by a black cloak, hood drawn over the face. But something about the figure standing between the open library doors made some ancient, primal part of her send a warning pulse so strong that she didn’t take another step.

It’s a librarian come to keep her away from the books. They know what’s going to happen when she brings her dog into the library and they know about those times when she was a kid and they figure out that she’s easily spooked by people in black cloaks.

I’m kidding. It’s creepy and evil and the Eye of Elena starts glowing to ward it off. Celaena closes her eyes.

When she opened her eyes, the amulet was dark, and the hooded creature was gone.

Not a trace, not even the sound of footsteps.

Celaena didn’t go into the library. Oh, no. She just walked quickly back to her rooms with as much dignity as she could muster. Though she kept telling herself that she had imagined it all, that it was some hallucination from too many hours awake, Celaena couldn’t stop hearing that cursed word again and again.

Plans.

Honestly I feel like that chapter should have just ended on ‘Celaena didn’t go into the library.’ It’s kind of funny but still conveys that the creature freaked her out.

Chapter 6!

Celaena is still walking back to her rooms in this chapter. I feel like that could have been better worded last chapter. She’s trying to rationalize still: reading is out of fashion, so maybe somebody was indulging in the middle of the night so nobody made fun of them.

Also it’s a lunar eclipse tonight.

Celaena decides to go see Elena in her tomb and sets off down the secret passageway. Celaena has scars from the Ridderak bite (“a ring of white scars punctured her palm and encircled her thumb”) that I don’t believe were mentioned before or are ever mentioned again. I could be wrong.

She reaches to open the door to the tomb and a bronze doorknocker shaped like a skull asks her if she’s going to knock. She freaks out and says the door knocker can’t really be talking because that would mean magic.

It was impossible - it should be impossible. Magic was gone, vanished from the land ten years ago, before it had even been outlawed by the king.

“Everything in the world is magic. Thank you ever so kindly for stating the obvious.”

She calmed her reeling mind long enough to say, “But magic doesn’t work anymore.”

“New magic doesn’t. But the king cannot erase old spells made with older powers - like the Wyrdmarks. Those ancient spells still hold; especially ones that imbue life.”

What the fuck ever, y’all. I give up on figuring out the magic vanished from the world stuff. Really it only vanished from this particular continent, too, you learn later. Does that mean it’s really only a forcefield? Does that mean water stops magic? Does the amount matter? Would a river stop magic? If you’re on a boat in Erilea, can you do spells?

No answer. Well, I live in hope, as the priest said to the princess (thank you Tamora Pierce for that saying, which I have used since I was seven)

The door knocker is annoying. Celaena is annoying. Their banter is annoying. I think reading 50 pages of this at a time is messing with whatever objectivity I was clinging to. Moving on.

Apparently King Brannon (first king of Terrasen, Elena’s father, hot fae dude with fire powers) put the door knocker there to watch Elena’s tomb. I have to ask what the door knocker’s powers are aside from speech, but I know I will receive no answer.

The door knocker (whose name we have now learned is Mort) says that her name is the funniest thing he’s heard in centuries.

Apparently Elena is recharging after helping Celaena and won’t be back for a while. Mort says he has a message from her to Celaena though. Celaena decides to put that off and examines the tomb more thoroughly.

There’s a sword of truth, wyrdmarks on the walls, and Gavin Havilliard’s armor but no sign of Elena’s. The lunar eclipse puts the tomb almost entirely in darkness and Celaena agrees to hear what Elena has to say.

Mort cleared his throat, and then said in a voice that sounded eerily like the queen’s, “ ‘If I could leave you in peace, I would. But you have lived your life aware that you will never escape certain burdens. Whether you like it or not, you are bound to the fate of this world. As the King’s Champion, you are now in a position of power, and you can make a difference in the lives of many.’ ” Celaena’s stomach turned over.

“Cain and the ridderak were just the beginning of the threat to Erilea,” Mort said, the words echoing around the tomb. “There is a far deadlier power poised to devour the world.”

“And I have to find it, I suppose?”

“Yes. There will be clues to lead you to it. Signs you must follow. Refusing to kill the king’s targets is only the first and smallest step.”

Celaena has the usual ‘why should I bother helping other people because my life sucked’ discussion with Mort, who does the wise old mentor parts right down to “you don’t mean that.”

Mort just glowered at her. “You’re that selfish? That cowardly? Why did you come down here tonight, Celaena? To help us all? Or just to help yourself? Elena told me about you—about your past.”

“Shut your rutting face,” she snapped, and stormed up the stairs.

End chapter 6.

Comparison

Accidental parallels ahoy! Neither Maerad nor Celaena want their destinies. Both are told the fate of the world hinges on them.

Of course, The Riddle has Maerad keep it on the down low and ponder things herself even as she keeps moving forward because she has had a crappy life, and she doesn’t want other people to have a crappy life. We also know who Maerad is and why she’s important to the grand scheme of things, while ToG is taking its sweet time confirming what seemed to me on first read incredibly obvious. I remember being confused when it was a reveal and flipping back through. That’s just the kind of book ToG is. Of course she’s a long lost princess. Of course she is.

I just wish the book didn’t pretend it was going to be a surprise.

We also have Maerad remembering the last book and some key points and having an action scene almost right off the bat. Celaena, the action murder heroine, has yet to have a fight six chapters in.If you took away Maerad’s experiences, she wouldn’t be the same character. If you took away Celaena’s, she would still be doing exactly what the plot says she should be doing, because nothing has formed or been formed by Celaena.

If that makes sense.

Stats

The Riddle

Pages: 18

Fragments: 14

Em-Dashes: 14

Ellipses: 6

ToG

Pages: 51

Fragments: 110

Em-Dashes: 116

Ellipses: 48

#myth reads #myth reads the books of pellinor #myth reads the riddle #myth rags on throne of glass

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altonadventures · 6 years

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ALTON ADVENTURES BIG ANNOUNCEMENT

So...because its Friday and I usually update AA on Fridays, I figured it was time to make my big announcement!

And that is...that Alton Adventures is changing. A little bit.

Am I rebooted the comic again? No haha! Once I get back to it it shall continue as normal but some characters may look a bit different going forward.

Who may those characters be?

Sir Gareth Nemesis

Why is he changing?

Sir Nemesis’ change is actually less drastic than one may think. For starters, he needed a design rehaul. I wanted his armor to be more simple, easier to draw but with still details that could tie him to Nemesis (the green eye, the arms, the light pink details instead of inconsistent tentacles). I also had an issue where his hair was too close to his skin color, so to combat this I turned him into a ginger! His eye color also changed from gold to green, another thing to visually tie him more to Nemesis.

So yes, I changed Sir Nem’s design because I was unhappy with it. His armor was never drawn consistently ever, I was constantly changing the tone of his hair and his skin so that was inconsistent. I want my designs to be more consistent and polished going forward.

What else is different? Well, you can probably tell he looks much more serious, like in older pictures I drew of him. Why is that? Well, I was kind of..honestly tired of his role as the “dad character tm” that he kind of turned out to be. It almost undermined his true characterization and turned him into a typical over the top exaggerated hero character. And I started to realize how much I missed his original concept. A battle hardened solider that was filled with regret and remorse, who heavily sympathizes with the plight of the alien he’s locked in combat with. He’s still much a father however, as he has a biological son and adopts an alien who mimics his likeness (hence another reason he’s a ginger now as his Nemesis daughter always was one). He’s just returned to his roots as a character. Because I felt that characterization was a unique one for the Nemesis ride. And it was an idea I really loved. Sir Nemesis actually WAS one of my favorite characters...I wanted his role to be much larger than it is in the comics. I don’t blame anyone for him becoming a joke, I did initially kind of fuel the fire for it, I’m just hoping that its not to late to get back to the Sir Nemesis I originally wanted to write. And of course, all my characters are still meme and joke worthy. I just want to tackle much more serious issues with my comic and show the more serious side of some of my characters and don’t want there entire existence to be a joke Mr.S can’t have too many folks 1 uping him in the laughs department! I guess to note with this change that his original voice claim has also been solidified as well. It’s a more somber and serious tone that I feel fits him as a character.

Final Notes

Sir Nemesis is a character that I have a lot of thought put into. His backstory is tragic, emotional, and his character is complex and he’s not the perfect hero people might image him as. I plan for his Arc to follow the Fireworks arc in the comic, as well as I am planning to start some more text heavy short stories about how the Secret Weapons became Secret Weapons (which I will likely call Secret Weapon Short Stories hehe) and will be writing his first. Also a very important thing i must address. Yes, the eye on his chest moves. (I have a gif but it doesn’t want to work on this post Ill have it up later ><)

Erica Annabelle Cloud

ooof okay this is a huge one. Confession time. Erica was always my least favorite character. Why? She just had...no character. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with her, her design felt phoned in and there because I needed an Air/Galatica character, (yes, she is changing as her Galatica stage too). She was just. not well thought out. She had a dual identity but I think a lot of people didn’t pick up on that? She felt like a Rita 2.0 as just a nice and friendly optimistic person and literally had 0 backstory. Originally she was supposed to have had some sort of accident that turned her into Galatica and she had memory loss and forgotten about when she was Air, yeah it was a mess. That eventually just turned into Nebula Corona being a character she made up (bc her one trait was that she was into space and wrote a lot) that she played as when her rides themeing changed.

She was just..barely a character and her design was abysmal (Her Galatica suit was okay but her Air outfit was an afterthought) She needed a massive visual upgrade. A sleeker flight suit that makes more sense (I used a ref or two for this design!) A different face shape to help her stand out more, my signature they wear glasses they have dot eyes look. Long, wispy, flowing hair to resemble those trails planes make. A bit more lanky and tall. And let me tell you I LOVE her design now. It looks so much more unique and you can just SEE she has so much more character now! As for her characterization im going full into her being a nerd. A very tech nerd at that! She designed her suit to help her fly at her best, and eventually will be the one that designs and builds all her Galatica tech! Her Galatica design hasn’t been done yet, mostly bc I wanted to focus on her current comic canon design, but not much would change I feel with her upgrade anyways! She is effectively the brains of the group, and the others often turn to her for plans of attack when dealing with a situation, or innovative solutions to problems! I have yet to get a voice claim for her, but im sure one will come to me soon enough!

Final Notes

Erica/Nebula was a character I struggled to connect with. Everyone else had Airs that were either super plot important, or just much more cool and creative in general. I felt, that with my Air/Galatica she was just there, and I wanted her to be more. So a full character rehaul was done with her and it makes me so happy. She feels much more fleshed out, better designed, and I’m super excited to do more stuff with her, and hopefully you will all see her much more now that I’m a lot happier with her as a character! <3

Welp that's the end of the updates....wait. Hold on. I have something written here. What could this be? Oh! I remember now!

Black Hole, AkA Beatrix, will be joining the MAIN CAST of Alton Adventures!

When I drew my Black Hole design, I knew she was something special. She stands out compared to a lot of my characters, and her design SCREAMS main character. While the biggest main roles will still be held by Mr. S and Rita, I wanted to add another non SW coaster to the main crew, and because Canonically Corkscrew is MIA, Black Hole seemed like a fitting addition to the main crew! As she isn’t human, a species literally only referred to as Black Holes, I thought making her a main character and giving her a big arc would help flesh out the reality of non humans in Alton Adventures! Her powers and design and character and personality are just too fun to shove her into the background. I feel that adding her to the main cast gives them not only another character to support them, but a closer friend! You will all see her much more in the future for certain!

Well that's about it! In terms of comic updates themselves...its still going to be hiatus as long as I’m being swamped with school work. I hope you all understand. I’ll try to squeeze in updates over the breaks I have IF im not working on assignments for class. As I also said, I wanna do short stories as well, to expand the world and explain it better, as a comic will only develop the world so quickly and lots of you have tons of questions! I also wanna do something animated at some point, that’s my dream. I’ve ALSO mentioned to some people about merch, likely going for making stickers first since that's simple. I got an excited reaction for that so I’ll come up with designs for them soon! I just wanna do a lot with Alton Adventures, because I know how much it means to people, and of course it means so much. Goodness I really need to actually get to this park, I look quiet silly constantly gushing over a themepark I’ve never been to all the time XP That all aside I thank you all for sticking by me. I promise that even if I don’t do comic updates as frequently during the school year, I’ll still work to push out as much AA content I can outside of that! I’m always open to suggestions to what you guys want to see! ALSO, working on a big google doc spreadsheet with info on all the characters I’ll be posting when its more completed! So be on the lookout for that!

Again thank you to everyone who’s stuck with me through this, Your support makes me feel nothing but proud of what I’ve created. These characters may have been created out of something some may consider silly or odd, but the only thing that matters to me if that I can make at least someone happy with what I create.

Patreon (note that patrons got to see all of this content as it was being worked on!) l Ko-fi

#gonna probably post the images all in image posts later #for now have this #alton towers #alton adventures #nemesis #air #i like totally redid forbidden valley didnt i huh #sir gareth nemesis #beatrix #odin miller #mr. s #rita ferraro #erica cloud #esther forest #big update #long post

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vaguely-concerned · 6 years

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Overwatch fic - I hope that I don’t fall in love with you

PG-13, Hanzo Shimada/Jesse McCree, 7400 words, young McHanzo. Jesse and Hanzo are stuck in an airport overnight because of a snowstorm - drinks and shenanigans ensue.

On AO3

Outside the huge windows the snowstorm kept howling like the tantrum of some weather god whose idea of creativity stopped at ‘just turn the dial up as far as it will go and call it a day’, a shifting wall of white rushing by behind the glass.

Inside the airport it was quiet, though, like the snow had settled in here too and was dampening all sound. Everyone moved with the weary yet unflappable tranquility of people who had accepted the truth that they were stuck here until the forces of fate and air traffic control saw fit to release them. Even the baby that was invariably crying somewhere in the distance sounded like it was mostly phoning it in for the look of the thing at this point. With the darkness pressing in on the airport it felt like being trapped in a high-tech cave of glass and concrete, the lights kept low and lulling.

Jesse was aching for a smoke, but the lady behind the bar had that ‘overworked and ready to commit murder with a cocktail strainer’ look about her and he wasn’t ready to stand outside in the roaring gale again until the bourbon had properly thawed out his bones. So instead he fiddled with the corner of the coaster and idly kicked his heels against the leg of the bar stool, keeping half an eye on the holo-set in the corner showing some kind of soccer game and otherwise watching the slow trickle of his fellow waylaid travelers flowing past.

He glanced away from a thrilling 0-0 draw — Jesse wasn’t big into sports that didn’t involve horses at the best of times, and found that having to watch grown men aim for and fail to hit such a big target for ninety minutes straight was like sandpaper over his soul — to see Hanzo Shimada standing in the middle of the terminal, glaring at the flight information display screen. Jesse felt an instinctive twinge of amusement; there was no mistaking him, no other man could have so eloquently stared at a defenseless piece of technology like it had personally offended him and his entire family back several generations.

Hanzo looked no different than he had when they parted ways twelve hours ago, job well done and encrypted info on illegal weapons technology duly exchanged. Even in everyday clothes — well, what passed for it for him, anyway — he seemed… sharper than the people around him, like he’d been carved out of the world differently. Jesse leaned his cheek in his palm and took the opportunity to watch him without having to think about being watched back. Yeah, no, there really was nothing the clothes could do to hide the broad shoulders or the way he moved like he knew precisely where every part of his body was at all times. You could stick a hoodie on a wolf, but it wouldn’t make its teeth any blunter.

With his hair down and a look of peevish outrage on his face he looked younger and infinitely less forbidding, though, like said wolf caught using the drawstrings as a chew toy.

After a while he seemed to spot Jesse and stood for a moment completely still, as if making up his mind about how to react. Jesse decided to leave the choice to him and pretended he hadn’t seen him, instead taking a sip of his drink.

A minute or so later there was the sound of Hanzo clearing his throat, and Jesse glanced up to find him standing close by, snow melting on the shoulders of his coat.

“Oh. Hey there.”

“Hello again,” Hanzo said, letting his bag fall to the ground with a thump and the tiniest hint of clanking metal — Jesse tried to keep out of his mind how many lethal weapons he could keep stowed in there, security be damned. Not that he needed them to be the deadliest guy in the airport. Any airport.

“We keep meetin’,” Jesse agreed, tilting his head to the side. “You having a drink?”

“Why,” Hanzo asked, sitting down on the bar stool next to Jesse, “are you buying?”

Jesse let out a surprised huff of laughter — now there was a tone he’d never heard from him before. If he didn’t know any better he’d say that that was a touch of playfulness.

“Sure,” he said. “If the next round’s yours.”

“Of course. Have they said anything over the intercom?”

Jesse shrugged. “Nothin’ encouraging.”

Hanzo gave a dissatisfied grunt and ordered a drink after a perfunctory scan of the list. He checked his phone while he waited, his brows drawn together irritably.

“Good luck with that, the only forecast you’re likely to get is ‘disappointment with a chance of confused meteorologists’,” Jesse told him. At Hanzo’s surprised blink he added: “Checked it before. You know you’re fucked when they ain’t even had the time to give the storm a name before it hits. We’re right on the outskirts of it as it passes, though, so with a bit of luck we’ll be good to go before noon tomorrow.”

That same impenetrable blinking for a few seconds and then Hanzo gave a breath of laughter and put the phone down, accepting his Old Fashioned with a short ‘Thank you’ when the lady handed it to him. “I see.”

“Guess we’re stuck here at least overnight, huh,” Jesse said.

“It would appear so,” Hanzo sighed, running a hand through his hair to push it away from his face — it fell sleekly over his shoulder and down his back. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were still pink from the cold outside.

Strangely enough the confirmation that they were indeed trapped seemed to calm him down more than anything. He took a sip of his drink and wrinkled his nose, though it didn’t stop him from going in for another straight after.

Hanzo shrugged the coat off and rolled up his sleeves, the tattoo clearly visible on his left forearm. Jesse found himself wrapped up in the design, tracing the interlocking patterns with his eyes when Hanzo wasn’t looking — he’d been trying to get a better look ever since that first time he’d noticed it, when it had been way too dark to make out details and a smear of blood had obscured parts of it. Now that he could study it freely he decided the design suited the man, stark and bold and wound tightly in on itself in ways that didn’t look entirely comfortable.

Eventually Hanzo seemed to sense Jesse’s gaze on him and raised an eyebrow, glass halfway to his lips.

Jesse tore his eyes away and cleared his throat, leaning his elbows on the table. “You gonna get in trouble with your folks over this?”

“Hm?”

“We were already runnin’ kinda late before. Can’t imagine they’ll be happy with this little delay.”

“I… may have some explaining to do when I get back.” He stared into thin air, as if contemplating this, then grimaced and knocked the rest of his drink back in one go, waving for another even as he swallowed.

“Whoa,” Jesse said, equal parts impressed, perturbed and feeling his throat burn in sympathy.

Hanzo gave an acknowledging shrug and started in on the new drink with infinitesimally more restraint, sipping it like a man on a grim quest to escape the dingy shallows of sobriety. “It has been… a long day. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you have no one back home to answer to?”

Jesse made an indifferent sound. “Sure, but so long as I get the job done they don’t care much one way or the other how I get there. Would probably start askin’ around for me if I didn’t turn up in a week or so, though. At least I’d like to think so.”

“...an interesting way to run things.”

“I’m a bit of a special case,” Jesse admitted, shrugging. “And I’ve earned it, too. We’re not all charmingly free spirited mavericks like me, though, believe it or not; some of the guys actually do numbers and spreadsheets and shit.”

“Thank heavens,” Hanzo said, “I am not sure the world is big enough for more than one of you.”

When Jesse looked at him there was a smile playing on Hanzo’s lips even as his eyes were drawn and weary, a disarmingly charming expression just from how pleased he looked at his own joke.

“You know, like in your movies? ‘This town isn’t big enough for the both of us’? Dramatic duels at dawn?” He made the most deadpan finger gun Jesse had ever seen and lifted his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I, uh, I thought I caught your reference there,” Jesse chuckled, swirling his drink around in his glass. “You have watched a few Westerns in your time, then? You been holdin’ out on me?”

Hanzo gave a grunt and took a sip of his drink. “None that did not involve assless chaps and only the R-rated kind of riding. No horses involved, though.”

It was a near thing that Jesse didn’t snort bourbon through his nose. Hanzo’s smile widened almost imperceptibly.

If you’d asked Jesse before tonight about Hanzo Shimada’s defining qualities, his sense of humor would not necessarily have come up. The aloofness might, as well as the way he walked and talked like he knew, in a disinterested, blasé sort of way, exactly the most efficient way to kill anyone he set his eyes on if needed — the sparkling repartee, not so much. Jesse had always felt that slinging jokes in his direction was like appealing to a vaguely condescending brick wall. Well, more fool him; one on one and devoid of any business to discuss the guy could be hilarious, not even unintentionally, in a way that careened merrily between the sharply observed and the delightfully mean, though the worst of the nihilism eased once he started in on the third drink.

“So you’re telling me,” Jesse said, squinting at Hanzo’s face, “that you had to stay in character as a delivery boy for a month before the guy finally let you in?”

“It was the only way to get close enough to him,” Hanzo shrugged. “A deeply paranoid man. Rightfully so, of course, he had made some powerful enemies through his stupidity and greed.”

“Wow, Mr. Shimada, tell us how you really feel.”

Hanzo made a little face that clearly said ‘Eh, what can you do, there’s no helping some people’. It was the kind of expression that held the ennui and world weariness of a much older man — Jesse suspected Hanzo had been born with it already preprogrammed into him. “If he had been as willing to learn to cook for himself after divorcing his wife as he was setting up diabolical and deadly security systems… I might have had a lot more trouble. He used his last words to complain he had not ordered pepperoni.”

Jesse had a vivid, inexorable mental image of Hanzo dressed up as a pizza boy scowling daggers under the cap; he had to rest a hand over his mouth before he made a sound he might regret, though Hanzo picked up on it anyway.

“I am glad you seem to find it funny. I did not see the humor in it at the time.”

“I can see how you wouldn’t,” Jesse said, strangled. Pushing his luck he asked: “You keep the uniform, at least?”

Hanzo grimaced into his drink. “Perhaps you and Genji should get together some time and create your own comedy act. He asked me the exact same thing when I got back.”

“I knew that kid was alright,” Jesse beamed. “Good instincts.”

“Apart from having to endure your comedy it was a temporary indignity only and the job went smoothly from there. I did get a commendation from my employer several times,” he added, as if he’d only just remembered. “Had to all but fight off a promotion before I left.”

“Well then, at least you know you got a job waitin’ for you if this industry goes tits up in these peaceful Overwatch times. More than you can say for some of us. Ain’t got too many marketable skills outside of… this whole deal,” Jesse said, catching himself before saying ‘shootin’ people in the head’ as the bartender passed by on her way to another customer.

Hanzo made an unconvinced sound in his nose. “Oh, I would not be so sure of that. One does a lot of people watching in our line of business. You develop a knack for working people out, which is usually half the battle. Take that one,” he said, gesturing discreetly in the direction of a corner table with a lone businessman whose only crime, as far as Jesse could tell, lay in a supremely bland taste in ties.

“What about him? You find his fashion sense personally offensive?”

“Obviously, but beyond that he is clearly having an affair.”

Jesse squinted at the guy, finding that despite looking gracelessly and resignedly middle aged there was no lipstick on his collar, literal or figurative. “Oh, clearly.”

Hanzo, taking this as a challenge, held his head higher and appraised the man as a renowned art critic might the results of a ‘Watercolors For Complete Beginners’ course. “Hm. The first thing he did after sitting down was remove his wedding ring. Two phones, two separate credit cards, which — oh, how embarrassing, he still mixes up on occasion, so this fling might be a recent development…”

The guy sat there mortified while the server reset the card machine; Hanzo rested his chin in a studiously dispassionate palm and kept going.

“Generally surreptitious and flighty manner, so perhaps very recent at that, could be he is not entirely sure his new flame will show up — a newly bought and expensive if, hm, inadvisable outfit, a rather sad attempt at styling what remains of his hair, but I suppose there is something to be said for the nobility of doing what you can with what you have…”

Jesse bumped their shoulders together, chuckling despite himself at the sheer unfiltered disdain. “Okay, Sherlock, I get it. You can stop showin’ off.”

Hanzo shrugged and abandoned the theatrical thinking posture, sitting up straighter again. “Of course most cases are not quite so blatantly, pathetically obvious.”

“You really don’t like this guy, do you.”

A stiffening of his back, almost unnoticeable if you weren’t paying attention — perhaps he thought no one was. “I dislike disloyalty. If you have made the decision to devote yourself to something or someone, you stay true to it.”

“Well, I dunno. I’ve seen too many people stay loyal to their own misery. To bad places, or bad times, or bad people. Sometimes you gotta know when to fold ‘em and walk away, y’know?”

Hanzo glanced at him with sharp, dark eyes from behind the curtain of his hair, something written nakedly in his expression that Jesse didn’t know how to read.

“Not that goin’ behind the back of someone you’ve promised the whole ‘to have and to hold’ thing to isn’t a certifiably shitty move, it ain’t the way a man oughta treat his partner,” Jesse clarified, holding his hands up in easy concession and leaning back to show he didn’t mean to make an argument out of it. “Just sayin’ that there are some things that loyalty doesn’t… well. You see enough shit, it makes you wonder.”

“Hm.”

The corner of Jesse’s mouth wanted to twitch up — he’d known the man for almost a year now, and those little ‘hm’s still remained completely opaque to him.

Hanzo touched his arm and tilted his head towards their new friend with the bland tie. “Ah. Observe.”

The guy was still fiddling with his two credit cards when a woman — slightly younger than him and looking excitedly nervous in high heels — came over to his table, and in his rush to hide them away he almost ended up putting his mouth on her nose when she went in for a chaste kiss.

Hanzo gave a little ‘ta-dah’ wave with such withering sarcasm that it was a miracle the guy didn’t collapse on the spot. “See? He may be unfaithful, but he respects his wife and her intelligence enough to go out of his way to hide it. Touching, in its own way. Perhaps there is something to salvage there yet.”

Shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, Jesse brought his glass to his mouth but had to put it down again before he spilled booze all over himself. “You’re a cynical, cynical man, Mr. Shimada.”

“As cynical as any man who endeavours to see the world clearly.”

Jesse nudged his knee against Hanzo’s under the bar, inclining his glass towards him. “What’s that thing ‘bout how… behind every cynic there’s a disappointed idealist or whatever? Is there really no romance in your soul, sir?”

Hanzo quirked a strange little grin — he glanced at Jesse out of the corner of his eye and held out his glass too. “An odd question to ask a man who studies swordsmanship in this day and age.”

Jesse tipped his head to the side in acknowledgement and touched their glasses together with a clink, taking a sip. In his precise, certain way Hanzo pushed his hair away from his face, still that look about him like he was entertaining some private amusement.

“Such incisive commentary is enough to have me worryin’ what you see when you look at me,” Jesse said, meaning it as a joke. “Starting to think I’ll have to plant some red herring backstories to keep you off my trail. On an unrelated note — I ever tell you ‘bout how I was found as a baby by a circus elephant and was raised by a happy triad of clowns, knife throwers and fire eaters? The good ol’ ‘secretly a Russian princess all along’ ditty? How I got this scar?”

“You,” Hanzo said, the slightest slur to his words now when he didn’t watch it, “are… strange, mostly.”

When he finished laughing Jesse said: “Yeah, I’ve been reliably informed.”

Hanzo pursed his lips thoughtfully, looking at him with what seemed like honest curiosity. “It does not trouble you, then.”

“If it did I’d be nothin’ but troubled all the livelong day,” Jesse said. “Lotta effort, low payoff. Not like I’m ever gonna pass as anything but what I am for any length of time anyway. Might as well work with it.”

Hanzo smiled, his cheeks flushed with the booze and dark hair loosely gathered over one shoulder. He looked different when he smiled for real, almost surprised, like his face had just received an unexpected but not unwelcome visitor.

Jesse found himself smiling back.

“You, uh, you hungry?” Jesse asked after a while, without quite knowing why. “‘Cause I could murder a burger right about now.”

Hanzo blinked slowly at him. “...it is nearly two in the morning.”

“It sure is,” Jesse agreed. “You can have some of my fries, if you’d like,” he added, in the name of sweetening the pot.

After a moment of deliberation Hanzo shrugged. “Who am I to refuse such a deal. Lead the way,” he said, hopping down from the bar stool and gathering up his things.

———

After they finished eating they drifted aimlessly through the terminal for a while before settling down on a bench in an isolated corner, Jesse giving up on what remained of the ketchup splotch on the thigh of his jeans and tossing the paper napkin in the trash. He felt full and warm and oddly at peace with the world at large, and not just because of the booze or the fact that he’d gotten to see Hanzo Shimada — a man whose name was whispered with fear and deference in certain parts of the underworld — make fun of his smoking habit by way of creative application of a french fry not ten minutes ago. The image of Hanzo holding the fry between his fingers like a cigarette and giving a bad imitation of Jesse’s drawl would keep him warm on cold and lonely nights.

Their conversation had petered out to become a comfortable lull, and when Jesse glanced over at him Hanzo was glaring intensely at the opposite wall — almost, Jesse noted, like someone desperately fighting to keep their eyes open.

“Y’know,” Jesse ventured, having observed this internal battle for a while and taking pity, “you can have a snooze if you’d like. I’ll keep a lookout for any questionable characters headin’ our way.”

“Hm?”

“When life gives you jetlag, make a night shift, right?” Jesse said, waving at what he felt sure were the impressive dark circles under his eyes. “I’m not gonna be sleepin’ anytime soon anyway.”

Hanzo blinked in consideration for a while, then gave a ‘fair enough’ head tilt and leaned back. If he was anything like Jesse he probably had the chip with the data they’d traded somewhere on him, close to the skin, but he made a loop with the shoulder strap of his bag anyway and hooked his foot into it. Then he settled into perfect stillness with uncanny immediacy, arms folded over his chest and a look on his face like he was preparing to offer Mr. Sandman an offer he couldn’t refuse — since Hanzo’s eyes were closed anyway Jesse allowed himself a grin.

He rooted around in his bag to fish out the holovid, booting it up and navigating his way to the giant trove of video files he’d downloaded — extremely illegally — when he was eleven and had kept around and up to date ever since for occasions such as this. His logic had always been that should the war break out again he’d better be able to watch every decent Western ever made before the nuclear winter finished him off.

Hanzo drifted off quickly, if the way his breathing changed to be calmer and deeper was any indication, though he still looked stiff and tensed up. Occasionally he would let out a small, hilariously dainty sniffle as he shifted; Jesse was delighted to learn that even while far off in Dreamland he managed to look faintly peeved.

Jesse started the movie and let his brain slide into the comforting groove of the familiar plot. Sinking down on the bench he settled in, crossing his legs at the ankles and stretching out as much as politeness allowed.

When the first movie ended he put on the next one, whistling to himself under his breath as the title screen flashed to life. In his sleep Hanzo slid down the bench until his temple rested on Jesse’s shoulder — for a couple of mad, serene moments Jesse’s body acted like this was the most natural thing in the world. In fact it decided to just sit there for a while, smiling faintly down at the top of Hanzo’s head. They were close enough now that he could smell him, warm and clean and strangely graceful even after what must’ve been a couple of days of travel and half a night in the airport bar. Maybe the mystical mumbo-jumbo the Shimadas shrouded themselves in wasn’t all smoke and mirrors after all and the man was actually magic. It was either that or a really well picked aftershave.

(Jesse might’ve had more to drink than he’d thought at this point, he recognized absently.)

Huh.

…wait a fucking second.

Jesse’s brain felt a slow, indomitable wash of horror as it realized that what his body had meant to do was pull Hanzo in closer where he’d lie more comfortably and securely against his side before turning back to the movie.

Jesse stared into the middle distance for a long time. At one point an elderly lady walked up to him and asked him in hushed tones if he was feeling well.

“Never better, ma’am,” he said hoarsely, realizing too late that he’d sort of leaned back into Hanzo’s weight as if to seek out something sure and steady under her mild, concerned gaze.

She patted his knee. “I get like that myself,” she said wisely. “Put away enough gin beforehand and you’ll sleep through most of the flight anyway. I’m sure your young man won’t mind if he knows you get that worked up about it.”

Jesse made a strangled sound in his throat and nodded, smiling a fixed, manic smile.

As she winked at him and walked away Hanzo sighed in his sleep and turned his face further into Jesse’s shoulder — a soft, trusting gesture that had Jesse dizzy because...well, you wouldn’t know it to look at him, would you, that there could be that kind of easy sweetness in him. Normally you got the impression that he was the kind of man whose most pressing reason, at any moment, not to stab you to death was the potential dry cleaning bill, and nothing about that could prepare you for this.

Some locks of hair had fallen into his face, silky over sharp features. Jesse kept very still and watched him.

You deserve better, Jesse thought nonsensically, out of the blue, Hanzo’s face as he talked about loyalty flashing through his mind. Was loyalty really the word for it when you gave them everything and they seemed all too happy to take it and give nothing back?

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before Hanzo gave a low sleepy sound and seemed to come awake. As he stirred he tilted away; Jesse hurriedly inched away before Hanzo’s eyes blinked open, desperately trying to pretend that his side didn’t suddenly feel very cold and lonely. He crossed his legs at the ankles and sank back against the bench, staring fixedly at the holovid as if it was the most interesting thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

With a grunt Hanzo sat up, rubbing at his neck with a pained expression.

“Welcome back,” Jesse said, hoping his grin seemed natural enough to hide the fact that everything inside him was currently one long incoherent scream.

Hanzo smiled slightly and rolled his shoulder, working out the stiffness. “Thank you. Happy to be here.”

The scream in Jesse’s head rose to a violent crescendo at the easy sarcasm. Hanzo glanced down at the holovid for a second with an unreadable expression, then squinted at the big hologram clock over by the entrance, moving his neck like he was smoothing out a crick. He looked over at Jesse. “Hm. It is still only four.”

Jesse’s heart gave a thrill at the barest indication of a raised eyebrow, the invitation slyly offered and easily ignored if unwanted. “Ah, the night is still young, then. You up for another round, Mr. Shimada?”

“‘Hanzo’ is fine,” he said, getting to his feet in one mesmerizingly sure, fluid movement. “And absolutely. I have nowhere else to be.”

———

The bartender seemed both amused and unimpressed to see them again, but she acquiesced readily enough when Jesse grinned and told her to leave the bottle.

“Promised to buy you a drink, right?” Jesse said, waving Hanzo off when he started to say something and pushing a glass towards him. He felt sure he needed to be much drunker if he were to survive the night in this state.

Hanzo tasted the admittedly dirt cheap bourbon and wrinkled his nose. “...interesting,” he said, with the very faintest veneer of politeness the human voice could bestow to cover up the disgust.

“A free drink is a free drink, ain’t it?”

Jesse noted that Hanzo’s expressions changed after a few drinks — normally he looked like he meant to constantly school them even if the results were varying, any flicker of emotion the result of a momentary slip-up and immediately, angrily squashed, but tonight that mask had definitely fallen off somewhere along the way. It looked good on him, that new unrestrained expressiveness. Now that he knew the signs to look for Jesse was pretty sure he could start to pick up on them in a sober Hanzo too. “An excellent point. I apologize for my brashness before, keep it coming.”

“You got it, friend,” Jesse said and topped up his drink.

The nap seemed to have given Hanzo a second wind. There was more of a swagger to him now, a tiny lift of his chin. They talked shop for a while, in a vague and euphemistic dance to avoid saying anything that’d have someone in the bar calling the cops on them, then somehow ended up derailed enough that they were talking about the history of their respective countries in the eighteen seventies the next time Jesse checked in with himself and realized he was having fun. In his surprise he ended up stuttering to a halt; when Hanzo gave him a questioning look he floundered for something to say.

“Y’know, I keep meanin’ to ask,” Jesse said, hoping it covered for his momentary distraction and current existential horror at how charmed he was by Hanzo explaining, in his sardonic, clipped manner, the finer details of the military reforms of the Meiji restoration. “What’s the deal with the sword ‘n the bow ‘n stuff? Not that you’re not pulling it off like nobody’s business, but isn’t it a little… old fashioned?”

Hanzo wrinkled his brow thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against his glass. He looked Jesse over from boots to hat and back again; Jesse fought the urge to squirm under the inspection. “...was that a serious question?”

“Huh?”

That private half-smile from before returned, something brightening in his eyes. “Apparently it was. Hm. I suppose it is a little old fashioned, at that. But you never know — perhaps there is still a future for anachronisms.” He blinked slowly — well, he did have a few drinks under his belt at this point too, built like a brick shithouse though he was. “It is also a smidge quieter and more discreet than the hand cannon you carry around.”

“I’ll not sit here and listen to you besmirch my gun just ‘cause your taste skews more medieval,” Jesse announced. “Peacekeeper’s served me plenty well through the years, thank you very much.”

“I am sure it has. And I am even more sure that my ‘medieval tastes’ would still have you beat every time.”

“Would it, now?”

“In fact I am perfectly willing to put money on it,” Hanzo said, leaning forward, a glint in his eye that made Inner Jesse whimper. “Any contest, at any time.”

“Oh ho ho,” Jesse said, casually pushing his hat back on his head as his heart raced against his ribs, “you better believe that all that stands between you, an empty wallet and complete humiliation in this very moment is the laws of this land frowning on firin’ guns in public places.”

Hanzo gave a faux-haughty huff, eyes glittering. “A pitiful excuse.”

Jesse felt the grin bright on his face and leaned forward too. “Hey, gimme a time, place, and somewhere to dump the evidence and we’ll see ‘bout that.”

“That can be arrang — ” Hanzo stopped, a frown appearing on his brow.

“What’s up?” Jesse asked after a while, realizing suddenly how close their faces were now.

“I just had a strange feeling that — ”

Hanzo’s phone called out shrilly, a dozen times or so in quick succession. With the air of someone stepping up to the scaffold and giving the hangman a meaningful look to get it over with already he checked it.

After a few moments he picked up his drink, finished it in one go, poured himself another and then leaned forward to rest his forehead against the bar, the image of a beaten man.

“Uh…” Jesse said, tentatively resting a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“My feeling was right,” Hanzo murmured, holding out the phone without lifting his head. “My brother is indeed disgracing himself and our entire family as we speak.”

“What, your Genji sense was tinglin’? You felt a great disturbance in the Force?”

Hanzo gave a mirthless bark of laughter. Jesse stared at the bared line of his neck, stumbling over the fact that he could barely remember ever wanting anything as much as he wanted to brush his lips there, to hear a breath of real laughter in response. The physical contact before had woken something inside him that had slumbered for a long time; he couldn’t remember ever longing for anyone to just… touch him before. It was easily the third most pathetic he’d felt in his entire life, sitting there yearning for what was likely one of the most dangerous men in the world to rest a hand on his shoulder, even for a few seconds.

He felt vaguely that his brain had broken or something.

Taking the phone he glanced down at the screen, then flinched back like he’d been stung by a wasp.

“Dear lord,” Jesse said, tilting the phone and then his head to try to make more sense of the image, morbidly fascinated. “The hell’s he doin’ with that lobster? How would that thing even fit down the front of his… huh. Well.”

Hanzo just whimpered, burying his fingers in his hair. “Keep going.”

Jesse flipped through the next few and whistled under his breath. “Well, someone’s havin’ more fun than us tonight, at least. Didn’t even know they made drinks with that many colors. Who’s the young lady with the… ”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“Fair enough, that’s — whoa there,” Jesse said, hurriedly skipping one. “Don’t mean to be rude or anythin’, but that’s, uh, that’s more of your brother than I ever needed to see.”

“I know the feeling,” Hanzo said. “For what it is worth I think he sent that one by mistake. My name must be close to one of the girls he is… dating in his contact list, it would not be the first time.”

“‘One of’, huh. One of those situations.”

“Enough of ‘those’ to fill an entire four act comedy of errors.”

Helpless against the depths of resigned despair in Hanzo’s voice Jesse chuckled. “Sounded like you saw this comin’, somehow.”

“It is a special instinct I have developed,” Hanzo told the tabletop earnestly. “I can feel Genji shaming every single one of our ancestors from half a world away.”

Jesse snorted, squinting to make out an image distorted by blurred lights and excessive photo filters and deciding it might be a nightclub actively, literally on fire.

“Of course it is partly a matter of always being prepared to expect it,” Hanzo continued vaguely, sitting up. “Statistically I usually turn out to be right. Mathematics. You know how it is.”

“Least he’s kept his pants on in this one,” Jesse said philosophically, flicking through the last few messages to find that Genji had gone the extra mile by making a holo gif so the nipple tassels could have their full, animated effect.

“Sometimes,” Hanzo said, in a way that suggested he wouldn’t have done so sober, “it feels like he does it specifically to spite me. To get a rise out of me, rubbing it in my face just to show me that he can. Which is naturally ludicrous because I doubt he has ever thought that deeply about anything in his entire life, but it does not stop it from being… annoying.”

Jesse put the phone down, intrigued by the minefield stretching out before them. “Is there anything in those,” he waved towards the phone, “that you’d actually want, though?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hanzo snapped, though Jesse didn’t take it personally as the ire was clearly not actually directed at him as much as the very concept of the question. “It’s pathetic. But he stands free to do anything he wants and chooses to squander it on…”

He stopped himself, looking down at his hands tightly curled on the bar. With deliberate movements he unfurled his fingers, though the tension still ran through them like piano wires — some part of Jesse, having already barrelled through the first stages of grief and resting now in depressed acceptance, recognized that his hands were extremely nice, strong and sure and well shaped. He wished he could have managed to dwell in the tranquil valleys of denial at least until boarding his flight, but there you were. “No matter.”

“Hey,” Jesse said. “He’s just bein’ young and dumb. When’s the last time you saw each other?”

Hanzo shrugged. “Weeks ago. Half a month or so, maybe. Why?”

“You call him in all that time?”

“No. I doubt he would pick up if he knew it was me.”

“Maybe he wanted to get your attention somehow and thought actin’ like a dumbass was the way to go about it,” Jesse offered. At Hanzo’s blank, uncomprehending stare he quickly added: “Hey, what do I know, though, I’m just some random idiot with a neat hat.”

Hanzo, in a very un-Hanzo move, looked unsure. He fiddled with the edge of his sleeve, staring into the middle distance.

“I never know why he does what he does,” he said finally. “We… do not speak much anymore.”

“You used to?

Hanzo shrugged again, a tight, constrained little gesture. “Some. More. When we were boys. Before — hm.”

Jesse nodded, watching him out of the corner of his eye — he’d ducked his head again, as if going into hiding behind his hair, shutting himself off. There was an ache in Jesse’s chest, some puzzle pieces falling into place and making a pretty sad picture in his head. It seemed weird now that he’d found the guy so inscrutable and overbearing in the beginning. Considering where — who — he came from, it was maybe a wonder he had any urge left to connect to anyone else at all.

“Should I…” Hanzo furrowed his brow as if doing complicated calculations in his head and looked up. “...answer him?”

“Why not? What’s the worst that can happen?”

“You saw the nipple tassels, why would you underestimate him like this,” Hanzo said immediately, but he was tapping something out on his phone with a thoughtful expression. “I — would asking him to stay safe count as nagging, do you think?”

“Just like that? Shouldn’t think so.”

Hanzo made an absent-minded sound of gratitude and kept writing. There was something horribly endearing about the way he picked each character like he was setting down important messages in stone that people would see and judge for generations to come.

For a while Hanzo stared down at his finished message, a doubtful downward curl to his mouth. Finally he mumbled: “Perhaps I should not encourage…”

“Hey,” Jesse said, touching Hanzo’s shoulder. “Don’t think about it too hard. Just send it.”

“Is that your professional opinion?” Hanzo said sardonically, though there was a grin lurking in his voice.

“As someone who ain’t never thought too hard about anythin’ in my entire life,” Jesse agreed, bringing his free hand to rest over his heart, “you’d be surprised how often it works out.”

Hanzo chuckled, letting his head fall to one side. After a moment he pressed ‘send’ and put the phone face down on the table, giving a small sigh. “There.”

“And would you look at that, the world didn’t even end,” Jesse beamed, snickering when Hanzo aimed a cheerful kick at his shin.

He had his hand on Hanzo’s shoulder and Hanzo wasn’t shaking him off, wasn’t even acting like it was strange, just looked at him with eyes that were tired and soft with booze and still warmed by a small, rueful smile.

There was a chime of longing in Jesse’s chest, at first unbearably gentle like a bell struck by butterfly wings, but deepening, a call that couldn’t be silenced because it rang through his bones.

Fuck, Jesse thought, giving Hanzo’s shoulder a squeeze before pulling his hand back. I am so screwed. Twenty years of nothin’ and then I just had to go for the gangster ninja assassin. Sure. Splendid. Why wouldn’t I do that. Completely in character, if nothin’ else.

Hanzo’s phone buzzed again, only twice this time; he snorted as he checked it but wrote an answer before sliding it into his pocket. He turned back to Jesse. “My brother apologizes for accidentally mentally scarring us both. You do not have siblings, do you?”

“Not that I’m aware. I’ve known some of the boys long enough that it’s kinda the same thing, I guess.”

“It is, as they say, a mixed blessing,” Hanzo said. “On the one hand I have been in a constant state of worry for close to twenty years now, on the other… actually no, there is no other hand. That’s it.”

Jesse grinned into his drink. “Sounds like maybe I dodged a bullet there.”

“...I would not go that far.” There was a quiet, fond lilt to his voice Jesse had never heard before.

Fuck.

Maybe — maybe it wasn’t going to be so bad. It wasn’t as though he’d ever act on it, Jesse told himself. Just because he knew it was there didn’t mean he’d have to do anything about it. It could just… stay a background thing. A, what was the word. No, a less embarrassing word than that. A crush, perhaps. His heart could do its whole newfound pitter-patter tap dance routine now and then, backstage where no one could see it, and otherwise he’d keep it under wraps and act like the goddamn professional he’d been scrambling to pretend to be all these years. Topsy-turvy with the booze and the low lights as he felt he wasn’t dumb or mad enough to think that Hanzo would welcome any advances with anything but, at best and simultaneously worst, pity. This was not a knife edge he was eager to test his throat against.

And yet… even as he thought it the part of him that was always watching itself and was wise to his particular brand of bullshit braced itself for the inevitable hurt.

He did a mental shrug. Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound. Anything that was worth doing was worth doing with panache and gusto, even if that thing was crashing and burning. “Can I interest you in more of the house’s finest damn disgusting swill, Mr. Shimada?”

“Mr. McCree,” Hanzo said, “I thought you would never ask.”

————

When the storm ended Jesse didn’t even notice for a while. It was first when Hanzo glanced over his shoulder to the windows and gave a small sound that he realized how light it was out, and that the low but constant howl of the storm had faded somewhere along the way.

Hanzo got up and stood by the huge windows, arms loosely crossed over his chest.

“It would seem the worst has passed,” he said, black hair outlined by the sharp clean light of the dawn. He glanced over as Jesse came up next to him. In the distance they were clearing the runways for snow at a fervent pace, though the inside of the airport had only just started to move out of its torpor. Soon it would be a real mayhem as people scurried to their new gates — but for now it was quiet.

“Seems that way,” Jesse lied blithely, watching his profile, the curl of his mouth.

They paid for their drinks — Jesse hissing between his teeth because well, he’d known it was gonna smart but he’d been trying to keep it out of his mind — and wandered off again, drifting idly through the terminal. Jesse was still tipsy enough that everything felt light and warm, all the sharp edges worn off the world. Hanzo was muttering something under his breath about the architect’s taste in dramatic floor tiles and looking enchantingly snippy while doing it.

Then the departure board updated and Jesse gave a grunt as his phone buzzed with the alert too. “Well, that’s me, I guess. Better get a move on. Thanks for the company, by the way,” he added, reaching out a hand before he could think better of it. “Saved me from being that weird guy getting shitfaced alone in a corner. It was fun.”

Hanzo blinked at him in surprise.

“Y’know, fun?” Jesse prompted. “Surely you’ve encountered the concept before?”

“Hah. McCree,” Hanzo said, taking Jesse’s outstretched hand and shaking it — you could sense the strength in his fingers even under such a controlled, careful gesture. He was grinning. “I… hm. We will keep in touch.”

“You better, we got a bet to settle now,” Jesse said, feeling mildly delirious. “Come at me whenever you’re ready for a taste of humility, I’m always ready to defend my gun’s honor.”

———

A couple of hours later he sat sleepless and hungover in the window row, leaning his head back against the seat as he replayed Hanzo’s startled laugh in his head again and again.

Part of the Scoundrels and Thieves ‘verse, which can be found here!

I would like to thank @callmesherly for helping me with what kind of drink Hanzo might go for if sake was off the table, and to @solivar and @bananamilk for lending their expertise on cowboy innuendo for Hanzo trolling Jesse! On another note — ‘leaving the bottle’ does not seem to actually be a Thing outside of movies and/or very special circumstances in most places, so let’s just assume that the bartender heard our two wonderful boys talking ~*inconspicuously*~ and was smart enough to go ‘haha I’m *not* getting paid enough to argue with international crime syndicates, if this weird kid with the hat believes the shit he sees in movies I’m not gonna be the one who corrects him’. (They did not finish that bottle by themselves, btw, the dialogue would have ended up a lot less coherent otherwise lol)

Also feel free to imagine, years down the line, Sombra finding Jesse’s old… holovid account or whatever they call it and just rubbing her hands together because surely there’s some embarrassing porn in there, there must be, he’s been updating this playlist all through his teens and young adulthood… only to find that no, it really is just every Western ever made, regardless of quality or merit, scrupulously organized like literally nothing else in his life has ever been. Which is, of course, also deeply embarrassing, but in a way that’s hard to exploit because he has exactly no shame about it and he always has at least one backup squirreled away so she can’t even threaten to delete it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Lastly: There might be nothing funnier to me than the idea of Hanzo doing the social stealth part of the whole ninja bit. Entirely competent (because he would never allow himself to be anything less) but also wearing the most long-suffering FML face once the dupe’s back is turned? — yes good. Title is from a Tom Waits song because I am incorrigible and none of you can stop me.

#overwatch #mchanzo #hanzo shimada #jesse mccree #young mchanzo #my writing #Perhaps there is still a future for anachronisms #Scoundrels and Thieves 'verse #I'm really sorry if the @s don't go through -- I tried my best but I can't get them to work I think?? thank you guys anyway <3

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