#its so fucking absurd how the parents will play with their children??

[mildew-mop]

Bluey is such an unrealistic show. I'm fine with them being dogs but like?? They love each other?? It depicts parents who care about their children?? Unironically one of the most unrealistic pieces of media I have ever seen in my entire life. Sometimes, I get upset watching it. Like they use words referring to other characters as family members but also are kind to each other???? I cannot physically find a way to contort my brain into seeing these characters as "family" like its so fucking unrealistic and bizarre to watch. Its pure fucking fantasy.

[shrimpmandan]

I honestly fucking hate when antis bring up that fiction DOES affect reality as a counterargument to proshippers bc the thing is they’re not even technically wrong. Fiction and reality are inherently intertwined on some level. For example, fiction often depicts the ideals and standards of the time, or the creator’s lived experience. Fiction can impact reality in the form of individual people, both positively and negatively. For example, a propaganda cartoon vs an educational cartoon. The thing is, antis refuse to acknowledge that the “fiction =/= reality” argument (in the context of proshippers using it) is a direct response to the incorrect assertion that fiction will make people act against their morals. This can be about anything from “incest/abuse/age gap relationships in fiction will normalize it irl”, “video games cause shootings”, “porn causes violence”, or any other amount of honestly baseless and reactionary assertions about the world.

I see propaganda brought up a lot, which is especially frustrating, because antis don’t understand how propaganda works. Propaganda is not something that you watch and suddenly, you’re racist. Funnily enough, propaganda on its own isn’t particularly persuasive or logical in how it’s presented-- it’s just manipulative. Propaganda specifically takes advantage of preconceived ideas, fears, and prejudices-- for example, anti-gay propaganda would play into the idea of gay men being predatory, deviant, and mentally disordered, because that was already the general consensus of the time. Propaganda, by nature, plays into existing emotions, or preys on the human fear of the unfamiliar. This is why the best combatant to propaganda is education.

You can apply this same thing to taboo fiction, violent video games, and violent porn. You could make the argument that these things could have negative influences on children, seeing as they’re much more impressionable and may have a harder time distinguishing between fiction and reality, but the bottom line is kids are not the target audience for any of these things. They are not supposed to be viewing NSFW writings, videos, or games. We already have things like ESRB ratings, “are you 18?” verification checks (as paper thin as they may be), and tagging systems in place for the express purpose of deterring kids (or parents of kids) from seeing something that aren’t meant for them. After a certain point, you really just have to place the responsibility on the parent for either not monitoring their children, or being careless about what kind of content they consume. Aka: NOT the fault of the adults who make or enjoy violent or explicit media.

Going back to propaganda for a minute, with taboo fiction in particular (incest, age gap, etc.), it’s already, y’know, taboo. Meaning people are actively discouraged from participating in, or even just talking about it, since things like incest and pedophilia are already largely considered immoral. Most Western citizens would agree that irl abusive relationships, rape, and the like, are all immoral. So why would reading about it suddenly make them go against the entire worldview and moral upbringing they had? That’d be utterly absurd! However, if someone who was already considering or apologetic towards something like pedophilia were to consume media depicting it positively, it might, and I repeat, MIGHT have a chance to influence them into actually committing an offense. And even then, any evidence of that is extremely flimsy.

There’s been a small handful of IRL cases around fiction and reality. One that comes to mind is the murder trial of Scott Dyleski, wherein the prosecutor asserted that the Invader Zim episode Dark Harvest inspired Dyleski to commit murder. However, this statement was hardly backed up with any kind of proof, and in my opinion, is a weak argument on the prosecution’s end. There just isn’t any psychological evidence that makes a strong connection between dark/violent/explicit media and moral degradation, and while there have been studies done surrounding things like “do video games cause violence?” and “is porn making young men misogynistic rapists?”, these studies either came back inconclusive or even outright stating that no, these things do not lead directly to IRL violence. Simply googling “do video games cause violence?” or “does porn cause violence?” will yield countless articles stating that there’s no strong link between the two things. And, at its core, this is what proshippers mean when they say that fiction =/= reality. To say that fiction is responsible for all of society’s ills, instead of the fact that fiction takes inspiration from the tragedies of the real world, is an absurd take.

Overall, I think I’m still happy with the “fiction =/= reality on a 1-to-1 level” wording that’s since replaced “fiction =/= reality”. It’s far less generalized and overall more difficult for antis to counter with actual evidence (which, let’s be honest, they barely use anyways), even though the only reason proshippers were using such a generalized statement to begin with was to counter another generalized statement: that taboo or violent fiction will always, or almost always, lead to irl crimes and normalization.

[aberrantshrink]

spoke to a guy tonight i’ve been maybe (?) hitting on, on-and-off — he’s a fellow cast member in our college’s rinky dink christmas carol spin-off play.

after he jokes about looking like a “homosexual” in costume (which he does), he then reveals he “was,” in fact, gay. of course i follow up with “you ‘were’? as in, now you’re not?”

& he says, “yeah. i’ve dated guys in the past. but i want children, and i’m getting older…”

the dude is 18. fresh out of high school. & he is (or should be) aware i am a trans man, living and breathing right in front of him.

(note: i would also be fresh out of high school at this time, but was instead a “drop-out” who got an early start on my now almost-finished degree).

thus, as resident activist queer, i resolve myself to the task of informing this guy of the many other ways gay men have children in a way that may or may not betray my romantic (?) sexual (?) parental (❌) inclinations, starting off very strongly (and red-faced) with “well, there are some kinds of men, who… umm… can…”

(note #2: i don’t ever plan to conceive any children: a responsibility i am ill-prepared for, in body, mind and wallet).

but this guy, for real? i’ve waited so long to be comfortable enough in my own skin to be attracted to others & it’s turning out more and more that my type is exclusively idiot (affectionate) bisexuals. & i can’t even complain. because i love idiot (affectionate) bisexuals.

and this guy, for real for real? his mindset is actually so fucked up — though in no doubt a symptom of being a rural, mentally ill queer — & the very brief minute or so we spent joking around it did not lend enough to the time it would take to actually unpack it.

he gave a reason of specifically wanting children “of his own” (which is its own can of worms… or, rather, sperm) but like. what? you’re gonna turn your gay off so you can have kids? that is how most fathers end up losing children… in future divorces.

nonetheless, as that resident activist queer, the absurdity of such a mindset intrigues me so. it demands further study. in the name of science, of course. this will end well!

[sk3tch404]

AKSJSHJSJ PLEASE RECONSIDER, WHEN I SAID NONNY WAS BASED OFF OF BAD WATTPAD FANFICTION I MEANT: HES THE EPITOME OF BAD WATTPAD WRITING,, HIS FIRST WORDS TO Y/N ARE LITERALLY: "r u lost babygrull?" AND THATS A F T E R HE KIDNAPPED HER INTO HIS BASEMENT :,)

To be fair tho, the Y/N of this story isn't even the REAL Y/N technically. Basically X years ago when the real Y/N was a child, she was playing in the woods and got lost. The deeper she went into the forest, the more distorted it became, until she eventually encountered a monstrous creature with spider like limbs, to one's surprise she ran the fuck away, ran straight off a steep slope and died. Back to the monster, so like,, I forgot if they were supposed to be actively malicious back then or if they were simply trying to communicate to Y/N that "hey, I'm not bad or anything, I just want to lead you outside the forest because you're kinda trespassing into my home rn kid" I think it was supposed to be left ambiguous in the game but the point is, the monster felt bad that Y/N died and was like "nahhh man, you gonna live, live through me that is" so I think it either consumed Y/Ns whole body and shapeshifted into her or uhhh carved out her insides and basically possessed her dead skin like a rlly fucked up meat puppet.

Anyhow the monster who's now become our/the games Y/N has like, -1 braincells and no idea how to act convincingly human. The parents ignored it mostly because, when the hell have badly written Wattpad parents actually acted like parents? And being like "haha kids amirite?", it was a good thing that Y/N was at the age where children learned how to read. So what does our protagonist do after learning how to read? Steal all of "her" mothers trashy romance novels and scour the internet to find literature on how to act like a convincing teen so she can be prepared on how to act once "she" becomes older. Everyone else thinks she acts a bit strangely but chalks it up to "idk man, maybe that's just her personality?" So no one ever corrects her behaviour.

also the w.i.p name i literally just Y/NxNonny (real creative yeah I know) so it's not like you're missing out on much. I'm gonna infodump on the other, spriteless characters in another ask because this one's already long enough, but yeah this is the insane lore you'd get to explore in the game if I were to ever finish it.

-Ren'py anon

Renpy anon. You need to listen to me when I say this. Make. This. An. Actual. Thing.

This is the epitome of peak fiction. The peak of crack fic.

Its not just dumbass characters acting absurd, IT HADS GOOD PLOT, GREAT REASONING, INTERESTING CHARACTERS, A GOOD BACKSTORY, AND MOST OF ALL HAS ANON HACKER KIDNAPPING Y/N.

I'm so down to play as a monster possessing some persons dead body and pretending to be a cringey human 😊

I might die inside because I used to write on Wattpad but it's fineeeee

(Don't do it when ur busy or want to do other things though! I'm just saying its an awesome story idea and I could never think of this 1000000 years into my life ever)

I still want anon hackers sprite in my gallery. Idk if he's a hottie or not, BUT I WILL MAKE HIM FOR YOU IF I GET THE CHANCE

JUST GIMME A GOOD DESC/SUMMARY/PHOTO OF HIM AND I WILL MAKE HIM LOOK SO DAMN TASTY EVEN THOUGH I HAVE 0 CHARACTER DESIGN SKILLS.

Okay last part, half true. I can still make him hot though.

[myaimistrue]

part two of the fic for my content creator celebration! in this one, cas uses bobby’s story to take care of five year old jack <3 

read part one here (you probably wanna read that first if you haven’t)

read the whole thing on ao3 here

Cas always pays close attention to his son. Jack is at the age where he wants to get into everything, where the whole world feels like it belongs to him and him alone (a common phase for children that seems to have only been exacerbated by Jack’s brief stint as God), so he spends a lot of time exploring their backyard and asking questions and pushing boundaries. Cas understands all of this—he’s read about it in many parenting books—and is always careful to keep an eye on Jack. So he is watching Jack play with legos on the back porch through the window, and he is perfectly able to see the precise moment Jack jumps to his feet to chase a butterfly into the yard, exactly how he goes tumbling down the porch steps without anything there to stop him.

“Daddy!” Jack is already wailing by the time Cas scoops him up in his arms, frantically searching his son for injuries. His knees are bleeding, and his little hands have gone raw at the bottom of the palms; Cas’s stomach twists at the sight of his son’s blood. “It hurts.”

“I know, honey, I know,” Cas says, carrying Jack into the house as quickly as he can. Realistically, he knows that though Jack has been hurt far worse in his life and that this kind of injury is typical for young children anyway, but some instinct within him cries out in fear and worry at the sound of Jack’s sobs.

Cas sits him down in one of the kitchen table chairs and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Stay right here, okay, Jack? I’m going to get something that’ll make you feel better.”

Jack only cries harder, so Cas moves quickly, digging out their first aid kit from the mess that is the pantry and laying it on the table. He mops up the worst of the blood before pulling out a small tube of antibiotic cream.

“This might hurt,” Cas says gently. “But I’ll be quick.”

“No,” Jack sobs. “No, don’t do it if it’s gonna hurt!”

Again, Cas’s heart twinges. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

That only seems to make it worse, and Jack’s crying reaches a fever pitch. Cas feels frantic panic rise up in him—Dean has always been better at this part, has always known how to soothe, how to turn Jack’s tears into laughter into just minutes. Cas wishes desperately that Dean would get back from the store, but it twists uncomfortably in his gut to picture what he’ll find: a hurt, crying child and a husband still too inhuman to know how to comfort anybody. Even at his gruffest, Dean naturally knows how to take care of the people he loves, something Cas still struggles with; he always makes Cas think of Bobby, the rough gentleness he would have about him as he patched Cas up and poured him a glass of terrible whisky.

And then Cas knows exactly what to do.

“Jack, how about this?” He says. “If you try to take a few deep breaths, I’m going to give you permission to do something me and Dee never let you do.”

Jack’s sobbing slows slightly. “W—what?”

“Take a deep breath with me, and I’ll tell you.” Cas inhales, long and slow, and Jack does the same, still sniffling and hiccupping as his crying slows to almost a complete stop.

“Good job, Jack.” Cas smiles fondly and smooths some of his son’s hair back from his forehead. “Now, I’m going to get you cleaned up and put some band-aids on. It’ll hurt. But,” Cas grins in spite of himself. “But, while I’m doing that, you’re allowed to say bad words.”

“Really?” Jack’s eyes go almost comically wide. He always wants to curse—it’s a holdover, Cas thinks, from his time as a sort-of-adult—and Dean and Cas have had to have many conversations with him about appropriate language for little children. “I can? You won’t tell Dee?”

“It’ll be our secret,” Cas says, winking. Jack giggles.

He starts dabbing the antibiotic cream on the cuts before there can be any more discussion, hoping that will be the best way to handle it. Jack’s face screws up in discomfort, and with the utmost conviction, he says, “Dammit, Daddy!”

Cas is almost surprised by the fullness and joyfulness of the laugh that punches out of him at that. He loves his son so much it hurts, a pleasant ache behind his ribs. “Exactly, Jack. Just like that.”

It doesn’t take long to patch him up, after that. Jack takes delight in cursing, going as far as a single “fuck” that sets him off into hysterical giggles. By the time Cas is done, Jack is smiling brightly and swinging his legs back and forth.

“Can I go back to my legos, Daddy?” he asks excitedly, all the tears and pain apparently forgotten. “I didn’t get to finish with my town. They’re having a talent show ‘n I gotta make sure it goes good.”

“Stay on the porch where I can see you from the window,” Cas says as he repacks the first aid kit. “And dinner will be ready soon.”

“Okay!” Jack hops down off the chair and zooms away, tossing a “Hi, Dee!” over his shoulder as he heads outside.

Cas glances at the doorway, and sure enough, Dean’s hulking an absurd amount of grocery bags into the kitchen. He dumps them all into a heap on the table and grins triumphantly at Cas.

“You know you could just ask for help,” Cas says, exasperated.

“It’s a matter of pride, sweetheart.” Dean presses an obnoxious, smacking kiss to Cas’s cheek, and Cas rolls his eyes but smiles anyway as he returns the first aid kit to its proper place.

“Woah, everybody alright?” Dean asks, eyes catching on the white and red case Donna bought them as a housewarming gift (“former angel, hunter, and God, or not, everybody needs a first aid kit!”)

“Jack fell down the back stairs earlier. He skinned his hands and knees,” Cas says. He looks at Dean, then folds himself into his arms—he wants to feel Dean’s steady warmth, and he can now if he wants; it’s been a while, but Cas isn’t sure he’ll ever get over the wonder of having Dean as his husband. “He was crying, but I managed to distract him enough to get him patched up.”

Dean hums as he runs a hand up and down Cas’s back. “Yeah? What’d you do?”

“Something Bobby taught me,” Cas says. He thinks of that night by Dean’s bedside, of the quiet hush in which Cas felt so much younger, somehow, than Bobby sitting beside him.

“Bobby?” Dean’s voice has gone heavy, the way it often does when talking about someone they grieve. “What was it?”

Cas smiles to himself. “I told Jack he could say any swear words he wanted.”

Dean starts to laugh, and Cas feels the vibrations of it through the entirety of his body. He thinks that if he still had his grace, he would feel it singing in joy at the sensation. “Oh, Jesus. I forgot about that.”

“Me too. But then Jack was so upset, and I couldn’t get him to calm down, and I remembered Bobby telling me that story.” Cas pulls back but tangles their hands together, because he always wants to be touching Dean. He glances to make sure Jack is still safely playing on the porch, then back at Dean. “It feels like so long ago.”

“It was,” Dean says. He squeezes Cas’s hand, and he looks a little sad, thinking about Bobby. But around that, there’s a comfortableness, a contentedness, that Cas has only recently seen in Dean’s eyes; it makes him smile. “Never woulda guessed back then that we’d have a kid of our own.”

“Me neither.” Without intending to, they both pivot to look at Jack, at his solemn focus as he rebuilds a lego tower. That feeling of home, of safety and warmth, suffuses Cas from head to toe. It occurs to him that the first time he ever felt that was in Bobby’s house, watching the boys goof around and laughing at them with Bobby. Cas thinks of him, wherever he is, with Karen and Rufus and all the people he’s loved, and for the first time in a very long time, Cas prays—for peace, for love, for comfort and safety. For home.

[egcdeath]

a date with destiny

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

word count: 1.9k

summary: fate brings you to a... questionable man more than a few times. 

warnings: lots of fluff, enemies/strangers to lovers, kind of cringe

a/n:  i swear my new thing is poorly writing every played out fanfic trope on the planet, i'm so sorry guys. maybe hallmark can hire me to write a few movies for them

You definitely could’ve avoided this situation if you didn’t wait for the weekend before Christmas to go shopping for your family’s presents.

You had no idea why your time management had to be so bad, but in the midst of working way too many hours in an effort to get promoted, you had completely forgotten about the fact that Christmas was literally right around the corner. And to make it worse, you had a flight tomorrow that you’d also forgotten about.

You sulked to yourself while walking around Nordstrom, waiting for inspiration to strike you for a semi-decent gift for your mother. The whole world seemed to be out that day, and you watched a plethora of shoppers pass you by, with their sour faces and unruly children. After eventually deciding on a black winter sweater for your mom, you went on your way to the candle section, knowing exactly the brand and scent that your sister would love.

This candle was the definition of a non-negotiable for you, and had been the reason you came to a Nordstrom in the first place, and when you found it sitting on a shelf by itself in all of its glory, you had simply become transfixed.

As you walked toward the candle, you didn’t notice that another customer was going for it as well, leading both of your hands to land on the candle, the absurdity of the situation making you blush. This was just your luck.

“Oh, this is awkward,” you played off the encounter, then attempted to subtly pull the candle your way, and away from the man.

“Yeah, it kinda is.” The man whose hand was also placed on the candle said shortly, before attempting to pull the candle his way.

“Hey man, I’m kinda on a tight schedule, and I really need to get this like… right now. I have a flight in like.. An hour,” you exaggerated.

“That’s too bad, ‘cause I really need this candle too.”

You took a deep breath, only you would find yourself in this kind of situation. “To be fair, I definitely saw this candle first. I’m its rightful buyer,” You attempted.

“Mmm, I definitely had my eyes on it first, so with your logic, I deserve this candle.” The man narrowed his baby blue eyes, and put a hand on his hip.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, hoping that maybe if you acted dramatic enough, he’d leave you and your candle alone.

“Sweetheart, can you even afford this kind of thing? I’m sure your friends or family, or whoever the fuck you’re getting this for, would rather you not go into debt over a candle. Just let me have it,” he responded cooly, as if he hadn’t just called you poor to your face.

You looked at him with an open-mouthed expression, completely shocked at the nerve this man had. “Fuck you, you asshole!” You attempted to yank the candle out from his grip, and you could begin to tell that the man’s resolve was beginning to fall.

“Fine. Take the damn candle. But maybe you could give me a little gift in exchange, and go out with me sometime,” he offered, slipping his now free hand into the pocket of his tan peacoat.

You were honestly shocked by this whole exchange. How did he go from insulting you and calling you poor, to asking you on a date? Men are so weird, you thought to yourself. He really isn’t that bad looking, you also considered. “Eat shit, guy,” you told him before flipping him off, and walking away.

-----

Imagine your surprise when you saw the same man from the store sitting in a local Massachusetts restaurant, with whom you assumed were his family. With your sister sitting across from you, you couldn’t help but be gossipy and point him out.

You scoffed and leaned over to your sister once you saw him, “See that guy over there?” You whispered to her, gesturing your head in his general direction.

“Which one?” she asked. “There are like five guys. Are you talking about the dude with the goatee? That old dude with the grey hair? Y/N! I didn’t know you were a grave robber!” she giggled and poked your side while you rolled your eyes, “Or, are you talking about that sexy beast in the white sweater?”

“The se- the dude in the sweater-”

“Oh yeah, he’s pretty hot. You should go talk to him,” she began to scoot out of her seat.

“No, you idiot!” You whisper shouted to her. “That guy basically attacked me in the store the other day. And then, he had the nerve to ask me out on a date!”

He must’ve felt the two of you’s stare, as he turned around and gave you a brief surprised look, then a twisted smirk.

“Oh my god, Bea, act natural,” You whispered before turning your head so fast that you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

You brought a hand up to your face and rubbed your browline in a fit of embarrassment. You looked down, then began to shovel pasta into your mouth at an ungodly fast rate.

“Oh come on, Y/N, he’s cute. What did he say to you that was so bad that you turned down his hot ass?” She asked, glancing back over at the man who was still occasionally looking over at your table.

“It’s kinda a long story. I’ll tell you later,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the heat steadily growing on your cheeks.

Beatrice shrugged, and a waiter approached your table.

“Ma’am, the man over there wanted me to give this to you,” he said before awkwardly placing a glass of white wine in front of you, along with a ripped napkin with a note and number.

We started off on the wrong foot, give me a call sometime?

Ransom

XXX-XXX-XXXX

-----

You looked at the note for so long, that it would’ve been better off being tattooed on the back of your eyelids.

“Just text him, Y/N,” your sister told you, her sentence a bit muffled by the toothbrush dangling from her mouth.

“He really seems like a dick,” you groaned, before rolling onto your back and throwing an arm over your eyes. Your sister rinsed out her mouth in the ensuite before returning with some advice.

“Well, he’s hot. Maybe you can bring him as a date to the Holiday party or something,” she stated before sitting down on the foot of your bed. “What’s the worst that could happen, Y/N? If he hurts your feelings, you can throw a hot drink at him and walk away. At best, you get a hot piece of ass to be your boyfriend.” she squeezed your calf reassuringly.

“Ugh, fine,” you huffed. “I’ll text him tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl!” Beatrice cheered, then placed a kiss on your forehead. “‘Night, Y/N,”

“Goodnight,” you mumbled before attempting to fall asleep.

-----

The funny thing about you, is that you were a master procrastinator. So after a day and a half, you’d put Ransom’s number into your phone, but had contemplated so many different opening texts, that you’d just completely given up. Besides, you had your parents’ holiday party to be attending and to be caring about.

You did some final touch ups of your makeup, before heading downstairs, and watching guests arrive from a safe spot in the kitchen.

Sometime after talking to about seven of your childhood friends, you felt a large hand press against the satin material of your short, red, tie-waisted dress.

“No way, girl I see everywhere?” The man who you know knew was Ransom, asked.

“It’s Y/N. Hi, Ransom,” you bit the inside of your cheek to hold back your laugh at the absurdity of it all, the fact that he was standing in your parents’ home, the fact that he was literally everywhere you went, and because you’d never in your life been called ‘The girl I see everywhere.’

“Why didn’t you ever call me? I mean, not even a text? Also, why are you following me everywhere?” He inquired, moving to stand in front of you.

“Well, I uh.. I forgot. Sorry, I’m a super busy woman. And I also live here... sometimes.. so if anyone is following anyone else, it’s you following me,” you tried to say this confidently, but something about Ransom really threw you off your game.

“You live here? No way. Is this like your family home?” He asked, and you nodded. “So our parents have been friends this whole time, and we had no idea.” He gestured to a doorway, where your mother and his were talking with flutes of champagne in hand.

“This just keeps getting weirder and weirder,” you said quietly, mostly to yourself.

“Maybe, this is just fate. We’re meant to be together, and that’s why we keep seeing each other everywhere,” you raised an eyebrow and tilted your head when he said that to you, genuinely confused at why those words would come out of his mouth. “Oh, lighten up. I’m just kidding,” he said with a bemused smile.

“You have a weird sense of humor, Ransom.” You told him plainly, trying to act disinterested, though you were rather endeared. He definitely saw right through you, as he gave you a little grin before he began to speak again.

“So tell me about yourself.”

-----

After a few too many drinks, you were walking down the sidewalk, hand and hand with Ransom as you searched for any sort of restaurant that could be open at that hour.

Finally, you found a quaint and rather empty 24-hour diner with its lights on. The two of you sat down in a booth, and struggled to contain giggles as you sipped from mugs of stale, lukewarm coffee. Why you were giggling, you weren’t completely sure.

“You know what, Ransom, once you get over the asshole-ness, you’re not that bad,” you reached out a hand, and set it on top of Ransom’s, that was idly sitting on the table.

“Wow, thanks,” he chuckled, a dark pink dusting his cheeks.

“Why did we even come here?” You groaned, “No offense, but this coffee tastes like ass,” you whined,

“And how do you know what ass tastes like?” Ransom burst out giggling at this.

“Shut up. Are you twelve?” You pretended to be annoyed with him, before giving in and laughing along with him. “Can you take me home?” You asked with puppy dog eyes.

Apparently, one for the dramatics, Ransom tossed a $50 bill onto the table, then stood up from his seat at the booth to swoop you up in a bridal style.

“Ohhh my god,” you slurred as he carried you out the door, then eventually set you back down on the pavement once he became tired.

-----

While you walked up to your doorstep, Ransom stood on the sidewalk, watching you contentedly. As you got to your door and turned around, he gave you a big, goofy smile and a wave.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Come in with me,” you invited. It was safe to say, Ransom happily obliged.

[everyonewasabird]

Brickclub 2.3.8 ‘Unpleasantness of putting up a pauper who might just be rich’

The Thenardiers really are society here in all it’s harshest aspects: the way they find ways to make the poor pay for being poor; the division between the children’s scorn for Cosette’s poverty and Cosette’s envy of their comforts; the way a rich man’s whims to have a child play are law and a poor man’s wish for the same is an absurd imposition. It’s all here in microcosm.

And once again, Valjean baffles society’s efforts at categorization.

I was struck last chapter by Cosette’s resilience and fearlessness in Valjean’s presence. This chapter, she’s cowering again, and we get a long description of the horror of her misery and fear. Once again it’s close to transforming her.

The expression in the eyes of this eight-year-old child was normally so forlorn and sometimes so tragic that it seemed, at certain moments, that she was in the process of turning into an idiot or a demon.

So far she’s staving off that transformation, as we saw in the woods, but it’s still encroaching. She needs to be out of here.

[Cut because this got long. Also, child abuse.]

I hadn’t previously caught how hard it is for Valjean to speak up on Cosette’s behalf. I’d pictured him in my memory as in control of this scene, and he’s actually only managing to bring himself to argue because of the harm about to be done to Cosette.

“Madame,” he said, smiling with an almost frightened look, “Bah! Let her play!”

Which makes perfect sense. This is society in microcosm, and it isn’t in him to outwardly rebel anymore--or even outwardly act like he deserves to be in society. Like Boulatruelle, his deference is suspicious.

Hugo doesn’t cast blame on the Thenardier girls. They’re just children, acting like children, and they’re lovely for it.

In the animal symbolism of the novel, Eponine’s play-acting sounds Significant.

“See, sister, this doll is more fun than the other one. It moves, it cries, it’s nice and warm. See, sister, let’s play with it. It will be my little girl. I’ll be a lady. I’ll come to see you and you’ll look at it. Little by little you’ll see its whiskers and you’ll get a shock. And then you’ll see its ears and then you’ll see its tail and you’ll get a shock. And you’ll say to me: ‘Oh, my God!’ And I’ll say to you: ‘Yes, Madame, that’s my little girl and she’s like that. Little girls are like that these days.’”

I never know exactly what to do with cats. They’re positive in this text, but what do they mean? I suppose they’re something that’s both harmless and not exactly tame like dogs are, capable of catching mice to fix God’s errors--a symbol of revolution--and capable, in a pinch, of transforming into lions. The people of Paris were cats in 1817 and presumably still are.

The child-that-is-secretly-a-cat also has, at least visually, some echoes of Little Red Riding Hood for me (”What big ears you have, Grandma!”) It’s a cat, not a wolf, but still. That story seems relevant to the story we’ve just come from, where our young werewolf child met a stranger in the woods and brought him home.

I just looked up whether Little Red Riding Hood would have been a cultural touchstone here, and of course it was--Perrault wrote it down in 1697.

Wikipedia also recorded this quote from Perrault about its moral:

From this story one learns that children, especially young lasses, pretty, courteous and well-bred, do very wrong to listen to strangers, And it is not an unheard thing if the Wolf is thereby provided with his dinner. I say Wolf, for all wolves are not of the same sort; there is one kind with an amenable disposition – neither noisy, nor hateful, nor angry, but tame, obliging and gentle, following the young maids in the streets, even into their homes. Alas! Who does not know that these gentle wolves are of all such creatures the most dangerous!

Little Red Riding Hood may not really be something the text has in mind right now, but that sure sounds relevant to what’s just happened. A littler girl went into the woods alone amid talk of wolves, met a stranger, and took him home. (It also applies well to Fantine, alas. But Valjean is a very different kind of gentled wolf.)

Hugo has some thoughts to share about women and I don’t like them at all. I’m skipping them, I don’t feel like fighting with Hugo right now.

Cosette “vaguely listening” and picking up “a few words here and there” as Mme Thenardier insults her and says her mother abandoned her is more heartbreaking than if she’d been listening intently. It gives a sense that either there’s nothing particularly new in these statements, or else Cosette doesn’t feel invested in them because they don’t contain the information that really matters to her, which is whether or not to expect imminent physical violence.

Or.... nope. I definitely read that wrong.

By “vaguely listening” Hugo meant “dissociating.”

Because the scene that follows is:

Meanwhile the drinkers, all three-quarters sozzled, were singing their dirty song again, jollier than ever. It was an off-colour story in very bad taste in which the Holy Virgin and the Infant Jesus both featured. Mother Thénardier had wandered off to join in the outburts of hilarity. Cosette, under the table, was watching the fire, which was reflected in her staring eyes; she had again begun to rock the sort of swaddled doll she had made, and while she rocked it, she sang in a low voice: “My mother is dead! My mother is dead! My mother is dead!”

The only versions of holy motherly love that have trickled down to her are corrupted into near unrecognizeability. Her eyes are full of flames, another hint of that demonic transformation under duress that she’s still skirting the edges of.

There are a couple of ways to read “my mother is dead.” I kind of suspect that Cosette, like last time transformation threatened, is grimly hanging on to her sense of herself and the dim bright side: her mother wasn’t a bad woman who abandoned her, the only reason she is isn’t here is because she’s dead. Cosette claimed to Valjean not to have a mother, but it’s clear she has complex feelings on the subject that she can’t articulate. These lines feel like such an act of faith, actually: It’s Cosette believing, against all evidence, that her mother’s love for her is real, that she would still come if she could.

And she follows that with an act of such courage and hope and defiance: she steals the doll and is enraptured by it for a quarter of an hour. She stays human. She isn’t beaten yet.

She must know she’s going to pay for this--but she would pay worse for giving up hope, too, or for giving in to the thing that’s trying to turn her demonic.

Fuck, she’s fighting so fucking hard. Valjean is beaten down by society’s expectations of him, but Cosette isn’t. Holy hell, I love her so much.

The retribution of society in the person of the Thenardiess rains down on her, of course. It says she sobs, which is one more way in which she isn’t Valjean in the bagne--she can still cry when she’s sad.

And Valjean is also near tears. We know he wept when he was being shackled fo the bagne the first time, and we know he hadn’t wept any time between then and the bishop’s mercy. I’m not sure we’ve seen him weep any time since.

There’s so MUCH in the fact that he’s watched all this happen. He was worse off than she was when he showed up here--beaten down, hopeless, almost like he was after leaving the bagne the first time.

We never hear directly what the bagne did to him the second time--but we can see it. And it’s a lot like what it did the first time.

And instead of being saved by the bishop, he’s being saved by Cosette. We watch him becoming a parent over the course of this chapter.

Cosette doesn’t touch the doll. Valjean puts the doll’s hand in hers.

And that thing about Cosette being irrepressible--as soon as someone is kind, she becomes a kid again, like she’s been waiting for it all along. Because, she probably has. Shoujo Cosette isn’t wrong about the way she seems to have been waiting all along for her mother to come for her.

“I’ll call her Catherine.” Oh, my heart. Unlike post-bagne Valjean, she’s so very ready to be saved.

Valjean after sitting still a long time rises up suddenly in a sentence structure that feels like his sudden decision making at the bishop’s. Once again, he looks down at sleeping people, this time on Cosette.

She left her shoe out, because she still believes the good fairy will come. And Valjean does come.

I didn’t expect this to feel like Valjean at the bishop’s, but it IS. The transformation Cosette is resisting is one he’s more or less suffered again.

She saves him the way the bishop did.

I love them.

[seasonofthewicth]

A Groovy Kind of Love - Chapter 9

AN: a slightly longer one today guys, got myself all emotional with the rowaelin here and i hope it gets you too

masterlist - ao3

------ 

“He was friendly when he first came in,” Chaol’s normally subdued tone was full of energy as he spun his tale, eyes wide with excitement as he looked towards Aelin. “But then so quickly he goes completely crazy, shouting and ranting so loud in my face that Maeve has to come in and see what the problem is.”

Yrene laughed fondly at her husband as she rested a hand on his shoulder where she sat across the wooden staff room table from Aelin, “You could hear it all the way down the corridor.”

Aelin laughed as she took in Chaol’s wide eyed expression and Dorian’s restrained laughter, Yrene’s gentle grin and Nehemia’s cool smirk.

Her first parent-teacher conference at the new school was this evening, and to her absolute delight, her friends were busy spinning their horror stories. Admittedly, she was nervous for the event, and even though it wasn’t her first time it was always an unnerving experience at a new school. It was her opportunity to introduce herself to the parents as Miss Galathynius and show them who she was, what she had, and to prove to them that she was the best choice for their children.

Realistically, she knew she had no reason to be nervous, her class were a great group of children, they all tried hard and engaged enthusiastically with her lessons, but meeting their parents for the first time was important. Making her first impression as an educator was important, and she knew that people sometimes unfairly judged her. At her previous school she knew some of the parents had made some unfair and incorrect assumptions about her but she had tried not to let it bother her. Had tried to brush off their barely hidden insults about her styles of teaching and even her choices of clothing. She couldn’t change peoples’ opinions but she could try to change their lasting impressions of herself.

Dorian had assured her that the majority of the parents at the school were great, most were pretty chilled out as long as their child wasn’t falling too far behind, which Aelin knew hers weren’t. That said, it was Dorian who had prompted the story time session in the break room, wordlessly picking up on her nervousness and launching into every horror story he could remember from his years teaching.

Since their ill-fated affair he had cemented his place in her life as one of her closest friends, rivalling only Lysandra in level of familiarity and they had spent an increasing amount of time together. From coffee runs to lounging around the loft watching movies she enjoyed every moment they spent together and she was comfortable that there was no remaining awkwardness from their brief tangle.

She hadn’t told anyone the outcome of their date yet, she hadn’t had much time to catch up with Lysandra since, and it wasn’t something she was particularly keen to tell her roommates. As much as she loved them there were times that their typical guy nature made her hesitant to share, and her failure to sleep with her date was not something she felt like sharing with them.

She was especially reluctant to share that piece of information with Rowan, he had told her to forget about their moment in the kitchen, and she had tried. It just hadn’t worked out quite as she had planned. But she was resolved, she would get over him, and if having him think she was dating Dorian told him she was, she wasn’t complaining.

“It took five minutes for us to even figure out what he was yelling about.” Chaol continued, flashing her an exasperated look.

“Which was?” Aelin asked, already grinning in anticipation of whatever ridiculous answer Chaol could give.

In her experience Chaol was a by-the-book teacher. She liked him, he was pretty smart, straightforward and an involved and ambitious teacher, she couldn’t imagine him doing anything deserving of being shouted at by a parent.

“Chaol had, completely unreasonably,” Dorian drawled sarcastically, tossing his unstarted apple between his palms, “decided to offer his students a quiz for the last class of the week instead of one more hour of curriculum teaching.”

Yrene sketched a mocking gasp and Nehemia held a hand to her chest as she rolled her eyes at the story.

“Could you imagine such a thing?” She laughed, eyes dancing with mirth as she grinned over to Aelin.

Aelin shook her head in mock horror at Chaol, unable to fully hide her smile as she laughed along.

“How could you?” She asked, half laughing at the absurdity of the parent’s rage and half at Chaol’s over the top attempt at a dejected expression. “You aren’t actually making me feel any better about later, by the way.”

Yrene reached over to squeeze her shoulder, “You don’t need us to do that, they will all love you I’m sure.”

Aelin needed more of Yrene’s optimism in her life and admittedly the woman’s kind smile was infectious. She was also right, why wouldn’t they love her?

------

The documentary on the television hadn’t fully captured Rowan’s attention, it was something about an animal in the rainforest and he had missed the part where it’s name was given, but it would do for a lazy afternoon while the rest of his roommates were at work. The afternoons were one of his favourite times of the day, he had the loft to himself to read or watch or listen to whatever he wanted in the usually shared spaces rather than his ordinarily messy and somewhat cramped bedroom.

Being the only one of his roommates to not work in the daytimes had its ups and downs, the freedom and space was a definite pro, but sometimes it could be lonely sitting around the loft on his own, and the days Lorcan was off with him after working a shift were often ones he enjoyed the most. His friend had a sarcastic and wicked sense of humour that worked well with Rowan’s relatively blunt demeanor. He’d never tell him that though.

Of everyone in the loft he had known Lorcan for the shortest amount of time. Technically, but he didn’t count the years of Aelin being in his periphery as knowing her. They had met through Fenrys, and Rowan wasn’t convinced that even Fenrys knew how he had come to be friends with the surly male, their personalities weren’t ones Rowan would have expected to be friends, but years later Lorcan had managed to cement himself as one of Rowan’s closest friends.

He checked the time on his phone as the sound of the loft front door caught his attention, none of his roommates should be at the loft at this time.

Seconds later Aedion came into view, already shucking off his tie before launching himself onto the couch next to Rowan with a deep sigh. Rowan slowly turned his head towards his best friend, waiting for him to reopen his eyes before raising his eyebrows.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” He began. “But why are you here?”

Aedion laughed before rolling forwards to sit upright on the sofa.

“Turned in the final piece for one of our biggest accounts this morning so we all got the afternoon off.”

“Nice,” Rowan nodded, Aedion probably worked the hardest of all of them in the loft. He worked for a marketing firm that had a bunch of high profile clients and he spent many nights in the office working overtime. Rowan shared those unpopular hours, but was grateful he didn’t have the early mornings too. “What are you doing for the rest of the day then?”

Aedion shrugged. “Thought I could spend some quality time with you my friend. Maybe find out what you wanted to talk to me about the other day.”

Aedion’s smirk was predatory, and Rowan felt like a deer in the headlights. He opened his mouth then closed it again.

He had been more than lucky to have gotten away with it for so long, he was surprised Aedion had managed the few days of Rowan saying nothing before giving in and straight up asking.

Since Aelin’s date with Dorian the man’s presence had become a regular feature of the loft, each visit reducing Rowan’s desire to admit any of his feelings about Aelin to anyone, let alone Aelin herself. He had tried to avoid being in the room when they were snuggling on the couch or had quickly changed the topic when he had come up in conversation.

Message received. He was at least glad that Aelin seemed happy, and it was his own fault that it wasn’t with him. He had told her to forget it ever happened and she had. Why Aedion wanted to make him talk about it now was anyone’s guess, he just wanted to deal with it alone. Preferably by not thinking about it, or at least trying not to.

“Oh nothing,” He brushed it off. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Aedion raised a golden eyebrow, unimpressed with Rowan’s clear denial and he winced internally. He should have known better than to assume Aedion would have been satisfied with that.

“Are you sure?” Aedion’s question was all too innocent. “You sure it wasn’t about anyone in particular?”

Rowan gritted his teeth, knowing he was just going to have to let this play out.

Aedion took a moment, pretending to ponder his next words and letting Rowan stew in his anticipation. “Not even my darling cousin?”

Rowan felt his cheeks begin to burn as he chewed on the inside of his lip. Aedion was a smug son of a bitch, smiling at Rowan like a cat who got the cream.

Rowan took a deep breath in. “Don’t fucking tell anyone, okay.”

Aedion’s expression dropped into something slightly more serious.

“Pinky swear,” Aedion grinned at him and Rowan flashed him a glare.

“I’m definitely not saying anything if you’re not being serious.”

Aedion cleared his throat, making a show of sobering his expression. “I’m serious, okay, now go.”

“So you clearly know something went down between me and Aelin,” That was as good a place to start as any he supposed. “How did you even find out about that?”

“Lysandra.” Aedion’s voice was almost dopey as he said the woman’s name. Gross, even though he was happy for his friend it was gross.

“Nice to know you and your girlfriend have nothing better to do than gossip about me.” Rowan frowned.

“Believe me, we have better things to do,” Aedion’s grin took over his whole face. “It’s just when we’re done we move on to pitying you…”

“I said be serious.” Rowan said bluntly, embarrassed enough as it was.

“Sorry, sorry.” Aedion held his hands up. “Continue.”

“There isn’t much more to be said.” He paused, realising the almost uncomfortable truth in his own words. “She’s moved past it anyway, like I told her too, so that’s it. We’re good, no danger of that.”

The look Aedion gave him was pure pity and Rowan looked away fast.

“Ro,” His friend’s voice was soft as he said his name, but he struggled for anything more, clearly reading Rowan better than he ever wanted to be read.

Rowan shrugged. “It’s fine, we’re all good.”

Aedion opened his mouth to speak but Rowan interrupted before he could get a word out.

“You need to tell her about you and Lysandra.” He could only see the secret ending in disaster, and now he was involved. He owed it to Aedion to keep the secret, but the guilt of keeping it from Aelin was eating away at him.

Aedion sighed, “I know. We will, soon. It’s just, when? You know?”

“You need to do it soon.” Rowan told him, feeling somewhat like a parent scolding a child. “You’re only going to upset her, and keeping it all a secret longer is just going to make it worse.”

Aedion looked down to the couch they sat on, avoiding Rowan’s eyes.

“I know.” He sighed.

“I don’t want her to get hurt.” It was as much as Rowan was willing to admit out loud.

“I don’t either.” Aedion’s tone was defensive and Rowan sighed.

“Now,” He began, pushing off the couch and standing above his friend. “I have a shift at the bar, you coming?”

Aedion half-smiled up at him. “Alright, but I’m not paying for any of my drinks.”

Rowan scoffed, “When do you ever?”

Aedion rose to his feet, shrugging, “Just making sure.”

Rowan rolled his eyes, feeling as Aedion always made him feel, relaxed and amused with the usual hint of mild irritation.

------

The evening had passed relatively quickly, all of the parents she had met so far had been lovely and were well engaged in their children’s lives and education which Aelin always appreciated. She only had one parent left to meet, the father of her student Evangeline, a bubbly young girl who Aelin adored. The young girl was inquisitive and tried hard with anything Aelin threw at them, a perfect student in Aelin’s eyes.

A knock on her classroom door sounded and she jumped to her feet, calling out for them to come in as she rose. The man who came through her doorway was striking, his golden hair shone and his green eyes were bright. He was dressed in a sharp grey suit, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar and his tie was missing.

He held a hand out for her to shake and she caught a brief glance of a tattoo on his wrist, one that looked almost like a snake, peeking past his expensive looking watch.

“Archer Finn,” His voice was low and smooth, as he flashed her a polished smile.

“Aelin Galathynius,” She shook his hand firmly and smiled widely. “Please, take a seat.”

The man slid smoothly into the seat opposite her, and she forced her mind to focus on the task at hand, and reminded herself that this was one of her student’s fathers. No sign of a ring, her unhelpful mind added.

“Thank you, Miss Galathynius,” He folded his hands in his lap. “I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to speak with you about Evangeline’s progress.”

Aelin grinned. “As have I, Evangeline is a fantastic student, the passion she displays in the classroom is phenomenal. Her artwork-- she displays a level of true talent.”

“Yes,” His tone was clipped. “That is what I have been hoping to talk to you about.”

Aelin felt her smile freeze.

“Evangeline will not be participating in any art activities from this point onwards, I don’t believe they are of any value. To put it bluntly, they’re a complete waste of time.”

Aelin was frozen, paused in a state of shock at the man’s words.

“I unfortunately have to disagree--”

He held a hand up to stop her and she recoiled.

“Please, Miss Galathynius,” He huffed out a condescending laugh and Aelin felt her blood begin to boil. “As her father I believe I know what is best for Evangeline.”

“And what is that?” She asked dryly.

Archer Finn seemed to take a moment, raking his eyes from her head to her toe before meeting her gaze again. She could tell the look hadn’t been one of appreciation and she bristled.

“What Evangeline needs is a teacher who takes her education seriously, someone who understands that painting her pretty pictures is a waste of time.” The sarcasm in his voice had her clenching her jaw, but she tried to rein in her temper, remembering that she was still new to the school.

“Mr Finn, I--”

He held a hand to her face again and stood, buttoning his suit jacket as he did, and Aelin slowly rose out of her chair.

“Mr Finn, I have a masters degree in children’s education, I know the value of creativity in learning.” Aelin could hardly keep her voice steady as she spoke, barely concealing the anger the man in front of her had managed to unleash inside her in such a short space of time.

The man seemed to sneer at her words, looking down his nose at her as he frowned.

“You may well have, and I’m sure it was worth every penny to you.” He smirked at her, crushing her with only a handful of words. “Either way, Evangeline will be seeing a private tutor during your creative hours.”

The scorn in his voice burned her, hitting her in a deep part of her soul that wasn’t often exposed. She knew she was right, knew that she knew what Evangeline needed, knew that her methods of teaching had merit and worth. This sad excuse for a father was blind and arrogant if he thought he knew better than Aelin, but she was trapped. What more could she say to change his mind?

In her silence he had crossed the room to pause by the door before turning back to look at her where she stood dumbfounded behind her desk, clenching her fists at her sides and trying to compose herself.

“I’m glad we had this chat, Miss Galathynius.” With that he was gone, taking his smug and condescending atmosphere with him.

Her breath rushed out of her in a gust, burning her throat as she held back the tears that threatened to fall. She couldn’t believe him, Mr Finn. The audacity he had to walk into her classroom and speak to her like that.

She dropped back into her seat, resting both of her hands against the cool wood of her desk and focussing on all the knots and whorls in the wood, breathing deeply in and out as she centred her thoughts. She almost couldn’t believe how her evening had ended up and she let out a brief snort at the idea that maybe her story could now beat Chaol’s from this morning.

A knock at her door snapped her to attention, if Mr Finn had come back for another go at her she wouldn’t be able to bite her tongue this time. Her fears were sedated when a familiar head of dark curls poked around the door frame.

Dorian’s smile was bright and easy as he walked towards her, perching on the front of one of her student's desks.

“So?” He asked as he crossed his ankles in front of himself, the portrait of a male completely at ease.

Aelin only shook her head, unable to sum up her final visit in a few words.

“Have you ever taught Evangeline Finn?” She managed, hating how destroyed she sounded even to her own ears.

Dorian barely managed to cover his wince.

“Ah,” He sighed. “You met Archer Finn. How bad was it?”

She looked at the floor, holding back the flood that wanted to break through, she refused to cry in school over a parent, no matter how much he had riled her up.

“Bad,” She managed but her voice betrayed her, letting a crack rip through the word.

Dorian was around the desk and at her side within a second, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“What did he say?” Dorian asked, his tone gentle as if not to startle her.

Aelin sniffed. “Oh you know, the usual, dismissing my teaching and belittling my degree.”

She let out a self-deprecating laugh as she looked to Dorian whose brow creased at her words.

“Don’t listen to him. You know he’s not right.” She knew his words were earnest, but they couldn’t keep the doubt at bay and she shrugged out of his hold.

“I don’t know,” She looked away.

“Come on,” Dorian tried. “Let’s get a drink or something, take your mind off it.”

“Thanks, Dorian. But I think I just want to go home and be alone.”

Dorian’s mouth twisted as he considered it, probably weighing up whether or not to try again. Eventually he relented.

“Text me if you need anything, okay? I’m here for you.”

She lightly squeezed his hand before rising to pack up her things. His offer hadn’t tempted her, she did want to be alone, but maybe a drink wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

------

The bar was relatively busy, a few customers every so often had him drifting in and out of conversation with Aedion. Lorcan had joined Aedion at the bar not long after they arrived, grumbling about something or other that Rowan soon avoided, turning back to another customer after dropping off Lorcan’s pint.

A brief lull allowed him to drift back to his friends, wiping down a few spills along the bar as he went.

“It’s the fucking worst, all right.” The dark-haired giant complained, words muffled by the strong hand he ran down his face.

Rowan turned to Aedion for explanation who merely shrugged before lifting his empty glass to Rowan. He grabbed it and turned to refill it as Lorcan spoke again.

“I didn’t sign up for any of this, stupid regulations and reforms.”

Lorcan was clearly in a talking mood tonight. Rowan met Aedion’s eyes, a silent challenge, begging the blond man to speak first but Aedion just leaned back in his seat, taking a large gulp of his beer. Rowan flicked him the middle finger before turning to Lorcan.

“What is?”

Lorcan turned the force of his glare to Rowan who shifted against the unexpected heat.

“My stupid boss.”

“What about them?” Aedion finally joined in.

Lorcan sighed, a frustrated sound as if explaining it would be hard work. Rowan grinned a sharp flash of teeth at Aedion who rolled his eyes at their friend’s dramatics.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I want to drink.” Lorcan finished his drink in a final swig, placing the glass before Rowan ceremoniously.

Rowan scooped it up, sketching a mocking salute at his friend. “That, we can do.”

As he turned he spotted Fenrys making his way over from the door and he grabbed another glass to fill as the golden-haired man took his seat. He dumped the drinks in front of his friends with little finesse as Fenrys spoke.

“Why is Aelin sitting in the corner on her own?”

Aelin?

“Aelin’s here?” Aedion asked as the four of them turned to look where Fenrys had pointed.

Sure enough, Aelin was tucked away in a booth in the corner of the room. He hadn’t noticed her come in and Rowan could see the glum expression on her face even from a distance.

“Is she okay?” He managed.

“She doesn’t look okay.”

The three of them swivelled to look at Lorcan, matching looks of disbelief across each of their faces.

“Has she said anything to any of you?” Fenrys asked. “Anything to Lysandra?” With a look to Aedion who shook his head.

“Should we go over?” Aedion asked, an unsure twist to his mouth.

“If she wanted to sit with us she’d be here.” Lorcan said bluntly.

“Shut up, asshole.” Rowan narrowed his eyes. “I’ll take her a drink.”

-------

The glass of wine was cool in his hand as he made his way across the bar, skirting round tables of customers as he went.

“Hey,” His voice was soft as he reached Aelin’s booth, lingering by the edge of the table as she looked up at him.

His heart jolted at the expression she wore. Her beautiful blue eyes were wide and red-rimmed, her plush pink lips twisted into a pout. She swallowed before speaking and the hurt in her voice tore his heart again.

“Oh. Didn’t think you’d notice me here.” Her voice was quiet as he dropped into the seat opposite her and pushed the glass towards her.

“It’s kind of my job to notice who needs a drink,” He said equally quietly, leaning forwards and pressing his arms against the table between them. He had hoped his words would bring a smile but Aelin pursed her lips, debating, before reaching towards the glass and taking a sip.

At least there was that.

“You don’t-- I mean, you don’t have to answer... If you don’t want to, but,” He didn’t usually stumble over his words so much. “Are you okay?”

Aelin’s refusal to meet his eyes pretty much answered his question, but he still waited for her to speak.

She blew out a breath, the air teasing the fair strands of hair around her face as she looked towards the ceiling then back down to him.

“Not really.” She said as she looked away from him again.

He spared a glance over to the bar where his friends sat, watching him and Aelin, each with expressions of concern. Even Lorcan for all his grumbling before Rowan came over.

“What happened?” He asked as gently as he could.

Aelin took a sip of her wine, glancing around the bar and spotting their friends who quickly jumped back into their own conversation before resting her gaze back on him.

She shrugged, putting her glass back on the table before speaking.

“One of my student’s parents basically told me I’m a shit teacher today.”

“Aelin no,” The words left him in a rush, utterly raw in his desperation to reassure her. “Aelin, you have to know you’re not a shit teacher.”

She looked up at him through her eyelashes, her pout still standing strong.

“What did they say?”

“Just that my degree is worthless and that I don’t know what’s best for the kids.”

Asshole. Fucking asshole.

If he ever saw the asshole who had said those cruel words to Aelin he’d-- He didn’t know what he’d do but it would hurt.

“Aelin, don’t listen to them. That’s not true.”

“It’s not?” Her question, in combination with her soft sniffle shattered him.

He reached out to lightly grasp one of her hands in his, gently toying with her delicate fingers.

“Of course not Aelin. You’re an incredible teacher.”

She drew her hand back to take another sip of her wine.

“How would you know?” She asked. “You’ve never seen me teach.”

“I don’t need to Aelin. I know you, and you’re everything a good teacher should be. Kind, caring, patient, passionate-”

“Okay,” She interrupted.

“I’m serious Aelin, promise me you won’t believe a word that asshole said.”

She scoffed, looking away from him yet again.

“Aelin?”

“Okay, I promise.” Her tone was resigned, but at least she had agreed. He didn’t know how much help he had managed to be, but he hoped at least a small part of her had listened.

“What are you doing sitting alone anyway? You can always come to us with things like this.” He knew without a doubt that the others would agree.

She brushed a strand of hair away from her face, and Rowan’s fingers itched to follow the motion but he held his hands together, now under the table. She shrugged as a faint blush crossed her cheeks and Rowan fought the warmth blooming inside him at the sight.

“Come and drink with us.” He said, nodding his head towards where the others were sitting at the bar. “Salvaterre’s miserable too so you won’t be alone.”

At that, Aelin’s lips twitched as the hint of a smile ghosted across her face, it was the closest he had seen all night and he’d take it.

“Why?” Her voice was quiet.

“Other than the usual?” He joked and she finally cracked a real smile, small but still there, and the relief that flooded through him was like lightning. “I think it’s something about his work or his boss, I don’t really know.”

He slid himself out of the booth and held a hand out to her, his final request, if she really didn’t want to join them he could accept that, but he knew he’d still keep an eye on her for the rest of the night.

Thankfully she stood, grabbing her things and leading the way over to their friends, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks to the gods. Over her head he saw Aedion flash him a thankful smile. She flopped onto a stool next to Fenrys as Rowan slid back behind the bar.

“So,” She turned to Lorcan, barely missing a beat. “What are you crying about now?”

Lorcan didn’t hesitate before lunging into his story, his own subtle way of making sure Aelin was alright and not dwelling on her issues.

“My new boss is an asshole. Turns up in Rifthold fresh out of headquarters in somewhere called Perranth, and thinks everyone should just bow down or something. Now, first of all, I’ve never even heard of Perranth,” He paused to take a bitter swig of his beer.

“Me neither,” Fenrys chimed in.

“It’s in Terrasen,” Aelin said after a sip of her own wine. The heaviness from before didn’t weigh on her face anymore and Rowan turned to serve another customer, hiding his smile. “I think I went once when I was a kid.”

Lorcan frowned at her but Rowan could tell it lacked it’s usual heat.

“Whatever,” Lorcan continued. “The point is, I’ve worked here for years, I know Rifthold and how things are done. Captain Lochan has been here all of five minutes and apparently knows all the improvements we need to make.”

The curl of Lorcan’s lips as he hissed his boss’ name prompted a small laugh, the guy must be a total hardass to have Lorcan so riled.

“What’s wrong with the improvements?” Aelin asked and Lorcan sighed.

“Nothing is wrong with the improvements,” He muttered and Aelin finally laughed, the tinkling sound washing over Rowan and settling into his bones.

“So what’s the problem?” Aedion asked after a moment, the question that they were all thinking and Lorcan shot him a glare, this time not lacking any heat.

“The problem is the Captain. So controlling and everything has to be done in exactly their way, constantly on me about my reports as well.” He rolled his eyes, clearly over talking about his boss and Rowan couldn't help from poking the bear one last time.

“Why don’t you invite the Captain here? I don’t know any problem a free beer couldn’t solve.”

“Absolutely not.” Lorcan said, shaking his head.

“Well I, for one, want to meet the famous Captain Lochan.” Fenrys grinned. “Especially if it would annoy you so much.”

“Don’t.” Lorcan said, a hair’s width below a growl.

“Why not?” Aedion joined in and Rowan watched the smile settling on Aelin’s lips at their friends’ antics.

He shook himself, laughing along as Lorcan slugged Aedion in the shoulder.

“Maybe find something to take your mind off it?” Fenrys suggested and Rowan knew where he was going would be fun. “Get a pet or something?”

“Just watch me, boyo.” Lorcan bared his teeth around the grin threatening to take over his own face. His pretend displeasure only just winning the battle.

The smile on Aelin’s face struck him again in its beauty, and he forced his attention away from her and back to the idiots now suggesting outlandish animals Lorcan could bring home as a pet.

He bit his lip as Aelin suggested a lion in response to Aedion’s tiger and thanked the gods again that she was smiling.

------

tags:

@jesstargaryenqueen

@maybekindasortaace

@slytheringalathynius

@http-itsrebecca

@morganofthewildfire

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@fictional-horan

@tottenhamboys20

@dressedindustandshadows

@sleeping-and-books

@perseusannabeth

@ireallyshouldsleeprn

@superspiritfestival

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

@spyofthenightcourt

@jlinez

@queen-of-glass

@booknerdproblems

@sjmships

@elriel4life

@bamchickawowow

@woollycat22

@claralady

@illyrianwitchling​​

@SHINYA-HIIRAGI

hmu if any tags don’t work

[leefi]

Starira MBTI III - Frontier

1. Seisho

2. Siegfeld

3. Frontier

4. Rinmeikan

Aruru Otsuki: ENFP

Just go and reread Karen’s entry.

FJDKSLDKL in all seriousness leaps and bounds of Ne from both of them. There’s a reason they often catch themselves saying the same things and why Karen sees so much of herself in Aruru. Not only are they both Ne doms, they’re the exact same type! Ne and Fi together hold that naturally sunny and joyful disposition they both have, and that extreme, passionate love for the people they’re close to. And her Ne may be even higher off the charts than Karen’s. From the entirety of Captain Twins, to improvising lines on stage with Misora as kids, to being the embodiment of Frontier’s free-spirit, pioneering nature - all of this is extroverted intuition, chasing at every possibility under the sun, no matter how absurd it may seem. Her STRONG tertiary Te -- which is much stronger than Karen's, by the way -- supports her dominant Ne, and this is where her gung-ho attitude comes from. “We have to write our own play?? No problem, wheel out the whiteboard! Nobody has an idea yet?? That’s fine, I’ll throw one out and get the ball rolling! Misora and I need three more people for our play? What are we waiting for, let’s go find them!!” All of this is tertiary extroverted Thinking, implementing your ideas out in the world.

Misora Kano: ISTP

She is so compelling!!! I wish we got to see more out of her!! She's already cultivated so many of her talents (and her function stack is pretty strong for such a young age too) - she'd really shine if you just gave her the spotlight! The second ISTP in this series who had her inferior Fe develop super early due to having 1) a ton of siblings and working with so many people from such a young age and 2) a gf with Fi in her dom/aux slot. I’m gonna start with her Fe again because, like Futaba’s, it’s so strong for how young she is - she is quicker to pay attention to social convention than Fi-aux Aruru, scolding her whenever she refers to older Karen by her first name, for example (don't let her see Aruru call Akira -chan). We see aux Se in how energetic and in the moment she is - she grew up acting and doing backstage work and helping her family with their troupe, and we never really see her stuck in her head or wondering about things that aren’t in the here-and-now. Her partnership with ENFJ Michiru to create a new Troupe is going to be SO SO GOOD in the future. They really are going to draw the best out of each other. As polar opposites, they have the exact same functions, just in reverse (like Karen and Junna, or Hikari and Ichie)! So Misora has Ti-Se-Ni-Fe, and Michiru has Fe-Ni-Se-Ti. It’s the perfect setup for them to complement each other’s strengths and weaknesses.

Honestly, I really wish we saw more out of Misora - she deserves more than just being Aruru’s sidekick, and that Feeling function in her inferior slot (extroverted, no less) means that it’s difficult for her to communicate what exactly it is that she wants, both for herself and from others. Like with Mahiru, it’s intuitively hard for her to speak up and say “Hey, I feel like I’m being left behind”. Somebody needs to tap Aruru on the shoulder and communicate that to her - Fe-dom Tsukasa, maybe, or ideally, Misora herself. I think that she’s been kind of shouldered into the straight-man role not just by Aruru but everyone at Frontier because they all have such big personalities (like...she’s got Aruru and Lalafin taking up space, which is already more than enough), and she’s likely been in this position before. She’s been helping her parents run a troupe since she was a child, and now she’s (unfortunately) playing second fiddle to Aruru for the most part at Frontier. She’s been mostly stuck using her Ti and Se, and I really really hope that AA has us seeing her use more of that tertiary Ni and advocating for the goals she has for herself. She deserves to shine so much!!

One final note - I find it so interesting that both ISTPs in this series have such strong senses of faith - Misora is cast as the Faith arcana (and, unlike some of the other girls who are cast as the “opposites” of their personalities, Misora’s seems true to hers), and Futaba obviously has that reverent faith in Kaoruko (and is canonically religious???). It’s a bit antithetical to the ISTP personality type, which values its individuality above all else and tends to be a bit of a rebel. I don’t have much to add here - it’s just an interesting observation.

Shizuha Kocho: INFJ

Lalafin: The Count was such a great actor! I’m sure he would’ve been great on stage too…

Shizuha: Heh heh, maybe!

Shizuha: But still, he never went back to his original persona even after his revenge. He had to stay as the count for the rest of his life.

Shizuha: And he was able to do that because he was good at becoming other people.

Shizuha: ...Although I cannot say if that meant he was happy.

Lalafin: Even after his revenge, he still wasn’t happy...That’s one point of view to make his sadness stand out even more!

Shizuha: Right?...Yes. I think I’ll stick to how I’m doing things now.

THE!! LOVE!! OF!! MY!! LIFE!!!!!!! I CANNOT OVERSTATE ENOUGH HOW MUCH I LOVE SHIZUHA KOCHO!!!! She was my first favorite character in the game (and still is!! But frontier gets no content :’)). As I said with Maya, INFJs are old souls - wise and idealistic, but typically reserved. Auxiliary extroverted Feeling shows up in how she suppresses herself so as not to intimidate or make others feel inferior - we see the exact same thing play out with INFJ sibling Koharu. She’s mysterious but amiable, kind and awe-inspiring - just like INFJ sibling Maya. And we see that token INFJ loneliness playing out with all three, as well. What I love most about Shizuha is that she’s a person of extremes. She is so cerebral and intelligent and dignified in a way that reminds you of Maya but she’s also so!!!! Fucked in the head!!!!! Ni doms baby!!!!!!! (I am fucking crazy. But i am free).

Unhealthy INFJs can develop this obsession with making themselves martyrs, and I don’t think I need to rehash out her AA conversation with Aruru (and her entire philosophy towards acting - see above quote) to get that across. I want to dive into this more. Truly I do. Shizuha deserves 10 pages of writing. But she is one of the last I'm writing and I've clicked through 3 different AA stories and accidentally found Rui and Yukko's first so I diverted and finished writing Yukko's entry and I've already spent so much time on this oh god the doc is already 18 pages single spaced uhhhh Shizuha my loveliest love I will write your character deep-dive later I prommy <333

(Also, seeing her synergy with Aruru is soo so cute. INFJ/ENFP supremacy!! Same dynamic as MayaKaren!)

Lalafin Nonomiya: ESFP

(Se dom).

She’s so athletic and energetic and in-the-moment and improvisational and quick on her feet (Se, Se, Se)! Fi over Ti aux because she has a much more subjective view of what’s “fun” - “what do I want to do? Where do I want to go? What kind of character do I want to play???". She’s got that trademark genki energy that so many ExFPs share, particularly that childlike zeal that she and ESFP sister Ichie both have. In her own way, Lalafin embodies Frontier’s pioneering, fun-loving spirit just as much as Aruru.

Tsukasa: Lupin is usually portrayed as mysterious and polished, no? But the way you perform him is more fresh and open -- almost like the main character from a children’s book.

Lalafin: Oh! Come to think of it, the book on Lupin I read when I was younger was written for kids!

Lalafin: It was about this big and had a realistic image of Lupin right on the cover!!

I don’t really have too much to add. She’s just a perfect embodiment of that excitable, fun-loving Se and Fi dom/aux duo. Childlike and simplistic-appearing at a first glance, but there's such a fire in there - just compare her to her ESFP twin Ichie!

Tsukasa Ebisu: ENFJ

I can see that use of Se - love of fashion, sweets, dancing, going out and enjoying life - yes, she had overprotective parents and could just be making up for lost time, but I think that nice material things are something she just genuinely enjoys for herself as well. So at first I thought ESFP, but we can’t ignore that enormously caring attitude she has for others and the way she gravitates towards caretaker roles, which indicates more Fe than Fi. So ENFJ it is! She has that Fe and Se, and we see that inferior Ti in how she struggled to realize something was wrong when she was trapped in the play. I love, love, loved her leading role in the Arise All You Sons event and how she and Yachiyo interacted to bring out the best in each other - we saw Yachi using a lot of that aux Ti to support Tsukasa’s inferior Ti and dominant Fe!

Her dominant Fe is SOOOO clear and contrasts to every other girl in Arise All You Sons. She’s the first to go “hey, wait, hold on - I’m not sure what (inferior Ti) but something about this feels artificial, and I don’t think it’s actually going to help the kids”. Inferior Ti/Dominant Fe speaks before thinking too - “Why did I say that?! Why did I do x?!” - it isn’t until aux Ti Yachiyo shows up to help her that she’s able to work through her thoughts. While she can get stuck in the rut of her own mind sometimes, Tsukasa is one of the most caring, empathetic, and mature characters in the series - and she does all this without sacrificing her own autonomy and individuality, which can be difficult for an Fe-dom to do.

[goulets]

Heartland

Chapter: 4/9 Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson Additional Characters: Roy Harper, Lian Harper, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake Case Fic / Kid Fic a03 link

Lian looks proud.  “My first word was Daddy,” she tells Jason.  “I bet Dani’s will be, too, since she has two daddies.”

It takes Jason a moment to process what Lian is talking about, and when he realizes it, Roy is suppressing a huge peal of laughter and Dick’s eyes are so wide they’re about to pop right out of his skull.

***

(romina)

The view has changed.

When Romina Falcone was a child, she had stood in this very office at the right hand of her grandfather and looked out this very window, down into the sprawling urban jungle. She’d thought Gotham City was beautiful. Carmine had a story for every building, every street, every truck and car and pedestrian. The businessman who needed funds to keep his product line moving, soon to be in debt to their family. The district attorney’s office who wanted to cut fiscal corners on an exterior remodel, soon to enter into a contract with them. The gas station at a particularly desirable intersection, soon to be abandoned and auctioned off - the delivery van pulling up to the pump, soon to motivate the owners to abandon it. There was nothing, he said, that was out of reach for them. There was no one who could afford not to answer their call.

She sits in the seat he once sat in, her brother at her right hand, the city laid out below her, and she sees none of it.

“Romina? Are you listening?” her brother asks, angry.

“Obviously not,” she tells him. Who would she pick out of this crowd, if she was her grandfather? The woman in the suit, maybe - a journalist, ambitious and easily bought. The corner bistro, in the red for the third year in a row, about to be turned down for a loan extension. The restless pawn shop security guard, washed out from the police academy, in need of a better outlet to exert his will upon the public.

One by one, she thinks. One by one, they will all be within her grasp.

“ - drives me fuckin’ insane,” her brother is complaining, now, to their cousin Antoni and their new employee, Tiberius. “Never listens to a goddamn word I say - “

“Mario.” Romina turns in her chair to face him.

“What?” he demands.

She raises a dark eyebrow.

He straightens, and appears to compose himself. Much better. “Sorry, Ro. There’s a situation at City Hall that I’ve just been made aware of.”

When he doesn’t immediately go on, she feels a flash of irritation. “Well?”

“It seems that several records were accessed over the weekend - the logs were deleted, but our alert system was set off before they covered their tracks.” A dark look passes over his face. “They were looking into Uncle Vincenzo.”

Romina understands. Vincenzo Rizzuto, her mother’s half-brother, is the name they’ve been recruiting under, a name relatively yet-unknown in Gotham. They hid the real Vincenzo well - Romina had Antoni remove her uncle’s head and hands after he killed him, and since the man had been in the country illegally from Montreal, there should have been almost no way to identify his body. The city coroner’s office hadn’t managed it, but obviously, someone else did.

She taps her fingers against the desk. “How inconvenient.”

Tiberius looks curiously between them. “Think it was law enforcement?”

Antoni barks out a laugh. Romina has to agree - besides, she’s been given the distinct impression that Gotham PD is more than willing to welcome them back into the fold.

Unruffled by their scorn, Tiberius moves on. “Surveillance?”

“Plenty,” Mario says. A vein begins to throb in his forehead. “Doesn’t appear to be tampered with. There’s a camera pointed directly at the terminal that was accessed. Didn’t pick up shit.”

“Ah,” Romina nods. An invisible researcher. This explains Mario’s bad mood. “A meta-human, then.”

“Fuckers,” Antoni grumbles.

Tiberius glances around at them, faint amusement in his pale features. “Can I speak freely?”

“No,” Mario spits, but Romina holds up her hand.

“You may.”

Tiberius cracks his knuckles. “I know your family is more...traditional, let’s say, but you guys aren’t seeing the big picture. A lot’s changed since your grandfather was in charge, not just in Gotham. Meta-humans are a resource. A fucking gold mine. You can hire them, create them, sell them, buy them - as a commodity, they bring a higher return than almost anything else out there. And the scope of the industry is unlimited. The Russians are already in the process of cornering the market in Bludhaven. You could have shipping routes all the way out to - ”

He stops, suddenly, because Mario’s patience has expired. He advances heavily on Tiberius, clicking the safety off on his pistol. Romina wonders idly whether it would be more prudent to buy off or to threaten the city clerk to alter their records. It’s too late this time, but it would do well to have someone in City Hall working for them, in the future.

“How many times,” her brother seethes, “do we have to tell you, Tiberius. We’re taking the metas out. Your freak squad has been running this town for too goddamn long.”

“Hey, they’re not my freak squad,” Tiberius protests, putting his hands up. “I’m just pointing out a business opportunity, shit.”

Antoni looks between them, interested. Romina sighs.

“Enough,” she says coolly. “Mario, stand down. Tiberius, you’ve overstayed your welcome. If I want business propositions from you, you’ll know.”

Tiberius straightens his jacket, glaring around at them all dispassionately. He’ll not last much longer, she thinks.

“Antoni, when are the trucks coming in from Chicago?”

“Should be within the hour, boss.” He grins at her. Romina feels a wave of affection for her younger cousin, all bloodlust and mania. If their grandfather had known him, he would surely have adored him as well.

“Go meet them,” she instructs. “Take Tiberius with you. He should meet our cousin Nicola, since he’s so interested in the family’s shipping routes.”

Antoni grins wider. Perhaps Romina was too careless with her phrasing - if Antoni can tell she means to replace Tiberius with Nicola Viti, then he can probably guess it as well. No matter. With both cousins watching him, he won’t have an opportunity to betray them.

Once they leave, Mario comes to stand next to her, turning his gaze out the window to mirror hers.

“It looks different,” he says, sliding his Beretta back into its holster. “That’s what you were thinking about, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she replies. “But I find that the longer I look, the less different it seems.” And indeed, the view is becoming clearer. The run-down garage two blocks over, its owners tired and brittle and all too willing to sign away to new management. The half-finished housing project, abandoned by the city and looking for a new developer. The drug dealer squatting in its basement, hungry to ally himself with a steady supplier.

After a moment, Mario clears his throat. “We need to get rid of Tiberius. His ideals don’t align with ours.”

He’s right, of course. It won’t do to have one of their own sowing discord among the lower ranks. Romina has made one thing clear in their recruitment process - they’re not making a power play for Gotham’s meta-trafficking trade, not entering into competition with Scarecrow or Riddler or whichever absurd character is putting on a show to engage the Batman this week. They’re eliminating them. Meta-humans and theatrical villains might be an inescapable reality of their world, but Gotham belonged to their family first.

“I’m not ready for you and I to go public just yet,” she tells him. “We need Tiberius for one more thing, first.”

He doesn’t argue. “I hope it’s Susie. You’ve kept her waiting long enough.”

Romina scoffs. “She’s lucky that’s all I’m doing to her, after she disobeyed me. No, I’ll have him fetch her in a few more days. Do you think he’ll suspect the trap?”

“No,” Mario snorts. “He’s too convinced of his own importance. Didn’t even blink when I pulled my piece on him. He thinks he’ll wear you down, eventually.”

She nods, satisfied. “That was my read as well.”

“Is it really necessary, though, to risk alienating Susie?”

Romina purses her lips. “She was instructed to leave no survivors,” she says. “I served her an opportunity to settle a score up on a platter, and she repaid me by doing the exact opposite of what I asked. She knew there would be a cost.”

Mario looks skeptical. “Seriously, Ro, it was just a baby. It wouldn’t’ve even remembered its parents.”

“It doesn’t have to remember.” Romina thumbs over the scar on her wrist, the memento from all those years ago. “I don’t like giving orders to kill children, and I don’t expect Susie to like doing it, but it’s necessary to do. The Maronis left us alive, and where are they now? Scrambling in the shadows like rats, terrified to show their faces. You have to be prepared to hunt the children of your enemies, Mario, or they’ll grow up to hunt you.”

Mario grimaces. “It fucking creeps me out, when you talk like that.”

“It’s something our grandfather understood,” she tells him. “It’s practically colonial.”

“Jesus, Ro.”

She smirks. “Don’t like that comparison?”

“You know I don’t, but you’re right. Fuck,” he sighs. “Fine. I’m guessing you want to put Antoni on it?”

“It can wait, for now.” Antoni is reliable as a triggerman, with no limitations to speak of, but he does have a habit of going off-script, and Romina doesn’t want any more deviations in this particular directive. “As you said, it’s only a baby. It can’t pose a threat to us for some time yet.”

Mario exhales, relieved.

On to more pressing matters. “Do you know, I think it’s time we started recruiting in Bludhaven.”

“I agree,” he says, immediately. “The Russians have been struggling to gain a foothold since losing Intergang. It’s the perfect time to strike.”

“And once we deal with them, the entire canal will be ours,” she muses. “Start looking for someone to run the cement factory, will you? I want that housing project on 15th.”

Mario grins wolfishly. “You don’t think it’s too early for city contracts? We can’t take them out under Vincenzo’s name, you know.”

“No,” she agrees. “But it’s nearly time.”

The view is shifting, the longer she looks. The points of connection are starting to take shape, the lines of power that her grandfather once saw so clearly all leading back into the palm of his hand. Recruitment is child’s play - the people of this city are as tired of the Bats and the Jokers as she is. It’s more than a mission, it’s her birthright. Her father was too foolish and weak to recognize it, but Romina was born with her grandfather’s soul. Now, in his office, with the city laid out before her, she begins to understand how he must’ve felt, back then. She can almost taste it in the air. Gotham is ready to come back to them, and Romina is ready to seize it all.

***

(jason)

“I gotta say, I’m a little hurt,” Roy says, throwing a sideways look at Jason.

Jason’s ninety-nine percent sure he’s gonna follow up with something obnoxious, but he gives him an indulgent glance over his coffee cup all the same. “Yeah?”

“That you didn’t call me, you tool. Why wasn’t I the first person to know about this?! Instead I gotta hear it from Donna, who heard it from Wally, who heard it from Dick!! Not cool, dude!”

Jason feels a headache coming on. They’re out on the balcony outside Dick’s room, and it’s as spacious as a balcony for a single bedroom can be, but it’s starting to feel claustrophobic all the same. “It was need-to-know, okay? I was going to tell you, obviously. In case you didn’t notice, I’ve had a few other things on my mind.”

Roy isn’t having it. “You know how Wally knew? Because Dick called him to ask for advice. Because Wally is a father. Kind of like someone else you guys know, right?”

“I did call you,” Dick says from the balcony doorway. Dani is awake in his arms, and Roy’s five year old daughter Lian is at his side peering up at her in fascination. “You didn’t answer.”

Roy flushes slightly. “Well, without a text, how was I supposed to know why you were calling? I figured it was something like, world-ending-cavalry-calling thing. Can’t blame me for wanting to sit it out.”

Dick nods at Jason. “But you’d answer for him?”

“Hell yes I would. I happen to like him better, no offense,” Roy says, offense clearly intended. Dick rolls his eyes.

Jason doesn’t exactly know what went on between the two of them, except that it happened when he was dead. Roy hasn’t been forthcoming about it, and he’s never bothered asking Dick. Clearly it’s not completely water under the bridge just yet, but Dick looks happy enough to see him, and Roy didn’t even blink at letting Lian run off with him, so Jason thinks they must be starting to make up. Really, it’s the last thing he should be hoping for. Dealing with either of them one-on-one is bad enough. If they get chummy again, he’s done for.

“You’re shit out of luck, then,” he says to Roy, about half a second before he remembers the guy’s daughter is standing right there. “Crap. Uh, sorry, Lian.”

“Daddy says ‘shit’ all the time,” Lian replies, shaking her dark hair back from her face. “Shit is just poop, really, so it’s not such a bad word.”

Dick laughs. “So wise.”

“When can baby Dani learn to talk?”

“Um…” Dick looks at Jason, who shrugs helplessly. “Probably not for a while, I’m guessing. She’s only four months old, so she has a lot of milestones to hit before then.”

Lian tilts her head comically. “What’s mile-stones?”

“That’s just a name for important things that babies learn to do, sweetheart,” Roy tells her. “Things like rolling over, grabbing their feet, sitting up, and standing up. You hit all your milestones right on time.”

“Grabbing their feet? That’s silly, Daddy.”

“Hey, it’s an important motor skill, kiddo. Just as important as first words. You were a foot-grabbing prodigy, so I should know.”

Lian looks proud. “My first word was Daddy,” she tells Jason. “I bet Dani’s will be, too, since she has two daddies.”

It takes Jason a moment to process what Lian is talking about, and when he realizes it, Roy is suppressing a huge peal of laughter and Dick’s eyes are so wide they’re about to pop right out of his skull.

“We’re not - I’m not her dad, Lian. She’s not my kid.” Jason should probably just shut the hell up, since he doesn’t think Roy would be too happy about him explaining why Dani is in their care in the first place to his young, already somewhat traumatized daughter.

“We’re just taking care of her,” Dick adds, gently. Lian looks puzzled.

“So you’re babysitting her?”

“Exactly, yeah.”

“Hey pumpkin,” Roy says, reaching over and patting her on the cheek. “We’ll talk about this more later, okay? Let’s not ask too many questions to Dick and Jason, you know how silly Bats are about their secrets.”

“Oh, right,” Lian giggles, looking between them all conspiratorially. “Especially Mister Bruce, right, Daddy?”

Dick raises his eyebrows. “You told your daughter Batman’s secret ID?”

“You wanna fight about it?” Roy asks. His tone is teasing, but there’s a hint of real challenge in his eyes.

Lian looks confused, and Jason takes pity on her. “Guys, knock it off.” He shoves Roy’s shoulder lightly, and shoots a hard look at Dick. “Not in front of the kids, come on.”

Dani, fortunately, diffuses the tension by spitting up in a truly spectacular fashion all over her onesie and Dick’s arm.

Roy bursts out laughing. “Okay, I gotta say, I do not miss that.”

“Did she just barf?” Lian looks horrified.

“No, this is something babies do a lot,” Dick reassures her. “Usually it puts her in a much better mood when she does it, so it’s actually a good thing.”

“Okay…” Lian says uncertainly. “It’s kind of gross.”

“Kind of,” Dick grins. “I’ll just go change her, and, um, wash up.”

“Can I help? Can I pick out her clothes?” Lian looks at Roy excitedly.

“Sure, you’ll be a lot better at picking them out than me,” Dick beams back at her. “Be right back, guys.”

Once they’re out of earshot, Roy turns to Jason. “I didn’t tell her Batman’s secret ID, just so you know. He told her himself a couple years ago, after the attack on Star City. We were all up in the Watchtower, and he didn’t have his cowl...it was such a crazy day, I honestly never thought she’d remember it.”

Jason nods peaceably. “I don’t really give a shit, to tell you the truth.” It’s not quite the truth, actually, but hopefully Roy won’t call him on it.

“Just saying. Anyways, Jaybird, what the hell is going on with you and Dick? Are you fucking?”

Jason almost spits out his coffee. “What?”

“Is it really that weird of a question? You’re living here all of a sudden, raising a baby together, I mean.” Roy tilts his head, looking remarkably like his daughter. “Okay, I guess you’re not fucking.”

“We’re not anything,” Jason says, more harshly than he means to. “Jesus Christ.”

Roy gives him a look of dawning comprehension, which Jason doesn’t like at all. “I see.”

“Do you.” Jason narrows his eyes. “Well, fucking don’t.”

“All right, all right. I’ll cut you a break since I remember what it’s like to be up to your eyeballs in diapers and sleep deprived as hell and being expected to deal with your asshole friends like everything’s normal.” He leans forward to pour more coffee in Jason’s mug. “Talk to me about the kid, then. You said she’s not sleeping very well?”

Jason shakes his head. “She was sleeping great until this past week, I have no idea what changed. Every single noise in the room wakes her up. And if she catches sight of me, it’s all over. She just cries and cries until I pick her up, and she wakes up again if I try to put her down.”

“Damn,” Roy says sympathetically.

“I haven’t gone out in four nights,” Jason tells him, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Dick’s got Russians to deal with in ‘Haven, so he hasn’t been able to take a night off, and I can’t…I just can’t leave her. Doesn’t seem right.”

“You shouldn’t, anyways, if your head’s back here,” Roy says. “Learned that one the hard way.”

“I don’t know what the fuck to do, then. It’s not a fever, she’s not hungry, or wet, she just won’t sleep.”

Roy leans forward. “Listen. This is actually a totally normal, completely awful thing called a ‘sleep regression’ that nobody fucking tells you about before you have a kid. They go through them every couple months, usually before hitting a major milestone. It’s fucked, but it’ll pass, I promise.”

Jason stares at him in surprise.

“What? I know things, fuck you.”

Jason kicks him lightly under the table. Not the best demonstration of thankfulness he could’ve come up with, but it’s all he’s got. “So what do I do, until it passes? Just keep holding her all the time?”

“You could try, but honestly, I think that’ll just make it worse. Do you have a white noise machine?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you tried really cranking that sucker up?”

“Yep.”

“Have you tried putting her in the swing?”

Jason frowns. “They’re not supposed to sleep in there.”

“What, really? Says who?” Roy looks incredulous.

“The fucking American Pediatric Association, that’s who. It says so right on the box. It’s a suffocation hazard.”

Roy’s forehead creases with worry. “No shit? Damn, no one told me about that. I used to put Lian to sleep in that thing all the time when nothing else was working.”

Jason spreads his hands. “Any other ideas?”

“Yeah, actually. Babies have REM cycles, you know, they’re just different from ours. When they’re in a sleep regression, you gotta wait until they’re deeply asleep to put them down. Give it, like, ten extra minutes after she falls asleep.”

“I can do that,” Jason agrees. “Doesn’t do me a lot of good, though, if she wakes up as soon as I fucking cough or unload my gun.”

“Oh yeah?” Roy cocks an eyebrow. “We’re unloading rubber bullets now?”

Jason kicks him again. “Shut up.”

“Shit, Jay. I just can’t believe Dickie is okay with it.”

Jason can’t quite believe it either. He keeps the loaded gun hidden in a shoulder holster under his jacket, but he’s not stupid enough to think that Dick hasn’t noticed.

Roy stretches his arms behind his head. “Sure nothing’s going on between you two?”

“Roy, I’m not having this conversation,” Jason says.

Roy grins. Jason hates that grin. “Alright. So, if she always wakes up when you’re in the room, don’t be in the room. Get a monitor and sleep in Dick’s room. Problem solved.”

Jason takes a long drink of coffee, trying to calm the sudden hammering in his pulse. “Yeah, that’s not fucking happening.”

“Why? If there’s nothing going on between you…”

“Roy,” Jason growls.

“Daddy, look! I helped baby Dani get dressed!”

They both turn to look at Lian in the doorway, standing in a superhero pose with her hands planted on her hips. “Ta-da!” she announces, leaping aside with a flourish. Dick appears behind her, lips pressed together like he’s trying hard not to laugh, Dani presented forward in his arms in a little red dress, red bloomers, and little red socks with white hearts. A little red bow is just visible among her tufts of black hair, and Jason’s heart throbs violently in his chest.

“Wow, sweetie!” Roy opens his arms and gives her a big hug. “Red, huh?”

“I think it’s her favorite color,” Lian says, shyly glancing at Jason. “It’s mine, too.”

Jason swallows. “Where the hell did that dress even come from?” He doesn’t know why he bothers asking, he doesn’t have a clue where any of Dani’s clothes come from. They seem to just materialize in her drawers, and he could probably pinpoint who purchased each item if he laid them all out and put his mind to it, but he finds it’s much easier just not to think about it.

“I don’t remember who got this one, actually.” Dick peeks at the tag. “It’s Ralph Lauren. Maybe Helena?”

“Hey Dick, I was just spitballing ideas with Jason,” Roy says, suddenly. Jason goes to kick him again, but damnit, he’s still holding Lian. Using his own kid as a shield, the fucker.

Dick looks up from bouncing Dani, his eyes widening innocently. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, about your kid’s sleep issues. Jay said she’s startling easily, once she’s down.”

Dick looks at Jason apologetically. “It’s been rough,” he admits. “Sorry, I know you haven’t gotten much sleep either.”

“Apparently it’s totally normal,” Jason says quickly, glaring at Roy. “Roy says it’ll pass in no time. Don’t worry about me.”

“I was suggesting, actually, that she might have an easier time if Jason wasn’t clattering around all the time and waking her up,” Roy goes on, pulling Lian up into his lap. Jason is going to kill him. “You’ve got room, right, Dick? Makes more sense for you two to share so she can get some peace and quiet.”

“Oh!” Dick spares Jason a fleeting glance. “That does make sense...we have the video monitor, after all. You are kind of loud, when you take off your armor.”

Jason crosses his arms. Everyone’s a fucking critic. “Fine. I’ll sleep on the floor, whatever.”

Dick makes a face. “Jason…”

Roy gives him an exasperated look. “What is this, cooties? Are you twelve?”

Lian tugs at his sleeve. “What’s cooties?”

“It’s what Jason’s scared of getting if he sleeps in the same bed as Dick, sweetheart. It’s super silly.”

Dani has apparently had enough of being held on display like a doll, and fusses loudly, kicking out towards Jason and curling both hands up toward her face. Jason can tell she’s a few seconds from a full meltdown - they’ve been coming on faster and faster, since this whole “sleep regression” started. He’s on his feet in a heartbeat, and Dick passes her over without a word. It’s a little terrifying how used to this they both are, Jason thinks as he brings Dani up to his chest. She’s already bigger than the tiny ten-pound bundle that had turned up at the Manor just a few weeks ago, and she’s outgrown the first sets of pajamas they’d put her in. He pats her back soothingly, feels the patch of drool on his shirt that indicates she’s stuffed her fingers in her mouth again. Normally, he’d drop a kiss on her head, but he finds himself reluctant to do so in front of Roy. He doesn’t want Roy to read anything into it - he’s already given away too much during this visit.

“Awww, she’s so cute,” Lian giggles, leaning against her dad. “I wish I could hold her, Daddy.”

“Maybe next time, honey. Baby Dani just wants her grown-up right now. You know how that feels, don’t you?”

Lian nods, looking up at Jason. “Yeah.”

Jason feels ridiculously exposed, under their twin gazes. If it wasn’t for Dani, he’d have jumped over the railing already.

“What are you guys up to for the rest of the day?” Dick asks, rescuing him from their unnerving combined perception.

Roy gives his daughter a nudge. “What are we doing, pumpkin?”

Lian lights up. “We’re going to see Donna!”

“Her favorite,” Roy confirms, grinning down at her. “They’re having a girl’s night, apparently. I’m not invited.”

“Maybe when Dani is bigger, she can come to a girls night with us,” Lian suggests wistfully. Dick looks sad, and Jason doesn’t have the heart to tell her that’s never going to happen.

“Hey, wouldn’t that be fun.” Roy ruffles her hair playfully. “You’d have to share Donna, though.”

Lian pulls back to give him a reproachful look. “I know how to share, Daddy.”

“Sheesh, okay. Anyways, I’ll be around, if either of you needs a wingman,” Roy says, looking between Dick and Jason hopefully.

“I’m staying in,” Dick says. Jason blinks, this is news to him. “Russians are laying low, and no one’s sprung our Falcone cousin from jail yet, shockingly. I know you’re going stir-crazy, so I’ll stay with her tonight.”

Jason feels a surge of warmth towards Dick. He is going nuts, and not just from sleep deprivation. It’ll do him a world of good to get out and get some real exercise, check on all his favorites in the neighborhood and put the fear of the Red Hood back into all the local dirtbags. Tim’s been doing a more than decent job on keeping him updated, and Jason’s grateful, but there’s something to be said for good old fashioned violence when it comes to keeping his people in line. Jason’s itching for it - he hasn’t been back in the field properly for way too long.

“You up for it, Jaybird?” Roy asks. His eyes are practically sparkling - Jason can already feel the beginnings of regret. “It’s been a minute since we teamed up.”

Jason sighs out heavily. “Yeah, okay.”

“Don’t get too excited,” Roy laughs. “It’ll be fun! I can impart more sagely parenting advice, you can, um - ” he cover’s Lian’s ears “ - b-a-s-h some s-k-u-l-l-s, it’ll be real therapeutic.”

Lian swats at his hands. “Daddy.”

Jason looks at Dick. “You sure B’s okay with you taking a night off?”

“I’ll make him okay with it,” Dick says grimly. “Besides, I miss her.”

God help him, Jason’s going to miss her too, when he’s out for the evening. Not enough to want to stay in, but damn close.

He looks down at her, dozing lightly against his chest, one round cheek pressed flat, the other drooping onto her curled up shoulder. An image flits through his mind - Dani, older, her tufts of hair grown out long like Lian’s, a wide, toothy smile on her face and her big brown eyes crinkled up at Jason. Calling to him, reaching for him. Daddy. It feels like a bullet piercing his heart, but he can’t stop imagining it. Can’t stop imagining her laughter, the solid feeling of her body in his arms…and someone else next to him, strong hands held out to catch hers, sweetheart sounding out in a voice he’s gravitated toward since he was thirteen years old -

“Jason? You having gas or something?” Roy sounds half amused, half concerned.

Fuck. “Headache,” Jason manages, shoving the intrusive images as far back into his subconscious as he can. God, does he know how to torture himself.

“Well, get rid of it. Imagine how embarrassing it’d be if you got k-i-l-l-e-d by some punk in the Bowery because you were off your game.”

Jason shrugs. “You’d avenge me.”

Roy laughs. “Damn right I would. I’d have to fight Dick here for the honor.”

“To get back at some Bowery punk? Nah, Dickie wouldn’t bother.”

Dick rolls his eyes, but his mouth is twisted with humor. “Hey, I might, depending on how embarrassing your demise was.”

Roy claps his hands. “See, if that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

Dick goes pink, but he looks happy, at least. Jason imagines strangling Roy, to avoid anything revealing coming out of his mouth.

“I’d better go tell little D he’s got my patrol tonight,” Dick says, after a mildly suffocating moment of silence. “I’ll stick a bottle in the warmer for when she wakes up.”

“You are the worst person alive,” Jason tells Roy, once Dick is gone. “The worst. I literally don’t know why we’re friends.”

“Jason’s joking, sweet pea,” Roy grins at Lian.

Lian huffs dramatically. “I know that, Daddy.”

How the hell Roy Harper created such a great kid, Jason will never know. “What are you and Donna doing for your girl’s night?” he asks her, rocking Dani gently.

“So many fun things,” she tells him seriously. “I have a new Lego set, so we’re gonna build that, and then maybe we’ll play princess school? Or animal rescue school, or maybe both...and we’ll definitely watch a movie! And eat popcorn, of course.”

“Of course,” Jason nods.

She smiles at him, her nose scrunching adorably. “What are you and my daddy doing for your boy’s night?”

Jason makes eye contact with Roy. “Well, I doubt we’re gonna have as much fun as you.”

“No,” Roy agrees, tweaking her nose. “I think we’ll still have a pretty good time, though.”

***

Jason’s prepared for the worst, when they arrive in Crime Alley. He’s expecting his safe house to be trashed by squatters, his civilian apartment to be robbed, and all the local hot spots to be generally on fire. Well. Maybe not on fire, it does seem like Tim’s been doing a pretty good job covering for him. But still, he’s not expecting to roll into his territory and find it…quiet.

Roy takes to the rooftops, and Jason goes to the first busy street corner he sees. “Hey, Ginger,” he calls, jogging up to a working girl he’s got a friendly rapport with. “How’s it going?”

Ginger looks surprised to see him, but not unhappy. “You finally remember your address, Hood?”

“Doesn’t look like I needed to, though,” Jason remarks, glancing around. “Your girls are all good? Any problems that require my attention?”

“Aren’t you sweet.” Ginger looks over his shoulder, as though expecting someone to be there. “No Red Robin tonight? Damn.”

Wow, so that’s how it is. Jason’s already chopped liver. “Ouch,” he says in mock offense. “You know, it was me who told him which blocks to keep an eye on in the first place.”

“You can take that white knight shit straight back to wherever you’ve been hiding out, honey.” Ginger sounds unimpressed. He swears he was more intimidating a few weeks ago. She gives him a meaningful look and makes a shooing motion with her wrist. “It’s good to know you’re still in one piece, baby. Now run along, before you scare off all my customers.”

Taking the hint, Jason moves down the block to his favorite bar, a hideous dive run by a neighborhood relic called Mac Deveroux. Back when Jason was a kid, Mac had frequently paid him to make deliveries, taking alcohol and sometimes food to his customers who weren’t in a position to come and get it themselves. Most of the deliveries were superfluous errands that Mac could just as easily have run himself, but he liked Jason’s observational skills, and the real value of the trip was the gossip Jason was able to pick up along the way. Jason has no idea if Mac remembers him - it’s possible he had a dozen kids on his unofficial payroll, it’s equally possible that the years and the drinking have written Jason’s existence out of his mind. But the man is just as congenial and just as all-knowing about everyone’s business as he’s always been, so Jason makes it a habit to visit him and trade information.

“Hey, Mac,” he calls, pulling off his helmet and sliding into a seat at the end of the bar. He doesn’t always order a drink when he comes here, and he’s not planning on it tonight, but Mac seems to prefer talking to him in just the domino. “Been a minute.”

It’s early, so the place is still mostly deserted, except for a handful of local drunks in various stages of stupor. Mac looks startled for half a moment, then pulls his ballcap down and goes back to being inscrutable. “Glad to see you alive and well, Red.”

Why is everyone so surprised to see him? He’s only been off patrol for a week or so, and he was checking in every few days before that. “Some reason I shouldn’t be?”

Mac side-eyes him suspiciously. “Not especially. People talk. That friend of yours - Red Robin - stupid fucking name, by the way - he’s okay too?”

Jason picks up his helmet and switches the comm on. “Red Robin, Red Hood checking in. Are you dead or injured?”

Tim’s voice comes through almost immediately, annoyed. “Uh, no?”

Jason switches it back off. “Yep, still kicking. Pretty sure Batman hasn’t bit it either, but the night is young. What’s with the sudden concern for my well-being?”

Mac shakes his head. “Folks been talking lately, that’s all. Lots of shit about taking down the Bat, all the rest of the capes in Gotham. Can’t blame me for wondering.”

“People around here are always running their mouths,” Jason says dismissively. “Half the time they tell me about it to my face. Since when are you sweating shit like that?”

“Since it started seeming like more than just talk,” Mac says, serious. “I mean it, Red. You ought to watch yourself out there. And be careful who you talk to, too. I appreciate all you done for me, but it’ll be better if I don’t see you in my bar all too often. You need to chat, you’re better off coming in the back.”

Jason recalls how quickly Ginger had hurried him away, and feels his blood run hot with anger. So these fuckers think they can come onto his turf and threaten his people? They’re gonna be needing more than new kneecaps by the time he’s through with them.

He cracks his knuckles. “Right. Let’s go to the back, then.”

Mac meets him next to a stack of boxes behind his delivery door. He pulls out a joint and starts patting his pockets down, looking for a lighter.

“Here.” Jason fishes one out from his coat pocket, tosses it to him. Not like he’s lighting up much of anything these days.

“Appreciate you, man,” Mac says, catching it. “You want?”

Jason shakes his head briefly.

Mac nods, as though he expected Jason to decline. He exhales a stream of smoke. “Gives me a reason to be back here, you know.”

“Sure.” Jason leans cautiously against one of the stacks of boxes. “So, what’s all this chatter that’s got you and everyone else so spooked?”

“Hmm.” Mac takes another long drag off his joint. “Just a few too many mouths telling the same story in my bar, I’d say. I’m used to hearing guys talk big about taking you out. But this is different, they’re all telling the same story about somebody else taking you out. Taking all the Bat folks out, and the Jokers and the Scarecrow gang too. Saying it’s gonna be open season on all the capes and metas in Gotham, that sorta thing.”

Jason really doesn’t like the sound of any of this. “Who’s supposed to be taking us all out, exactly?”

“That’s the thing about it. No one wants to say, I don’t think most of ‘em even know. You heard about that bloodbath down by the docks, a month back?”

Jason tenses. “Uh-huh.”

Mac looks shrewd, suddenly. “You know who did it?”

Jason can tell from his tone that he doesn’t know, but that he’s dying to. “If someone like you hasn’t found out yet, Mac, I think it’s because certain people want it that way. Just like certain people don’t want you talking to me.”

“‘Certain people’ can kiss my ass,” Mac grumbles.

“Here’s a question, totally unrelated,” Jason says. “Does the name ‘Romina Falcone’ mean anything to you?”

Mac stares at him, dumbfounded. “No....Romina? Mario Falcone’s little girl?”

Jason shrugs one shoulder, trying to appear casual. “You heard anything about her being back in town?”

“No…she’s been gone from Gotham for years. Sad story, really. You know it?” Jason does, but since this is a casual inquiry, he motions for Mac to go on. “Her daddy was Carmine Falcone’s son, a real straight-shooting type, good student, honest, the whole nine yards. Never touched the family business.” Another long inhale off the dwindling joint. “When Falcone first went to prison, gotta be over twenty-five years ago now, the Maroni family took over. Mario wouldn’t throw in with them, so they killed him and his wife. The kids, Mario Jr. and Romina, went to live with relatives in Chicago, last I heard.”

A mob orphan, Jason thinks, just like Dani. Except that Romina and her brother hadn’t gone to live with just any relatives - they’d gone to live with the Viti family, headed by none other than Carmine Falcone’s bloodthirsty sister. “So, no one’s heard from her since then?”

“No one heard from her before then, either. She couldn’t’ve been more than eight or nine when all that shit went down,” Mac says doubtfully. “You sure your intel’s good?”

Jason’s deep in thought, suddenly. “Didn’t say anything about intel,” he tells Mac. “Just asking a question. I gotta go, though. Okay if I slip out the door here?”

Mac gestures obligingly. “Hey, be my guest. I’m gonna do myself a favor and forget this whole conversation now.”

Jason snorts. “Good idea. See you around, Mac.”

“Yeah, yeah. Watch your back out there, kid.”

Jason’s out the door before Mac’s parting words echo back to him. Watch your back out there - what was he, eleven? Twelve, the last time he heard those words?

Maybe it’s a coincidence. Or, maybe Mac Deveroux has a better memory than Jason gives him credit for.

He puts his helmet back on. “Arsenal, status report.”

“All good over here, Hoodster,” Roy replies brightly. “Knocked out a handful of drunk and disorderlies outside a Buffalo Wild Wings just now. Didn’t realize the Bowery was so gentrified already.”

Ugh. “Not all of it is,” Jason sighs. “But, yeah. Sure isn’t how it used to be, over there.”

“No kidding. I’m watching this girl steal a souped-up Camero right now. Ran the plates, and based on the owner’s resume, I might let her get away with it.”

Jason snorts out a laugh. “Works for me. I’ll come meet you over there, just give me ten.”

He’s barely made it two blocks when Oracle’s voice sounds in his ear, her tone making him snap to attention at once. “Hood, we have a situation.”

He stops still on a dingy government housing rooftop. “Go ahead, O.”

“It seems Susie Falcone was sprung from jail earlier today - we missed it because her release was processed under another name, but I have the video feed, and it’s definitely her.”

Oh, fucking finally. Jason was starting to think he wouldn’t have a chance to get any real exercise tonight. “You got a name for me?”

“Guy by the name of Tiberius. Albanian, according to Red Robin. I’m running his face through Interpol, but it takes time.”

Jason hops onto a nearby fire escape and swings up to the roof of an office building to get a better vantage point towards the harbor. “Is B gonna crap himself if I take the lead on this?”

Barbara’s quiet for a moment. “Do you care?”

Jason flexes his hand over the grip of the gun strapped to his thigh. “I mean, no,” he starts to say, knowing as soon as the words are out of his mouth that it’s not entirely true. “Just...it’ll be a pain in the ass if I have to fight a whole fucking mafia, plus him, that’s all.”

Oh, incredibly convincing. Jason’s surprised he doesn’t hear her laughing down the line.

“I think you know how to avoid his ire,” Barbara says. “You’re closest, so I’m putting you on it.”

“Okay. Thanks,” Jason adds, feeling more like an idiot by the second. Forget Dick, talking to Barbara always makes him feel about twelve fucking years old. At least she’s not openly judgmental about it. “Hey, Oracle. One last thing.”

“Oh? I’m listening.”

“Can you do some digging into the Viti family? I feel like there’s gotta be a reason Romina came back to Gotham now, when she could’ve made a play for the city years ago. If she’s been in Chicago all this time, it’s probably something to do with them.”

“…Yes,” Barbara says, slowly. Jason hears a flurry of typing. “Since they trade over state lines, that data will be with the Feds…it’ll take me a little while, I’ve got my hands full with some more urgent things right now. But it’s a good idea, Hood. You’ll know more as soon as I do.”

“Okay,” Jason agrees. “Thanks,” he adds, lamely.

She lets out a short huff of amusement, and Jason’s past self cringes at him in embarrassment. “Oracle out.”

Right. Tiberius. Jason’s been waiting for a chance to take on this ostentatiously-named asshole. From his own observations that night with Dick, and from Tim’s reports, the guy is a particularly sleazy type of hired muscle. Fantastic. Jason needs the workout.

He gives himself a shake, and then takes off towards the police impound lot. Within ten minutes, he’s found a suitable bike and is on his way to the East End, changing comm channels in his helmet to call Roy. “Arsenal, are you good to finish up my patrol? I got a lead on somebody in this mob case I need to handle.”

“Wow, Hood. And here I thought we were having a boy’s night.”

“Hey, if nothing’s going on over there, you’re welcome to join.”

“Yeah? Hey asshole, stay down,” he snarls. “Maybe I’ll meet you after I finish up.”

Jason hears a moan and a thud on Roy’s end. “Anybody interesting?”

“Just some model citizen I found trying to drag a passed-out woman into his car. Said she was his girlfriend, but he neglected to mention she dumped his ass two months ago.”

“Break his legs,” Jason proposes, feeling a mild rage rising in his chest.

“Red Hood says I should break your legs,” Roy tells the guy. “It’s not really my style, but I’m just temping over here. You’d better leave town, because if he finds you doing this shit again, you’re gonna wish I took him up on it.”

Please, man, Jason hears in the background. He hadn’t honestly expected Roy to take his suggestion. Turning onto a side street, he hears an alarm start to go off somewhere close by. Robbery, sounds like. Exactly what he’s looking for.

“Alright, I’m starting my manhunt,” he says to Roy. “You’ve got my coordinates if you need to find me.”

Roy makes some kind of hooting sound that Jason takes to be acknowledgment. “Make me proud.”

Jason kills the bike in an alley and parks it under a staircase, slipping a loop of electrified wire over the handlebars. Easy enough to disarm, but he’s not planning to be gone long. The store being robbed is a liquor store, and the goons smashing it up aren’t criminals so hardened that they’ll take any effort on his part to crack. He storms in the front, grabs the first guy, and throws him over the counter. The second pulls a gun on him - he shoots it out of his hand a split second later, then fires three more shots into a glass case of upscale liquor, to fairly spectacular effect. The remaining guys all hit the floor, visibly terrified. Jason holsters his gun.

“Hope you guys don’t mind me crashing this little party you’re having,” he calls, kicking the fallen gun to the side. “I need to find a guy by the name of Tiberius. First one to talk gets to walk away.”

They all goggle at him. “Did he say Tiberius?” one of them whispers.

“We don’t know anybody called that,” the one he tossed behind the counter says.

Jason clicks his tongue. “Wrong answer.” He fires a rubber bullet into the guy’s shoulder, and he goes down. By the time they realize it’s not a live round, he’ll be in the wind.

He holsters the gun again, and turns his attention on the one he’d disarmed. “Your turn.”

“We don’t know where he is,” the guy says quickly. “I only met the guy once. He doesn’t give us orders.”

“Who does he give orders to,” Jason counters, advancing on him menacingly.

“Dealers, mostly? My cousin Zion reports to him, he slings down by the Wharfside Pool Hall. Swear to God, man, I haven’t seen Tiberius since he moved us all off the docks.”

Jason looks around at the wreckage of the store, realizing something. “You guys aren’t robbing this place, are you.”

They don’t say anything. Jason doesn’t need them to - their silence is confirmation enough. They’ve been tasked by Romina and her lackeys to trash this place and force the owners to sell. And now he’s helped them do it. Fuck, this is why he hates mob cases.

Nothing to be done about it now. Once he puts a bullet in Romina’s skull, maybe he can come back and see that these people get their store back. First, he’s gotta find her.

“Be seeing you, gentlemen,” he says, tossing out a couple smoke pellets. “Don’t expect it to be as painless next time.”

It’s a quick ride to the Wharfside Pool Hall, and Oracle sends him a photo of Zion Lee on the way. He finds him immediately, parked on the corner by the emergency exit. It’s a short conversation. Zion doesn’t know where to find Tiberius either, but he does tell Jason where to find his supplier, and once Jason takes a look at the supplier’s rap sheet, he decides there’s not going to be a conversation at all. Kidnapping, trafficking, sexual battery - hell, if Jason can’t find Tiberius tonight, at least he can take his aggression out on this piece of garbage.

He roars up to the supplier’s house on the stolen bike and throws a smoke bomb through the window, the rush of impending violence like fire in his veins. Then, as luck would have it, he sees a familiar muscular figure rushing out the back door towards a Jaguar that’s parked in the shadows at the end of a driveway.

Tiberius, in the flesh. Looks like Jason’s date with this supplier will have to be postponed.

Quickly, he considers his options. The adrenaline junkie in him is tempted by the prospect of a good old-fashioned car chase, but this area is just a bit too residential for him to be strictly comfortable with it. Too bad. He lets Tiberius get to the end of the driveway, and then he shoots out the Jag’s tires. Tiberius returns fire immediately, which, again, is not the most desirable outcome in a residential neighborhood. Jason aims a shot at his firing hand, but the guy is already ducked down and reloading.

Fine. Jason will just have to throw something bigger at him, he supposes. He revs the bike’s engine, kicks off and guns it towards the Jaguar, bailing off to the side when Tiberius stands up to shoot at him some more. The bike keeps going, propelled by momentum, and crashes beautifully into the driver's side of the Jag, knocking Tiberius hard to the pavement when the open door that he’s been using as a shield swings violently sideways with the rest of the car.

He doesn’t stay down, of course. Before the impact is even finished reverberating through both vehicles, he’s hopping back up, more nimbly than Jason would’ve expected, given his size, and taken off running down the street. Jason pushes himself up and hightails after him, the thrill of the hunt making him practically giddy, his heart accelerating with the pace of his boots against the concrete.

Damn, but it feels good to exert himself. Jason’s been cooped up for too fucking long. Tiberius is seriously in shape, and fast, almost as fast as Dick, too fast for Jason to catch without playing dirty. He’s running too hard to aim with any real accuracy at a moving target, but he squeezes off a half dozen shots at the car windows Tiberius is running past, and the resulting spray of breakaway glass slows him just enough that Jason is able to launch a kick at the back of his knees and tackle him to the ground. They tussle - Tiberius pulls a knife and manages to wedge the blade under Jason’s chestplate, but luckily the tip of it catches on the kevlar, and Jason is able to knock it away before it does any real damage. He headbutts Tiberius savagely, breaking his nose and sending him sprawling out over the basement landing of a boarded-up tattoo parlor.

Before Jason can get up and draw his weapon, Tiberius is on him again, fists coming in like hammer blows and seeking out all the soft spots of his suit with frankly impressive accuracy. Jason’s pulse is pounding in his ears, he’s always gotten a kick out of fighting guys that are bigger than him - though, admittedly, most guys he went up against as Robin met that qualification. Fighting Tiberius is a little nostalgic, in that sense.

How did he used to do it? Bruce had taught him all the fastest ways to incapacitate someone, and Jason’s lived enough by now that he can admit that more often than not, Bruce’s way works just fine. Maybe with a few embellishments, depending on the perp. He’d need better footing, but he could do that here. He could snap Tiberius’s collarbone with the flat of his hand, knee him in the balls, and finish him off with a punch to the throat. But before Bruce, before he’d had his street fighting skills polished and streamlined, a younger, scrappier Jason would’ve had a different strategy. Back then he’d had to be patient, had to last out his enemies and watch for the moment they overextended themselves, the moment they let their defenses slip because they were sure they had him. A school bully, taking his attention off Jason long enough to call to his friends. His mother’s heroin dealer, pausing at the top of the long brick staircase to tell Jason not to bother checking on her. Batman, parking the Batmobile in an alley and just leaving it there.

Nostalgia wins, and Jason waits. He takes the punches and waits until Tiberius gets cocky, having landed a few well-placed blows to his ribs under the thickest parts of his armor. He rears up over Jason, sneering, hand going to Jason’s throat, arm fully extended and vulnerable - and Jason moves. He rocks up into a crouch, catches Tiberius’s wrist in his hand and wrenches, shattering the bones in it easily and dislocating his shoulder in the process. Within a couple of seconds, they’re back on their feet, but Tiberius is unsteady, his breathing thick and labored, and Jason takes the opportunity to kick him square in the chest, sending him crashing down into the walk-out landing and through the building’s flimsy door.

Then he follows Tiberius into the basement, and before he can dodge, a bullet catches him right in the thigh. Shit. He’d assumed the gun had been lost back at the car, but he hadn’t actually checked - an embarrassingly rookie mistake, Jesus. His armor stops it, but it still hurts like a motherfucker. “Real cute,” he snarls, stomping on his opponent’s broken wrist and picking up the gun. He debates shooting him in a few non-lethal places, but Dick’s face suddenly pops into his head, and then Dani’s, and the worst of his anger ebbs away. He empties the clip instead, pocketing the gun. “Now that that’s out of the way, you and me, we’ve got a few things to discuss.”

“Fuck you,” Tiberius seethes, curled up and clutching his wrist in pain. There’s blood all over his face, dripping onto the floor.

“Better men than you have tried, Tiberius.” Jason rubs his hands together. “Here, I’ll make it easier for you. I know you’re working for Romina Falcone. I know she’s back in Gotham, and I know she ordered the hits on your old boss, and most of your old coworkers. I know you sprung her cousin Susie out of jail earlier today, and I know she’s got you running the drug trade down here. So don’t bother telling me any of that shit. I just want to know two things: what her endgame is, and where I can find her.” He steps on Tiberius’s knee, puts just enough pressure to make him cry out. “Talk. Now.”

“Get the fuck off me,” Tiberius gasps, kicking out uselessly with his other leg. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, just let me up.”

Jason stands back, ready to kneecap the guy permanently if he goes on the offensive again.

Tiberius sits up, panting. “Shit. Fuck, I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.”

“Hood, I lost your GPS signal,” Roy says in his ear. “Fortunately, the trail of destruction was pretty easy to follow. I’m on the warehouse roof outside, across the street.”

“She set me up,” Tiberius goes on. “She fucking set me up, that bitch.” He looks up at Jason, shaking his head. “Yeah, Romina asked me to bail Susie out of jail today. Probably so one of you fuckers would come after me. She’ll be pissed as hell that she didn’t get Batman.”

Jason grinds his teeth. “Arsenal, we’re gonna have incoming soon,” he barks into his comm.

“Thank God, I’d hate to get bored up here,” Roy replies easily.

“Whatever backup you have, it’s not gonna be enough,” Tiberius says. “Romina doesn’t take chances. I can’t tell you where she is, couldn’t even tell you the neighborhood. I’ve had two meetings with her at her office, they had me drugged and blindfolded coming and going. Drove for a long-ass time, too, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Fine,” Jason snaps. “So you’ve had meetings with her. Tell me what she’s after.”

“What she’s after? She’s after everything,” Tiberius says bluntly. “The whole goddamn city. Thinks it’s hers by right, because of who her grandpa was. She’s fucking nuts, even for Gotham.”

Everything. Jason turns it over in his head. She’s not just seizing control of the East End, not just the canal, but everything. They’ve got an overachieving mob boss on their hands. Out-fucking-standing.

“I’ve got twenty guys coming in hot, Hood.” Roy sounds tense. “More trucks pulling in. I can take down most of them, but I think they’re just the first wave. We don’t have enough ammo for this.”

“She hates you guys,” Tiberius laughs bitterly. “If you get away, she’s gonna lose her shit. Sucks I won’t be around to see it.”

“A real shame,” Jason agrees, distracted. He can hear the sound of fighting outside. Time to bail. “Who else is - “

“Hood, we have to go, now.”

Jason pulls the gun from his shoulder holster. “If you survive, I’ll be seeing you soon,” he promises, voice low and deadly. The look on Tiberius’s face tells him just how likely he thinks that is, and Jason can’t help but agree. The blindfolds, the errands, the lack of family connection all add up to one thing: disposable. Tiberius is no made man, he’s just a hired hand, and it’s clear Romina has decided to terminate his employment. Jason remembers Tim’s story about Tiberius passing around photos of murdered kids to the grunts at Intergang, and he feels no sudden impulse to drag the guy to safety.

Outside, he and Roy shoot their way through the dozen or so remaining mobsters, Jason aiming as non-lethally as possible. Roy’s taser arrows cut the last few down, and then they hit the street running, down the block, through a boarded up ice cream shop, down an alley, and up to the rooftops. Jason hears a few gunshots below them when they make the jump over a particularly wide gap, but he keeps them running north, away from the harbor and towards the river, hoping to lose their pursuers on unfamiliar turf. It works. Romina may have her sights set on all of Gotham, but most of her henchmen have seldom ventured more than a few blocks out of the territory they grew up in.

After about half a mile, they stop to catch their breath, and Jason sits down to massage his thigh where the bullet had struck earlier.

“How’d you get over here, anyways?” Jason asks. They’d left their bikes in Jason’s storage unit on the west side of Crime Alley, Roy’s borrowed from Dick for the evening. If Roy left the bike next to a shootout, Dick’s going to be mad as hell.

“Helicopter arrow,” Roy deadpans. Jason looks for something to throw at him. “No, I just took an Uber. Grand theft auto’s not really my thing, these days.”

Jason stares at him. “Since when?”

Roy shrugs. “Since Lian started asking questions about it, I guess. It’s just like...whenever she hears about a crime, like finding out why we lock the car doors when we leave it, she asks me all these details about it. Sometimes she asks if I’ve ever done it, and I can’t lie to her, you know? I want to be able to tell her what she wants to hear, which is ‘no, Daddy hasn’t stolen any cars lately’.” He points at Jason accusingly. “Whatever. Don’t judge me. You’re just lucky yours can’t talk yet.”

“I didn’t even say anything,” Jason protests. He objects strongly to Roy referring to Dani as his, too, but that’s probably exactly why Roy did it, so there’s no point bringing it up. “I’ve got a safe house not too far from here, next to a chop shop. Does it count as stealing to Lian if the car is already stolen?”

Roy laughs. “Not sure she can parse the nuance there. How about you do the stealing, and that’s the technicality I can skate on.”

“Fine.” Jason gets to his feet, wincing slightly as his thigh burns.

“You all good?”

“Yeah, just got a lucky shot in. My fault for not checking to see if he still had the damn gun.”

“Hey, at least in the Manor you’ve got all the whole Bat Hospital at your disposal,” Roy grins. “Among other perks, of course.”

Jason is very glad Roy can’t see him blush under the helmet. He was just thinking about how he wants to get back and see Dani - how he’ll need to take his armor off to check out the damage to his leg - how taking his armor off always wakes her up, so he’ll have to do it in Dick’s room - how the offer is on the table for him to sleep in Dick’s bed -

Business appears to be booming at the chop shop, and Jason decides on stealing a flashy little Lexus coupe that makes Roy whistle in appreciation. They drive back through the Bowery, stopping once so Jason can beat the crap out of a bouncer-turned-wannabe-pimp trying to sell girls outside of a gentlemen’s club. Then they get back to the bikes, and he checks in with Oracle to see if there’s any other action they need to investigate before they call it a night.

“I think you boys have stirred up enough trouble tonight,” she tells him firmly. “There’s been surprisingly little action in your neck of the woods, actually. Bludhaven is the hot zone tonight, I sent Black Bat and Spoiler over there earlier to help Robin out.”

“Fingerstripes will be sorry he missed it,” Jason says. “Russians again?”

“Arsonists, this time. At least five of them.”

“Shit. Sounds more like a Gotham thing than ‘Haven.”

“It does,” she agrees. “It feels choreographed, somehow. I’m going to keep looking into it, along with the Viti family. Oracle out.”

Roy raises his eyebrows. “Arsonists, huh?”

Jason snorts in surprise. “You hacked my comm line?”

“Let’s put it this way: Babs let me hack your comm line.”

True enough. “Sounds like they’ve got everything in hand, at least,” Jason says. “Don’t really feel like dragging ass all the way to Jersey’s armpit. You sleeping at the Manor tonight?”

Roy scratches the back of his head. “Thought about it, but I think I’m gonna text Donna and quietly crash girl’s night. Whenever I get shot at, or almost blown up or whatever, I just kind of need to see Lian. Tell Dick I’ll bring the bike back tomorrow.”

Jason nods. “I’ll catch you later, then.” In truth, he knows exactly how Roy feels. He’s dying to get back to Dani as quickly as possible, to see her and touch her and make sure she’s okay. It doesn’t make sense - he’s the one who got shot at, she’s been in arguably the most secure location in the whole tri-state area. But somehow, in spite of his bruised ribs and what’s sure to be a wicked hematoma on his thigh, all he can think about is keeping her safe. He’d walk through fire to make sure of it, he knows without a doubt. Fortunately, all he has to do tonight is make the trek back over the Robert Kane bridge.

Roy gives his shoulder a friendly squeeze, and then takes off in the direction of the old Titans bunker in Robbinsville. Jason parks the Lexus in his storage unit, arms the security system, and then kicks his bike into gear, making a beeline for the highway and the bridge, which will take him back to the Manor, and back to Dani.

***

[bangtanlalaland]

whoa | kth ft. jjk (m.)

synopsis ↳a bet between you and the infamous skater in town: kim taehyung, is made to get him off of your back once and for all. but the turn of events takes you by surprise, making you feel like whoa!

→part of the bring it back collection!

— 1970’s!au

→pairing: rollerskater!kim taehyung x high school student!female reader     ↳featuring: coworker!jeon jungkook

→genre: smut, pwp, crack (highkey this time)

→word count: 4.7k+

→contents ⨯ warnings: basically just a bunch of horny students exploring themselves (yes, everyone in this fic is of legal age ok plz don’t come after me), tae is a total dom with a big dick (IDC what anyone says!! TAE’S cock IS HUGE. he literally RADIATES BDE. don’t @ me), JK is such a dork (what a fucking bunny), also: subby JK, a hint of comedy (more like MC’s insulting each other), just filthy bathroom oral sex (f + m receiving), threesome, some TAEKOOK action (yes, i said it) deepthroating, breathplay, squirting, fingering, pussy/ass slapping, cum swallowing, snowballing (oops)

a/n: srsly this is PORN!!! just another SLUTTY & unedited smut fic with -0.0000% plot & SO rushed just because I’m a SLUT for BANGTAN & I’m so COCKHUNGRY for these BEASTS & I’M NOT ashamed!! (plz SEND HELP) FORGIVE ME. 

song rec: “whoa” by snoh aalegra

Ugh.

How much you hate him is beyond words. He always stumbles in the local skating rink you work at, flashing that cheesy, boxy grin of his at all the cooing gals around town. Especially on the weekends, when you work. With it being your last year of high school (finally), you’re an 18 year old, (soon to be graduate) within a month, and you’d decided to pick up a part-time job for some cash to purchase your prom dress when the time comes. Sadly, your job only pays you $2.50/hr to deal with Taehyung Kim’s dumb shit. He’s always showing off in the rink, shooting those dumb finger guns, paired with a wink, at the dense gals out on the floor — constantly performing exaggerated spins and backwards skating techniques.

So lame.

Not just that, but the idiot always staggers into the rink sporting some fancy looking, silky blouse with aviator sunglasses, creased slacks, and those dumb strands he styles into a mullet. Who dresses like that anyway? Surely not anyone within your age bracket. He never even bothers to rent the rollerskates you guys have, always bringing his own pair (the gold ones, yes ew. gold. what an old man) — clearly a cheap fucker.

Can’t stand it.

Not just his promiscuous tendencies, but you’re about one more “Hey Toots,” away from clocking out of your shift forever. Yet, here you are again. Working the closing shift. On a Saturday.

Your figure slumped over on the counter, nearby the numerous rows of roller skates behind you. You deliberately chew your Dubble Bubble gum, a large bubble forming from your mouth with much force from your lungs.

Pop.

Your coworker, Jungkook, arrives with a gum scraper in hand looking dorky as usual.

“Alright, that one family with like a dozen kids just left. And fuck have I had my daily dose of gum scraping for today!”

You’re not even sure why Jungkook is within your perimeter, considering that he’s in charge of working at the Snack Zone section of the skating rink. He who is also an annoying brat  — forever complaining about kids spilling mountains of their popcorn everywhere or teenagers manhandling the arcade joystick games, which causes for a call to schedule the maintenance guy, in hopes he’d come to the rescue. Or even worse, when children have too much to eat and their undigested meal ends up somewhere out on the floor or inside the rink. Which in return results in parents threatening to have you all fired, because as you quote one time a customer shouted: “You’re all nothing but a buncha lazy, no-good-for-shits!”

But hey, you both work at a skating rink. What else could he expect?

Jungkook pauses, noticing your attention elsewhere, and he follows your line of vision. All eyes on Taehyung.

Just look at him. All flirty and dumb-looking.

“Geez. Why don’t you just go ahead and suck his dick while you’re at it?” Jungkook yells over the blaring music of The Bee Gees now playing on the wanky stereo of the establishment.

Your attention draws quickly to the idiot standing next to you, your eyebrows furrowing in response. You take the opportunity to pinch him on his arm.

“Ow! What the hell?!” He screeches, rubbing the area you’d attacked, paired with a pout of his lips.

Turning around with your back facing the counter, you retort, “Spare me! Besides, I wouldn’t suck Taehyung’s dick even if he were the last man on Earth and my life depended on giving blowjobs. And I mean it!”

Jungkook takes a thick gulp. The shocked, deer-like expression on his face persuading you to turn your gaze where his eyes meet, and sure enough there was Taehyung Kim. His elbows bent and leaned over the counter, tipping his stupid sunglasses down onto his nose — eyeing you up and down with that stupid smirk he always dishes out.

“Hey Toots,” He slips, with his deep-baritone voice and a wiggle of his eyebrows that causes you to cringe — fists and teeth clenching in reply.

“What do you want, Taehyung?” You ask with a hint of attitude in your tone. Your arms folding in response to his usual tactic, having grown used to it by now. Noticing your uptight form, he lifts from the counter and straightens up, blowing a whistle with his lips in an “o” shape.

“Feisty,” he adds, his tongue peeks out to glide across his bottom lip. You take note of the action, feeling somewhat uncomfortable.

“I like it.” You’d hope your cheeks didn’t give away your sudden embarrassment at his comment. An awkward silence falls upon you both, all while he conceals his deep stare onto you from behind those glasses. Your eyes narrowing in on the male’s form in front of you. Jungkook suddenly clears his throat, capturing both of yours attention.

“What the hell was that?” You roll your eyes so hard, you’re sure you’ll have a headache in three… two… one…

“What’s gotten you so ‘worked up’ today, hm?” He emphasizes the worked up part, as if he knows you so well. His form leaning against the counter again, a failed attempt to get closer to you. Your gaze turns toward him with a dissatisfied expression, immediately jerking your head back.

“As if! Why are you even here? Don’t you have anywhere else to be? Like, like-” You scan your surroundings attempting to find anything that’ll persuade Taehyung to leave.

Bingo.

To your left, near the lockers, a group of blondes giggling and cooing over the idiot talking to you.

“Like with them! They are totally checking you out.” You emphasize with your eyebrows, and Taehyung follows your eyesight, also taking note of said girls. He tips his sunglasses and winks at them all, resulting in screeches and more coos from them. You cringe at the sight of it, wishing you had your attention set elsewhere.

“See? You should just go over there. They’re literally calling your name,” You probe in hopes he’d just leave you the hell alone. The aura of his stroked ego on the verge of suffocating you if he stays even a minute longer.

He hesitates.

“Hmm… Don’t really feel like it.” His gaze turns to you yet again.

You’re seething. You can’t even believe the audacity of him right now.

“Besides…” He continues, leaning further in to meet your eyes.

“A little birdie somewhere told me that,” he runs his fingers through his mullet, “A feisty thing wouldn’t give this stud a blowjob, even if its life depended on it.” Your cheeks are on fire at this point, but you don’t give in. You refuse to be patronized by the whore himself. Just as you were about to retaliate with a damn good comeback, Jungkook rudely interrupts.

“If I were “birdie,” I’d say “it” is lying.” Your gaze snaps toward him with furrowed eyebrows. He holds his hands up, as if surrendering to your harsh gaze. Taehyung grins that dumb, boxy smile of his.

“You’re not helping, Jungkook!” You roll your eyes at him and focus on the cocky eldest.

Taking a deep breath, you slip, “That’s right. It won’t give you the time of day to suck your dick. Besides, you wouldn’t even last for a good 5 minutes.” He scoffs, impressed by your assumption. But also intrigued at your “play hard to get” persona. He contemplates if he should test the waters, his hormones taking the wheel.

“Well,” He begins, cheeks hurting from the wide grin shown on his face. You watch in disgust as he continues, “Why won’t it make a bet then, huh?”

“Pshhh, are you kidding? For what? And what’s in it for it?” Your arms crossing in your stance. His fingers tap against the glass, display counter, as if he’s thinking. His gold rings shining in the ambience.

“If it can make me cum in 5 minutes-” You cut him off instantly.

“Then you will leave it alone forever!” He nods slowly in response, somewhat hesitant.

“Okay… And if it can’t make me cum in 5 minutes, then I get to stay. As I please.” Taehyung grins, extending his hand out. You follow his motion, interlocking your hand with his.

“Tonight. It does this tonight, after closing. Deal?” You demand, Taehyung replies: “Deal.”

Great. Jungkook’s sudden, overly absurd slurping from his Slurpee cup cues his presence is still here. Some part of you ponders how his beverage suddenly appeared.

“Kook, why don’t you help us?” You ask, having thought of an idea.

The slurping abruptly stops. He stares between the two of you with those doe-like eyes, clearly dumbfounded. Taehyung’s eyebrows rise up, obviously he’s amused.

“Woah there, Toots. Didn’t know you were that kinky-”

Your palm finds its way up, cutting him off, “Please,” you retort. You turn your gaze to Jungkook who’s awaiting your appraisal.

“Do you still have that stopwatch your grandfather gave you?”

With wide eyes and his lips still wrapped around his straw, he shakes his head in a “yes” gesture.

“Good,” You smirk. Although you hate Taehyung with all your guts, you refuse to miss out on this opportunity. Once and for all, you want him to vanish from your sight. To be gone and not bother you anymore. And if it means you have to get on your knees and get to work, then why not? At least, he’ll be gone from your life just as you wished.

Next thing you know, you’re on your knees, in the girls bathroom, with Taehyung towering above you, his arms crossed, lips quirked, and bulge slightly poking within his slacks. He leans on the wall, having placed his sunglasses in the middle split of his blouse. You take a thick gulp, attempting to ease the dryness in your throat.

“I’m waiting, Toots.” He coos with that smirk on his face.

Fuck.

How did you get yourself in this situation?

“Now, Kook!” You command the youngest who stands outside of the bathroom door. His thumb pressing the top, start button on the stopwatch to begin the time. Inside, you quickly unbuckle Taehyung’s belt. He helps to unloosen his trousers, dropping them to the ground in one swift. His tight, bright green briefs on full display, showcasing his slender legs. You can clearly see the outline of his cock, which sends a surge of something straight to your core. Your fingers find placement on the band of his briefs, pulling them down past his knees. His lengthy, member sneaks out — semi-hard. You lick your lips while wrapping your fingers around him, preparing to devour his lower half. You can’t believe you’re about to suck Taehyung’s dick. Seriously, why were you even born in this generation?

“4 minutes!” Jungkook warns, eyes glued to the ticking time.

Shit.

You take that as a cue to lick one stripe from Taehyung’s balls to the tip of his cock. He groans in response, head falling back at the feel of your warm, wet tongue painting your saliva onto his member. You continue licking along his shaft, stopping at the head and making sure to wrap your lips around him there. He loves when you do that, and you know this because he hisses, his cock now fully erect, and you adore how thick and long he is. You faintly taste the salty flavor of the precum that seeps from his slit. His hand snakes onto your hair, grasping your head to guide you further down his cock. He relentlessly bucks forward, desperate to journey himself further down your throat. Completely caught off guard, you grab ahold of his thighs and give in to Taehyung fucking your throat.

“Ahh, fuck!” He slips, glaring down at you gagging on his cock. His eyes shut instantly, a hidden attempt at not trying to cum so quickly. 


“3 minutes!”

Jungkook’s warning fuels Taehyung to slow his motions, not wanting to make himself cum yet, courtesy of the bet. But it feels nostalgic for him. The other part of him doesn’t want to stop, not having control of his hips thrusting in and out of your mouth. Your saliva drenches his cock and drips down to his balls, your eyes close naturally to focus on not dying from choking on him. Your nails dig into his flesh and graze along his thighs, somewhat a warning that you need to come up for air. But he wants..

Needs a release.

“That’s right, sweet thing. Don’t stop.” The fact you’re on your knees, submitting and literally choking on this idiot’s dick sends an odd sentiment to your core yet again. Maybe it’s just your hormones? Because you still hate him.

Oh, how much you hate him.

But, Taehyung aches to cum all over your face, to release himself into your mouth or wherever you please just so he can rid that pang deep within his groin. You scratch faster, leaving behind trails of your markings, you feel like you’re on the verge of passing out if you’re not let up. You force Taehyung’s thighs with a push, and you’re finally released from his grip on your hair and his cock in your mouth. You fall back, gasping for air and coughing as your chest heaves and tears stream down your cheeks.

“What are you trying to kill me or what?” You retort, wiping your eyes and gazing up at his lanky figure, gradually gaining your breathing pattern back to normal.

“2 minutes!” Taehyung heaves, his chest rising and falling. You take a moment to regather yourself and bring your thoughts together to continue.

“Fuck,” Taehyung slips, while taking a deep breath. You inch toward him, wrapping your fingers around him to pump his shaft a few times. Strands of Taehyung’s hair stick to his forehead, a result from perspiring, he snakes his hand into your hair, petting you softly as if you’re a cat. Your remaining hand lands on top of his thigh, feeling them flinch slightly as you encase your lips encase around the head of his cock, closing in on the flesh and sucking harshly. Your tongue glides around the mushroom-shaped tip, spreading your saliva all around and teasing his slit. He flinches again, clearly turned on and on the verge of an orgasm. You hurry yourself with one goal:

Make Taehyung Kim cum.

You relax yourself and ease him further and further down your throat, but this time you force your eyes to remain open. His length rubs against the flesh of your mouth, your tongue gliding under his shaft. You continue to keep your eyes focused on his, almost as if you’re staring into his soul. Tears prick from your eyes, liquid forming past your lids yet.

Keep watching him.

“1 minute!”

It’s almost as if that sudden warning sparked something in you, persuading you to instantly make Taehyung cum. Your tongue finds its path down to his balls, sucking them softly and caressing them ever so gently. You glide your tongue back onto him and gag on his cock yet again, thrusting your mouth back and forth repeatedly. He moans and groans, thighs suddenly trembling as his hand pushes harsher on your head; he fucks himself back into your mouth. Taehyung had always liked teasing and bothering you. He admired how annoyed and flustered you get around him, which gave him all the more reason he’s in “la la land” by having your mouth filled with him entirely. He’s convinced it’s probably the only way he could get you to shut up. Unfortunately, on your end, it’s the opposite. Taehyung still won’t shut  his mouth. In fact, it’s open right now. And your name (yes, your actual name) falls from his lips. And not just once, or twice, but numerous times.

“Fuck! I-I’m going to-” He can’t finish his sentence, but you’re aware of his warning, a coy smirk appearing on your face. His fingers wrap around himself as he pumps furiously, his grip on your head still present as he aims straight into your mouth. His erect cock stiffens itself and the sudden rush of an orgasm washes over him entirely. His thighs tremble as his cum shoots rapidly down your throat, in streams of white.

“Alright time’s up, guys!” Jungkook cues. He awaits the arrival of you both from the bathroom. After a few beats and…

Nothing.

“Guys?”

He presses his ear against the cold, metal of the door and hears faint sounds of moaning. He double checks the time on the stopwatch, surely he wasn’t off. But being the curious dork he is, Jungkook decides to push open the door. As he rounds the corner, to his right, he finds your figure leaned against the wall with Taehyung buried between your legs. He makes out the shape of Taehyung’s head moving left and right furiously, clearly he was eating you out. Jungkook’s mouth gapes open and eyes widen at the sight. Your now audible moans rushing through his eardrums, shooting straight to his cock. Taehyung’s obscene slurping on your pussy echoes throughout the ambience. Almost like a gravitational pull, Jungkook treads slowly toward the two of you.

“Always wanted to eat this little pussy of yours.” He pauses, his fingers run along your folds, he stops at your clit to give you a harsh slap, making your thighs tremble in response. He wraps his lips around your clit again, rolls his tongue around the bud and continues in between breaths, “I see the way you always watch me out on the rink. Bet you couldn’t wait for an opportunity like this.”

Your eyes shut instantly, hips bucking forward against Taehyung’s tongue. He glides along your folds and dips his tongue inside you, fucking you with the muscle. Your fingers trail into his loose strands, grazing his scalp as your thighs tremble slightly due to his actions. Your eyes peer open at the sight of Jungkook watching you both like a peeping Tom. You giggle at the sight of his “deer in headlights” expression. Taehyung laps at your clit, and wraps his lips around the bud, sucking harshly as you did with the head of his cock earlier.

“Ungh, mmm Taehyung,” you moan in between breaths, feeling the approach of your orgasm deep within your gut. He peers up into your gaze, relishing in your fucked out expression as he sucks your clit. Jungkook rubs the impending boner that’s hidden behind the fabric of his work jeans. Taehyung pulls away and takes note of Jungkook’s aching tension. You whimper at the loss of his slick tongue.

“What are you doing- Fucking idiot! Why’d you stop?!” You whine like a little child, with a pout of your lips. Taehyung gestures a “come here” motion to Jungkook.

The youngest hesitates for a moment, silently contemplating what the hell is going on but the desperate heat boiling inside of him cries for a release.

“Have a taste, Kookie.” Taehyung eases Jungkooks shoulders down to kneel along with him, his frontal set at an eye-level view of your pussy — that glistens of your juices mixed with Taehyung’s saliva. Jungkook peers up at the elder, and Taehyung winks back while sneaking his hand on the back of Jungkook’s head, forcing him to feast on your cunt. Kook’s hands fall onto the wall behind you, attempting to keep some leverage due to the sudden action. His nose is met nuzzling your clit while his lips suck on your soaked pussy lips.

Taehyung hisses, his hand applying more pressure.

“That’s right, Kookie. Eat her up.”

Jungkook moans in response, having no choice but to take you into his mouth and follow Tae’s demands. His tongue darts out, slithering along your folds, and the vibration from his moaning courses through you. Your hand finds its way into his chocolate strands, pulling and tugging while he eats you as if he’d been starved the entire day, which to you partly doesn’t make sense since he’s in charge of the Snack Zone.

“Oh, fuck! J-Jungkook, ahh!” Your head falls against the wall behind you, the coil in the pit of your tummy on the verge of cumming, that is, when you feel an odd slight tinge of something cold paired with someones finger inserting your cunt. You lift your gaze down to find Taehyung has slipped one of his ring-covered fingers inside of you. He taps your inner thigh to motion your legs to spread further apart, and you follow suit. Jungkook watches in eagerness, grazing his nails up and down your thighs. He takes initiative to lick your clit while Tae fingers you relentlessly.

“Want you to cum for us.” Taehyung eases a second finger and rams back and forth repeatedly, hitting that spot within your walls that has you finally tipping over the edge, combined with Jungkook’s small, pouty-like lips wrapped around your clit and sucking on for dear life. With his opposite hand, Taehyung grips your ass cheek and lands a harsh smack onto your bottom.

“Fucking cum for us, Toots.” In an instant, a shockwave of pleasure immerses within you, your body begins trembling of your orgasm. Your moans turn into an inaudible scream, and suddenly gushes of your arousal sprinkle all over Tae’s and Kook’s clothes and just a tad on their faces. The liquid flows down your thighs, the remaining dripping onto the floor of the restroom. Jungkook takes you by surprise, as he licks up your juices that continue down your legs. You shudder in response, Taehyung follows and licks your other leg, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs.

Jungkook pulls away, taking a deep breath, “Fuck, that was hot.” You notice the tent that’s grown within Jungkook’s jeans, your pussy throbs at the sight. And then by surprise, Taehyung runs his hand over the bulge, pressing into Jungkook’s clothed erection, his eyes widen at the sudden contact.

“What? Think I don’t notice you either, Kookie?” Your mouth flies open at the sight. Taehyung presses his lips to Jungkook’s, his tongue easing into his mouth instantly. Jungkook moans within the kiss, his hands finding their way into Tae’s mullet. The lewd sounds of their lips smacking draws you in further, also wanting a taste. As if he’d read your mind, Taehyung breaks the kiss, noticing your reaction.

“Aw, somebody is feeling left out hm?” His hand laces with yours, pulling you closer to them both. He pushes the back of you and Jungkook’s heads to have your lips meet together. He sets on his knees to unbutton Jungkook’s jeans, while you pull away from the kiss to join Taehyung, giving him a quick few pecks of your own. Jungkook watches in amusement, his cock rock hard and leaking within his briefs. Taehyung takes the lead and unbuttons Jungkook’s jeans, pulling the zipper down. You aid in the removal of his pants, pulling them all the way down past his knees, and you marvel at Jungkook’s toned thighs.

“Whoa, Kook,” You smooth your hands along his thighs, his soft, supple skin feels like silk under your fingertips. He blushes at your compliment.

“You like?” He teases, flexing his muscles. You tease back, kissing his obvious bulge through his briefs. He sucks his teeth, rutting forward. Taehyung rubs him before pulling the band of his underwear all the way down and….

Plop.

Jungkook’s cock springs up, with a thin line of precum leaking from the rosy-shade tinted, tip.

“Fuck,” Taehyung slips, licking his lips.

You also lick your lips at the sight. Before you could even think to touch him, Taehyung grasps his length, stroking in a slow manner. Jungkook’s moan that slips, and you take that as a sign to kiss along his thighs. Taehyung continues to stroke, admiring the thick vein that protrudes along his shaft. You grasp Jungkook’s ass cheek, gripping and rubbing the firm tissue.

Slap.

“Ungh!”

Holy shit, he likes it.

Slap.

He moans again, biting his lower lip. And…

His lips part in a hurry, paired with furrowed brows. You know he’s going to moan again, his chest suddenly pauses from breathing. You look to your left and Tae has his tongue swirling around the head of Jungkook’s dick. He pulls away and teases with another kitten lick.

Finally…

He wraps his gorgeous lips around the tip, and the euphoric tone of Jungkook’s deep, breathy moan fills your ears like a melody.

“Oh, fuck. Mmm- fuck.”

Jungkook’s head falls back with his eyes shut. Taehyung takes his thick, throbbing member down his throat. He uses his free hand to grab Kook’s other ass cheek, granting a harsh smack just as he did with you. You note Jungkook’s adam’s apple bobbing as he gasps for air, thrusting himself into Tae’s mouth. You never knew a neck could look so hot, combined with his sharp jawline being a killer. Some sick part of you wants to see that asshole Tae choke on Jungkook. So, you find yourself pushing the back of his head, pressing him further down his length. The gag sound that emits from Taehyung’s throat makes your core quiver. His spit draws out, soaking Kook’s member.

“That’s right, fucking take it,” You coo, cherishing the act of these two idiots pleasing themselves. Taehyung hums, the vibrations sending a wave of sensations through Jungkook.

“Ah, fuck- Keep- Doing that, you’re going to make me cum so fast!”

Your grip pulls Tae by his strands, forcing him off. Now panting for his breath, he wipes the wet residue from his mouth. Now it’s your turn. Your lips wrap around Kook’s thickness, loving the warmth of Tae’s saliva already having coated him. Just as you did, Taehyung pushes you further in, making you choke slightly. You relax your throat, taking Jungkook all the way in, who you can’t understand how his cock manages to fit in you, considering how thick he is. Jungkook focuses on you with wide eyes, appreciating your form taking him all the way in.

You pull away with a pop and grip his member, stroking him with one hand while licking from his balls to the underside of his shaft. Taehyung joins you to suck his balls, and you both take turns teasing Kook’s head. Jungkook’s fingers find their place on the top of your heads, guiding you and Taehyung, as both of your tongues glide along each side of his shaft. His thighs begin contracting, an indication that his orgasm is approaching. His gaped mouth serving as evidence.

“Cum in our mouths, Kookie.” You and Taehyung open up, your tongues and throats on full display.

“I-I, fuck. I’m cumming.”

With his eyes shut, Jungkook grips whoever’s hair he can, jerking himself off. Spurts of his yummy cum streams into your mouth, coating your tongue with an undetectable flavor. He lets out a shuddering moan, his lower abdomen contracting as his orgasm takes him over. You hold his cum in your mouth, closing it shut. Taehyung has his mouth open and it’s almost as if you both can read each other’s minds. You peer over and open your mouth over Tae’s, releasing the lewd mixture of your saliva paired with Jungkook’s cum.

Taehyung moans at the sentiment, holding for a brief moment to add his own fluid to the concoction. He stands on his two feet, and Jungkook watches with an exhausted look in his eyes, somewhat curious of his next actions. Taehyung rises his eyebrows, as if a silent demand to open. Jungkook stills for a moment and catches on quicker than you thought. With the difference in height, he squats a little and reveals his throat to the eldest. Taehyung leans down and closed their lips, releasing the substance of your fluids, his fluids, and the youngest’s cum.

Jungkook seals his mouth shut.

“Swallow it.” Taehyung demands with a stern tone, his voice somewhat raspy and also fucked out but still deep as usual. Kookie makes no choice but to obey, like the good little, boy he is.

He takes a thick gulp — the mixed secretions now having flushed through and inside him.

“Good,” Tae expresses.

“Whoa,” You add, dazing into a daydream and slightly drained from tonight’s ventures.

The three of you remain in silence, an awkward tension filling up the space. Jungkook seems to have noticed, having pulled his garments back on as if signaling his departure. Then, the reminder that you can’t find your panties dawns on you. Clearly, Tae took them and probably has them stuffed in his stupid slacks. But before stepping out, Kook breaks the silence.

“So much for a bet, right?” He blurts out with a slick smirk.

[aalt-ctrl-del]

unpopular fact, but what a lot of people forget (or don’t acknowledge) is that the maga and trompers are suffering intense trauma.

Aside from being coked on covid cells and having portions of their brain drilled through by a blood pathogen which spreads through respiratory droplets. Don’t forget that if you’re not taking precautions, such as masking up, reducing time and contact with other people (distancing), or unable/unwilling to get vaccinated, virus traces don’t go away all at once. Monocytes take time to do their job efficiently.

That tid bit aside, maga and trompers are enduring a trauma, same as the rest of us. Their world is changing, their views and stances are challenged - however, the way they choose to cope with this trauma is counterproductive as it is unhealthy.

There are good ways to deal with trauma, and there are unhealthy ways. You study through posts and resources fellow tumblrs are kind enough to share, resources from credible and board certified sites, we know that psychology and the field of study is complex as the people who have emotions, thoughts, and feelings are complex. And we will argue that trompers and maga people are also complex creatures, with thoughts, feelings, desires, dreams.

They may be detrimental to the rest of a civilized society struggling to overcome a horrendous viremia pathogen, but it will always benefit you to study the methods to which others find validation and comfort in a world which crumbles.

The trompers and maga want things to be “normal”, which means go back to 1927. They want their privilege and special rights restored, their special exempt from the law. They want their classist and exclusion brought back, their whiteness acknowledged and praised.

They want to go back to breathing on people and spreading viruses. More importantly, they want to be exempt from accountability.

The truth of the matter is, we have covid and we will keep covid. The magas and trompers will use it as a weapon to destabilize and destroy people. It is fact that so many children and families have lost their parents. They don’t care. They don’t care that their chance encounter with someone, could infect a whole family, turn children into orphans. They don’t. They don’t care if their own children die. They don’t want weak children, or inferior children. They want spartan children.

However, Democrats and Independents are fighting them, to maintain civilized interactions, order. We want our society. We want to protect families, children, our community. We care about others, and we live in a community where we interact to exchange goods, services, to make economy go brrrrrr!

And we exclude people who do not want to conform to that community and society. Not because they are gay, or different, or have trouble with certain tasks. No, we ostracize and fight these trompers and maga people, because they won’t take the situation seriously, and that lack of commitment and accountability makes them deviants to a functioning order of people.

We wear seatbelts. We cannot have a blood toxicity of a certain amount if we want to drive. We abide by rules when we go into a private shopping center, so we do not disturb or endanger fellow patrons. We wait in lines. We can own and trade certain items, but not others.

And now we wear masks, and we must vaccinate ourselves, because our bodies are the environment wherein a respiratory borne pathogen replicates. Air is a resource we share freely among our community, as of yet it cannot be bought or sold - though we can invest in machines which purify work spaces and our homes, to make for comfort and a cleaner environment. We cannot control where the air we breathe goes, so we must be held accountable to some amount, and wear masks, so we take care to reduce the rate of spread.

It is now a factor we must contend with, one of many in fact. For that, maga and trompers fight back because they are traumatized by a world that is changing. They are called to be held accountable for their actions and ignorance, they are called out for being spiteful and ignorant, for doing subpar research through unreliable resources.

I mean, fucking hell, I would be cast out of my college if I used five facebook posts in a technical report. NO PROFESSIONAL DOES THAT. ITS ABSURD. YOUR STUPID IS SHOWING.

So the trompers and maga people are being criticized harshly for being cankers on a society. For skirting by, without being demanded to put in the effort to contribute in a meaningful way. And it makes them ravenous, it makes them cope with this trauma in an unhealthy way. It highlights their flaws, their insecurities, and they hate that.

The rest of us for so long have been told, “Well buttercup, time to put on your big boy pants and pull yourself up by your bootstraps.”

We’ve been doing this everyday of our existence. Forever. We played by the rules, did the right thing, followed the laws. And still, got shortchanged.

Then when it comes time for the privileged to step up to the plate and “Pull up their big boy pants and get their bootstraps untangled”, they lose their fucking minds. They can’t deal with trauma or cope with it in a healthy way. Their world is crumbling, and it perpetuates the damage they are doing.

They will never have their world back, because every second of the day they whine and scream and throw a tantrum about how, “I’m so oppressed,” they reveal how brittle and flawed their world was. And it makes the rest of us grasp how pitiful and pathetic these people are. That they can’t cope with wearing a little piece of cloth on their face.  

[lifeinahole27]

CS ff: “Walking the Tightrope” (Chapter 7/10) (au)

Summary: Killian’s daily routines are a matter of habit. When he wakes up late one morning, his routines all change for the better. Emma doesn’t care about routines, but she does care about Killian, no matter how reluctant she is to admit it to herself.

Rating: E (the content warnings matter this time!)

Content Warnings: Very start of the chapter has mentions of child abuse. Also, a special disclaimer that my knowledge on children’s services and foster custody are very limited. I cobbled together the best I could from Google searches and reading up. And by my estimates, if I hadn’t had a mental collapse two weeks ago, y’all would’ve still been waiting a couple more weeks for the end of this chapter. This fic finally earns its “E”!

A Special Thank You: My continued gratitude to my lovely friends, @captainstudmuffin and @phiralovesloki. And a heap of love to @captainswanbigbang for putting this together and helping me accomplish this.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | 

Find it on Ao3 & FFN!

-x-

Chapter 7: Signs from the Universe

November 16: Friday

Their second date goes even better than the first, with Killian showing off not only the beautiful apartment he scored when he moved (with every room decorated in such a fashion that Emma is almost jealous of the simple and elegant taste he has), but also his cooking skills which are pretty damn impressive if Emma is being honest. 

It probably would’ve gone even better if they hadn’t been disturbed in the middle of their movie. They’d settled into a comfortable spot on his couch, with her cuddled into his side and his hand teasing the skin behind her knee, slowly igniting a fire within her that wanted to burst free. But no, she had to go help with a drunk and disorderly call because the miner they call Grumpy will only listen to her after a certain amount of drinks for some reason. It’s why David has nicknamed her a magical savior when they have to go down this path. 

And now it’s been six days since his breath had stuttered out when her fingers teased the hair on the nape of his neck. Six days since he’d turned to face her in the low light of the room and kissed her in a way that made her feel utterly cherished and also so aroused she could hardly stand it. She’d just been about to act on all of it when her phone rang and she audibly groaned at the absurdity of the timing. 

Needless to say, it’s been a long six days. 

When Friday finally rolls around, Emma is pretty sure she’s going to walk into his office and climb him like a tree if he’s up for it, but when she gets there, Killian is something about ten degrees past distraught.

Pacing the small space end-to-end, his hair is practically standing straight up and he looks like he’s about to explode as he speaks quickly into the phone pressed against his ear.

“His schedule said that he should’ve been on the second or third bus this morning and he would’ve arrived by now had he taken either of them. I haven’t heard from him, his foster parents have called me six times, and we’re all freaking out just a little bit.”

He looks up, his whole body deflating in defeat when he gets the response from whoever is on the other line. 

“Well, can you call the bus station this time? See if they’ll give you any information?” Killian mouths the word “David” when she catches his eye again. “Thanks, mate. Emma just walked in. Call me if you hear something?”

When he hangs up the phone, he drops into his chair and presses his hand and brace (the attachment for his prosthetic is nowhere to be seen) to his face. 

“Hey hey hey, what’s up?” She takes quick strides around his desk to pry his arms away from his face and works on smoothing out his hair as he looks up at her.

“Henry hasn’t shown up. He’s either been taken or he’s run away.”

A lump of fear settles in her stomach. The likelihood that a foster kid ran away is pretty high; she knows the statistics. Shit.

“I have to go. Robin and I are going to check in some of his favorite places and see if he’s here and just not coming to us. I’m sorry to skip our lunch.”

“No apologies needed,” she says, her fingers absently playing with a chain she’s just started noticing he wears under his shirt. “I’ll help any way I can. But I have to go back to the station and get the Bug.”

“Call me if anything comes up?”

She hums her agreement, leaning up to kiss him again before she heads back out of his office and nearly jogs back to her car. 

Driving around town goes quick. She’s not sure the routes that Killian and Robin are taking, and where David is in all of this, but end-to-end she keeps driving for an hour before she finally parks near the public beach access and sets out on foot. 

There’s no one out here, not on a cold November day that’s threatening snow like this one is, but it’s when the terrain changes again that she catches a weird track. It looks like suitcase marks, but that would be ridiculous in most circumstances. Then she thinks back to her conversations with Killian and the suitcase Henry owns from his previous foster family that he would never leave behind. 

She’s not even all the way to the destination she knows she’ll find him when she texts Killian the location, letting him know that Henry is, in fact, safe when she gets visual confirmation. Physically safe, of course. Mentally? She’s about to find out.

Approaching slowly, Emma leans down to get into Henry’s line of vision and smiles reassuringly. She can’t really see him with the way his hood is up and he’s trying his best to curl in on himself.

“Hey, kid.”

“Emma? What are you doing here?”

“Well, you have a lot of people really freaked out right now. I’ve been out looking for you.”

“Is CPS here?”

“No, no one like that. But your foster parents are on their way and Robin and Killian are out looking for you. Are you okay?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Promise you won’t get mad?”

“Is it something you’ve done?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not going to get mad. And even if it was, I would hear you out and really listen before doing anything like getting upset.”

Henry takes a deep breath, and rather than ask anything at all, he finally lifts his head to look at her. With the way he’d been sitting, there had been a shadow over half his face, but now she sees it wasn’t really a shadow at all. Blooming around his eye, the bruise is going to be quite the shiner. 

“Who did it?”

“Mr. Carter.”

“What happened?”

“I asked if we could go out and buy a new suit for the party next month. I’ve been saving up every bit I can for the transportation up here so I don’t have to make the Carters pay for me. But I haven’t had the chance to do any dog-sitting jobs with the edits and my cash is running low. I told him I would pay him back.”

Emma finishes her approach to the playground, hoisting herself up to sit beside him. 

“Would you like a hug?” 

He doesn’t say anything, just nods and tips over when she puts her arm around him, holding him close as he silently falls apart. 

Distantly, she can hear someone approaching, knows that the text notification she’s getting in her pocket is probably Killian trying to get to them. 

“They’re going to take you out of that house.”

“I brought everything with me this time, just in case they did. Or even if they didn’t. Do you know where they’ll send me?”

“Well, we can talk to them and see if they’ll let you stay with me. I have a spare room in my loft. Or David and Snow have a guest room.”

“Do you really think they’d let me stay here?”

“I don’t know. But the least we can do is try.”

“Henry, you’re okay,” Killian says when he finally gets to them. She can see the second Henry looks up at him because Killian goes completely still, his expression flickering between concern, shock, and settling on a quiet rage.

“Did your foster father do that?”

“We’re going to try talking to his case worker and see if they’ll let Henry stay here with one of us,” Emma says. Henry nods at her words, seeming to fold in closer to her. 

“Of course. I don’t know if a couch will work but I’ll happily lend my home to this venture if necessary.”

“Call David? We’re going to want to get ahead of the Carters. We’ll need Archie and Dr. Whale to meet with us, too.”

Jumping straight into action, Killian pulls out his phone, contacting David and filling him in. Without even missing a beat, he helps Emma down when she starts to shift off the platform, holding out his hook to steady her as she lands on her feet.

“I’m handing you over to Emma now,” he tells David, listening for a beat before giving her his phone. 

“Hey,” she says quietly. She turns to watch as Killian helps Henry off the platform. As soon as he’s off the playground, Killian opens his arms in invitation, and Emma feels something in her chest constrict when she watches the way Henry leans into the hug. 

That was David to her, so long ago. It was David that found her in Florida, that picked her up, that helped put her back together. Struggling past the lump of emotion sitting in her throat, Emma turns away and talks to David about their next steps, only moving back towards them when she ends the call. Killian takes the suitcase that Henry had stashed beneath the playground and together they lead him back towards the parking lot.

Robin is waiting for them, looking just as relieved when the three of them appear from the beach access. He, too, goes through the stages of emotions when he catches sight of the bruise, and immediately he turns into some kind of hovering parent. While Henry and Killian climb into Robin’s SUV, Emma goes back to her own vehicle, taking a second after they drive away to take deep, even breaths. There’s a specific type of panic sitting against her breastbone and she wants to cry, to sob out all her frustrations. She only really cries when she’s angry nowadays, and fuck is she angry at this situation. 

From what Killian said, this kid had it all with the previous family. Had a life worth enjoying, only to get stuck with someone that would dare to hit him because he asked for money. She gives herself a shake, finally shifting the car into reverse and pulling away from the beach. 

It all gets a little more complicated than that when they get back into town. The foster parents show up, insults blazing the moment anyone even looks at them, and it’s clear they’re going to deny ever touching Henry in every way possible. 

“Henry is an upstanding teenager with no prior record of running away or violence of any kind. You’re telling me he went out and got in a fight the day he’s meeting with his book editor and then doesn’t bother showing up because he’s rebellious?”

The way David says it makes Emma proud.

There are long chats with CPS after that, with Emma offering her place but being turned down after she describes her home life and schedule. David goes to step up, but it’s Robin that speaks next. 

“We’d like to take Henry in, if that’s something he would be amenable to,” the other man says, gesturing to Henry first. “My fiance and I have plenty of room in our house. I have a son younger than Henry, so we’re definitely not new to parenting. And neither of us keep anything dangerous in the house. No guns, no medications beyond allergy nasal sprays, children’s medicine, and aspirin. We have a liquor cabinet that only has two keys that stay with us at all times. And our schedules are such that Regina or myself can be there when he gets home from school each day.”

“Is that something you’d like, Henry?” Killian asks.

“As long as you’re sure I’m not invading your space,” Henry starts to say, but all the Storybrooke adults in the room speak at once in a rush to reassure him that it’s no imposition. She watches the bashful smile form and he nods his head, accepting Robin’s handshake when he offers it. 

When they’re all wrapped up for the day, Killian lingers back with Emma just outside the station doors. 

“Do you have anything else to finish up with this?” 

“Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow. Plus, David has most of it already started thanks to the digital system. Mostly just dotting some i’s and crossing any t’s that need it.”

His hand tangles with one of hers, and he smoothly lifts it to drape it over his shoulder, stepping into her space a little more after he glances around and confirms they’re alone. 

“Would you like to come to my place? Drink some wine, order some pizza, maybe… stay the night if you’d like?”

“I would, but I’m not going to.” Confusion immediately replaces the sultry look he’d been aiming for. “I want you to go home and sleep. Between the edits and the anxiety over the party next month, and then everything that happened today… Like I said, I always saw you as a neat-stacks kind of guy. And today you were chaos. I have wanted nothing more than a quiet night in with you since last weekend, but you need to unwind and decompress without the use of sex or alcohol.”

He’s looking at her intently the whole time she speaks, a smile starting to pull up at his lips as she continues. Finally, when she’s done speaking, he takes a moment before closing the distance between them and kissing her hard enough that it almost changes her mind. Almost. 

“This is why I like you. You know exactly what to say, how to say it, and when to say it. Would you at least do the honors and drive me home, please?”

“Absolutely,” she confirms, a matching grin on her own face. They move out of the station and towards Emma’s car until Killian stops her short just a few feet away from the Bug. 

“I’ve not had a chance to formally ask, but would you care to be my date to the party? I realize we’ve not been dating long, but I would love for you to accompany me.”

“I’d love to! And tell you what. Why don’t we do that whole pizza and wine adventure on Wednesday? We can decide later if it’s an adult-sleepover type thing or just another date, okay?”

“Aye, sounds perfect.” 

It doesn’t stop her from kissing the hell out of him when they pull up outside of his place, and Killian’s silly grin afterwards is worth the efforts it takes to let him get out of the car without doing it all over again. 

“Goodnight, Swan.”

“Goodnight,” she says back, watching him wearily walk up the path to his front door. She doesn’t drive away until he’s inside and the porch light is turned off.

-x- November 27: Wednesday

Killian Jones is having a shite day. Absolute shite. His computer crashes in the morning, leaving three days’ progress lost to the technological hell he finds himself in. He rubs his eyes when he thinks of the newest corrections he made to the novella, all of the progress lost. He thinks of the press releases he had finally finished drafting up, the wording absolutely perfect. He wishes for rum. Lots and lots of rum, and Emma Swan.

“Hey, you were supposed to - Killian? What’s wrong?” He looks up as one wish enters through the door and he idly wonders if she has rum stashed somewhere on her.

“I’m sorry, love,” he says, roughly rubbing his hand over his face again. “I’ve had a bit of a set-back. I should’ve called.” Especially after what happened last week, he should’ve called her as soon as he realized he was going to have that kind of day. 

After just a moment of lingering in the door, she moves to stand behind him at his desk, working her thumbs into the knots along his shoulders and the base of his neck. He wants to melt into his chair at her touch. His head drops forward and he sighs, letting his muscles relax for a moment.

“I’m beginning to think that bad luck is following you,” she says, her voice low in his ear. He can feel the shiver it causes all the way down his spine and it takes a few quick breathing exercises to stop his body from reacting to her overall attention. 

It’s been three weeks since their first date, and every date after has seemed cursed. There was the one interrupted by a phone call from David asking to help with some kind of public disturbance, and then they didn’t even get to have their date last Friday when Henry went missing. 

“I’m going to bring you some lunch,” she says, giving his shoulders one more squeeze before moving to sit on the edge of his desk.

“You really are a savior, Swan,” he says, grabbing her hand and kissing the back of it softly. The smile she gives him eases a little more of the tension in his body and he gratefully accepts the kiss she places on his lips. 

“I’ll be back in five,” she tells him before heading back out of his office.

By the time she returns, he’s at least recovered the corrections and marks on the novella, which makes his blood pressure return to something approaching normal. The press release seems to be gone entirely, though, so he knows the next few hours of work will be spent trying to recreate that. 

“I won’t distract you,” she says, placing a kiss on his cheek as she sets the bag down on his desk. “Call me later, okay?”

“I will. Thank you, Emma. For all of this,” he says sincerely, wishing their lunch break could’ve been spent together. Instead of a response, she kisses him again, smiling sweetly and wishing him luck before she slips out of his office. 

That’s how they usually do it - in the short time they’ve been together, he’s worked little routines into their daily lives. Emma doesn’t seem to mind one bit, following along with the well-worn steps they go through. And he’s also found that, in the last couple weeks, he isn’t holding as tightly to the strict schedule he used to keep himself on.

He sighs again and opens the bag of food Emma left him, breathing in the smells and resolving to eat before he throws himself into that blasted press release. 

It’s not the same when it’s finished, that much is obvious, but it’s close enough. When it’s clear that everyone else is leaving for the holiday weekend, Killian compulsively saves the file a few times before shutting everything down for the vacation. 

He calls Emma after he gets all his winter gear on, making sure his earbuds are attached and securely in his ears before he slides on his hat and dials her number.

They’d made plans last week - pizza, wine, a quiet night - and he confirms that they’re still on for said plans as he makes his way through the quiet streets of Storybrooke and back to his home. 

“I could’ve picked you up,” Emma says when she realizes what he’s doing, but he brushes it off and asks her what time he should be there.

WIth their plans finalized, he happily enters his apartment with a skip in his step. To be clear, he’s not expecting sex tonight. Does he want it? Yes. Does he think Emma wants it? There have been many clear indications that she does. So, while he doesn’t expect it, he plans for it just in case, making sure to be thorough with his shower.

When it’s just about time, Killian walks over to her place, letting the bracingly cool air calm the anxious pit in his stomach. It’s good anxiety, this time, but it’s still better to not have it at all. 

He beats the pizza delivery man by just a minute, hustling out of the way as Emma moves to answer the door she’d barely had time to shut. 

“Perfect timing,” she says out loud.

It’s the quiet night they’ve both been hoping for. No interruptions so far, no work distress lingering over their heads. Just the two of them, a pizza, and some time. 

The switch flips in an instant - one moment they’re sitting on her couch discussing how their days went and then she’s crawling into his lap, pushing him further into the cushions as they try to devour each other. This feels momentous; they finally get to learn about each other more intimately when they’ve spent so much time learning about each other. 

It’s clear they’ve both been holding back in the small snatches they’ve found to spend together between their dates. When Emma’s hips settle over his, he groans involuntarily. Being underneath her is one of the most exquisite tortures Killian has ever felt and he would give anything to stay right here, with her almost subconsciously rocking her hips against his as weeks of sexual tension finally come to the surface. 

The latent movements suddenly have purpose, the intent obvious when Emma leans back and Killian can see the heat in her eyes that sends tingles along his scalp and down his spine. 

His hand slides under her sweater, gliding along the smooth skin of her back. With an arch of his eyebrow he asks permission without words. When she nods, he deftly unhooks her bra and brushes his fingers up the rest of her spine. 

“Shit,” she whispers, a smile spreading instantly as she visibly shivers. 

Her hands are slowly rubbing down his chest, resting over his belt buckle, and he draws her back down to kiss her again as she slowly starts working the metal and leather apart. Her fingers are just dipping beneath the waistband of his jeans when the door to the loft swings open and someone comes flying through the door. 

“Sorry to barge in but Granny’s all out of holy fucking shit I’m so sorry!”

By voice alone he identifies the culprit as Ruby. 

“I’m just… gonna go find what I need in the kitchen and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Give me a minute and I’ll help you,” Emma finally says, giving him a regretful look as she eases back a little bit. 

“No really, I just need some brown sugar for the apples.” 

When Killian looks over his shoulder, the other woman is holding a hand over her eyes, almost blindly searching for the ingredient in Emma’s cabinets. 

“Hang on, Ruby,” Emma says again, trying not to laugh. “I’m sorry.” Her voice is soft, but she’s grinning. He cups her cheek in his hand, giving her a smile of his own. 

“This really was just a shite day,” he mumbles. “Though I much prefer this nuisance to the other ones my day has given me.” He makes sure she can hear the sincerity of his voice as he rubs his thumb across her cheek. “It’s getting late. I should go.”

“You don’t have to,” she says as she stands and holds out her hand to him.

“No, spend time with your friend. I’ll text you when I get home,” he insists, quickly fastening his buckle as discreetly as possible before he kisses her goodbye. It’s sweeter this time, but there’s still a hint of heat behind it and he’s tempted to throw caution to the wind and stay, but instead he bids her goodbye and accepts the kiss to his cheek she bestows upon him. 

When a moment has passed, one must accept it and move along. He knows a sign from the universe when he sees one. 

The walk home is sobering and lonely, much more subdued than the walk over. Killian has gone back and forth in his life on how patient he can be. There was a long time where he took without thinking of the consequences and hurt some people along the way. But with Emma, it all feels different. He feels like he’s waited a lifetime for her and knows he’d be willing to wait another one for something like physical intimacy when there’s so much more to who she is as a woman. 

It’s this thought that follows him through the door of his own dwelling and he leans against the wood for a moment. Alone in the quiet, he accepts the early bedtime he’s about to have, rubbing his hand over his face. He makes sure to text Emma that he got home before wandering through and flipping on the few lights he’ll need for the process of getting ready for bed. 

His text alert pings in his pocket as he’s shuffling to his room to change, and he smiles when he sees Emma’s name across the screen. 

“Ruby’s already apologized a million times since you left.”

He smiles at the message, knowing that Ruby’s apologies have probably been loud and likely detailed exactly what she thinks she was interrupting. Nevermind the fact that she’d be correct, but he’s sure Emma’s face has probably been a permanent shade of pink all through it. 

They text back and forth while he gets ready for bed, with the time creeping up on when he used to so dutifully go to sleep that he’s surprised he’s not really as tired as he’d expect with the day he had. He’s just checked the locks to make sure they’re secured for the evening and goes to turn out the living room light when he hears a knock. 

Killian takes a moment to stare at the door in question, because it’s almost eleven and he’s afraid there will be another unpleasant surprise waiting on the other side. Moving warily, he slides the deadbolt out and pulls open the door enough to see who’s on the porch. He takes in the sight of Emma standing there, in her pajamas under all her winter gear, with what looks to be an overnight bag slung over her shoulder.

He swings the door open wider with shock on his face, and Emma grins wide.

“Swan? Is everything all right, love?”

She walks in when he motions her inside and sets her bag on the floor by her feet while he locks everything back up. 

“Everything is fine,” she says, waiting until he’s back in front of her before she tugs him towards her by the collar of his t-shirt. She tastes like toothpaste when he kisses her and he finds the same heat that was simmering before is now boiling over.

When her fingers untangle the knots on his flannel bottoms, he thinks there’s something to be said about bad days having better endings. 

-x- 

After Killian leaves, Emma has every intention of listening to her friend’s food-based crisis and spending a hefty amount of time calming down her hormones. But then Ruby starts a string of apologies as soon as Emma turns to her and explains that she didn’t realize Emma wouldn’t be alone and she’s used her key about a million times before without a thought and…

She does listen to Ruby’s food-based crisis and helps with not just the apples, but an issue with the pumpkin pies as well. Ruby and Granny go serious business for Thanksgiving, after all, and Emma is happy to do her duty to make sure everything comes out perfect. 

When the door closes after her friend, Emma wanders to her room to get ready for bed. She changes into her favorite pajamas and heads to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face, all while texting Killian. It’s somewhere between doing her mouth rinse and walking back towards her bedroom that she makes a decision.

She’s in the Bug before she knows it, with a presumptuous overnight bag on the seat next to her. The entire drive leaves her jittery, and by the time she taps on his door, she’s almost sure he’ll be able to see her heart rate the moment he looks at her.

Instead, he’s more worried than anything else at first, and she doesn’t really blame him. When her fingers finally get the knots of his pajama bottoms undone, all previous tensions and fears either of them may have felt have evaporated. 

In the back of her mind, Emma knows that she has to be at David and Snow’s at a respectable hour, but she also knows that neither of them have to go to work tomorrow. This thought and all others vanish from her mind as Killian knocks her coat from her shoulders. She thinks her gloves are next to the bag that got left right in the entryway, but how much can she really care when she draws Killian’s shirt up over his ribs and helps him remove it? How can she focus on anything at all when this solid, handsome, wonderful man is looking at her like she’s a delectable treat he wants to devour whole? 

“See something you like, Swan?” The cocky grin she’s gotten used to over the time she’s known him is back on his lips, his hand and wrist shoved into the pockets of his sleepwear while he rocks back on his heels. The husky tone he uses sends heat between her thighs and she’s absolutely ready to explore this brand new territory.

“Maybe,” she offers back. She’s proud that her voice comes out low and seductive, instead of squeaky and unsure. His chuckle is low as he pushes off the wall. 

“I’m glad you’re appreciating the view,” he says as she pulls him against her.

“Maybe isn’t yes, Jones.”

“It isn’t no either,” he reminds her. She bites her cheek to stop from smiling, thinking of all the times they’ve said those words to each other already. At least this time she’s allowed to shut him up with her lips. 

She feels the thrum of tension just below his skin, can feel it in the way he kisses her back with desperation. She lets instinct take over, instead of thought. She doesn’t think about how tired she is from the day she’s had, or how tired Killian might be. Besides, he doesn’t seem tired right this moment from the way his hand is sliding under her shirt, drawing it up and over her head, his hand immediately finding her bare breasts. 

She gasps at the contact, steps out of her shoes and starts nudging him towards his bedroom. He shifts his attention from her lips to her neck, to the spot just behind her ear. She pauses their route to the bedroom to push him against the wall in the hallway and while his hand slips down to her lower back to hold her close, he hesitates for a second.

“Emma, are you sure?”

She doesn’t respond with words, instead choosing to step back and hook her thumbs into the waistband of the flannel bottoms she wore on the way over, sliding them down her hips and letting them fall to the floor. She watches as his eyes sweep down her whole body, sees the muscles of his jaw clench as he swallows and drags his eyes back up to meet hers.

He doesn’t move, and it takes everything in her power not to fidget in front of him with how intense his stare is. There’s something below the surface between them, something she isn’t willing to look at tonight in the quiet dark of his hallway, or even tomorrow in the light of day. It hasn’t been long enough, and she knows she’s not ready. 

Finally, he brings his hand up. He rests it lightly on her shoulder for a moment before softly running it all the way down until the back of his hand moves over her fingertips. He starts again at the top, this time brushing his fingers over her collarbone, sweeping down and just dusting across one breast and then the other, across each nipple, before he continues down. He places his wrist gently on her hip and urges her closer to where he’s still leaning.

“You’re stunning, Swan,” he whispers in the dark. She bites her bottom lip, running her hands all the way up his arms to rest on his shoulders. When he kisses her this time, it has more to do with tasting than rushing, so she sighs into it, into him, pressing against him. The feel of his bare chest against hers is sweet torture.

She pushes at the hem of the sweatpants now riding low on his hips, stepping back to take in the full picture just as he did. Emma discovers that she could stare at nearly-naked Killian all day if she didn’t have anywhere else to be. She’s surprised her glasses, askew as they are, aren’t fogging up at the sight.

They move in tandem this time, lips connecting, tasting, and nipping. He easily lifts her and she squeaks in surprise, her legs wrapping around his hips. 

“Fuck, Emma,” he grumbles, moving swiftly down the hall and settling her onto the bed.

“Exactly,” she whines, accepting the kiss he gives her as he chuckles, his tongue sliding against hers when she opens her mouth to him. When he pulls away again, she’s smiling at him, but the restraint is obvious in the lines around hers eyes.

“Patience, Emma.”

“I think we’ve shown more patience than either of us expected,” she says with a level look. “You locked the door right? None of your friends are going to barge in? Liam isn’t planning any quick visits to see you, right?”

When Killian moves away from her completely, laughing as he goes to the nightstand by his bed, Emma lets her arms fall above her head on the mattress. His bedroom is warm and cozy, and the heat of her skin from anticipation doesn’t hurt either. 

“Fair enough to assume they might, however, I even engaged the deadbolt and if anyone so much as rings the bell, I’ll knock them to the ground,” he tells her, pushing his boxers out of the way before he stands at the foot of the bed. “Now, a woman as beautiful as you demands my full and prompt attention.”

She pushes up to her elbows, obliging and lifting her hips when he taps one to slide her panties off. With those delegated to the floor, he finally crawls back onto the bed but stays near the bottom. She wants him inside of her, and almost tells him so, but the moment his fingers slide along her entrance as his tongue finds her clit, she decides to utilize the patience he just told her to have.

It’s totally worth it.

The man is gifted beyond reason, taking directions to what she likes with the same attention to details he gives everything else in his life. In past experiences, she’s not always been lucky enough to get foreplay like this, and so she’s surprised at how quickly he pulls her up, up, up and over the edge of climax. 

Giving her a minute to collect herself again, she looks down the length of her body and watches with pointed interest as Killian rolls a condom down his length. He catches her eye, shrugging and smirking at what they both recognize as a skill. Shifting again, he’s kneeling between her legs, the tip of his cock just pressing where she is so ready for him. 

Instead of waiting for him to ask, she grasps his hips and nods, pulling him until he’s filling her up. He rests his head between her breasts, hips already rocking just a bit, enough to amp them both up. She tugs him up to kiss him again, silently begging him to move. Finally, he does, pulling out and pushing back in just a little faster, causing her to gasp and break the kiss. He sets a pace that has her breathing harder, even more so when he nips the top of one breast.

“Bloody hell, Emma, you feel amazing,” his whispers hoarsely against the sensitive skin and it further ignites the fire that’s been building since he opened the door. She lifts her hips to meet his thrusts, hands clutching at his biceps where they’re braced on either side of her head. She breathes out a request for more and he complies, moving his hand as he quickens the pace.

He trails a path from the center of her chest, down her abdomen, ending right above where they’re joined so his fingers find and circle her clit in time to his rhythm. She fists the sheets with one hand, the other slipping between them to press against his as her climax rises and breaks, her back arching off the bed, her head pushing back into the space below his pillows and her eyes shut tight. 

She says his name in a sigh as she comes down and he kisses her greedily, his movements getting jerkier as he reaches his own peak. She pushes her hips up, accepting as he settles deep inside of her with a groan as his orgasm takes over and he drops his head to her shoulder. 

With choppy little movements, he comes back down and settles on top of her. Both of them are struggling to catch their breath, but a hazy smile is plastered on her face and she runs her fingers along his scalp while she waits for him to recover. 

It clearly takes some effort, but he shifts in order to drop into the spot beside her. 

“Worth the wait,” he tells her, rolling close to kiss her before he’s rising from the bed to get cleaned up. All she can do is hum in agreement as she stretches in lazy contentment. As he leaves the room, she opens her eyes and realizes nothing is in focus.

“Watch out for my glasses,” she calls after him. “I have no idea where they fell off but they’re definitely not on my face.” He makes a noise of acknowledgement, and Emma lets her body rest in the comfort of his bed for the short time he’s gone. It could be minutes, or it could be hours, all she knows is she could live this strung out on an orgasm every day for the rest of her life and not complain. 

“Found em!” he calls from the hallway on his way back in. He’s grinning when he enters the room, his own glasses perched on his face as he hands hers over. His arms are full of their discarded clothes and her overnight bag.

“I set out a washcloth in case you’d like to clean up at all,” he tells her as he drops everything on the edge of the bed. 

Heaving herself up, she moves to stand next to him, reaching up and pulling him down for a kiss. “Thanks.” She gives him one more kiss and then smiles, turning and helping him sort out their mess of clothing before she goes to the bathroom with her bag to get cleaned up.

She’s barely settled back in the bed with him before sleep overtakes her, claiming her fast after he wraps his arm around her waist and whispers her goodnight. 

-x- November 28: Thursday

When he awakens, it’s to the November sun trying its hardest to break through the clouds. Trying, but definitely not succeeding. Though the weather may be doing its best to soldier on into winter, none of that reaches the warmth and comfort of Killian’s bed, especially when Emma stretches beside him. 

“I’m not gonna lie,” she says as she burrows further under the covers. “If I didn’t have to stop at David and Snow’s and make an appearance at Granny’s later, I would be finding a way to convince you to stay in this bed all day.”

“It wouldn’t take any convincing at all, just for the record. What time is this dinner?”

“Five o’clock. Are you going?”

“And miss my opportunity to listen to you all gripe about how this American tradition is born on the genocide of the people that inhabited the land while still eating turkey and mashed potatoes? Of course I’ll be there,” he says, turning on his side and propping up on his wrist. He fixates for a moment on the way the blankets are leaving one of her shoulders slightly exposed, running his finger along the only bit of skin that’s visible.

“That sounds accurate,” she says, her voice going a little breathless when his hand slips below the blanket to follow the lines of her bicep. “And until then?”

“By my calculations, we can have a little bit of that aforementioned time in bed,” Killian says with nonchalance. 

Emma’s expression morphs into a happy grin and she scoots closer. “If you get me coffee first, there’s a lot of really great ways I can think to repay you.”

“Coffee it is,” he murmurs, pressing forward to kiss her before the moment slips away. 

-x-

Chapter 8

[urproblematicfav-arsonk]

There's a lot of things about Borderlands 3 that makes it kinda a garbage game. And all of those things are valid and true but a aspect of bl3 that deeply bothers me isn't something I've really seen people talk about?? Maybe they have but I missed it but I want to say my interpretation. (Also like, spoiler warning throughout all of this post)

To start off with: hi, I'm a autistic afab nonbinary person and this is relevant for this little rant I'm bout to go on.

I want to begin by stating why I love this franchise so much.

Borderlands, whether you like it or not, is INCREDIBLY queer. And not in a coded kind of way, it's just flat out gay as fuck. And that means so fucking much to me. Borderlands 2 was one of the first times I ever felt fully represented in a game. Zer0 being this dumbass making Yugioh references and generally being a fun garbage boy and also being nonbinary meant a lot to me and I adore him to this day (nonbinary people can use gendered pronouns fuc off). And getting more and more into this series and finding out that basically every character was on some level queer was really cool to me. Maya being asexual and most of the characters being attracted to multiple genders so honestly and off handily was so refreshing and amazing to get to play through. The casual mentions of a woman's wife or some man's husband in the echo's you find or Moxxi talking about her ex girlfriends was one of the reasons I loved this so much.

Another thing I loved particularly about Borderlands 2 was how feminist it was. I can not tell you how quickly I lost my shit at Mr. Torgue talking about the friend zone being misogynistic(it is btw). And the repeated jokes about fully murdering men for being rude to women was some of the highlights of my first playthrough. Punching a guy till he explodes because he disrespected a sex worker?? Fucking immaculate.

SPEAKING OF SEX WORK.

Mad Moxxi is a icon. She is a mother of MULTIPLE children, a survivor of rape and assault and a fucking bad bitch who runs a now intergalactic titty bar. Getting to have not only a sex worker be respected in a narrative, Moxxi is fun and a genuinely complex character who isn't defined by her job or her appearance. She is emotional and strong and funny and flawed but amazing person.

And then there's the way the male characters a represented and treated. I'll be honest here, I haven't really played Borderlands 1, mostly because have been spoiled by auto pick up and also I just didn't feel like it. So my idea of most of the men are based entirely off of Bl2, the pre-sequel and Tales. Anyway, Mordecai in particular is a character I really liked upfront. I love how a lot of his motivation and character is driven by his love of animals and Bloodwing. He's kind and though troubled knows when to get his shit together and be there when he needs to be. His casual "are you okay?" After the latter falls in the Arid Nexus was such a nice moment and the way he genuinely tries to be there emotionally for all of the people around him who he cares for is so fucking rare to see in a male character. And his arc of giving up alcohol to focus on being a better bird dad and you getting to help Brick make Mordecai a special gift to celebrate his sobriety is so amazing and I'm so proud of him.

Mr. Torgue is my dad and I love him. As mentioned, he is normal and believes that the friend zone is absolute garbage talk is ICONIC™ and the best scene in that game fight me. Torgue is a crybaby. He is an emotional person who is not afraid to express his pain and hurt when people are mean to him. He respects women and loves unicorns. The fact that is physical appearance is a big muscle guy who screams but is the literal opposite of toxic masculinity will forever make him the best male character of all time and I love him and he is my dad.

Roland was a character that I was never in particularly attached to but I still respect him and did enjoy his presence. I really appreciated his leadership style being primarily based on empathy and logic as opposed to him being a big meanie man with a HUGE dick who yells at people. I always really resonated with the echo from Tannis talking about how she came to Sanctuary. Roland going out of his way to bring Tannis to safety while completely respecting her autism and struggle with socializing really made his death hit harder when Tannis was very obviously distraught by losing him. It really seems that Roland was the only one who didn't treat her differently. And as someone who's autistic, finding people who legit 100% understand and respect you and just let you live the way you want/need to is kinda hard and those are the qualities I'd personally want in a leader.

Angel is also a big spot of affection for me. Handsome Jack being a irrefutably horrible person who Angel flat out says gaslights people and killed her means a lot to me considering 99% of Bad Parent stories end with "I forgive u" getting to see an abusive victim take that narrative and say fuck you was powerful and meant a lot to me coming from my own abusive home life.

There's a lot of other things I love about Borderlands but if I keep going I won't stop lol so let's get into why Borderlands 3 makes me so uncomfortable.

One of the main things that bothered me was the sexism. Its nothing too horrifying but given how feminist bl2 was it was really shocking and a bit hurtful the number of times women are called bitches or made to seem crazy. If you recall I brought up how you punch a man to death for calling a woman a bitch? Yea no, in this game we mock women for having boundaries and opinions because lol she's just a CRAZY BITCH who just needs to stop acting so hysterical am I right guys?

Yea the whole mission with that stupid bear thing and his ex robot girlfriend made me insanely uncomfortable and upset. I kept waiting for the gotcha moment where it says actually this bear guy is a dick and he shouldn't use language like that but no we just,,,,,, are supposed to laugh along. I hate it.

Even though Borderlands 3 is still very much queer, this game introducing 2 new trans characters as well as a whole DLC about a gay marriage and one of the playable characters being a lesbian there was this some shit that bothered me.

The mission where you crash and ruin a lesbian wedding.

That mission made so upset and uncomfortable. I hated how traumatized and hurt Tumorhead was as I murdered her family and wife. I hated how unfulfilling the mission was where PLOT TWIST the lady was actually a spy or whatever. I hate how there's a mission about ruining some poor psycho ladies wedding. I would've much more preferred a mission where Idk Bloodshine asks you to help her kill a spy who's causing problems and then fucking go around Promethea collecting wedding decorations or something. OR MAYBE JUST NOT A MISSION WHERE YOU KILL LESBIANS FOR NO FUCKING REASON.

I'm mad, anyway.

I also hated how Tannis was treated in this game. Under absolutely no circumstance would Doctor Patricia Tannis ever willingly take up a position of leadership. She is a severely autistic woman who gets nose bleeds from talking to people she wouldn't just be like "I'm in charge now pls talk to me!!!" Fuck off. And the joke about her dating a minecart isn't funny. The whole thing with the chairs, though funny in its absurdities was still a very important and powerful moment of character exploration. Tannis is insane. She is traumatized and hurt and in a moment of severe torture, she humanized some inanimate objects to cope. Tannis crying over the echo over Phillip is a heartbreaking moment of true vulnerability. It is also funny, because that's how good dark comedy works. It can be both hysterical and emotionally ruining at the same time. So what exactly does Tannis divorcing a minecart mean? What is this saying about her character? Why is it funny? Because lol lol reference??? Again, fuck off.

I hate how the Calypso twins childhood is handled. Troy implies it was horribly abusive and traumatic. But when we met Typhon whatever, he acts like it wasn't that bad??? He acts like he just didn't buy his kids the latest iPhone and oh no whoopsie now they're evil, my bad guys. It feels super weird and I don't like it.

Speaking of abusive parents. THEY DID MY GIRL ANGEL DIRTY SO BAD. This was literally when I decided I hated this game. Angel being the one who killed her mother and not Jack was fucking horrible. Especially after the literal foreshadowing in borderlands 2 implying he did. The fact that Jack is treated like a fearful man making what he thought was the right decision was insulting. I get that MattPat manipulated the fandom into thing Jack is a uwu bean but fuck you, you're the writers and you should fucking know better. Handsome Jack saw his daughter had power and turned her into a living battery for him to use as he saw fit. He was not scared and he was NOT right. Fuck you and fuck you for framing child abuse as chill and ok if your spooked enough like that. And the mission directly contradicts the echo's in Get To Know Jack. If Angel killed her mom why does she ask Jack where her mommy is when he's putting her in her chambers?? Why is it in the echo Jack is aggressive and forcibly and hurtfully makes her go into her chambers but in the memory, he's quiet and passive about it?? That's literally just flat out bad writing. Also fuck you.

Anyway,

I think that's really all I wanted to say about this topic. Obviously, there are also things that suck about bl3 but I'll try to chill and not make this too long.

I mostly wanted to make this to see if people cared/are bothered by the same things I am. I've seen how some of the fandom treats the more emotional and gay aspects of this franchise(the people throwing a fit over Amara, the friend zone line, not respecting trans peoples pronouns, sexualizing and being gross about Moxxi)

Anyway that's it byeeeeeeeeeeeee

[nightcityhqs]

case  file     ;  Maddox Kingsley

nicknames     ;  None.

associations    ;  The Entertainers

occupation    ;  Host of the Sunset Frequency, Owner of Persephone's Den.

birthdate    ;  November 22th, 1980

hometown    ; London, England

current  location     ;  Downtown

pronouns     ; She/Her

mirror image     ; Charlize Theron

IN CHARACTER INTERVIEW

the record stops, the player tape states, and the radio static is replaced with voices;

 — And our dear listeners are eager to know, how long have you been in Sunset Port? — Most importantly, why do you stay? 

"You know, I'm normally the one doing the questions," Maddox says, accent heavy on her tongue, blowing the smoke from her cigarette away as she watches her assistant tug on the collar of his shirt, visibly uncomfortable. She sighs, "I've been in Sunset Port for twelve years. Stuck in this studio for what? Eight years?" her accent is thick, and Maddox shifts on her seat, clearing her throat. "Why don't I leave? I think about doing it, often. But I made a home for myself here, despite how dull the city can be. And if I leave, who will be the joyful company for our dear listeners every night?"

  Of course! We can all identify with the sentiment. Well, at least some of us. [LAUGHTER] What do you do in Sunset Port? 

A brow is raised, and Maddox groans, half annoyed and half offended. "Is that how I sound when reading those questions? This script is badly made, you know! Who is responsible for this? They should — What? I wrote it?" There's silence, before a tongue is clicking against the roof of her mouth. "Ah. Well, I should rewrite it, then. Well — Isn't it quite obvious?" She leans forward, mouth close to the microphone and voice low and dark, full of mysteries as she repeats the well known quote, "Good evening, Sunset Port. You've tuned in the Sunset Frequency, 66.6. And I will be your company for the night. Here all night, every night." 

  Admirable! Now, I’d have left this question last to finish with a bang, but our listener is impatient, oh my! Have you heard of our little organization?  

Nothing but silence can be heard through the radio, long and uncomfortable. The cigarette burns as the fingers holding it tremble slightly, and Maddox sighs after some time, clearing her throat once more and taking a long drag of her cigarette. "Who hasn't?" The question escapes her lips with no emotion, no surprise. It's cold, and sharp as knives. "Why is that an important question?" 

  Oh my! — And if Isabella Castello came knocking at your door, what would you do?  

Maddox chuckles, the absurdity of the questions finally catching up to her. "Well, darling, I would tell her to go fuck herself." Her assistant goes pale as a ghost, his next words barely leaving his lips. 

  Interesting. Well, I think I’ve kept you here long enough! Thank you for speaking with our public! Which song would you like me to play for you, now?

"Let’s put something inspiring for our dear listeners, huh? How about The Other Side, by Woodkid."

BIOGRAPHY

Trigger Warnings; Violence, Murder, Guns, Drugs, Serial Killers Mention

Maddox Kingsley understands enough of human nature to perceive her morals; nor black nor white, but shades of grey. Most are darker than others, more prominent. Some are hardly noticeable, but the danger is still unmistakable. In hindsight, it should be said her morals are questionable, simply put. There is no wrong or right, for Maddox. Sides are of little importance, as the only side she cares for is her own. A selfish little thing, with only her well-being in mind; she doesn't partake in any activities if she is not gaining something out of it. Maddox is easily buyable, and that's where the trouble resides; her loyalty is not worth a penny, at the end of the day — Not if someone pays better for it. Betrayal is part of Maddox's nature; it's in her blood, her instinct. Not born with her, but shoved in her bones, carved into the space where her heart should've been. Survival had been the first thing Maddox Kingsley learned, forced into her veins by unpredictable events and painfully drastic circumstances — 

You see, Maddox Kingsley had not been planned by loving parents intending to start a family. She had not been imagined, had no one who had longed for her — who had dreamed of her. No. Maddox is the outcome of a series of unpredictable events and terribly, comical if not painfully drastic, exaggerated misunderstandings. A tale so entangled in lies and achingly raw sorrow it is hardly possible to determine the truth. Few things were undoubtedly accurate, facts people embraced without question or suspicion. But the truth, not in its entirety for many pieces of the puzzle were in possession of wrathful and indignant people who would not abide Maddox's questioning, laid dormant and guarded within the confines of her mother's broken heart, hidden from those who found fondness in rumors. Her mother bore the harshness of words in a selfishly selfless act to shield her daughter, and herself. A deed meant to reassure Maddox of her devotion, and thus devotion would be given in return. 

So Maddox knew she was not unloved, her mother’s love had been her only certainty amidst the turmoil, but she wasn't awaited.

At eighteen, Lucrecia Kingsley found herself aggravating her family's situation — once prominent but now sunk in a sea of disrepute and misery. Pregnant. Surprisingly, unseemly and in her father's perspective, undesired. To further his despair, orchestrating a marriage with the father would be improbable, as the man was to be engaged. Not to his daughter, thus saving the family from bankruptcy, but to a society lady. Maddox's mother was adamant about keeping her child, despite that her father threatened to disown her. Thankfully, the man she had slept with during a moment of intoxication and hurt provided accommodations, given she allowed him to share the child with her, and she willingly accepted in a moment of desperation.

The first few years weren't cruel to Maddox. They were not particularly kind, by any means, but the child was shielded from harshness and ruthlessness during most of her first years. Her mother was young, inexperienced, fighting to overcome an essentially empty bank account — but the woman was loving, in a way her own mother had never been before. Maddox was attached to her, clinging to her mother's dresses whenever the woman had to leave for work or when Maddox's father arrived to pick her up for weekends each Friday night. Maddox's mother gave her as much care and comfort as she could, but the woman couldn't preserve her from the distant home her father dared take Maddox to every weekend.

A psychiatry student, Bertrand was a man none dared challenge in fear of his influence and authority. Rumors of Bertrand fabled cruelty were shared in hushed whispers by those brave enough to speak words considered blasphemy, but no eyes had ever witnessed such evil coming from the man's hand. Cold, yes, but not brutal. The man adored Maddox, pampering, and doting on her whenever they spent weekends together, but his family did not share the sentiment. Maddox never met her paternal grandparents, before.

She was young, barely 5, but her first memory is of that night. 

Sat in the back of an ambulance, the police lights bright and vibrant amidst the darkness, Maddox hardly paid mind to the yells of an elder woman she had never met before, who was daring to disturb the ghostly silence plaguing the night. Her attention was solely on her father, his calm eyes staring at her through the car window. To this day, Maddox remembers the strangest feeling creating roots in her lungs at the sight of her father in the back of a police car, officers and agents crowding their house and invading their space.

Your father killed a bunch of people, the agent with kind eyes had informed her, and Maddox remembers how she struggled to speak the words - had to force each syllable and consonant out, her brain surely wondering how to best tell a young girl her beloved father was a killer — and that her mother would not be returning. Her blood continued to stain the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and her father’s eyes never showed any sign of emotions — Maddox knows, now, if she was in the agent's shoes, she would’ve been struggling too.

When Maddox had been discharged from the hospital — an extraordinary child having survived the impossible — it was to the stern hands of nuns with kindness in their eyes, faintly. Taken to a countryside orphanage, Maddox Kingsley turned out to be a difficult case for the nuns and caretakers to restrain. It was to be expected, of course, with her father in jail and her mother murdered. But Maddox's refusal of cooperating, accepting the affections of candidate parents, and simply not speaking whatsoever — proved to be rather complicated. She went and came, a family never settling with her or accepting her into their folds, wishing for an easier child to love and support instead, and returning Maddox to the hands of desperate nuns had been Maddox growing years. Coupled with fights she would often get into with the other children, well — They couldn't do much for her. 

It wasn't until Maddox turned twelve that a man with a prominent glare on his face and few words on his lip finally sealed the deal, taking Maddox in and signing the adoption papers when they were ready. Unusually quickly, but the orphanage was thankful for the money the man provided and to see Maddox finally with a 'family'. Little did they know the man was nothing of a father, but a mentor of sorts; an assassin, one with quick hands and light feet. Maddox kicked and screamed, but soon she fell into her new routine. The man did not care about the fights she picked in school, as long as she kept her head down and the attention on her to a minimum — and every day they trained. Trained until Maddox bones were sore and heavy, until her lungs ached in her ribcage, her ears ringing from the gunshot noises, and her arms burned from the weight of guns.

Maddox and the men held no affection for each other, traded few words, but he shaped her to be a merciless killer, one who could survive the dangers of this world and would not be bound to the grieves and disturbances a heart might cause. By then, she did not remember her mother by face, and tried not to think of the woman — choosing to guard the good memories in a dark place of her heart, a place where the sun doesn't shine and her blood-stained hands couldn't cause such joyful things to root. Maddox and the man held no affection for each other, traded few words, but he shaped her to be a merciless killer, one who could survive the dangers of this world and would not be bound to the grieves and disturbances a heart might cause. By then, she did not remember her mother by face, and tried not to think of the woman — choosing to guard the good memories in a dark place of her heart, a place where the sun doesn't shine and her blood-stained hands couldn't cause such joyful things to root. By eighteen, Maddox started taking her own jobs, and proved to be quite adept at it. She was never caught, and never left witness behind. Fighting came as easy to her as breathing, and Maddox paid no heed to pain. She was a machine, good as they come. By twenty-five, she was running in with a partner, a man she met during a job who was paid to kill another target in the same party she had a target. It wasn't a life she was proud of; running credit card scams, killing for money, and never settling down in one place — but it was the life she knew. The only thing she had been good at. Perhaps it is genetics. Perhaps she is as rotten as her father. Thoughts that kept her awake at night, knowing them to be true. Everything she touched died, just like him. 

With her story and her past, it didn't take long for the Organization to contact her. They promised her the world for her skills, but it came with a price. She had to leave her partner behind, and kill a target that had been escaping the Organization grasps for some time. Maddox faked her own death, leaving London, and following the trail, she was given up to Bulgaria, where she found herself face to face with the man that had raised her, taught her. It wasn't an easy fight. But she came out victorious, and at first thing in the morning, was leaving on a plane to Sunset Port. 

After that, guilt began to settle in her bones. She continued to do her job, but the taste of blood now left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth, and when she turned 32, Maddox decided to leave this life behind. She couldn't, not fully, of course — one does not simply leave the Organization. But they offered her a retirement plan; take charge of the radio station, and be free to do as she wishes in her free time. She accepted it with no questions asked, and has been the radio host for the Sunset Frequency since then.

[jj-lynn21]

Castlerock: All Hallows Eve Ch 3

Ch 3: Chaos

Ch 1: Creation   ch 2 accident

Warnings: angst, jealousy, creepiness, creepy kids laughing,  

Song: It's a dead man's party oingo boingo

tags @dragsraksllib​ @grandpa-sweaters​ @waywardtigersandwich​ @sunshineandskarsgards​ @loomis @goblincxnt​  @kaangwoo​     @taintedglass​

 Nadine hobbled out to kitchen. She poured coffee in a mug that her love had put there for her. Genevieve was making breakfast. The Statue of the Kid sat on the counter looking towards Gen cooking. Nadine glared at the statue sticking her tongue. She gasped as she swore, she saw its mouth turn up in a grin and one eye wink.

  “Fuck.” She backed away to the table to sit down. When she took another look the face was normal. “Fucking hell that thing is creepy Gen.” 

Gen turned around with two plates of scrambled eggs with cheese, sausage, and tomato. “I don’t think that is nice of you to say about him.” She put the food on the table, then turned to grab the statue to set facing her. “He is quite a unique expression of my creativity.”

“I’m not having another fight over him.” Nadine took a deep breath. “It is just a statue made of clay.” She mumbled.

 “For now.” Genevieve mumbled back as she started eating. “Are you going to be able to come to the party tonight? I already started decorating while you were in the hospital.”

“How did you have time?” Nadine paused fork full of eggs halfway to her mouth. “You where there with me as long as they would let you. How did you decorate and sleep?”

Gen shrugged. “The point is that I did it. When the veil lifts it’s a dead man’s party as our parents always say.” She laughed. It sounded a bit wicked as she hears the clay figure of The Kid laugh to.

 “I’m still in.” Nadine started eating again. “People rising from the dead wouldn’t really be all that surprising in this part of Maine. Hopefully, they don’t kill anyone, but I guess we will deal with that when it happens.”

Both girls laugh at the absurdity of the subject. Their laughter only masks the truth they well know. If it is a strange occurrence, it is sure to eventually happen in Castlerock.

Nadine insists on cleaning everything up since Genevieve cooked. She tries to argue with Nadine to at least let her help since she still has stitches in her leg and multiple bruises, but Nadine pushes her off towards her art room.  Gen reluctantly gave in and headed to her art room. She left the statue on the table. Nadine glared at it out of his line of sight. She thought this was her chance to get rid of the thing and she would play dumb when Gen was looking for it.

The party would distract her girlfriend. She would not have time to look for it until after the day of the Dead.  Nadine grabbed the thing. Holding it out In front of her refusing to look in its face she dropped it in the trash. The trash collector was only a house away. When the trucks robot arm lifted the trash can to dumb the contents, she felt relieved and went back in the house to wash dishes.

 A few hours later Nadine knocked on the art room door with some pumpkin cookies. She made dozens for the party. “Hey, Gen do you want to be a taste tester?”

“Come in.” Genevieve was working on a poster board sign of the Marsten house. She worked with blues, purples, black and a bit of oranges and yellows for glowing pumpkins. “How do you like our party sign so far?”

Nadine dropped the plate of cookies as she looked over her loves shoulder. Sitting at the corner of the paper was the statue of the kid watching Gen work.

 “It’s not that scary.” Genevieve laughed and helped Nadine clean up the cookies. She even ate one. “I think you out did yourself. This is the best cookie I have ever had in my mouth.”

“Um thanks.” She looked to the picture then came up with a reason she was scared. “Creepy kid shadows got me, I guess. Everyone will love the sign. Did you make more statues also?”

“No silly.” She kissed the top of the clay statue’s forehead. “He is an original. There can never be more than one.”

Nadine’s heart began beating so fast she grabbed her chest. She swore she saw the thing move its head to look at her. Gen was back to working on the sign by then. 

“I will have this finished in an hour.” Gen had her tongue sticking out as she worked on detailing jack-o'-lanterns in the painting. “Then we can take everything to the house before dusk. It is going to be such a wonderful night. Did I ever tell you my parents found me in the woods near the Marsten house?” “No, you never told me.” I thought the Duchamp’s were your parents.”

“Nope.” Gen replied. “No one could figure out who my real parents were so the sheriff just let them keep me. Everyone figured whoever left a baby in the woods was not much of a parent to begin with.”

“I’m sorry.” Nadine didn’t know anything else she could say. Maybe, her head injury was worse than the Doctor thought and she imagined throwing away the statue. Nothing else really makes sense. All the creepiness about it could be all in her head because of how jealous she is of Henry Deaver, The Kid, or whatever everyone wanted to call him. 

“It's okay.” Genevieve grinned wickedly. “Destiny always finds a person no matter where they end up.”

“I guess.” Nadine shrugged. “I’m going to make more cookies. I’ll be ready when you are done.”

“Sure thing, Nadine.” Genevieve said without looking away from her project. 

An hour before sundown Genevieve brings the painting out.  She had a long blood red jacket on with a hood, a black dress underneath with legging and thigh-high boots. “Already for tonight.”

Nadine turns from bagging up the goodies. “That looks great. And you look sexy as Hell.” Nadine had on black jeans and a loose-fitting black hoodie with cat ears. “I’m ready.”

The girls took Gen’s car. Nadine’s car was still at the Duchamp auto body shop. The wind blew the leaves across the path as Nadine and Genevieve walk up to the house.

 “I’m going to put the sign up.” Genevieve troted back down the driveway with the sign.

  “Alright, just be careful.” Nadine laughed changing the tone of her voice to a deep spooky one. “The witching hour will be upon us soon.” She cackled. She went into the house alone.

Genevieve went down to the bottom of the driveway. She set the sign up and looked at the town of Jerusalem's Lot. The chill in the air made her shiver. It was not that she heard him call for help. She felt him need her help.  She walked around the house into the woods. Her ears heard a humming. Then a loud stinging ringing flooded her mind. She dropped to her knees screaming covering her ears. Then there was silence. There he was laying in the leaves shivering naked.

As soon as she opened her eyes Genevieve crawls to him.  She took her long red coat off to wrap him up. “I’m here with you.”

His lips were blue from the cold.  Expressing his bewilderment with his eyes, he looks to her. He hates this part. The travel from the other side. The surprising time it happened as he communicated with her through her art. He didn’t imagine it could happen like this. A thinning happening on both sides while he was in his bath.

 “Let me help you inside where it is warmer.” She helped him to stand. “I’m sorry my coat is not longer on you, but at least it covers what only me needs to see.’

That made him chuckle a little. As they start walking to the Marsten place, guests are streaming inside. More people than were expected. Nadine did not even notice how long Gen was gone until she saw him duck into the doorway. Genevieve was by his side.  

The Kid darted his eyes around nervously. “Too much.”

Gen helped him through the staring crowd as the sounds of children laughing made her skin crawl. She got her man to a bedroom. Genevieve illuminated the scene with only her cellphone. 

The shadows of children lost surround the bed. “Play with us.” 

Genevieve gasped and dropped the cellphone on the bed. “Make them stop. Make them stop.” She buried her head in his chest.

 He covered her ears. “Go away.” He growled the command his face morphing into a grotesque old demon scaring the apparitions.

They screeched so loud as they ran the walls shook. The house not being the most stable residents started to slowly crumble. Hearing the screaming from where she saw Gen go, Nadine rushed to the room. As she looked inside Gen was looking up at her savior lovingly with trust. His hands covered the sides of her face.

His one eye caught Nadine standing frozen as the walls shook.  “Mine.” He murmured before kissing Genevieve passionately as they laid down in the bed.

The door slammed. Someone in another room yelled “fire.” Nadine ran to put it out. A huge part of the ceiling caved in in the kitchen. The punch bowl ignited when someone dropped their cigarette into it. Chaos took over.

The guests no longer thought the children were a creepy party trick. They were trying to keep people from leaving.  Nadine was trying to help everyone out safely. She could not think of what Genevieve was doing. She grabbed a iron poker from the fireplace. As soon as she swung it, nailing three of the children they vanished.

Some people could finally start to leave yet another nightmare party. The next day many would convince themselves it was the best party they ever attended. Even if some people never got home.

Genevieve and her King start to head out of the house. In the chaos no one noticed. No one that is but Nadine who saw them start to leave out of the corner of her eye.

 “Where are you going!” Nadine screamed. “We need to make sure everyone gets out of here safely.”

“Everything will be fine.” Gen continued to walk out. “I’m going home.”

Nadine was pissed but she did not have time to deal with whatever was going on with Genevieve and that damn creepy kid. The Marstan house was starting to crumble again. The roof had not been secured. The dry wall was barely holding up. The punch bowl was on fire and all those kids laughing as people screamed did not help the situation. 

Once Nadine helped everyone out of the house, she was exhausted. Genevieve’s car was still there. She figured her girl, if she still considered herself that, had walked to their home. Taking The Kid to their place just made the anger well up in her again. She drove back to their home as fire trucks and ambulances descended on the scene.

 Nadine tore up the driveway. She stormed in the house ready for a fight. She was ready to fight for her love or lose Genevieve forever. But their place was quiet when she entered. It was to quiet. She stomped through the place thinking she would find Gen in their bed. She pushed open the door, the room was empty. She went to the art room next. No one was there. And even though Nadine never saw Gen take the statue to the party the statue was gone too.

 She panicked. She was sure Gen told her they were going home. Her mind whorled. She concluded Henry Deaver kidnapped her girlfriend. She rushed to the police station.

“My girlfriend was kidnapped.” She was breathing heaving as she approached the women at the desk. “Henry Deaver kidnapped my girlfriend.”

The clerk rolled her eyes. “Which one? I haven’t seen either in over a year.”

 “The kid.” Nadine answered frustrated. “Whatever you want to call him. He left the party at the Marsten house with her. She said she was going home, and she isn’t there.”

“Oh, you were at that house party.” She shook her head. “Who started the fire? How did all those people get hurt. That place has never been good.”

“That has nothing to do with my girlfriend’s disappearance.” Nadine was infuriated. “We need to get a search party in the woods.”

“Well you have two options young lady.” The clerk grabbed some paperwork and motioned another police officer over. “You take a substance test. We find out what you were doing in that house. Or you sleep it off. It is not a kidnapping for her to leave with him of her own free will. She will probably be home tomorrow. If not, I would forget about her. People disappear around here all the time. No amount of searching usually helps.”

Those were like the words she told Genevieve. Now coming back to haunt her. She left but she never planned to let go. She would eventually find her love and take her back from the man, if he were truly a man, that destroyed their life.