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suzukiblu · 1 year

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Jason Todd for the fic bits?

Jason wants to fuck up every single thing about Gotham, which would be a lot easier if he weren't halfway into heat right now. Which–of fucking course he'd finally have his first fucking heat when he's meant to be starting a fucking gang war.

Like, of course that's his life.

Or death.

He'd really just assumed getting dunked in the pit or being dead or whatever other bullshit had just rotted out his reproductive organs. It's years too damn late for him to start having heats, for fuck’s sake. Hell, he was a late bloomer even before he died.

But he is, absolutely and undeniably, going into heat right now.

So . . . that's a problem, definitely.

Admittedly, said problem could've popped up when Ra's al Ghul was the nearest available alpha, so maybe he should just be fucking grateful to have dodged that particular nightmare-bullet and push his plans back a week.

Just–a clinic. He'll find a clinic. He'll find a clinic and lie about his name and check himself in and pretend this isn't his first fucking heat and he's not a useless virgin who barely even knows what to do for it and it doesn't matter that he doesn't have a pack to spend it with. Doesn't matter that Bruce won't be rumbling soothingly at him through things or that Alfred won't be making sure he stays fed and hydrated, that no one is going to be touching or holding him, that he won't–that no one's going to–

Jason thinks, with mortification and shame and absolute fury, about what he'd used to hope his first heat might be like, before he got beaten to death and burned back to life. He thinks about how badly he'd wanted it to be like that.

Before the ridiculous and semi-suicidal night that Jason had decided to jack the Batmobile's tires, he'd always known just how shitty his first heat was going to be. Back then he'd just figured he'd be lucky if nobody tried to sell it without his permission.

When he'd thought he'd had a real <i>pack</i>, though . . . when he'd thought that he'd really belonged to that pack . . .

He'd thought Bruce would be there to soothe him through it. He'd thought Alfred would be there to keep him comfortable.

He'd thought maybe, maybe Dick wouldn't be too mad at Bruce to be in Gotham that week, and might . . . and might . . .

Jason's gut burns, and he stops letting himself remember what he'd thought then. What he'd . . .

What he'd wanted, then.

Doesn't matter, he tells himself, quick and harsh and brutal. Doesn't matter. Never mattered. They didn't even really want him, in the end. Don't even care that he's gone anymore, if they ever did at all.

They replaced him.

They replaced him, and they didn't even kill the bastard who took him from them first.

Jason wants to die all over again, thinking about that.

Jason wants to cry, thinking about that.

And he wants his pack alpha to come and make it all better, like he's fucking new or stupid or something. Like he hasn't known better than that since he was old enough for cognizant goddamn thought. Willis never made a damn thing better. And Bruce tricked him into thinking that he would, for a while, but . . .

Well, Jason learned that lesson, didn't he.

Robin learned that lesson.

Jason died with the Joker's scent all over him. Died all marked up with it. Died smelling like he belonged to him.

Couldn't even smell Bruce anymore, past that awful scent. Not even enough to die to.

And just–yeah, well, the less said about Ra's and the League, the better.

So.

Clinic. He needs a clinic. He's too emotional, he's too vulnerable, he's not safe, he's . . . he . . .

He doesn't even know where the fuck he is, actually.

Fuck.

Jason tries to orient himself. He knows Gotham like the back of his hand, even now. Even like this. He knows Gotham like the back of his hand, and he's . . . and he's . . .

And he's lost.

That's so funny that he might actually cry.

Right. Okay. Situation: lost. Lost in fucking Gotham, somehow. No gear. Minimal weapons. Not even any fucking body armor or a damn domino mask. Gun under his jacket. Knife strapped to his calf. Picks in his belt.

Nothing else.

He is absolutely going to die. Or get goddamn assaulted in some random fucking filthy alley. Or both.

Probably both, yeah.

Is he even wearing his damn scent blockers right now . . . ?

Jason checks, and is distantly relieved to feel the necessary patches under his fingers, all neatly covering the scent glands in his wrists and throat. Okay, yeah. Not that stupid yet. Still in a bad situation, what with the whole "being halfway into heat on a public street after dark while lost in a shitty neighborhood in fucking Gotham", but just–again, this could be happening with Ra's al Ghul as his alpha, so right now he's just gonna take what little mercy he can get.

Ra's might've bred him, if he'd gone into heat around him.

Ra's would definitely have bred him, actually. That sounds like exactly the kind of fucked-up power trip that bastard would get off on.

Shit, it'd been bad enough the way he'd treated and touched him as it was. Jason still can't believe Ra's never did anything worse than feel him up a few too many places a few too many times. Like, he actually is still technically a virgin, he's pretty sure.

Even if only technically.

So yeah. Jason is very, very grateful for whatever bizarre and random thing made his body wait this long to heat up for the first time. He really is.

. . . is his replacement an omega too? Did Batman's new and improved Robin spend his first heat with . . .

Jason needs to not think about that right now.

Or ever, maybe.

It's so, so hard not to think about that right now.

He just wants his pack so bad. Worse than he ever remembers wanting them before.

Maybe not worse than he wanted them after he first crawled out of the pit and Ra's forced him to bare his throat for him, though.

No. Not worse than that.

But they replaced him. If there was ever anything there, ever any chance of mattering more than he actually had . . . well, that was gone a long, long time ago, wasn't it.

It was gone. And they didn't care. Hadn't ever cared at all, probably.

They didn't . . . they'd never . . .

Jason is vaguely aware of the fact that he's somehow wound up halfway down an alley, crouched down and curled up against a wall in the shadows under a fire escape. It is very nearly the stupidest goddamn place an omega in his condition could be.

He really doesn't give a fuck, though. Why does it matter? Why does anything matter? He should just stay here and let whatever the fuck happens to him happen.

He might as well.

No one's going to care either way.

It's dark. He's wearing scent blockers. He's all wrapped up in scratchy cotton and rough denim and heavy leather and he doesn't know where the nearest heat clinic is and he's not sure he could get his phone out to figure it out right now. He's not even sure he could kill someone right now, if it came to it.

All things considered, that's more worrying than anything else is.

A lot more.

Jason wants to go home so, so bad.

Which is fucking funny, given that he doesn't even have one.

Yeah. Really, really fucking funny.

Jason wants to throw up. Is definitely shaking. Even more definitely needs to get up and go find a fucking clinic and tell them whatever lies it takes to get himself in the door without someone trying to call his nonexistant pack alpha for him.

Without someone trying to call Bruce for him.

Like Bruce would even come.

Jason really, really wants to throw up. Or kill someone.

What he's actually doing, of course, is fucking sobbing. Because of course he is. Of course that's what's happening here. He's alone in a fucking miserable dark alley and sobbing his fucking guts out instead of just dealing with the fucking problem like a fucking adult.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

Aside from that whole thing where heat makes most omegas insanely overemotional and irrational freaks. And how much worse that thing is when said overemotional and irrational omegas happen to be goddamn strays.

Just. Aside from that.

Fuck, he's so stupid. Why did he even come back? Bruce isn't going to care. No one is.

They replaced him.

Like he wasn't anyone important. Like the place he'd been filling in their pack was just . . . just something temporary. Something that hadn't really mattered to them.

Like that place in their pack wasn't the only thing that'd ever really mattered to him.

He's so, so stupid.

So stupid.

He'll never have that again. He never even really had it to begin with.

And then he fucked up and died, and they all found someone better.

They didn't even give enough of a shit to avenge him before they did.

Jason knows he's being irrational. Knows he needs to get up and get out of here. Knows that these feelings are just . . . just . . .

It's only this bad because of his impending heat, he tries to remind himself. It's only this bad because of that. That's all. Sure as shit he's not crying like this because of anything else.

If it wasn't just the heat, after all, he'd never stop crying. If it wasn't just the heat, he'd have just let himself drown in the pit, or suffocate in his grave, or just . . . or just . . .

Jason needs to get up. Needs to get out of here.

Jason needs his fucking pack to fucking come for him.

But he's needed that before.

#jason todd #red hood #also a teeny bit of implied dickjay #batman #a/b/o #rinfic #anonymous #not sfw #long post #implied molestation #rape mention #wip: the one where omegaverse fucks up red hood's life

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thebisexualdogdad · 1 year

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Jason Todd x Male!MMA fighter reader headcanons

*Oliver Stark used as a fancast*

● you're a personal trainer by day and underground mma fighter by night

● meeting Jason at the gym you work at and always checking each other out

● you'll be with one of your clients and smiling at him across the room while he tries to impress you by upping the amount of his weights

● "I noticed you've got a lot of scars, must have a lot of good stories to tell" you say when you finally talk to him for the first time

● "well how about you let me take you out to dinner and tell you some of them"

● while he doesn't exactly lie about how he got his scars he doesn't tell the entire truth about him being a crime fighting vigilante either

● he plays it as he just happens go be at the wrong place at the wrong time a lot

● you guys spend a whole lot of time together at the gym

● competing to see who can lift more

● and run a mile quicker

● sparring until you can't feel your arms anymore

● he's at the gym so much all of your clients know him

● "So how long until I get biceps as big as your boyfriends Y/N?"

● "it takes a lot of dedication to get biceps like these" Jason says flexing proudly

● Jason actually learns a lot of new moves from training with you

● Dick after a fight where they took down twenty bad guys "that was impressive Jason where did you learn that from"

● "Y/N taught me, you should take a few lessons from him maybe you could actually be a good fighter too Grayson"

● "ha ha very funny don't forget who's been doing this longer"

● going on long motorcycle rides with Jason

● you two race throughout Gotham weaving in between cars

● and loser has to pay for dinner

● Jason doesn't do much upkeep of his apartment

● he's got leftovers in his fridge that are so old its created its own ecosystem

● and there's dirty laundry laying all over the floor

● "when was the last time you did a load of laundry?"

● "well considering I haven't worn any underwear in over a week I'm gonna say a while"

● the very first time you went to his place you were surprised by all the books scattered around

● "I didn't take you to be such a bookworm"

● "do I get to keep my bad boy title if I tell you I'm banned from three libraries for not returning books?"

● this leads to a lot of coffee shop dates where you just quietly read next to each other and enjoy one another's company

● Jason goes to all of your fights

● he always gives you a good luck kiss in the locker room, "go out there and kick some ass babe!"

● you win the majority of your matches so there's a lot of celebrating with Jason after at the bar

● but the one time you got the shit beat out of you Jason had to fight the urge to not to murder the guy right there in the ring

● he and your manager carry you back to the locker room and get you cleaned up and Jason is pissed

● "Jay you gotta calm down I've done worse to people in the ring"

● "yeah but those guys aren't my boyfriend"

● your manager "you've got a lot of passion kid you ever think about signing up to fight?"

● "trust me I do enough fighting just not for money"

● your manager "what, are you involved in a gang or something?"

● "something like that"

● Jason thinks you still don't know about his secret identity but you figured it out a long time ago

● you don't say anything because you want him to feel comfortable telling you himself

● whenever that may be

#dc imagine #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd x male reader #x male reader #headcanons

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dc-and-arfrona · 1 year

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Nightwing Wingmans

Jason Todd x Gn!Reader

Summary: Jason’s bro Nightwing helps him tries to get you on a date!!!

Type: Fluff

Word Count: 600+

Masterlist

—-

I sat across from Nightwing in the Batcave, my fingers tapping nervously against the edge of the table. I had been contemplating for days, summoning the courage to ask out the incredible person who had captured my heart—the reader. But as confident as I was on the battlefield, matters of the heart proved to be a different kind of challenge.

Nightwing, the legendary superhero and my adoptive older brother, leaned back in his chair with a mischievous grin. "Alright, little bro, spill the beans. Who's the lucky person you want to ask out?"

I sighed, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. "It's the reader. I... I really like them, Dick. But I have no idea how to approach it."

Dick raised an eyebrow, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Ah, the classic case of Jason Todd, the tough vigilante, being shy when it comes to romance. Don't worry, my friend, Nightwing is here to save the day."

Nightwing leaned forward, his face suddenly serious. "Alright, Jason, listen up. The key to asking someone out is confidence. You've gotta be smooth, casual, and make them feel special. Show them you're genuinely interested."

I nodded, absorbing his advice. "Confidence. Got it. So, what's the plan?"

Nightwing grinned, pulling out a notepad and pen. "First, we'll work on your pick-up line. Repeat after me: 'Hey, do you have a name, or can I call you mine?'"

I burst into laughter, unable to contain myself. "Seriously, Dick? That's the line you're giving me?"

Dick shrugged playfully. "Hey, it's catchy! But maybe you should try something a little more natural, like striking up a conversation about something you both enjoy. Find common ground and build from there."

Nightwing stood up, adjusting his Nightwing emblem with a flourish. "Alright, Jason, it's time for some role-playing. I'll be the reader, and you'll practice your suave moves on me."

I couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation, but I played along. "Fine, let's do this."

With a twinkle in his eye, Nightwing took on the persona of the reader. "Hey, Jason, what's your favorite weapon?"

I leaned in, trying to exude confidence. "Well, I'd have to say my favorite weapon is my charm. And I must say, it's working wonders on you right now."

Nightwing burst into laughter, nearly falling off his chair. "Okay, okay, that was a bit too much, Jason. Dial it back a notch. Remember, smooth and casual."

We spent the evening role-playing, Nightwing providing guidance and occasionally bursting into laughter at my expense. But through the hilarity, I learned valuable lessons in being true to myself and letting my genuine feelings shine.

After days of practicing and honing my approach, I finally mustered the courage to ask the reader out. I found them in the Batcave, tinkering with a piece of tech. My heart raced as I approached, trying to recall Nightwing's advice.

"Hey, uh, you know... I think you're pretty amazing," I stammered, feeling a blush creep up my neck.

The reader looked up, curiosity gleaming in their eyes. "Oh, really? What makes you say that?"

I took a deep breath, channeling the confidence I had practiced. "Well, I was wondering if you'd like to grab a cup of coffee sometime. You know, just the two of us?"

Their eyes sparkled with delight, a smile slowly spreading across their face. "I'd love to, Jason. That sounds wonderful."

Relief and joy flooded through me as I realized Nightwing's wingman wisdom had paid off. With a newfound spring in my step, I walked away from that conversation knowing that a date with the reader awaited me—a chance to explore a deeper connection and create memories together.

As I caught Nightwing's eye from across the room, he gave me a nod of approval, his playful grin revealing that he had been watching all along. My wingman had done his job, and now it was up to me to make this date as funny, cute, and unforgettable as it could be.

#Jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd imagines #jason todd #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x y/n #red hood imagines #dc #dc imagines #dc universe #robin x reader

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ladytauria · 9 months

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Fandom: Batman Pairing: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Rating: Explicit Words: 13k+ (kind of)

Mr. Drake has asked Jason to meet him after class.

This fic has two endings; chapter 1 is a reading guide, while chapters 2 and 3 have the fic + ending a & b. I started writing this part of the way through devil in a dress (god you're so shameless) and meant for it to be fairly short... Um. I think at this point I should just stop trying to write short things :P

Preview under the cut! I hope you enjoy :)

Jason smooths sweaty palms over his skirt, spreading the pleats over his thighs. Butterflies swarm in his stomach. His gaze darts, briefly, to the clock. Five minutes. It feels like he’s been waiting for ages.

Finally, the door swings open.

Jason flinches, but quickly composes himself as Mr. Drake steps out. The butterflies grow even more restless at the sight of him. He’s so handsome, with his long hair half up, a few strands escaping to frame his face. Well-dressed, too, in a button up and vest, and well-fitted slacks. It’s always so hard to focus in his class—though somehow, Jason has managed to maintain an A anyway.

Although…

Maybe he hasn’t, since he’s been asked to meet him after school today.

His expression is stern, but not cruel, when he says— “Jason?”

“Y-yes, Mr. Drake?” Jason says, cursing internally at the way his voice betrays him.

“Come in, please.” Mr. Drake holds the door open wider.

Jason’s heart batters at his breast. He has to force his feet to move, carrying him from the hall to Mr. Drake’s office. The door shuts behind him; the click of the latch echoing between Jason’s ears.

He barely keeps from jumping when Mr. Drake’s hand ghosts over the space between his shoulder blades. It doesn’t matter that he’s wearing both a blazer and a shirt, or that Mr. Drake’s hand seems to almost hover rather than touch—the contact is searing.

“Have a seat,” Mr. Drake says quietly, directing Jason to a chair situated across from his desk.

Jason sits, ankles crossed and hands folded in his lap.

Mr. Drake walks around his desk, sitting behind it. He laces his fingers and rests them atop his desk calendar. “Do you know why I’ve asked to see you, Jason?”

“N-no, sir.” His heart beats a little louder. He chews his lip without really meaning to, part of him wishing Mr. Drake couldn’t see him so he could chew on a knuckle or his tie instead.

Jason does his best to be a good student. He never, ever misses his assignments, or forgets to turn in his homework. He studies every day, answers questions in class, volunteers to help whenever he can. He’s polite to his teachers, even the ones he privately thinks are assholes. It’s exhausting, sometimes, and he knows what the other students think of him… but, he already has enough working against him. He doesn’t want to make it worse.

Mr. Drake hums, and Jason tenses.

He’s Jason’s favorite teacher this year, and his second favorite… ever. He’s—he’s so passionate about his subject. It’s easy to get wrapped up in the way he speaks, swept up by the light in his eyes and the clear zeal in his voice. Jason has learned so much from him, even despite the way he gets lost daydreaming, sometimes.

But—even more importantly—he’s kind. He cares about his students, even the ones most people are happy to let fall through the cracks. Gotham, or the education system in general, hasn’t chewed him up and spit him out yet.

Jason doesn’t want to disappoint him. But—the sound of his hum… He feels like he’s messed up already. He fiddles with the bottom of his blazer.

#jaytim #timjay #batcest #tauriawritesfanfic #tauriawritessmut

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vaultsixtynine · 5 months

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fallout show final notes (attempting to keep this Short because i can and will keep going if i'm not mindful)

firstly: people who liked it getting mad at people who didn't and going "eugh fnv fans are so crazy" is silly. there are legitimate grievances to take with the show, which i will do in just a second. i'm sure there ARE fnv hardcore fans out there who are spitting mad because they didn't actually learn one of the most important lessons of fnv (the status quo must be broken continually to improve) - the shady sands bit isn't necessarily strictly bad BECAUSE it changes something fundamental about the ncr. i also don't think the show was going out of its way to spit on fnv as a whole Necessarily - there are too many nods and the fact that house is around at all just adds to that. it's not a todd dick contest, i think they were doing it in good faith, the fact remains that they still didn't do it Good.

so here are the things that i actually didn't like, now that we all got our kneejerk pissed off "group x says y and they're WRONG for that" reactions out of the way. SPOILERS spoilers Spoilers.

dealing with vault tec mysteries isn't actually a bad thing - kind of interesting inherently. however: vault tec AKA a group of Shadowy Elites is Responsible For Everything is so. pointed look at camera.

vault tec bearing sole direct responsibility for bombs dropping (and having that suggested to the board of shadowy elites by a black woman no less) is truly the least interesting progression point for fallout lore as a whole. we're going to ignore the war as a whole and The US Government in favor of corpo responsibility offloading.

lucy's dad being a freezy pop who nuked shady sands landed on a broken ankle because they're serving us Nuke Revelation with a side of Nuke Revelation. and it's all the same company. WOAHHH can it get ANY more interconnected!

i started straight up guffawing at ghoul mom reveal. pleasssseeeeee god

moldaver had so much build up as an interesting character and then got wasted on being the vaguest possible revolutionary who then died way too soon. hello? why is she dead already? what was the fucking point of the flame lady cult? why open this can if you were immediately gonna discard it? why isn't lucy's mom moldaver? CHRIST.

i dislike the attempt at new ghoul lore that just seems ultimately pointless? like ghouls as a concept were not Advanced in any way with this lore. i did like the pause to provide empathy with the feral ghouls, was a nice touch. buuuut Big Drug Energy is nothing to me and loss of discussion of radiation effects on a changed being that now lives in harmony with radiation is a sad loss for fallout as a setting imo.

i don't dislike ghoulman cooper. i think his character Concept is inherently very funny and good for its irony, except they didn't even use the irony at all? the myth of the american cowboy and The Western, the poison of american individualism, the sad reality of bouncing from one big lie (american exceptionalism esp in a time of war) to another one (ads for vault tec aka selling the end of the world) was instead turned into Oh No, My Wife (Black Woman) Is Actually Pretty Evil And I Forsook My Good American Boy Values For Her! and then just being a right bastard in the postwar.

bethesda will never be tired of Privileged Person Is Subjected To Horrible Degenerate Wasteland. lucy's character arc is supposed to be That (But Look, She's Still Good, Because She's A Good Vault Girl!), but it mostly just involves her being actively tormented in various situations. idk i don't think she should have to forgive cooper's humanity or lack thereof just because she's So Nice. character arc implied but not executed in a way i find noteworthy.

maximus. face in hands. he's literally maybe the most interesting character on the entire show. the brotherhood even got portrayed as an Actual fucking cult (which it IS. this is the best thing the show did imo). but for WHAT? for a CHARACTER ARC OR DEVELOPMENT OF ANY KIND? nope! he isn't even given the grace of a full scene where he actively realizes and says out loud or internally like. hey. maybe brotherhood............. is bad for me? and others? he goes back to the bos again and again to take his punishment, but still has to be Part of them for the final encounter. and doesn't even get to go with the "you have nothing to lose but your chains... Of Morality" duo at the end. i just want so much more for him & i feel like he's being squandered by the end of the season. i have 600 more things to say but i'm gonna shut. up

shady sands hot take: the ncr needed to be challenged and have the status quo shifted. by a random pissed off prewar man w too many resources being divorced? not really useful to change the worldstate in a meaningful way, to be honest. nuking the capital of the ncr not inherently bad. there being zero power-seeking (on behalf of other factions) behind it happening, NO factions fighting over the scraps (THE NCR WAS MORE THAN ONE CITY), and everything just smoothing back out into bethesda-preferred shantytowns and empty wastes where society isn't what you really have to care about, just your individual morality, is a big yawn for me. we've been here and we've seen this and it comes off worse in a tv show than a first person rpg.

of course all the survivors of shady sands immediately did a cult *from inside a vault* where they smear nuclear corpse ashes on themselves. and there don't seem to be any other survivors of note, just those ones.

i have many more things to say but let's cap it here.

final notes: so many of the things in the show feel like they were done for setpiecing shock value (can you BELIEVE it's ALL CONNECTED? here's some fun unexpected gore) (i actually don't mind the gore bc it's pretty falloutcore but sometimes it's like. okay we get it, shit's crazy in the wasteland!) rather than for actual coherent 'let's advance the world of fallout and its themes and lore' reasons. i understand that they were doing an external-to-games timeline and kind of a mishmash of elements, hence why i'm not bothering to complain about stuff in the show feeling Too Similar to game events - bc i don't really care about that. i care about it feeling like fallout and doing things actually meaningful with fallout's core themes, and at the end of the day, i don't really think i got that.

#steps off soapbox. farewell friends and lovers

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aamalaaa · 2 years

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sunrises & liquor (m) | myg

fire (and the songs you played)

pairing: min yoongi x reader

series: sunrises & liquor

rating: m; cursing, alcohol consumption, future smut

genre: bar workers au, barman yoongi au, (kinda) forbidden relationship, future angst, future smut, fluff

summary: after a failed academic pursuit and a few meaningless and disappointing relationships, you decided to go back to what you never thought you would: the bar industry. There you find a family, friends, heartache, misunderstandings and one particular barman who just won’t get out of your head.

warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption (duh), future smut, barman yoongi, y/n struggles bc min yoongi, there’s a misogynistic ass client.

a/n: hello lovelies! Sooo, here it is the second chapter of sunrises & liquor. It was a pain to write at times but it finally fell into place and I’m excited for you guys to read this one! I’ve got a lot planned so brace yourselves hehe. ALSO we meet Hobi and Jin yaaaaay! Anyway, thanks for reading I love you all<3

// thanks to my dear friend who beta’d for me, @lilredtot couldn’t have done it without you I love you<3

chapter word count: 7k

previous | next

You wake up the morning after your Friday night (or Saturday morning) hang out with a terrible headache and a dead phone, almost sleeping through your lunch date with Taehyung.

When you get to the little café you see his dark head of fluffy hair immediately. He’s sitting at your usual place, next to the corner window adorned by kitschy stickers. The bell chimes when you walk in. The barista notices you and sends you a friendly wave that you reciprocate with a kind smile.

You walk up to the table where your best friend is sitting at and hug him from behind. He jumps at the contact, letting out a startled squeal which makes you snicker loudly.

“One day you’ll have to drag my ass to the hospital if you don’t stop this shit” He giggles.

“Maybe if you were more aware of your surroundings I wouldn’t have to”

“Touché.” He takes a good look at you before he continues. “You look like you haven’t slept for a whole week”

You groan pitifully and rub your eyes. “I slept an impressive total of four hours this morning, give me a break.”

He takes a sip of his hot drink, making sure to make a loud slurping sound while he’s at it. “Oooooh, I see”

You groan. “I was just hanging out with my colleagues after work. Don’t get it twisted, Tae”

“I’m disappointed,” he clicks his tongue. “Well, now that you’re finally here, can we eat? I’m hungry as fuck. I was waiting for your late ass to get here to order.”

“I feel honored, thank you” You place your hand on your heart and head to the counter, Taehyung following closely behind.

Taehyung asks in between bites about your new job. You tell him all about the customers, about Jimin and the black haired bussboy, about Samantha, Todd and Yoongi.

You also tell him about Namjoon, the doorman who managed to make you feel at ease as soon as you met him. While you’re busy blabbing about your colleagues, you find yourself smiling fondly. Feeling more at home after a week at The Third Wall than you ever felt anywhere else.

You ask him how his new play is going. Listen intently as he tells you all about the rehearsals and how excited he is to finally perform. You feel incredibly happy for your friend who gets to live comfortably from his passion.

He clears his throat and grins widely, that boxy smile of his you love so much.

“Soooo, anybody cute at work?” He wiggles his brows. “Anybody you got a crush on?”

You shoot him a flat look. “Tae you know I’m not doing that again” He rolls his eyes. “ They don’t say don’t fuck with the payroll for nothing you know. I’m definitely not fucking with the payroll this time. I learned my lesson last time, thank you very much.”

He sighs.

“You can’t close yourself off forever all because of a few bad experiences.. You lived, you learned, you deserve to find someone. Or at least get laid.” The little shit. “Please, at least get laid”

“I’m not closing myself off, I’m just being cautious.” You respond.

“Babe.. you need to dip your toe in the pool, scratch the itch.“

You stare at him, incredulous.

“Ooook, ending this conversation right now.”

You gather your things, bring your empty plates and cups to the counter before turning back to look at Taehyung who’s still laughing like he just said the funniest thing he’s ever heard. You can’t help the chuckle that escapes your lips.

“I really need a nap before work, four hours is not enough for me to function properly.”

Taehyung pouts. “You’re so busy these days I’ll have to come see you at the bar soon if I want to spend time with you.”

You hug him tightly and feel a rush of love and support making your heart swell. This is what family feels like, you think.

You break the hug first, shooting your best friend a wide grin. “I would love it if you did, drinks are on me.”

“Oh well then, I’m definitely coming soon.” He says cheekily, making you cackle.

“Good, I’ll text you soon,” you hug him one last time before heading home.

You sleep like a log, so much so that you have to lay in bed for at least ten minutes after you wake up, staring at the ceiling like it holds the answers to the universe’s darkest secrets. Since you left your car close to the bar last night, you have to walk all the way to work. Which isn’t that bad in itself, maybe a twenty minute walk.

It starts raining while you’re napping. You forget your umbrella and step into a puddle, soaking your sneakers and your socks in the process. When you get to work, you're freezing, soaking wet and mostly pissed off.

“Wow, someone looks like they’re having a marvelous day” you hear a gruff voice say.

You turn around to glare at the man. “Remarkable, amazing, a real pleasure.”

Yoongi laughs, only amplifying your overall annoyance.

When you finally punch in, Jimin is behind the bar, toothy smile and all. His grin falters as soon as he takes in your appearance.

“You look like you went through hell and back” He says, voice laced with concern and maybe a little bit of amusement.

“Feels like it, I forgot my umbrella and stepped into a puddle.” You say, probably looking completely dejected.

“Poor baby..” He puts his empty serving tray down. “I have an extra shirt, do you want it? It’s not super fashionable but you’ll catch a cold like this.”

“You’re an angel and I appreciate you so much”

You change into the plain oversized black shirt Jimin lends you, sighing in content at the feeling of dry clothes on your skin.

Work is slow today, slower than last Saturday. You have plenty of time to appreciate the Jazz band on stage and admire the vocalist’s talent.

You’re too busy watching the spectacle to notice when someone slips next to you.

“They’re amazing aren’t they?”

You startle, bringing a hand to your heart to keep it from jumping straight out of your chest and onto the bar.

The laugh that resonates through your whole body is one you don’t recognize, it’s loud and obnoxious, and so damn contagious.

You turn to the stranger and can’t help the chuckle that escapes when you take in the man’s amused expression. Wide grin threatening to split his face in half at any moment. He’s sporting dark red hair, is quite tall and very slender.

Handsome, you think.

“I’m sorry god, you got so scared, it was hilarious” He snorts.

“Glad to know my almost early demise amuses you” You laugh with him, unable to resist the urge.

When the red haired man calms down, he extends his long arm towards you, offering his palm in greeting.

“I’m Jung Hoseok” His tone is cheerful, you think that if warmth could take on a human form, Hoseok would be it.

You shake his hand and tell him your name,

“I’m the new waitress”

He slots his hands in his blazer’s pockets, his smile never faltering. “Nice to meet you, I heard about you.”

“So you’re the one who’s in charge of Jazz nights then?” You inquire, albeit you already know the answer.

“That and everything that’s related to any events at The Third Wall, yeah.”

“It’s because of him that any event always goes smoothly.” A bright voice chimes in.

“Yah Jimin-ah, that’s not true” You think you notice a faint blush creeping its way on the tall man’s cheeks.

“Always so modest hyung” The younger man sticks his tongue out before shooting Hoseok a dazzling smile.

You clear your throat. “I have to get back to work,” you smile sheepishly “I’m glad I finally met you”

“Likewise”

The night stays slow, a welcome break since you’re tired. It’s way past midnight and you’re leaning against the counter, elbows on the bar, head in your hands. There are four occupied tables in your section, but they don’t really drink that much. Which means you have time on your hands, time to think about how you really wanna go home and fucking sleep, get out of your still wet socks and wake up in two days.

You get yanked out of your brooding thoughts by a large, veiny hand dropping something on the counter in front of you. You stare at it, confusion clearly apparent by the way your eyebrows furrow.

A tangerine.

You look up to your left, meeting Yoongi’s nonchalant gaze.

“What’s that?” You quirk a brow.

He shrugs, draping a rag on his shoulder in one swift motion. “A tangerine”

You stare at him incredulously. Min Yoongi, a man of few words. Straight to the fact. So annoying. And a bit endearing too.

“It’s so you don’t bite me.” He chuckles.

You stare, a bit dumbfounded.

The fuck does he mean.

Your mind races back to last night’s beer pong game, Yoongi’s staring at you, leaning his hip on the counter with an amused look on his face.

“So no biting uh?” You say.

Yoongi stifles a laugh as soon as the words leave your mouth and oh my god you can’t believe you just said that.

He smirks. “Cute. But no, not at work.”

You blush profusely at his response. Embarrassing, you’re so damn embarrassing.

“T-thank you.. for the tangerine” Why is it that you can’t seem to be able to not lose face around him?

“You’re welcome love”

And just like that he goes back to cleaning his work space. A small smirk on his face, leaving you with your own utter embarrassment, confusion, and a tangerine.

Confusion because what was that? Confusion because he paid so much attention to your stupid drunk banter last night.

Confusion because from what little dots your brain managed to connect together, isn’t he in some sort of relationship with the other barmaid, Samantha?

And if he actually is, why is he being this way with you?

It’s all a little too much for you to process so you settle on getting out of behind the bar and working because that doesn’t require thoughts and introspection and that’s easier. You like easy.

When 3 o’ clock comes rolling, you and Jimin are already halfway through your closing tasks, having started earlier with the night being slow and all.

Yoongi heads to the office to count the cash register and make sure everything adds up for each of your readings while Jungkook is happily singing a song you don’t recognize and putting one glass after the other in the dishwasher.

He has a nice voice, you think.

The band members are still here, hanging out at the bar, finishing their beers. You learn their names. The guitarist’s name is Yeonjun, he has a very charismatic presence.

The bassist and back vocalist is Soobin. He’s easy to talk to and from the few words you exchanged with him last Saturday, you reckon you could very much get along with him.

Then there’s Taehyun, the main vocalist.

You also talk for the first time to the drummer who goes by the name of Hwasa, the only woman of the band. She’s absolutely intimidating, but in a good way: she oozes confidence and badass energy.

You wave Hwasa and Taehyun off when they leave together.

It’s only when you’re deep in conversation about music and making a comfortable living off of your passion that Yoongi comes back from the office.

“Yah, you guys better finish your drinks soon we’re almost done here,” He says while helping Jungkook with the dishwasher, putting the glasses away as soon as they’re clean.

“Yeah yeah, we’re almost done.” Yeonjun smirks before continuing “Oh, by the way Jimin, Yoongi, you both didn’t confirm you’ll be at the wedding. You guys still coming or..?”

Yoongi replies first. “Yeah sorry about that.. I’ll definitely be there”

“Oops, I forgot to RSVP.” Jimin giggles. “I’ll definitely be there too, I wouldn’t miss this for the world!” His tone is so cheerful you can’t help but feel a little thrilled too.

“Oooh, who’s getting married?” You inquire excitedly.

“We are” Soobin says, gaze locked adoringly on Yeonjun who’s delicately intertwining their fingers together. You think that if you physically could, you would melt right on the spot.

“Oh wow, congratulations you guys!” You exclaim, grinning from ear to ear. They both smile, like nothing in the world could disrupt their happy bubble.

And maybe there isn’t.

“You should totally come!” Yeonjun says. “There’ll be great food, dancing, an open bar, all that good stuff.” Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

If there’s one thing you didn’t expect today, it’s being invited to the wedding of a couple you barely know.

"Um.. Well if you want me to..” You don’t want to sound ungrateful for the invitation but you also don’t want them to feel like they need to invite you since you asked about it.

"OH YES YES” Jimin screeches, making you cover your ears in sheer surprise. "You should totally come as my plus one! It would be so fun, please please!” He sends you a hopeful look and you can hear Yoongi stifle a laugh from the other end of the bar. Asshole.

You shyly glance at Yeonjun and Soobin who are smiling brightly at you.

"Obviously don’t feel obligated to come just because we asked,” Soobin starts "But we would definitely love to have you there” He wraps his arm around Yeonjun’s waist.

"If you don’t want to go with Jimin you can always come with me, I’m the better company” Jungkook butts in. Jimin shoots him an indignant look to which the younger man replies with a grin.

"Yah Jeon Jungkook! Respect your elders!” Jimin protests.

"Sorry Jungkook but, you snooze, you lose. Jiminie asked first.” Jungkook whines at your decision while Jimin grins like a petulant child who has just been given back his favorite toy.

“Besides, isn’t there someone else you should ask to accompany you instead? Someone tall, blond, with dimples?” You smugly continue.

This time Yoongi doesn’t try to hide the loud laugh that comes out. But Jungkook sure tries to hide the bright crimson color that settles rapidly onto his cheeks and nose while he mumbles something about having no idea what you meant. You snort.

Yeonjun and Soobin look very confused but ultimately decide to pay no mind to your banter.

"Well then it’s settled, if you work on October 23rd you better ask for time off.” Yeonjun beams.

"I’ll check it out tomorrow” You smile back at him.

And just like that you all get back to light conversation while you finish closing up. It doesn’t take long before you grab your things and all head down the stairs, followed by Yoongi who locks the door behind you.

You’re immediately hit by the cool end of summer night air, making you shiver slightly since you’re a bit underdressed.

You say goodbye to Jungkook first, then to Yeonjun and Soobin who head towards their car, hand in hand.

"Want me to walk you to your car?” Jimin asks you.

"If you want to, yeah.. I’m right around the corner.”

You feel soft fabric being draped on your small frame and you startle before you swirl around to meet Yoongi’s unbothered gaze. You notice he’s not wearing the hoodie he had on a minute ago.

You open your mouth to ask what he’s doing but he cuts you off first.

"You looked cold,” He says.

Min Yoongi, the man who always pays attention even when you think he’s not.

"Now you’ll be cold though,” You pout but still pull the hood on your head.

He shrugs. "I’m fine, take it”

“Thanks,” You half whisper.

"Don’t sweat it love” He smirks and you shiver.

Jimin eyes the both of you before clearing his throat obnoxiously.

"This is all very cute, but I’m tired. Can we go?” You blush furiously and desperately try to hide the frankly embarrassing color that adorns your cheeks by staring at the ground.

"Rude..” You hear Yoongi mumble.

Jimin lets out a loud chime like laugh before you both head towards your car.

The week started off well, you and Taehyung went out shopping on Monday and inexplicably ended up shitfaced in his apartment.

(“Everyday is a good day to get drunk” he said.)

You woke up on Tuesday morning in Taehyung’s bed, curled up to his side, drooling on his shirt and all that classy shit. You surprisingly felt quite well despite the copious amount of alcohol you had ingested the night before.

He had insisted you stay a little longer and you ended up watching Clueless for at least the 100th time since you’d known Taehyung. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him how tired of the movie you were. He looked so happy every time that you would watch it with him and you think you could watch it a hundred times more if it meant your best friend would be this content.

When you got home you reorganized your place, cleaned the dishes that were haphazardly piled up on the kitchen counter, a reminder of how busy you were keeping your schedule. Then, you folded the contents of your laundry basket.

You promised yourself you’d take it a little easier next week.

When Wednesday came you were bummed to notice that Jimin wasn’t there. Samantha had explained to you that there weren’t normally two waiters/waitresses on Wednesday and that Jimin had only come in to help since it had only been your second shift.

You made a mental note to thank him profusely on Friday for taking on another shift to help you.

So instead of the usual mindless chatter you exchanged with Jimin, you got to know Sam a bit better. She was an absolute sweetheart, had not even an ounce of malice in her whole body. She always seemed happy and bubbly. Couldn't be me, you thought.

You suppressed the thought to the best of your ability. Which means you put it in your “will think about when I have another existential crisis” pile, at the very back of your brain. Anatomy, fascinating really.

Which now leads you to Friday, your second shift of the week.

It had started very smoothly, busy but nothing crazy. You happily greeted Namjoon as you came in, exchanging a few words. You were surprised to realize how happy you were to see Jimin again, you’d become attached so quickly to his comforting and joyous presence that you’d missed him more than you’d like to admit.

Your heart stuttered slightly when you saw the blond barman, nothing new but still unnerving. You exchanged witty banter, as you usually do. Except since last Saturday you tried to be careful about it, flirting had become way too easy with him and you couldn’t go down that road. Not after realizing he was seeing Sam, not after telling yourself time and time again don’t fuck with the payroll.

Sexual attraction really wasn’t worth the complications, you convinced yourself.

Jungkook was as excited as ever to be washing dirty glasses and switching beer kegs. Truly something else, that one.

It was all going swimmingly. That is until a middle aged man had to ruin your mood because, of course.

“-telling you, I did NOT order that many shooters.” His voice comes out slurred.

“Sir, I have to put in an order in the system each time someone orders something so the barman can make it. If it’s there, it’s because you ordered it and drank it.” You forcibly smile, trying your damn best to keep your cool. A middle aged white man is not about to make you crack, no way in hell.

“Well then you must have drank them or made an error, because I did not order these.” He repeatedly taps his finger on the receipt, like you’ll suddenly realize you made an error. You didn’t. “How long have you been doing this?”

You breathe in sharply, trying to contain your anger. He did not just imply that you charged him something you took yourself. You may have drank two or three shooters earlier but they were all very much paid by staff and you’re very much not drunk, not even tipsy.

“Is there something going on here?” Yoongi asks, tone so authoritative you feel like shrinking in your sneakers.

The man leans back from the counter, gulping visibly. “Y-yes, there’s more drinks on my tab than there should be, I didn’t drink these and she keeps saying she didn’t make an error..” He points to the items in question on the little printed receipt you gave him earlier.

Yoongi hums. “Are you implying that my colleague here purposely added drinks that you didn’t drink or order on your receipt?” He quirks an eyebrow in a motion that says, go ahead take the bait, try me.

The man does not, in fact, take the bait.

“No, no of course not..” He says, unconvincingly.

Yoongi’s face lights up in a very mock smile before he replies dryly “Well then, if she says she didn’t make an error, she didn’t. Anything else?”

The man shakes his head nervously and Yoongi passes him the payment terminal before patting your shoulder in an attempted soothing gesture. All it does is make your heartbeat falter. But he doesn’t need to know, the intention was there after all. Your lewd thoughts about Yoongi are your own damn fault.

Maybe his strong veiny hands should also be held a bit responsible but that’s another story for another time.

You smugly make the man pay, not surprised at the low tip he leaves you. You’re not sure he would’ve left you a good tip anyway. At least the man was your last client, the other tables having already paid. So you take a quick five minutes break after that, you definitely deserve it.

When you come back there’s only 15 minutes left until closing time and your colleagues are already busying themselves with cleaning up the bar.

You approach Yoongi who’s aggressively rubbing his bar tray, laughing internally at how goddamn funny he looks while doing so, tongue out and all.

“Working hard I see” You lean on the bar next to him.

“You know me, employee of the month” He discards his rag on the tray, standing up in the process.

You clear your throat. “Thanks for earlier, he was not listening to me, at all.”

He shrugs his shoulders and busies himself by cleaning the bar counter, visibly uncomfortable with the situation. “You don’t have to thank me, he was a dick.”

You tilt your head towards him, intent on making your gratefulness clear. He fleetingly glances at you.

“I do though.. The guy kept making misogynistic comments at me all night before that. He just didn’t want to believe me. So thanks, otherwise it would’ve taken all night.. or I would’ve lost my shit.” He stills at that, now looking at you with an unreadable expression etched upon his face.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with that. I’ve heard all sorts of stories from Sam, it makes me sick you all have to deal with this shit.” Now he looks straight up angry.

“Yeah.. It’s not particularly fun..” You grab the discarded rag laying on the tray and start mindlessly rubbing it, searching for anything to occupy your hands really.

“I can’t imagine” His voice comes out carefully, delicately. A contrast with how angry he looked moments ago. “If you ever want my help again, don’t ever feel bad asking, yeah?”

“I just feel like this is my battle, you know? But if I ever need to, I will. Thanks.” You say, not sure if he’s going to be offended by your words. It’s not that you don’t appreciate the offer. You just don’t want to resort to his help unless you really need it.

He takes a few seconds to respond. “I totally get that.” He pauses. “ I’m pretty sure you don’t need my help anyway, just don’t want to have to hide a dead body if possible.”

You burst out into laughter, throwing your dirty rag at him. “So you would hide a dead body for me?” You can see the faintest shade of pink decorating his cheeks.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that” He grumbles, avoiding your question.

You all finish closing up the place, Jungkook cheerfully wipes the tables clean (how does he do that seriously), Namjoon comes upstairs to wait for everyone this time, blaming the cold, and you and Jimin clean the menus while you argue about which chocolate bar is better, Kit-Kat or Coffee Crisp? (How is that even up for debate, of course it’s Coffee Crisp.)

When you’re all finally done you head to Jimin’s place in Namjoon’s car, cursing the cold night over and over again while you wait for the car heater to finally kick in.

You all quickly get into Jimin’s place, unwilling to stay outside more than necessary, kick your shoes at the front door and make yourselves comfortable on the sofa while Jimin passes everyone a cold can of beer.

You’ll have to remember to slip him money for all the beer he keeps giving away like he’s got all the money in the world or something.

Then ensues a vicious game of “Who’s most likely to” which leaves you a lot tipsier than earlier. Yoongi also ends up begrudgingly drinking two beers throughout the game, a victim truly.

(“Who’s most likely to sleep with a coworker?”

Everyone points at Yoongi.

“Oh come on, that’s not even fair!”)

The game inevitably comes to an end at some point, giving place to a very confusing conversation between Jimin and Jungkook about Dirty Dancing and how it’s better than The Notebook. (You don’t even see the correlation between the two) You take that as your cue to escape to the balcony, shivering against the cold air as soon as you step outside.

You prop your arms on the railing as you did the last time you were here, staring at the horizon contemplatively.

You like your new colleagues, would even dare to call them new friends. The night had been very fun, you’d laughed more than you ever did in months.

You like spending time with them. But sometimes, standing in the cold September night air is just as likable.

These are your favorite moments, when time seems to stand still and you can hear the sound of leaves rustling, the distant roar of a vehicle roaming the streets, the sound of a car door being slammed shut, probably an early worker. You feel alive, aware, present.

Which is why when the sliding door opens and promptly closes behind you, you’re not startled.

Present.

You’re very aware when someone slides next to you, propping their arms on the railing just like you did a few minutes ago. The man drapes a blanket over the both of you, the warmth hits you almost immediately.

Yoongi breaks the silence first. “Waiting for sunrise?”

You smile cheekily. “Joining me again?”

“Might as well make it a tradition” He shrugs.

Silence, it’s comfortable. It’s always comfortable with Yoongi, you realize.

“I really don’t get why you like sunrises so much, it just means we’ll clearly be sleep deprived later”

“No one’s keeping you here” You say playfully, glancing at his side profile.

“And abandon you? That would be rude.” He grins smugly.

“Oh shush.” You grip the blanket to keep it from sliding off your shoulder. You hear him chuckle lightly.

Eventually the sun rises, enveloping the horizon in its warmth. You can’t suppress the yawn that comes over you, breaking the peaceful silence that had settled over the both you.

You turn toward Yoongi. “Are the others sleeping?”

He looks at you. “Dunno”

“You leaving soon?”

“Yeah, gotta feed cat” You snort at the mention of the cat’s name.

“Wanna grab a cab together? Share the cost?” You ask.

“Geez, so many questions love” You still, thankful it’s still dark enough outside to hide the blush that creeps up your face at the nickname.

“In that case, I’ll leave you to walk home alone” You retort.

He laughs. “No no, I’ll come with you”

And with that you both head inside, and grab your things. You coo at the sight of Jimin, Namjoon and Jungkook all piled up onto Jimin’s bed, sleeping and cuddling peacefully.

“Ready?” Yoongi inquires once you close the bedroom door.

“Yeah”

You both head into the cab you had called a few minutes ago and you feel yourself nodding off with the silent roar of the engine. When the cab stops at Yoongi’s apartment complex, you have to consciously force your eyes to stay open.

You notice the blanket is still on your shoulders. “Oh is this yours?” You tug the blanket.

“Nah it’s Jimin’s, just bring it to work tomorrow.” He steps out of the cab.

You realize you haven’t given him his hoodie back and damn when did you start developing kleptomaniac tendencies? “Aish, I forgot to bring back your hoodie”

“Keep it, it’s fine. That way you’ll at least have one piece of warm clothing” He teases.

“I’ll have you know I do possess warm clothes, I just forget to bring them”

He rolls his eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah alright sure, you have a goodnight”

“You too”

It’s a mess, a goddamn mess.

There are books everywhere, random empty cups of coffee scattered around the living room and clothes dumped on every available surface. It looks like a disaster, like a bomb dropped right in the middle of the house.

When you had convinced Namjoon to organize a get-together in his backyard to celebrate the end of summer, he had told you it was a mess and that that was why you all never hung out there.

You had expected a few dirty dishes on the kitchen counter and a little dust here and there, not a fucking war zone.

“Wow” Is all Taehyung manages to say while loosening his grip on your hand.

Understandable.

“Namjoon-ah I swear to god I’m coming over unannounced one of these days and I’m

helping you clean this poor excuse of a living

space” Hoseok says, staring in what someone can only describe as utter despair.

Namjoon rubs his neck awkwardly in response.

“Ooooh chips” Jungkook picks up a stray pack of chips laying on a chair and starts stuffing one after the other in his mouth, leaving crumbs everywhere.

“Let’s just go outside, yeah?” Namjoon mutters.

The four of you follow him outside only to be greeted by Seokjin, the bar manager, laying leisurely on a reclining chair outside, in front of the bonfire. “Well, hello there” He waves enthusiastically, almost toppling over in the process.

“Jin-hyung! Try not to fall over, your back isn’t as forgiving as it used to be,'' Jungkook teases. You hear Hoseok snort loudly.

Seokjin stands up in outrage. “Yah, Jeon Jungkook, show some respect I can still fire you!” Jungkook snickers before throwing his arms around the older man and lifting him off the ground, much to the man’s dismay.

Namjoon plops himself onto a chair watching fondly. Hoseok topples over in laughter while you and Taehyung slowly walk up to the bonfire area.

What in the utter chaos.

In the month since you started working at The Third Wall, you’d come to know just how chaotic your new friends could be when put in a room together.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You take an unoccupied seat, smiling at how messy the night’s already announcing itself to be. Just as you settle in your chair, you feel an overwhelming weight on your lap.

“Taehyung I am not going to be your personal chair tonight.” You slap his thigh prompting an unbridled laugh out of your best friend.

“But your lap is the most comfortable”

“I’m not a chair” You reiterate.

“Oh fine, party pooper”

You all wait for sunset to start the night officially, exchanging pleasantries and eating the food Seokjin had prepared. It’s absolutely delicious and you’re happy to learn more about the man that had hired you a little more than a month ago.

Seokjin’s ridiculous, eccentric and a tad unhinged. He’s absolutely hilarious and his laugh, which reminds you of windshield wipers slapping rhythmically on dry glass, is so contagious that there isn't a single present soul that can do anything but laugh along.

Jimin arrives with Samantha. He instantly runs towards Hoseok, crushing him into a forceful embrace, which the other returns just as intensely.

Then he scurries over to you, throwing himself onto your lap and hugging your shoulders sideways in a slightly awkward embrace. You chuckle, trying your best to hug him back.

“What’s up with my lap and you people mistaking it for a chair?” You laugh.

“It seems comfortable enough” A low hoarse voice cuts through the mindless chatter.

You whip your head a little too quickly. “Yeah well, you don’t see me sitting on your lap and it seems comfortable enough too.” Your voice comes out a bit shaky.

Yoongi shrugs while sitting down on a nearby chair. “I wouldn’t mind.” Everyone stops talking at once except for Namjoon and Jungkook who are deep into their little bubble, unaware of the lingering awkwardness that Yoongi’s words brought upon your little group.

You steal a glance at Sam whose gaze is locked on Yoongi, visibly hurt by his words. You can’t help the little wave of panic that floods through your body.

Jimin clears his throat. “If someone is sitting on Yoongi's lap tonight it’s gonna be me.” He gets up and sits down on the blond man’s lap who whines at the weight.

Hoseok and Seokjin burst into laughter, soon followed by everyone else, breaking the tense atmosphere.

“Get off Jimin-ah” Yoongi grumbles.

The young man squeezes the other’s shoulder before standing up and, finally, sitting down on an actual chair.

Yoongi lights up the fire, helped by Jungkook. Namjoon had wanted to do it but had quickly given up, abiding to everyone’s panicked protests.

The night’s cold but the warmth of the fire and the blankets Namjoon provided make up for it. The hot coffee -spiked with a little too much baileys (courtesy of Taehyung)- that you’re drinking may also be helping.

You watch Taehyung fondly. He quickly became a part of the group ever since that one evening he came to the bar.

You had always envied him for his ability to make friends with just about anybody so easily. You’d never been like that, probably never will. It’s a wonder these incredible people accepted you so openly in their tight knight group. You have Jimin to thank for that, he has been so welcoming from the start, inviting you to every gathering they plan.

You lay back and listen to the conversations going on all around you. To your left, Taehyung is conversing with Seokjin and gesturing animatedly, something about the play he’s currently performing. The latter is listening intently, head propped on his hand, drinking in every word the former is convolutedly spewing. You’re not sure how he’s managing to follow.

On your right, Jimin is deep in conversation with Hoseok, staring adoringly like there’s nothing else in this world but Hoseok, Hoseok and Hoseok.

And god do you feel single.

Then there’s Jungkook, seemingly bothering and poking Yoongi endlessly while the latter is trying to the best of his abilities to roast a marshmallow. You think you notice a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Namjoon is explaining something to Sam, she looks very intent on listening. You can make out confusion on her facial expression, making you giggle silently.

Namjoon really can be pretty hard to follow.

The night is well underway when Jimin unexpectedly chirps up. “Yoongi-hyung! Would you play guitar for us? Pretty please?”

The older man stares at him, feigning annoyance before he replies. “Meh, I’m chilling right now.”

Jimin whines “Oh come on please, this is the perfect setting.” Yoongi shuffles awkwardly in his chair.

“You play guitar?” You perk up.

He lifts his shoulders in attempted indifference but you notice a subtle hint of pride at your reaction. “Sometimes, yeah. It’s nothing special.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s amazing.” Namjoon grins.

Yoongi groans but ultimately goes back to his car to fetch his guitar. Which makes you laugh because, as much as he had tried to convince everyone he didn’t want to play, he still brought his guitar tonight.

You whisper the next words, getting closer to Jimin. “How long has he been playing?”

“I have no idea, I think it’s been a long time” He whispers back. You reply with a nod.

When the first notes hit you, it’s like you can drown out all the sounds around you. The melody is slow, melancholic. Objectively, you don’t recognize it. Yet, it feels so familiar, like it knows all of your secrets. Like Yoongi knows.

No one makes a sound except for the quiet shuffling of people moving around on their seats. It’s like Yoongi’s a magician and everyone’s staring, waiting for his next illusion. Except it’s not an illusion, and he’s plucking the strings expertly giving life to one of the most beautiful melodies you’ve ever heard. Intricately playing one chord after the other, stripping his soul bare for all of you to see.

You hear a whisper next to your right ear. “Told ya.”

You smile weakly, too entranced by the performance to do anything else, really.

When he strikes the last chord, you feel heavy with emotions. That’s the beauty of music you think, being able to touch different people in different ways with one single melody.

Jungkook breaks the stunned silence first. “Another one, another one!”

Yoongi mindlessly plays with the strings of his guitar. “What do you want to hear?”

Jungkook ponders a bit before replying. “How about Always Remember Us This Way?”

“The Lady Gaga song? You know I can’t sing for shit.” Yoongi groans.

“She can” Taehyung announces loudly, pointing at you. “She’s incredible.” You glare at him.

The fact that you sing isn’t a secret, you’re just very embarrassed to be put on the spot, to sing for a group of people. Albeit they would be kind about it and you know it. It’s just that it’s a very personal thing to you.

“How come I know nothing about this?” Jimin exclaims, outraged.

You feel shy about the fact that everyone is staring at you. “I don’t really talk about it, It’s nothing.”

Yoongi clears his throat. “Um.. do you know the song? I could look up the chords on my phone. If you want to” He looks timid, like he’s asking for something he maybe shouldn’t.

And being the weak woman that you are, you can’t refuse. Not when he’s this talented.

Not when he’s looking at you like that, hopeful, curious.

You hear Yoongi strumming the chords to the chosen song tentatively, he learns it very quickly. Namjoon really wasn’t kidding when he said the guy was amazing at it.

Yoongi glances at you, sporting a comforting smile and starts playing. You nod at him. Your throat feels a little dry so you take a sip of your now lukewarm coffee, hoping it helps if only a little.

It’s unsure at first, a bit shaky, but Yoongi’s playing is sure and as sturdy as a pillar. And you lean on it, eyes closed, letting the notes come out as you feel them, airily, pouring all of yourself into it.

And as quickly as you had started, the song ends. Everyone applauds. You open your eyes only to see Yoongi’s stunned expression.

You quickly look away.

“You’re actually so fucking talented!” Samantha chirps.

You fluster. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t know you could sing like that.” Hoseok says pensively.

You peer at Yoongi who’s staring at the fire, seemingly deep in thoughts. “It’s really not a big deal.” You manage to say.

“Yeah right, like you didn’t just give Lady Gaga a fucking run for her money.” Jimin exasperatedly says.

“You guys sounded so good! You should jam together.” Taehyung grins.

“Umm..” You mumble awkwardly.

“That’s actually a great idea!” Hoseok perks up. “We’re looking for an act to fill in while Yeonjun and Soobin go on their honeymoon. You guys could fill in the spot, an in-house duo! ”

Jimin squeals excitedly.

“I mean yeah but.. There’s what, a month left until then? I’m not sure we could learn enough material to do an entire set..” You stop when you notice Yoongi staring at you.

“We could. I’m down if you are.” He resolutely says.

You take a moment to ponder before replying.

“Yeah, ok. Let’s do it.”

“Wait, wait,” Seokjin blurts. “They both work on Saturdays.”

“I can take Yoongi’s shift for one night, I don’t mind.” Samantha says.

“I can manage alone.” Jimin adds, smiling from ear to ear.

“I can be there for moral support.” Taehyung chimes in.

Seokjin groans. “Fine. Y’all better not make me regret this.”

“You won’t.” Yoongi replies.

And if you had any doubts about the whole thing before, it’s like they never even crossed your mind now. Because Yoongi’s looking at you, a demure smile creeping its way on his face.

And somehow, that’s enough.

a/n: to be added to the sunrises & liquor tag list click right here and interact with the taglist post, thank you for reading <3

taglist: @vesperbells @tarahardcore @bonitaangel @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @tea4sykes

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aries-writingblog · 2 years

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Enemy Fire: 10

Summary: There's a new kid in town, and she's got a city to usurp.

Pairing: Jason Todd × F. Reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: language, weapons, threats, violence, stressed family relations, mentions of parental death (maybe a couple sentences)

AN: photos are from Pinterest

YN exhaled slowly, attempting to settle her nerves.

The cafe was mostly quiet— soothing music playing over the speakers, paired with the scent of coffee and tea mingled her senses.

It had been too quiet after the attack in the market. No raid on her apartment, no one gunned her down in the street. Not a single sign that said they were still there.

She had almost come to the conclusion that it had been some nightmarishly real terror. Some hallucination.

But she knew better. He taught her better.

‘Wait out your target. Make them nervous. Your patience will be what makes or breaks a kill.’

Her fingertips were numb as she clasped her cup of coffee. She knew why his methods were so effective, now.

YN scanned the cafe again. A businessman, speaking quietly on his cell phone. Two guys sitting in the corner, enjoying their time together. A college age girl with headphones on. Her hands steady typing on a laptop.

Taking a sip of her coffee, YN eyed the girl. It could’ve been her, she supposed. Graduated high school early, taken college classes, graduate with high honors. Go for a doctorate degree, perhaps.

She had been doomed from the start. Her circumstances were never the right ones for that child to grow.

“Hello, sweetheart.” YN froze. Her cup nearly slipped out of her grasp. Her knee jerked, her body working faster than her brain, already trying to escape. The man clicked his tongue, sliding into the seat across from her. “I wouldn’t move. There’s a sniper trained on you from across the street and your dear old pops doesn’t deal without holding.”

Something hard pressed against her kneecap, demanding her silence.

She was a fucking idiot. She should’ve taken more precaution— what the hell was she doing, drinking coffee out in public? YN leaned back against the booth, her lips settling into a line. Displeased with herself and the situation.

“You aren’t my father.” She snapped, her lip curling.

Adrian laughed; His smile was bright and easy, like he wasn’t holding a gun to her. Like he wasn’t threatening her.

Like they were truly father and daughter, sharing time over a coffee.

“I’m the closest thing your sorry ass has for a parent.” He corrected her.

She crossed her arms over her chest, her lips curving even further downwards.

“I don’t think parents hold their children at gunpoint. Or hire assassins to kill them.”

Adrian shook his head, reaching over to the bag of pastries. Fishing out a cookie, he snapped it in half and took a large bite.

“No, no, sweetheart, they weren’t meant to kill you. Just teach you a very valuable lesson.” He explained, chewing the remainder of the stolen treat.

YN shifted, finally gaining enough sense to put her cup back down on the table. Placing her palms face down before her, she straightened her spine.

A feeble attempt at making herself bigger than him.

“Who’s to say I don’t light this shit up right here and now, all just to burn you?” She hissed, leaning forward.

Adrian raised a brow.

After his brother met an unfortunate end, he decided to help his dear sister-in-law and niece. It had been quite a shock for the woman to learn of her husband’s brother. Once the initial shock and despair of losing her husband, but gaining another male figure, she accepted his offer of help.

But she was concerned about her daughter meeting new people.

When he met YN, her mother had warned him she might not accept him immediately. She had terrible trust issues, and just awful people skills.

But, the more he was around, the more he took note. She didn’t have terrible people skills. She just didn’t care. The empathy wasn’t there.

Sure, she handed out baskets to the poor, participated in food drives and donated. She never used her powers in public spaces if she could help it.

Her mother had made such a point about teaching her daughter the correct path. Guiding her down a path of a good spirit. Because she knew, deep down in her kind heart, that her daughter would always be hunted because of her abilities. And her daughter could not differentiate good or evil without being told.

She had always been the same. Apathetic. Disinterested. She wouldn’t change. She couldn’t.

“You won’t.” He assured her. Not with her mother’s warnings so heavily in mind.

‘You’re different, sweetheart; They will chase and persecute you for these abilities. Even if you were doing the right thing, you will be blamed.’

YN glanced out to the cafe. It wasn’t badly crowded for the time of day, but soon, it would be. Schools would be let out in thirty minutes. But there were still people around. People she shouldn’t kill.

People who would point fingers and blame her for killing a man who does nothing but evil.

“I won’t be your weapon.” She shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek. “I know my worth now, Adrian, and it’s too high for you to pay.”

“Pay? Now that’s an interesting topic.” He agreed, his voice edged near furious. The click of the safety being taken off somehow echoed over the noise of the cafe. “Because you, my darling daughter, you were filtering money from my accounts. Enough to make a dent and for me to notice. That’s what the hunters were for. And my visit today.”

He was bluffing.

YN stared at his eyes. A glint sparked off the deep, rich, brown color of his irises.

Wasn’t he?

“What do you want?” She demanded.

“Either you come home today, with me, and I’ll reinstate you as the Jersey manager, or you walk away right now and I’ll have your head as payment for your crimes.”

“They weren’t crimes.” She protested through clenched teeth.

“They were to me.” He snarled, lowly.

The tension was thick and cloying. But she refused to back down.

Not anymore.

Even though her fingers were trembling and her skin felt like it was alight, she would not be under his thumb again.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” She warned.

Adrian shrugged, wiping his fingers on a napkin. He reached over and snagged her drink. Sparing a precautionary whiff, he took a hesitant sip.

Strong notes of spices and dairy. All sugar, barely any coffee.

“Then you stay here and die by my hand.” He reasoned.

YN’s lips curled into a frown.

Adrian’s face didn’t move.

Clenching her hands into tight fists, she tilted her chin up. Anger curling into a ball in her belly. Sparking along all of her muscles.

“If you’re gonna kill me, you’d better do it now, while you still have a shot.” She advised, inching her foot closer to his, extending her kneecap. Welcoming the bullet.

He hummed at her faux bravery.

“No….” He answered. He turned to face the window, using his free hand, he held two fingers against the glass. YN swallowed, bracing herself for the bullets to penetrate the glass. They never came; Adrian dropped his hand. “No, I think I’d like to see you squirm first.”

Adrian pushed himself to his feet. Her eyes slipped down to his hand.

She wasn’t sure why, but seeing the handgun there was more unnerving than feeling it press to her skin.

He brought his hand up to the magazine, loosing it. He pushed a single bullet from it and let it clatter against the table.

Then, he turned and walked out.

YN’s breath left her lungs in a rush; Lightheadedness overtook her senses, leaving her with vertigo and nausea.

She hated that man.

She hated he made her feel like a kid again.

But she would not cry. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t cry, or throw up, or scream— nothing. Her fingertips moved across the table shakily. Barely touching the cool metal of the bullet.

Rolling it into her fingers, she stared at the gold plated gunpowder. She stared at certain death.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Straightening her spine, she glanced around.

She locked eyes with a man, standing across the cafe. Waiting for his name to be called.

He was staring right back at her.

A cruel scar curved upwards from his mouth, jagged across his cheek.

Fuck.

He pushed off the wall and started over to her table. YN turned her head to the window and blinked, rolling her eyes upward to prevent any tears from escaping.

He slowed to a stop at the booth table’s edge. Before he could speak, she turned back.

“Well, seems you’re getting your way after all, Todd.” She nodded to the booth seat across from her. “I need your help.”

“So, this Adrian guy is your…”

“Uncle. More of a ghost, nowadays. Runs a crime ring in New York.”

Jason hummed, tapping his fingers against his cup. YN shifted in her booth, her eyes moving constantly. But never landing on him, it seemed. They would flick behind him, to the shop’s entry, then to the windows, on the streets, then back into the shop to glare at patrons.

“And you were running Jersey for him until he caught you laundering?” Jason confirmed.

She had explained, in very minor details, as soon as he sat down, what kind of trouble was hunting her. Now, he was attempting to piece together the fragments he was able to catch from the rapid, one sided conversation.

YN tilted her head. She tapped the end of the bullet against the table. The metallic noise was muffled by her fingertips.

Would he ever believe her, even if she told the truth? Not that it mattered much. Her plans were shattered now.

“I was relocating funds for a necessary purpose.”

“Can I know what that purpose was?” He pressed.

YN frowned, her gaze switching between his different colored irises.

His face held a strange, masculine beauty. Thick, dark brows paired with equally dark lashes. Tanned skin and a mop of unruly black curls, his signature white streak flopped against his forehead.

His scar across his cheek, one sliced through his eyebrow. His eyes were the true beauty; Strange and uncommon. His left was a pale blue, the right was green with a sliver of blue.

He reminded her terribly of an alley cat. Someone who has lived too many lives all in a single lifetime.

“Care packages.” She admitted, finally lowering her eyes to the table. Fiddling more with the bullet, she kept her eyes focused on the gleaming gold. “Jersey has a decent sized homeless population. It’s only worse when there are crime rings.”

Jason took a long drink of his tea, his gaze never leaving her face. On his own, he doubted he could have ever guessed that information.

Dick had admitted to him he had seen her in the Narrows, giving out bags. She had apparently been doing it in New Jersey, too.

He hadn’t found much information on her— and he still wasn’t sure how she avoided his first facial search all those weeks ago. But once he had a full face, and access to the BatCave’s computers, he found her after a couple hours.

Granted, he only found a learner’s license, a fake passport, and a couple of past addresses.

But here she was, giving him more information. Willingly.

“And now he’s in Gotham.” He summarized.

“To kill me.” She confirmed.

Jason nodded once.

Her story was making more sense, and simultaneously, less sense. There were certain holes that he supposed were meant to be left unexplained. Her own insurance.

And as much as he hoped to have the full idea, he doubted she would give it up. Though, he would still try.

“So you were trying to stack defense here.” He clarified.

YN hummed, pushing her own cup around the table. It left a water trail of condensation.

“Until you started fucking up my plans.” She divulged. She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Then he arrived earlier than I’d anticipated. Guess I was being predictable.”

Running from a guardian. Fighting against their grip.

That he had some experience with.

“What do you need me to do?”

She almost seemed surprised by his open offer. Not a backhanded, quid pro quo deal, no strings apparently attached.

“I need manpower.” She admitted, cautiously moving forward with his offer. Waiting for the shoe to drop. “You have control over the largest portion of Gotham’s rings. I just need some backup. And firepower.”

A deal. She seemed to have learned some things from her uncle.

Jason sat back, staring her down. YN didn’t waver. She kept her own gaze level. Giving no more information than she had to.

Finally, Jason sighed, running his tongue along his teeth.

“I don’t want a shootout in the middle of the street. Even at night, civilians are still around.” He explained, his arms crossing over his chest. “Besides, a broad attack won’t be good enough. You’re scrambling and he knows that now.”

YN growled, threading her fingers into her hair, pressing her elbows to the table. She took a moment, several deep breaths, regaining her control.

“What do you want me to do, then? I only have so many options.” She admitted.

He bit the inside of his lip.

He was taking away more and more of her options and not giving much in return. She was willing to do things his way, he couldn’t make her regret that.

A prominent buzz against his thigh drew his attention to the clock on the wall.

Shit.

He was dead. He was completely dead.

Pushing himself to his feet, Jason fumbled through his pockets for a pen.

“I have somewhere to be. I’ll give you my address, stop by tomorrow.” He instructed. Snatching a napkin, he scribbled out barely legible numbers with his initials at the bottom. He glanced back up, to see her doubtful face. Brows drawn together and eyes narrowed. “I’m not gonna kill you.”

“Sounds like what I’d hear just before I’m killed.” YN snipped, carefully pulling the napkin toward her.

“You have my word.” He promised.

A disbelieving laugh broke free, leaving her lips curled in a mimicry of a smile.

“That means jack shit.”

Jason huffed, rolling his eyes.

“What do you want me to do, handcuff us together?”

“No.”

He nodded, collecting his cup.

“Then you’ll have to find some morsel of trust in your shriveled little heart.”

“Jeez, I was joking. No need to go Rambo.” YN muttered, watching him back away from her booth.

“That goes both ways.” He added. “You’re not allowed to kill me, either.”

“Allowed?” YN questioned. It was too late to argue any further, as Jason had already ducked out of the doors and was headed down the street. The wind ruffled his hair, flapping at the hood of his sweatshirt. The black fabric stretched over his broad shoulders— YN scowled. “What a dick.”

She looked down at the napkin. An apartment? Now that was surprising. She figured someone that had the Red Hood as his alter ego, he would live somewhere more secure. More controlable.

YN hummed, the ever present crease forming between her brows again.

Tomorrow.

#jason todd x f!reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x reader #enemy fire

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tonkijazz · 2 years

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Guitar shed parker

#Guitar shed parker download

LONDON, L.A OR LEEDS?: L.A (never been) for the washed up mid career binge.ĪND FINALLY… AS YOU LEAVE THE STAGE, WHAT ARE YOUR PARTING WORDS?Īnyone know if they have Wainwright on cask here?įor more info visit:. Parker has over 15 years of teaching experience including teaching View more company details, employee count and revenue data on Kona Equity. WOULDN’T BE CAUGHT DEAD SUPPORTING: Eric Clapton. Guitar Shed is a modern music school founded by Atlanta native Parker Smith. GO READ THIS BOOK: Siddhartha – Herman Hesse. Robert Fripp (King Crimson) as my Bez just sat smiling on his stool. I am an advocate of lifelong learning and I am. No two students are alike and I am a firm believer that everyone can learn to play an instrument. I pride myself on teaching to the individual. Vashti Bunyan and Sandy Denny – joint vocalsĮlvin Jones (John Coltrane Quartet) – drums Specialties: GUITAR SHED is a modern music school founded by Atlanta native Parker Smith with the intent to offer a unique educational experience and an emphasis on lifelong learning. NAME YOUR SUPERGROUP – WHO’S PLAYING WHAT, WHO’S ON VOCALS AND WHO’S YOUR BEZ? Not sure about sport, maybe just a shout out to all the fell-walkers up in the Dales, I’m one of you! Both Andy and Clare are really worth checking out. There’s a great West Yorkshire artist Clare Carter who I really dig, she’s made some incredible reduction lino-cut prints to fit with Andrew DR Abbot’s record Erewyreve, which is a great solo acoustic album inspired by post-capitalist utopias. WHO ARE YORKSHIRE’S FINEST IN CULTURE, SPORT AND MUSIC? If I get with the wrong sort of friends I’d probably enjoy some 2007 era pop-punk songs…t hat kind of stuff would leave me waking up feeling guilty as hell about the night before, disgusting music! I’ll get on the front line of the cask-ale revival I reckon! Cask > Keg 1000 times over! SO, WHEN IT ALL GOES WRONG AND YOU’RE LEFT BITTER AND TWISTED AND CURSING THE MUSIC INDUSTRY, WHAT DO YOU FALL BACK ON? Artwork by Roger Dean, produced by Todd Rundgren and about one decent song out of 16 per record. The endless string of double LP gatefold concept albums, all written and recorded at Rockfield studios. SO, WHEN IT ALL GOES RIGHT AND YOU’VE GOT A BOTTOMLESS PIT OF MONEY AND LONG QUEUE OF HANGERS-ON, WHAT WILL BE YOUR BIGGEST MUSICAL INDULGENCE?

#Guitar shed parker download

DOWNLOAD? Downloads aren’t very memorable but I did used to spend hours ripping music from YouTube or trawling blogs for mediafire links to download tech metal albums as a teenager. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST… RECORD? The debut album from a band called Turbowolf, a sweet band that sound kind of like an “arty” Motörhead. WHERE DO YOU SOUND BEST – FESTIVAL, CLUB, BEDROOM – OR SOMEWHERE ELSE?ĭown the local folk-club, there has to be a raffle and a tray of sandwiches in the interval, then my tunes really start hitting home. It’s got some nice folk-jazz flute from the woodwind player of Soft Machine on a couple of tracks. You might learn about harvest folk celebrations or Anglo-Saxon charms from the lyrics.ģ. Pairs nicely with a well-kept cask ale and a walk on the moors.Ģ. It’s got that brown jacket, brown cords 70’s folk-rock vibe but still at least to me, sounds very modern. GIVE US 3 REASONS WHY WE SHOULD TRACK DOWN, LISTEN AND DISCOVER YOUR MUSIC?ġ. HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN PLAYING MUSIC? Guitar since I was 6 and the solo folk deal for about 7 years now! ANY PAST BANDS OR COLLABORATIONS WE SHOULD KNOW ABOUT? I used to play in Leeds based technical death metal band Cryptic Shift, great guys but I just got a bit too hooked on Pentangle and Dick Gaughan. We typically begin guitar lessons at age seven and often encourage younger beginners to start with ukulele lessons as a foundation for guitar.Progessive psych-folk singer-songwriter from Leeds… Parker's most famous guitar was the Fly model, an electric guitar made with a slim, lightweight core of real. Parker guitars were distinguished for their characteristic light weight and the use of composite materials. Learn to shred your favorite iconic riffs, strum power chords, or play a gentle serenade. Parker Guitars was an American manufacturer of electric and acoustic guitars and basses, founded by luthier Ken Parker in 1993. Parker sat down with Chris Ladd last week to talk about music, teaching, and running a business. The guitar is our namesake for a reason! Our guitar teachers are well-versed in rock, jazz, funk, blues, soul, classical, and folk, in both acoustic and electric styles. Guitar Shed Parker chats with Chris Ladd from ChordBank on the Top Teachers Podcast. Our virtual guitar lessons bring our expert guitar teachers into your home using the platform of your choice. Guitar Shed specializes in teaching all levels of styles of guitar lesson.

#Guitar shed parker

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undertheknightwing · 2 years

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I can't believe I'm gonna have three Jons to love and make me smile 🧡

we got: Jon classic, Hot Topic exclusive Jon, and Jon the remix

#this is literally the best way of looking at the situation #as long as the new guy keeps the golden retriever personality and the jon vibe looks wise #I think I'll be okay #maybe todd will finally learn his lesson #and perhaps remix jon can be bi?? 👀#we're gonna have a herd of jons #since we get a new one each season lmao #superman and lois #jonathan kent

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 3 years

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Childhood

Father of Mine – Part 1 and Part 2

+ This Game of Ours

Jason’s eyes snapped open at a sound that no human should be able to hear.

Ever since he’d been resurrected from the Lazarus pit, his senses had grown abnormally acute – amongst other strange things.

Sometimes he swore he could even hear Y/N’s heartbeat. It was easiest to do with her, after all he was so intone with her very being.

But all of that made nearly impossible for anyone to sneak up on him – let alone in his own home. Which someone was. He could feel it.

Jason’s eyes glanced down at Y/N, who was sound asleep on his chest.

Ever so carefully, he lifted her body off of him so he could slip out of bed.

But Y/N was a light sleeper, unfortunately. She must’ve inherited that from Bruce, even though she wasn’t even raised by the man.

Y/N winced as her eyes opened just in time to see Jason grabbing one of his hidden guns from below their bed frame.

“What’s going on?” Her voice raspy.

“Nothing,” Jason lied. “Stay here.”

Now that she found out about another hidden gun in their apartment, Jason knew he was going to return to a lecture from Y/N. She never hid her hatred for guns, and had asked him to keep them out of their apartment.

“Jason…” Y/N whispered desperately, now more awake and concerned.

“Stay here,” Jason said, more firmly this time.

Then he quickly kissed her, leaving even less room for her to argue.

In only his black boxer briefs, Jason snuck out of their bedroom and into the living room without making any sound. Y/N had always been shocked at how quiet her giant boyfriend could make himself.

Just as Jason raised his gun, he heard the familiar voice.

“Put some clothes on, Todd.”

Damian stepped out of the shadows.

To Jason’s surprise, he was in civilian clothes and not in his Robin uniform.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, breaking in like that?” Jason reprimanded as he uncocked the gun.

But before Damian could defend himself, the bedroom door squeaked open and Y/N was rushing out into the living room.

“I told you to stay there,” Jason growled.

Y/N rolled her eyes at her boyfriend’s overprotectiveness. “Obviously I recognized Damian’s voice, Jason.”

Then Y/N looked at her half-brother for a second and quickly realized Damian had come there for a reason.

“Everything alright, Damian?” She asked carefully.

“Yes,” he lied.

Jason remembered when Damian despised Y/N. He saw her as a threat to his claim to the Wayne throne. But Y/N had immediately made her intentions clear. “I have my own reputation, money, and career that I built without a name attached to me. I want nothing to do with Wayne Enterprises,” she had told Damian as soon as she realized he saw her as some sort of competition.

It took Damian months to even acknowledge Y/N. And he really only did because both his father and Dick – basically his surrogate father – scolded him for not doing so.

Slowly but surely, the two grew closer.

Y/N didn’t put up with Damian’s attitude. But she also didn’t scold him like a child. If he was rude or aggressive, she spoke to him the same way she would speak to a grown man who behaved in such a manner. Somehow it made the boy slowly start to respect her more.

Eventually, they bonded over their mutual love of the arts. Damian was impressed with her photographs, while Y/N was honored whenever Damian decided to share his drawings with her. Y/N had gifted Damian his first camera. And Damian once gave her a few lessons on the basics of sketching and painting.

Who knew Waynes were the creative type?

And it was when Damian’s pets all seemed to be obsessed with Y/N that the boy finally decided to get over his original opinions and feelings.

It was by no means a short or easy battle. But the rest of the family was relieved when Damian finally accepted Y/N as one of their own.

“How about I make us some hot chocolate?” Y/N offered Damian.

The boy just shrugged, but she noticed his eyes subtly light up.

She never understood why he refused to let himself feel joy in the simple things. It was like she could catch him stopping himself from being a kid.

“I’m going to bed,” Jason announced with exhaustion.

It was clear to him that Damian came to see his sister, not him. And he was nice enough to leave the two of them alone. Even though he was a bit bitter that his girlfriend was being stolen from their bed.

Before turning back to the bedroom, Jason invaded Y/N’s space and gently grabbed her jaw before pressing a kiss to her lips.

“Gross,” Damian groaned.

Jason glared and pointed at the boy. “You’re in our apartment, demon spawn. I’ll kiss my girlfriend if I fuckin’ want to.”

Y/N just laughed as she watched Jason close their bedroom door behind him.

“Come on,” she nudged her head in the direction of the kitchen. “Let’s make some hot chocolate. I think I have some of Alfred’s cookies hiding somewhere, too.”

“I don’t know what you see in him,” Damian mumbled.

Y/N smirked and shook her head. Tonight, she wasn’t taking the bait.

Once Damian decided he didn’t hate Y/N, he jumped right to making it known that he did not think Jason was good enough for her. But she knew it was an act – mostly.

“Why aren’t you on patrol?” She asked casually once they had giant mugs of hot chocolate and cookies in front of them, making sure to give the boy extra marshmallows.

“I’m grounded,” Damian muttered.

Y/N tilted her head. “Grounded?”

It seemed like a far too normal concept for a family of vigilantes.

“Yes,” Damian confirmed.

“I’m guessing that means Bruce and Alfred don’t know you’re here…?”

“I snuck out,” he admitted.

“Why did you get grounded?”

“Father found out I was skipping school. And then that I skipped the school dance.”

“Why does it matter if you skipped the dance?” She asked, clearly confused.

Y/N was also struggling to imagine Bruce caring about such a trivial thing like that.

“Father wishes for me to have normal experiences that young man of my age is expected to have,” Damian said with a roll of his eyes.

“School dances are lame,” Y/N commented.

Damian sat up straighter, not expecting that to be her response.

“I skipped prom. I didn’t want to go,” she added.

“Why not?” The boy challenge, somewhat caught off guard by that.

Y/N shrugged. “Bad music. Bad dancing. Tacky dresses. Just wasn’t all that appealing to angsty, teenage me.”

Damian just nodded slowly, and then got quiet.

“I have no desire to be normal,” he finally stated after a few minutes.

“I’m not taking his side, but I get why Bruce wants you to do these things, Damian. You were robbed of a lot of things because of the way you were raised. I’m not saying that it’s bad or good. But I think Bruce just wants to give you the opportunity to experience the life of a – well...of a kid.”

“And was your life normal?” Damian quickly asked.

Y/N nodded. “So normal that it was boring.” She laughed, “My entire life was normal until I met all of you weirdos.”

That got a smile out of Damian.

But then it slowly dropped and he seemed to get lost in his head.

“I don’t…I don’t have any friends,” Damian finally whimpered.

Y/N was shocked by the boy’s emotion.

Damian was always composed.

“It’s like they speak a different language. And it’s one I can never learn.”

“Oh, Damian,” Y/N sighed as she rushed from her seat to kneel beside him. “I know it must be hard to try and fit in. But you’re not doing anything wrong. None of that’s your fault.”

“Father is more than aware that I don’t need the education,” Damian’s voice shook as he tried not to cry. “He only forces me to attend so I can make friends. And that is one thing I am unable to do.”

Y/N let him breathe and have an opportunity to continue before she spoke again.

“I hate school, so I skip. And the school dance seemed so ridiculous to me, so I skipped that too – even after father specifically requested that I attend.”

Y/N sighed, “And did you tell him how you’re feeling when he grounded you?”

Damian shook his head no.

She hadn’t expected anything different. She could easily imagine Damian lashing out at Bruce when he received his punishment, saying that the requests were a waste of his time and beneath him.

Damian was good at hiding his emotional pain – maybe even better than their father.

Y/N was sure Bruce didn’t have a true understanding of what Damian was going through.

“Can I stay here tonight?” Damian asked.

“Of course,” she gave him a sad smile. “How about we take this hot chocolate to the couch and watch a movie?”

Damian shrugged. But it wasn’t a no.

Y/N let him pick the movie.

He chose Fantasia.

When Y/N didn’t hide her surprise, he explained that he respected the animation and loved all of the classical music. Even when they did a child-like activity, he still always found way to remind the world that he was no normal child.

An hour later, both of them had fallen asleep on the couch with the movie still playing.

When Damian felt another presence, he awoke with a jolt and grabbed his hidden knife, holding it to the throat of the intruder.

But it was Jason, gently bringing Y/N’s sleeping body into his arms.

“Once again, demon spawn, you’re in our apartment,” Jason hissed with annoyance.

The man was completely unfazed by the feeling of a blade threatening to slit his throat.

Damian huffed.

“I’m taking her to bed,” Jason explained the obvious. Then he nudged his head at the love-seat across from Damian. “There’s a blanket right there if you want to sleep on the couch. Or you can sleep in the guest bedroom.”

But Jason paused, with Y/N sleeping in his arms, as he noticed a strange look on Damian’s face.

“What?” He urged.

“If you ever hurt her, I’ll kill you myself,” Damian growled softly.

Jason looked utterly unimpressed. “You’d have to get in line,” he answered, making sure to keep his voice quiet to prevent waking Y/N.

But then Jason’s face softened. “Look, kid, I think you know that she’s the best thing to ever happen to me. I’d die before doing anything to mess this up.”

“Hmph,” was the only noise Damian made in response.

Jason rolled his eyes and carried Y/N back to their bedroom.

In all honesty, he couldn’t fall asleep while she had been in with Damian. With Jason’s weird enhanced hearing because of the pit, he was able to catch a bit of their conversation.

Jason softly place Y/N back in bed and pulled the covers up to her shoulders. When he joined her on the other side of the bed, she didn’t even wake as she slid back into his arms.

Now Jason could finally go to sleep.

When there was a knock on the apartment door the next morning, Damian and Y/N shared a look.

“I’ll get it,” Y/N sighed.

Jason had made all three of them breakfast that morning.

But now Damian pushed the food around his plate, knowing this was the end of his small rebellion. Who knew what his new punishment would be?

Y/N opened the door to unsurprisingly find her father.

Bruce was wearing a full suit, despite it being a Sunday morning. On top was a heavy, black overcoat with the back of the collar slightly propped up.

“You could have least told me he was here,” Bruce greeted his daughter.

She smirked mischievously and shrugged. “I’m no snitch.”

Damian appeared behind Y/N, not seeing the point in dragging this out any longer than necessary.

“Alfred’s downstairs with the car,” Bruce told his son evenly.

The disappointment in both his expression and tone was obvious.

Damian looked up at Y/N. “Thank you for having me, Y/N.”

“Next time, use the actual door so you don’t give me or Jason a heart attack.”

Damian smiled at that before walking past his father and down the hallway.

“Can I talk to you a second?” Y/N asked Bruce.

Her father seemed surprised by the request, but nodded anyways and closed the door behind him.

“I think Damian is really struggling – more than you think, I mean.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed and he crossed his arms. “He hasn’t even been remotely injured from patrols in months…”

“No, Bruce,” she quickly cut off. “Not as Robin. As Damian.”

Bruce was quiet.

“He doesn’t know how to fit in, Bruce. And you’re putting a lot of pressure on him to live a normal life. Bu he’s never gonna have normal. That was taken away from him before you even knew he existed.”

“He said that to you?” Bruce asked.

She nodded. “In so few words, yes.”

“And I’m assuming you have some advice,” he quirked a brow.

“Well, yeah. Maybe you should just homeschool him.”

“Y/N, the whole point of him going to school is to be around kids his own age. We both know the education is beneath him already.”

“But that’s the thing, Bruce. He’s never going to relate to any of those kids. Going to school makes him feel like a freak. Let him get homeschooled.”

“He needs to learn to make friends,” Bruce argued.

“You’re right. He does. But not with the spoiled brats of Gotham Academy. How many superheroes are you friends with?”

“He doesn’t consider them friends!” Jason shouted from the kitchen.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Fine. How many superheroes are you acquainted with, who have kids around Damian’s age?”

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

“I know you like to keep your personal life away from Batman. But those are the only kids that Damian is ever going to relate to in some way. Do you get what I’m saying?”

To her surprise, Bruce nodded. “You’re right.”

Her brows shot up. “I am?”

Y/N had really expected him to fight her on this.

Bruce chuckled. “Of course you are. Out of everyone in this family, you are the only one who can say they had any semblance of a normal childhood.”

Suddenly his phone dinged and he glanced down at it.

“I have to go,” he regretfully told her.

When he looked back up at her, his face softened. “Come to the manor soon for dinner,” he asked her gently.

She gave him a soft smile and nodded, “I will.”

Bruce nodded in the direction of the kitchen where Jason was hiding. “And bring that one with you, will you?”

Y/N laughed. “He’ll go wherever I go. He’s like a puppy, that one.”

“I can hear you!” Jason called out.

Bruce laughed and stepped forward to give Y/N a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for looking out for Damian, Y/N.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Bruce.”

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#jason todd x reader #jason todd reader insert #red hood x reader #red hood reader insert #father of mine bonus content #Father of Mine #bruce wayne x daughter #bruce wayne x daughter!reader #damian wayne x sister!reader #batboys #batfam #batman family #batsis #batfam x batsis

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

When The Music's Not Forgotten PT. 1

Green Lantern!Reader x Lantern Family Story!

Word Count: 5.3K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mature Themes, Violence

Author's Note: I legit had a breakdown trying to think about what to label this fic as. Almost put 'Batsis' but then I realized it's not Batsis nor Lantern!Sis so I was like...uh...what do I do? We'll figure it out. Enjoy! -Thorne

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Her first thought when she opened the front door to the Coast City apartment and saw her dad in a headlock by Kyle and Kyle in a headlock by Guy who was in one by John, who was in one by her dad, was: this is totally and completely normal.

The second thought: that nothing involving her father and uncles ever surprised her anymore, occurred to her as said father and said uncles stopped arguing with one another and cocked their heads up, looking at her, each of their faces exhibiting the epitome of “I got caught with my hand in the cookie jar” shock, in which she merely returned with a blank stare before closing the door behind her, marching into the kitchen with the grocery bags.

Of course, that also meant the second she did, they were stumbling in to explain what had brought them to the unfortunate moment of head-locking each other, but also to see what she’d bought and what she was going to cook for dinner. She paid them no mind, ducking under arms and between bodies as she maneuvered around them kitchen, putting things away.

Someone curled an arm around her neck, pressing their lips to her temple. “Hey Raptor.”

She smiled. “Hey dad.” Tossing a beer behind her, she added, “Uncle Guy. Uncle John. Kyle.”

Guy caught his beer, popping the tab, and Kyle looked at her, crossing his arms over his chest. “How come everyone else is ‘uncle’ and I’m not?” he looked hurt. “Am I somehow different, (Y/N)?”

She paused and threw another beer behind her. “Kyle, were almost the same age. I’m not calling you my uncle because John and Guy are older than both of us.”

“Not that much,” he griped, popping his beer tab. “It still hurts my feelings.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and handed John the final beer. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I considered you to be my favorite cousin?”

Kyle smiled at her. “Yes, it would.”

She nodded then glanced at Hal. “Dad, tacos or burgers?”

“I dunno.” He said, glancing at the others. “You guys?”

“Burgers.”

“Tacos.”

“Burgers.”

She cocked a brow and looked at her father. “Seems like you’ll either make a tie or a win.”

“I have been thinking about good tacos, Raptor,” he replied, and she nodded.

“Tacos it is.” Guy and John groaned, and she shot them a glare. “Hey! Lock that shit up or I’m not cookin’.” Immediately they shut their mouths, listening to Kyle and Hal snicker. “Buncha children.” She griped, dumping the ground beef into a skillet to brown.

“So, (Y/N),” Guy drawled, leaning against the kitchen counter. And honestly, the entire kitchen was way too small for four grown men and a grown woman to be in at one time, but she’d gotten used to it, so why fix what wasn’t broke.

“So, Uncle Guy.” She repeated, shifting the meat around with the spatula.

“Why exactly did you start working at the Wayne Enterprises branch here?”

She could feel the eyes of her family on her back, and she couldn’t help but roll hers. “Maybe because Mister Wayne pays good salaries to his employees and his health insurance coverage is fantastic?” (Y/N) glanced over her shoulder. “But something tells me you’re asking for another answer.”

He grinned. “Which son of Wayne’s are you dating?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes again. “I love you, but you’re an idiot.” She turned back to the pan. “I’m not dating any of his sons. Dick’s with Koriand’r, Jason’s a douche-bag, and their brothers are way too young.”

“Doesn’t he have a daughter?”

“Cass is dating a girl she goes to college with.” She took an onion from the basket against the kitchen wall atop the counter. “Keep digging though, Uncle Guy. You’ll hit rock bottom soon enough.”

“Does that mean you’re dating the big Bat?”

She almost cried from laughter as Hal choked on his beer and spluttered. “No. I’m not dating Mister Wayne. He’s old enough to be my dad.”

John chuckled. “I don’t know, (Y/N). When you first met Bruce at, what? Ten? You told him you were going to marry him.”

Her cheeks burned and she scowled at them. “I meant Batman because he was kind-hearted, and I was totally awestruck as a little girl. Let it go.” Her eyes fell on Hal. “Dad, tell ‘em to let it go.”

He nodded. “Please let it go.” Kyle started humming ‘Here Comes the Bride’ and while the others snickered, Hal screwed his eyes shut. “Oh God, stop. I don’t want to think about my precious baby anywhere near that anal retentive kitchen scale.”

The other snickered and before she could say anything, their rings started beeping. She looked at them as their faces turned solemn, setting their beers down as their suits flashed to life.

“Trouble on Oa,” John said.

“Gotta fly?” she asked, and Hal nodded, leaning over to kiss her temple.

“Gotta fly, Raptor.” He hugged her quickly and followed John and the others to the balcony. “I love you.”

“I love you too, dad.” (Y/N) waved. “Be careful, Corpsmen.” They all waved at her and took off, leaving her in the apartment alone and she sighed, turning back to the kitchen. “Another dinner…alone.” She couldn’t help but deflate. “Wonderful.”

***

She continued cooking for almost an hour when the balcony doors opened and closed, and she smiled. “Hey guys. You’re back rather early.” When she didn’t hear a response, she immediately fell on guard and she took one of the kitchen knives from its holder, brandishing it.

Carefully, she walked into the dimly lit living room, eyes scanning the expanse for whoever was in the apartment with her. None of the floorboards were creaking, no rustling of fabric or scuffing of shoes. It was completely silent, and that made her nervous.

Stay calm. The worst thing you can do in a situation when you need to be calm is to be panicked. Slow breaths. Keep focused.

She repeated his words in her head and shifted around the hallway wall, eyes peeled for trouble.

Small steps when sweeping buildings. If an enemy rounds a corner and it comes to close combat, you’ll want to be able to hit them and taking big steps causes instability.

(Y/N) crept down the hall and came upon the bathroom just beside her father’s bedroom door. Quickly, she peeked in, seeing it empty, then cross the doorway, pausing beside her father’s door. She inhaled deeply, then turned her head around the corner, seeing it empty and dark. The only room left was hers.

She crossed to the other side of the wall and hurried down to her door, and with another sharp breath, she turned and looked in. Again, it was empty. Confusion bled through her as she returned to the living room, the hand holding the knife lowered beside her thigh.

“That’s strange.” She murmured. “I thought I—”

“Heard something?”

She gasped and spun around, bringing the knife up, but they caught it with ease, squeezing her wrist until she cried in pain and dropped it. (Y/N) heard the clattering in her ears as they grabbed her other hand and shoved her down into the couch.

She started thrashing wildly, about to scream when she heard, “I thought I told you not to turn your back on people.”

(Y/N) stilled and turned her head, catching that stupidly smart smirk. “You fucker.” She cursed at him, torn between laughing hysterically and cursing some more. “I can’t believe you turned this into a lesson.”

He shrugged. “Had to know if you were learning any better.” Smiling at her, he quipped, “Your sweeping is great. Detection skills? Not so much.”

“Let me up, Jason.” she commanded, rolling her eyes and he snorted, letting go of her arms. Immediately, she spun and cocked her elbow into his jaw, smiling as he grunted in pain and grabbed it.

“Damn,” he hissed. “You’ve got elbowing down to an art.”

She grinned. “I’ve had a good teacher.”

They stared on another down for a moment, then all at once, they were yanking at shirts and unbuckling belts, grabbing each other, and tugging closer to one another as their lips met in a searing kiss.

(Y/N) shoved at the jacket on his shoulders, moving her lips to his jaw and he groaned, taking his hands from her hips for just a moment to pull the article off. He shifted out of reach, and she glanced towards the kitchen.

“I turned the oven off,” Jason muttered, yanking his crimson shirt over his head. “Figured we’d be too busy to eat dinner.”

She giggled and shoved him off the couch, watching as he scrambled to his feet; she stood and started pulling off her own clothes, first her shirt, then her bra and Jason almost collapsed at her feet when she tugged her pants to her ankles.

“C’mon, Jay, don’t be shy.” (Y/N) cooed. “Show me what you’ve got.”

He chuckled, and unbuckled his belt, letting it fall to the floor as he back-stepped down the hallway. “Oh, you want a show, Miss Jordan?”

She smirked at him and stuck her thumbs in the sides of her thong. “I’d love a show, Mister Todd.”

“I might made you beg a little for it,” he shot back coolly, toeing off his combat boots and she hummed.

“I will if you will.” (Y/N) said, watching his hands unbutton the charcoal-colored utility pants he wore.

“My eyes are up here.” Jason quipped, though he didn’t seem to stop as he shoved his pants down, leaving him in his boxers, and he hit her doorway.

“True, but my attention is elsewhere.” She drew her eyes up his toned body, internally smirking as he seemed to shiver under her gaze, and she pushed her thong down her legs. (Y/N) stood before him and reached out, placing her hands flat on his chest. He was so hot underneath her palms and she slowly rubbed her hands up to the sides of his neck.

“(Y/N),” he murmured huskily, arms winding around her waist, and she smirked.

“Take me to bed, Jason.”

Immediately, he bent down and grabbed the back of her thighs, digging his fingers in until she lifted and wrapped her arms around his waist. “With pleasure,” he purred.

***

By the time Hal and the other lanterns got back to the apartment, it was well into the morning, and he could tell that everyone just wanted to crash in exhaustion, too tired to even think about flying to their own homes.

He opened the balcony doors and let them inside. “Lemme get some blankets from the hall closet,” he muttered, voice as ragged as his body felt.

“Who the hell played strip poker in here?”

Hal looked up at Guy who was holding up a crimson t-shirt with a baffled expression. “What?”

Guy met his gaze then nodded down the hall. “Someone’s been tangoing.”

When he craned his neck to peek down the hallway, sure enough there was a trail of clothing leading down to her room. His eyes went wide, and he suddenly forgot about his exhaustion as he leaped over the couch and sprinted down the hall, the other Lanterns hot on his heels.

Hal skidded to a stop in her doorway and immediately screeched, “(Y/N) JORDAN WHO THE HELL IS IN YOUR BED?!”

The two young adults in the bed startled up, and she held the sheet to her chest as she gaped at her father. “Dad! You—you’re here!”

He gestured wildly. “OF COURSE, I’M HERE! I FUCKING LIVE HERE! WHO THE FUCK IS IN YOUR BED?!”

“Morning, Hal,” Jason greeted, with a mock salute. “How’s your day so far?”

“MY DAY?!” he bellowed, already starting for the young man, and John was quick to grab Hal around the waist. “LET GO! I’M GOING TO MURDER THIS SON OF A BAT FOR CORRUPTING MY DAUGHTER!”

“Excuse me,” Jason said, rather affronted, then pointed at her. “It’s (Y/N) who’s corrupted me.”

(Y/N) barely had time to hide her snort as she elbowed him in the side. “Shut the hell up.” She cleared her throat and looked at the men in her doorway. “Uh…can you close the door so I can get dressed?”

“CLOSE THE DOOR?! I’M GOING TO TAKE THE DOOR OFF ITS HINGES! YOU ARE GROUNDED, (Y/N) JORDAN DO YOU HEAR ME! YOU ARE—”

Guy and John dragged Hal off and Kyle shut the door but threw a thumbs up at Jason before he left.

***Part Two***

She tried to look anywhere but her father’s face as he continued to berate her and Jason. And honestly, he’d stopped making sense about thirty minutes ago and while she couldn’t look at her uncles for fear of bursting into laughter, Jason had no problems cracking a smirk at everything Hal was yelling about.

“—AND I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU HAD A BOY IN THE HOUSE!” he paused, horror drawing across his face, then it immediately turned into anger. “THIS ISN’T THE FIRST TIME HE’S COME OVER IS IT?! HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON?!”

Her face pinched and she inquired, “Which question do you want answered first? The one you asked when you first started yelling or the last one just now?”

“I am in no mood for games, (Y/N) Jordan. You brought a boy into the house without permission.”

“I am a man.” Jason interrupted.

She elbowed him in the ribs. “I didn’t realize I needed permission to bring my boyfriend into the house.”

“BOYFRIEND?!” Hal screeched.

(Y/N) blinked. “I’m confused. Are you angry at me calling him my boyfriend? Do you want me to call him my fuckbuddy or something?”

“HEY!” both Jason and Hal in unison and her father glared at him. “SHUT UP!”

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, dad…I’m twenty-one. Having a boyfriend is a completely normal thing. Having a consensual sexual relationship with someone is a normal thing.”

Hal spluttered for a moment then pointed at Jason. “NOT WITH HIM!”

“What’s wrong with me?” Jason question, rather offendedly, then he held up a hand. “I mean, besides the obvious things that are wrong with me.”

“YOU’RE YOU! THE SON OF BATMAN!”

“I mean…” Jason drawled. “That’s technically debatable most days.”

(Y/N) looked at him. “You’re not exactly helping the case, Jay.”

“I’m not trying to.” He grinned at her. “I’m seeing if I can make your dad go red.”

She tutted at him. “Jason Todd trying to corrupt a Green Lantern into a Red Lantern. Shame.”

“QUIT DOING THAT!” Hal howled as they started snickering, seeming to get lost in their own little world. Suddenly, he was marching down the hallway and coming back with a cellphone.

They watched in confusion for a moment, then Jason’s eyes widened. “Oh no.”

“What?” (Y/N) worried.

“He’s calling B.”

“What.”

Hal put the phone to his ear and glowered at the two of them until the line clicked and he immediately yelled, “DO YOU KNOW YOUR DELINQUENT SON IS DATING MY DAUGHTER?...WHAT?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU ALREADY KNOW?!...EXCUSE ME?! WHAT?!”

He hung up the phone and set it on the table, then proceeded to turn around and grab a pillow from the couch, bringing it to his face. Hal bellowed into the pillow and Jason nudged her. “How long is he gonna be like this?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Probably another minute or two. He’ll start up again in about an hour though.”

Jason hummed and stood from the table. “Well, I’d love to stay and get yelled at some more but if I’m being honest, I only need one father yelling at me and not two.”

“Where are you going?” she questioned.

“Roy and I have a mission in Costa Rica tomorrow evening.” He bent down and kissed her lips. “I’ll call you when I land.”

(Y/N) smiled and before he pulled away, she grabbed his shirt and pulled him in for another searing kiss, one that erupted wolf-whistles from the other Lanterns around them—which also had Hal pulling his head up at the sound, immediately shouting again.

“Love you,” she murmured, and he winked.

“Love you more, doll.” He tossed a mock salute to Hal and the others before leaving and she sat back in her seat, readying herself for another round of bellowing.

***

Surprisingly, Hal had relaxed after a few hours. That being said, (Y/N) really had to work on him to do so but being an only child and her dad’s pride and joy played a big part—she knew the man could never stay mad at her. Of course, he’d immediately put rules into place over the whole relationship thing. No boys in the house without permission, no closing the door when a boy was over, no more Bat-sons in the Jordan apartment…he was overreacting, but it wasn’t anything new in (Y/N)’s opinion.

But he did ease up after a few months, mainly because as anti-social as Jason was most days, he was damn good at working people over when he wanted to. And in her boyfriend’s opinion, the easiest way to work her dad over was to tell him all the ways to screw with Bruce—which Hal took in like a sponge with water. As annoying as it was to see the two men so giddy over a plan, she was glad they were just getting along.

However, when Hal learned that (Y/N) was being trained by Jason, and on the rare occasions, Bruce, his meltdown the first night seemed like a walk in the park compared to the storm blowing in.

***

So…what are you wearing?

She snorted, crossing at the formula of the equation, rewriting a new one beside it. “Jason, I’m not having phone-sex with you.”

Hmm…I bet you’re wearing red panties.

“Cold.” (Y/N) retorted with a grin. “They’re blue actually. You know, like Nightwing’s suit?”

Why do you hate me?

“I haven’t the faintest clue what you mean, Jay.”

You’re evil, you know that? Like you portray innocence but in reality, you’re evil.

She snorted again when a tapping came at her bedroom window and she frowned, leaning over; Jason saw it from the camera.

Everything alright?

(Y/N)’s eyes drifted to his face then to the window and she stood. “Yeah, someone’s at the window.”

(Y/N). He warned and she leaned over, seeing Kyle floating there.

“It’s Kyle.”

What’s Kyle doing there? I thought he was on Oa.

She nodded, brows furrowing as she murmured, “I did too.” Opening the window, she greeted, “Hey, what’s up?”

Kyle seemed nervous. No, he seemed concerned. “I need you to come with me.”

“Is my dad okay?” she asked outright, and he nodded.

“Yeah, Hal’s good…but he needs to talk to you.” Kyle waved a hand over her phone, and it shut off. “It’s important.”

(Y/N) felt her heart thump in her chest at how serious her friend was, and she nodded. “Alright. Let’s go.”

***

She’d only ever been to the Watchtower once. And the only thing she remembered from the trip was getting lost in one of the hallways only to be found by Batman who merely picked her sobbing frame up and hummed to her until she fell asleep.

So really, it was like a first time visit all over again, and when she came face to face with not only the Justice League, well Wonder Woman, Batman, and Superman, and her uncles, she wasn’t exactly excited. It felt like she’d been called to the principal’s office for expulsion.

Hal pointed to a seat, which she took, not wanting to open her mouth when she had no idea what was going on.

Wonder Woman, surprisingly, was the first to speak. “What is your daughter doing here, Hal?”

Her father merely looked at (Y/N) then to Bruce, questioning, “How long?” They stared one another down and she felt as lost as last year’s Easter eggs. “How long, Bruce?” Hal asked again.

Batman didn’t even blink. “A full year. When she started working at the branch in Coast City, I had Jason start it.”

“Motherfucker.” Hal cursed, chuckling humorlessly. “I do all I can to keep her out of this bullshit and you drag her into it.”

“(Y/N) wanted to train. She emailed me through a private channel about it.”

All eyes turned onto her and then she knew what was happening. “He’s…right, dad. I wanted to be trained to fight.”

Hal gaped at her. “Why? You’re going to school? You’re working? Why do you want to train?”

(Y/N) swallowed thickly. “To be like you guys. You know, useful?” she stood from the table. “Look, I know you’re worried, but even Batman’s noted major improvements. He says I’m almost ready to start patrolling on my own.” She looked to him for help.

“She’s smart, Hal. And I’m not saying that to float the Jordan ego. Jason’s not one to give commendation where it shouldn’t be.” Batman nodded at her. “(Y/N)’s not my kids, but she’s right behind them on how good she is.”

Hal’s brown eyes turned onto him in a fierce glare. “Yeah, well, unlike you, I don’t make a habit out of putting my kid in danger. I know you have a thing for going through sons.”

“HEY!” (Y/N) shouted, getting his attention as she stood to her feet. “I’m old enough to make this decision for myself and if Batman says I’m good enough to do this, I’m gonna do it.”

“Nope. Not happening.” Hal rejected. “End of discussion.”

“No.”

His eyes went wide first with shock, then with the audacity of her language. “Excuse me?”

(Y/N) momentarily wanted to cave, but she held strong and tightened her jaw. “I said no.” she declared. “I’m gonna do this.”

Hal rounded the table, stomping up to her. “No, you’re not.”

“What’re you gonna do, dad? Lock me in the house for the rest of my life?” she suggested. “I have rights you know.”

“Not to do shit like this. I don’t want you being a hero.”

(Y/N) gazed at him, and suddenly, everyone felt the mood shift as she murmured, “It’s because I’m not a Lantern, isn’t it, dad?”

Hal’s jaw went slack. “What? What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” She shot back coolly, then tipped her head to the other league members. “See, they get to brag about their kids. Superboy, the Robins, the Wonder-Girls...everyone on this team has a trainee but you.” (Y/N)’s eyes narrowed. “And you hate that I’m not like you, don’t you? That I can’t seem to figure out what it takes to wear that ring.”

She glanced at her uncles who were gaping at her. “See, you look at them like they’re the greatest people in the universe. And then when you look at me? It’s easy to see the devotion shift. Deep down it makes you disappointed that I’m not a Green Lantern.”

“You are absolutely out of line.” He growled.

“Am I, dad?” (Y/N) challenged. “Everyone here gets to brag about their superhero trainees but when it comes you, what can you say? ‘My daughter isn’t a Green Lantern like me, sorry!’?” she looked at him. “I’m not a Green Lantern, but I am something else. I can be something else. Let me prove it to you.”

Hal gazed at her for along moment. “…No.”

(Y/N) snapped. “Why the fuck not! What is it about me that just makes you so antagonistic at the idea of me being something like you!”

“Watch your language, young lady. I’m still your father.” He demanded.

“Oh please, as far as I’m concerned, you were just a failed pilot on leave who fucked my mom and got her pregnant.”

It happened before anyone realized it. The sharpest crack any of them had ever heard in their lives and (Y/N) turned her face back to him, a hand coming up to press against her stinging cheek. And Hal? Hal was staring at his hand as if it didn’t belong to him.

She wasn’t mad. Shocked, sure, but not mad. If anything, it’d proved her point and she merely regarded him with an assured gaze. “Bogey down, huh dad?” she remarked, and his eyes shot to hers.

Hal’s mouth opened but nothing would come out except, “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Yeah, you did,” she whispered, taking a step back from him when he reached for her.

His face crumpled and he brokenly called, “(Y/N), wait!”

But she was already running for the door, Batman on her heels.

***

“Do you want me to call Jason?” he asked quietly, watching her open the balcony doors.

Her hands stilled for a moment, then she resumed twisting the key. “No…and don’t tell him this happened either.”

“Why not?”

(Y/N) looked back at him. “Because you and I both know that Jason would beat my dad senseless.”

“…Do you want to come back to Gotham for a while?”

She opened the doors and sighed. “I don’t know, Batman.” Glancing back, she added, “I don’t really know what I want right now.”

“Do you want to be away from Hal?” he questioned seriously, and she looked at her feet.

“I know what you’re thinking. But he’s not abusive.”

“All evidence to the contrary.”

(Y/N)’s head snapped up. “My dad’s never laid his hands on me before now.”

“He ever physically discipline you?”

“Swatting your eight-year-old kid’s butt in the middle of a store when they’re having a meltdown over not buying an expensive toy is a lot different from beating them bloody and bruised with a beer bottle or a belt.’ (Y/N)’s eyes darkened, but not at her father’s face in her head, but at Batman. “My dad’s a lot of things. A jackass, a skirt chaser, a self-righteous arrogant prick…but he is not an abuser.”

Batman placed a hand on her shoulder. “He hit you.”

“Yeah? And? I insulted him and my mom straight to his face. Sure, slapping me wasn’t the answer, but I understand the reaction. Does is make is right? No. But neither is what I said. We both fucked up.” She shrugged his hand off. “We’ll talk about it and move on.”

“Because it’s what Jordan’s do?”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh but it was anything but mirthful. “Yeah. It’s what Jordan’s do.” She stepped inside and looked back at him. “Thanks for bringing me home, Batman. I appreciate it.”

He nodded, pulling out his grapple. “Call me if you need anything.” Batman gazed at her. “And think about calling Jason.”

“…I will.”

Batman gazed at her a moment longer then fired the grapple, taking off into the night sky towards the Batplane, then she was watching as it disappeared faster than it came.

With a heavy sigh, she turned and put her hands on the back of the loveseat, shutting her eyes as she thought about the events of the night. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to feel. Angry? Hurt? Responsible? It had to be all the above, especially when she pictured his face in her head after it happened. Shocked, ashamed, horrified, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

(Y/N) didn’t want to think about it, and when she heard a ring flashing in her ears, she turned. “Guys, I don’t wanna talk about—” she fell into a deep silence when she saw the man before her, the yellow suit glowing vividly against the dark sky.

“Hello (Y/N) Jordan. I am Sinestro.”

***Part Three***

Hal had taken her flying more times than she could’ve counted—perks of being a pilots daughter, and while she had faith in aircraft and Green Lantern constructs, she wasn’t sure how to feel about Yellow Lanterns and their tendency to drop people.

Coast City looked so small below her, and she swallowed thickly, trying greatly to keep her fear under control, keeping her eyes on the moon. She knew if Sinestro dropped her at this height, she’d die. There were no chances of survival at all—she’d hit the ground and pancake with the best of ‘em.

“I am rather surprised that you accepted my invitation so easily,” he remarked, not looking at her as they rose through the night sky.

“Yeah, well…I’ve heard enough stories about you to know that you’ll kill me if you want to.” Her eyes followed his frame. “I’d like to extend my life as long as possible.”

“A wise decision, (Y/N).” He noted rather humorously, finally taking the time to look back at her. “I’ve watched you for some time now.”

Ignoring the implications and total creepiness of the statement, she instead asked, “How long?”

“Long enough to see the potential you have in greater things.” Sinestro replied and reached a hand out, a horde of golden glowing constructs appearing before her eyes. Her training with Batman, with Jason, even with Hal and the others—most importantly, the fight just before. “It hurts that he doesn’t trust you to be like him, doesn’t it?”

She didn’t respond, merely watching the moment of his hand coming back across her face over and over again as the feelings welled in her chest.

“You try so hard to be of use to Hal. To be a Green Lantern like him, but nothing you do makes him proud.” He gazed at her with something akin to pity, but it felt like a manipulation. “I understand your fear of failure…of shame.” Holding out his hand, he made her own raise beside her body and a yellow ring floated from his palm. “I can feel the anger inside you. Your fear fights to quell it.” Sinestro smiled. “I almost want to call Atrocitus and have him recruit you into the Red Corps.”

(Y/N)’s eyes fell to the ring, and she clenched her hand into a fist to keep it from sliding onto her finger. “I—I can’t be a Yellow Lantern.”

“Why not?”

“Why n—because you’re the enemy of the Green Lanterns!” she shouted. “I’d be betraying my father and my friends and my family!”

He gave her a knowing look. “The same family that looked upon you with shame every time you tried to wield the green power ring, but couldn’t?”

She felt like she’d been shot, and her jaw dropped. “I…”

Sinestro nodded. “I understand. But you don’t, (Y/N). Willpower must be had since birth. Fear however—” he reached out, uncurling her fingers. “Can be taught. And you have potential to be trained with terror.” He met her gaze. “You can’t be a Green Lantern like Hal wants…but you can become something he has to recognize. Something powerful. Something fearsome.”

(Y/N) stared at him, and this time, she didn’t fight as the ring slipped onto her finger. (Y/N) Jordan of Earth. You possess the ability to instill great fear. Welcome to the Sinestro Corps.

The world started swirling around her, golden flashes of light bound her body and she screamed in terror as her nightmares came alive before her. The chains coiled, almost like snakes creeping up her body, tighter and tighter around her throat and up around her skull. The last thing she saw through her fearful gaze was Sinestro laughing darkly and the world before her went dark and she was subjected to her minds torment, brought upon by the forged ring.

For a moment, the world was calm, then the chains fell away, and (Y/N) stood before Sinestro, clothed in an exo-suit, similar to her father’s, but instead of the bright, awe-inspiring green, it was a golden, fear-inducing yellow.

And when she opened her eyes, they narrowed onto Sinestro, and all she said was, “I’m ready to receive my orders.”

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scaryscarecrows · 2 years

Text

Roasting Chicken

Jason Todd has a reputation for being reckless, unpredictable, and bone-chillingly brutal. Stories are still told about the truck that came back to the Garden empty, with the driver’s head sitting primly in the seat and the rest of the body nowhere to be found. Bones turned up months later that might have been his, but they’d been picked clean by the desert and there was no way to be sure.

William Carbone is thinking that maybe that reputation is exaggerated. Todd had dragged him from the truck, sure, and set his crew to unloading it, but apart from tying his hands, he hasn’t been hurt.

He’s also kind of being ignored, because Todd’s in the middle of a discussion with what William thinks is his second-in-command.

“--enforcer babysitter,” the other guy’s saying. “And you were gonna mention this when?”

“Who else was supposed to watch me, the neighbor? It’s not like he took me on jobs, he only started teaching me shit after I learned to drive.”

“Your mom was cool with this.”

“Mostly. Why wouldn’t she be? She’s Penguin’s right hand, she wasn’t gonna let someone outside the fami–”

“No.” The guy sputters a bit. “No. Your mom does not work for Penguin, she’s too nice to work for Penguin.”

Todd starts laughing, slumps over his bike handles and points obnoxiously. What’s happening? Has William been forgotten?

“Man, Dove’s the one that taught me the right spot to strap a bomb to a jaw*,” he says. “William, right?”

Damn.

“Yes.”

“How long you been driving?” Todd straightens up and strolls over, claps a hand on William’s shoulder. Um. This…is unexpected.

“Five years,” he says cautiously. Todd nods, makes a noise of interest. “S’good work, considering I don’t have a degree.”

“Me neither! You do what you gotta do, right?” Uh. “You gave us a good run, I gotta say. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks?”

“Mm.” Todd’s smile turns just this side of feral. “Unfortunately, you also sent three of my boys to medical and crushed one under that back tire, so I can’t offer you a job. It’ll cause all kinds of trust issues, you understand.”

“I don’t–”

“And if I don’t teach you a lesson, it’ll cause even more trust issues. So no hard feelings?”

“Wait–wait–ugh!”

Todd kicks his legs out from under him, sending him sprawling to the dirt. Before he can react, he’s being towed towards the big, red bike that sounds like the Devil himself is on your ass. Somebody tosses over a heavy chain that burns when it’s wrapped tightly around William’s legs, all the way up to his hips.

“Please! Please, I’ll do whatever you want, just–”

“Eye for an eye,” Todd says easily. Then, “Race?”

Another man, this one a small, black-haired one with dark eyes and burn scars around his lips, grins and gives a thumbs-up before straddling his own bike and revving it.

William has just enough time to realize what’s going to happen before Todd’s bike jerks forward with a ROAR. Behind him, he can hear mocking laughter, but that’s drowned out by his screams a second later. Dust flies down his throat but he can’t seem to stop, not even when a rock chips his teeth.

It manages to get worse. Todd veers sharply and speeds up. William catches a glimpse of green before he finds himself being dragged through a cactus patch. Thorns dig into his skin-several end up in his eyelids-and he finally stops screaming when his face smashes full-on into a barrel and several of the hooked barbs snag into his lips.

The bike stops. Everything hurts and he can’t see and God, just be done, just be done, no more…

“Damn.” Todd’s voice is still easy. “You’re quick.”

Laughter, but no words. Footsteps approach and the chains on his legs are pulled away. Liquid sloshes over him and it’s gas it’s gas it’s gas–

Fwip!

He doesn’t feel the match land on his ribs. But that’s where the fire starts. It doesn’t take long for it to engulf him, eating at his legs and his arms and climbing up his neck and face and–

“NO! NO! NOOOOOOO!”

The last thing he registers before losing consciousness is that burning skin smells an awful lot like roasting chicken.

THE END

*Happens in Lost Days. It ain’t pretty, but, well, the guy should have sucked less. Here, Dove learned that trick from Penguin; it’s a good interrogation tactic because you don’t have to leave the bomb on if you don’t want to. :)

#garage tapes #jason todd #jason is a gang leader #he's a personable sort but he will fuck you UP #eh warning for torture i guess #sucks to be this guy

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legends-live-in-memories · 3 years

Text

Cut You Down to Size

AYO its Day 1 of the MGI Trope Tussle! I’m representing Team Enemies-to-Lovers! Lets Get It!

Fics Masterlist

Damigami 5.5K words Oneshot, no warnings apply

Summary:

Alfred signs Damian up for his school's fencing club. There he meets a red clad demon with a sabre.

Day 1 prompt: My name is unimportant— you, tyrant, will die today by my blade.

without further ado:

This was stupid. Damian could not understand Pennyworth’s logic behind signing him up for his school’s fencing club. He was a trained assassin, studying under the world’s greatest swordsmen, and no one at his school would be able to keep up with him. He was miles ahead in terms of technique and experience. So why on earth would he subject himself to this asinine, idle waste of time on a Saturday?

“Remember, young master, it is important to your father that you enjoy hobbies more suitable for others your age. All your other siblings have activities to distract them from the eccentricities of their nighttime activities.” Right, that’s why. Pennyworth spoke as if he were reminding an imbecile how to not walk into oncoming traffic and his tone grated on Damian’s nerves. “Don’t pout, Master Damian, it is unbecoming. Besides, it would make your father proud if you were able to blend in with other teens.”

He most definitely was not pouting but he could agree that making his father proud and not compromising their identities were important. His weary sigh was the only answer he gave to Pennyworth before stepping out of the car and entering the school gym. He squared his shoulders and adjusted the gym bag before striding to the gathering of other students on the mats. They were all in varying degrees of proper white fencing gear, a sharp contrast to Damian’s black uniform. He stood off the side, waiting for the instructor and pointedly ignoring the stares of the other students. Their attention was meaningless and Damian hoped they wouldn’t turn his presence into some spectacle.

The minutes ticked by, and his patience withering away with it, before the gym’s double doors were booming open. In walked the club’s instructor followed by what looked like another school’s club and instructor trailing behind her. Damian counted at least ten students, white uniforms perfectly in place with their array of masks tucked under their arms. However, one of those students caught his eye. The striking red uniform stood out against everyone else’s and the square to their shoulders spoke of confidence not unlike his own. A small part of Damian wonders if any of that confidence was well earned but the larger part of him knew that regardless of how good they thought they were, they were still no match for him.

“Good afternoon, everyone!” The crisp voice of his instructor echoed in the now silent gym as she commanded everyone’s attention. She looked rather pleased with herself and continued to speak, addressing the Gotham students. “As you can see here, I have a visiting school’s club with me, so please join me in welcoming Francois Dupont’s fencing club, who have come all the way from Paris to practice with us.”

A half hearted applause was all the reaction she got and it was at that point that Damian tuned out the rest of her introduction. His mind had wandered to less menial things, waiting for his time to show his more than impressive skills.

He was brought out of his musings by the shrill of a whistle and was staring face to face to a rather short girl from the French club. She was looking up at him with wide blue eyes before darting away to look over the other students pairing up. Her eyes had focused on a tall blond and his Gotham partner and Damian swore he saw her swoon. Great, a scatter-brained lovesick fool was his first partner. Clearly the universe was punishing him for transgressions he was not privy to. Before he could pass further judgment on his partner, she peered back to him and spoke in soft English.

“Hi, my name is Marinette. Nice to meet you!” She tried to sound confident but her awkwardness betrayed her and the hunch in her shoulders were telling. Alfred had taught him some manners, however, so rather than ignore her as he was wont to do, he greeted her with his name and ended the conversation there. She looked ready to speak again but was cut off by another harsh blow from the whistle.

“Alright, everyone. This is just a warm-up match. Nothing too fancy and remember the rules.” The French instructor’s accent was thick and he spoke with equal robustness to match the Gotham instructor. The two made quite the pair.

He faced his partner again and put enough space between them. They both put on their masks and were poised at the ready. Her pose was amateurish but definitely better than the others he’s caught in his periphery. The cry of ‘en garde’ sounded and Damian did not hesitate to try and score a point. Emphasis on ‘try.’ While if this were a real duel Damian would have won with no hesitation, he found that he didn’t need to hold back as much as he would if she were some of his classmates. Her technique was still sloppy but at least she showed potential.

The warm-up ended with Damian scoring three points in succession but there were, admittedly, some close calls. Next, they were rotating partners and Damian was partnered off with the blond from earlier. This close, Damian faintly recognized his face and verbalized as such. The sheepish scratch behind the blond’s neck was unexpected as was the declaration that he was a fashion model back in Paris. Adrien Agreste the boy had said. Damian then chalked up his previous partner’s behaviour to nothing more than to a silly celebrity crush. No further thought was put into their dynamics as the call for positions was announced.

This duel went slightly differently than Damian had expected. Like his previous partner, Agreste was much better than first impressions would suggest. While his previous partner had poor technique with intuition to back her up, Agreste had acceptable technique with his own personal twist. Agreste backed each strike with an edge that spoke of more roguish practice. It was almost entertaining but still no match for Damian superior skills. Perhaps he could convince his father to send him to Paris for the summer if this was the kind of students the city produced. This duel ended in three points in Damian’s favour as well but he conceded a point to Agreste who got a lucky strike in. Both boys took off their masks and shook hands as a five minute break was called. As Damian turned to reach for his water bottle on the bench, Agreste approached him with a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“I saw your match with Marinette,” he spoke with nothing short of excitement and slight wonder. “She’s new to the club but she’s a quick learner. I’m glad she joined and she seemed to enjoy warming up with you! What do you think?”

Huh.

Maybe Agreste was the adoring fan in their dynamic. Any more brightly, and the boy’s green eyes would be sparkling like fireworks as he continued to wax poetics about the short girl. That of which got annoying pretty quickly.

Another whistle, that French coach was rather annoying with the damn thing, was blown and the students made their way back to the mats. A new rotation was called and Damian was finally paired with the red fencer who caught his eye earlier. In contrast to his previous partners, this one stared at him with poorly hidden, yet unprovoked, contempt. The furrow in her brows and slight downturn in her lips was a mirror to Damian’s own expression. The air between them was charged as they both assessed each other. Neither spoke but neither was paying detailed attention to the instructors. Issuing a silent challenge, Damian tilted his head back to stare the shorter girl down by the tip of his nose, smirking at her increasingly furrowed expression. He scoffed at her as the call for putting on their masks was issued.

“Damian,” he said at last, getting into the starting position.

“My name is unimportant— you, tyrant, will die today by my blade.”

Not even Damian’s brothers were that theatrical; his sister? Maybe. And perhaps Todd, but that’s irrelevant. Was she for real or was this a taunt that got lost in translation? Just who was she? From an outsider’s perspective, the two of them painted quite an interesting picture, posed in their black and red uniforms, a vision against the whites of their clubmates. The air was rich with their slowly growing disdain for each other. The instructor’s voice of ‘en garde’ was drowned out by their hurried movements.

It didn’t take long for Damian to deduce that his opponent was undoubtedly the best of the French group. Her moves were punctuated with needle-like precision and each attack was laced with slowly growing malice at the challenge. Damian didn’t have to hold back nearly as much as he had, once again, underestimated his opponent. There’s a lesson to be learned here but he would never give Pennyworth that satisfaction. The butler’s smug grin and echoed voice of ‘you are not nearly as infallible as you believe, Master Damian’ arose in his mind and the irritation at the notion was channelled directly into his current duel. He struck out with more aggression than he initially had intended to but, as it had put his opponent on the defensive, he wasn’t going to rear his anger in. Instead, he let it fuel his movements more, pushing his opponent off the mat as they danced across the floor.

This only spurred his nameless opponent on more as she matched him strike for strike in equal aggression. Damian wasn’t sure if it was due to his sudden tunnel vision but he could have sworn that the world narrowed to only the two of them, the clash of their weapons being the only sound he could hear. Time faded into nothing and all his focus was on parrying and attacking and lunging and parrying again in a vicious cycle. Points were earned back and forth but no time was called in between to award either of them. This wasn’t a match for points. This was war. A battle to the death issued by the red demon before him. She was no longer just a practice partner or an aggravating opponent. This was his enemy now. Damian would not fail. Damian Wayne doesn’t lose after all.

The shrill of a whistle had the two freezing in place. Giving himself a few seconds to collect himself, Damian felt as if he was coming out of a haze. He watched as the red fencer before him relaxed her posture and turned to face the French coach. Taking off his mask and catching his breath, he noticed that the two of them held the collective attention of the two clubs.

“Now THAT is fencing!” The French coach’s boisterous voice echoed in the gym and was accompanied by his harsh clapping. His two previous practice partners were equally as enthusiastic but subdued in their applause, sporting matching grins at the red fencer. Damian could only glare at the students, refusing to acknowledge his opponent.

The rest of practice went on as such for the next hour but none of the other French fencers captivated him like the first three. They must have had private tutors as they were obviously a cut above the rest. Practice ended without much fanfare and Damian found himself waiting for Pennyworth outside the school gates as the French class were loading their bus. He only caught the tail end of the slight murmurs of conversation but Damian caught the Agreste boy referring to the red fencer as Kagami. Hmm.

Pennyworth pulled up shortly after and once he was inside the vehicle, Pennyworth didn’t hesitate to question him about the experience.

“There was a visiting French club. They were lackluster and struggled to keep up with me even with me holding back.” He refused to look the old man in the eye, glancing a knowing smirk on his aged face. “Three of them showed promise. But I was still superior in every way.”

“Well then, I hope they didn’t tire you out completely. I believe we are expecting some of those same French students over for dinner this afternoon.”

“Pardon?” Damian could not be bothered to compose his irritation at Pennyworth’s brazen declaration. Why was he just learning about this now? “Any idea who exactly will be joining us?”

“I believe Madame Dupain-Cheng, Madame Tsurugi and Mister Agreste all agreed.” Agreste? The model boy. Damian was willing to bet that Dupain-Cheng was the short girl from the warm-up as the two seemed fond of each other. That would probably make Tsurugi his red opponent, Kagami. But that begs the question why they were invited to dinner. Schooling his expression and gaining some more composure, Damian addressed the butler again.

“Any reason why those students in particular?” Aiming for an aura of nonchalance, he continued. “It’s quite the coincidence as those were the three French students I mentioned showing promise. Why were they invited?”

Pennyworth saw right through him and casted a humoured glance at his reflection in the rearview mirror.

“Oh, I would say that Madame Tsurugi shows more than just promise, Master Damian. She is an Olympic hopeful after all.” That… That makes sense Damian supposes. It would definitely explain her confidence and skill. But she still irritated him.

“And what of the other two?”

“Those two would be Madame Tsurugi’s closest friends. Their club is here on a Wayne Foundation sponsorship and your father personally invited Madame Tsurugi to dinner.” Pennyworth paused as he turned into the manor gates. “She and her mother agreed to the invitation on the condition that the young lady’s friends be invited as well. I see they have left quite the impression on you.”

“They require further judgement,” and the conversation died there.

Ignoring the crowd of his siblings upon entering the manor, Damian went straight for his room to research more on his new rival and company.

After two hours of constant research, he was reluctant to admit that the three were rather accomplished in their own rights, and that he had completely misjudged them. Dupain-Cheng was a talented baker and designer and was indeed a fast learner, only officially being in the fencing club for two months. She was also in a new relationship with Agreste. That explains the sappiness and nauseating shower of compliments. Agreste himself was a budding pianist on top of his modelling and fencing prowess. He even featured in some gigs by a local popular band. Tsurugi was more than just an Olympic hopeful, coming from a famous line of fencers and kendo masters back in Japan. She has a roster of competitions won and is currently holding three world titles for her age group. He supposes that that’s quite impressive. But it still doesn’t supersede his training. Would it be improper to challenge her to another duel when she arrives? Probably.

Checking the time, he realized there was forty minutes until dinner and only ten until the three guests arrived. He freshened up his appearance and changed out of his fencing gear into more appropriate attire. He headed down to the foyer to wait with his siblings in greeting their guests. Cain stood next to him and gave him a quick once-over glance. She didn’t say anything but her giggles did not bode well for Damian.

The door was being held open as their three guests walked in and they all wore matching expressions of surprise as their gaze landed on Damian. They greeted his father and each of his siblings, exchanging quick hello’s before the Agreste boy regarded Damian.

“Hey! You’re that guy from the fencing club.” All eyes were on Damian in an instant, his siblings wearing various ranges of delight.

“Yes, he is that guy from the fencing club. Tell us everything,” Todd interjected. He swung a casual arm around Agreste and began herding them further into the manor towards the drawing room. Before Damian can begin to preserve his reputation, Todd and Agreste were already in deep conversation with random input from Dupain-Cheng and Grayson. Tsurugi hung back from the herd and was thanking his father for the invitation. Her calm, withdrawn voice was very different from the scorn she was showering him with during their duel. She caught him staring at her and just ignored him, brushing past him to follow quickly behind the others. He caught his father’s eye and regarded the man silently. Even when maintaining public appearances, his father never did anything without reason. So what was the value in inviting some French kids his company was sponsoring? Olympic grade or not, it was still uncharacteristically more involved than other other company sponsorships in the past.

What was his father’s angle here?

He hoped it didn’t involve playing nice with Tsurugi because her frigid disposition is more trouble than it’s worth. The karma is not lost on him.

Entering the drawing room, he walks into the middle of Agreste illustrating the nature of his duel against Tsurugi. He added unnecessary flourish, making the match seem more grandiose than it really was. He would deny any and all effort exerted as that was a sign of weakness. Damian was not weak.

“I’ll have you know,” he began, collecting their undivided attention, again. “The match with Tsurugi was child’s play. I only entertained her for so long because I thought she could provide some real competition. Clearly, I was mistaken,” he said, like a liar.

“I am more than just competition.” Tsurugi had stood from her place on the sofa to try and face him on even ground. She was still shorter than him but the intimidation was rolling off her in waves. “I will prove to you that I am a worthy opponent.”

That was an invitation for a rematch if Damian’s ever heard one. As he was about to accept the challenge, Pennyworth entered with an announcement of dinner, guiding everyone into the appropriate dining room. His siblings rushed for various seats, splitting up their guests and mixing them in with their chaos. The seating arrangement his siblings had orchestrated had him sitting directly across from the current bane of his existence. The two regarded each other silently, trapped in their own quiet bubble separate from the ruckus of the table.

The dinner was wonderful, as usual, and conversation was as normal as this family was capable of. Except for the intense staring contest he was engaged in with his enemy. She was civil, cordial even, with the rest of the family, sharing jokes with Cain and Thomas with no issue and handled Todd’s annoyance with grace but she couldn’t get a reign on her disdain for Damian. He faintly noticed her two friends exchange curious glances with each other. He paid them no mind; his attention lying elsewhere.

“So, Kagami,” Drake’s voice cut through the loud atmosphere, silencing the table. “You mentioned earlier that you will prove to Damian that you’re a worthy opponent. How do you plan to go about that?” He tried to go for casual but he failed and Damian knew he was doing it just to get a reaction out of him.

“A battle to the death of course,” she was quick with her reply and her tone had no hints of humor. She means every word of that statement. Equal expressions of shock were on his family’s faces, no one knowing what to say. A distasteful snort from the blond cut through the air.

“Kagami,” her friend, Dupain-Cheng, had cut in with a slight chuckle, “I don’t think they know you’re joking.”

“My apologies, then.” Her lips were curled in a faint smirk and then she said, “While I initially had all intentions to contest his false assessment, over the course of the dinner, I have concluded that he is someone not worth the effort.” She took a sip of her drink, completely ignoring the uproar of taunts and jeers his siblings threw his way.

Damian was not going to take that insult sitting down.

“That’s it, Tsurugi,” he rose from his seat, the scrape of the chair on the hardwood floors hushing the peanut gallery. “You wanted a duel, I’ll give you a duel. A clash of swords seems fitting, don’t you think?” He felt quite satisfied with himself, so much so he was completely ignorant to the whispers of his siblings with their guests. His attention was solely on the red demon.

“While I can’t persuade you both from not doing this,” his father’s tired voice was firm and imposing; he looked like he’s aged a few years since the start of the evening, “I must insist on using only the wooden practice swords you have. No real blades allowed. Am I understood?”

It wasn’t really a question as there was no room for refutation but Damian was grateful his father didn’t try to put a stop to the entire thing anyways. A challenge was issued and Damian was going to see it through.

After Pennyworth cleared the table and set about doing other chores, they made their way to the manor’s gym with the exclusion of his father. A mat was already laid out and he went to retrieve the practice swords. They were fashioned to mimic his katana and the familiar weight was comfortable in his grip. Tsurugi was surveying the wooden blade and assessing the balance of the handle before setting into a comfortable starting stance. They weren’t bound by fencing rules this time and he felt the lack of restrictions to be freeing. Grayson had declared himself ring master and was counting down to start them off. Drake was holding a camera, most likely recording, and Todd was conspiring with Dupain-Cheng and Thomas in the corner. Agreste and Cain were observing like normal people—Damian failed to see them silently exchange some cash— and he ignored them all to focus on the foe before him.

Grayson’s call for ‘go’ set them off like steam engines, their swords crashing into each other in heavy strikes. Using his advantageous size, Damian pushed back and swiped for her legs. She blocked the attack, sword intercepting his, swinging her back leg behind her to kick at his chest. He recoiled at the contact and the pressure of her boots before aiming a broad sweep over head, bringing his arms down in a wide arc. She blocks that as well, but was brought down to a knee, all her focus in holding her blade across the palm of hand. She pushes against his force and rolls under his blade, tucking herself into a ball before uncurling behind him. Her next strike is aimed for his back but Damian is quick on the defensive and knocks her blade away before stepping into her space. His shoulder clips her chin and he takes the opportunity to elbow her below her chest. He swings around to strike her down but she ducks and swipes at his legs. He jumps over the arc of her blade but isn’t prepared for the kick in his chest as he lands.

He steps back a couple paces to get air back in his lungs as Tsurugi gains her own bearings. They’re both breathing heavily and the gym is silent save for Todd’s inappropriate wolf-whistle. Ignoring him, as usual, he focuses back on his opponent. On the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders, her lean but firm arms holding the sword out pointing at him. Her short bob is in disarray and her brown eyes burn into him like molten lava. Her stare is intense and almost freezes him completely in place.

A second ticks by. Then another. The entire room feels like a stifled exhale, cautious not to disturb the fragile atmosphere. The energy is broken by a charge from Tsurugi as she strikes across his chest, colliding with his blade. Their swords are crossed and they both lean into the push, faces mere inches apart as they try to get the upper hand. Neither was budging, willing to submit to the other.

Damian found himself revelling in the intense focus of her gaze. Even growing up in the League, his mentors always held back, not wanting to accidentally kill their master’s heir. His siblings were no better, always underestimating him, never taking his challenges seriously. But Tsurugi? She matched him blow for blow without hesitation. Without fear and without judgement. The lack of threat of death hanging over him made the fight that much more enjoyable. If he were anymore focused on his own expression, he would have found a smile, not a smirk or a half-hearted grimace, but an honest-to-god smile. A grin even.

Tipping the fight in his favour, he aims a kick to Tsurugi’s knee, and turns out of their lock of swords. Feeling emboldened, he takes to taunting his opponent.

“You know, you are a lot better than I thought you would be,” he swings his sword around aimlessly, waiting for her to get up again. “But you’re still no match for me.”

Rather than respond, Tsurugi swipes up at him, both hands on her sword hilt, in a broad arc. Her body follows through with the motion, with her back leg sweeping the floor gently, her back to him by the end. Damian sees the opportunity and lunges to attack her now open back. He’s almost flushed against her with his sword about to press into the curve of her spine except his swing is intercepted by his opponent's block. She had anticipated his move and swung her arms over her head, carrying the blade behind her to protect her. Damian’s blood runs white hot with the shame of falling for her feint. Still held in this position, Tsurugi casts a smirk over her shoulder, head tilted back towards his chest. The position, with the exception of their swords, has them appearing to be in a dance, with his partner—no, opponent— ready to be spun out in a graceful turn.

“Are you sure?” her voice was rough with exertion and tainted with glee, “You seem to have failed to gain any substantial upperhand.” She kicks back into his shin and then steps out of his space, spinning under her arms, keeping her sword against his. Now facing him directly, Damian can see the fire shining in her brown eyes, ablaze with excitement and ferocity.

“Don’t think yourself so high and mighty,” he started to step to his right, trying to prepare for another attack but she matched him in moves and now they were slowly circling each other.

“Ironic coming from you, I’m sure.” Her tone was flat but her eyes glimmered with amusement. Her blade shifted ever so subtly, pointing further down Damian’s body, aimed directly for his stomach. Damian takes a chance and steps into her space, left arm gradually inching towards her sword hilt. Using his longer legs, he sweeps one under her stance, hooking his ankle around hers.

It happens in slow motion. Or at least, it felt like it did. He’s bringing his leg back towards himself, knocking her off center, balancing on an unsteady leg. He’s grabbed her sword hilt and is pushing her arms and the sword above her head while his own sword slides to place against her throat. He pushes further into her space, leaning over her and bending her back, almost chest to chest, nose to nose with his sword in the breath between them. Their precarious position cants them completely off balance and she’s fallen with him on top of her. Her arms are pinned firmly above her now, her grip on her sword long forgotten, and Damian’s weight is balanced on his knees, preserving any dignity he has left. They’re still so close to each other, the weight of his blade gingerly pressing into the lines of her neck. Her head is tilting back, a futile attempt to escape him and once she acknowledges that, Damian can feel the muscles in her arms relax beneath his vice-like grip. They’re staring at each other, and Damian finds himself not wanting to look away.

Oh.

In his seven years of living with his father’s family, he never understood how his father could casually welcome thieves and assassins into his bed. How his brothers surrounded themselves with people equally dangerous. How his sister would challenge an opponent she knew she couldn’t beat. How they could all flirt with danger and not even question it. Now he understood. It was a heady rush, like a freefall without certainty of a parachute or a net. It was an addictive type of excitement to come face to face with someone who doesn’t look at him with fear but with equal competition. He could get used to this.

A click of a camera shutter and Pennyworth’s attention-grabbing ‘ahem’ brought him out of his own head. He saw Tsurugi blink herself out of a similar daze and look towards her friends. Finally registering their compromising position, Damian began to extract himself from her. Now standing, and trying to tidy his appearance, he tossed his wooden sword to the side and extended a hand out to the still lying girl.

“I win,” he says, and the taunt falls flat even to his own ears. He clears his throat and tries again. “You are a decent opponent. It was an honor to go against someone of your caliber.”

She accepts his offered hand and as he’s pulling her up, she takes the opportunity to pull him in closer.

“I admit defeat,” her eyes are still intense but softens as she continues speaking, “and there is clearly more I can learn from you. The club is in Gotham for two more weeks for the competition next week. I am willing to have you as my teacher if you accept.”

A pretty pink blush colours her cheeks and Damian can feel his face match hers in intensity. Before he could answer her, her blond friend interrupts them, cutting into their little bubble.

“That means she’s asking you on a date.” His hands are cupping his mouth like a megaphone and he stage whispers for all their captive audience to hear. “Say yes.”

His siblings are eyeing between him and the French teens like they’re spectating an interesting tennis match. Not given the chance to answer, again, Cain replies for him.

“He says yes. Next Friday, after school.” Her reply is curt but the curl of her lips illustrates her delight in the entire situation. His cheeks are even warmer now and he still hasn’t stepped out of Tsurugi’s space and were they always standing this close?

Looking back to Tsurugi he sees that her attention is still on the others and her face is graced with a gentle smile.

“I accept your offer,” her head swivels back to him as he speaks, and there is a slight glimmer to her eyes, hope dancing in pools of warm chocolate. “If your friend was right about your true intentions, then I accept that offer. There is a lot I could learn from you as well.”

“Yes, and I am also available on Friday if your sister is to be believed.” Her hushed voice is drowned out by the uproar of his siblings and he catches a glimpse of Dupain-Cheng jumping in place.

“I can’t believe he actually said yes.” Thomas.

“I can’t believe she’s actually into him,” Drake.

“I had good money on him making a fool of himself, shame.” Todd, who then gets elbowed by Grayson. He ignores them all, staring down at the increasingly embarrassed girl before him.

He goes to speak but a pink blur is knocking Tsurugi on the ground in a heap of limbs. They’re giggling and babbles about double dates filter through so he doesn’t worry too much and then a weight settles on his shoulder, surprising him. Agreste had somehow snuck up on him and was patting him in a false sense of comradery.

“Well that was an interesting turn of events. They grow up so fast,” he fake sniffles, wiping nonexistent tears from his eyes. Damian is not fond of the familiar theatrics. “I agree with your siblings, I didn't think you would agree. Especially with the looks of bloody murder you were giving us during practice today.”

He scoffs and lets the subtle accusation roll off his back. Agreste continues as if he weren’t interrupted.

“Clearly you two flirt the same way. Violently.” He’s cut off from speaking as Tsurugi had hit him with one of the discarded swords from her place on the floor.

“At least I don’t hesitate or dance around my intended target like a fool, like you two,” she was pouting but her voice held traces of humour and inside jokes that had Dupain-Cheng whining like a child and Agreste acting all sheepish.

“Yeah, okay, that’s fair but can you blame us?” Agreste went ignored as everyone devolved into laughter at their antics.

Damian chanced a glance at Tsurugi to see her very comfortable with Dupain-Cheng’s weight on top of her, laughing at Agreste’s expense. She must have felt his eyes on her and glance at him shyly, laughter dying to a small smile on her lips.

Damian thought to himself that Friday couldn’t come fast enough.

#maribat #mgi trope tussle #enemies to lovers #damigami #no beta this is war #tumblr do me a solid #dont hide my posts #am i forgetting any tags?#i hope not #i did in fact forget some tags #ml x dc #mlb x dc

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puckandperry · 4 years

Text

if you send for me

anderperry

synopsis: au in which welton academy isn’t a boarding school, and neil goes to todd’s house to throw pebbles at his bedroom window, and todd realises when it's his turn to throw the pebbles— before it’s too late.

warnings: slight sentiments of sadness. nothing too extreme!

w/c: 5.8k

a/n: hello all! this is my first time writing for these two, and the dps world in general, but i’ve done my best to capture the characters, and so i hope it’s worked. enjoy <3

⭒

The windows are dark, they always are.

Todd’s parents have always been strict about that sort of thing— lights out after a certain hour, no going out on school nights, curfew and all that.

Neil’s parents have always been like that too, but he’s learned to slip out of doors unnoticed, silent upon socked feet as he steals through the dark, only stepping on floorboards that don’t creak. Neil is a shadow, Neil is a thief. But the prize is far more precious than silver or gold.

⭒

When the first pebble hits the window, Todd’s still asleep, and he doesn’t notice.

The sound of the second pebble against the glass is conveniently part of his dream, and fades into the abyss of sleep, a drop of water in an ocean.

The third is when he wakes properly, and he thinks that maybe footsteps are approaching his bedside. He shifts disconcertedly, sleep still trailing in the wake of his consciousness, the brush of a lover’s hand.

But at the fourth, he sits bolt upright at the sound, eyes bright and wide in the dark, though moonlight spills onto the floor from the window, from behind those curtains that never consent to be fully closed.

He slips his toes out from beneath the covers and winces at the cold when they meet the wooden floor, but he’s quick to recover from the tingle of frost down his spine, and he walks toward the window in three quick, short strides.

When he brushes away the curtains and twines his fingers around the window latches to push the contraption from its frame, he finds Neil on the ground below, a hand raised with a fifth pebble, the other cradling several more.

Neil’s face breaks into a smile when he catches Todd’s eyes, and Todd fights the flutter of his heart, coaxes his own smile into a grimace; he should not be happy that Neil is here, in the middle of the night. He should be cross, and worried about his parents finding him up after bedtime, and grouchy with his lingering drowsiness.

But he is none of those things. He is decidedly lighthearted, awake and spirited and warm, despite the coldness of the night. He is how he always is, when he is with Neil.

“What’re you doing here?” he hisses, his elbows on the windowsill as he leans farther out into the night, the breeze beginning to ruffle his hair.

Neil smiles, like Neil always does. “What does it look like?” he says. “I’m here to see you, of course.”

“You can’t—” Feigned indignation has raised Todd’s voice on no account of his own, and he has to swallow to bring his volume back down. “You can’t be here,” he says.

Neil folds his arms. “Why not?”

“Because it’s the middle of the night!” Todd sputters. “Because you should be asleep!”

Neil only grins. “You’re not asleep,” he counters easily. His tongue is poking out between his teeth, his eyes vivid in the moonlight.

“Because you woke me,” says Todd, but it’s a lame attempt at an excuse, and Neil is already climbing the bush that twists up the wall by Todd’s bedroom, his sweater sleeves snagging on the brambles.

And Todd is leaning out the window, biting his lip as his fingers tighten on the windowsill and he pleads with the darkness not to let Neil fall, because he’d never forgive himself if Neil fell for him, for his sake, for the sake of seeing him.

And why? Why is the other question that nags at Todd as Neil skirts the windowsill, swings one leg up to clamber into his bedroom. Sure, they’re friends, but midnight visits in solemn shadow, pebbles thrown like stars, one leaning out the window to speak to the other like Shakespearian lovers.

It doesn’t make any sense.

Todd isn’t paying attention when Neil finally tumbles through the window, making a shushing noise as though his shoes will obey him and not make a sound.

He straightens up, and when he does, he’s nose-to-nose with Todd, who seizes up when he realises the position they’re in.

But Neil only laughs, his perfect hair hanging into his perfect eyes, and Todd wants to reach up and brush it away, to see the other boy better. He doesn’t, though, and Neil is left with that task for himself. He takes it in stride, and when he smiles down at Todd, his eyes crinkle.

Instinctively, Todd smiles back.

“Hi,” says Neil.

Todd’s reply is breathless, and Neil’s smile broadens.

“Scared ya, did I?”

“Well who the hell prances about throwing pebbles past midnight?” asks Todd, as though expecting a legitimate answer. But for all Neil’s openness, his vibrant personality, he is noticeably quiet on certain topics.

He snorts. “Prancing? I prefer gallivanting.”

Todd rolls his eyes in response. “Keating is getting to your head.”

“And yours,” says Neil, with twinkling eyes. “Can’t help but love him, though.”

Neil is often bold, but he rarely talks of love. Todd wonders faintly if it's because he’s never been loved wholly, properly. Only fragments here and there, what can be scavenged. Though Todd doesn’t understand how anyone could love Neil any less than wholly. Neil is magnetic, beautiful, powerful in his sense of self and conscious of the world around him. Todd has never met anyone like him.

“So what are you doing?”

“Doing? Neil, I was asleep.”

He shrugs almost apologetically, then fishes a leather-bound book from the inside pocket of the jacket he’s wearing. “Feel like reading some poetry?”

⭒

It starts off with Whitman, and Byron quickly follows, to precede Shakespeare and Wilde, and then they halt with Wilde, because their voices have grown languid with the passing time, and it takes longer now to recite a poem than it did an hour ago.

They’re sitting on the floor, leaned against Todd’s bed although the floor is cold, and Neil isn’t quite sure why they’re sitting on the floor, but he thinks it has something to do with the intimacy of sharing the space of someone else’s bed, a line Todd hasn’t offered to cross, and one Neil doesn’t dare to suggest— even if the floor is freezing.

But Todd’s side is pressed up against his, and so Neil is not as cold as he would have been. They lean against each other, and Neil reads aloud.

In the words of Wilde he tells of the sun and the moon, of the moon retreating to her sombre cave as the night wanes to day, and the silence that love makes of a person. He reads of feelings seldom felt, though they are ones he feels strongly, and he thinks that he must be wrong in his assessment of himself, because surely, his heart should not be beating out of his chest for the one who sits beside him.

“But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show/Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung; Else it were better we should part, and go,” Neil reads, and he thinks that Todd is falling asleep beside him. “Thou to some lips of sweeter melody,” and Todd is most definitely asleep, because his head rests upon Neil’s shoulder, and Neil thinks of how lucky he is for Todd to trust him this way, “And I to nurse the barren memory/Of unkissed kisses, and songs never sung.”

He finishes the verse, the poem, and there is a silence like that after rain. Soft, pure, and the world beneath is untouched, new, as the sun flits through the leaves to colour the Earth below in warm hues, firelight remnants.

Or perhaps the silence is not what gives Neil this feeling, but Todd’s soft exhale on his shoulder.

Neil smiles to himself.

There’s a blanket on the end of the bed, and he reaches for it, drapes it over the boy beside him. Then slowly, carefully, he eases Todd’s head from his shoulder, and lets him curl up with his head upon a pillow, still on the floor, because Neil worries he’ll wake Todd if he tries to move him back to bed. But at least now the other boy is cocooned in warmth, and unbothered by the world around him.

His cheeks are a little flushed, lips parted against the pillow. His hair is in his eyes, as Neil’s often is. Neil never brushes his own hair away. His mother used to do that. She doesn’t anymore, but he still hopes that one day she’ll return to her old habit. Neil wonders if Todd’s mother brushes his hair from his eyes.

Neil resolves that it does not matter whether or not she does, but that one of the most gentle things in this world is to have one’s hair combed away from one’s eyes, and Todd is the gentlest person Neil has ever known. He’s fierce when sufficiently provoked, but quiet up until that point, and Neil admires that betwixt the cruelties of this world, there are still people like Todd who find it within themselves to be gentle.

He stoops, and brushes the hair from his friend’s eyes, lets his touch linger.

“Adieu, adieu, adieu,” he murmurs, because he has no words of his own for this moment, and must borrow from Shakespeare.

Neil climbs out the window, finds footholds in the bush against the brick of the house, closes the window, and slips out into the night.

⭒

Todd wakes alone, and goes to school as usual.

When he meets Neil in the morning, they do not speak of the night before. Still, Neil’s smile is bright and warm as the sun, and they talk between classes, stifle laughter at the same stiff-necked teachers that they always do, exchange glances with one another as Keating’s lesson of the day proves even more adventurous as the previous.

He is getting to be better friends with the boys whom Neil keeps in company, as well, beginning to settle into a comfortable routine, and the lot of them meet in the cave on weekend nights as they always do. In content, it is much like the nights Todd spends with Neil, yet, the cave meetings have a different air about them.

The days pass with school and homework, the bore of scholarly tasks made lively by the asides of his friends.

Todd loves the days, but he lives for the nights.

Neil has now made a habit of coming to visit, sneaking up the climbing bush and letting Todd help him the last of the way through the window.

He brings a book, or a leaflet, something to read, or the script for the play he’s in, so that Todd can help him to practice lines. Neil hasn’t told his parents about the play, so Todd’s house, in the middle of the night, is the safest place to practice.

But Neil projects, as all good actors know to do, and Todd shushes him.

“My parents!” he reminds him, because they are asleep downstairs. But Neil’s speech only gives way to laughter, muffled by the wool of his sweater sleeve as he covers his mouth vainly, in an attempt to drown the sound.

Soon Todd is laughing as well, and they’re not laughing, but giggling, and the sound is so absurdly childish that Todd shushes Neil with new fervour. However, Neil does not take note, rather throws his head back as his shoulders shake, and Todd reaches up and covers Neil’s mouth with his hands.

Neil tries to bat away Todd’s hands, but Todd does not relent, a warning in his eyes. Neil ceases his giggling, and nods, to assure Todd that he will not laugh any more.

Ever-trusting, Todd removes his hands from Neil’s person, but Neil starts laughing again as soon as he is free.

Todd reaches up to cover Neil’s mouth again, more playful than in actual effectiveness, but immediately, Neil presses a kiss to Todd’s fingers, and Todd leaps back.

“Neil!” he says, but Neil only laughs, and when the latter leaves in the twilight of the youthful morning, it’s with extra care to move in silence, as though to make up for the ruckus of earlier.

Sometimes Neil brings food, pilfered from his own pantry, or from the dining hall at school, cookies and pieces of cake, fruit slightly bruised from being stolen and hidden away, but still always ripe and sweet.

They read books and poetry, learn Shakespeare, trade stories over their pillaged feasts, listen to records at the lowest volume possible, parting in the morning with no word of the night.

There is something comfortable about simply being in Neil’s presence. There is no pressure to do anything, to be anything in particular, and yet Todd feels that he could do anything, be anything— whatever he likes. So, in a rare moment of truth, he chooses to simply be himself.

He likes being himself.

⭒

As midnight decisions often do, the lack of sleep earned by Todd and Neil in the company of one another catches up with them, and one day, the two are awoken by someone clearing their throat.

But they are not in Todd’s bedroom when Neil lifts his head, lifts his head up from a desk and blinks sleepily to find Todd on his left doing the same. The classroom is otherwise empty, before they each notice Keating leaned against the table between them, his arms folded and his eyes crinkling at the corners as his gaze darts between them.

“Morning, boys,” he says, and Neil thinks his smile broadens.

“Mr. Keating,” he blurts, at the same time Todd says,

“I uh—”

But Keating waves his hands, smiling still. “No, no. No trouble. I imagine my voice has a bit of a droll to it. I’m sure that’s why my first thesis presentation went as badly as it did.” He shifts, lifts his chin, narrows his eyes. “So, what’s keeping you up at night? Dreams? Or fears?”

Neil glances at Todd to see if he’s going to respond, but Todd only smiles, as though he knows something Neil doesn’t.

A moment later, Neil realises that his glasses are askew on his nose, and adjusts them hurriedly, making a face at the other boy.

Todd makes a face back, before they both remember Keating, and turn their heads in his direction once more.

His eyes twinkle. “Or,” he says thoughtfully, “each other?”

Neil swallows.

“We’ve been reading poetry,” says Todd, and Neil looks upon him with pleasant surprise. It is not often Todd speaks unprompted.

Todd’s words are of truth, and Keating knows of the Dead Poets Society meetings in the cave. He should not, however, know of Neil’s late-night visits to Todd. And yet, something in his countenance persuades Neil that Keating does know.

“And poetry is all well and fine,” Keating responds, with his easy smile, “but you cannot dream if you do not sleep. And if you sleep in my class, you will miss some golden opportunities to follow your dreams.”

Neil fights laughter, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees that Todd is already in the throes of it, and so he gives up his solemnity and grins.

“We are such stuff as dreams are made of,” Neil quotes, “and our little life is rounded with sleep.”

“Ah,” says Keating, “our good friend William. But, Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks/Within his bending sickle's compass come;/Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,/But bears it out even to the edge of doom. Love waits,” he says, “and you have time. So long as in sleeping, you wait as well.”

The eyes of their teacher twinkle again as he gathers up his things and proceeds to the open classroom door.

Todd turns to Neil. “What— what d’you think he meant by that?”

Neil stares after Keating, though he feels Todd’s eyes upon him.

“No idea,” he says.

He lies.

⭒

Todd has been keeping Neil’s secret for months now. Two months, to be exact, and all he has to do is keep it for one more night, because Neil’s father mustn’t find out. Neil’s father mustn’t find out that Neil is going to be in a play.

But be in a play Neil will, and Todd has never seen him as happy as he is now.

They’re all here in the wings. Todd and Charlie and Meeks and Pitts and Knox, with Chris, and Ca— well, actually, Cameron seems not to be here. Todd has no idea where he’s got to, but he hasn’t seen him, and to be honest, he doesn’t rightly care where Cameron is. But Keating is here too and Neil— beautiful, brilliant Neil— waiting for the lights to dim and for the last of the audience to take their seats.

Neil is in costume— a simple thing, matching greenish-grey trousers and shirt, a crown of twining twigs and ruby berries upon his hair. The lot of them have been talking animatedly for the past few minutes, Neil the most animated of them all, but now Keating glances at his wristwatch and announces that they should probably make their way to their seats, before the theatre falls entirely dark. Murmurs of agreement ensue, and the gaggle of boys turn to follow Keating.

Keating pauses, touches Neil’s shoulder.

“Break a leg, ye merry Puck.” He grins, and Neil smiles happily.

Meeks and Pitts wish Neil the same, and he nods his thanks. Knox tells Neil good luck, to the uproar of Charlie.

Charlie cuffs the back of Knox’s head, and Knox yelps. “What kind of idiot are you?”

“You tell me!” says Knox. “What kind of idiot am I, Charlie?”

“You don’t tell actors good luck!” Charlie rebuts. “That’s the kind of idiot you are.”

Charlie stalks off, and Knox runs after him. Their conversation floats back to Neil and Todd, who stare after them.

“But what kind?! CHARLIE!”

Todd finds Neil laughing when he turns back to his friend.

“They’re both idiots,” he says. “The same kind.”

“S why they get along so well,” Todd responds, and Neil nods his agreement.

Then at once, his eyes flit away from the shrinking figures of Charlie and Knox, and when Todd looks at him, Neil’s gaze dances with light.

“What?” says Todd, a half-smile already upon his face.

Neil’s eyes meet with Todd’s, and he grins. “I’m just so excited! I’ve never been this excited before, I mean, to be in a play, to be in an actual play, and not just any play, but Shakespeare— Todd!” Neil laughs delightedly, spinning in a wild circle with his arms outstretched, so that he nearly whacks Todd in the process.

Todd laughs as well, and marvels at the colour of Neil’s eyes, a colour for which he has no name but the-colour-of-Neil’s-eyes-colour. He’s never seen a colour like this anywhere else, with the sheer spirit and liveliness it bears, despite the fact that it is only a colour, and colours cannot be neither spirited nor lively. But then there are Neil’s eyes, staring back into his, and Todd thinks that colours can most certainly be both spirited and lively.

“I’m so excited, I swear I could do anything.”

“Anything?” says Todd, as the lights begin to dim.

“Anything! I could run a marathon—”

Todd laughs.

“— scale a mountain, write a poem far better than yours—”

Todd scoffs, not at that Neil should be able to write something better than he, but at that Neil thinks Todd sets a standard for poem-writing in the first place.

“— alright,” says Neil, “maybe not a poem better than yours, but still!” He’s breathless, now, eyes flitting from the stage lights to the stage itself, all about the world around him, and back to Todd. Always back to Todd. “I could fly,” Neil says. “I really think I could fly. I have this feeling.”

“A feeling?”

“Yeah, a feeling,” he breathes. “Like I’m invincible. Like I could do anything.”

“That’s generally the definition of the word ‘invincible’,” Todd deadpans. But nothing can or will faze Neil Perry.

“I’m so excited I could dance. Sing—”

“Yeah, got that. You could do anything.”

“Todd, I could kiss you, I’m so excited!”

It slips out, just slips out. That much is apparent to Todd, even as his cheeks flush crimson in the waning light, even as Neil’s eyes grow soft and Todd finds he can’t look away.

It slips out, but Neil is entirely serious.

Todd’s stomach does somersaults as he opens his mouth to stammer out that it’s fine, they can forget about what Neil’s said, but then Neil stoops and kisses him.

Gently. Quickly. He’s drawn back again before Todd can think to respond, though he realises his eyelids have fluttered shut.

When he opens his eyes, there’s a sigh on his parted lips, and he’s taken half a step forward, drifted toward Neil.

Neil’s face is impassive as he straightens up, but his eyes are soft and searching.

Todd wonders what he’s searching for, but he once again has no time to react before someone calls,

“Neil, showtime!”

Neil drops his gaze to the floor and spins away from Todd, showing no signs of the adrenaline high that presently has Todd in its thrall, rushing through him like an opened dam— there’s no coming back from this.

But before Neil gets too far away, Todd grabs his hand and squeezes.

Neil doesn’t look back, though his fingers curl in Todd’s grasp.

He disappears amongst the crowd of cast and crew before another word can be exchanged.

Todd doesn’t think anyone saw them, but he understands Neil’s caution, even as his heart twists in his chest and he makes his way to Mr. Keating and the others in the audience.

He settles into his seat as the lights finally fade into shadows, and Keating glances at Todd as though to ask if he’s okay.

Todd gives a brief nod and turns his head toward the stage, hoping Keating cannot see the apprehension in his eyes.

But as Neil and his castmates take the stage, Todd forgets everything but the show, and how talented Neil is as part of it. He chortles alongside the rest of the audience, smiles upon Neil with reverence, the way an astronomer would look upon a star, an artist upon their paints, an adventurer upon the undiscovered secrets of the universe.

His heart is full, his hands are warm.

And Neil lights up the stage.

⭒

They’re taking their bows upon the edge of the stage, striding forward to be met with the standing ovation gifted to them by the audience, and as the house lights come back up, Neil sees his friends and Keating applauding, whistling, cheering for him. Sees Todd cheering for him, for once the loudest of them all.

And then the curtains are closing and Neil exhales the high coursing through his veins, throws back his head and laughs as his castmates shout and celebrate around him. They jostle, congratulating one another and him, and Neil congratulates them in turn.

But then there's a cloud, because he’s being told that his father is waiting for him.

He changes briskly, takes his duffle bag in one hand and his crooked crown in the other, and parts the grand drape. He doesn’t breathe as he lifts his gaze, and makes eye contact with his father.

Any hopes he had of his father understanding this talent of his, this acting, which is not a fleeting love but an enduring one, disappears when he next exhales, a puff of air in the coldness of night, gone before you have time to fully realise that it is there.

Silently, Neil follows his father out the door. His friends fall upon him, some of them calling to him to congratulate him on his performance, others to invite him to some kind of afterparty.

“I can’t, guys,” he is forced to say, though really he has no idea why it is that he can’t. Neil was good as Puck. Neil knows he was good. Can’t his father see that too?

Somebody says his name as he’s walking, but it’s not until the repetition of it that Neil startles to perceive Keating beside him.

“You have the gift! What a performance!”

Keating is smiling and Neil smiles back, momentarily lost in that someone has spoken what he wants to hear. “You left even me speechless!”

It does not last.

“Stay in the car,” Neil’s father growls. “And Keating. You stay away from my son.”

Charlie is shouting Neil’s name, shouting an appeal to Neil’s father, but the latter only glares, and Neil gets into the car without argument.

As the car is started and driven away, Neil’s gaze lingers on Todd’s, through the window, through the snow.

⭒

They’re walking back to school, where they’ve left their bikes, when Todd stops in his tracks.

The others have been talking, but Todd has been thinking. Thinking about earlier.

He can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. Or that something was wrong. Or will be wrong.

And suddenly there’s an urgency that plagues him, and he has to see Neil, or he won’t be able to sleep that night, or any night.

He stops, turns, and then simply starts running.

Carpe fucking diem.

“Hey— Todd!” Charlie is the one shouting, again. “What’re you— where are you—”

“I’ll catch up with you guys later!” Todd calls back.

“But where’re you going?!” says Meeks.

“Neil’s!”

He begins to run properly, pumping his arms, letting the wind assault his senses as it whips the hair about his face, as he throws himself forward like he’s falling. And he is falling. But not because of gravity.

He barely knows where he’s going, but he and Neil have walked home together plenty a time, and so he remembers what street Neil lives on, by intuition, if not by name.

When he reaches the street he’s looking for, he slows and nearly slips in the snow when he makes a hairpin turn onto the lane.

From a run to a jog to a walk he slows, because now he’s looking for Neil’s father’s car to identify the house.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Todd mutters as he hurries up the road, scanning left and right, left, right, left— right again.

His heart is sinking and he bites his lip, starts to notice the cold, how his fingers tremble with it, his cheeks burning from the wind.

And then he sees it.

And he runs.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do once he gets there, but within moments, he’s there. He has to be here.

He runs across the grass, and then, by sheer luck, he sees it: Neil’s crown from the play, sitting atop a windowsill in the upper floor of the house.

Todd’s eyes scour the ground, but the snow is thick, and there are no pebbles.

He glances up again, and that desperation seizes him. Back down to the ground, and still he sees nothing. But then the next time he looks up, there’s Neil, standing in the window, and the crown is upon his head.

He stares forward into the darkness of the night, blankly, and Todd has rarely seen him this colourless. Still, there is something beautiful in those dark eyes, in the curve of his mouth and how it matches that of his shoulders.

Todd considers shouting, but then he doesn’t want to wake the whole of the Perry household.

In one moment, Todd is watching Neil through the window, and in the next he has formed a snowball in his hands.

He arcs it toward the window with a huff, never dreaming that it will land.

Much less dreaming that it will sail straight through the window— which appears to be open— and catch Neil upon his bare shoulder.

Neil startles with a gasp, the coldness of the snow instantaneous in reviving him from his reverie, and when he sees from whence the projectile came, his mouth falls agape.

“Todd?”

“I�� I don’t know how I’m going to climb a drainpipe in a suit but I’m—” Todd swallows, steels himself. “I’m going to do it.”

He braces one foot against the brick and grasps the drainpipe with both hands, attempts to hoist himself upward.

“Todd, you’re crazy,” says Neil, and he’s leaning against the windowsill, the way Todd did the first time when Neil came to visit him. “This is crazy. Get down from there, you’ll fall!”

Sure enough, Todd slips, but he wasn’t really off of the ground in the first place, so it doesn’t matter. He looks up at Neil, standing in the window.

“You’re crazy,” he replies. “And you’ll freeze to death. Get back inside.”

But Neil shakes his head. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Todd huffs in indignation. “Well, what then?”

Neil smiles. “Hang on.”

“Hang on?” Todd mutters, as Neil disappears from the window. “I’m still on the ground, how can I hang on?”

But then Neil reappears in the window, and drops a length of bundled bed sheets out the window.

Todd dodges before they smack him in the head, then takes the end like a rope that’s meant for climbing.

He calls to Neil in a stage whisper, “How do you just so happen to have bed sheets made into a rope?”

“Silly goose,” says Neil. “How do you think I get out of the house when I go to visit you?’

Todd grins in response, and Neil mirrors.

“Now come on. I’ve got you.”

With one final eyebrow raise directed at Neil, Todd shrugs and begins his ascent up the brick.

It’s an arduous climb, particularly since Todd has never done anything like this before, but Neil’s grip does not falter, and soon Neil is pulling Todd through the window, and Todd is collapsing atop Neil on the bedroom floor.

Todd blushes, embarrassed, but Neil laughs and winds Todd in his arms, and Todd feels as though his heart will burst.

“What are you doing here?” Neil asks, when he stops laughing. But it’s more habit than actual askance, and Neil has rolled over so that the two of them are on the floor beside one another. He props himself up on one elbow and stares at Todd, that soft expression ever-prevailing.

Todd shrugs, because he doesn’t know how to answer, doesn’t actually know what made him turn around and sprint through ice and snow to Neil’s house, and really, now that he’s here, it seems sort of ridiculous.

“Dunno. Couldn’t let you leave like that.” He’s mumbling, and something about what he says makes Neil’s face fall. It breaks Todd’s heart a little. “Neil?”

Neil presses his lips together, and Todd’s eyes trace constellations in the spattering of freckles that cover Neil’s shoulders. He repeats the other boy’s name quietly, and Neil inhales stutteringly.

“My father’s sending me to military school.”

“What?” Todd says. “Military school?”

Neil nods, avoiding Todd’s gaze.

“But what about Welton?”

“Pulling me out tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, but that’s— he can’t do that, can he? In the middle of the year?”

“He can,” says Neil morosely.

Todd doesn’t know what it is that’s driving him any longer, but it certainly is not his head, because he grabs Neil’s hand.

Neil looks up.

“It’ll be okay,” Todd says. “I’ll write to you. We’ll all write to you. In a year, you’ll be eighteen, and then—” Todd’s being bold, forward, doesn’t know how he’s doing it, but he’s doing it, pushing his fingers through the hair that falls loosely over Neil’s forehead— “then you can do whatever you want.”

“Whatever?” inquires Neil, and the smile has returned to his voice, his eyes.

Todd cants his head to one side, and he thinks that Neil has moved closer. Any closer at all, and Todd swears he will disintegrate. “Whatever you want,” he murmurs. But in truth, he’s not really thinking anymore, as Neil’s sigh fans his lips.

“Can I kiss you again?”

Todd lets out a nervous giggle. “I don’t know, Neil. Can you?”

And Neil does.

Neil kisses Todd deeply and steals the air from his lungs, the thoughts from his mind, the senses from his body, until there is nothing but thoughts of Neil and the curve of Neil’s body against his own. Neil is soft, like his smiles, and Todd feels himself melt, helplessly tracing fingertips over Neil’s skin, to touch those constellations he has only ever looked upon— and even so, rarely— lets Neil push the hair back from his face and kiss him with the lips that have for weeks read him poetry, shared emotions never shared with anyone else, breathed encouragement and compliment to no end, with ardour, with truth, with love.

Then abruptly, Neil’s mouth is gone from Todd’s, and Todd groans his discontent.

“Do you really think I could do anything?” says Neil, his hands resting on either side of Todd’s face.

“Anything,” says Todd.

“So you think I could be an actor, for real?”

Todd snorts. “For real, I think you could do anything. Most easily of all become an actor. You were good, Neil,” he whispers. “Really good.”

Neil positively beams, and Todd resolves that he wants to see Neil smiling like this forever and always.

He loves that he, of all people, can make Neil smile like this.

“Come see me tomorrow,” Neil breathes, “before I go.”

Todd promises to.

Neil seals the promise with a kiss.

The two part, and Todd departs, but they reunite upon the morrow.

And when they part again, Todd begins his first letter to Neil, writes to him then and there. Tells him of how he and the others already miss him terribly, though in truth, Neil cannot yet be far down the road that leads from Welton.

Todd writes to Neil that day, and the day after, and every day after that.

A year later, he stops writing to Neil, and Neil stops replying, because they see one another every day, free of parents and free of Welton, free to be with their friends and with each other, free to meet their former English teacher for coffee on Thursday afternoons, because that is simply how it is supposed to be.

They are living their dreams, and they are truly free.

Twas thus, and always thus will be.

#my tags are a mess but here we go #anderperry #anderperry fic #todd anderson #neil perry #neil x todd #dead poets society #fic

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