#and they’d be beefing so hard like they’d take it so seriously | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miraculouscontent · 3 years

Text

Didn’t Need Burrow (May 30th-July 5th)

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: Narrative basically ret-cons bad behavior of someone who isn't Marinette.

Oh yay! Alya V2!

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need Burrow to know that Mouse!Mylene will be called Multimouse.

I read somewhere that her name will be Polymouse but the source was broken.

Please be a mistake back when we saw the hero names and Mylene didn’t get her own name.

I’d also like to add a bonus that either Mylene gets named that without her consent (like someone calls her that), or Mylene names herself that without any knowledge of Multimouse!Marinette at all.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't need burrow: Assuming Luka×Zoe actually happens, there will be no build up whatsoever. In one episode, they just happen to get trapped together somewhere, talk for like ten seconds and start dating immediately afterwards. Basically the same as Alya×Nino bc none of the ships in this show (other than Lukanette and Adrigami) had any sort of meaningful developement before happening

A relationship beyond the love square getting development??? That’s cute.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't need burrow: Nino is gonna realize that Alya has the fox miraculous full time now and because of that he's gonna get pissy and so somehow Alya will be outta commission and Nino will be there so Marinette will give him a miraculous, Alya will probably say something encouraging about Nino, and then HE'LL get a full time miraculous to.

The only reason I don’t feel like this won’t happen is that it doesn’t direct anywhere near as much blame onto Marinette.

Anonymous asked:

Don't need burrow to know Chat will get angry at Ladybug and maybe Rena because Rena is now a permanent hero and he'll spend the day being a dick, but he'll be forced to work with Rena and realize things are good, but he'll only apologize to Rena.

Ladybug is just used to being chopped liver I assume.

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: Adrigami is restored, while Lukanette isn't.

Marinette will be too busy being forced by the narrative to continue caring about Adrien.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't need burrow, Su Han will only reappear at the end of the season and then disappear again.

“Hi, Su-Ha--oh, there he goes.”

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: Adrien decide to confess his secret identity as Chat Noir to Nathalie. She decide to don't tell him that his father is Hawkmoth (but also decide to don't tell Gabriel that his son is Chat Noir)

God, the Agreste drama intensifies. Kill me.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Marinette actually REJECTS Adrien after the identity reveal after it hits her all at once that HE did all the awful, questionable things Chat Noir did. This allows the Love Square Drama to continue, with Marinette being slammed for DARING to be upset/have STANDARDS - everyone claims that she's set the bar too impossibly high and is responsible for her own romantic misery, while Adrien continues being coddled by other temporary love interests while waiting for her to wise up.

Uggggggh.

I’m just waiting for Ladybug to loudly reject Chat Noir and then she falls for him soon after and bonus if Chat rubs it in her face that she’s moved on or the narrative ignores Chat’s past actions as Ladybug is all like, “WOW HE’S SO RESPECTFUL NOW.”

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Ladybug's continued rejections of Chat Noir are directly compared to Gabriel's shitty parenting -- both of them are denying Adrien things he wants, and these crimes against Sadrien are depicted as equally awful. (If not weighted towards Ladybug being worse because sHe'S bReAkInG hIs WiDdLe HeArT~~~)

This one wins for making me the most upset.

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t need burrow: Juleka will become the tiger hero in another Julerose-centric episode, but this time Rose is akumatized (into princess fragrance again, but this time with a sentimonster so it’s DiFfErEnT). It will chronologically take place after guilt trip, but Rose’s disability will not be acknowledged, even in passing.

I swear, if I have to see a repeat akuma ONE MORE TIME!!!

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t need burrow: The major conflict of the season will be Marinette repeating “mistakes” (this can be similar to not keeping chat 100% in the loop till he throws a fit or having a human to depend on emotionally about miraculous stuff) Bonus: The show doesn’t show the good that came out of her actions and only the bad (Not having a breakdown and etc)

Yup. Definitely Marinette’s fault that she needed to rely on someone so she didn’t have a breakdown. She should’ve buried her emotions and broke down every day instead.

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t Need Burrow: After the show runners give into another fan theory of new permanent heroes, they will quickly show why this was a mistake. Bonus if it’s the very next episode (because if Marinette did it then it has to be bad)

This already felt super likely and then you added “because if Marinette did it then it has to be bad” and now I’m just sad because it’s doubly right.

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t Need Burrow: Marinette, who dreams of being a fashion designer, designs something that’s just ugly. Bonus if it’s never addressed/characters just say it’s great so the show doesn’t look bad at designing clothes

Does Ladybug count? Still can’t believe Chat Noir gets the “complex” outfit with actual thought and Ladybug gets the onesie.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: It's revealed that Emilie intended to use the Miraculi they'd found to 'give Adrien the world'. This is treated as a sympathetic motive because, as Word of God constantly insists, Adrien is perfect and deserves everything he desires, regardless of how anyone else feels about it. Thus it doesn't matter what horrific things his parents did or intended; their goals are treated as righteous, with Ladybug being Wrong to oppose them.

They just want what’s best for their son!!

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: There will be a plot in which LADYBUG is accused of not caring about civilians, with Adrien/Chat Noir getting to lecture her as if HE has the moral high ground. Or any ground to stand on. His abysmal track record is completely ignored, retconned, or otherwise treated as inapplicable; we likely get a singular moment where he suddenly Gives A Shit about protecting one of his friends/classmates, which is treated as proof that he Always Cares About Such Matters.

Bonus if it’s Ladybug choosing not to defend/save someone who spited her/deserves it, which is “clearly worse” than Chat Noir threatening to let Paris drown in “Syren.” Ladybug is not allowed to be human and also not allowed to show people that there are consequences for their actions, proving that they/Chat can take advantage and mock her as much as they want with no repurcussions.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Sabrina and Chloe have another Friendship Breakup; when Sabrina seems poised to actually get away from her abusive 'BFF' for good, Adrien intervenes/whines at Marinette to help him fix it, because it's nOt FaAaAaIr for Chloe to be aLl AlOoOoOoNe...

Is it too late to make Adrien disappear and have it look like an accident.

Anonymous asked:

DNB: In a Shocking Twist, Cats are revealed to be cursed - the majority suffer some catastrophic fate as the Ring eventually causes their Destruction. Only True Love can break it, making Ladybug's refusal to give in to Chat Noir's advances a literal matter of life-and-death and 'justifying' all of his behavior. Bonus if it's retconned that *Adrien always knew this*, despite nothing in his behavior ever indicating he believed himself to be on borrowed time. Because Angstrese.

Also bonus if this is also used as just another way to make him seem sympathetic. Double bonus if this information is brought up after Ladybug snaps at Chat Noir, and she’s told this information to make her feel guilty.

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: If Adrien reveal someone his secret identity, it will be ... obviously Wayhem.

Nino: hello darkness--

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Goat!Marc, Rooster!Nathaniel and even Ox!Ivan will be buffed out because not even the boys in this show are allowed to keep their own body shapes when they become superheroes.

I’m positive Ivan especially will be beefed up. The civilian models are really awkward at times and clearly not prepared to be put in onesies (it’s hard to explain and maybe someone more experienced with propotions/anatomy will be able to say it better, but their limbs don’t have a lot of “shape” to them I guess?).

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t need burrow: Alya’s miraculous looks exactly the same in it’s “camouflage” mode solely so Lila can easily switch her necklace with Alya’s. (seriously why does it not change that bothers the hell out of me)

If that happens, I’d put money on Alya not getting called out on it. Good to know you put so much priority on “secrecy,” Alya.

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t need burrow: A kwami swap will happen again somehow. Marinette will uncharacteristically scold Adrien way more harshly than normal AGAIN to make him feel bad about himself and this will further the (Adrien melodrama depression arc) of him feeling useless/ replaced. Bonus points if Alya picks up his slack.

Honestly, I was here for the scolding in “Reflekdoll” just because there weren’t consequences for her for once.

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t Need Burrow: There will be Sad Noir galore. Its all Ladybug’s fault, naturally.

Naturally.

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: Episode where Sabrina gets Dog Miraculous will be Chloe-centric (or Bourgeois sisters centric)

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t Need Burrow: the episode where Sabrina gets the Dog Miraculous (which seems inevitable now, ugh) will heavily feature or even focus on Chloé, despite the fact that Chloé has already had a couple of episodes focusing largely on her this season. Sabrina’s introduction as a hero will have about as much focus as Kim’s or will be jammed into the last five minutes of the episode. Bonus points if they manage to deny her a proper transformation sequence like they did Kagami.

Roger: *exists and desperately needs development on his policy that caused Sabrina to become Chloe’s slave in the first place*

show: okay but--

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Under pressure, Marinette admits to Alya and/or Tikki that she doesn't mind the attention (aka constant harassment) Chat Noir gives her; parroting common claims by sexual harassers, she says it makes her feel *special* and *noticed*. She may also insist that she still wishes he would focus on the AKUMA/their responsibilities more, but the obvious point of this scene is to 'justify' his behavior with evidence that 'she enjoys it'.

MARINETTE

PLEASE

YOU DESERVE SO MUCH BETTER

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: There will be a joke about Chat Noir *copping a feel* on Ladybug after an akuma sends them into an awkward position. Ladybug's shock and discomfort is played for laughs; bonus if he quips about her suit not leaving much to the imagination. Adrien is in a fantastic mood afterwards, considering that to be the 'best battle yet'. (Alternatively, another heroine is victimized and Ladybug is visibly jealous/her annoyance at Chat is treated like jealousy.)

I’m not adding this to the spreadsheet just because a scene like that is too dicey for a kid’s show (though, believe me, if it were to happen, I’m putting that on it’s own damn card), but I will say that this would 100% happen if this were an anime/aimed towards an older audience.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien tricks Alya into thinking that Chat Noir already knows Ladybug's secret identity, thusly learning that she's Marinette. This is passed off as all MARI's fault, naturally. If Alya apologizes at all, it's in a backhanded, "But why didn't he know this already?" sort of fashion.

It’s Marinette’s fault for telling Alya her identity in the first place.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Post-Reveal, Marinette struggles to reconcile how her crush is also her abusive slacker 'partner'. Adrien, by contrast, accepts her as Ladybug immediately... though his words make clear that he doesn't give a shit who SHE is, just that she's Ladybug. Naturally, this is treated as Mari needing to learn how to accept Adrien for who he is, all while insisting that his many flaws and failings aren't issues at all.

i hate it, thanks

Anonymous asked:

DNB: The RLBS is EXPLICITLY punishment for Marinette: after a mutual reveal, Adrien declares that they can't get together as civilians until she accepts him as Chat Noir. Mari is forced to awkwardly pursue Chat as Ladybug while he strings her along/humiliates her; meanwhile, Adrien trolls her with shallow gestures to fluster her/rile up their shipper classmates, who ride her ass for not 'sealing the deal' and making their relationship official. Alya, aware of everything, is the WORST about it.

I presume that “RLBS” is “Reverse Love BS” which... yes.

Also, that whole “she needs to accept him as Chat Noir” infuriates me because that’s been a fandom thing forever.

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: The only reason Sabrina got Dog Miraculous is because of a scene where Chloe literally "Kick the Dog".

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t Need Burrow to know that despite Sabrina almost certainly getting a miraculous and becoming a hero, the fact that she deserves better than being abused by Chloé and is a worthwhile individual in her own right will not be addressed. Because StATuS QuO!

I just had a horrible thought that they’ll do the episode like--

Chloe treats Sabrina terribly like usual, Sabrina ditches Chloe and Chloe is miserable + takes it out on everyone else for it, then Chloe gets akumatized over it and Sabrina gets the dog (for “loyalty”), which leads to Sabrina going back to Chloe so that Chloe will direct the abuse more solely towards Sabrina because “she takes it out on others otherwise”/she’s “used to it”/”it’s her responsibility and this is the right thing to do.” This will also be presented as the “right choice” and Chloe and Sabrina’s relationship will basically not change for the sake of leaving Chloe the way she is.

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t Need Burrow: Cat Noir is gonna throw a Syren-Sized fit if/when he finds out that Ladybug dares to have a support network through Alya (not a very GOOD support network, but one nonetheless).

Still waiting for the “lesson” where Ladybug is told she’s not allowed to have emotions/be vulnerable.

Oh wait, that’s the show.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't need Burrow: Adrien/Chat Noir will angst and fish for sympathy points instead of apologizing for the 40th time in the series.

Every time.

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t Need Burrow: Luka is gonna say that Adrien and Marinette are made for each other. This is the last appearance that he will make in the show (with exception to background/shipping fuel between him and somebody else w̶h̶o̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶p̶r̶o̶b̶a̶b̶l̶y̶ ̶e̶i̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶Z̶o̶è̶ ̶o̶r̶ ̶K̶a̶g̶a̶m̶i̶).

Considering the ““““parellel”“““ episodes of “Truth” and “Lies,” I’m just ready for the same thing that happened with Kagami in “Mr. Pigeon 72.”

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Trixx plays pranks on Alya's family and is a little troll; he particularly loves teasing the twins, since any claims they might make about seeing a 'magical flying fox' will be passed off as childish imaginings. Alya blames Marinette for this more than she does Trixx.

Marineeeette, raise your “children” better!!

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Alya will wind up spilling Ladybug's secret identity to Nino because 'she needs to talk to SOMEONE about this!' (and Mari CLEARLY doesn't count for anything) and trusts her boyfriend.

I would also imagine Alya going on about Marinette’s secret to Nino without explicitly telling him.

Also, this will be an episode in this season because Alya couldn’t even keep it in for ONE SEASON (”Animan” all over again).

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Ladybug will be seriously injured during an akuma battle, with circumstances preventing them from winning the fight/repairing the damage with Miraculous Cure right away. Adrien/Chat Noir attempts to exploit the situation to learn 'his lady's' secret identity. The narrative REFUSES to call him out on this; it's entirely on Marinette to protect herself by hiding the truth despite her injuries.

Bonus because “Ladybug” seemed to imply that their almost invincible in their suits, though I imagine if they get hurt, it’ll be Chat Noir and used for angst (like in “Miraculer”).

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Marinette will combine Miraculi more often to cut down on having to track down others all the time and put them in danger. (And also because the merch guys want more stuff to base toys off of.) She gets condemned for being a 'glory hound' and 'taught' that she needs to rely upon others more often, no matter what sort of risks that might entail (she'll get blamed for that anyway) or how they might let her down (again, always her fault).

Marinette: *tries not to burden others and instead does what the narrative has convinced her of; bearing the world’s weight alone until she breaks*

show: gOd, mArIneTtE--

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Chat Noir's tendency to screw around, flirt, and not read or work with his allies at all gets Rena Rouge, Vesperia or one of the other heroes hurt. Naturally, this is played for Sadrien above all else -- if Ladybug or anyone else DARES to show any anger towards him for it, it's depicted as completely unjustified and unfair. Bonus if the injured party insists that it's okay.

They neeeed Chat Noir to lighten the mood! He’s worth the risk!

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: RLBS is kicked off by Marinette being utterly HUMILIATED by Adrien publicly rejecting her once he can't ignore her crush anymore, spurring her to give up on him 'for good'. Adrien decides that he misses her chasing after him and starts pursuing her, with Alya and others encouraging her to accept his advances/telling her that she's crazy to reject him even after what he did. Marinette's utter misery over the whole ordeal is treated as HILARIOUS.

It’s not like he mEaNt to embarrass you, Marinette!!!

Marinette didn’t meant to do a lot of things too but you don’t see the show giving her any slack.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien/Chat Noir starts treating Alya/Rena Rouge with exactly as much 'respect' as he gives Ladybug -- which is to say, nothing but lip service paired with stunts like refusing to help unless she spills Ladybug's secrets. Alya naturally blames Marinette for this.

I’m torn on whether he’d “””respect her””” as much as Ladybug or give her even more respect, probably on the premise that “Ladybug chose her,” and that somehow proves that Chat Noir is a good guy in all this (while, again, disrespecting/not trusting Ladybug/making his own decisions at every corner).

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien/Chat Noir attempts to charm Alya/Rena Rouge into sharing Ladybug's secrets with him, possibly making Nino jealous in the process.

*sees “Rocketear” trailer*

oh no...

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: We get another 'Bad Future' episode centered on Sadrien; this time around, it features him losing the Ring, painting this popular plotline as a horrible idea because Adrien is Perfect and Never Does Anything Wrong, and should never be punished for his actions. No matter how it happens, Marinette is blamed for it; bonus if somebody angrily tells her that SHE should have lost HER Miraculous instead.

Wouldn’t be surprised, but that would also mean making a new model of a cat hero.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: It's revealed that part of the reason Alix/Bunnix refuses to share any 'Spoilers' about how the future is 'meant to go' is because Marinette Suffers Incredibly in the process, and Alix knows that she'd try to find some other way... and assumes that she'd fail in the process. This is treated as entirely valid and Marinette, if she learns that this is part why Bunnix won't tell her shit, has to accept that she's just doomed to be Fate's personal punching bag. Sucks to be her!

It’s “meant to be.”

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Marinette/Ladybug is told outright that she's a horrible person for not respecting Chat Noir's feelings for her. Bonus points if it's Alya, citing Mari's crush on Adrien as proof that she should know how it feels to constantly fail at getting your crush's attention. (Alternately, Adrien venting to her about how *unfair* it is that Ladybug's so cruel to her partner, unaware of the dramatic irony.) Triple-7 Jackpot of Shit if this contributes to the RLBS becoming a thing.

UGGGGGH.

And of course Chat Noir wouldn’t get the same treament and it’ll be like, “WELL ADRIEN DOESN’T kNoW sO--”

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Instead of Lila, Chloe is revealed to be the next holder of the Butterfly Miraculous. This shows Chloe as "irredeemable" while successfully writing Lila out of the show.

Meanwhile, the writers’ script is frantically scribbled on with red marker.

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: Reveal that post about Lila being future Hawkmoth was Red Herring (or in this case orange herring)

Dumb herring.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't need a burrow;

By the end of the series, Gabriel will have a redemption arc to feel sympathy for him :o

guys he’s so sad don’t you see--

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien's inability to choose between the 'love of his life' and the abusive shitbag excuse of a sire who'd just smacked him like a ping-pong ball foreshadows that he will ultimate choose Gabriel after learning that he's Hawk/Shadowmoth. This will be entirely blamed on Marinette not being able to keep him by her side because 'she didn't love/cherish/appreciate him enough'!

After “Guiltrip” and the whole, “I don’t say this enough--” line, I’d buy it and now I’m sad.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: The RLBS is kicked off by Chat Noir switching sides and joining Hawk/Shadowmoth. Ladybug is forced to appeal to Chat's 'love' for her, with Alya, Tikki, and various other 'friends'/allies blaming her for his defection. Meanwhile, Sadrien starts pursuing Marinette as an outlet for his mangst, 'unintentionally' making her more miserably conflicted in the process.

She rejected him and therefore he’s in his right to switch sides. She never even gave him a chance!!!

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien is a Sentimonster/was created by other Miraculous magic by the Agrestes, who desired a 'perfect/model son'. This is used to further the narrative that his entitlement is actually a Good Thing: Adrien was not MEANT to have any wants/needs/desires of his own, but mysteriously developed them anyway. Thus Marinette NEEDS to cater to his every whim because it's sO mIrAcUlOuS that he HAS them in the first place. Hooray...?

His very EXISTENCE is MIRACULOUS, Marinette!!!

Also, Astruc will act like this was amazingly foreshadowed in “Ladybug” where Ladybug comments on Sentibug’s perfection.and with Astruc always called Adrien perfect (either on his own or through other characters).

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Another Shocking Familial Connection is revealed: Felix is not Adrien's cousin, but Gabriel and Emilie's original son, whom they shunted off on her sister and replaced with the 'perfect' Adrien. 50-50 split on whether this is used to excuse all of Felix's shitty behavior or if he's demonized further -- 'See, THIS is why they replaced him! ANYONE would choose the Perfect Adrien over someone like THAT!'

Why not both????

It’s like the Chloe-Zoe situation but male.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: After learning that Rena Rouge has become Ladybug's confidant, Chat Noir outright REFUSES to help at a critical moment, sneering about how 'you ladies CLEARLY don't need me'. As with everything else, the blame for his latest stunt is laid neatly at Marinette's feet, because Adrien is never EVER responsible for his own actions.

They’ll probably blame Marinette because Ladybug “didn’t tell him right away.”

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Circumstances force Adrien to be Mr. Bug again (since they already have the models). Much is milked from how HAAAAAAAARRRRD his temporary responsibilities are on him, and he reiterates afterwards how happy he is that he doesn't have to deal with that all the time. No actual sympathy for Ladybug's situation is displayed, though stans treat it as such; what we're actually SHOWN is that Adrien only cares about the burden when HE'S the one stuck carrying it.

As per usual, no one cares about Marinette’s problems until it directly affects THEM, and then they’ll go back to not caring.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: With all of the other abusive behavior Adrien has shown towards Ladybug, it's only a matter of time before we get a 'Why did you make me hit you?' moment. No akuma influence; just him physically lashing out at her because he's an entitled little shit upset over not getting his way, followed by the inevitable bleating about how bad HE feels and how he'll 'never do it again'. Naturally, this is presented as though Marinette 'deserved it' and must accept his apology.

Show, don’t do this to me, I swear--

I’d be surprised if this did happen, but more because it’s like wow the lack of self-awareness is even worse than I thought.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: We get a Very Special Episode about sexual harassment... which not only refuses to acknowledge Adrien's behavior as such, but asserts that he would NEVER touch 'his lady' in any kind of inappropriate fashion. Bonus: he harasses her in that very same episode to 'prove' that his behavior isn't inappropriate.

So “Felix” but worse...

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: The reason why ML Writers made Zoe an actress is to justify why she managed to recognize that Lila is "Liar that lies" instantly after meeting her.

Waiting for the moment where Zoe talks to Marinette to address Marinette “acting like she’s not in love with Adrien.”

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Lila steals the Fox Pendant from Alya/does something that affects her *personally*. Alya then reads Marinette the riot act, demanding to know "Why didn't you WARN ME about her?!" (None of the times that she DID count because Alya dismissed them as her 'just being jealous', which is, of course, entirely Mari's fault.) Bonus if we allude back to her claiming that 'good reporters do their research' and how she expected MARI to provide her her with proof of her claims.

Marinette: *thousand yard stare*

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: When Lila is exposed, Marinette gets blamed for all the harm she caused with her various deceptions, since she tried to warn others and couldn't convince anyone of the truth. Adrien 'taking the high road' is largely glossed over; if anyone finds out that HE knew too and never did anything to warn anyone, he's quickly forgiven for 'not knowing any better'.

See, Marinette, if you just hadn’t tRiEd--

And Adrien was just trying to “be nice to everyone equally” so he’s forgiven.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien/Chat Noir outright admits that he dislikes Rena/the other heroes being around since they make him feel unnecessary. This is treated as a perfectly reasonable and valid complaint rather than a slacker piss-moaning about being shown up by others making actual EFFORT.

*flashbacks to “You’re not trying to replace me with a turtle, are you?” after Carapace shows up LITERALLY ONCE*

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: We get a retread of the NYC Special's Angstrian when he accidentally ('accidentally?') Cataclysms Rena/somebody else. Bonus if the victim once again argues that THEIR experiences/trauma are FAR less important than his. (Especially if it's Alya, Nino, Max... somebody who ALSO happens to be a character of color temporarily killed off to make the spoiled white rich brat feel sorry for himself.)

It’s an accident and also probably “Ladybug’s fault.”

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien/Chat Noir skips an akuma attack/shows up late to find it was resolved without him, and mopes about how 'his lady doesn't need him anymore', requiring somebody else to massage his ego. Bonus points if somebody (likely Ladybug) is demonized for getting annoyed at him for being late/a no-show, because HOW DARE they take defending Paris seriously?!

Well excuse us, Chat, next time we’ll just awkwardly stall for twenty minutes.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Chat Noir will 'accidentally' Cataclysm one of the protective Charms so that its holder can be akumatized again. Bonus if he does this to Alya/one of the other heroes.

Probably Chloe.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: The protective charms are ultimately rendered effectively pointless when Adrien switches sides and starts using his powers to destroy them. Naturally, Marinette is held completely responsible for his actions, because God FORBID he ever be called to account for himself. Not when his 'partner' is around to absorb all the blame.

You didn’t make him feel loVeD, Marinette.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien pulls a Chloe with his own attempt at engineered heroics, putting the lives of others on the line to 'prove his value'. Ladybug is completely blamed for the stunt; bonus if someone accuses her of 'not learning anything' from what happened with Chloe.

Hate it. Hate it a lot.

We already got him trying to cause/hoping for akuma, so this isn’t too far off.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien gives Zoe better advice for dealing with her bullies. His policy for handling Chloe and Lila remains the same as ever. (In other words, only Marinette has to 'be the better person' and keep suffering at the hands of her abusers, since it maintains his preferred status quo. But it's no skin off his nose if Zoe's situation changes/improves.)

I also imagine that Adrien would give this advice without Marinette onscreen, so Adrien won’t be called out on it.

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t Need Burrow: Alya will reveal Marinette’s identity to someone (possibly Nino) and the show will then punish Marinette for trusting Alya in the first place. Bonus point if the show then says she should have trusted Adrien/Chat Noir because he would never have betrayed her trust.

I’m just remembering the fandom’s complaints and wow I hate it.

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: Ladybug Miraculous basically change into Poor man's version of Green Lantern's Ring

*stares at the phone in “Optigami” that somehow picks up on the kwamis’ voices* hm

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t Need Burrow: Marinette will look through the future and see one where she and Luka get together, except it’s portrayed as bad and abusive, more so if he knows her secret identity, and the only way for her to escape it is by getting with Chat Noir(and not...you know, anybody else. Or being single. Or MAKING THE RELATIONSHIP WORK!!!). Chat Noir sees it too, and gloat about in her face, since it proved that they were “meant for each other, m’lady!” Bonus points if someone calls Thomas Ass Truck out on this shit, and he either replies that it was the best thing to do, claims it doesn’t matter how Lukanette is treated/the love square ends up together because they’re “made for each other” anyway, or even tries to pass it off as “girl power”, because how could we let the female lead get with the respe—oops, I mean abusive guy over the one who treats her te—oops, I mean respectfully and like a “gentleman” would?! And then he’ll follow up by blocking them for daring to question the Ridiculous Relationship Rhombus and respect the “non-endgame” ship. Even wor—oops! I mean, better, if love square shippers use this opportunity to gloat about how “I always knew Adrien and Marinette(notice how they always place his name first?!) were perfect for each other, Luka wasn’t good enough for Marinette, take that, Lukanette shippers!” declaring it “anti-salt”.

bfgkdjfgdfg god

Also, the only problem with this idea is that it would mean making an adult model for Luka.

Bonus if another “disadvantage” to Marinette dating Luka is that Luka isn’t high class.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Marinette will be told outright to 'Get over yourself' and stop bringing up valid complaints about Chat Noir's shitty behavior, as the series becomes increasingly overt with its subtext about how one of Marinette's Biggest Mistakes is having STANDARDS.

Ignoring that Luka exists, of course, and if it’s mentioned that Luka exists then cue, “OH BUT SHE DOESN’T AAAACTUALLY LOVE LUKA.”

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need Burrow: SentiWiFi (Lady WiFi Sentimonster)

SentiEveryone at this point...

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: Nino is again robbed of screentime by Sentimonster based on him.

*sees “Sentibubbler” title and trailer*

Did--did you predict the future??

...I mean, we’ve been doing that the whole time, but damn.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Alya will continue shoving Marinette towards Adrien, then mockingly ask 'Didn't you want to give romance a break?' or something along those lines. Showing that not only is she fully aware of Marinette's wishes and doesn't give a damn, but implicitly blaming Marinette for her inability to stick to them, despite how SHE is the one forcing the issue.

“We all know that you WANT HIM, Marinette! Stop denying yourself!!!”

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: When Marinette gets a spot of hope regarding her relationship woes, Alya leaps in to take all the credit for the apparent success. Once the light turns out to be an incoming Drama Train that blindsides Marinette and leaves her humiliated and heartbroken, Alya insists that it's entirely MARI's fault that things went off the rails.

Waiting for a line from Alya about how she’s doing everything right and Marinette must be really hopeless if Alya’s schemes aren’t working...

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Alya and Nino will get into a bit of Relationship Drama in order to further reinforce the series' double standards. (Such as 'It's OK for boys to lie, but girls shouldn't have any secrets.' Or 'Boys can hold grudges, but girls must forgive every trespass.' Or 'Girls shouldn't told boys to impossible standards like expecting to be treated with basic human decency.') Bonus points if Marinette gets blamed for it.

Yup.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: The subtext about Marinette not deserving a GOOD love interest is further emphasized by Kagami and Luka getting together. Kagami comments on how she can trust Luka not to lie to her; this is the closest she gets to explaining to Marinette WHY she broke things off with Adrien in the first place. After all, it doesn't matter if Adrien lies to Marinette; they're 'meant for each other'.

I’m still not over Kagami saying that the guy who lied to her is “made for” her only friend????

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Zoe learns a valuable lesson about the importance of Being Herself with Luka's help, teasing the idea of the two of them getting together.

“Bonus” for Marinette saying that Zoe and Luka are made for each other.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Chat Noir deliberately strings Vesperia along in a ploy to make Ladybug jealous. Zoe is naturally heartbroken when she learns the truth. Her pain is blamed entirely on Marinette, since Adrien can NEVER be held accountable for his own actions.

Ladybug, you should’ve seen this coming!!

Anonymous asked:

Didn't need burrow (kinda?), Astruc apparently is aware that his perfect Adrien is flawed as Chat Noir (he said so on twitter), and I fear that if anyone ever asks him why the two sides of Adrien so different, he'll reveal that the cat miraculous changes the holder's personality or some shit, which will cause "Anti Adrien Salt" to explode, screaming "the salter's claims aren't valid anymore, it's not Adrien's fault, it's the miraculous!!!1!!111!!!!¡¡!¡¡¡!!!"

I feel like he denied that back when he still had a Tumblr but gosh I’m just waiting for it to be confirmed because FANON THEORIES.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien gets a taste of what Marinette goes through constantly when he/Chat Noir suffers a bit of minor humiliation over his crush. His pain and angst over this is played DEAD SERIOUS, treated as though he's suffering through the WORST THING EVER even though whatever happened pales in comparison to what Marinette has endured. Anyone who dares so much as chuckle at what happened is villainized, since only a MONSTER would find his suffering funny.

I’m seething.

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: Return of Sentibug (for fanservice)

Bonus if they kill her off again. Something something “only one Ladybug” something.

neyla9 asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: So if Zoe gets sent to a new boarding school after being in Paris for a few months (there is a chance the writers will just completely ignore that this was established in Sole Crusher, in which case this probably won't happen), I predict that Zoe was brought in specifically to redeem Chloe, rubbing it in Marinette's face that she failed at redeeming Chloe, and force Marinette to give Chloe the bee miraculous back

Most likely. Apparently needed to bring someone else in to make Marinette feel worse.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien abandons/ditches his responsibilities as a hero because he's too busy sulking over his ego being bruised by some slight (real or imagined). Marinette is naturally blamed for this.

Oh, of course!

Marinette probably had to be late for patrol so he was intentionally late for something, and then was like well you did it to me, so--

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Chloe will get another tiresome 'Will she or won't she be redeemed?' arc, only to backstab/betray everyone again. Astruc will preen and croon on social media about how gullible anyone that thinks she could ever be redeemable is. Bonus points if Chloe's damning act that proves she's unsalvageable is something ADRIEN has done.

Meanwhile, Nino is back here absolutely collecting DUST!!!

I guess you gotta be a horrible person/make Marinette suffer to get screen time.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Chloe will discover Vesperia's secret identity and steal the Bee Miraculous, then spitefully out Zoe so that SHE can't be a heroine anymore.

Marinette is running out of teens at this point but finding new ones would mean more models.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Zoe is used to teach Marinette that she's too harsh on others for lying, and should accept that they can be dishonest sometimes. (Especially Adrien.) As a natural follow-up, Marinette is blamed/punished for falling for a friend's lies -- because CLEARLY it's not Alya/Adrien/anyone else's fault if she believes their bullshit!

No one’s perfect, Marinette! People are human!!

...Except you, of course.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Despite the incident with SentiNino, Shadow Moth will *successfully* obtain a miraculous by using the same trick. Bonus points if it's Marinette/Ladybug who falls for it... though really, she'll be blamed regardless.

Double bonus if she doesn’t fall for it but it still goes through.

Anonymous asked:

DNB: The 'Shocking Twist' of Adrien/Chat Noir betraying Team Miraculous and joining his father will be presented as though it's entirely Marinette/Ladybug's fault, with Adrien acting as though he Had No Choice and angsting about being 'forced' to betray his lady and friends. The series never acknowledges how self-serving his motives actually are, and any call-outs he gets are treated as Wrong and Awful and Blaming Poor Innocent Victim Adrien.

“hE’s jUsT tRyinG tO sAvE hIs mOm”

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: 'Borrowing' from many a Salt Fic, Marinette will thank her for 'proving who my *real* friends are'. This entails giving Adrien, Alya and possibly others credit for always standing by her, believing in her, and various other things that they never actually did.

I’m presuming “her” means “everyone”/”the girl squad” and yup.

Better tell than show I guess.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Alya will be retconned into having 'never believed anything Lila said'. Or at least, she will CLAIM that she never believed her.

I WILL BE SO UPSET

Also prepared for them to handwave it, like, “oh whatever, now I’m helping you since I know so it’s all good!”

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need Burrow: Similarities between Luka and Zoe were only red herring. Zoe will become Kagami's new love interest (and Kagami and Zoe's dynamic will be suspiciously similar do Fanon!Marigami)

But that would imply they care enough about LGBT rep.

Though they could always pull a Voltron and slip it in at the very end.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Marinette will suffer the toll/backlash from using multiple Miraculi ONLY for the sake of making that her Latest Mistake. Her past successes are only acknowledged as a way of painting her as arrogant for assuming she could continue doing so safely.

She’ll probably be yelled at and told not to “keep doing everything herself” even though that’s what the narrative keeps telling her to do.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien discovers his father's secret identity and hides it... and this is painted as an act of incredible self-sacrifice rather than selfishness. Rather than treating it as a betrayal of Ladybug/Team Miraculous, the series focuses on his angst and 'inner struggle', pretending there's something heroic about him refusing to expose Hawkmoth and potentially put an end to his terrorizing Paris.

Deep breaths, Clarity.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't need burrow: Alya will get to keep her boyfriend despite her being involved with the miraculous box n stuff, unlike Marinette. Why, you ask? Easy, the bond between Luka and Mari just isn't sTrOnG eNoUgH for them to last through difficult times, like Alya and Nino do so easily.

Ignoring that Marinette and Luka only just got together and also that Marinette has it WAY different than Alya.

But no I guess. Adrien and Marinette are “made for each other” so gotta discredit Lukanette whenever. Marinette isn’t allowed to be happy, we know.

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t Need Burrow: The one time Marinette gets a break from akumas and her responsibilities all hell breaks loose and the lesson for that episode will be that Marinette and Marinette alone must carry the burden of being Ladybug and Guardian.

Marinette: *gets five minutes of sleep*

Paris: *catches on fire*

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow (Can I do two at once?): "Crocoduel" will not acknowledge the Lukanette breakup at all, and the titular Akuma will just be Guitar Villain and Captain Hardrock again.

(You’re allowed two, absolutely!)

I’d like to add as well that, even if they do acknowledge the Lukanette breakup, Marinette will talk to Luka about it but then be like, “I’m not focusing on love right now and I’m too busy so I’m sorry for everything that happened,” even as everyone keeps pushing for the love square.

#category: salt #Didn't Need Burrow #other: ask and answer #((This was supposed to come out earlier but I've been SUPER nauseous lately.))

50 notes · View notes

zmediaoutlet · 3 years

Text

in support of Texas relief,@whiskeycherrypie donated $25, and requested Sam/Dean, very late seasons, switching. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

(read on AO3)

The second hunt, after, is when things start to feel real again.

First job was the shapeshifter and even after just a few weeks of post-almost-apocalypse vacation they were rusty, as much as they ever got rusty. Sam broke his damn finger, which Dean made fun of him for, and Dean limped around on a half-busted shin that Sam can just stop smirking about, any time now, but they felt—like what? Hard to pin down. Like they were stepping out into a strange world. Like they'd fire a gun and didn't know if it'd recoil the same way it always would, because the world was different. New. At least, Dean kept feeling that way, and he thinks he's known Sam long enough to guess Sam was feeling about the same. Every part of that job was—feeling for a step down in the dark, and then being surprised when it was there. Sam flicking through the local paper checking obits, cautious when he pointed out a possible connection, like he hadn't done the same thing a hundred, thousand, times before. Dean going through the trunk and pulling out their supplies and holding a fistful of silver bullets in his hand and thinking—is this it? Sam, getting the motel room after, when they'd been to the Urgent Care to check out Dean's stupid shin that it turns out, okay, wasn't broken after all, and the woman at the counter asking what kind of room, and Sam hesitating, and glancing back at where Dean was propped up in the office doorway.

But it was right, in the end. They did right. They saved most of a day and killed the bad thing and it turned out that after everything they were still the same guys they always were. After the world ended it was supposed to be maybe something else, but, shit, the world didn't quite end after all, and it turned out… Sam gave his stupid shin a few more days to rest up and kept his finger splinted and then after a week there was Sam, laptop open on the table when Dean came in for breakfast, and he said, "Hey, you want to work?" with every expectation that Dean would, and that—that was new, kind of, in the way that Sam wasn't trying to distract himself or Dean, and it wasn't to patch up some broken thing that couldn't be fixed, and it wasn't because they owed anything to anyone. It was because it turned out that after all this was who they were, and Dean looked at Sam over the island while he whipped up some eggs semi-capably (although he never used enough salt) and Sam glanced over his shoulder when the toaster popped and saw Dean looking, and raised his eyebrows like—what?—like this wasn't just the best hope of Dean's life being realized, finally, right here in a hole in the ground at eight in the morning, on the wrong side of forty. "What's the job?" was all Dean said, then, and then—that was it. That was that.

Second hunt's a success, too. Vetalas, in Wyoming. Dean hates Wyoming. Not for the people or the scenery or the weather, even, though the weather can be a bitch, but because you can't get anywhere with a damn mountain leaping up into the middle of the highway and having to drive three hours the wrong direction to get to where you're going. Sam has heard this argument, and rolls his eyes mostly, but this time, this second hunt, he laughs, and stretches out in the passenger seat with the window rolled down and his elbow hanging out, and it's summer and he's stripped out of his jacket and has his sleeves rolled up and he just looks—good. Dean recites his lines: "Lander to Pinedale should be, what, forty minutes, but no, we gotta drive a hundred miles out of the way to get around this stupid—" and Sam sighs and says his line, which is, "Don’t you like driving?" and Dean says, "Don't get facts in the way here, man, that is not the issue—" and it's… the same ruts, the same life, but Sam's face is all folded up in glad creases, his dimple carved in so deep it looks like it's going to set up residence there full-time, and Dean eases off the gas a little, stretches out the drive, even if it's around the same damn mountain they've circled three times, looking for the same damn vetalas. They find them, of course, and they kill them, and they find three men drained of life in the cellar at their cabin but there are two more that Sam and Dean save, and on the drive back to Kansas through the night Sam's not in that same sunshine mood but he's not anything but content, either. Dean had—he'd hoped, in some shriveled part of himself that hadn't really had much luck with hoping—and maybe the last few years he'd gotten some proof, that what he'd wanted was what Sam wanted, too—but to have the proof, right here, it's—he doesn't pray, really, but he says inside his head very clearly thank you, to whatever might be listening. It's all he's got. He hopes it's enough.

They stop for a booze restock, for stuff to make dinner, and back at the bunker Dean's slow, watching Sam unpack his half of the car. His finger's still splinted but it can probably come off, soon. He gets his backpack on his shoulder and his duffle over his arm and the twelve pack in the good hand, and glances at Dean, and says, "What?"

"Nothing," Dean says. Sam's eyes narrow in that tiny tiny way where he smooths it out so fast he must think Dean won't notice, but Dean's honest, here, and he smiles without meaning to, and Sam frowns at him but smiles back, confused. Dean claps him on the shoulder and Sam shakes his head, says, "Dude, what?" and Dean says, "Nothing, you deaf? C'mon, let's get the beer in the fridge before it gets any warmer," and Sam shakes his head again and says, "You're the weirdest person I know," and Dean looks over his shoulder and says, "Takes one, Sammy," and he's just—sure. Sure, all through his body, from gut to his heart to his stupid brain, always lurching, looking for the exits. What a thing.

Spaghetti and meatballs, for dinner. The sauce is from a jar but Dean takes his time with the meat. Half pork, half beef, the spices he likes, a bunch of garlic. Sam practically inhales it and gets sauce on his chin and Dean grins at him until Sam colors and says, "Shut up," and swipes it off with the heel of his hand, and then shrugs and licks his palm. They're on season two of Game of Thrones and they watch an episode, and Dean wants Joffrey to die and asks Sam to tell him it'll happen soon, and Sam just smiles and says, "Dude, I'm not giving you spoilers after how long I had to wait to read the books. Hold your horses." Dean mutters, "I'll hold your horses," and Sam raises his eyebrows, but Dean just waves a hand instead of getting into the bickering match they could.

They get fresh beers and Dean says, "Hey, let's—" and so they head upstairs to ground level, and Sam brought two spare bottles each, and they go around to the back side of the big abandoned power plant where there's an ugly concrete bench they hung out on, sometimes. Especially before, when the bunker was fuller than it is now. A place to be quiet, to breathe. To watch the moonrise, as they're doing now, and drink in quiet companionship, their knees touching because they both tend to sprawl, and they've never, ever minded each other's warmth. Even when they were pissed at each other, or when it hurt.

Dean holds his beer in both hands, leaning his head back against the stone wall. Sam's quiet at his side. A three-quarter moon, so it's bright enough to lay white-silver on the planes of Sam's face. His nose, a gleam of that goofy ski-slope swoop. His brow. A light shine on his hair, and brighter on the silver that's started to come out in it. Dean's always been a little entertained by that—Sam's four years and a handful of months younger than him, and it's Sam who's been going grey faster—but he never said anything about it because—well, it's just something, that's all. Sammy, with grey hair. He's so damn lucky to see it he can't really pull Sam's pigtails about it.

Everything else, though: fair game.

"Never have I ever?" Dean says, after who knows how long sitting in silence. They're on their second beers, anyway.

Sam huffs. "You're kidding," he says. He tips his head on his shoulder, looking sidelong at Dean in the dark. "Anyway, wouldn't you just get… trashed, at that game? You've done everything, right?"

"Very much underselling your weird kinky shit, brother mine," Dean says. Sam's eyebrows jump and Dean's stomach rushes hot, in a way he didn't expect, even if he's been halfway thinking, all day, about how they were going to get here. "Try this: never have I ever… ate out a chick during shark week."

Sam half-scoffs, weak. Dean raises his eyebrows back, and Sam says, "Seriously?"

Dean spreads a hand, expansive, and Sam says, quiet, "This is so stupid," but then, because Dean knows his brother very well indeed, Sam takes a drink, and Dean says "Ha!" out loud and shoves Sam's shoulder, and then says, after a second's thinking, "Dude, seriously?"

"It's just blood," he says, and it's not exactly defensive but there's a shard of it buried somewhere in there. Dean laughs, half-surprised and half-not. "Not like we don't deal with it every day. You should broaden your horizons."

"Oh, my horizons are plenty broad," Dean says. It's bubbling in his chest, now, ready to come out. This is stupid—"This is stupid," Sam says, out loud—and teenage, and dumb, but he feels… "Come on, your turn," he says, and Sam lets out this long exasperated sigh, but even in the moonlight Dean can see that he's smiling, and Sam says: "Okay, fine: never have I ever had a threesome."

Dean sits up straighter. "What, seriously?" he says, derailed, and Sam shrugs, and of course Dean has to take a drink because Sam knows that Dean—and then it's on, really.

Dancing on the edge. The things they know about each other, the things they might could guess. Dean kills his last beer on never have I ever had sex in a movie theater, and he tells Sam after that that he needs to live more, and Sam smiles at him kind of bitchy and then says, "Hang on, stay here," and Sam gets up and half-jogs away, disappears down the recessed hidden driveway that leads to the garage, and Dean sets his bottle down among the empties and rubs his palms over his thighs, letting the warm denim scratch him up, taking a deep breath. It feels too big to say. Even if he's sure. It's too big to even be true, if it's…

Sam comes back, quick, like he ran the whole way. He has two more beers and the bottle of bourbon they bought today tucked under his arm. "Okay, sucker," he says, handing Dean an open bottle and plumping back down on the bench. Their thighs are solid together. He clinks his bottle with Dean, setting the bourbon down at their feet. "Never have I ever…" He licks his lips, shine in the dark. "Slept with a demon."

Dean blinks. He takes a breath. "I don’t think that's how you're supposed to play," he says, and Sam bites his lips between his teeth and shrugs. Maybe he's a little tipsier than he seems, even if they're only three beers down. Sam takes a drink, quick, but his eyes are focused on Dean's face, the moon a little behind his shoulder, and Dean bites the inside of his cheek but drinks, too, and Sam lets out this quick short breath that—Dean doesn't know, what that means. He feels caught at something.

"Did you—" Sam starts, and cuts off. Quiet, for a second. Dean's cheeks feel hot. "I didn't mean… I meant on Earth, not in…" Awkward. The air goes out of Dean, realizing that Sam's trying to give him an out.

"Me too," he says, voice weird in this way he could be embarrassed by but—he isn't, and Sam's face turns away, and even with full moonlight Dean can't tell what that expression is.

He puts his beer down. "Never have I ever slept with a vampire," he says.

Sam's chin ducks down. Dean licks his lips and folds his hands between his knees. Sam puts his beer down, too, and braces on the edge of bench. There's barely enough room between them for his hand to fit; his knuckle presses against Dean's thigh and Dean licks his lips.

"Never have I…" Sam shakes his head, huffs. He looks up, out at the empty farmland spilling out from the back of the plant. His eyes shine, open, though Dean doesn't know what he's looking at. "I've never slept with a guy. On Earth, I haven't."

Dean bites the wet off his bottom lip, dragging, and then ducks down and gets the bourbon instead. Twist of the cap and a glug goes down—christ, hot. He coughs. "I hate the cask strength shit," he says, and Sam says, "Wuss," thin, and Dean could bicker back but it's here. Here. All this stuff he didn't know Sam was thinking about—things Dean kept secret, and things he didn't—and he didn't mean to dredge it all up at once but maybe it's better. Like this, in the dark. The night warm, smelling like grass and the weeds growing up among the fallow field, and Sam's knuckles still pressed up right there, where if Dean put his hand down he'd cover them.

"Do you remember that time in, uh," Dean starts. Swerving around the mountain, the long way through the dark. Sam's head turns towards his, a little. "Montana, I guess it was. Somewhere. You were… seventeen. That July. You got so wasted."

"Whose fault was that?" Sam says. Dean grins, makes sure it's wide and wicked, and Sam glances up at him and huffs again, more of a laugh this time than whatever the last one was. "That was when we invented beer bowling."

"Yeah, and you sucked," Dean says, and Sam shakes his head and leans back against the plant wall, tipping his head back to look at the stars. They did play, ten-pin with glass shattering because the only ball they had was a half-rounded rock. Then they sat out with Sam tipsy and Dean getting that way himself, only twenty-one and not quite as sure of what he was doing as he is now, and they just… talked. He can't even remember about what. They just sat and they were together and it was about the happiest Dean was that whole year. Like if he could just have that, forever, things would be okay. That was… god, twenty years ago.

"One more round," Dean says, now. Sam's eyes close. Dean leans the bottle on Sam's thigh so he can feel it. "Never have I ever kissed you."

Sam's eyes pop wide when Dean picks up the bottle, and takes a drink. He sits up straighter. Dean lets the burn of the swallow go all the way to his stomach, a bonfire there, and watches Sam's face as the thoughts flicker across it, limned in moonlight. Sam opens his mouth, and closes it, and he's not mad just like Dean knew he wouldn't be mad but it's still enough of a relief that Dean tips the bottle his way, says, "Technically, you did too, so—"

Sam takes it out of his hand but doesn't drink. "No, we didn't. When?"

Dean wipes his mouth, dragging his hand over his chin, and down. Sam's watching him. "After the second trial," he says, finally. Sam frowns. "Your fever was pretty bad. You kept talking about…" He shakes his head. All sorts of things Dean doesn't like remembering. About worth, and right, and being clean. Nonsense, as far as Dean was concerned, though he didn't know how to say it that way, then. With how it was. Instead he leans back against the wall and says, because it's true, and he can say it now: "I just wanted to… I guess, to prove something. How I didn't think of what you were saying the same way you did. How I didn't believe all that crap you were saying about yourself. It was bad and I didn't want you to believe it, either, and I didn't really know how else to… You didn't remember, though, so I guess it didn't do the trick. To be honest, thought I was a better kisser."

Sam doesn't smile. It was a pretty weak attempt. He stares at Dean, and Dean lifts a shoulder.

How it was, then. In the hotel, where Metatron was staying. When he found Sam on the floor and about had a heart attack. Sam's skin burning and ice-cold by turns. His body this huge out of control thing, being taken over by something Dean didn't understand. He woke up while Dean was trying to drag him to the bath, but he wasn't really conscious, hardly making sense. Babbling, half-frantic, trying to make Dean understand—how it was okay, how it was fine if he burned, if somehow the trials scoured the marrow out of his bones, because it was just right after all he'd done and all he hadn't, and it was a use for him, when he hadn't been worth anything in so long. Dean had told him no, over and over, and no again, and he'd slapped Sam at some point to get him to shut up, to try to shock him out of the awful monologue, but Sam didn't even register it, clinging to Dean's shirt while the tub filled, the sack of ice Dean had brought bobbing to the surface. It can mean something, Sam had said, nodding, tears in his eyes, trying to smile, and Dean wanted to throw a chair through the window but he grabbed Sam's face instead and he said it does and Sam shook his head, confused, and Dean leaned in against him, ready to cry too, and instead he…

"I thought," Sam starts, and immediately stops. His hands twist around the bourbon bottle. "I dreamed that."

Dean thinks of a joke to make, something about Snow White, but he keeps his mouth shut. He remembers it, clearly. Sam's mouth, hot and dry against his own. His hands clenched in Dean's shirt, and on the side of his neck. Weak and strong at once. If Sam dreamed it, what does he remember?

Sam looks down at the bottle for almost a minute, Dean counting it away with beats of his heart. A breeze picks up, light and warm. A cricket, somewhere, chirping and then going quiet. It could feel bad but it doesn't. It could be terrifying, but it's just—Sam, and him. Like always. Like it will be, always. He knows that, now. No matter what.

Sam smiles, eventually, for no reason Dean can tell. He wipes his thumb over the rim of the bottle and then takes a drink, two long swallows that are loud as they go down, and then he takes the bottle away from his mouth and puts his hand on Dean's jaw and leans in and kisses him. Brief, hot. Not dry. His mouth tastes like bourbon. It tastes just like Dean's.

Sam leans back. Dean takes a deep breath. Sam looks at him, very close, and Dean puts his hand on the side of Sam's neck, his fingers sliding into Sam's hair, and Sam's lips quirk and he nods and Dean leans in and kisses him, again, slower, pressing in soft with his lip plush against Sam's, tipping to make it good, and his jaw's cupped in both big mitts and Sam opens for him and it's…

He pulls away eventually. He must have been breathing, during, but he hardly sees how. Sam kisses the corner of his mouth, weirdly sweet, and his hands drag down to Dean's chest before he pushes back, blinking. "You better remember that one," Dean says, and Sam smiles briefly, but shakes his head, not letting them off the hook.

"I didn't…" What goes there? Dean could guess but he doesn't want to. Sam's thoughtful now, but his hand's on Dean's forearm, because Dean's hand is—oh, still locked there on the side of Sam's neck, holding on. Sam's still, doesn't seem to mind, and Dean lets his thumb brush over Sam's stubble. Familiar. The world new, and not-new.

Sam squeezes his arm. "Did you start the stupid game just to say that line?" Dean shrugs. Sam rolls his eyes, and detaches Dean's hand from his neck, and stands, but pulls Dean up at the same time, and this time when he kisses Dean it's—full, real, Sam holding him close and Dean lifting his face up for it and Sam getting an arm around his shoulders and Dean pressing his mouth open, just a little, licking Sam's top lip and getting a slow, deep inhale where Sam's close enough that he can feel it.

"Sammy," Dean says, and maybe there's more to say. More that should be said, if this is what—but Sam shakes his head, and says, "Come on," and scoops up the bourbon and his empty beers, and so Dean scoops his up, too, and follows Sam around the plant and down the stairs to the bunker and to the kitchen, where they drop the bottles in a rattle of glass into the recycle bin Sam insisted they get, and then Sam looks at him in the light, his hair a little rucked-up at the back from where Dean was messing with it and his mouth a little pink and his expression just… considering, open, honest, and Dean looks back, not trying to hide a thing. How can he? It's Sam.

In the morning, Dean wakes up slow, alone in his room. He has a shower, taking his time, and wraps up in his robe, and comes into the kitchen to find coffee made but no breakfast, and he pours a cup and thinks about eggs, or maybe waffles if he wants to wrestle that ancient cast-iron waffle pan down from the top of the shelf, and he's thinking mainly about the food but he's also thinking, of course, about Sam, and it's only about five minutes of him standing there with his hip against the kitchen island before the door creaks, distant, and then—Sam, in the doorway, shining with sweat.

Dean's stomach flips, very slightly. It's just Sam, soaked and gross after a run. It's every morning, like the last, except, of course—

Sam hesitates for just a second. His mouth turns up at one corner, a little rueful, and then he comes in and grabs his metal bottle from the fridge, and gulps water. Dean turns to watch him, coffee warm in both hands, and when Sam's done he leans against the fridge, breathing deep, and then says, "I don't know, it feels like it should be weirder," like he's continuing a conversation they were in the middle of without interruption.

"Nothing weird about being hot for my bod," Dean says, calm, and Sam snorts. He looks at Dean sidelong, and then turns and really looks at him. Looks, from Dean's mouth to his slippered feet, and it's not much of a view in the robe but Dean spreads his arms out, anyway, and Sam bites his bottom lip, half-smiling. Dean sets his coffee on the island, runs his thumb along the lipstick-red rim. "You know," he says. "It doesn't ever have to be more than this. Just… how we've got it. It's good, now."

"It is," Sam says, easy. He twists the cap back on to his bottle, sets it on the counter, and folds his arms over his chest, and he's still just looking but Dean feels, now, the difference in it. It's just Sam but it's also… maybe a new part, a Sam that Dean didn't really get before, and the consideration there, the curiosity, the attention, it's… He tilts his head back, looks at Sam right back. Sam smiles.

Last night they did nothing more than kiss. Dean stepped close in the kitchen and tipped his head up and Sam met him, one more time, and it was soft and a little strange and a little new, but it felt right, in a way that's been full in Dean's chest, from the first moment of Sam's hand on his face to—well, it hasn't gone away.

"I was thinking I'd make waffles," Dean says, still buoyed in it. "You want one or two?"

"Two," Sam says, and Dean nods, and Sam gets the pan down—showing off, tall bastard—and then goes off to shower, and Dean mixes up the batter and butters the pan and pours in the mix and watches for when the steam stops, eyes on the cast iron but his thoughts around the corner of two hallways and down a few doors, and when he's got four waffles stacked on two plates and he's wondering if he's gonna need to send in a rescue team, Sam comes back into the kitchen with wet hair and says, "I'm going to run a marathon," and Dean blinks at him, entirely derailed, and says, "What?"

A marathon. Apparently Sam's been thinking about it for a while. His runs, he says, in the morning, are usually five miles, but he's been running a little longer each time, and he's at seven now without much worrying about the extra distance. He wants to go the whole way. See if he can do it, he says.

Dean's busy smearing as much butter as he can feasibly fit into the squares of his waffle, but he gives Sam a look. "If I can, he says," Dean mutters, and maybe it's against usual policy to give Sam full credit but it gets a surprised blink and then Sam looking down at his own syrup-free plate with a soft curve to his mouth, so—worth it. Dean cuts a four-square bite and pauses, watching the melty puddles form on the plate. "So, what. Are you going to enter one of those city things? Am I gonna have to drive along the route with Gatorade and applaud from the sidelines? Are you dressing up as a moose for charity?"

Sam shakes his head. "I can donate to charity on my own time," he says, although to be honest Dean's now taken with the moose idea. Sam sees him thinking about it and rolls his eyes. "No. But—I can figure out a route with my phone. Just around here. Anyway, it can't hurt, for the job."

"Yeah, I'll let you chase down the next werewolf," Dean says, shaking his head. Marathons. His brother.

They finish eating about the same time. Sam sips at his coffee while Dean sucks maple from his thumb. "You want to find a job," Dean says, while Sam's piling their forks and plates together, "or do you want to go for another jog? Gotta get up to twenty-six miles somehow."

"Twenty-six point two," Sam says, standing up with the dishes in hand, and then he leans over and brushes Dean's thumb away from his mouth and kisses him, again, and Dean grips the edge of the table and Sam's shoulder, his mouth pushed open on Sam's tongue, sliding in easy like he's got the run of the place and doesn't expect an ounce of resistance. Fair enough. Dean tips his head back and tastes Sam, syrup-and-coffee, and when Sam pulls back his eyes are half-closed and he licks his lips, and his eyes drop to Dean's mouth.

"Weird?" Dean says.

"Should be," Sam says, quieter, but he stands up, and lets his thumb drag over Dean's jaw before he steps away, to the sink, and he doesn't say anything more when he puts the dishes in and stands there with hands braced on the edge for—ten seconds, twenty, thirty—before he turns the water on.

Dean could say something but there's nothing to say. It's weird. It's not. That it's not is weirder. He gets up, refreshes his coffee with the hot from the pot, says, "I'll look for a job," and goes to the library, and lets Sam think, with his hands in soapy water, and quiet to do it in.

There are odd stories—news of the weird never fails to deliver—but nothing so pressing as to drag them across the country on an urgent mission. Dean doesn't feel the need to fake anything, either, to yank out of the bunker on a long drive of not talking through the night and too-loud music and burying their thoughts into means/motive/monstrous opportunity. He sends some links to Sam's email and goes and finds clothes instead, finally, and figures—well, today's a day off. He changes the Impala's oil, washes her. Goes through the trunk, sitting on a stool dragged over from the garage's weird little office, and makes notes of what they're out of, what needs replaced. More salt. More holy oil. Or—not more holy oil, since they haven't seen hide or nor hair of angel or demon in weeks and weeks and maybe never again, and he sits, then, with the empty flask turning over and over in his hands, looking into the trunk, thinking about—how the world is, now. How there's downtime. How, incredibly, there are marathons to run.

In the library, later, Sam's reading on his laptop. "That thing in Pierre might be something," he says, without preamble, and Dean nods—it could be—but then Sam says, "I sent it to Jody, to see if she and the girls want to take a look."

Dean sets the empty flask on the table. Sam's eyes barely flick to it. "What are we gonna do, then?" he says, and Sam sits back in his chair, laptop lid half-closed. He half-smiles, looking down at nothing, and then he looks up at Dean again.

They sleep together that night. Nothing complicated. Dean's room, and the lamps all off but the one over on the table by the door, so Sam's half-haloed in amber light this time, instead of the white moon. Dean's shirt comes off but Sam's stays on, and they're still in their socks, and Sam leans over Dean on one elbow, touching his chest, curious. It's not romantic, or urgent, but Dean keeps smiling, and Sam finally catches him at it and whispers, "Shut up," and kisses him when he opens his mouth to protest that he wasn't saying anything. While they're necking Dean gets Sam's jeans open, and slides his hand inside, and Sam bites his lip but he's half-hard, and gets harder while Dean learns the shape of him. Sam rocks a warm palm over where Dean's swelling up and Dean rips at his own belt, unzips, and then rolls them over so Sam's on his back, and Sam grips his hips, looking up, his hair loose on the pillow and his face just…

After, Dean wipes his hand on Sam's shirt. "Dick," Sam says, and Dean says, "Hey, it was already a disaster, I just added to the general—" and Sam rolls his eyes and nudges Dean off, and pulls the shirt over his head, tugging it off careful from the back. Dean rolls onto his side, looking. Sam's shoulders, and his back. Muscle and, miraculously, no scars. His skin that same all-over bronze, like he's immune somehow to farmer tan. Sam tosses the shirt in the same vague direction that Dean's went and then looks over his shoulder, finds Dean looking. Half-smiles. He lays back, his head on the pillow, and tucks a hand underneath it, looking up at the ceiling. Dean just keeps looking at Sam.

"It should be weird," Sam says, after a second.

"It's a little weird," Dean says. Sam snorts, one corner of his mouth turning up. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

Sam's head tips, on the pillow. He looks into Dean's eyes, then at his lips. He reaches over and presses his thumb against Dean's bottom lip, and Dean lets Sam dent it, pulling, and then he flicks his tongue against Sam's skin. Faint salt, faint bitter. Sam drags his thumb down, wet trail over Dean's chin, and then settles his hand on Dean's chest.

This. This is weird. Sam looking at him, quiet. Sweat's still drying in the middle of Dean's back and he has the sense of what it feels like to have his brother's hand on his dick full in his head. The body part, though, that—matters, of course it matters, but it feels secondary to Sam just... fully present. That they're both in the same weird, weird boat, and that it could go on like this forever, and it wouldn't change a thing.

"I don't want to wonder about it anymore," Dean says. He gets his hand on Sam's wrist, squeezes. "There's—I don't know, man. There's a bunch of crap we should probably be talking about, freaking about. But it's…"

"Beside the point?" Sam offers, and Dean nods. That's it. Sam nods, too, and closes his eyes, and maybe that makes it easier.

Dean closes his, too, and it's just the amber-colored haze of dark, and the kinda-too-warm of the bed, and his hand sticky and needing to be washed, and vaguely wanting a shower. And he's an adult, and he's fucked before, and so it's also that one article about that disappearance in Winston-Salem that he's been half-thinking about all day, wondering if there's more—and then remembering that they're out of milk—and then, when Sam's thumb drags over his pec, under his nipple, the vague jolt of: Sam, and maybe that should be all that fills his head but Sam suffuses every other thought. Dean can't make any more room in himself than he already has.

"Did that woman in North Carolina disappear at night?" Sam says, after another minute.

Dean's eyes fly open. "Shit," he says, to Sam's frown, and they sit up at the same time, and then—it's them, and the job, and nothing's really, in the end, that different.

Sam keeps running. He tracks his step count with an app, figures out mile by mile how far he can push it, how fast he can go. Dean goes into Lebanon by himself one day, hitting the post office and the market and just getting some air, and then he rolls to a stop at the single stop sign and checks his odometer, and then drives—a square, basically, twenty-six miles around the farm-fields both worked and fallow, and he imagines what it would be like to run the whole way. He's run for his life, and he's run for the lives of others, but just to do it for himself—no. He gets Sam, most every way, but this one is gonna stay a mystery, he thinks.

"What took so long?" Sam says, when he gets home.

The milk's still mostly-cold. "Estelle wouldn't stop hitting on me, man," Dean says, hauling in his half of the load, and Sam rolls his eyes, and Dean slots the barely-frozen pizza into the freezer and stocks the eggs into their holder and then, when Sam's done putting the cans onto their spot on the shelf, tugs at Sam's belt-loop and gets Sam surprised and then leans up and kisses him, pressing him against the dry goods, and Sam kisses back good and pleased and open and then, when Dean sets back down on his heels, touches the back of Dean's ear and murmurs, soft, "If I knew angry old ladies got you hot I would have tried something different, last night," and gets Dean laughing, unexpected, tucked into the corner of their kitchen.

They've been slow with each other. Dean has more experience but he didn't realize how much more. Sam's not uncertain, not nervous—incredible, how not-nervous Sam is, and Dean got finger-shaped bruises on his triceps one day when Sam just held him down and kissed and kissed and kissed him, body-confident and knowing, smiling pleased and half-smug when he pulled back and Dean was nearly dazed with wanting him. Little shit. Still: Sam's not a virgin, not by half, but he was being honest when he said he'd never screwed a guy—on Earth, that is, and Dean knows exactly what he meant by that qualification, and it was a very very brief conversation afterward ("It doesn't count," Sam had said, firm and honest there too, and Dean had nodded because, after everything, he trusts Sam to be honest), and they left it at that.

It's Sam who brings up more. Dean's content to follow. It's Sam who gets Dean's jeans open one night, petting at the base of his dick and sliding down to cup his balls, long fingers and big broad palm, and it's good but it's Sam who hmms, and then says, "Mind if I—" and crawls backwards down the bed—Sam's bed, the mattress tipping with Sam's weight—and Sam who bolsters Dean's dick up out of the split of his fly and breathes there, eyes flicking up the length of Dean's body where he's propped on his elbows, briefly dazed. "Go ahead," Dean says, voice coming from somewhere approximately at the center of the earth, and Sam snorts, and fists Dean capably from root to tip, and then leans in and licks, flat and deliberate up the spine of it, a wet warmth that shocks in Dean's thighs and between his shoulders and sparking in his hands, making him fist into the blanket. Sam's eyes are closed, like he's concentrating. Dean tips his knee out wide and touches Sam's cheek, and Sam's mouth tips up at the corners, and he shifts forward and takes the head in his mouth and—oh, that. He doesn't quite know how to get his mouth around it at first but he figures it out quick, and he sucks the tip and licks under the crown and fists the rest and when Dean's close, clenching, Dean says, "Come up here," and Sam opens his eyes after who knows how long and they're black, practically, and he crawls up over Dean's body still jerking and Dean kisses him, licks the taste of himself out, and Sam breathes hot into his mouth and groans when Dean comes, looking down at the spill over his fist, and he says, "Fuck, that's good," rough and true. Dean pants through it for a few selfish seconds before he squirms down to return the favor, and Sam's mostly-hard just from sucking Dean, and he's weirdly a gentleman when Dean goes down on him, hands off and careful until Dean lifts off, gulping, and says, "Like you mean it, dude," and Sam laughs and then grips him and that's how they learn that Sam likes dick just fine, in fact, and that Dean likes even more how much Sam likes it.

Sam runs farther. Dean paces him, one day, when they fell asleep in the same bed and mostly managed to sleep through the night together, except for some moment around three a.m. when Sam kicked too hard and Dean threatened blurrily to murder him or dump him out of the bed, one or the other—and way too early after that, Sam nudged him awake, lacing up his running shoes, said, "Come on," and Dean groaned and pulled the pillow over his head and then, well, he came on.

Seven in the morning, autumn settling over the farms. Cold enough that Sam's breath fogs and Dean rubs his hands together, sitting in the idling car with the window down while Sam stretches his hamstrings. "You look ridiculous," Dean says, just to say something. Sam ignores him, of course. "How far are we going?" he says, instead, and Sam says, "Thirteen," and Dean checks the odometer and says, "Okay, Speedy Gonzalez, you just say—" and Sam says, "Go," and takes off, and Dean rolls his eyes and lets off the brake, and the Impala rolls forward, chasing Sam down the farm road, the sun glinting behind them so the whole damp stretch of gravel sparks silver. Nine miles per hour is the pace Sam asked for and Dean keeps it going, on the far side of the road while Sam lopes along on the left shoulder, and it's boring but not as boring as he thought it would be. He keeps an eye on the speedometer, makes the turns just behind Sam as the roads weave around the cornfields, the soy beans, the farm that's just gone to dead-dry grass that waves in undulating strange patterns in the morning breeze. He goes through Zepp one side one, side two, switches to AC/DC and cranks it during Big Balls so loud that a bird startles up out of the bushes by the road, and Sam laughs, coughs, keeps running. His pace doesn't slow, not by a step.

Sam stops, finally. An hour and a half, and Dean has to piss. He parks, turns off the car, while Sam breathes hard with his hands on his knees. "How was that?" Dean says, and Sam shakes his head, still panting, and Dean can't wait any longer and goes over to the other side of the fence post and communes with the morning.

"Dude," Sam says, vaguely accusatory, but Dean only shrugs, and zips up when he's done. When he turns back around Sam's leaning on the car, sweat slicking his hair back behind his ears, and Dean raises his eyebrows and Sam shrugs. "That was good," he admits, finally. He's drinking the water bottle Dean's had sitting in the passenger seat the whole time. "Too fast to go the full twenty-six, but—yeah. Good."

He looks—content, again. Not smug, not even really glad. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows, leans back against the car. Looks out over the little pond, the trees around it. Dean smiles, while Sam isn't looking, and then says, "Well, I left my gold medals at home, but if you want you can run back and get it—" and Sam rolls his eyes, and gets into the passenger side, and Dean gets to fake-bitch then about Sam's stinky sweaty ass on the vinyl, and it's a good morning, like they all are, anymore.

On the way home from a hunt—Ajo, Arizona, and vampires, in what Dean insists is the most ironic job they've ever been on—Sam has Dean stop at a drugstore. Two in the afternoon. Dean heads for the booze aisle and gets a six pack, and swings through the specialty candy and gets some pre-Christmas stocking filler, and then he walks around the aisles looking for Sam, and finds him in—

"Condoms?" he says. Sam glances up at him, holding a box, unfazed. Dean feels the black orb eye of the security camera on the back of his neck and feels—surreal. He tips his head. "I mean, not to go all sex-ed, but it's a little late, don't you think?"

Sam snorts. In lieu of responding he turns the box around in his hand and—not condoms. Astroglide. Dean licks the corner of his mouth and watches an old lady go by with her little cart on the far end of the aisle. "Yeah?" he says, and Sam lifts a shoulder, says, "You have a preference?"

Long time since Dean's had to think about it. He hitches the six-pack onto his other hip and comes and stands next to Sam, looking at the options. Fire & ice, spermicidal. Water-based. Sam's radiating heat, enough to feel six inches away, and Dean thinks about Sam thinking about this: driving through the cold desert, both of them tired after a night of chasing down the vamps, planning to crash in Amarillo. A motel, in Amarillo. He feels boring, normal. Shopping, with a bag of red-and-green Kisses in hand, and the wall of intensely pink pads and tampons looming at his back, and his—brother, waiting, while Dean reaches for the silicone-based KY he used to buy, when he used to have to buy it. The packaging's different but he's guessing the product's the same. He puts it in Sam's hand and Sam looks at it with his cheek sucked in on one side, and then Dean says, "You want something with, I don’t know, electrolytes?" and Sam says, "Yeah," and so Dean goes back to the wall of coolers and pulls out two Powerades, and Sam meets him at the cashier with rolled bandages and aspirin to replace what they used up out of the kit during this hunt, and the woman at the counter glances at their faces as she's ringing them up and Dean says, smiling, "Can I get a two-pack of lighters, too, miss?" and she's like seventy if she's a day but the charm offensive still works, and she's over-the-top as she hands them their receipt and tells them to be well, and Sam's giving him a sidelong look as they take the bags out to the car but, shit, Dean's had enough people giving him looks in his life, and Sam gets to but just about no one else does, now.

A motel, in Amarillo. Raining in west Texas like it never does. They get tacos and margaritas at a hole in the wall and it's still early, when they get back to the room, and Sam checks the stitches on Dean's shoulder—still holding—and Sam takes two aspirins to help with all the bruising on his side, and then Dean eats a Kiss from the mess of the Walgreens bag, and then he tosses the box holding the lube onto the closer bed, and he says, "So," and Sam shrugs, and says, again, "You have a preference?"

Shadow of a smile on his face. Dean gives him a look and Sam raises his eyebrows, all innocence, and Dean says, "You're a dumbass," and goes over and pulls Sam in by that godawful orange jacket and kisses him, and then he goes into the bathroom.

He takes his time. Showers, cleaning up. Leans his forearm against the wall and leans his head against his forearm and pushes his fingers inside, on the thin glide of the little complimentary bottle of conditioner, reminding his body that this is—yeah. This is good. He comes out with a towel loose around his waist and finds Sam mostly-stripped, leaning back on the bed with the TV on mute and his hand in his boxers. Dean glances at the screen—ESPN, showing basketball highlights—and says, "Jeez, you got a kink you haven't told me?" while Sam snaps the TV off, and Sam says, flushed, "Not my fault you took forever," and Dean says, frank, "Figured you wouldn't want any Mr. Hanky guest appearances on our first trip on the backroads, but if you'd rather—" and Sam says, "Jesus, Dean," and Dean grins like an asshole, and Sam rolls his eyes, and—

Sam's screwed women like this before, turns out, and knows to go slow. Dean's on his back, his one leg caught over Sam's arm and the other curled around Sam's hip, and he's not sure slow is slow enough. "Fuck," he says, grinding his head back against the pillow, and Sam kisses his jaw, murmurs, "Sorry," and Dean grips his shoulders and says, through a groan, "No, you're not," and Sam smiles against his skin. Dean knew it. Little shit.

Sam lifts up on one elbow, touches Dean's cheek. He drags his hips back, pushes in. Dean breathes shakily out and Sam's expression changes. "Is it—" he says, but thankfully doesn't ask the stupid question. He leans in, tilting Dean's hips to a new angle, and pushes again, and Dean drags a hand down Sam's chest, and Sam's watching his face, he knows, watching everything, learning him, figuring out what he likes, like he has with every new thing they've tried—probably cataloguing it on some insane chart, like he's been doing with the running—but just now, Dean doesn't care. He didn't realize how much he liked this, or how much he could. "God," he says, gripping Sam's hip, "go—" and Sam, thank christ, for once does what he's told.

Sam sucks him, to finish him off. When Dean's spent, Sam spits to the side, and then slides back up, kissing Dean's nipple and then the sweaty angle of his collarbone and his jaw and his cheekbone and the very end of his eyebrow, for some reason. "Freak," Dean sighs, content, and Sam cups his other cheek and says, "Back at you," quiet, and Dean tips his head in towards Sam's and breathes with him. Sam's mouth tastes like dick and it's a combo Dean is extremely fond of, but that's not, anymore, anything new. He reaches down and holds Sam's dick—still slick, because this is indeed the good lube—and half-hard, and sensitive apparently after doing its work, from how Sam hisses, and squeezes his forearm. Dean says, "If anyone gets to complain," and Sam lifts up then, and watches Dean's face while he slides a hand back between Dean's thighs, and presses gently. Dean bites the inside of his lip but lets Sam try it, and after a second Sam—slides a finger inside, where he's busted Dean open, and Dean lets his knee fall wide with the slick sting, and wonders. How much he could take, if Sam asked.

In the morning, Sam goes for a run. Dean stays very firmly in bed. "How'd it go, Romeo?" Dean says, drowsy in bed when Sam finally gets back, and Sam says, "You know that makes you Juliet?" but then, while Dean's frowning and trying to dredge up a comeback, he says, "Sixteen miles, mostly eight miles an hour, and I brought back coffee," and Dean lifts up enough to see the carrier on the table, steaming, and says, "You're forgiven for the Juliet thing."

He has Sam drive. He's feeling—hard to pinpoint, how he's feeling. Still cloudy, over Texas and then over Oklahoma, and Sam's driving a regular level of fast so they're going to get home around maybe dinnertime. He's thinking about steak—they could stop at that butcher in Smith Center—when Sam says, "Hey, let me ask," and Dean grunts, and Sam says, "What's it like?"

No guessing what he means. Dean says, "I mean, my ass is sore," and Sam rolls his eyes, and he's not being a dick about it or anything, and Dean thinks about how to answer. What's it like.

What came before doesn't matter, so much. They already talked about how only Earth counts, and that's true for a bunch of reasons, but on a physical level there's just no comparison. Even on Earth, though, this was different. What came before was mostly something Dean was okay with, either because he wanted it or because he needed it or because he had a job to do, and he's not someone who dwells on shit that could be different, and he doesn't really wish any of that was different. No point in it, and it doesn't bug him. It was always better, though, when he liked the person, and he got that sometimes, and when he got that it was… good, but. Maybe what he and Sam have isn't romance, isn't some big sweeping thing like from a movie—if Sam tried to sweep him off his feet, or vice versa, they'd probably just bicker and then fall over—but. But. What was it like?

He's been quiet too long. "It feels good," he says, honest. Lame, and Sam knows it, from how he glances across the seat. Random section of I-35, while Sam passes a semi. Dean watches the approaching road rather than look at Sam. "I don't know, man. Hard to describe. When you're with someone and you're figuring out what works, what makes the fireworks, that's the same from either side. But it's…"

Quiet, again. In the corner of his eye he can tell Sam looks at him, and he shifts his weight. His ass does hurt. Sam's got absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, in the jockstrap department. That he can get used to; the weird feeling under his breastbone, this thing he's been carrying all morning, that's going to take a little longer, maybe.

"Jessica used to say she felt like she was taking care of me." Said—casual. Dean stares across the bench seat, can't help it, but Sam's just looking out at the road. One hand at ten, the other at about five thirty, his hair tucked behind his ear. His jaw clenching and then unclenching. "I don't know. I didn't get it—felt the other way around, to me—but I always… wondered, I guess."

Taking care? Maybe that's it. Dean finds he's holding his hand over the weird feeling in his chest and shakes his head. Last night: Sam's head bent next to his, Sam's chest against his, his back drenching sweat against the bed, his body loose-open finally to Sam's dick after so long of the punishing stretch. Sam's hips grinding in against his hard and low, and his arms around Sam's shoulders, and his eyes closed and just—taking, feeling the slick parted jolt and feeling Sam quicken and feeling, deep, in this jolted raw way, how Sam was getting close and Sam was winding tight and how Sam was coming, how he hitched and crushed in and breathed strange and didn't make any other sound but held Dean still and close and tight while he unloaded. With other men Dean was tired or sore or impatient, wanting his turn. Last night, he held Sam's shoulders and felt Sam's face duck in to his throat, and Sam's lips pressing there, and he put his fingers in Sam's hair and twined his leg around Sam's and wanted it to go on and on. Perfect.

"Guess you'll have to try it and find out," Dean says, after way too long.

Sam glances at him again, and pulls into the right lane, and settles in for the long drive. "Guess I will," he says, and he's watching the road, and so maybe doesn't notice the deep breath Dean takes, and lets out slow.

It turns out a marathon is not, in fact, twenty-six point two miles. "Technically," Sam says, while Dean's on his back under the Impala, "it's 26.21875 miles."

Dean rolls out on the bench to give that the incredulous look it deserves. On the stool, Sam shrugs. "Why," Dean says, "on earth, ever, would anyone care."

"It's the rules set by the competition," Sam says, and Dean rolls his eyes and slides back under the car. "It's just the length. Same reason a football field's a hundred yards."

"Isn't it the length of the run that Greek dude did?" Dean says, later, chopping up potatoes for salad. Sam looks surprised, but not as annoyingly surprised as he's looked other times. "Did the length of that change, somehow?"

"Dean," Sam says, patient, "I hate to say it, but I am not in charge of the rules committee for marathons. I'm sorry to disappoint."

During dinner Sam's doing math. 26.21875 isn't that much longer than 26.2. In March he did twenty-five miles in three hours and fifty-five minutes, looping back from the pond and then running way out to town and back again, and he's nearly there. "What's the difference between 385 and 352," he mutters, and Dean doesn't bother even attempting to work it out in his head before Sam says, "Thirty-three yards."

"Doesn't seem worth making a whole-ass rule about," Dean says, but Sam's just ignoring him at this point, probably looking at his dumb running spreadsheet, and that's fine. Thirty-three yards, Dean thinks.

There are weird old surveyor tools in one of the archive rooms. One morning when Sam's back from his run, soaking off the ache in the shower, Dean figures out how the hell to use the damn wheely thing, and he walks it off. He drags his boot in the dirt, right in front of the stairs down to the entrance, and then walks it out: ninety-nine feet, up the driveway, out to the gravel road. Almost exactly the length to the gate. Dean smiles, and walks back from the gate, and then marks ninety-nine feet precisely, with his boot and then with three stones, so he'll know.

Sam's planning for May 1. Dean doesn't ask why; he figures he can guess. They find a job, April 21, and it's a family of ghouls that's gross and shitty and time-consuming to put down, but they manage it on the seventh day, at least, so they don't overshoot the deadline. Sam sleeps in the passenger seat while Dean drives straight through all the way back from Pensacola. When they get back to the bunker it's two in the morning and Dean has to shake him awake, and he blinks in the barely-moonlight, and Dean has to say, "Up and at 'em, Sasquatch," for Sam to rouse, and Sam follows him down the stairs and into the bunker and through the dark halls and then, quiet, straight into Dean's bed, barely kicking off his boots and shrugging off his jacket before he curls over the pillow, sighing into the mattress. Dean stands at the foot of the bed, looking at him. Then he goes upstairs, and does the thing he's been thinking of doing for weeks, and when he finally gets back to bed he strips down to a t-shirt and boxers and slides in right up against Sam's back, and Sam doesn't wake up but he does make this tiny sound in his chest, when Dean's arm goes around him, and Dean sleeps, finally, like the dead.

Thursday's a slow day. Sam's not running again, apparently, until Saturday—he ran pretty flat-out a few times during the hunt, and Dean guesses that's probably training enough. Because he is, in fact, supportive, Dean makes food that Sam actually likes—chicken breast and broccoli and some stupid grain thing that he read was good for slow-release energy, and Sam says, "I didn't know you knew what farro was," which proves that in fact it's Sam who's the dickhead, but then Sam practically inhales all of it, so. Success. They watch Chariots of Fire so Dean can remember the stupid song, and Sam goes and does his weird yoga stretching after that, and then they sit together in the workroom and make silver rounds for a while, since Dean got a load of pawned shitty jewelry in and it's one of those chores that falls down the priority list when bullets are flying, and then when they've packed up the bullet boxes, and there's really nothing else left to do with the day, Sam stands up and stretches with his fingers reaching way up and his body arching, pulling long after the hunched work, and Dean's mouth goes wet, and he says, without much thinking about it, "Hey, Sam," and Sam says yeah without hardly paying attention, and Dean says, "I want to fuck you tonight."

Sam looks up at him. Dean lifts a shoulder and Sam takes a visible breath, and he says, "Smooth, Dean," but it's not a no.

Dean shaves, while he's waiting. He takes a whore's bath in his sink, and waits in his boxers just like Sam had, that first time, sitting on the little loveseat in his room. Sam comes back in a t-shirt and unzipped jeans and bare feet, his hair barely wet at the ends, and he frowns at first at the empty bed before he sees Dean, sitting, and Dean says, "Took you long enough," and Sam says, "Don't start."

He's not nervous. He lets Dean kiss him slow, though, laying together on the bed, and with Dean's hand in his jeans, and he's hard all the way and wet at the tip and a tight grip locked on Dean's hip before Dean finally slides his jeans down, feels. Damp, and a little soft, and small, and he rolls his hips back against Dean's thumb, making this deep sound in his chest. "How do you want it?" Dean says, and Sam shrugs and then laughs, shaking his head. "However," Sam says, honest, and Dean rolls his eyes and kisses him and then pulls his jeans all the way off while Sam pulls his shirt over his head, and Dean gets him on his knees, then, pulls his hips back, and applies his mouth to Sam's asshole, and that's not entirely new but Sam yelps, flinching, and Dean has to hook an arm around his hips and hold him in place to lick in deep, like he wants to.

"Tell me," Dean says, and Sam groans. He's reaching past Dean's arm, fisting his dick. His balls warm and heavy, and his body—open, yeah, from the shower, from prepping himself, from knowing how—from watching Dean do it, from doing it himself, sliding his fingers in and working the muscle soft and learning how it can be good. Sam's hips push back and Dean breathes out hot, ducks his head down, suckles one of Sam's nuts and then licks back up over the flattened-wet hair and the crinkle of his hole and scrapes his teeth over one asscheek, and Sam's hand reaches back and grips his shoulder and Sam says, deep, "Are you going to fuck me, or what," and Dean slides up, kisses between Sam's shoulderblades, presses his dick swelling up in his boxers against Sam's ass.

It'd be easier if he kept Sam on his knees. He turns him over instead, and Sam's—god, hot for it, his dick huge and curving up to his navel, his chest flushed in that deep way it gets when he's nearly ready to come, his eyes heavy. He props himself up on his elbows and watches Dean lube himself up, and when Dean slots a slick thumb inside Sam—still tight, christ—Sam's eyelids dip but he just pulls his knee higher, and reaches down and feels Dean's dick, fingers slipping over the head. He gathers his balls up out of the way while Dean pushes up between his legs, and he's watching down between them, avid, for the moment it happens. Dean watches Sam's face instead, and on the push inside—Sam's lips part, and his jaw loosens, and his breath stills, and his eyes—Dean pulls back an inch, slides in deeper, and Sam's face tips up and he meets Dean's stare, dragging in air, gripping Dean's thigh, arching. Dean gets a hand on Sam's jaw and holds him there, their noses brushing, and he feels it, the moment Sam's body ripples. How Sam lets him in.

Sam doesn't come from being fucked. Not that Dean expected him to. Dean holds his balls and kisses his jaw, his mouth, lets Sam bite his lips, while Sam jerks his own dick, and when Sam finally spills he groans, his thighs twitching around Dean's hips and his asshole rippling. Dean slides his hand up, following Sam's, squeezing and getting the wet over his own fingers, and finally his dick slides free from Sam's body. Sam says, low and surprised against his ear, ah, and Dean loves him, is all, and always has, and always will, and now is, really, no different.

"So," Dean says, much later. His head on Sam's shoulder, and Sam's fingers in his hair. "What's it like?"

He'd watched Sam clean up. His nose wrinkling as he wiped between his legs. Sam had said, "You like this?" and Dean had said, "The proof is in the pudding," and Sam had stared at him and then said, horrified, "Never talk again." He'd gone and got them both beers as repayment, and now those are gone, and they've cooled off but the bed's still kind of gross and smells like sweat and jizz and, honestly, Dean's about as comfortable as he ever is.

Sam's fingers go still in his hair. "Huh," he says, after a few seconds' thinking.

"Told you," Dean says.

Sam pulls, what little he can pull, at the top of Dean's head where he should really trim it up. "I'll think of something," he says, and Dean says, "Sure you will, Wordsworth," and Sam says, "I don't know why I thought this would make you less annoying," and Dean says, "It's a gift," but he's smiling, tipped in against Sam's side, and he can't see it but he'd bet that Sam is, too, or at least that Sam's got that dimple tucked into his cheek. Sam's hand spreads, cupping the back of Dean's head, and his mouth brushes Dean's temple. Yeah, Dean decides, warm. Dimple. Maybe two.

On Saturday, Sam goes for the run. His route's pretty simple. Looping west away from the bunker and back for thirteen miles; looping east and back for the other thirteen. The point two gets sorted out somewhere in there, as Dean understands it. He offered, a few months back, to pace Sam in the car if he wanted, and Sam looked surprised but then shook his head. "I'll be fine," he said, and Dean knows it's true. Still, he set out water at few-mile intervals—no one's out here, so unless a rabbit stole one of the stashes Sam should get the benefit—and Sam's pace is pretty damn consistent, so Dean knows when he'll hit the various markers, and knows when he'll be home, when it's done.

Sam stretches easily, on the stairs by the entrance. "If you twist your ankle a mile out, call me, but give me time to laugh," Dean says. Sam rolls his eyes, dropping his one foot and pulling up the other. "Do you want me to grab a pistol? Starting gun, or whatever?"

Sam shakes his head, and pulls out his phone. "See you in a few hours," he says, and presses a button, and takes off, and Dean watches him go, down the driveway, to the gate, and then turning and running from the morning sun. Nine a.m. Dean checks his watch, and says, "Okay," to no one, and goes back inside to at least do something with the morning.

An hour and fifty minutes later, Dean's leaning on the gate, drinking a beer, when Sam comes running back up the road. "Woo!" Dean calls, sort of sarcastic and sort of not, and Sam's breathing hard when he comes up but he steals the beer right out of Dean's hand, takes a few deep swallows. "Hey!" Dean says, and Sam shakes his head, burps abruptly, says, "Thanks for the water," and takes off again, and Dean checks his watch—right on time. Maybe faster. He finishes the beer, tasting Sam's salt on the rim, and then goes and sets up his minimal surprise.

He disassembled the bench those weeks back. Too heavy to move any other way. While Sam's completing the second half, Dean moves the pieces out of the side of the plant where he'd moved them, and puts the thing back together. Big concrete supports; concrete slab, that he about gets a hernia hauling back up into place. He's sweating, when it's done, but it's right at the end of the drive, just in front of his three-stone marker.

It's where he's sitting, forty minutes after noon, with a bottle of the whiskey Sam actually likes on the step, and two glasses waiting to be filled, and the sun coming down soft and easy, not yet hot or humid, not like it'll be later this summer. He stretches out his legs, propped on his arms, and watches down the lane while Sam comes around the corner again. Sweaty, tired, but keeping pace, and Dean doesn't mock or call out or say any of the dumbass shit he could say. Sam pulls out his phone, as he's running down, and Dean knows because he paced it exactly how many steps are left, exactly how far Sam has to go. Sam slows, as he's approaching the marker, and when his sneaker hits the stone he presses something on the phone and it beeps and he says, "Done," and takes a huge deep breath, panting.

He tips his head back on his shoulders, eyes closed. Dean watches him. His heaving chest, the sweat darkening his hair to black at the temples. His body.

"You set up a cheering section," Sam says, finally. "I'm touched."

Dimpling. Dean cracks the bottle, pours two glasses. "What can I say," he says, while Sam tips his head back down, tired. "I'm a fan."

"Sure you are," Sam says, tired. He sits down, finally, and takes his glass from Dean. Their shoulders together, and Sam's knee tipped against his. "Whiskey's probably the opposite of what you're supposed to have after a marathon."

"Well, good thing I'm not a stickler for the marathon rules," Dean says, holding his glass up to toast.

"Yeah," Sam says, smiling, "it is," and lets their glasses clink. They drink, quiet, looking out together at the warm day.

#ffcc #wincest #switching #my writing #trying a slightly different style here #idk if it worked but #it was an interesting experiment #i hope it satisfies

78 notes · View notes

arhvste · 3 years

Text

❛ haikyuu sibling series hcs - general - part 1 ❜

「 includes : kuroo, matsukawa, oikawa, and suna 」

kuroo tetsurō

→ his parents got divorced at a young age and you can’t tell me otherwise

→ but before they did, himself and his older sister were close

→ she wasn’t as boisterous as him but she had a bit of a playful streak in her too

→ would absolutely go along with his scheming pranks on their parents and relatives

→ shes the one who got him into taking academics seriously

→ he always thought his big sister was cool and seeing her studious trait, he decided he wanted to be like her too

→ she’d help him with his own homework after school even if he insisted he didn’t need her help

→ everytime he’d score highly on a test, his sister would be the first person he’d show his little gold stars too

→ her praise meant the absolute world to him because from a young age he looked up to her and seeked some sort of approval from her that he was on the right track

→ when the fighting between his parents got bad, big sister kuroo would always leave her door open for her little brother to retreat into her room

→ she would hush the crying and distract his young fragile state of mind and make sure she did everything she could to stop him from focusing on the shouting

→ stories, board games, colouring, big sister kuroo did it all with him to ensure his mind was occupied with something other than the arguing downstairs

→ she’s his hero even if he doesn’t know it at such a young age yet

→ shes the one who taught him the trick with sticking two pillows against his ears just in case there were some nights she wasn’t at home

→ “see tetsu! it’s like having your head buried by sheep!”

→ when their parents did eventually split, he was beyond devastated

→ his best friend was being taken from him and there was nothing he could do about it

→ pleaded his parents to let them stay together but alas they decided it just wasn’t possible

→ kuroo took a handful of years to fully get over the separation from his sibling

→ hence his shy tendancies and hesitation to trust others at a young age

→ even to this day, the pillow habit stays prominent in his sleeping habits

→ while he was no longer in contact with his sister, kuroo would always think of her first whenever he received good grades or test results

→ would think of her during volleyball games

→ a source of motivation would be to ask himself if maybe his sister were here, would he being doing enough to make her proud?

→ after every accomplishment, his sister would linger at the back of his head

→ even now everyday when he goes to work

→ he can only do his best and hope it would be enough to be ‘cool’ like he always thought his sister was

matsukawa issei

→ big brother mattsun 😼

→ growing up, he was so inclusive of his little siblings

→ he’d never tell his brother or sister to leave him alone or go away

→ mattsun was super considerate and laid back with his siblings

→ as long as they weren’t causing too much trouble, mattsun didn’t really care what they were doing

→ he played with them i know he did

→ hero’s and princesses? pirates? dragons and mermaids?

→ mattsuns played every single one of these and more

→ whenever his siblings would argue, they’d always argue over who gets mattsun on their side

→ whoever won him over was deemed the winner of whatever petty thing it was they were arguing about

→ this little shit played the fuck out of them 😹

→ “hm whoever gets me the leftover pasta from the fridge will get me on their side 😈”

→ “if you go empty the bin then i’ll be on your side.”

→ “issei that’s not fair! that’s your job!”

→ “is it? guess i have to join your sisters side then...”

→ “I’LL DO IT!”

→ makki woukd come over often and his brother and sister loved him

→ he was like mattsun but prettier and “less mean”

→ in fact, all the aoba johsai third years were popular with the matsukawa siblings

→ his little sister was ✨infactuated✨ with oikawa

→ oikawa was “her prince charming” according to her

→ “oi loser, since my sister likes you so much why don’t you babysit for me next week?”

→ “as if! i have better things to do any- -she likes me?! 🥺 yes of course i’ll babysit!”

→ his brother is the opposite tho haha

→ “stupid oikawa don’t come near my sister!”

→ little brother matsukawa was protective asf over his sister

→ would throw hands at the setters legs and waist

→ and you already know mattsun, makki and iwa are just gonna stand there and ignore it

→ all in all, mattsuns one of the best siblings

→ he looks out for his siblings but he’s not overbearing in the slightest

→ these days he often lets them visit him at work when he’s not as home as often

→ “whoever brings me lunch doesn’t get locked in the coffin room”

→ obviously his siblings are bigger now so they just roll their eyes and ignore him ahah

→ he’s still someone they know they can come to if they need to though

→ he’s a good big brother who will listen to them without judegement cause hey, he’s done some questionable things growing up too

oikawa tooru

→ “you’re not allowed to have a boyfriend because i said so! nobody’s good enough for you! 😠”

→ “tooru, i’m older than you 🧍🏻”

→ over protective asf over his sister

→ insults boys that try it on with her to their face 😹

→ “you don’t seriously think she’ll go for you when you look like that do you? 😹 next caller!”

→ shes constantly apologising for his rude ass behaviour 😩

→ he does often seek advice from her though

→ especially when he started garnering attention from girls himself

→ “hair swept to the left or right?”

→ “neither. both are ugly.”

→ yes queen humble him 😈

→ okay but she would actually help him though

→ shes act like shes doing him a huge favour but she secretly likes the fact he comes to her for advice and feedback

→ shopping trips

→ she picks out his clothes because let’s face it

→ he can’t be trusted to be left to his own devices

→ she nearly threw up when she saw the plaid shorts fit 😖

→ she also picked out his glasses too because again, he can’t be trusted to be left to his own devices

→ he hypes his sister tf up !!

→ especially after shes having boy troubles of her own

→ “whatever! he was a loser anyway nii-chan! he would’ve ruined all the family photos if you ever got married to him because he was so ugly! you’re way out of his league!”

→ third year oikawa says it’s on sight if any boy messes with his sister regardless of the fact she’s older than him

→ iwaizumi was rather fond of oikawa’s sister too

→ therefore, he’d automatically part of her body guarding system alongside tooru

→ growing up, iwaizumi was awkward around her

→ shes a pretty older girl of course he’s gonna feel pressured !!

→ she found it endearing though

→ and shes often thank him for looking out for her little brother and keeping him in line when she couldn’t

→ rip iwaizumi 😔✋the boy has turned bright red and doesn’t know what to say

→ these days he’s a-okay talking to her!

→ they both lovingly bully oikawa now

→ but back to the point of her helping him with girls

→ oikawa is not a fuckboy and you know why?

→ because his sister told him those boys are the worst !!

→ he is a respectful boy and his sister will make sure of that !!

→ when he did get his first girlfriend, she had to tell him all the things to do to help

→ clichè films were the wrong source according to her she called them cringey and stopped oikawa from leaving the house at 2am to throw rocks at his girlfriends window to confess his love

→ “tooru please tell me you’re not doing what i think you’re about to do”

→ oikawa with his bag full of small stones and a rose in his mouth : 😳🌹

→ his first break up was rough but big sister oikawa was his hype woman this time

→ “she knew what she was getting into when she asked you out. remember, she wanted you tooru and if she can’t remember that herself then she’s not worth it.”

→ big sister oikawa had his back 100% and vice versa

→ and even now, she’s cheering him on the loudest

→ her little brothers a little brat but he’s the brat she’s overwhelmingly proud of

suna rintarō

→ literally didn’t give a shit about his little sister for the longest time 😹

→ he knew it annoyed her when he didn’t pay attention so he did it just to test her limits at first

→ his parents scolded him time and time again and eventually he did start to acknowledge her

→ like mattsun, he’s laid back and not overly intrusive

→ but he is a little bit curious as to what’s going on in his little sisters life

→ “whos that? you’re not dating him are you? yikes.”

→ “rin? what do you mean ‘yikes’?!”

→ “he’s ugly.”

→ lowkey protective of his sister

→ he knows she can handle herself and whatnot but he still feels the need to look after her just a little

→ so if you’re a boy and you get on the wrong side of her i’m sorry

→ suna is pulling up with the miya’s

→ “oh? so you’re the little shit who thought you could mess with my sister?”

→ atsumu in towering over the boy next to suna : 😈

→ osamu towering over on the other side to suna : 🤨

→ suna : 😐

→ the boy : 😳

→ it’s always been like that though

→ in his own way, sunas always been there for his little sister whether he makes it known or not

→ “one day, yer sisters gonna be a pretty gal i can tell”

→ “i won’t hesitate to call child protection if you ever make a comment like that again 😐🔪”

→ “i-i was just tryin to be kind! it’s hard sometimes suna it’s hard! 😖”

→ his little sister will come to his games and he won’t care 😹

→ deadpan expression the whole time

→ she doesn’t care though because she’s not exactly thrilled to be there either

→ both siblings have their own interests and don’t tend to mix them

→ but he’ll still support her in whatever she wants to do and vice versa

→ but they prefer to do it from a distance

→ because i know suna only went to one of her ballet recitals and he didn’t even try to stop the strings of loud yawns the whole way through

→ the suna siblings remain hot and unbothered over everything

→ you could have beef with both siblings and neither of them are gonna give a fuck

→ but when you pick on little sister suna, rin is gonna give a fuck but he’ll be clever about it

→ easy going relationship

→ neither siblings are overly affectionate or overbearing but they’re both there for each other if needs be

→ they don’t talk about deep things and details together though

→ but they will slag other people off together 😹

→ if the suna siblings don’t like you i’m sorry

→ because both of them will come for your neck with no mercy and you’ll never know 😼

general taglist → @atsumuwoah @bloody-bella @bbymilkbread @miracleboy420 @doggonudez @tsumue @peteunderoos @tsukkisbean @saturnfarie @toffees-main @zumisace @boosyboo9206 @totorosleaff @27kei @dai-tsukki-desu @angrylittleriri @tsukkaria @kuxredere @warakou

please send an ask to be added / removed from my taglist

ALL CONTENT BELONGS TO @KUROOSKULT ON TUMBLR 2020 PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, CHANGE OR PLAGIARISE

#kuroo tetsuro #kuroo hcs #oikawa tooru #oikawa hcs #matsukawa issei #matsukawa hcs #suna rintaro #suna hcs #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq #hq hcs #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu headcanons

357 notes · View notes

cdelphiki · 4 years

Text

She couldn’t do this.

Damian. Her precious little Damian. The baby with a beautiful smile. Infectious laugh. Adorable babble. Who so sweetly, so gently, pet any stray cat that sat still long enough for him to ‘catch.’ Who hugged anyone that cared for him, and even the random servants who lingered long enough.

That baby. Her baby.

Watching him, at 18-months-old, be taught how to wield a sword. Watching as the trainer smacked his hands, his side, his face, every time he wobbled, or lost interest, or got confused.

Hearing his cry, and seeing his pleading eyes, whenever it happened.

Seeing him look at her, and call for her, then get distraught because she did nothing.

She just stood there.

Next to her father.

And watched.

There was nothing more she could do. Going against her father would only bring more harm on her son. It would only risk Father taking Damian from her entirely.

But she couldn’t do this.

It felt like her heart was being ripped out of her body.

Someone was inside her, with red hot claws, scratching away. Destroying everything. Killing her.

Her stomach was filling with vile acid, and just one move, one word, and it might come up.

Weakness, her father would say.

Useless.

Pathetic.

Perhaps that is why he ordered her presence, for this training session.

She’d hardly been allowed time with her son. Not in nearly a year had she been granted daily visits with him.

Her father had been disappointed in how attached she’d been becoming.

‘He is to be a warrior,’ Father had said, ‘worthy of his station. He cannot become the Demon’s head if he is soft.’

Perhaps it was then she should have done something.

Said something.

But instead, she just bowed her head and followed orders.

Like a good daughter would do.

What use was that now?

Damian whimpered again, as his trainer smacked him on the back with the flat of his blade. He’d started slouching. They were working on form.

Talia resisted closing her eyes. She knew, she knew if she did, she would not be able to stop the tears that followed.

She had to remain strong. Stable. Unaffected….

Unaffected in her father’s eyes, at least.

When she’d lied to Bruce, when she’d told him she’d miscarried…. What was she thinking?

She- she hadn’t wanted to betray her father. Hadn’t wanted to betray the League. This was her life. She’d been raised in this, she owed everything she had. Her training. Her wealth. Her skills. Everything to her father.

But-

But what did that matter?

Was it worth it? Was her son worth it?

“All done,” Damian pleaded, when he fell over and scraped his hands on the hard cement, “all done all done all done.”

The trainer just stood him back up and handed him the sword again, ignoring his cries.

When Damian looked at her and cried, “Mama,” again, Talia could taste the bile.

How could she have just handed her son over to Ra’s like this? What kind of monster was she?

Her son was crying for her, and she was standing by, watching him be hurt.

All because her father told her to.

The fact that he knew to call her ‘Mama’ was all because she snuck in to see him. Ordered his nursemaids to leave the room. Swore them to secrecy.

Had killed, a few of them…

She’s more than sure Ra’s had noticed, now.

As Talia stood there, watching her son struggle to stop crying and listen to his trainer, Talia made a decision.

Because nearly two years ago, when she’d told Bruce about her ‘miscarriage,’ she’d made a huge mistake.

Her father’s influence was toxic.

This training?

It was hell.

Talia loved what it’d turned her into, she loved her skills and abilities.

But if this was the cost?

This?

Her child?

There was only one place on earth where she’d be safe, where he’d be safe. One person able to offer that protection.

And once Talia told him, she knew he’d move heaven and earth to get them away.

- - -

To say Bruce was suspicious would be an understatement.

Talia had broken ties with him two years prior.

On not-so-friendly terms, at that.

She’d betrayed him. Joined her father, and all but stabbed him in the back in doing so.

He’d loved her.

He really had.

She had been- he thought she was-

They were going to spend their lives together. Raise a child. He thought she was-

But that was over. In the past.

And yet, there she was, staring back at him through a webcam, asking for his help.

Asking for help, after hacking into his computer, in the cave, where his son could enter at any moment.

How on earth was he supposed to explain his past fling with Talia al Ghul to Jason?

“Why should I trust you?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.

Because how would he be able to deny her request?

Once upon a time, he would have died for this opportunity. Would have cried, from utter relief, to get her away from the League. To bring her home. Keep her safe.

Yes. She could keep herself safe. Defend herself. Hold her own, against even him, but he could offer his protection of the entire Justice League. If it came down to it.

He’d loved her.

But she’d chosen her father. Chosen a life as an assassin. Rejected him. And it was hard for him to forget that.

“I lied to you,” she said, pulling his attention back to the present, “I lied.”

She said it with such finality, Bruce narrowed his eyes. And just stared.

He was sure she’d lied about many things. Why was this the ‘reason?’ And why would lying be a reason to trust her now?

To give her a chance, now?

“About?” he pressed, ignoring the thought in the back of his head asking whether this was all a distraction so the League could move in on Gotham.

Alarms would be going off, if that were the case. Literal alarms, in the cave.

Besides, the League hadn’t been doing anything in the United States for many months.

They were too busy building up their forces in the Alps. Bruce still had no idea why, but they’d been beefing up their presence there for over a year and a half.

“You know about what,” Talia said, gently. Almost apologetically.

His heart fluttered, a little.

There was one thing. One thing, that had she been lying about, he’s not sure he’d be angry about.

Not right now, at least.

“Bruce,” she pled, “I- I’ve made a mistake.” Her voice cracked, and she rested a hand against the side of her face as she looked off to the side, away from her camera. “Father is so cruel to him, Bruce. I need your help.”

No.

Anger was definitely not the emotion he was feeling. It- it was down there. It was deep, deep down there, and later that night. Or, perhaps, in a few days, he knew he would hit a punching bag until his knuckles were bloody.

But on top? Right now?

On top was hope.

Hope, excitement, and… and utter devastation.

“Him?” Bruce whispered, resisting the urge to rip his mask off and rub at his face. He was on camera, he had to remind himself. He had no idea how many people were watching.

And this could all be one magnificent lie. A trick to get him off balance. So they could strike, while he had his guard down.

While he was yearning for something he’d thought he’d lost, two years prior.

“He’s beautiful, Bruce,” she whispered, her voice catching on the next sentence, “He looks just like you, and I can tell he gets his empathy from you. But,” she paused, a ferocious determination taking over her face. A trait of her’s that had caused Bruce to fall in the first place.

“Father will destroy him if we don’t get him away.”

There would be no ‘ifs.’

If Bruce had ever had a mission that had no option for failure, it was this one.

He didn’t care if Talia changed her mind, ten minutes later. This mission was happening, and he was bringing home what he thought he’d lost.

Bruce has no idea how he got through the following ten minutes, planning out with Talia exactly how and when the pickup would go. Nightwing, Robin and himself would all approach the compound in the batwing, in stealth mode. He’d pulled Clark in on the call, and Superman agreed he would be on standby, watching from afar for anything to go wrong.

If they were spotted, or if the League tried anything, the entire Justice League would respond, if necessary.

Clark promised he’d keep the mission itself classified. No one but the core team would know the details of what they were picking up. The core team being himself, the Flash, and the Bats.

His ears were ringing the entire time, and he felt like an outsider, looking in.

‘He looks just like you,’ Talia had said.

That’s all he could think about.

Bruce had a son.

There-

Was there anything more to say?

He had a son.

“Talia,” he rasped, just before she cut the call with him. After a deep breath, he looked deep into the camera, doing his best to convey his seriousness. His promise, should it be necessary. “If this is a trick.”

With sadness in her eyes, Talia smiled and said, “We will see you tomorrow, Beloved,” and with that, ended the call.

It came as no surprise when, not even a quarter of a second later, the papers on his desk flew up into the air. Each one wafting back down, before Bruce even had the chance to close his eyes and take a breath.

Bringing Clark in on this was necessary.

As much as he hated bringing personal missions to those outside the family, there was no way he could risk this one.

If Talia was telling the truth, and he wasn’t successful on his own. Wasn’t able to take on the entire League while protecting a helpless infant.

Well.

He’d never forgive himself.

Ever.

But none of that meant he had to be happy his best friend was there to witness this.

“Bruce, this is,” Clark started, setting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing, but Bruce cut him off.

“Clark, just,” he said, pulling his mask off so he could finally wipe his eyes. He wasn’t even mortified at the crack in his voice, because there was far too many other things swirling through his head. “Give me a minute.”

He had… so much to do. He hadn’t time for this.

And yet…

It was the only thing he could do.

Closing his eyes, Bruce took a second to recenter himself. Find his strength and embrace his duties. Right now, he needed to be Batman.

But before he was able to complete a single deep breath, he heard from the top of the stairs, “B?”

And everything just became much more complicated.

“Bruce?” Jason asked again, a little hesitantly, as he made his way down the stairs, “Superman? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Bruce said, reeling it all in and trying his best to blink back the wetness in his eyes. So maybe he wouldn’t have to wipe his face in front of his son.

His… middle son.

Because, Bruce actually had three…

“Is Dick okay?” Jason asked a little more frantically, because despite his best efforts, Bruce sniffed.

“He’s fine,” Clark soothed, squeezing Bruce’s shoulder a little tighter as Jason hurried his way down the stairs, “Nothing is wrong, Jase.”

“Then why is…” Jason said, trailing off when he finally made it to where Bruce was sitting.

They had so much to do. Bruce hadn’t the time for this.

It was time for Batman.

“Suit up,” he told his son, shrugging Clark’s hand off and squaring his shoulders. They had just under three hours before take off, and there was so much to do. “We have a mission.”

- - -

By ‘a mission,’ Bruce meant they were infiltrating the freaking League of Assassins.

Like.

In the middle of the day. Completely randomly.

Well, they were set to leave in three hours, with a 5 hour flight time. And considering the time difference, it would actually be about 4am when they arrived at Nanda Parbat.

So.

Middle of the night, kind of.

Jason was both super excited, and kind of freaked out.

Especially when Bruce called in Dick.

Those two worked together, sure. Sometimes. But it was always so fucking tense, and Jason kind of hated it.

Bruce also always refused to call in Dick for anything. Dick always just kind of, forced himself in on the mission.

But for this?

Whatever the fuck this was?

It had Bruce calling in not only Dick Grayson, but Superman, too.

Because that’s why Superman had been there. He’d already called the guy in.

Whatever was going on, it was huge.

And whatever it was, Jason actually started feeling very nervous. Because Bruce said he had news to share. And he called Alfred down first, before he shared it.

Bruce paced. Back and forth, back and forth. In front of the conference table for two full minutes while the four of them sat there, waiting for him to fucking say something.

“Do you want me?” Clark asked, and was immediately shot down by a glare from Bruce.

Was Bruce dying?

Were they going to the League to steal some pit water??

Because he said he was okay.

Clark said he was okay, and Clark wouldn’t lie about something like that. Right? Jason wouldn’t put it past Bruce at all to be a freaking hypocrite and lie to him so not to make him worry, but not Clark.

He was way too much a boy scout.

Yet, there Bruce was. Pacing back and forth. Freaking out about something.

“B, you’re freaking the kid out,” Dick said, leaning back in his chair, like he was fucking relaxed during this.

Their freaking dad could be dying and he was chill about it.

No wonder his name was Dick.

“I am not,” he protested, but Bruce quit his pacing and sighed, anyway.

“Honestly, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, from where he sat next to Jason, “Whatever it is, I am confident we can handle it.”

“A couple years ago,” Bruce started, pausing to sigh again before he turned his back to them, but continued, “I got… involved… with Talia al Ghul.”

“Gross. I knew it,” Dick said, pulling a face for Jason to see.

“From the League of Assassins,” Jason said, just to clarify.

So… were they staging this mission so Bruce could go…

Ew.

Gross.

Disgusting.

Jason hated his mind for putting that picture in his head.

“Yes,” Bruce confirmed, apparently uncaring that he’d just put horrible awful pictures in Jason’s head.

He was thirteen. This was probably child abuse.

“It was serious,” he continued, “We had been… discussing marriage.”

“Oh my,” Alfred said, in as close to a gasp as Jason had ever heard from Alfred.

Jason didn’t blame him. Bruce had never really struck Jason as a ‘serious’ kinda guy.

Not with the ladies, at least.

Mostly because he had a different chick hanging off of him at every party.

“She had been with child,” Bruce finally said, nearly stumbling over his words as he spit the sentence out.

The air in the room seemed to still, and they all stared at Bruce.

Well, all of them, except Clark. Since apparently Clark already knew.

“Why… why,” Dick stammered, then stopped.

Jason didn’t really know what to ask first, either.

But apparently Bruce knew what to answer first.

“She told me she miscarried. She, she told me. I thought-“ with another sigh, Bruce turned back around, finally allowing them to see the exhaustion on his face, as he rubbed at it and sat down at the head of the table.

“I thought she’d miscarried. She dumped me, after that. Refused to leave her father and the League, and sent me home. I- I should have checked up on it. Verified her story, but… I was just so-”

Bruce put his face in his hands, and just sat there, for a very long minute.

Dick, to Jason’s surprise, was the one to break the silence, because neither he nor Alfred seemed to be able to find any words. Jason had never heard Bruce so close to tears, before.

He was kind of scared of getting Bruce to talk more.

And if Bruce was saying what he was saying, well…

Jason really had no words for it.

Batman apparently had a baby.

And they were going to rescue it from the League of Assassins.

That was just…

Wow.

Holy.

Shit.

“So,” Dick said, a small smile tugging on his lips as he did, “is it a boy or a girl?”

- - -

Everything was going smoothly.

They had agreed on a meet-up time eight hours from the end of their call, which meant Talia had most the night to figure out her plan for getting Damian out of his nursery.

In the end, she’d decided on using simple tranquilizer darts.

It was dirty, a completely dishonorable way to fight, but Talia couldn’t find it in herself to care.

The very last thing she needed was for one of the nursemaids to notice her break-in and alert the guards.

She’d packed her bag before heading to Damian’s room, so all she had left to do was grab him before Bruce arrived.

Sneaking into his room was painfully easy, and she only had to sedate one nursemaid, who had already been asleep, anyway.

Honestly. It couldn’t have been easier, and it was putting Talia on edge.

Damian stirred, when she lifted him from the crib, so Talia shoved the pacifier into his mouth she knew he’d been deprived of for eight months at that point.

He’d taken to sucking his thumb, in its stead, and Talia had always hated that about her father’s rules.

Why was it so difficult to indulge her son in one simple comfort.

The pacifier worked like a charm, and Damian latched onto it with one hand as he sucked away, curling into Talia’s hold as she wrapped the cloth around them both, creating a make-shift carrier.

Out of everything, the hardest part was getting him tied to her securely. Because with the pacifier, he was as quiet as a lamb, not making a single peep of protest. She wasn’t even sure if he’d woken enough to see who had been holding him.

After the day he’d had, Talia was grateful he could still find peace in his sleep.

Climbing up to the roofs was a little more difficult. Damian did whine, a little, when she had to press herself up against the wall of the third floor, to hide from a patrolling guard below.

She closed her eyes and held her breath, begging every deity she could think of to keep Damian silent as the guard paused and looked around. After adjusting her grip, so she could hold them both with one hand, she placed her newly free hand on his head and tried to soothe him.

Damian shifted against her, even though he was pinned rather tightly between her and the wall, then stilled. His little pacifier bobbing in and out as he grasped tightly to her blouse.

The guard looked around, up and down the narrow courtyard below where she was climbing, but after a long minute, turned around and continued on with his patrol.

Talia didn’t allow herself a sigh of relief.

With three more moves, Talia reached the edge of the roof and pulled herself up, without scraping Damian against the edge. He didn’t notice in his sleep.

Soon, he’d be able to pass all his nights in such peace.

His days, too.

She had no doubt in her mind that Bruce would offer them the sanctuary they needed, to allow Damian to grow up without fears.

But, if he didn’t, she’d find it anyway.

This child. Her child, would never know the pain he’d experienced that day again.

As silently as she’d been trained, Talia raced across the rooftops to the pickup location. Bruce was promised to be there in two minutes, and she needed to be three buildings over.

“Shh,” she whispered, hugging Damian tightly as she ran. The movement was, apparently, disrupting his sleep, and he’d started to stir, “sleep, my prince.”

“Mama,” he mumbled, snuggling against her.

“Yes,” she choked, preparing to make the last jump to the roof where Bruce was to meet them, “Mama is here, baby.”

She’d given Bruce the coordinates of the highest roof in the complex, in hopes that he could simply swoop in and grab them, not needing to stop or interact with anyone.

He was bringing his team, though. He was bringing Superman.

Talia had never had any sort of admiration for the alien. His technique was abysmal, tending to toss around his unearthly strength, rather than exhibit any skill during his fights.

But knowing that, if it came down to it, she could likely just shout ‘Superman,’ and in an instant he’d be there, ready and able to take Damian to safety… It helped keep her calm.

Father would not be expecting the help of a Kryptonian. Bruce had never been one to ask for help, so it was unlikely Father would have his kryptonite within reach.

The final jump was a little longer than comfortable, and Talia had to land in a roll to avoid injuring herself or falling off completely. She rolled on her back, using her arms to keep Damian from making contact with the roof at all.

Her heart was hammering when she finished the roll on her feet. She had thirty more yards to go, and she’d been at the exact coordinates she’d given Bruce.

Thirty more yards, and one more minute.

Talia shook, as she stood in the exact spot. Damian was fully awake now, and wriggling against the cloth wrapped around him.

“Be still, my dear,” she whispered, hugging him a little tighter as she searched the night sky for any sign of their rescue, “Just a few more moments.”

“Out,” Damian cried, not quite at a normal level, but much louder than Talia felt comfortable with, as he started struggling against her arms, “Down.”

“In a moment,” she whispered desperately. Her arms felt like rubber, as the adrenaline that had kept her running started to ebb.

It was a minute past pickup, and Batman was no where in sight.

If he didn’t show…

Damian whined out again, this time loudly.

“Be patient, my love,” she whispered, now fighting back tears, “Your father is coming for us.”

He had to be.

“Mama,” Damian cried, pulling his pacifier out of his mouth completely to whine at her more efficiently.

She looked around frantically, making sure no guards were near enough to have heard him.

When she didn’t see anyone coming at them, she bounced Damian some and tried to force the pacifier back into his mouth. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she repeated, over and over, really unsure, at this point, if it was for Damian or herself.

Because if Bruce weren’t coming, was any of his team?

Was she just standing on a roof, risking the life of her son for nothing?

Father would not take lightly an attempted defection.

What would he do to Damian?

Probably take him away from her forever. She’d never see him again. Never know the pain he was in. Never be able to hold him, after a hard day, and comfort him. Remind him of her love.

She’d lose him forever, and-

Talia’s knees nearly buckled when, without warning, a jet materialized out of nowhere not ten feet above her.

His technology was amazing. She hadn’t even felt it coming, much less heard it.

And before she even realized it, tears were streaming down her face.

A hatch opened, right on the underside of the jet, and Batman himself leaned out, reaching a hand down to her.

“Talia,” he breathed, shaking his hand, as if desperately begging her to grab it.

She’d never accepted an offered hand so fast in her life.

As he pulled her up into the jet, swiftly and effortlessly, as if it were nothing, Talia felt herself relax. All the adrenaline leave her body entirely as she collapsed right onto the ground of Bruce’s jet.

She didn’t even care who all was there to see.

Because for the first time in her life, Talia felt like she could breathe.

- - -

She hadn’t been lying.

That was the only thing circling through Bruce’s head as he pulled Talia up into the jet, them stopping barely long enough for him to do that before Dick was turning around and racing away.

As far as they could tell, they hadn’t been spotted until they turned off the craft’s cloaking system.

If all went to plan, the League would not be able to respond quickly enough to catch them. Nightwing was supposed to take them on an indirect route back to Gotham, completely in stealth mode.

Ra’s al Ghul could search the skies all night and never find them.

He hoped.

But all that was for Nightwing to worry about. That had been the plan. If Talia was telling the truth, he’d agreed, Bruce could focus on that, while Dick handled keeping them hidden and taking them to safety. Jason could give him backup, if necessary.

Bruce trusted Dick with his life.

And he was so thankful for that, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do much beyond what he was currently doing.

Which was watching as Talia collapsed onto the floor, clumsily freeing a baby from a carrier as she cried into his hair.

“Tal-“ he started, reaching an hand out to her, really unsure about what he was going to do. But he froze, when the baby squirmed and twisted out of the cloth holding him.

Because Talia was right.

He was beautiful.

His bright green eyes were mesmerizing, and Bruce felt his heart seize as the baby looked at him, ever so briefly.

It wasn’t until that very instant did Bruce realize his life had been incomplete.

There had been a piece of him missing, and he hadn’t even realized it.

The baby turned back to his mother and said, “Mama,” reaching up for her face.

“Yes,” Talia sobbed, grabbing his hand and holding it to her cheek, before she wrapped him up into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry,” she said, squeezing him tight, “I’m so sorry.”

Bruce watched helplessly as Talia devolved further and further into incoherence, as she whispered her apologies and proclaimed her love for the very confused looking baby in her arms.

The baby didn’t protest, though. He leaned into her hug and stayed there, like he understood his mother needed a hug back.

How old was he?

If he’d been born on time, by Bruce’s estimations, he’d be about…

Seventeen months old?

Eighteen?

He didn’t know much about baby development, but he did know that it was during the first year they turned from basically babies to tiny, outspoken little people.

How developed was his son? How much had Bruce missed?

Bruce knelt down in front of Talia and sat there, waiting for her to recover.

What she had been through, he had no idea.

It had to have been a lot, for her to reach out and actually ask for help.

She was stubborn, like that. Never asking for help. Never even expecting it.

And her reaction to being pulled into safety, well.

He was afraid to learn what she’d been through.

Jason caught his eye, lingering just on the outskirts of his vision. He looked up and tried to offer a reassuring face, but probably fell flat, because Jason frowned at him. But Jason held a thumbs up at him, both letting him know they’d flown into the clear and Superman had been informed of the successful mission, and asking if Bruce was good.

With a single nod, Bruce thanked him, and turned his attention back to Talia.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, looking at him, now, but still hugging the baby tightly to her.

“What happened?” he asked, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the baby.

Touch his son.

Bruce had never been one to want to hold babies, usually perfectly content to just observe them, but his arms yearned for the weight of this baby in his arms.

He didn’t even know his name.

“Father,” she said, her voice almost squeaking with the effort.

Bruce hadn’t seen her in two years, and he still wanted to pull her to his side.

Never had he seen her like this.

But he kept his distance. Let her recover on her own. He wasn’t sure how he felt about her, in that moment.

At all.

“Father,” she said again, this time much more confidently, one hand absently combing through the baby’s hair.

The beautiful baby who had twisted in her hold, just enough, to stare at him.

“Started his training.” There was so much pain in her voice, Bruce could only imagine what kind of horrors that meant.

Who trained a baby?

“Bruce,” she choked out, squeezing the baby again, “it was so bad. I- I just stood there and watched. I couldn’t- I couldn’t do anything else. He would have harmed him more. Or taken him from me.”

“What happened,” he repeated, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible.

Any anger he had about whatever ‘training’ implied was being pushed down. Buried deep into the recesses of his brain.

No one needed his anger right now.

When the baby continued to stare at him, Bruce realized he still had his cowl on.

What kind of introduction was this? Being presented to his son as Batman, first.

Hopefully he hadn’t scared the kid too much to want to be held.

Talia started crying again, and shifted so she was sitting criss-cross, the baby still cradled in her arms as she blubbered out, “They hit him so many times, Bruce. I’m so sorry,” and before Bruce could even respond. Could even think of how to respond, she turned her face down to the baby and repeated, “I’m so sorry, Damian. I’m so sorry, my love. I’ll never let- I’ll never-”

But she didn’t complete the sentence, because she’d lost it again, and the baby… Damian?

Damian.

That was the most beautiful name he’d ever heard.

Damian looked very confused and concerned for his mother’s mood.

“He’s safe now,” Bruce tried, scooting over to her side to set a hand on her back, “He’s safe.”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, curling further onto Damian.

“Mama,” Damian said again, this time pointing at Bruce when Talia opened her eyes and gave him her attention.

“Yes,” she said, smiling for the first time as she wiped her tears away, “Yes, dear. This is-“ she paused, looking up at Bruce, then said again, “This is Daddy.”

Bruce could cry.

He was not going to cry.

“Do you want to hold him?” Talia asked, apparently seeing the intense desire plastered all over his face.

All Bruce wanted to do was hold him. There was nothing on earth he wanted more.

“May I?” he asked, almost afraid to even try.

What if Damian didn’t like him?

What if he started crying, when Bruce took him?

“He’s your son, Bruce,” Talia said, lifting Damian from her lap and offering him over.

After hesitating for only a second, Bruce reached out and held his hands out to Damian, who looked at him appraisingly, like he were judging Bruce and determining if he was worth his attention.

But then, before Bruce could even hold his breath, Damian leaned toward him, and Bruce could definitely cry.

Because then Damian was in his arms, looking straight into his eyes as he let Bruce hold him close.

And-

And.

Bruce had no thoughts.

“Hi, Damian,” he choked out, trying his hardest not to cry, “I’m- I’m your-“ but he couldn’t get the word out.

Couldn’t get anything else out.

Damian didn’t seem to care, because he smiled at Bruce and said, “Hi,” back.

And Bruce was definitely crying, now.

Just a little.

But he didn’t care.

He didn’t care, because he had the son he thought he’d lost two years ago cradled in his arms, and nothing could ruin the moment.

- - -

Jason was thankful that the jet was large enough he didn’t have to hear Bruce talking to his new baby son.

He honestly had no idea how to feel about all of this.

Bruce had apparently done it with the daughter of one of their most dangerous villains, and he was now probably definitely crying tears of joy while he held the son of said villainous daughter.

But Jason wasn’t jealous.

How could he be?

The baby was just a baby. It’s not like the posed any sort of threat to Jason.

Except.

By… stealing away Bruce’s attention.

Jason was not being jealous of a baby. The baby deserved his dad’s attention. Especially since he had a dad as great as Bruce. Jason would know. He’d been playing the role of dad for him for a year.

Now, though… now he had a real son.

He was not jealous.

“Stop worrying,” Dick said, from where he was flying the jet, sitting in the seat next to Jason.

Jason had taken the spot of co-pilot just because it was the farthest away from Bruce he could be. He wasn’t really helping Nightwing fly.

Mostly because Nightwing didn’t need help flying. He actually had the auto-pilot engaged.

“I’m not worrying.”

“You’re right,” Dick said, laughing a little as he leaned back in his chair, “You’re freaking out.”

Crossing his arms, Jason tried his best to look completely and totally unaffected by everything ever as he said, “Am not.”

Apparently he was unconvincing, because Dick gave him a shit eating grin and ruffled his hair.

Like the asshole he was.

“You’re right. You’re the epitome of calm and collected.”

“Fuck you,” Jason snapped. Dick should mind his own fucking business.

They still weren’t, like, friends or anything, either. Dick had been clear about how happy he was Jason existed. Sure, they’d kind of made up some in recent months. And Dick even offered his blessing for Jason to be Robin, but that didn’t mean they were friends.

Apparently Dick didn’t agree, because he kept being an asshole and talking to him by saying, “Look, this isn’t going to change anything between you and Bruce, okay?”

Through a pout, Jason mumbled, “How would you know?” Bruce getting a son was going to change everything.

“Because this happened to me, remember?”

Jason rolled his eyes. Just because Bruce adopted him didn’t mean Dick knew what it was like to have his adopted dad get a biological child and not need him anymore. If anything, Dick should be freaking out, too, because they were both the adopted kids and the baby was the real son.

Except Dick didn’t live with them, so he wasn’t at risk of being homeless again if Bruce kicked him out. Since, well, Bruce couldn’t kick him out.

Maybe Dick should fuck off and leave him alone.

“Did Bruce adopting you change how he felt about me?” Dick asked, nudging Jason’s arm as he did.

Asshole.

“Fuck you, it’s different,” he snapped. In fact, they all knew Dick was the favorite child between the two of them, so it was completely and totally different.

Maybe Dick should be worrying more. He wasn’t going to be the favorite anymore.

Bruce was so happy about having a biological son he was crying about it.

Bruce had never been that happy about Jason.

“Not really,” Dick said, sighing some, “I thought he was writing me off completely when he adopted you.”

“Bruce never shuts up about you, it’s always ‘Dick this’ and ‘Dick that’ whenever I do anything, so shut up. But we’re both adopted, and that baby over there ain’t.”

Dick cocked a head at him and then let out a huff of a laugh. “Bruce never even told you. Wow.”

“Told me what?” Jason demanded, crossing his arms harder, because he didn’t want to storm off. Mostly because that would mean facing Bruce with his stupid new baby.

“I knew he was terrible with communication, but geez.”

“What, Dickface, just tell me.”

“Jase,” Dick said, offering a softer smile than before, “I’m not adopted. Bruce never adopted me. He was simply my ‘guardian’ until I aged out of the system. He has no legal obligation to me at all, now.”

“He-“ Jason started, because there was no way that was true.

No. Fucking. Way.

Bruce cared about Dick way too much for that to be true.

And why would Bruce adopt him, but not Dick? That also made no sense.

Dick was the favorite.

“You’re lying. He calls you his son all the time.”

“I know,” Dick said softly, still smiling like an asshole, “Because even if he’s never said it, and probably never will say it, he loves me. Just like he loves you.”

“Shut up,” he said, because he couldn’t figure out anything else to say. Obviously he knew Bruce, like, loved him and shit. But they didn’t have to talk about it.

But… Dick was kind of right about one point. He was adopted.

It’s not like Bruce could go back on that.

So kicked out probably wasn’t on the table.

“I promise, Jason, this isn’t going to change anything between you two. So don’t worry too much.”

Jason was stuck trying to come up with something to respond with that was more witty than 'fuck you' when he was startled by Bruce’s footsteps approaching the cockpit.

If Bruce saw him pouting, there was no doubt he’d be able to read Jason as easily as Dick Fucking Grayson had read him, and that would not be good.

He wasn’t ready for that.

“Jason,” Bruce said, sounding like he was smiling wider than Jason had ever seen him smile.

Except.

Maybe.

On his adoption day. When Bruce hugged him and said ,“Welcome to the family, Jaylad,” with his stupid dopey smile…

And… and…

“Dick,” Bruce continued, now inside the cockpit, with the little baby in his arms, “I want you boys to meet your little brother, Damian.”

And maybe…

Maybe Dick was right.

Jason had nothing to worry about.

He’d always wanted a little brother, too.

#Talia Al Ghul #Damian Wayne #Bruce Wayne #Batman #Batfam #Baby Damian #batfamily #Redemption arc?#sort of #Probably definitely #good mom talia #good dad bruce #Robin #Jason Todd #nightwing #Dick Grayson #cross posted to Ao3 #under the name Second Chance #c writes

2K notes · View notes

smhalltheurlsaretaken · 3 years

Note

Hey! I literally love your last post so much but I'm confused about the rebels bit (never watched it). How does Rebels criticize the jedi? Thanks!

Aw, thank you! (Lol, this is such an old ask I don’t remember what that post was, but here goes).

Well in s2 Ahsoka, Kanan (a survivor from Order 66) and Ezra (his Padawan) all go to an old Jedi Temple to talk to Yoda about Vader and his Inquisitors (Darksiders who hunt the few remaining Jedi and kidnap Force sensitive kids). Yoda is only there spiritually and the three of them get different visions. Ahsoka sees Anakin as Vader, and Kanan has to fight several enemies and eventually admit he can't protect his Padawan from the world, only guide him (which prompts the vision to finally make him a Jedi Knight, as he survived Order 66 as a Padawan.)

And Ezra... Ugh. Ezra had a previous encounter with Yoda, in which he got his lightsaber crystal. Basically Yoda asked him why he wanted to be a Jedi, and Ezra had to do some self-examination and eventually realized that helping and protecting people made him feel alive, which greatly pleased Yoda who told him he might become a Jedi after all. That's a really great exchange and I love the character development Ezra gets, as he starts by saying he wants never to feel powerless and eventually realizes that's not the right answer.

But in this second encounter, as Ezra asks how they can defeat the Inquisitors, Yoda basically says that fighting is rarely the right path. And to illustrate that, he says that line about the Jedi being arrogant and joining the war swiftly "in their arrogance," which really bothers me. He also says they were "consumed by the Dark Side", which is why they're now gone. In all fairness, he also mentions that they were motivated by fear, which is partially true.

Now, I write analyses and I try to be intellectually honest about them, because ignoring contradicting stuff weakens your argument instead of helping you. Except this time, I really can't accept this quote. I have an excuse, Lucas wasn't involved in Rebels so it's not the highest canon in my opinion (the 6 movies + TCW are, here are the quotes justifying my position), and I feel like that assertion is out of character for Yoda, ignoring his ST ghost appearances, and also plainly factually incorrect.

I understand that Ezra really needed to be taught not to always seek to fight. At this point, he's still an emotional kid who occasionally struggles with the Dark Side. Not fighting is important to a Jedi's path, so I can understand Yoda's intention. But the example he uses? According to Lucas, the Jedi were drafted in the war. That's not jumping into a conflict out of arrogance, that's literally being dragged there against your will. And sure, there’s Geonosis, but how exactly is rescuing a bunch of your people that’s getting slaughtered by a Sith Lord the same thing as arrogantly jumping into a fight? Like, what’s the option here? Not go, and let an innocent Senator and a bunch of Jedi be murdered?

It's like Rebels!Yoda isn't acknowledging that the war was fake and that a Sith Lord engineered it as the perfect trap (which is recurring problem in Rebels; at one point Ezra, Kanan and Rex have to fight an old Separatist tactical droid and Ezra "solves" the Clone Wars by pointing out that nobody won except the Empire, so really they were on the same side all along, and he gets praised for doing what "a bunch of Jedi, senators and Clones couldn't do," ie getting both sides to talk to each other – except wtf??? setting aside that the Jedi and Rex were aware of the war being fake by the end of it, and that the Separatists were openly led by a Sith Lord and attempted to commit genocide several times in TCW and did commit mass murder, and reduced like several worlds to slavery or starvation and were backed by the worst big corporations you could imagine, the war would NOT have ended if the two sides had tried talking it out. 1) The Senate made it illegal 2) the big corporations arranged for terrorist attacks on both sides the one time they tried to negotiate so the war would drag on and they'd get more money out of it 3) Sidious. Was. Controlling. Everything. What. The. Heck. Would. Have. Been. Accomplished. By. Negotiating.) Plus the question of whether or not the Jedi should even fight is like... constantly raised by the Jedi during TCW, so I really can’t see it as “oh wow we didn’t even take the time to think and we got killed because of it, we really sucked.”

Seriously, there’s this S6 quote:

MACE: Are you sure we are taking the right path? YODA: The right path, no. The only path, yes. Designed by the Dark Lord of the Sith, this web is. For now, play his game, we must.

Like yeah, totally rushing in and being eager to fight lol. Nothing to do with being boxed in and having no alternatives.

So yeah that's bothers me and I don't think it jibes with the rest of canon. I don't remember Yoda telling Luke (who, in the beginning, is as eager to fight as Ezra is) that the Jedi "disappeared" because of some fault of their own, or because of an eagerness to fight. (Seriously, pussyfooting around the fact that the Jedi were slaughtered grates me.) The OT never, ever, ever implies that the destruction of the Jedi Order was their fault - and unless you assume that the OT is “pro-Jedi propaganda” (*laughs in dumb youtube comments*) then I don’t see Rebels weaving it into its narrative as legitimate.

Again, choosing alternatives to fighting is a great lesson on a personal level, but it doesn't work on the scale of the Rebels/Empire conflict - or the Jedi/Sith one. Ezra should often choose not to fight because of what it'll do to his soul. The Rebels should not stop fighting because there is no cohabitation with something as evil as the Empire. Imo Yoda is always presented as wise enough to know the difference.

The last thing that makes me think it's out of character is Yoda's spiritual journey in TCW s6. He gets all of his flaws thrown into his face and has to conquer them – he has to face his literal Dark Side and he wins. And yet at no point during that arc is he ever made to conquer his ‘Jedi arrogance’ or whatever. He has to face his worst fear (first vision, all the Jedi dying), let go of his attachments (second vision, him having to accept that he can’t live in a perfect world where everything is beautiful and no one is dead), and reaffirm who he is as a Jedi (third vision, refusing to give up on Anakin and trying to save him rather than to kill Sidious) but at no point is he ever made to recognize that wow, the Jedi are the worst for fighting.

I’d argue that the very purpose of the visions showing him Order 66 and Anakin falling are to make him accept that these things are completely beyond his control - and as such, not his fault. He doesn’t get to fix things, because the fate of the Order is not in their own hands. It is, in fact, in Anakin’s (from a thematical/narrative standpoint). Yoda has a hard time with it (actually he almost shuts down when he first sees everybody dead and his first reaction is to say that he failed them, so I can’t accept Yoda blaming his grandkids for dying) but he accepts it in the end, when he tells Mace and Obi-Wan he’s not certain one ever wins a war, but they might still find ‘victory for all time’ (referring to balance aka Sidious’ death in RotJ).

So anyway that’s my beef with Rebels!Yoda. Not hate on Rebels though, there are many parts of it that I really, really love - but some of them kinda infuriate me, and this is one of them.

#ask #anonymous #yoda #yoda appreciation #in defense of the jedi #long post #meta #more like me ranting #my meta

105 notes · View notes

janiedean · 3 years

Note

I feel bad for all the nice J*nsa shippers who like their ship for whatever reasons (tropes, pretty art, aesthetic appeal, whatever) and know it's not canon but get associated with the misogynistic Dany hating crowd who act like Jon being attracted to Ygritte is J*nsa foreshadowing because red hair (I guess Jon should fuck Edmure Tully too? Omg give me Dark!Jon getting revenge on Catelyn by seducing her brother!) Tell me something. I'm new to the fandom but was J*nsa popular before the show? And I've heard something about the OG J*nsa shippers being alienated by the new shippers who insisted it had to be canon and acted like the series is called, "A song of J*nsa #danysux." I don't find that hard to believe because I know people who are now ashamed of calling themselves J*nsa shippers. Like, at this point, it's not only rival shippers who hate it. Even Gendrya/Braime/Jon stans/etc have started disliking that ship. You know your fandom is a problem when people who have nothing to do with Jnsa have a problem with it.

me: reads this ask

me: iwastheregandalf.gif which I can't find now but

okay anon buckle up because I am sadly well-equipped to answer this ask but before I do lemme tell you dark jon seducing edmure to take revenge on cat is LITERALLY THE BEST THING I'VE EVER HEARD but *clears throat* ALL RIGHT THEN.

disclaimer: as anon says I have no issue with like the shippers mentioned by anon in the beginning and ngl I agree, I have ABSOLUTELY ZERO FUCKING STAKES in the j*nsa vs j*nerys war and the only het jon ship I gaf about is jon/ygritte and we all know where that ended up I just... have been here since 2011/adwd was over and all the fic around was just for the books under secret lj communities and asoiaf qualified for yuletide and I have... seen... things.... and I actually have like uh had... beef... with some people in there and I know things bc ppl who hated those others told me stuff so anyway *sigh* buckle up anon I'mma tell you the story of jon shipwars through the years

in order, the old gods help me here, under the cut bc this is long as fuck

when I got into fandom also given what numbers were on ao3 one ship was popular and it was sansan. no like sansan was lit. the only asoiaf ship on ao3 with more than 200 fics. jb had twenty when i checked first. jc had like around 100-ish because of the show but sansan dwarfed anything. I posted the first jon/ygritte fic on the ao3 tag and the fourth throbb fic and like the others were all reposts from lj kinkmemes. nothing was popular before the show except for sansan when it comes to huge numbers bc grrm doesn't like fic and it was all hush hush until the show made it impossible to control and that ship was the one with a huge enough fanbase it actually had numbers, so like... j*nsa wasn't popular in the way nothing else was popular until it got screentime on the show

now, that stated, j*nsa had a... fair amount of fic for a rareship which was mostly book-based and from og shippers that were there from before the show and liked it for what it was but literally none of them thought it was gonna be canon, like it wasn't huge or anything but it had a small but dedicated fanbase who did their own thing and thought it was fun/liked the idea but that was it

that fandom had their own niche of hcs that they cultivated and shit except that like... at the end of S5/beginning of S6 there was a surge in shipping for... well obvious reasons bc it was obv sansa was getting to the wall and that would have been all nice and good but a) it was the time puritanical shipping was starting to take root and the 'shipping sansa with sandor or tyrion is hella problematic' rhetoric had started to circle coming from sans*ery shippers mostly but I'mma not open that fucking can of worms here, b) while the ending of S5 had more of a theon/sansa spike, the j*nsa stuff started getting big

now here we have to mention my villain origin story ie: j*nsa fandom had this one stan whose name I won't make because honestly it's been years and if she's still around I don't want her to remember I exist who was a bnf, wrote for... the website that created the whole larry/carol thing etc who was really fixed on this thing that j*nsa was actually canon and started writing extremely popular meta about it. now you're gonna ask how do you know, I know because this person once wrote a meta named 'why robb stark is a dick' and I told her that it was really fucking bad meta and she took it so badly she kept on trash talking me on her blog/her podcast (I was apparently the insane robb stark fangirl l m a o good lord) and like that was when some sane ppl who argued with her informed me in pvt that she was basically harping on the CANON thing when they'd have been okay with like... it being crackshipping and that she was basically cultivating a hoarde of followers who were harping on them/the ogs and basically ostracizing them;

I would like to add that this person - before her tumblr got 'accidentally deleted' and remade it therefore deleted most receipts for, er, her so-called meta which included stuff like ned and cat raised sansa as a sexual object and only wanted to sell her like cattle - had at some point started a round robin fic thing where... some of the characters mocked openly said stuff that some of the og fans had said specifically targeting them and people in that side basically went harassing anyone who didn't agree with that specific notion

now never mind that this person basically coined an entire term to describe ppl who liked white guys and excused all their wrongdoings out of my conversation re robb basically lying about everything I said as if I didn't have the receipts and tried to sell shirts with it and it didn't work and like then she got kicked out of her own website because she was telling her commenters disagreeing pretty shitty insults (considering I was called psychotic for disagreeing with her that time I don't doubt it) I think at some point she stepped back from fandom bc idk wtf she's up to these days and I don't want to, but basically at that point the dam was broken and there was a bunch of puritanical shippers harping on anyone who didn't agree with j*nsa is canon endgame stuff

this also includes an incident when those ppl were like... passing themselves as throbb shippers and ended up trying to tell t*hramsay shippers off the theon tag based on moral reasons and I ended up arguing with all of them (and they were all from that crowd) which in turn landed me in contact with other og j*nsa shippers who were like detached from that fandom bc those same people harassed them away as well ssooooo fun

anyway when S6 happened everyone was high on it and whatnot but I wasn't gonna begrudge them that I mean... you shipped it for years, canon is delivering you, good for you, but then j*nerys happened

god j*nerys happened

aaand basically...... I mean personally I was there like are y'all seriously arguing about the best incest jon ship out there but like basically the j*nsa endgame side was like AH JON IS PLAYING DANY SEE IF IT DOESN'T HAPPEN, the j*nerys obv got defensive af and both sides were sort of alternatively shitting on jon/ygritte anyway and depicting any other romantic rship jon could have as abusive™ and during S8 it just got worse and like I tried to stay out of it but basically from what I'm seeing now idk how the j*neryses are doing but on the j*nsa one it's ah jon's gonna play dany anyway and she's going to go insane like in the show so SHOW TRUTHING EVERY OTHER WAY and like again denying that sandor exists or that tyrion exists and like I barely touch my corner (sansan) but I ended up arguing with j*nsa/th*nsa people on twitter who were antis and is2g it was white-hair inducing and I know for sure the sansa/tyrion shippers were harassed to hell and back throughout so FUN

and even if the show didn't go there now since everyone there banked on the jnsa endgame thing and admitting you're wrong is like... not a thing, they still haven't let go of it and attach to that ship any shred of evidence which honestly is grasping at straws half of the time (like... the sansa/alysanne parallels like guys please no) and which is why every other ship is starting to get fed up, attaching canon proof of stuff from other ships onto theirs see that batb argument and jb is platonic but jonsa is not nvm taking all the sansan stuff and throwing it on j*nsa but then denying that sansan has canon evidence (like guys I had to read sansa touching his shoulder when saying gregor wasn't a true knight wasn't meaningful and we were seeing things please) and blah blah blah

this also goes hand in hand with the fixation on like... villanizing dany at all costs and like is2g I have zero investment in dany or her storyline I don't even remember it and I don't particularly care abt her either way and sure af I'm not for j*nerys endgame but like.... some stuff I read is completely excessive esp when fixing on how she's a completely mad tyrant who's gonna have to be put down and like... guys no

(also there's some srs stannis hate in that corner which I honestly don't get why they even care abt stannis but I had to read stuff like ppl don't recognize that dany and stannis are the real villains in this saga and like........ idek)

I think most of the og shippers are gone or don't ship it openly bc they don't want to be attached to the drama but like I also think they're pissing off everyone else bc like... I mean a bunch of them also were down with sansa being paired with other ppl as long as it meant a good ending for her except those ppl were... like everyone but the ppl she has actual contact with in canon which meant that at some point sansa/gendry was a thing and like.... you can imagine why arya/gendry shippers & arya stans were fed up, and there's also this tendency to behave like sansa is the center of the entire saga which like these books is named a song of jon snow basically can we pls make peace with it and personally I've had it with both j*nsa and j*nerys people since they started with that dumbass JON/YGRITTE WAS AN ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP rhetoric but I'm also fed up with the total ignoring that sandor exists/depicting us as delusional and honestly I also was by proxy fed up from the harassing of the sansa/tyrion shippers soooooooooooo

there were also instances of 'well theon is an acceptable choice other than jon bc he can't threaten her' which... i mean we all know what that meant and I'm not even commenting it bc it's one AM and I have no force to but I don't have to explain why it's not a progressive take now do I

there were also metas about how cousin incest being legal in half of the world means that jondany is a worse incest and j*nsa doesn't count as such and I was basically there like guys please just fucking own up to it but honestly I chose to forgot where I read that and I couldn't find the link if I tried

tldr: no one wants to admit that it's not gonna be endgame which considering the amount of fic they have on ao3 is imvho useless bc they have more content than like.. anything I ship that's not jb or that's actually like canon *cries in joncon/rhaegar but I mean renly/loras is canon and has less fic than them* so idk what's the problem with enjoying that instead of insisting it's gonna be canon when not even the show validated it while show truthing anyway when the only show truthing that can be truthed is the small council made of minorities and possibly jon eventually fucking off with the wildlings but not like that but like most people who thought it wasn't gonna be endgame had left/were made to leave by the time S7 rolled by and at this point since wow isn't out yet everyone is fandom-grasping at straws to find stuff to discourse on and we're here beating dead horses *shrug*

so that's... how it is but I would again like to point out that I don't judge ppl on their shipping, I don't particularly care about this entire feud bc I only ship jon with ppl he's not related to in whichever way and I try to stay out of this mess bc I don't really care to argue with ppl who have already decided to bend canon to whatever they want and will have to realize that it's not what grrm wrote at some point but like I have a very good memory and the above rant is as objective as possible also bc again I don't literally have a stake in that race I just think romantic/endgame j*nsa is not a thing and that ppl should stay in their lane and not harping on other ppl who ship whatever in general but especially when their ship is the most popular thing in fandom in the first place /two cents

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #anonymous #ask post #anti-jonsa #anti jonsa #anti-jonerys #anti jonerys #both of them for equality

31 notes · View notes

anotheronechicagobog · 3 years

Text

Rangers, Lead the Way

Written by: @anotheronechicagobog

Warnings: Swearing, canon compliant violence, I had to use a lot of material from the actual episode, mention of domestic abuse

tagging: @detectiveinchicago

A/N: So, this is a new series. Basically, OA Zidan (FBI), Jay Halstead (Chicago PD), and Kenny Crosby (FBI: Most Wanted) all went to Ranger training together and kept in touch, something that was useful when they couldn’t be the one to keep their ‘partner’ safe and need to call one of the others for assistance when their ‘paartners’ are temporarily working with another member of the trio.

OA wasn't a name that he'd heard in a long time. They weren't in the same unit but they were in Rangers training together. Jay was one of the only two people there who didn't have it out for him solely because of his religion, while he was shocked to find a Muslim among the ranks at first, he quickly got over it. Not only did he trust that his superiors wouldn't let a terrorist into the army at all, let alone Ranger training, but OA was a U.S. citizen, and had a very personal hatred for everyone who sullied the name of Islam and used it for violence and their own personal gain. So he and Kenny Crosby befriended OA despite the shock and ignorance from their brothers and sisters in arms. They studied together, trained together, ate together, and bunked together. When they'd all been given different assignments they made sure to stay in touch. And they continued to call, email, and text each other after they'd all been discharged.

When Hailey got temporarily assigned to New York Jay was... Well, it's hard to describe how he felt. It was such a nightmarish combination of devastated, terrified, and heartbroken. It was like an icy hand had enclosed around his throat and was slowly squeezing, painfully closing his throat, all while his heart was being dissected out of his chest by another. Not only was he reliving one of the most traumatic moments of his life all over again, but Hailey was going to be in the field without him. She was going to be in danger without him there to watch her back.

And since Hailey was amazing, she could tell just by looking at him that his mind was dropping down into a dark place faster than Alice tumbled into Wonderland. "It's just temporary. And I'll be okay, Jay."

"Hailey..."

"I'm going to put in my time and come back as quickly as possible. It's okay. It's all going to be okay." Hailey's words didn't reassure him in the slightest. How could they, when they didn't even reassure Hailey?

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

"Special Agent Zidan."

"Hey OA, it's Jay."

"Hey man, how are you?"

"Honestly, not great."

"What's wrong?"

"My- uh my partner..."

"Hailey Upton."

"Yeah. She's getting detailed out to the FBI for a bit. I found out that she's getting assigned to your unit."

"That makes sense, my partner's doing a UC detail right now, we'll probably be partnered together."

"OA... Watch out for her. Please. She is strong and more than capable of defending herself, and you quite frankly, but- she's my- I..."

"Don't worry, Jay. I'll have her back. She'll make it back to you."

"Thank you. Seriously, you have no idea how much this means to me."

OA looked at the now-empty desk that had been causing his heart to ache at the sight of it. His shoulder sagged at the pain that was pulling in his chest, the dark fog that filled his mind whenever he started to think, started to wonder, caused his head to throb. "Actually, I know exactly how you feel."

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

"You will be partnered with Agent Zidan."

"Hi, I'm OA."

"Hi. Hailey."

"Nice to meet you."

"You too."

"Listen up, everyone. This is Detective Hailey Upton from Chicago PD. She will be with us for the next few weeks as part of our interagency training program."

"All right, so let's, uh, direct our attention to the screens here. Found the body of a young John Doe in St. Nicholas Park. A hundred yards from Alexander Hamilton's house. Federal land, federal case- and no, it is not where Aaron Burr shot him. The famed duel took place in-- anyone, anyone? Weehawken, New Jersey. Kristen knew. Unfortunately, there's far less clarity in the present homicide case. Evidence of torture and abuse, the victim was brown-skinned, but there was no other evidence of a hate crime. So let's dig in, get to work, start filling in the blanks. Yeah? Go."

"You ready?"

"Yeah."

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

"So, Chicago PD? Should I be nervous?"

"Nervous?"

"You guys have been in the news a lot and not for good reasons."

"Uh, yeah, we've had some issues, but they're being addressed. It's a great place. I'm proud to be a part of it. The next time you want to insult me, just come out and say it, you don't need to disguise it as a compliment. This car right here?"

"Yeah, sorry. I didn't mean it like that. It's just my way of saying we do things differently here."

"Mhmm."

"Just trying to keep it real." And keep you from getting hurt so that Halstead doesn't develop a full head of grey hair. "So, you spend much time in New York?"

"Nah, first time here."

"Any early observations?"

"Pizza's too thin. It's like a cracker with sauce on it. Just trying to keep it real."... Okay, so maybe it would've been nice if Jay had warned him that she had an axe to grind, but he could make do.

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

"If I hear you're harassing any more immigrants, I'm gonna come back here, and I'm gonna break your arm. Do you understand?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

"I forwarded Kristen the pictures of Aman. She'll get us a street block number based on the license plates in the background."

"Just like that, huh?"

"The FBI, Upton. Our tech resources are pretty sick. Look, it's not a big deal, but now that you're working with us, just try and be a little bit more careful. If that guy Prichard calls the Bureau complaining that you threatened to use force..."

"Look, man, I don't need a lesson on how to talk to people, all right?"

"Hey, hey, hey. Don't get me wrong. I have no problem with someone breaking that idiot's arm, it's just... It's just that the Bureau is hardcore, and they take that stuff really seriously."

"You're right. I'm sorry. If he files a beef, I'll eat it and make sure you're clear. All right?"

"Appreciate that. But what the hell's a beef?"

"It's an expression."

"I'm kidding. Kristen said Aman's house is around this area."

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

So, Hailey is a badass. That was pretty damn cool to witness. Sidenote; Jay is going to murder him.

Hailey was fine, more than fine, she actually saved his ass. But that didn't matter, Jay had trusted him to protect Hailey and hadn't failed, but he hadn't done the best job either.

They'd been searching a house, and after coming down the stairs he completely missed an assailant in the kitchen. But Hailey hadn't. No, she saw him and got him out of the line of fire. He provided cover fire while she jumped back over to the wall at the end of the stairs. OA tensed, more than usual when he was in a firefight unless Maggie was- nope, not going there, the point is, he didn't miss the way a bullet penetrated the wall a few centimetres from Hailey's head.

"Halstead."

"Don't be mad-"

"Oh god-"

"Hailey's fine. One-hundred percent fine, not even a scratch. We just, uh, we got into a shootout with an assailant. He got a shot off close to her head. She's fine- more than fine! I swear! She actually saved my ass in that altercation! And I was covering her the whole time!"

"... That's it? That's a pretty normal day for us, OA. She's okay, you're okay... So, everything, is... Okay. And seriously, thanks again, man. I can't even begin to tell you how much this means to me. I know that she can take care of herself and the others around her, but it's hard when I'm not the one there to have her six. So I really appreciate that I know and trust the person who is."

"Well, I'm glad that you're not gonna come at me like you did when I stole one of the cookies your mom made from your care package."

"Yeah, we wouldn't want a repeat of that."

"Plus, I know how it feels to... Not know. My partner is under right now and..."

"You're going out of your mind?"

"More than you can believe. I can't eat or sleep, and every time my phone buzzes I think it's a death notification instead of an emergency call from work."

"Sounds like you've got your own Hailey. You'll have to introduce me to Maggie one day."

"Yeah, I will. And Ken's definitely gonna have to introduce Hana. We have heard far too much about her to not even be able to put a face to the name."

"Tell me about it. Sometimes I regret our 'no search' rule, but then I remember how much we embarrass each other."

"By the way, thank you."

"Huh? For what?"

"For saving my ass back there. In the house."

"Oh. Okay. Cool. You're welcome."

"Halstead, how much do get shot at, exactly?"

"Why are you asking?"

"She pushed me out of the path of a bullet and when I thanked her afterwards she treated it like it was nothing."

"... I mean, there's not exactly a whole lot I can do about people trying to kill us..."

"Jay. Dude."

"I can try to stop being 'idiotically reckless' as Hailey calls it, but I'm not trying to be a hero or a dumbass or anything, it's just that... If it's not me getting hurt..."

"...It's her."

"Yeah."

"We're both whipped, aren't we?"

"Oh, ridiculously whipped. The desk Sergeant at my precinct is constantly making fun of me for it."

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

"Just got ballistics back on the slugs fired at OA and Upton. They match the bullets that killed Aman, but get this; they also match the bullets pulled from a drive-by murder victim two months ago."

"Could they ID a suspect yet?"

"Yeah, arrested him too. Name is Santiago Gonzalez, known associate of the Latin Players. He's being held at MDC pending trial."

"Latin Players. That's a Chicago gang."

"Hmm, looks like they're expanding."

"So the Latin Players killed someone, they get arrested, go to jail, and the gun

stays on the street."

"And the new owner uses said gun to kill Aman, a studious Indian engineering student?"

"Right. What are we missing? How are these two murders connected?"

"Have OA and Upton pay a visit to Inmate Gonzalez. Maybe he can help us answer that question."

"Right."

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

"So this guy, Gonzalez, is originally from Chicago. Runs with the Latin Players, so maybe you should take the lead on this one. But go hard on him." Hailey and Gonzales were from the same city, same blood, this was her turf, and OA wanted to make sure that he abided by that.

"You want a reaction?" Hailey seemed to get exactly what he meant, what he wanted, but she also seemed hesitant, like she needed more than clarification. It was like she needed permission.

"A big one. Big enough to force him to call his people."

"I think I can do that." And just like that, she had a smirk in her voice and was walking ahead of him. OA could see the wheels turning in her head and a coolness to her features let him know that she'd come up with a game plan. He didn't know if he should be afraid or not.

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

"Where's the gun you used in the drive-by?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." They were less than a minute into the interrogation and he was already annoyed. Why did these guys always have to be so smug? He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and just let Hailey do her thing, only popping in to keep the flow going. "One of your friends used it to kill a civilian last night."

"Used it again this afternoon on us. Fired off ten rounds."

"Like I said, I don't know what you're talking about." OA had to hold in a sigh.

"You're staring 20 to life on the case you're riding. Give us the name of the person you gave the gun to, and maybe I'll be able to get you a reduced sentence."

"Get my ass, blondie." OA quickly debated the pros and cons of stepping in. Honestly, this guy would probably just make him angrier with his smug attitude and sexist remarks, plus Hailey wasn't even phased. She was still in control, and she actually seemed a little... Bored.

"I'm not a fed like him. I'm Chicago police."

"So what?"

"Means I play by different rules. Also means I know the names of all the shot callers in the Latin Players. Tomorrow morning, we're gonna do a warrant sweep. Means a lot of people you know are gonna get arrested."

"That's not my problem."

"But it is. Because I'm gonna make sure that they know you are the snitch who gave them up."

"Now, you know nobody's gonna believe that."

"Really? Because in my experience, pissed-off bangers don't do their homework, and if they think you're a snitch, you're a snitch. In the street, rumours become facts like that."

"I'm done talking."

"Alright."

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

"So you think he believed us?"

"I don't know. What?"

"Nothing, you just reminded me of my partner, Maggie, in there."

"Oh."

"In a good way."

"Then thank you."

"Can you cue up the audio feed?" The prison guard nodded back at OA and did as he asked.

"So where is your partner?"

"Uh, she is on an undercover assignment. That I know absolutely nothing about besides the fact that she is gone and unreachable."

"That's gotta be pretty tough."

"Yeah, but she's really good, so she'll be fine."

"We're up." The guard unmuted the computer and moved out of the way so that he and Hailey could see it clearly.

"Yo, just say the word, man. Chicago about to throw that heat."

"What are you talking about?"

Gonzalez sighed. "Police and FBI here sweating me, man."

"About what?"

"That piece that I left behind. I'm guess it's all connected to what happened on the night at Highbridge Park."

"All right, thanks for looking out."

"No doubt."

"Can you trace the number that he called?" OA was ansty, ready to get moving fast before their lead disappeared and from the honed in look in Hailey's eyes he could see she felt the same.

"Payphone up in Washington Heights." The prison guard was curt and efficient, exactly what they needed and OA was silently grateful.

"Okay. Thank you."

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

"I'm guessing that's his girlfriend."

"Hold on. I talked to her at the park, right before we found Ernesto's body." From the way her body tensed OA could tell Hailey wasn't happy she'd let this girl slip through her fingers. He could tell her that it wasn't her fault, no one was even remotely aware of this connection, but he knew that was pointless. Any passionate law enforcement officer would beat themselves over something like this, himself included.

"Ah, and we have a hit off of social rec. Her name is Harper Quinlan, 23 years old, last known address is 84 Groton Street, Queens, New York."

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

"Why were you at the park?" OA sat across from the young woman, dead set on getting all the information she knew. Arman's murder was quickly dissolving into a larger more horrifying crime and he was worried that the poor man who this had all started with would be forgotten and he didn't want to think about why that enraged him so much.

"I told you before. I was walking."

"Or was it to recover the glove that Lucas dropped after he killed his drug supplier?"

"I don't know anything about that."

"We have video of you in the driver's seat of Lucas' Range Rover at Highbridge Park the night that Lucas killed Ernesto Garcia, so you are now an official suspect in a murder investigation. That means no more lying, no more protecting your boyfriend. You either cooperate with us here and now, or you go to prison."

"I'm not gonna help you ruin Lucas' life. I just won't. He's a good person."

"Harper, good people don't sell drugs or kill people."

"Yeah, you don't know him like I do. He's so nice, and... he's sweet... He really loves me."

"Lucas isn't who you think he is, Harper. Protecting him will only get you and more innocent people hurt. Tell me why you think he was in the park that night."

"I'm not gonna help you."

"Are you listening to what I'm saying to you? You're a suspect in a murder investigation here. Lying to protect him makes this worse. You're putting more lives at risk. Be smart. Tell me why you were there that night. Harper, you don't need to go to prison for him." OA knew he wasn't getting anywhere and was trying to think of some other- any other method- to try and get Harper to talk, when Hailey burst into the room. She looked calculated, like she had a plan or idea that needed to be executed exactly or else the worst might befall those she was trying to protect. Which, if he read her character right, was everyone.

"Unlock it."

"What's going on?" Harper was just as confused as he was, but he knew better than to show it.

"Do it. Pull up your texts."

"Oh, my God."

"What does it say?" Hailey already knew, that much was obvious, but whatever was going on needed to be as brutally real as possible to Harper, and voicing it out loud would drive whatever was going on home for Harper.

"'Return the product, or he's dead. You have four hours. Tell your man to meet us at the place we did our first deal.' Oh, my- oh, my God." Harper's sobs quickly took up the space of the interrogation room, it didn't matter that she hadn't seen her father in so long, losing him would devastate her, and the Latin Players knew that well.

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

"Let me take a run at her. I might have an angle to play." OA watched Hailey carefully, trying to make out was she was thinking, what angle she could possibly have, but he hadn't known her nearly long enough for any of that. There was this... Knowing glint in her eyes, and a sort of dark confidence had taken over her aura. She was confident in whatever plan she had, obviously, he just had no way of predicting what it was. In that moment, OA could really see what made Jay all twisted over her. She didn't look excited to break the accomplice of a drug dealer, or eager to impress the FBI. She looked like she was ready to get elbow deep in someone else's mess just for the sake of protecting as many people as possible with her quick wit and razor-sharp intelligence. So he just inclined his head and got ready to watch her work from the other side of the glass.

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

"You're in a tough place right now, Harper. We have video of you at the scene of a murder, which makes you an accessory. You're looking at 15 to 20 years in prison. But if you cooperate, we can help you. We'll talk to the prosecutor, explain why you were there, help him understand the nature of your relationship with Lucas."

"What are you talking about?"

"I know what's going on. He hurts you, doesn't he?"

"No. That's not true. He's a good guy-"

"No, he's not. What are those bruises on your neck? You tried to cover them up, but I can see them. When you first met, I bet he was great. You guys hit it off, you had fun. He was everything you wanted. But then he started chipping away at your friends and your family. So you pop a pill to numb the pain and tell yourself everything's okay, just hoping that the abuse is gonna stop. Harper. It won't. I talked to your dad. He loves you very much. And he needs you right now. He's in a lot of danger. If these guys don't get their drugs back, they will kill him. The only thing that matters now is you helping us to find Lucas, so we can recover the drugs and find your dad." Watching Hailey in the interrogation room really was something else. From the slight waver of her tone, the palpable understanding in her voice that seemed to wrap a crying Harper in the first hug she's had in a long time, he could tell that she was exposing a pain-filled part of herself to this- this girl, this accomplice in drug dealing and murder. And still, she was able to remain professional and in control, and OA could honestly say that her incredible ability to do her job both made his heart ache for her and impressed him far more than he thought she would.

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

They were in the surveillance van, waiting for Harper and the SWAT team to get in to place. What OA was itching to ask her was highly personal. He did not expect her to feel comfortable talking to him about it, but she'd given Harper some of her strength and after revealing something so heart-wrenching, the protective Egyptian older brother in him needed to make sure that she'd left enough for herself. "So, how do you know so much about abuse? I am sorry, I did not mean anything by that."

"No, it's fine. It's all good. Everyone becomes a cop for a reason. I guess that's mine."

"Uh, yeah."

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

"Don't forget, Harper. He wants the cash to get out of town, but we need the location where he first met his dealer. That's where your dad is." OA nodded along to Hailey's instruction, keeping a critical eye on the emotionally distraught Harper.

"Babe. They took my father."

"What are you talking about?"

"That guy that you deal with, they grabbed my father and texted me that they're gonna kill him unless we return the drugs that you took."

"Oh, no, no. I can't- I can't do that."

"They took my father!"

"Look, I feel bad, but they will kill me. Oh, Jesus, don't-"

"Lucas."

"Don't give me the sad eyes look."

"Lucas."

"I'm screwed. Look, I gotta look out for me- for us, you understand?"

"Look, I need to know where you and Ernesto did your first deal 'cause that's where they wanna meet."

"I just told you, I'm not going-"

"I will go! I'll call my uncle. He has a lot of money. Maybe I can negotiate a deal or something."

"I gotta get moving, all right, so give me the money."

"Where did you meet him?"

"Stay strong." Hailey could see her waver, could see her lose her ground and need someone to keep her steady. "Location first, then give him the money."

"Lucas. Lucas. Lucas!"

"I'll call you later on, all right?" Lucas, being the selfish douchebag that he is, grabs the bag of money and moves to book it, leaving his girlfriend who needs him behind.

"Damn it. Move in now!" OA sounded the call and immediately all agents left their posts and honed in on Lucas.

"Lucas!"

"You lying sack of..." Lucas, in an effort to prove that he really is a stellar guy, pulls out a gun and starts shooting at the agents, causing panic and fear in the civilians around them. Really, Harper? This guy?

"Get down! Get down!" Hailey pulled Harper out of the line of fire and pushed her to the ground before covering her with her own body, amazing OA with her selflessness yet again. You really picked a good one, Jay.

"Move, move!"

"Drop it!" Scola had joined them when Lucas went for the kill, forcing OA to do the same. Only OA was a good shot, though.

"Lucas! Lucas! Lucas! Lucas..." Harper couldn't stop calling for him, and OA was certain that the only reason she hadn't crawled over to his body was that Hailey was holding her in place. "It's okay." Hailey seemed to be stuck on repeat, comforting Harper. OA personally couldn't see how someone who had been abused would mourn their abuser... But then again, he thankfully had never had to suffer through that. Unlike Hailey.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"Sounded like he was ready to hit the road, so I'm guessing his dope is close by. Nothing back here." OA went to the Range Rover with Scola to look for anything- finding the drugs would've been preferable, but as long as it was a tangible clue, they could call it a win.

"Yeah. There's nothing here either."

"Any luck?" Hailey approached them, her I-know-something-that-you-don't-but-don't-worry-I'll-tell-you plastered on her face.

"Nope. Nothing."

"You have the keys on you?"

"Yeah."

"Here, let me try something. Hop in. Shut the trunk." Hailey closed the driver's door, started the engine, pushed a button on the stereo and on the car door. A drawer illuminated by blue light opens, containing the missing drugs.

"I already pushed it. Nothing happened." Scola sounded mildly insulted, but OA just chuckled internally.

"Okay, Chicago." He was impressed, and he wasn't going to hide that. He was also going to give Jay a call later to tell him to ask her out already. There's no way a woman this amazing stays single for long.

"I have a CI who installs these things. Engine has to be on and doors closed in order for it to open."

"Okay, we got the dope. Now we just gotta figure out where to deliver it to."- OA

"Yep."

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

"We have Lucas' texts from the phone he was carrying since Harper said he started doing business with the Latin Players about a month ago-" Kristen was leading their group of field agents and Jubal towards the front desks, explaining what she found, and while normally they would have totally enjoyed her explaining just how smart she is, things were a little time-sensitive.

"Yeah."

"We need to scrub that time period."

"There, on the 28th. There's a text that says, 'Meetings at 2. Let's do 9 instead of 8.'" One of the analysts pulled the info onto the computer screen in front of them, showing them the text records.

"'Let's do 9 instead of 8'? But the meeting's at 2:00. Is that some sort of code?" Jubal's mind was whirring away with Kristen's, figuring out exactly what it meant.

"Well, here's Lucas' GPS data from that day around that time." Kristen worked her magic so that Jubal could work his.

"All right, so from 1:37 to 3:12, he was in Brooklyn down by the river. Kris, can you zoom in? Get a more specific look at this. Yeah, over here. Can you drill down right there?"

"Okay."

"They met at 2:00 at a dock. Pier nine instead of pier eight. That's the meeting place." Scola voiced it out loud, like he was still in thought and hadn't had time to put all of the pieces in place internally first.

"There it is." Jubal's prideful voice made OA smirk.

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

"We've got 67 minutes to get the drugs down to pier nine. Unfortunately, the guy we need to deliver the drugs is at the city morgue." Isobel voiced the dreadful obvious from her office, forcing them all to sigh and start their plan to catch Arman's killer from scratch.

"I'll go under as Lucas' friend. I'll give him the coke in exchange for Harper's dad." Hailey volunteered herself, but not with the same gusto she'd been working the entire case. Something was off and OA's 'spidey senses' were giving him no peace.

"No. These guys have done their homework. They're not gonna buy that." OA knew he made a good point, but he hoped that no one saw the way his shoulders went rigid.

"I get it, but I think I can pull it off."

"No, I agree with OA. It's too risky." Isobel agreed with him and OA felt like he could breathe again, he promised Jay that he'd watch her back, something he couldn't really do if he was watching her not with her. And if he were honest with himself, he'd become a little attached to her in the time they'd been partnered together, hoping that they would become friends.

"So we need a plan C."

"Let me do it. He's my father. I'm the one who got him into this awful situation. So let me do it. Let me do something meaningful. Something that will make me feel good about myself... Please. Gotta let me do it." Harper looked at Hailey, not even acknowledging the rest of the room.

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

"You're gonna do great. Just follow the plan we laid out."

"He doesn't get the second bag until you see your father."

"Right. Got it."

"And if your dad's not at the meeting place, you tell the man to bring him there. He'll say no. You stand your ground." Hailey seemed to be offering more comforting advice.

"You have more leverage than you think. This dope is worth a lot of money, and that's all they really care about." While he seemed to be offering more calculated advice.

"It's okay to be nervous. They'd be suspicious if you weren't. You good?"

"I'm good."

"Okay."

"Okay. Here we go."

"Alpha team in position."

"Where's Lucas?" The gang leader, covered in tattoos was menacing as he approached.

"He sent me instead."

"And my product? There's only one kilo here."

"The other four are close by."

"Close by doesn't do me no good."

"Show me where my father is, and I'll get you the other four."

"Don't get cute with me, mama. I'll cut your throat. Go get my dope."

"Let's get ready to move in."

"No, no. Give her a chance."- Hailey was confident, but OA couldn't help but side-eye her. Wondering just what made her so sure.

"You trying to get your dad killed? 'Cause, that's what's happen if you keep playing."

"I need to see him."

"He's alive. I promise."

"I need proof."

"[whistles] Right over there, chica."

"Okay, we got eyes on the dad. We're good to go."

"Wait, wait, wait. Let's see if we can get him talking about Aman's murder. As soon as we see a weapon, we roll."

"Okay." OA knew that Hailey was smart, and she had been making great calls throughout this case, but he was still hesitant. An innocent man's life was in the balance, but he wanted justice for Arman too.

"Be a good girl, go get my dope. Do that, Big Papa walks. I'll go with you."

"So... So... How do I know you're not gonna kill me and my father once I give you the dope?"

"I don't kill civilians. Bad for business."

"You kill that Indian guy? He was a civilian."

"I try my best, but I'm not perfect, mama." Harper meekly retrieved the second bag from behind construction equipment.

"You did good, Harper." But 'good' wasn't enough for him. Suddenly a large silver gun was pointing at the middle of her forehead.

"FBI! Don't move!" OA lead the charge, coming out of hiding and announcing himself the second that they got confirmation that he murdered Arman they'd burst out of the van and beat SWAT to Harper, the Latin Players, and Harper's father.

"Drop your weapon now! Let me see your hands now! Put the gun on the ground! Step away! Put it down now!"

"Get on the ground! Get on the ground, now!"

"Dad!"

"Let me go! Dad! Dad! Dad!" Honestly, he didn't give the tearful father-daughter reunion much attention or thought, but he noticed that Hailey did, if only for a couple of seconds longer than necessary. He didn't know what to make of that, though.

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

"Hey."

"I just filed my 302. Do you need help with yours?"

"Nah, I just finished."

"So, I have to admit, I wasn't so sure about you."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't sure about you either. But you're all right. For a fed."

"You wanna grab a beer?"

"I'm okay. You don't have to look after the new kid."

"I am pretty sure you don't need looking after. Come on, you saved my life. The least you can do is let me buy you a drink."

"For the tenth time, I didn't save your life. All right, let's grab a beer, but only if you tell me why you became a fed. I told you my reason. It's only fair you tell me yours."

"Deal."

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

They didn't quite 'go out for a beer'. When OA heard Hailey's stomach throw a temper tantrum in the elevator he suggested going out for food that was accompanied by a beer. She'd agreed as long as they didn't go out for "crackers with sauce on them". OA had laughed, not even remotely or phased by Hailey's obsession with Chicago pizza. It's just another thing she shares with Jay. Besides, he wanted to take her somewhere else.

When they sat down Hailey looked around, taking it all in. Omar has been coming to this restaurant all his life. It had been open longer than he'd been alive, he'd even had his tenth birthday here. He hadn't brought Maggie here yet, not because he didn't think they were close enough, he just didn't know how she'd react to realizing that they are that close. "I hope you like Egyptian food."

"I've never had it, but I'm Greek and I know that there are a few shared foods and ingredients."

"Really? I wouldn't have guessed Greek from 'Upton'."

"My parents changed it when they moved here, their name was too difficult for Americans to pronounce, and there was some... Other stuff."

"I'm familiar with 'other stuff'. Do you want any recommendations or need me to explain anything on the menu?"

"You know what? You can choose what I eat tonight. If I like what you pick, I won't tease you for it the rest of the time I'm here."

"Well, for the record-"

"What record?" Hailey laughed.

"For the record, I am completely confident in my knowledge of food so I know I'll find something you'll like. After all, it can't really be bad so long as it's not non-Chicago pizza. Right?"

OA ended up choosing a dish called 'kushari', it wasn't like the Chicago or Mediterranean food Hailey was used to but she'd loved it. OA was smiling at her, proud of his victory, Hailey rolled her eyes, smirking at his impishness. "Tell me about your partner." The question caught him off guard and for a moment he'd felt a significant crack in his walls, leaving him exposed. Suddenly all the feelings he'd been pushing back since Maggie went UC enveloped and starting drowning him. Fear gripped his heart, haunting curiousity stabbed his mind, and loneliness hooked onto his soul. "OA? We don't have to talk about her, I'm sorry I asked, I didn't mean to upset you."

"She's one of the most amazing people I know. She's smart, strong, generous, empathetic, courageous... She's honestly one of the most amazing people in my life and I love having her as my partner." Hailey looked at him the same way his sisters and mother did whenever he spoke about one of the most important people in his life. Like they were able to listen between his words and decipher another meaning to what he'd said. But like his mother, his sisters always gave him hell for it, she said nothing. I couldn't even dispute it if she did say anything.

"She sounds badass."

"She is. What about your partner? Tell me about them?" He'd narrowly averted saying 'him', unsure how she'd react if she knew just how close she and Jay really were, and just how much Jay had told him about her. She got this smitten grin on her face, and OA knew that the roles were reversed from a few moments ago when he had that same smirk and far off look in his eyes. "His name is Jay Halstead, and he's an amazing person, except for when he's getting himself shot, the reckless idiot. He would rather get shot at than get a needle which rattles me to no end, especially because he's so much more kind and intelligent than he gives himself credit for and we need him you know, alive, but still, I admire him so much. He makes me laugh and he just knows how to get to me, you know? I would... I would follow him anywhere. Wow... What is in this food? Truth serum? I'm not usually that open..." It was like he could literally see a forcefield shaping around her. Shrinking in on herself, her face hardening, hastily putting a forkful of food in her mouth. She looked at the wall behind him, pretending to be interested in the decorations, trying to pass off the slight panic in her eyes.

"Maybe it's just my charming demeanour, or that I got personal first, really personal. Or maybe it's because you needed to tell that to someone you don't see every day."

"Yeah. Maybe." She still wouldn't look at him and a tense silence enveloped them until she took a deep breath and shook herself. Light seemingly went off in her head before she gave him an absolutely devilish smirk. "I believe I was promised your origin story."

"Is that what we're calling it? An 'origin story'?"

"It is now."

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

"Halstead."

"Get your head out of your dumb ass and ask Hailey out."

"I- OA-"

"You won't regret it, Jay. I actually think that you will regret it if you don't."

"I just don't know if I'm ready to admit anything to myself, forget Hailey."

"When does life ever wait until you're ready, man? Neither of you work in a stable occupation, and even then the universe isn't exactly known for working on anyone else's timeline. I can literally feel you aching for her from here."

"But what if I'm not good enough."

"Oh, I've only known her for a few days and I already know that no one's good enough for her-"

"Damn have you adopted her as another honourary sibling? How many do you have now? And Hailey actually knows you've adopted her, right?"

"Not important, and don't try and change the subject."

"But if no one's good enough for her, then..."

"You're too hard on yourself Jay. No one's good enough for you either. Why shouldn't two people who are far too good for the world be together? You deserve happiness, Jay. You both do, and I think telling her that you're far gone with her would be a great start."

"Thanks, man. Really."

"No problem."

"... So you think that I'm 'far too good for the world'?"

"And now I'm regretting every word we've spoken." No I don't, but your head really doesn't to get bigger.

"Nope, no take-backs. You think that I'm badass and amazing."

"I never said 'badass' or 'amazing'."

"Jay Halstead- described as 'far too good for the world' by the humble and decorated OA Zidan-"

"I also called you a 'dumbass' but whatever, goodnight Jay. And seriously, ask Hailey out."

#One Chicago #Chicago PD #hailey upton #hailey x jay #jay halstead x hailey upton #upstead #upstead fic #jay halstead #OA Zidan #maggie bell #oa zidan x maggie bell #zibell #fbi cbs

79 notes · View notes

myblueeyedbuggers · 3 years

Text

My Boys

Chapter 13

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 14

Pairings: Steve Rogers X Reader (Best Friend) Bucky Barnes X Reader

Word Count: 2063

Warnings: Swearing, bit of violence if you looking very closely

Summary: After being abandoned by her parents in Brooklyn in 1929, y/n makes a living for herself by working for the Црни лабуд gang until she meets two boys in a back alley and her life slowing begins to change.

Ey up my Loves, so we’re back and kicking ass! Quite literally in this Chapter, I’ve been going back over my previous chapters and I’m considering rewriting them to fit my new style. Let me know what you all think, do you prefer them as they are or would you want them to match my new style ? Anyways without further ado here's chapter 13, enjoy everyone! <3

3rd person POV

Years have passed since that moment, time brought changes to the trio, what was once a childhood crush developed into a fierce love that neither of the pair wanted to acknowledge or admit in fear of loosing the other.

As you can imagine both Steve and Becca were ready to rip the heads off of their dumbass siblings.

6 years is a verrrry long time to put up with long looks of pining and repressed feelings, but unfortunately for the Brooklyn natives, y/n and bucky were about as stubborn as each other and refused to listen to the reasonable, sometimes frustrated, rants of their best friends. So much to the utter frustration of Steve and Becca, the two young lovebirds lived in a state of denial and attempted (the keyword being ATTEMPTED) to move on with their lives.

Naturally, someone as charming and handsome as James Barnes seemed to have a never-ending line of girls begging to be his, it had become a common occurrence for him to have a new girl on his arm each week, not that Steve or Y/n approved of his behaviour but hey Bucky can be a real big dumbass when he wants to be. Y/n did try to hide how much it bothered her, thankfully not only was Bucky a dumbass he was also completely unaware of her feelings and simply chalked it down to her being the unapproving sister, but to Steve it was a clear as day. He could see it in her face every time Bucky left to take the new girl dancing, or when she’d finish work early only to see Buck and his new girl on a romantic date in the Café opposite the dinner she worked at. The bright light behind her eyes always dimmed a little and she wouldn’t talk for hours, which for anyone that didn’t know her was enough to ring an ambulance and arrange a mental evaluation.

Now that’s not to say that Bucky was any better, the look of absolute utter rage that covered his face when another man called for Y/n was enough to make Steve and Becca completely loose it and simply laugh at his misery, neither of them felt bad because they’d been telling him for YEARS to man up and confess his feelings. Occasionally the pair did feel a slight twinge of guilt towards their brother, like the time the trio went to Y/n’s house to surprise her after work, only to see her kissing the cheek of a guy they’d never seen before, just like his other half Bucky did try to hide it, but the flash of pain that crossed his face was impossible to miss.

It’d gotten to the point where Steve wanted to lock em both in a closet til they finally admitted their feelings and put themselves out of their misery, though the fact that he had all the physical stats of a toothpick quickly nipped that idea in the bud.

Cut to today, for once it looked like it’d be a fairly normal day for everyone, boys were off doing god knows what, knowing those two it’d involve a punch up started by a small blonde idiot and finished by an even bigger idiot of a brunette. Though the same couldn’t be said about their girl, ever the more responsible one of them all Y/n had agreed to work overtime in the local dinner over on main street, meaning that she’d be the one closing the place down at 9pm.

Y/n didn’t even wanna think about what her two idiots would get up without proper adult supervision, though over the years she’d learned to expect that it would more than likely be something illegal.

Thankfully, it wasn’t something she had to worry about for the next couple of hours, though 9 times out of ten she’d be the one cleaning up the cuts and bruises only for them to come back the next day fresh wounds. As much as it did on occasion piss her off to no ends, Y/n wouldn’t want it any other way, they were and always will be her boys.

Y/N’s POV

Well, that was an absolute shit show of a day.

I mean you’d of thought that I was common knowledge not to put ya hands up a waitresses skirt, but nay some men didn’t seem to have got that memo, ever the public servant I made it my job to enlighten then with a hot cup of coffee to the crotch. How I’ve not received employee of the month is beyond me, what’s not to love ? I’m a fucking delight!

Thank god it’s home time, if I’da stayed in that place any longer something would of happened, knowing my crazy ass it’d of been something violent but in my defence….okay I don’t have a defence, but men can seriously suck ass when they wanna. All I wanna do is have a peaceful walk home, ignore the homeless guys that like to gawp at my ass and run a big old bubble bath whilst relaxing with a decent book.

Naturally, that didn’t happen.

Now, If ya spend as much time around a bunch of over aggressive monkeys that love jumping into fights as much as I do, you’ll probably get real good at recognising the sounds of a fight. And I’ve got a pretty good idea who the two dipshits are that started this pissing contest.

The sounds of shoes scuffling across the pavement were pretty much impossible to miss now, that along with the grunts and groans of a bunch of guys smacking the absolute shit outta each other tipped me off to what was happening around the corner. Everything in me screamed to carry on my merry way and let these morons sort out whatever beef they had in peace and believe me I was so close to ignoring it and walking past em, but it’s kinda hard to do that when ya hear ya best mate scream “come at me motherfuckers!”.

I couldn’t help the frustrated sigh that came outta my mouth but come on guys! This is the 5th one this week!

Very reluctantly I doubled back and went to help my idiotic boys out of whatever trouble they managed to get em selves into, and boy I’m glad that I did cause they were losing. Badly. It would seem that Steve’s request was met for them to “come at” him, cause one of em had him by the arms and was pummelling the life out of his small body, and Bucky wasn’t having any better luck either. Buck was in the same situation, but he had the pleasure of two guys restraining his arms whilst another two took turns in kicking him in the stomach, I mean I was already pissed off at what was happening to Steve but now, I’m beyond pissed and IF I’d of taken the time to calm down for a few seconds I’da thought of a better plan than this.

“Man…I really liked these shoes”.

In my defence, I didn’t mean to throw them as hard as I did, I was hoping to distract them for a couple of seconds so I could get the jump on the guy beating the crap outta Steve, instead I hit him square in the back his head and knocked him the fuck out. Any other time I’da been wetting myself laughing, but instead it seemed like time slowed down as the assholes holding Steve up froze and made eye contact with me, even the guys on Bucky stopped to see what had happened, all four of em had a look of complete and utter disbelief when they finally saw me. Not that I really cared, all I wanted was for em to get the fuck off of my boys.

Nobody seemed to wanna say anything for the next couple of seconds, the assholes beating up Bucky and Steve were still trying to wrap their heads around what just happened, and my idiots were looking back and forth between the guy on the floor and me, not even taking the time to try escape their holds. How the hell they manage to survive all these years without me is beyond my understanding.

“Sup my dudes, my names Y/n and I’ll be kicking ya ass today”.

I think it’s safe to say that I snapped everyone out of their shocked states, cause the guys holding both Steve and Bucky dropped their asses to the ground and instead focus on me, which is pretty fair considering I did just knock their mate out with a 2-inch healed shoe.

“Do ya know what we do to girls that don’t know their place round here? Cause ya about to find out girly” why is it always the ugliest motherfuckers that try to act tough, I mean look at this guy! he’s got more stains on his shirt than he does teeth, and about as much hair as a furless cat, I’ve been more intimidated by a group of 12-year-old girls in the dinner than I have him!...teenagers are fucking scary don’t judge me.

Right back to this absolute shitshow of a ‘fight’.

Mr ‘I’m only 30 years old and I already need dentures’ swung his arm out towards me in a pathetic attempt at a punch, which massively backfired on him cause I threw that dumbass over my shoulder and ‘accidently’ knocked his last 4 teeth out. That left me with the rest of the hounds, two of em were rushing at me the second I let go of their newly toothless friend, the one on my right missed me completely and fell over a fence, dumbass. The dude on my left though, well he didn’t miss I’ll put it that way, he fully rugby tackled me into the car behind me, knocking the wind outta me and leaving me dazed for a few seconds.

But just like the first guy, his ‘punches’ were about effective as a marshmallow. Pretty embarrassing for him really, I mean you hate to see it.

“Okay no, give me your hand I’m gonna teach you how to punch cause this is just embarrassing for you dude, first don’t put your thumb at the bottom cause ya gonna break it, second don’t just throw ya arm forward and hope it hurts, use your body weight cause ya got a lot of it and throw it into the punch.”

At that point I’d pushed him off me and the car, his form was absolutely terrible so I went ahead and corrected it for him, found out his name was Eric, which was pretty interesting, gave him a few practise shots and then let him hit me for real, and I must be a fucking amazing teacher cause that one hurt!

“Really Doll?”

Let me tell you, I’d never seen Bucky so unimpressed in my life, his face was completely deadpanned with only his eyebrows raised, Steve wasn’t too impressed either, his infamous mum glare was in full force as I sheepishly backed away from my new best friend.

“In my defence, you left me unsupervised, and Eric’s form was absolutely atrocious, wasn’t it Eric my lad ?”

“….She’s a pretty good teacher to be fair”.

“See? I’m a good teacher! Suck it Barnes!”

Bucky Knocked Eric the fuck out in response. I think you can all understand how heartbroken I was.

“What the hell Barnes?! If it weren’t for me you and Steve would be dead!” I’m pretty sure I looked as insane as I was acting, Steve was full on laughing his ass off behind Buck, I mean if I weren’t so annoyed by them both right now I’d be on the floor with him just dying of laughter. But nay, I had a bone to pick with the both of them, which I think they both realised considering they both went pale before turning around and bucking it to my house. What you need to remember is that these are fully gown men, running around a Brooklyn neighbourhood screaming bloody murder, with a much smaller y/h/c lass running right behind them brandishing a pair of heels, fully intending to murder them both.

How we’ve gone all these years without being arrested or locked in a mental asylum astounds me.

So hopefully you all enjoyed this, let me know what you all think, we’ve got about 2 more chapters left of my boys then we move onto Captain America the First Avenger!!

lots of love

Rose xx

#winter soldier x reader #winter soldier #captain america x reader #captain america #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #mcu #fanfic #reader #reader insert #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader

43 notes · View notes

glacecakes · 3 years

Text

Slowly Led up From the Deep

Despite what anyone else (Lance) said, Eugene wasn’t a mother hen. He wasn’t! There was a distinct difference between being cautious and prepared for the worst due to living on the streets, and mother henning the shit out of everyone.

(“You mother hen the shit out of everyone,” Lance would say. “And I’m a dad. With the same past as you.”)

Case in point: Varian.

(Or: the Baron tries to kidnap Varian to get back at Eugene.)

Weeee another project! This one is a lil different tho Basically I have ideas for four (maybe more? Debating whether or not to expand to 7) angst oneshots with each oneshot pertaining to an element. So this is water, I have a plan for earth, air, fire if I decide to go thru with this. Poor Varian, sorry not sorry

(“You mother hen the shit out of everyone,” Lance would say. “And I’m a dad. With the same past as you.”)

Case in point: Varian. Following the events of… well, yknow, life , Eugene was a bit nervous about letting the kid out of his sight. After all, he got kidnapped, drugged, assaulted, imprisoned, and flung out a tower. And that was all in one day! So excuse him for being concerned about his friend's health. The guy had a death wish, and clearly someone had to watch over him or else he would die from falling, or forgetting to sleep, or setting himself on fire, and then Eugene would have a very angry beef-tittied man at his throat.

Since his redemption, Varian had quickly weaseled his way into the man’s heart, not unlike how Rapunzel did. He’d always wanted a younger sibling as a kid, and Varian fit the bill. His tiny frame and nervous demeanor made him a prime target for Eugene to try and instill life lessons into, no matter how much Varian protested. So long as he worked in the castle, Eugene saw to it that the kid got three square meals a day.

And when he’d failed to keep Varian safe...

Being trapped in unbreakable rock, helpless while Varian slid across the floor, the fading screams as he plummeted to what should’ve been his death…

Let’s just say Eugene has bolted awake to those sounds more than once.

And now he was Captain of the Guard, on top of being a big brother. Which meant that he had to oversee the Royal Alchemist’s (aka Varian’s) more… delicate experiments.

As of this moment, Varian was mixing a glowing red liquid, goggles pulled over his face. Eugene had tried to peer over his shoulder and watch, but the younger pushed him away, grumbling something about not spilling it all over.

Gloved hands wrapped around a pipette as he worked, mumbling scientific jargon under his breath. Rapunzel was able to follow along a lot better than he was, which meant Eugene had no clue what was going on.

“Hello, Allo, Varian?” He waved a hand in his face, startling Varian and nearly causing the liquid to slosh out its beaker. “Hi. Yea, I’m still here and I would like to know what’s going on.” He gave the kid an unimpressed eyebrow raise when he turned, sheepish. Clearly Varian forgot about his “lab partner”.

“Right, sorry.” Varian coughed, setting aside the pipette to hold up his substance. “So, the thing with the water tanks is that… they’re really hard to work on once they’re up and running. Right? You can’t exactly go into the tankers,” he snorted. “I mean, you could, but you’d boil alive.” His brows furrowed and he brought a free hand to his chin, deep in thought. “Actually, I don’t know what would happen… maybe…” His brain was off to the races, already miles away from the current conversation.

“Varian,” Eugene snapped, crossing his arms in frustration. Not that he didn’t want to be here, but he really didn’t want to hear about Varian’s new plan to throw someone into a vat of flynnolium to see if they’d survive. “Royal Engineer, more like Mad scientist.”

“I take that as a compliment,” Varian said, turning back to his lab table with a grin. “Aaaanyway, this stuff should, if my calculations are correct, and they are,” He added, knowing Eugene had already opened his mouth. “This stuff should dissolve stuff like rust, but only when exposed to water. So basically we’d just throw a vial of this into the tankers, wait a few minutes, and drain it. Then, tada! Sparkling clean tanks, good as new.” His voice floated with each step, bouncing around his workspace with eagerness and joy. Varian hummed under his breath, grabbing a pitcher and filling a small cup with water. Water from the nearly full pitcher sloshed around, nearly spilling onto the table as he sang along to the song in his head.

“Hey, kid, isn’t that the jug you use for drinking?” Eugene asked, walking over.

“Hmm?” Varian glanced back, not really caring, too in the zone. “So it is.”

“And it’s full, even though I gave it to you this morning?”

“Yeah?”

“Which would mean…” He circles his wrist, expectant gaze meeting Varian’s confused. The boy lifted up his goggles to reveal eyes bluer than any sky. “...That you haven’t had anything to drink?”

“I had some juice at lunch.” Varian said.

“That’s not the same.” Eugene responded.

Varian shot him an annoyed gaze. “Seriously? We’re doing this now?” He asked, a hand moving to lean on his desk. He missed, sending him stumbling, but he kept his gaze trained on Eugene.

Eugene simply hummed, walking over and plucking the red vial from it’s test tube. He placed it in his coat pocket. “Yea, we’re doing this now. No experimenting on that glass, you are to drink it right now.”

“What?” Varian’s face turned slightly green. “This thing hasn’t been properly washed in who knows when! I use it as my paint cup!” He gestured to the wall, covered in notes, writings, and the odd Rapunzel doodle. The one Varian was pointing to was a doodle of his pouty face, perfectly matching his current expression.

Eugene didn’t miss a beat. “Fine. Drink from the pitcher.”

“No!”

“Right now, chug it! Come on, you won’t do it, pussy.”

“I’m not going to chug it,” the alchemist pinched the bridge of his nose. “And didn’t Rapunzel tell you to stop calling people that?”

“No experimenting until you drink it. Captain’s orders.” Varian threw his arms up in frustration. “Why are you so against drinking right now? Come on, I know you’re thirsty!”

“I need the water for the experiment! If I drink it, I’ll have to get a refill!” Getting a refill meant going upstairs, disrupting his thought process and ruining the zone he had been in all day. It was hard to get into that state of absolute concentration, and leaving the lab would surely cause his bubble of productivity to pop.

“Oh no, a refill! The absolute horror!” Eugene fake gasped. The younger’s face burned red as his older friend draped his hand over his forehead in mock distress. “Whatever shall you do, cursed to go get some fresh air by… going upstairs!?”

Varian growled. He wasn’t going to win this argument, they’d had it often enough. But between his excitement over his invention, and Eugene’s teasing, and pulling rank… his ears burned as he took a long swig from the pitcher. He’d be dead before he told Eugene how soothing the cool water felt on his throat, how it spurred him to gulp down half of the pitcher in one go. “There.” He bit out, eyes narrow as daggers. “Are you happy?”

Eugene’s eyes, which had closed in his mock despair, opened to see the teen’s melancholy. Honestly, he was so moody over drinking water , it was ridiculous! All he was doing was making sure the kid didn’t die, oh how wicked of him.

“Yes, quite!” He grinned. “See, wasn’t that hard! I swear, you give me more grey hairs every day. How your dad kept you alive, I’ll never know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Varian asked, eyebrows raised in offense. Did Eugene not think he could handle himself?

“Well, y’know, the guy always ignored you for hours on end, the fact that you didn’t die of dehydration or starvation is a miracle,” Eugene snorted.

The atmosphere grew tense in a heartbeat. Varian froze where he stood, fingers outstretched towards the cup quickly retracting. "What did you just say?" Varian hissed, eyes narrowing as he turned.

“Just that your dad wasn’t there for you like I am.” Eugene couldn't stop the words that escaped his throat. Jealousy clawed at his mind, sinking sharp talons and cutting his common sense to ribbons. He’d been looking after Varian during his stays at the castle, both before and after he’d become Royal Engineer, and yet he was the bad guy here? He was the one who risked falling off a tower to crawl out to Varian while his dad, who was well versed in the moonstone, had decided he’d rather play with his pumpkins then get involved, despite his son being asked to translate a death spell.

“You did not just say that,” Varian growled, trying to keep himself in check. He hated getting mad, especially at his friends, seeing as he didn’t exactly have a good track record with it. “You did not just suggest that you’re better than my dad.”

“Hey, all I’m saying is that he literally let you cause earthquakes with no supervision when you were fourteen and then got mad when it didn’t exactly turn out great.”

“At least my dad didn’t abandon me for three months.”

“At least I came to save you when Cass kidnapped you.”

Varian slammed his fists on the table. “Did you even tell him about that? Or did he not know I was missing, just assumed you were taking care of me until I came home with broken ribs!?” The alchemist whirled around, marching up and planting a finger on Eugene’s chest. “He thought you guys were keeping me safe, but no ! So what, now you’re trying to make up for it by breathing down my neck? I’m not a little kid, Eugene! It’s one thing to look out for me, but a whole other to smother me and insult my dad!”

The man huffed. “I’m not smothering you, I’m concerned for you! What reasonable parent is ok with their kid forgetting to eat or drink?”

"Well I’m sorry he trusts me to! You’re just a control freak who can’t accept that not everyone needs his input! You don’t trust my judgement at all!" The anger in Varian's eyes... Eugene hadn't seen it since the battle of Old Corona. He couldn’t stop himself from what came next; it was like a reflex, some leftover anger from before.

"WHY SHOULD I TRUST YOU!?" Eugene screamed, before quickly covering his mouth in horror.

Varian's eyes widened, filling with tears. Then he carefully schooled his face back to impassive and cold.

Eugene faltered, guilt boiling red hot in his stomach. He really messed up, didn't he? It wasn't that he didn't trust Varian, far from it. From his sassy remarks to dorky antics, and the way he was so passionate about everything, it was clear that Varian put his heart and soul into everything he did, and he only shared that with the people he trusted. Eugene was honored to be one of those people. Now, he might have just lost that.

He trusted Varian with his life. But Varian's life? He couldn't trust anyone with that. It was too precious to him. He'd failed to protect Varian so many times, he just wanted to do it right from now on.

Eugene tried to reach out. "Kid, I didn't mean it like that," he began, but Varian ignored him. Instead, he shouldered past, marching up the stairs towards the main castle, pitcher in hand.

"I don't know, Eugene," Varian spat as he walked, words as bitter as the feeling in Eugene's gut. "Why should you? After all, I'm just a traitor to the crown. I could be a spy for the Baron or Saporia, you never know."

"Come on, I know that’s not true," Eugene stepped forward, moving to follow, but refrained. He could see the quaking of Varian’s shoulders, almost imperceptible to anyone who didn’t know him as well as he did. "Varian, you've come so far, you're an amazing kid, I just.."

Varian whirled around, showing that sure enough, his eyes were brimming with tears. "You just what? Fear me? Like everyone else? It's fine, go ahead! Just next time," he sniffled, brushing away an angry tear. "Next time, don't pretend to care. Don’t pretend that you are monitoring me just out of the goodness of your heart. Just treat me like the criminal you think I am.”

He left the lab, leaving Eugene alone with his still untested compound.

About a minute after Varian had stormed off, a guard poked his head in.

“Hey Captain… is now a bad time to tell you a prisoner escaped?”

He groaned.

You could practically see the steam coming out of Varian’s ears as he stomped through the castle, to the point that all the maids and guards gave him a wide berth. His cheeks puffed up as he stomped. Stupid Eugene, stupid pitcher, stupid rules, stupid stupid stupid!

“Ugh!” He cried, kicking at the ground and delighting in the scuffing noises. What did he know anyway? Varian was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, he had been for years! He’d been fine on his own in the months he’d been abandoned, after all. He didn’t need Eugene then, and he didn’t need Eugene now.

Never mind the fact that his descent into madness had been because no one was there.

He burst into the supply closet with all the fury of a thousand suns, thankful that no one was in there at the moment. His hands shook as he placed the pitcher under the pump, letting out his frustration at each up and down motion of the lever.

“What does Eugene know,” Varian hissed. “He was on his own for-fucking-ever, and yet here he is thinking that I can’t handle myself? Says he doesn’t trust me to not die, I survived just fine without him!”

He was so focused on his task, on letting out his anger and ignoring the tears that fell into the pitcher, that he didn’t hear the muffled yelling, or the shuffle of guards, or even the heavy groaning of iron on wooden floors.

The door slammed shut with a heavy thud, and Varian frowned. So much for being left alone. He didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to face who he assumed was looking for him. For a moment, the only sound was the other party’s heavy breathing, and Varian’s sniffling.

“What do you want, Eugene?” He hissed. “Come to yell at me for not taking a break?”

The other person doesn’t speak for a moment. Then, a gruff, and decidedly not Eugene speaks. “Are you talking about Flynn Rider?”

Varian startles. He glances up to see the buffest man he’s ever seen (and considering his dad that’s saying a lot) is bent over, fiddling with something on his shoe.

“...yea. Eugene.” He says, turning back to the pitcher. Odd, no one in the castle called him that anymore. Maybe this guy was a visitor? A tourist who got lost? Ambassador, even? He wasn’t sure. Despite his technically high status, he wasn’t exactly welcome in court. Which meant he was often invited to royal balls only to not know a single person or anything about the current politics. It sucked.

There’s a clink as the man unlocks something. He smirks, turning back to where Varian is distracted. “So, you know him?”

“ Know him?” Varian scoffs. At the silence, he realizes the guy is serious. “Yea, I do. He’s annoying.”

“Tell me about it.” The man gruffs. Unfortunately for him (or, more accurately, unfortunately for Varian), the boy takes the invitation.

“He’s like a big brother to me, which is nice… except for the fact that he treats me like a baby brother instead of a younger one. Constantly hovering, always worried about me. I get that he means well,” he goes on, completely oblivious to how the man’s face lights up in a wicked grin, before shuffling around the closet, searching for rope and linen. “But god, it’s so frustrating when I’m trying to do something and he’s just yelling at me to take care of myself! He just wants to, to keep me locked away or something! And then today, he-he insulted my dad, tried to imply that my dad didn’t care. I get that to him it seems that way, since he’s only ever seen my dad a few times…” he let out a sigh. “I just… I appreciate what he’s doing, but he needs to chill.”

“I don’t know,” the man hums. “I’d argue he’d be valid to be concerned at this exact moment.”

Varian furrowed his brows, eyes glancing back and forth as he tried to make sense of the statement. “What does that…?” His eyes widened as the man turned around. Long blonde hair… rope in one hand… a ball and chain in another.

The Baron smirked.

Eugene kept a brisk pace, anger and annoyance growing by the second. Of course the one time he needed to be looking for Varian, he was stuck instead looking for a maniac. Leave it to Stan and Pete to mess up a prisoner transfer.

“Any sign?” He calls as he passes a guard, who turns to keep in step.

“No sir, but we have reason to suspect he hasn’t left the kingdom.”

“Good. I want all units on the lookout.” The guard saluted and ran off to execute. Their forces would be spread thin, but it was their best bet. He just hoped no one else would run into their convict.

Especially considering his past with the bastard.

No sooner does he make that wish, there’s a loud crash, akin to glass breaking, and a scream.

An all too familiar scream.

“No no no…” He breaks into a sprint, following the source of the noise. Please, for the love of god, let this not be the case. Let him be wrong, it’s just a scared maid, he just spooked him, let him be ok…!

He skids around the corner, and his heart stops dead in his chest.

Varian was strewn over the Baron’s shoulder, violently thrashing. His arms were bound behind his back, and a cloth tied into a gag over his mouth. Tears of desperation budded as his eyes were screwed shut. Strewn at his kidnapper’s feet were shards from a vase. Said man turned, and he saw how it was broken. Varian’s legs had been tied together, with one also chained to the iron ball that had been used to keep the Baron contained. A lot of good that did.

“How on earth are you still fighting?” The giant hissed. “That chain should keep your legs from moving!” Varian glared daggers down at his kidnapper, no doubt spitting fire through the cloth the likes of which would make Lance faint.

Eugene’s shock quickly morphed as he drew his sword with shaking hands and leveled a glare. He couldn’t protect Varian the last time he was kidnapped, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to fail this time.

The Baron smirked. “Ah, Rider. How nice of you to join us.”

Varian’s eyes snapped open, trying to look over his shoulder to see his brother. Large, tear-filled eyes met dark brown in a silent plea. Their previous argument no longer mattered. All that mattered was keeping him safe.

“Let him go. Now.” Eugene’s voice was deadly level, no longer filled with its usual charm and life. “And maybe I’ll be lenient on your sentence.”

The baron hummed, readjusting Varian in his fireman’s carry. “I have an alternative idea. See, I know you, Rider. And I know how weak you are for your friends. Your family.” The last bit caused Eugene to briefly glance up at Varian, before returning his glare to the Baron. “You’re going to let me walk out these halls, and out of this kingdom.”

“And if I don’t?” He really didn’t want to ask, he knew the answer. But he needed to know. How much danger was Varian in? It was one thing to hurt Lance, an adult who already was disliked by the Baron. But an innocent kid…?

The Baron smirked. “Let’s find out, shall we?” With that, the man thrust his fist into the giant window beside him. Glass spewed from the wound, splinters causing both Varian and Eugene to flinch, the latter taking a step back. It was all the advantage the Baron needed, climbing out and into Corona’s sprawling streets.

“Fuck!” Eugene hissed, leaping after, but it was too late. The man had vanished into the maze. He only had one option left, he realized, his gaze turning to the mainland.

“I wasn’t planning on taking hostages, but you’re the Royal Engineer, hm? And Rider’s little brother. I’m sure I can fetch a pretty penny… though I’m not opposed to just killing you,” The Baron hummed, moving through the city’s alleys at a speed that really shouldn’t be possible when the man had a squirming teenager on his back. But the words had stunned Varian into submission, helpless to do anything but try and kick his chained leg. If he could just get the damned ball to move, he could potentially use it as a weapon.

Maybe then Eugene would actually trust him to take care of himself.

The main bridge was fast approaching, unguarded, with nothing stopping the criminal from making off with his prize. Wait… there! Straight ahead, a lampost. Varian didn’t need to move the ball, just get the chain stuck around it, and that should buy him some time!

Slowly, so as not to alert the Baron, he began to swing his leg, letting the ball’s momentum begin to carry. He couldn’t swing very much, its weight too much, but his timing was just right. The ball swung around the pole as they passed, hooking on. The Baron was not prepared for the jerk, and so he stumbled, Varian slipping down his grasp and tripping him further. He fell to the floor, grunting slightly in pain.

He only had one shot. If he didn’t get himself back up now , his attempt would fail. Nimble hands twisted around in his bonds, trying to slide out of the rope, but they were too tight.

Come on Varian, he thought to himself. Eugene taught you how to escape this stuff! Think! How do you get out of ropes?

His mind trailed to the post-Cassandra “Hostage 101” seminar Eugene had given (read: forced onto) him. Something about using your elbows to create a space in your wrists? No wait, that was for when your hands are in front of you! Gah!

Despite it all, Varian can’t help but let frustrated tears prick at his eyes, slicing down his cheek and cutting open his soul, leaving it raw, exposed to the elements, to this bastard. He couldn’t even get his binding undone! At least with his last kidnapping, he could not escape because it was literally unbreakable. Here, he was just too weak. Too naive. Too oblivious.

If Eugene was here, this wouldn’t be a problem. Eugene would never let anything bad happen to him on his watch, it was his job, after all. And he was damn good at it.

If only Varian hadn’t stormed off.

He squirmed forward, trying to drag himself away from the Baron and buy himself more time. But it didn’t work. The man grabbed onto the ball, and yanked hard , dragging the teen over rocks that slashed at his skin.

“I will admit, that is exactly what I should’ve expected from you,” he growled, his massive form towering over Varian. With one smooth motion, he hauled the alchemist up by his shirt collar, forcing their eyes to meet. “But you won’t get away that easily.”

“Neither will you!”

The Baron turned, a feral smirk crawling over his face as he saw Eugene’s panting form. “Rider. I thought I told you not to follow?” He clicked his tongue, more akin to scolding a small child.

Eugene didn’t back down, sword drawn and pointing straight at his prey. “Let him go. Now.” It wasn’t a suggestion, but an order.

The Baron raised an eyebrow, hand still tightly gripping Varian. “You took everything from me. My daughter, my legacy, my empire. You really think I should let him go?”

“He has nothing to do with any of that!” Eugene barked, protective rage racing through his veins and spitting out of his mouth like flames. “Release him. Or I will engage.”

The Baron teeth were bared, canines flashing. “Good.”

He turned and threw Varian off the bridge.

Time moved in slow motion. Wind whistled in Varian’s ears, ruffling his hair and sending it spiral above his head, filling his vision with raven edges. The sky seemed to shrink, growing farther and farther away.

Eugene’s horrified face from high above was the last thing he saw before he hit the water.

Water rushed up his unprepared nose, spilling into his soul as he choked and tried to spit and cough it out. But he couldn’t, gag remaining firmly in place. He thrashed, trying something, anything, to stop his rapid descent, but the heavy ball on his ankle prevented any success. Blue overtook his vision, rays of sun fading more and more along with his loss of oxygen. His ears ached with increasing pressure, more and more until finally the ball hit something, vibrations rocketing up his leg.

He tried desperately to think of something, anything that could help him, but as the fog of unconsciousness creeped ever closer, the haze growing stronger and stronger, all he could think of was Eugene .

It was his last thought before darkness overtook him.

“VARIAN!” Eugene shrieked, watching as his little brother hit the water with a splash . His horrified gaze whipped around to see the Baron calmly walking away. “Get back here!” He yelled, running forward with his sword prepared to strike the man down once and for all. It hit its target, slashing the Baron’s shirt open and his form onto the floor. Blow after blow, he whaled on the large man with fists so fast his enemy had no time to strike back. The Captain raised the sword with both hands on the hilt, preparing for the final strike in a fit of fury…

“Sure,” the Baron grinned through a split lip. “Kill me, go ahead. But you’ll be killing him too.”

Eugene froze mid air.

He had a choice to make.

He could fulfill his duty, keeping Corona safe… at the cost of his baby brother…

Just like during the blizzard, just like in the months after…

The Baron cackled, seeing the emotions flicker across Eugene’s face. “Tick tock, Rider!” He yelled, laughter ringing in the captain’s ears and drowning him in panic just like how Varian was drowning now-

He dropped his sword in horror, sprinting over to the bridge’s edge, barely able to make out a familiar shape down below.

There was no more hesitation; he dove straight down, teeth gritted as he took a deep breath and fell down into the murky abyss.

There was one small blessing, and that was that the bay wasn’t terribly deep. It didn’t exceed beyond 20 feet in depth, and while that wasn’t much, it was still enough to cause a problem when you’re fucking drowning .

His boots hit dirt level, eyes straining in the freshwater as he tried to make out Varian’s face. It was slack, no emotion, no open eyes… he was running out of time.

Think, Eugene, think! He’s dying! His panicked mind screeched. In theory, the gag and hands could wait, but the ball and chain needed to go. Where were his lock picks, he thought as he rifled through his pockets until he landed on a vial.

His eyes widened as he took it out, the red glow illuminating Varian’s rapidly paling face. Of course! The kid’s alchemy! Thank god he’d listened, god his brother was so smart!

Please, please work, he prayed, smashing the vial on the ankle chain, watching with delight as it dissolved like paper in water. Immediately, Varian started to float. His big brother wrapped his arms around him, pushing up off the floor to propel them to the surface.

He gasped, lungs aching as he treaded water, Varian��s head lolling against his chest as the captain struggled to keep them both afloat. Thankfully, the mainland was right by, and in no time he was pulling Varian onto a grassy bank.

He wasted no time, starting chest compressions the second they were both on shore. “Come on kid, come on, don’t die on me!” Eugene hissed, water dripping from his hair onto the teen’s face. “You survived fucking Zhan Tiri you do not get to die from this-”

He was cut off as Varian began to cough violently, rolling over onto his side as he threw up water. A soothing hand ran over Varian’s back, consoling him as the kid slowly came back to life.

Finally, he stopped gagging, only panting heavily as each breath felt like heaven. Clouded blue eyes glanced back at his savior, melting into relief when he saw who it was.

“Eugene,” he sighed, letting the older man pull him into a hug he quickly reciprocated.

“Fuck,” Eugene breathed, laying his chin on Varian’s head. “You ok, kid?”

“...I think I drank enough water for today.”

Eugene laughed, tightening his grip just a bit more. “Yea, ok, you got me there.”

The walk back to the castle was slow going. By the time they both got there, they were shivering like crazy, so much so that the maids took one look at them and tossed towels their way.

For now, they were settled in the infirmary, letting the doctors check Varian over to make sure he wasn’t at risk of secondary drowning. A fresh fire crackled nearby, permeating the room with a comfortable atmosphere as Varian laid his head on Eugene’s shoulder.

“Did…” Varian was the first to speak. “Did you catch the Baron…?”

“...No. He got away.” Eugene sighed, defeated. He was not looking forward to writing a report.

“I’m sorry,” Varian whispered.

“Don’t be.”

“But I am!” The teen leaned back, frustrated blue meeting confused brown. “If I had just remembered any of the stuff you taught me, I would’ve been able to escape on my own! I shouldn’t have to rely on you for everything…!” His face burned red at the admission, guilt overpowering.

Eugene frowned. “Hey, whoa. You were panicking, it’s ok to not remember! If you want a refresher I can give you one.” His eyes glanced elsewhere. “Or maybe. Someone else should. Don’t want me hovering after all.”

Varian was quiet for a moment, eyes looking anywhere but his brother as the words evaded him. “No. I… I don’t really mind hovering. Sometimes,” he added, holding a finger up. “Sometimes. It’s nice to remember you guys care. But… you need to trust me to not fall over at the smallest push.”

“You mean like this?” Eugene joked, poking Varian in the side, smirking when the kid leaned heavily and fell onto his back, resting against the cot.

“Not fair,” Varian grumbled, but sure enough, there was a small smile on his face. It faded slightly. “I’m sorry for blowing up. You were just trying to help.”

Eugene smiled, slightly pained, but still a smile. “Nah, I deserved it. I’m sorry for all the stuff I said, kid. You know I trust you with my life, right?”

Varian nodded, grabbing Eugene’s arm and pulling him down till he was resting beside the younger. “And I trust you with mine,” he said.

“Well, I would sure hope so.” Eugene snickered. “So, we good?”

“We're good.”

“Excellent. Now, I don’t know about you,” the man wrapped an arm around Varian, till he was resting his head against Eugene’s chest. “But I am exhausted. You exhaust me, you know that?”

“Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes,” Varian teased, but didn’t argue as his eyes slid shut.

“Grey hairs, Varian. Grey hairs.”

#varian #tangled the series #tts #tangled #rapunzel's tangled adventure #eugene fitzherbert #tts varian #tts eugene #team awesome

54 notes · View notes

spine-buster · 4 years

Text

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 22

A/N: So this chapter actually marks the end of the plot line of the movie “The Devil Wears Prada” -- I’m sure the dialogue after the Zamboni driver game from last chapter and the “By all means, move at a glacial place, you know how that thrills me” line was a bit of a hint. Also, we’re striking that last scene where Andie apologizes to Nate in the restaurant because she had absolutely nothing to apologize for 😤 ANYWAYS, this means that from this point, up until maaaaaybe the final FINAL chapters (whenever this thing ends, because I still don’t know when), all content and storyline is original and not based on the movie, although it will still obviously be inspired by it. We love consistency! Have a great read, and enjoy! Let me know what you think as always!

February 24th, 2020

Aberdeen Bloom watched as Brendan and Kyle were answering phones left, right, and centre.

Seriously. At one point, Kyle had three on his ears. He didn’t have three ears. All because of the damned trade deadline. And it was still only 9:30 in the morning.

The room was set up the way she was told to set it up; prepared how Brendan wanted it prepared. Every major voice for both the Leafs and the Marlies was in the room – Brendan, Kyle, Brandon, Dave, Reid, Leanne, Sheldon, Paul, Dave, Andrew, Jim, Troy, and even Laurence, Mike, Greg, AJ, and Rob from the Toronto Marlies. At the front of the room, on the whiteboard, there were the names of all the players – even those in the system – glued to magnets so they could move them around. On the other side were magnets with names of some other players from teams that they’d been looking at bringing in through a trade. Three phones were hooked up in the room, and Brendan and Kyle were on their cellphones a lot. There was a TV set up for video playback and hooked up to Reid’s laptop. Brendan would exit and enter the board room at will while he was on his phone. So would Kyle. Kyle was dealing with most of the possible cap stuff. There were worksheets everywhere.

And in the back of Aberdeen’s mind, all she could think about was Tyson Barrie.

He’d been on her mind since the drive home, really, and since all the ramp up for the trade deadline started. And she couldn’t help but wonder if Brendan and Kyle knew of him wanting to be traded and him being unhappy. Did Brendan and Kyle concern themselves with the private lives of their players? Even if the player said nothing? That was the ultimate question Aberdeen needed answered, because now that she recognized all the clues, it was glaringly obvious to her how much Tyson wanted out. She hadn’t said anything, obviously. His name magnet wasn’t moving around much, but she knew how much he wanted to be moved. She was conflicted.

“This motherfu…” she heard Brendan mumble as he looked down at his phone. “Can someone post a memo to the entire fucking league that we’re not trading Nylander, for fuck sakes,” he announced to the room. “The core isn’t on the fucking table unless Connor Mc-fucking-David is in the mix.”

Aberdeen let out a shaky breath she didn’t know she was holding in. William being traded was not, for some reason, a worry of hers, if only because everyone knew he was having a banner year and Kyle had made explicitly clear that he wasn’t going to be traded so long as he was GM.

Kapanen.

Johnsson.

Gauthier.

Holl.

Ceci.

“It’s not in his contract but Spezza won’t go anywhere. He wants to be here.”

“If Johnsson goes it’s one less player we offer up to Seattle when the time comes.”

“Can Kappy go? He’s good bait. He’s got a friendly contract.”

It didn’t help that everything ended at 3pm. It also didn’t help that they had a charter flight waiting for them at 4:30 to take them to Tampa for their game tomorrow. Aberdeen didn’t know how they were going to handle this timeline. What if they made a blockbuster trade? What if someone was shipped off to the west coast at 2:59pm and had to uproot his whole life? Everybody in the room wasn’t exactly calm, but she didn’t know how they could take about trading these players as if they were cattle being moved. She knew this happened in all sports, but now that she was a part of it (well, in the room – it wasn’t like she was making decisions), it made everything more complicated for her.

“Tyson’s staying. Tyson – no – Tyson – Tyson is – Tyson is staying,” she heard Brendan repeating to Kyle, in what looked like a semi-private conversation. She couldn’t hear some of the other things he was saying, but some words were said loud enough. Contract. Avalanche. Kadri trade. Defense. Rielly-Barrie.

Happy.

Aberdeen gulped. Did Brendan think he was happy here? Did Kyle? Because she knew the exact opposite. She knew Tyson wasn’t, but she was sworn to secrecy by Tyson that she wouldn’t say a word to Brendan. But Brendan was wrong. Tyson wanted out.

Should…should she say something?

She liked Tyson. She wanted to see him happy. It was complicated, though, because she had no loyalty to him. She did, in a way, as an acquaintance – as someone who overheard a private conversation and then was asked not to share the details of it – but she had more loyalty to Brendan. Her boss. The guy who was trying to build a team that would win the Stanley Cup. The guy that her job depended on.

“Aberdeen.”

Like, who was she loyal to the most? If she actually said something to Brendan, would Tyson hate her forever? Would the entire team turn their back on her and hate her forever too? Because she couldn’t shut her mouth? Because she was a tattle-tale and exposed—

“Aberdeen.”

—exposed a secret of one of the players to the boss? But that secret was tied to his mental health. It’s not like she saw a guy hook up with a teammate’s girlfriend or escort or do blow off a toilet seat or something. This was integral to the well-being of a player—

“Aberdeen!”

She snapped out of her thoughts to see and hear Brendan calling her over. She jumped out of her seat and ran over to him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Sorry. What do you need?”

“I think Chipotle is in order for lunch for everyone,” he said. “Do you mind taking everyone’s orders?”

Seventeen Chipotle orders later, Aberdeen was waiting in the restaurant at a bar table, most definitely holding up the line that was starting to form due to her massive order. She took out her phone and saw that William had texted her a heart earlier but she hadn’t seen it. He had the day off.

how bad does tyson want out of Toronto? be honest

how do u know?

i overheard him and emma talking when they drove me home once is it really bad?

can i call u?

it’s not that he doesn’t like it here bc he loves the guys and he likes the city well he really didn’t like babs i think that’s a given but he found it really hard to transition from colorado to here like he couldn’t adjust and support wise he didn’t or doesn’t feel he’s been supported enough and he’s trying his hardest to mesh within the lines and be the guy he was in colorado but he just can’t and it’s driving him crazy

Aberdeen felt herself take a deep breath. Not that she thought the conversation in the car was out of the blue or a one-off, but at least she had confirmation from another source now. She couldn’t help but wonder if Tyson talked to the guys on the team about it. Like, was it an open secret between them?

why r u asking minskatt

She knew she’d have to lie about that one. Even though William was her boyfriend, she couldn’t reveal any secrets of what was happening in that war room. If she did, Brendan would probably put her head in a guillotine.

all i see on twitter and the sports channels is us moving him they think they’re in the war room with us but they’re not and it’s just funny to me that they already think it’s a done deal

welcome to the toronto media i am getting traded too, haven’t u heard 😉

Aberdeen smiled. He was such a little shit.

you’re never leaving me.

never, minskatt ❤️

“Alright, I got seventeen bowls!” the cashier yelled, and Aberdeen knew that was her cue. They were all stuffed into multiple bags and labelled appropriately, so she handed over the company card to pay. Holding the four bags in both hands, she made her way back towards the office.

When she got back, it was very chaotic. The reports were now everywhere. Half the people in the room had left to do God knows what. Kyle was frustrated on the phone with someone. And Brendan was nowhere to be seen. “You might want to find him,” Kyle said as Aberdeen handed him his burrito bowl. His hand was covering the receiver.

Aberdeen nodded frantically. She stopped putting all the burrito bowls on the table where people had been sitting, but for some reason grabbed Brendan’s before she began running around the halls, popping into rooms to search for him. He was nowhere. She tried texting and calling. Nothing. She thought about screaming his name down the hall. Her mind was getting the best of her. Why did Kyle need him? Who was he on the phone with?

Were they about to make a trade for Tyson?

She needed to find him. She needed to tell him.

After circling the halls twice, she finally saw him walking, his winter jacket on, phone to his ear before ending the call and walking towards the board room. “Brendan, Brendan, wait. I need to talk to you,” she scurried to his side. “Tyson Barrie wants to be moved. He told—I overheard a conversation between him and his girlfriend in the car once when they were driving me home after a flight about how deeply unhappy he was here and how he sort of knew he was going to get traded or at least wanted to get traded somewhere so he wouldn’t have to be here and have the pressure on him and maybe be happy again and I promised him I wouldn’t say anything to you but now I am because I thought that maybe if I told you, that you could fix it—”

“Do I smell chicken?” Brendan asked suddenly, taking off his jacket.

Aberdeen stopped. Her brain felt like it just short-circuited. “What? No. I—I specifically told them the beef bowl for you—”

“If I have chicken in mine, I will be very disappointed,” he said, taking his burrito bowl from her hands and giving her his jacket instead before disappearing into the conference room, leaving Aberdeen standing there in shock.

***

The New York Rangers traded Brady Skjei for a first round pick. The Edmonton Oilers acquired Tyler Ennis, who Aberdeen knew was one of Bee McTavish’s best friends. Patrick Marleau went to the Pittsburgh Penguins.

But the Leafs stayed quiet. Calle Rosen came back. That’s it. Tyson wasn’t moved. He was staying a Toronto Maple Leaf. Aberdeen wondered what he was feeling right now. She wondered if he and Emma already had their bags packed for nothing. As everybody went home, Aberdeen cleaned up the boardroom. When it was time to go to the airport, she went to her desk to grab her suitcase. Brendan was waiting outside his office.

The walk to the town car was quiet. The loading of their suitcases into the trunk was quiet. The getting into the back of the car together was quiet. The sitting there as Lou drove through the downtown streets and onto the highway to get to the airport was quiet.

“You thought I didn’t know…” Brendan began, his voice low as he stared out the window. When she heard his voice, Aberdeen turned her head slowly towards him. “I’ve known what was happening for quite some time. It just took me a while to find out what to do with Tyson. A few teams were interested, and were probably willing, come July, to make him absurdly overpaid that he would have jumped at it. But I had to tell everyone he was unavailable.”

Aberdeen felt a shiver run up her spine. Unavailable? If Brendan knew Tyson wanted to be moved – if he knew how unhappy he was – then why wouldn’t he move him?

“The truth is, there is no-one available in the league right now that can fill his place on our team, regardless of how unhappy he is,” Brendan continued. “Any of the other players would have found this job impossible and the team would have suffered. Especially because of the way the media is here. The list of writers, journalists, media personalities, analysts…they eat the players alive. It takes a very special type of player to want to play in Toronto. That’s why it was, and is still, such a big deal that John came home. Hockey is a business, Aberdeen. I’ve known for a while he was unhappy. But I couldn’t trade him. I couldn’t reconsider.”

Aberdeen took a deep breath. And there it was. Tyson Barrie was more valuable deeply unhappy here than he was happy somewhere else. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks. Hockey was a business, just like Brendan said. Despite her best intentions, good people had to make tough decisions – Brendan’s was to keep Tyson on the team. Brendan wanted to win more than anything, and he still thought he could do that with Tyson.

“But I was very, very impressed, by how intently you tried to warn me,” Brendan continued, finally looking at her. Aberdeen found it hard to meet his eye, not showing any emotion on her face. “I never thought I would say this, Aberdeen, but I really…I see a great deal of myself in you. You can see beyond what people want and what they need…and you can choose for yourself.”

Aberdeen shook her head slightly. “I don’t think I’m like that. I – I could do what you just did to Tyson. I couldn’t do something like that.”

“Hmph…but you already did,” Brendan said. “To Peter.”

Aberdeen’s eyes bulged out dramatically. “That’s not what I – no, that was different. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Oh no no no, you chose,” Brendan said sternly. “You chose to get ahead. You want to be successful in this life, those choices are necessary.”

Aberdeen felt like she was about to cry. She could feel her cheeks redden. “But what if this isn’t what I want? I mean, what if I don’t want to live the way you live or be in a career the way you conduct your career? Not caring about people’s happiness and only caring about success.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Aberdeen. Everybody wants this. Everybody wants to be successful. Even writers.”

Aberdeen hadn’t even noticed Lou had stopped the car because they’d arrive at the airport. She could only watch as the door unlocked and Brendan slipped on his sunglasses for the bright winter sun, getting out of the car and walking back to the trunk to get his suitcase. Aberdeen took a minute to process everything. What Brendan had just said. What he revealed to her.

Dumb. She was so dumb. And she still had so much to learn.

Aberdeen was quiet as she walked into the airport with Brendan. She was quiet as they checked in, quiet as they walked to their private hangar, quiet as she saw some of the boys and quiet as she plopped down into a seat, stuffing her headphones into her ears. She knew she should be thankful to be spending her 22nd birthday in Florida, but now, all she could think about was the conversation she’d just had with Brendan. Even William arriving almost didn’t even register with her.

She napped on the plane, not wanting to deal with hockey for at least an hour of her day.

***

The hotel was taking too long to get the key cards and reservations sorted for everyone. Aberdeen tried not to huff and puff, but she was tired. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to out for dinner. After the stress of the last two days, and especially today, she just wanted to get under the covers of her bed and sleep. Sleep would make her happy again. More than anything, she wanted to be in a good mood for her birthday tomorrow, even if she was working.

“Ab-er-deeeeeeeen Blooooooooom,” the way-too-perky helper called out her name. Aberdeen approached her and got her room key, mumbling a thank you. She was on the 5th floor.

Auston had followed behind her, grabbing his as well. When they rejoined the loosely assembled group, he took a look at her. “You look really tired, Aberdeen,” he commented.

She glared at him. She couldn’t believe the audacity of him. She’d just been up for almost two days straight because of the stupid trade deadline. Lucky for him that he didn’t have to work the last two days. And lucky for him that he didn’t have to worry about being traded like most of the other guys on the team. He could at least sleep at night knowing he wasn’t going to be traded for the next five years. “You can just say I look like shit, you know,” she deadpanned.

Auston’s eyes bulged out. “No no no—I didn’t mean—”

“Whatever, Auston,” she grumbled, shaking her head. “I know I look like shit, alright? I don’t need you to tell me.”

“Aberdeen, I didn’t mean it like that at all—”

“It’s fine,” she shook her head again, grabbing her suitcase and dragging it behind her as she stomped away from him. She didn’t have time for his excuses or for him trying to cover up his tracks. She practically punched the elevator button so she could go up to her room before everybody else. Screw waiting for everyone.

She was barely able to unpack her toiletries into her washroom before the first text came through on her phone. Of course, it was William.

saw u stomping away what happened?

She wasn’t exactly going to tell him what Auston said because God knows what he would do.

I’m just tired Willy. I’ve practically been up for 48 hours.

but u need to eat

I’ll order room service, but I’m not going out for dinner.

She left it at that. She heard her phone buzz a few times afterwards but she made a conscious decision not to answer it. She needed to be alone with her thoughts instead. She didn’t need to be around Auston telling her she looked tired. She didn’t need to be around Willy who would be staring at her all night. She didn’t need to be around Mitch and his hyperactive puppy personality. She didn’t need to be around Tyson who was probably sulking at the fact that he wasn’t trad—

A knock.

She took her sweet time going to open it. When she did, she was greeted with Jason Spezza and Jake Muzzin on the other side. She almost wanted to shut the door in their face but knew that would be the rudest thing she’d ever done. “We’re going for tacos. You in?”

“No.”

It was actually Jake who looked more taken aback by her statement than Jason. She figured it was because Jason knew better. “No to tacos? I think that’s the first time in my life I’ve ever heard anyone say no to tacos.”

Aberdeen cracked a half smile. “Have fun guys, but I’m exhausted. I’ve been up for like two days because of the deadline.”

“That’s all the more reason for you to get a healthy meal in,” Jake pressed.

Before she could politely decline again, she saw two figures out of the corner of her eye walking down the hallway towards them. One was William – she could figure him out from miles away just by how his hair looked – but once the other came into focus, a lump formed in her throat. Tyson was with him.

“We goin’ for tacos or what?” Tyson asked. There was a smile on his face. A fake one for sure, Aberdeen thought, all things considering.

And then it happened. She felt the blood and emotion rush to her cheeks, and she felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and responsibility for the man that was standing in front of her right now. She’d tried to help him and her attempt failed. And in that attempt to help, she betrayed him. She couldn’t even look him in the eye. “Please, just go,” she shook her head.

“What? What’s going on?” Jake looked in between Tyson and Aberdeen.

“Will you guys just leave me alone?” she pleaded, her voice strained as she felt tears well in her eyes. “Please. I’m so tired and I’m so—”

“Inside your room, now,” Jason pointed to her bed, not even waiting for her to make the first move, and instead just walking in himself. Everybody followed – everybody except William – who took his spot leaning on the doorway so he wasn’t actually in her room. But he was watching. And every muscle in his body wanted to walk in with everyone.

“What’s going on?” Jason asked softly. “What’s the real issue here?”

Aberdeen shook her head. She still couldn’t look Tyson in the eye, but when she could, she almost broke down. It took every ounce of strength in her not to burst out crying and maintain some type of composure. “I’m so sorry. I tried, I really tried—” she began.

“Tried what?” Tyson asked.

She hesitated. “Listen, I know – I’ll understand if you hate me forever because of this – I know you told me not to tell Brendan what I heard Emma say in the car, but I couldn’t help it,” she began. Tyson’s face visibly softened. “I thought that maybe if I told him he’d actually deal you out, and you could be—you could be happy again, you know, or at least somewhere where—”

“Aberdeen—”

“—but he couldn’t, and he didn’t, and I just feel horrible for betraying you by telling him and I feel so responsible now for everything that happened and I can’t live with myself—”

“—Aberdeen, are you apologizing right now because I wasn’t traded?” Tyson asked. Aberdeen didn’t respond. “Aberdeen, come on. You’re not the general manager or the president.”

“But I could have helped—”

“No, you couldn’t have,” he shook his head. Though his words were short there was a softness and a sentimentality in his voice, even a hint of surprise that she’d even go so far as to feel responsible for not being able to deal him to another team. He understood what she was getting at, understood why she was mad and was feeling this way, but ultimately, he was shocked that she was getting so emotional over it. “You’re not responsible for that sort of stuff, Aberdeen. I know you were trying to help, and I thank you for that, but the responsibility of what happens on trade deadline day falls on absolutely nobody in this room, not least the personal assistant to the president.”

She sniffled slightly. “I just thought that if I told him he’d be more inclined—”

“It doesn’t work that way,” he shook his head, looking her in the eye. “But thanks. I appreciate what you did in its own way. Just remember that it’s not your job to write the narrative.”

He was telling that to an aspiring writer. Go figure. But Aberdeen took in the words, really took them to heart, as she nodded her head quickly. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. And I don’t hate you,” Tyson said. “I see where you’re coming from. Just maybe don’t try to do it again.”

She let out the slightest of chuckles. “Yeah, I think that’s best.”

“William? What are you doing in Aberdeen’s room?”

Everybody whipped their heads towards the doorway to see Brendan Shanahan peeking in. Aberdeen thanked the fucking Lord (and would probably pray the entire rosary tonight) over the fact that she was able to control her emotions and not cry during the interaction, and also that two of the men currently in her room were married with children and the other had a serious girlfriend or else it would all look very suspicious. Brendan took a few steps in and saw Jason, Jake, and Tyson. He didn’t look suspicious, but he didn’t exactly look happy. He had a neutral look Aberdeen couldn’t make out. “I’m not sure if I like four of you in Aberdeen’s room like this,” he said.

“That’s my fault,” Jake piped up immediately. “I was forcing her to come out to eat with us. I was making sure she had at least something to eat since she kept saying no. Tys and Spezz followed to make sure, too.”

Brendan’s look became much more neutral at Jake’s words. “Hmm…I get it. Healthy meals and all. But she can order room service if she doesn’t want to go out. She’s been up for the past two days almost.”

Jake smiled. “Her words exactly. We were literally just on our way out.”

“Have fun boys,” he said, dismissing them. “And I’ll see you tomorrow, Aberdeen.”

She nodded. Everybody filed out of her room, each one of the giving her one last look before leaving. William was last, of course, letting his look linger for longer than the rest before letting the door close behind him. She let out a deep breath.

love how that was the closest we’ve ever been to getting caught and i wasn’t even in ur room

The text came from William not even two minutes after he left. Leave it to him to make light of it, she thought. But it was the following text that got her thinking.

can u tell how the boys wouldn’t say a word now?

203 notes · View notes

hydra-collector · 4 years

Text

i keep you safe from harm, you hold me in your arms

AO3

Ship: Intrulogical

Characters: Logan Sanders, Remus Sanders, Janus Sanders, Patton Sanders, Virgil Sanders (minor), Roman Sanders (minor)

TW: suicide attempts, food, self-deprecation/self-hate, kissing, blood/gore

Words: 4,617

Summary: Remus becomes Logan’s protector, the only one who knows the extent of his poor mental health. Logan tries his best.

Remus hadn’t seen Logan all day.

It wasn’t like they were best friends or anything, but the creative side would often pass him in the halls, maybe spit out a gross fact or two, and occasionally get something of a smile from him. But Logan hadn’t come to breakfast, lunch, dinner, or even come out of his room.

He’d asked the others, even though they were wary why he wanted to know where Logan was. He was just… concerned. And it wasn’t like he was running around the imagination like a desperate, crazed lunatic.

He was just worried.

Remus had been wandering around the mindscape for a while. Most of the other sides had gone to sleep at this point, but he wasn’t one for a healthy or regular sleep schedule.

Footsteps.

In all likelihood, it was Virgil. But he’d lived with the anxious side for a long time, and his steps were lighter and faster than this. He followed them.

He vaguely wondered which side would be up at this time. Janus and Logan were all advocates of self care, Patton had been on a 9PM bedtime since he was ten, and Roman always lamented about his beauty sleep whenever Remus came in to bother him. Even Virgil usually wouldn’t get up until 3 or so, and it was only half past midnight now.

Was that… crying?

It was coming from the direction of the bathroom. He sped up, curious as to who it was and what was going on. Light spilled out from the door, slightly cracked open. The sobs continued, and he ruled out Janus from the sound. Janus cried near-silently, if he even did.

He peered through the crack, trying to make himself as invisible as possible. Whoever it was, they weren’t in view of his position. Nothing but-

Their hand.

He noticed the watch around the side’s wrist. It was Logan. And he was reaching for…

The bleach?

He paused for a moment, trying to decide why someone sitting on the floor of the bathroom needed bleach. He cracked the door open a little wider, adjusting himself so Logan’s leg came into view. He heard scribbling, perhaps on the floor, and then whatever writing utensil used being thrown to the side, the piece of paper floating to the middle of the floor, in Remus’s line of sight.

He didn’t like the look of this.

The sobs continued, feeling their full release now, and the bottle cap came off. Remus nearly panicked; if he didn’t go inside to see what Logan was doing, he might regret it.

He threw the door open, finding Logan leaning against the bathtub, tears streaming down his face, blood streaming down his arms. He’d slashed his wrists, and seemed to be using the last of his energy to bring the bleach to his lips.

No. No, no, no, God, please no-

Remus clumsily wrestled the bleach from his grasp, which wasn’t exactly very hard to do, and shove it to the side. A bit spilled out, mixing with the blood pooling on the floor. He ravaged the cabinet, looking for something, anything, to stop the bleeding. He tossed the things he knew he’d need on the floor and settled for a towel to stop the immediate flow.

He returned in front of Logan, trying to be as gentle as the panicked embodiment of intrusive thoughts could be as he tightened the thick towel around Logan’s arms. The logical side made no move to resist, probably exhausted, hungry, and dizzy.

“Why…” Logan’s word trailed off as the blood soaked into the towels and both he and Remus’s clothes. The metallic smell was overwhelming as it fused with the scent of bleach.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I don’t want you to die, idiot.”

Remus let Logan’s arms rest on his lap, making sure he wasn’t going to try anything or disrupt the arrangement. He shifted away from him to close the bleach and wash it off before replacing it in the cabinet. He looked around for the knife, finding its shiny blade in the tub, where there was more blood dripping from the sides. He snapped it from existence.

He picked up the note, sitting down cross-legged in front of Logan. The handwriting was fairly low-quality, and there were a few drops of blood and tears sullying it.

Dear Patton, Roman, Virgil, Janus, and Remus,

I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough.

Logan

It was short. And it hurt.

Remus pulled the towels off of Logan’s arms, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as well. He wet a washcloth, gently dabbing at Logan’s wounds. Remus could handle anything, but the dark red lines almost made him feel sick. He did his best to avoid the tensing and cringing that would inevitably happen as he patched up Logan’s wounds.

“You’re good enough,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. He waited for a response, wondering if he was going to get one.

Logan hesitated, staring at the bandages numbly.

“...Just don’t tell them. Please.”

He wasn’t ready to confront that, was he?

“I won’t.”

He finished, Logan waiting by the door as he mopped up the blood. While he would’ve been glad to let it sit there and terrify the others, that was suspicious, and if he didn’t, Logan would’ve tried to.

Remus whisked away the mop, joining Logan by the door. He wrapped his arms around Logan, the fresh smell of his shirt contrasting with the metallic scent filling the room. Logan took a step back, surprised, but Remus pulled him tighter so he wouldn’t stumble.

“Don’t do that again, okay?”

Logan didn’t answer for a moment, sinking into the hug.

“I… I’ll try.”

Virgil grabbed him by the arm, pulling him through the halls to the bathroom where the other sides were flocked. It was the designated hair-dying day, and everyone had agreed. Except for Logan.

Virgil (and the other sides) knew how adverse he was to it, how desperate he was to be taken seriously. Yet they ignored him when he told them.

Remus was the one with the hoard of dye colors, tossing the ones he didn’t want aside for the rest of the sides to search through. Patton already had his color, a blue that was a little more saturated than Logan would’ve thought. Roman chose a deep, dark red within the next few moments, to no one’s surprise, and Virgil started chatting, trying to figure out if he should use the same color as last time or a new one.

The indigo blue, he had to admit, did look appealing. It was a rich color, and would fit nicely with his tie.

But…

He had other issues to worry about.

The other sides already didn’t take him seriously enough, and if he dyed his hair by choice it would push them over the edge. He’d be treated like an idiot, like he wasn’t worth even pretending to listen to.

Remus was deciding between a dark forest green and a bright lime green, while Virgil had settled on his old color, and Janus was staring intently at a yellow.

“I might skip the coloring,” Janus began, “and just bleach it.”

Bleach.

Bleach, bleach, bleach, bleach, bleach.

“Sounds good.” Virgil situated the supplies, lining up their chosen colors. “Who wants to go first?”

Patton volunteered, and Virgil began preparing the powder. The smell grew, reaching Logan.

A wave of lightheadedness washed over him, and he felt as if he was choking. It took all of his strength not to stumble back or run out of the room in a panic. This was stupid, stupid, stupid, he shouldn’t feel this way. Panic was Virgil’s irrational torture that Logan would calm him down for, not a stupid memory of stupid things, stupid decisions, stupid thoughts, stupid Logan, stupid, stupid, stupid-

“Hey, do you think I could get Logan to test this out on my clothes? I wanna see how it’ll stain if I use a lot of colors.” Remus wore a wide grin, grabbing Logan’s hand and dragging him out of the room. The other sides watched quizzically as they left, but Virgil would trust Remus enough to come back.

Once they were in the hall, away from the ears of the others, Remus set his hands on Logan’s shoulders.

“Hey, hey, Logan, it’s okay, look at me.”

Logan did as he asked, focusing on the eyes staring back at him. He knew, he should know how to calm down from this. Even if he wasn’t dying his hair, they might pressure him into it. They might force him, and then what would he do, as it was unavoidable. Would he panic then? Would he show that, that he was weak-

“Logan!”

He snapped back to attention, Remus’s hand running through his hair.

“You don’t have to go back. You’re not gonna die, and it’s not gonna hurt you. You’re here now.”

Logan took deep breaths, at least remembering that. Remus’s firm hold on his shoulders was comforting. He placed his own hands on Remus’s, pulling them down so he could get a proper hug instead.

“I’m sorry, Remus.”

Remus shook his head into Logan’s shoulder, tightening his hug. “Don’t be. Don’t ever be sorry for feeling bad.”

Logan nodded, clutching Remus like a lifeline.

“Do you wanna hang out in your room while we do our hair?”

“That sounds… good.”

Patton cut up the pieces of beef into little squares, tossing them in the pot. Remus was messing around with the spices, offering his combinations up to Patton. Logan leaned against the counter, not having much to do but watch them argue playfully.

The smells from the pot were intoxicating. It wasn’t Patton’s cooking, or anyone but Janus’s cooking, that could make the aromas drift around the room, but rather the three of them sticking strictly to the recipe. They’d even been banned from adding their own bits of spices. Patton had attempted that once, and they never again spoke of it (although Remus had tried adding a few… unconventional ingredients once in a while.)

Patton took the potatoes out from their basket, handing them to Logan.

“Do you think you could do these?”

He nodded, rinsing them off under the tap. He searched around in a few drawers for the peeler, shaving off the skin. It was an easy job, he was just glad to have something to do. Once he’d finished, Remus grabbed two from the cutting board to start… juggling.

“Remus!”

Patton and Logan both sighed as Logan moved to wrestle the potatoes as Remus dodged away from him, nearly dropping them in the process. Patton crept up behind him so he was sandwiched between them. It wasn’t hard for Logan to reach up and catch one at its peak, and for Patton to get the other one in his surprise.

“Hey!”

Remus reached for another potato, but was held back by Patton. Logan and Patton chuckled as Remus pouted, giving up on his struggle.

“You never let me have any fun.”

Patton let go. “The food’s gonna burn. And you remember how that went last time.”

“Plus,” Logan resumed his spot, rinsing the potatoes that Remus had manhandled under cold water, “you have an entire Imagination to run around, you don’t need to juggle the potatoes.”

Patton returned to his job, allowing Remus to bounce around the room at his leisure.

“Oh, could you cut those?”

Patton gestured to the potatoes, handing Logan a knife. Sharp and shiny.

He forced himself to take it, the object seeming heavier and scarier than it should. He gripped it tightly, trying to steady himself and his breathing. But the feeling was far too familiar as he cut.

He didn’t trust himself.

He jumped when he felt a hand on his back, then sinking into it. It was Remus. The knife was taken from him quickly, and he was pushed out of the way as Remus took his place. He sighed in relief, allowing Remus to hug him tight from the side.

He tapped out a breathing pattern on his leg, trying to divert his attention from knives and blades.

Thank god Remus was there, with his warm, comforting touch.

“Logan?”

A weight settled beside him on the bed, and he looked up from his computer. Remus was kneeling there, sneaking his hand towards Logan’s. Its heat settled there, bringing a heat up to his cheeks.

“What do you need?”

Remus looked… sad. Worry was more accurate, as he leaned back on his feet.

“Are you gonna do something about…”

He paused, looking down. “About how you feel. You need to deal with that.”

Oh. That.

He’d been hoping he could ignore it for as long as he possibly could, but it had been him that had lectured Thomas on repression.

He just wished it could be over.

“I know, Remus.”

The creative side leaned towards him, offering a hand. Logan shifted a little closer, allowing Remus to hold his hand in a tight squeeze.

“I mean, there’s… there’s only so much I can do for you. I would be happy to help you get better and recover and stuff, but… I don’t know how. Janus and Patton- or Thomas, even, they could help you much better than I could. I don’t want you to-”

“I’m not gonna kill myself.”

Logan’s voice was unintentionally cold as he dug his nails into the palm of his free hand. He wasn’t sure if he believed what he’d just said. But he had to, and he was going to make Remus believe it too.

“Lo, that’s not the only problem. I don’t want you to want to kill yourself. Well, I don’t want you to feel any kind of bad ever, but that’s kind of unavoidable.”

“I can figure this out on my own, Remus. I don’t need the assholes that haven’t given a shit about my mental health for years to help me.”

“Logan, there’s no way you can do this all yourself-”

Logan ripped his hand from Remus’s grasp, pulling it to his stomach defensively. “Do you really think they’re going to help?!?!? They’ll act like they care, but the moment I do a single thing wrong, they’ll turn their backs on me. They aren’t gonna care if I’m fucking depressed. They never have! I’ll be defective, useless, worthless to them. They’re gonna ignore me and ignore me like they always have, they’re just gonna pretend I’m okay so they don’t have to deal with me. I can’t- I can’t live through that.”

“Logan, please, they won’t do that. I’ll tell them what they’ve done-”

“No offense, but do you really think your opinion is going to matter to anyone but me?”

Remus didn’t have a reply. Logan knew exactly what he’d just said, and the creative side knew that he regretted it. But it was true. No one listened to him but Logan, and sometimes Janus. He was known for being stupid and saying dumb things. There was only so much of a difference his input could make.

“Fine. You can try and completely fix your mental health all on your own, but I can tell you it’s not gonna work. Talk to me once you’ve learned how to ask for help.”

Logan sighed as Remus left, disappointed in himself. He’d given up the only person who seemed to care about him just because he was too stubborn to improve his mental health. But still, he feared how the other sides would respond. And if they tried to help and failed, he would fall further than he ever could in his current state.

He laid down, staring up at the ceiling. Wishing for death.

“I took this form to be less intrusive.”

The video sped through in a blur. He was unable to process much after his immediate rejection, thankful for his pixelated form where the tears couldn’t fall. He’d hoped… they would be kinder. But all he got was reassurance that they were tired of him and his facts.

He wanted to be better.

But no, he was as intrusive as Remus. And not in Remus’s endearing persistence, or sudden exclamations, or when he was just trying to do his job. Logic should be good enough, good enough at the very least to offer useful input.

He wished Remus was here.

He wished Remus was giving his hand a tight squeeze, offering reassurance and checking up to make sure their words weren’t causing him to panic. He wished he was there, trying to defend him with all his might even though he knew his voice wasn’t loud enough in the group.

He forced himself through it, through their ignorance and his misery. It wasn’t working, he could tell. They weren’t listening.

He wanted to die.

They could have passed it off as jokes or mistakes before, but now… it was like they weren’t even trying. They weren’t trying to keep up their streak of good and kind. He didn’t matter here. Logic didn’t matter when talking about feelings, he was just getting in the way. He deserved it. He wasn’t helping.

The shiny yellow and black ‘SKIP ALL’ button increased his pulse, breathing, immediately turning him lightheaded.

Please don’t silence me.

Logan barely had time to think before cold wood hooked around his neck, pulling hard, choking him. He fell on carpet, hitting his head, though luckily not that hard. The cane around his neck was thankfully released, and he pushed himself up in an approximation of a sitting position.

Janus stood in front of him, holding the cane.

“Why…” he touched the tender area on his neck, “the hell would you do that?”

“You rest here, I’m gonna go-”

“You asshole !”

Logan pushed himself up, presence big despite being shorter than Janus.

“Do you know how long I’ve been trying to get their attention?!? Do you even care ?!? I’m just trying to help them, but they think I’m useless!”

He was half screaming, half crying. He was so tired and so done with everything they’d done. Kicking him out of the courtroom, forcing Thomas to suffer just because they didn’t want to listen to his facts, making him feel worthless-

You deserve those.

“Logan, I just want to help you. It’s not going to make you feel better staying there. You have to know that.”

“What? Because I’m stupid?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I meant. I can get through to them, I’ll convince him to take care of himself, I promise.”

“So you agree with them. You know my opinion doesn’t matter to them. And you’re gonna go, and they’re going to listen to you. Because they’re tired of me.”

Janus sighed. “It’s not your fault.”

There was a pause. Logan looked to the side, sighing as well. “You’re impersonating me?”

Janus nodded.

Logan sighed. “I don’t know how much good it’ll do, just… try to make sure Patton doesn’t mess up any more than he already has.”

There was far more that he wanted to say. He wanted to beg Janus to stay with him, to repeat the advice that he knew he needed to use, but Thomas needed it more than him. He was fairly sure it wasn’t going to work. If they hadn’t listened to Logan, they likely wouldn’t listen to Janus disguised as Logan. But it was worth a try. Maybe he had helped, at least a little.

Janus left as he rubbed the bruise on his neck. He should get ice for it.

“Logan?”

He turned to see Remus poking out from the hallway, taking a tentative step.

“Are you okay?”

Logan hesitated, unsure if he should tell the truth. He so desperately wanted Remus’s comfort, but the creative side would push for him to ask for help, and he’d feel Remus’s disappointment harder than hugs could help.

“I… I need to be alone.”

Well that surely wasn’t how he should’ve handled it.

He left, knowing Remus would be suspicious of his mental state, yet without the comfort he so desperately craved. It took all of his willpower not to start sobbing as he left, at least to make it to his room.

The sight he saw when he rose up made his heart plummet into his stomach.

Janus had done it.

He’d made them listen, done exactly what Logan had been trying to do the entire time.

But Janus was better.

Logan was useless, inconsequential, and stupid. He’d tried so long to be listened to, to be helpful, but maybe… it was just him that was the problem. He didn’t deserve the other sides’ attention, especially if he couldn’t get it.

He felt tears prick at his eyes, holding back the sobs from his throat. He gave them something, hoping they would listen to a single fact, even if they’d kept telling him that his input was useless. Maybe slip in something else, desperate for their concern, despite knowing he wouldn’t take it.

Patton tried to interrupt him, trying to ask if he was okay.

It was what he wanted, wasn’t it? But that sweet voice, full of worry, couldn’t mean anything right now. It didn’t matter when he couldn’t help but blame them, when he desperately wanted to silence them, force them to listen. If Patton was only able to start caring now, he didn’t want it.

He sunk out, as much as he could do from his text box, into his room. He sighed, sitting down, wanting to do nothing more than sleep. Tears began rolling down his face, a few sobs escaping his throat. He rubbed his neck, painfully reminded of the bruise.

An idea.

This desolate, miserable feeling could be easily cured, couldn’t it? They’d made it obvious that they didn’t want him around, so...

Why should he stay?

He had promised Remus that he wouldn’t try again before asking for help. But today had only cemented the knowledge that they didn’t give a shit about him, so why the hell would they try to help?

It wouldn’t matter if he was gone.

Logan stood up to exit into the hallway. He needed to say goodbye to Remus. The walls felt cold and uninviting as he wandered through them, searching for Remus’s familiar voice.

He eventually found the creative side huddled under some blankets in his room, playing around with some sort of floating orb.

“Logan!” He lit up when he saw the logical side, jumping out of his bed to run up and hug him. “Are you... feeling better?”

Logan paused. “...A little.”

He held back the sob forming in his throat, burying his head in Remus’s neck, threading his fingers through Remus’s hair.

“You know I love you, right?”

Logan was sure his voice was noticeably wobbly. He held on as tightly as his arms would allow. This would be his last chance to do so.

“I love you too, Lo.”

Logan released his grip, turning to nearly run from Remus’s room. He wiped at the tears frantically, heading back towards his own room. He conjured rope on the way, testing its strength with his hands.

With a flick of his hand, he attached the rope to the ceiling, desperate to get this done fast. He was fully crying now; tears streamed down his face much faster than he could push them away. But he didn’t care at his point, tying the rope around his neck as he stood on his desk chair.

The abrasive surface tugged and prodded at the bruises as he moved.

He took a deep breath. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was terrified. He didn’t want to... die. He just wanted an exit.

He kicked the chair out from under him before he could think too much about it, the rope constricting around his neck. His tears dripped to the floor from his tightly shut eyes, but no more sounds came out. His hands weakly scratched at the rope, instincts desperately trying to keep him alive.

Before long, however, he felt warmth scratch around his neck and the rope. Something pushed him upwards, releasing a little bit of the tension on his neck. Something cold and sharp, and-

He was free.

He fell forwards into a pair of arms, head resting on a shoulder. He recognized the fabric as Remus’s elaborate costume. He stood there, nearly limp, before pulling his hands up to wrap around Remus. He tightened his arms, shoving his head into the fabric, sobs scratching at his throat. He didn’t dare say a thing, letting Remus rub soothing circles into his back, muttering reassurance that he desperately needed to hear.

Logan felt a weight settle beside him on his bed. Remus had been with him all morning, promising him anything he needed. Logan had insisted he was fine being alone, but he wanted Remus there as Remus insisted on staying.

He felt fingers card through his hair, thankful for the affection.

“Are you feeling better? Don’t lie this time.”

Logan rolled over to face Remus, the creative side’s hand coming down to rest on his cheek instead. A small smile adorned Logan’s face.

“Yeah. Well, despite the fact that I never want to see Patton, Roman, or Janus’s face ever again.”

Remus laughed quietly, shifting so he could rest on his elbow. Logan closed his eyes as Remus continued to let his fingers wander absently around Logan’s face and hair.

“I’m sorry, Remus. I told you I wouldn’t try again. I should’ve talked to you, or talked to them, but instead I just... gave up.”

Remus put his arm around Logan’s waist, lying down properly so he was face-to-face with Logan.

“I’m just glad you’re here. You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

Logan said nothing, sinking into Remus’s blessed touch as his right hand replaced the left in his hair. It felt nice, very nice, to have a quiet moment like this, intimate and calm. Eventually the others would force him out, but he was going to do everything he could to grab moments like these. This was worth living for.

Remus was worth living for.

He felt Remus’s lips touch his forehead, his heart skipping a beat. Remus lingered, thumb paused on Logan’s cheek. He let himself fall away, pressing their foreheads together as his thumb sneaked down towards Logan’s lips.

Logan didn’t dare open his eyes, scared that he might ruin the moment with how he could guess Remus looked right now. He nodded, hoping that was enough confirmation for a kiss.

Remus kept it sweet and soft, lips just barely brushing past as he cupped Logan’s face with his full hand. Logan’s heart was beating quickly, focused in on the feeling.

Remus only lasted a moment after pulling back before bringing both hands to his cheeks, pressing back for a deeper kiss. Logan felt his mustache tickle on his upper lip, savoring the feeling before this would inevitably end.

It had been completely wordless, but words surely would have ruined it. Remus nuzzled into his neck, cuddling closer and bringing one arm around Logan. The other still lingered in his hair, warmth spreading across Logan’s cheeks. He knew Remus could feel his heartbeat, and if he were to open his eyes, see the bruises on his neck.

He let himself relax. Now wasn’t the time to be worried about yesterday. Now... he was with Remus. Not anybody that would ignore him, not with anybody that would pretend to care, not in any situation that made him want to kill himself, but with Remus. With Remus, he wasn’t scared of himself. With Remus, he was protected.

With Remus, he was safe.

146 notes · View notes