#sometimes the da fandom makes me want to flip tables | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justcallmecappy · 1 year

Text

One of the criticisms I've seen DA players have in response to Anders' actions at the Kirkwall Chantry is some degree of, 'his actions forced innocent mages into a war they had no choice whether or not they wanted to be involved in'.

What a lot of these players seem to miss is this: The mages were already involved. They have been involved since childhood, when their magic manifested.

If you are born a mage in Southern Thedas, you are marked. The Templars will find you, or your neighbors who were conditioned by the Chantry to fear magic will turn you in, and you are brought to the Circle where you are at risk of Tranquility, or Annulment, and subjected to a Harrowing. Your children born to you in the Circle will be taken from you to be raised in a Chantry orphanage (like Wynne's child was). You are not allowed to get married, or start a family, or own land. You are not allowed to leave your Circle ever, unless conscripted to fight in the army (like in the Fifth Blight) or fulfilling some whim or need of those in power (like Malcolm Hawke being made to entertain nobles at a party). You might be thrown into the dungeon and left to starve to death, like the mage child Cole (and other mage apprentices of the White Spire) did. You are at risk of physical and sexual abuse, like the mages of the Gallows were.

Innocent mages were already involved. They were already being killed, they were already fighting for their lives for centuries since the inception of Circles, long before Anders' actions.

Also, in the case of the Gallows specifically, Knight-Commander Meredith had already called for the Annulment as early as the beginning/mid of Act 3. The mages' lives were already in danger, even before the Chantry was destroyed.

Anders tried for six years to make people listen and show how magic is not meant to be feared and can be used for good -- by publishing a manifesto, by providing free magical healthcare in Darktown -- to bring people's attention to the plight of mages and change things for the better. It took the imminent threat of his people being slaughtered wholesale for him to resort to what is aptly titled 'The Last Straw'.

If players want to blame anyone for subjecting mages to a conflict they did not want, look no further than the Chantry and their system of exploitation and oppression over the mages. Put blame on the Chantry for forcing mages into lives they did not choose, and asserting methods of culling and control over them, simply for how they were born. It was the Chantry that gave them no choice whether or not they had a say in staying alive or dying.

And if DA players would still say that the mages could have tried for a more "peaceful route" to alleviate their circumstances (despite seeing how Anders' manifesto, his Darktown clinic, and years of trying to negotiate with Elthina failed and Meredith was calling for Annulment anyway): very rarely do the oppressed win change by pandering to the morals of their oppressors.

Innocent mages were already suffering and being murdered in droves, for centuries. Innocent mages were already involved in this struggle, whether they wanted to be or not. And Anders' actions at the Chantry was like a rallying cry: If we're going to die anyway, then I'd rather die trying to take them down than giving them what they want.

(Also, I have not yet gone into detail on what actually started the mage-templar war, which was the Seekers hiding the cure for Tranquility, and Lord Seeker Lambert's decision to dissolve the Nevarran accord and take the Templars hunting for the free mages across the countryside because he decided dead mages were better than free mages -- because that's a whole separate post.)

#da fandom critical #bioware critical #anders defense squad #da meta #in defense of anders dragon age #anders #dragon age 2 #chantry critical #templar critical #elthina critical #anders was right #mage rights #plight of mages #mage-templar war #sometimes the da fandom makes me want to flip tables #my meta

451 notes · View notes

snowdice · 4 years

Text

When There Is Something Left (Part 13-Final of the Series “Is There Anything Left of Patton?”)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Patton, Virgil & Patton, Logan & Virgil, Roman & Patton

Characters:

Appear: Patton, Logan, Virgil, Roman, Remy

Summary: A garden blooms the next spring.

Notes: Zombie Apocalypse AU, Patton is a zombie, happy ending

This is the last part of this story, but likely not the last part of this universe. Stay tuned for Bonus Features coming out sometime soon. As well as a few extra scenes.

This is the twelfth part of a series of one-shots called Is There Anything Left of Patton?

Previous parts:

“Something Left”

“Someone You’ll Never Meet”

“Food You’ll Never Eat”

“Things You’ll Never Do”

“There Are Things That Are Lost”

“There Are Things That Are Missing”

“And There is a Question”

“Is There Anything Left of Patton?”

“And There is an Answer”

“But What Does It Mean”

“One More Dance”

“One More Chance”

My Master Post

Virgil walked into the kitchen one day in mid-April and paused at the door. Patton was the only on in the room. He was standing at the stove cooking, and it wasn’t macaroni and cheese.

“Hey Pat,” Virgil greeted softly after a moment. Patton hummed in response, and Virgil walked to the counter to pour himself a cup of already prepared coffee. His eyes looked over at what Patton was doing; he’d cracked some eggs into a bowl and was whisking them with an actual whisk. As far a Virgil knew, that thing hadn’t been touched since Patton turned as both Logan and Virgil were too lazy to go through the effort of finding, using and cleaning it. (Roman and Remy were even less likely unless Roman had used it as a microphone to sing Disney songs.) He seemed to be doing fine with it, so Virgil turned to leave him be and sit at the table. It was already set, he noticed and there was a pitcher of what looked like orange juice sitting in the center.

He froze halfway there when a voice called out to him. “Virgil?” Patton asked. Virgil knew Patton could speak for real now. Logan had told him that Patton would speak regularly, but he’d only done it when he and Logan were alone. Other than the one “yes” a year ago that had confirmed Patton still actually existed in there, that was the first thing Virgil had ever heard him say.

Virgil had a feeling he shouldn’t make a big deal about that fact. “Yeah Pat?” he asked instead.

“I’m making omelets, but I don’t trust myself with the deer sausage in the refrigerator. Would you mind doing that part for me?”

“Oh, yeah,” Virgil replied. “Of course.” He grabbed the Tupperware container of cooked deer sausage while Patton poured some of the egg mixture into the pre-heated pan. He waited for the eggs to cook a bit before reaching for the cheese and sprinkling a bit over the top.

Then, he took a step away from the pan. “Now,” Patton said.

Virgil opened the Tupperware container of meat. Patton did a full-bodied twitch and pressed his lips into a line, but he didn’t reach for the food. After a moment, he nodded tightly, and Virgil put a bit of the meat on the omelet before shutting the container tight again. Patton was stiff when he moved forward to close the omelet but relaxed marginally when the meat was concealed. He let it cook for a few more minutes and flipped it before putting it on a plate and covering it with another one to keep it warm. He smiled at Virgil and Virgil smiled back.

They repeated the process a few times. Patton’s reaction to the meat was the same every time, but he seemed to be able to handle it. When Virgil wasn’t busy spooning the meat on for Patton, he started making toast.

Logan entered the room when Patton was folding the last omelet and stopped in the doorway. “Good morning,” he said softly.

“Morning, L.”

“Virgil and I made omelets,” Patton said.

Logan promptly forgot Virgil was in the room when he heard Patton’s voice speaking at that volume. He smiled, looking sickeningly bestowed and crossed the room. He hugged him around the waist, leaning his head on Patton’s shoulder. “I can see that,” he replied.

Patton smiled at the touch and bopped him on the nose with the spatula in his hand. “Distraction,” he accused.

“Hmm,” Logan replied into his neck, getting a giggle in return.

“Disgusting,” Virgil commented. “I’m going to go get the others.”

He left them there and made his way to the study, shoving his way into the room past the mattresses that took up most of the space. Remy was already awake on his bed sewing something. Apparently, he’d been in the kitchen already, because he had a cup of coffee next to him. Roman, on the other hand, was still sound asleep in bed. Virgil walked over and kicked him lightly on the foot.

“Wake up,” he said. Roman mumbled something into his pillow. Virgil kicked him harder. “Wake up. Patton cooked us breakfast and you’re going to eat it.”

“I done wan da macaroni,” Roman complained into his pillow.

“It’s not mac and cheese,” Virgil said.

Roman tilted his head to squint up at him.

“Just come and see,” he said.

Roman rolled out of bed after a moment and got to his feet. He stretched while Remy set down the fabric in his hand and then they both followed Virgil to the kitchen.

“Ooo, omelets!” Roman exclaimed, taking a seat in his chair. Apparently, Logan and Patton had managed to resist being mushy for long enough to bring the omelets and toast to the table and set them out for everyone.

Roman started stuffing his face without hesitation, and Virgil rolled his eyes, taking his own seat at the table.

“This is really good!” Roman said, his mouth still full of food.

“Thank you,” Patton replied as he moved to sit down himself.

Roman blinked over at him, his mouth popping open in surprise. Remy reached over to close his mouth for him.

“Good day, Patty?” Remy asked.

Patton nodded, staring intently at his omelet. He reached for his knife and fork and took a bite of his omelet. The tension was clear in his frame.

“You can just eat it Pat,” Virgil said kindly. “No one will judge you.”

Patton mumbled something under his breath and took another pointed bite. Virgil wondered how much effort it took him to not eat food when it was right there in front of him. It looked hard, but he did manage for today at least.

Virgil thought it probably helped that Roman distracted him by blabbering on about the chickens and giving an update on his progress learning the songs in the guitar song book Remy had found.

Patton didn’t say a word through the entire meal, but once all the food was gone, he looked up. “I want to see the garden,” he said to Virgil.

Virgil’s eyes flickered to Logan. They had agreed months ago that it wasn’t a good idea to let Patton go outside in case he got confused, but… things had changed. Slowly, but surely, he had more and more good days and today was a very good day.

“Sure, Pat,” Virgil replied. “That’s fine.

“The three of us will clean up breakfast since you two cooked,” Logan offered. He leaned forward to kiss Patton on the cheek. His eyes flickered between Patton and Virgil. “We’ll be working at the other house if you need me.”

“Okay,” Patton agreed, squeezing his hand before getting to his feet.

Virgil got to his feet as well and offered a hand to Patton. He took it and let Virgil lead him to the back door.

They both stopped when they stepped outside and Patton took a breath, looking out at the garden. “It…” he said softly. He walked down the steps and to the edge of the large garden. Virgil wasn’t done planting everything yet, but many things were planted and the areas that weren’t had been sectioned off and labeled with little signs. “It looks the same,” Patton said. “You even kept my signs.”

“Of course,” Virgil said. “You knew what you were doing, and it didn’t feel right to change anything.”

Patton shook his head and smiled at him ruefully. “You didn’t even know me, Virgil.”

Virgil shrugged and looked at the garden. Things were growing well. The lettuce had been growing quickly this year, and he needed to harvest some more of the rhubarb soon. The asparagus was also starting to come up. They’d be eating well the next few months if everything went to plan. He glanced over at Patton.

“Want to help me today for a bit?” he asked. “I’m planting some potatoes and it would be nice to have someone help dig the rows.

Patton smiled at him, his eyes alight. “I’d love that,” he answered. So, Virgil went and got him one of the hats in the shed (even though he wasn’t sure if zombies got sunburnt), a pair of colorful gloves, and a trowel. Patton took them and, without hesitation, knelt down in the dirt.

Logan stepped out of the second house a few hours after breakfast, leaving Remy to continue moving the furniture in the living room space around to his heart’s content. The house was coming along and should be ready by the winter. They still had a lot to fix, but the first floor was almost livable by now and the fence Logan had erected around the home was up to his standard.

Roman was out back cooing at “The Ladies” and congratulating the things on laying “so many good eggs last week.”

…

Did… were there 5 chickens now? When had Roman found a fifth chicken?

He ignored it for now and walked over to the edge of the smaller fence looking over into the garden behind his house. Patton was there in the garden on his knees, finishing digging a long trench. Logan felt himself smile and walked over to the gate they’d put between the two yards.

“Hi!” Patton said when he caught sight of him. He peeled off his gloves and got to his feet.

“Hello dear,” Logan replied, carefully rubbing a bit of dirt off his cheek. Patton smiled back at him. The sunlight cast soft shadows on his face and his skin felt less cool to the touch than it usually did. Logan’s heart felt incredibly full as Patton leaned his face into Logan’s palm. After a moment, Logan looked around and frowned. “Where’s V-”

“Oh, hell, no!” Virgil said, coming out of the shed with a large bag. “You get the hell out of our garden”

Patton giggled as Logan glared at his friend. “It’s okay, Virgil. I know how to make sure he doesn’t ruin anything.”

Virgil gave them both a skeptical look. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll trust you Patton, but if he destroys-”

“I’m not going to destroy anything!” Logan defended himself.

“I promise, it’ll be fine,” Patton said, laying a quelling hand on Logan’s shoulder.

“Alright,” Virgil agreed. “Fine,” he lifted the bag in his hands and gave Patton a considering look. “You good with the potatoes?” Virgil asked. Patton glared at him. “What? You eat raw meat! Don’t act like I’m being unreasonable.”

“I’ll be able to manage,” Patton promised, and Virgil handed him the bag which Logan saw was filled with pre-cut seed potatoes. Patton turned to Logan. “Come on, my honey bae,” Patton said with a wink. Logan groaned even though that line filled him with nothing buy affection. “Let’s go plant some veggies.”

Logan followed him to the end of the first row and frowned. The rows were not straight or evenly spaced, he noted. Before they could even think about planting something, they needed to…

“The rows are fine, Lo,” Patton told him.

“But…”

“The row goes with the flow of the soil,” Patton said and then pointed the trowel in his hands at him like it was a weapon. “No measuring sticks.”

Logan grumbled about it but forced himself to let it go. He knelt next to Patton in the dirt and grabbed one of the dried potato pieces in the bag. Looking at it, he wasn’t sure if it was good enough. It only had one potato eye when really it should have at least two, preferably three. Not to mention how irregularly it had been cut. Had Virgil not been paying any attention? He should…

“It’s fine, Logan,” Patton said as he placed down his fifth potato piece, barely even looking at it.

“But this one isn’t good enough,” Logan pointed out.

“Logan,” Patton gasped like he’d just insulted a five-year-old child. “Don’t be mean.”

“To the potato?”

“Yes,” Patton said, already getting the next seed potato out of the bag. “Now apologize.”

“To the potato?”

Patton paused in his planting to give Logan a severe look.

Logan sighed and looked at the potato. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling ridiculous.

“Now tell it you love it,” Patton instructed.

Logan looked up at him. “I love you,” he said.

Patton’s nose crinkled up. “To the potato, silly!”

“Ah, yes, I’m the silly one,” Logan replied before looking down at the potato. “I love you.”

“Now kiss it!”

“Patton.”

“If you kiss it, you can kiss me,” he tempted.

Logan kissed the potato and then set it in on the ground without thought. He leaned forward to kiss Patton soundly on the lips. (A quiet voice in his head reminded him that such an action was likely foolish even if it hadn’t killed him before, but he brushed it away. He wasn’t dead yet.)

“Good job,” Patton said and then moved to cover the seed potatoes with his trowel.

They had made it all the way down that row and the next two before Virgil returned. He had a container full of lettuce under his arm. “Wow,” he said. “You two are making good progress. And Logan hasn’t even dug up something he’s not supposed to yet.”

Logan blushed. “I thought they were weeds,” he grumbled.

“That’s why we have to get to know our plants,” Patton said, holding up a piece of potato to Logan’s lips. Logan distractedly kissed it before he thought about what he was doing.

Virgil almost bent over double cackling. “Is that why your face is dirty, Logan?”

Patton seemed to have no remorse for what he’d just done. Instead, he plopped the just kissed potato into the ground and started covering it up with dirt.

Virgil was still chuckling. “I’m going to take this inside and then look at harvesting some rhubarb. You two okay to finish the rest of it?”

Patton sent him a thumbs up, already getting to work on the next row.

They continued in that way with Virgil walking back and forth to the kitchen with different harvested plants every so often. Eventually, they ran out of space to plant and Patton sat back on his knees to look over the rows of potatoes he’d just planted. He was covered in dirt. There was a large smudge of it near the side of his eye and a lighter one across the bridge of his nose. His freckles, which Logan hadn’t clearly seen in years, popped out a bit in the sun. There was a small smile on his face as he looked at what he’d accomplished over the last few hours. Assuming Patton truly had been able to counteract Logan’s lack of a green thumb, the ground there should spring to life soon. Logan couldn’t wait to see his face when it did.

Virgil wandered over too look with them, placing a hand on Patton’s shoulder. “How’re you feeling Pat?”

How was he feeling? Patton thought. His hands were covered in dirt despite the gloves he’d been wearing as he worked all morning. He was in his garden which had bloomed without him the last two springs. Except it hadn’t, he thought, his eyes on the sign in front of the quickly growing lettuce. He couldn’t read it, but he knew it said, “Romain Calm.” The garden hadn’t bloomed without him completely. Virgil had managed to keep a part of Patton in it, at least a little bit. He could hear Roman and Remy chatting softly in the other yard and could feel Virgil’s hand on his shoulder. Logan’s warmth next to him sunk into his skin, and there was a weight in his pocket from a ring he’d been keeping there since he’d remembered it existed. He didn’t think it was time to bring it out. Not yet. Maybe when the potatoes they’d just planted finished growing. Logan moved to take his hand when he hesitated, and Patton smiled over at him.

How’re you feeling?

“Alive,” Patton said, and he was.

Don’t forget to check out the Bonus Features and End Credit Scenes

#sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #logicality #roman sanders #remy sanders #platonic moxiety #platonic analogical #platonic royality #zombie au #patton is a zombie #italop #adriana writes #happy ending

188 notes · View notes

dlucets · 5 years

Text

revision tips | kuroo tetsurou x reader

Title: Revision Tips Fandom: Haikyuu!! Character: Kuroo Tetsurou Genre: ... downwiththeeducationsystem Word Count: 1942 Extra Notes: From my dA a few years back when I was crying over my exams. things have not got easier in exams either

“Hey, why the long face?”

For the past hour and a half, you’d been slumped at your desk, a string of colourful curses emitting from your mouth as you stumbled through the quotes you had to memorise. For the nth time, you cursed your literature teacher, who had had the good grace of informing the class of the upcoming assessment on Shakespeare’s ‘Romeo and Juliet’ only a few days before the assessment. How on earth would you memorise an adequate amount of quotes within the span of a few days?

Honestly, it wouldn’t have bothered you much if this assessment wasn’t worth half your final grade.

Why did she think she had that sort of authority over you? You scowled, clenching your pencil so tightly in your hands it was a wonder it didn’t shatter right there and then.

“Yo, (Y/N),”

You broke free from your chain of thought as the voice of one bed headed teenager brought you to reality. Blinking in confusion, you looked up at him, utterly bemused. He placed a hand on your head, ruffling your hair as he spoke again.

“So? Why the long face?”

“Hello, Tetsu,” you bluntly greeted him, offering a strained smile up at him, “how’d you get in?”

He let out a short laugh at your question. You must’ve really been spaced out, he realised, staring down at your desk that consisted of an abundance of sheets sprawled across it. There were highlighters strewn across the sheets, the neon colours looking out of place amidst the white mass of paper. Like a bull in a china shop.

“Your mother let me in, (Y/N),” he stated, and you started at his words, your eyes flitting to the clock that hung directly behind the tall bedhead.

“Whoa, is it already six o’clock?” you whined, stumbling up from your seat and practically throwing yourself on your bed, ignoring Kuroo’s presence as you muttered yet more irritated curses towards your literature teacher.

“Are you alright?”

“No!” you whined, “My literature teacher expects me, the most forgetful person on the planet, to memorise about seven million Shakespeare quotes in the span of a few days! I’ve practically been given a death sentence!”

You were rolling around on your bed, your arms shooting out in every single direction to emphasise the pain you were experiencing at this moment in time. Your tone sounded as though the entire universe had been secretly plotting something wicked for you, and you’d only just realised it. Your entire demeanour reminded him of another childish setter he’d heard rumours of through his conversations with the Karasuno volleyball team. He simply raised his eyes at your antics, as though this were a daily occurrence for him.

“It’s alright for you to sit there and roll your eyes, Mr-I’m-in-a-preparatory-class-I’m-better-than-you,” you pouted, sitting up and crossing your arms across your chest as you glared at him, “and who said you could enter my room without knocking, clever clogs?”

The accusatory glare you were giving him was enough for him to retreat to the doorframe. His palm was cupping the back of his neck, a sheepish grin upon his face as he surveyed your rather irritated figure.

“Alright, alright, sorry (Y/N). What makes you think I’m laughing at you?”

“Hmm... I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you’re really, really smart?”

“Really?”

“The fact that you’re in a preparatory class and enjoy making dumb metaphorical statements whenever speaks for itself, Kuroo. Pretentious asshat.”

“Hah? Where’d you make that assumption, (Y/N)?”

“Are you kidding me? I’ve known you for years, and I’ve been the manager of our volleyball team long enough to memorise your ‘blood and brain’ thing or whatever,” you scoffed, turning so your legs were hanging off the side of your bed and your full body was facing him.

Suddenly, a thought entered your mind and a small smile snaked across your face as you realised the geniosity of your plan. Maybe. It just might work. Perhaps. You sat up straight, fixing a smile onto your face as you looked at your best friend. A pleading smile, sweet and persuasive.

“Hm? What?” Kuroo asked, his eyes surveying his best friend with suspicion.

“Kuroo, could you teach me how to revise? I-”

“-Wait, you don’t know how to revise?” he laughed slightly, “Oh (Y/N), that’s actually precious. How do you not know how to revise when you’re a third year in high school?”

“I usually just wing my exams but this is worth something so I’m stressing, Tetsu. And I do know how to revi-”

“If making them state of matter posters in grade six is your definition of ‘revision’, then I’d like to remind you of who did the most work on that poster - not that poster making is a bad revision technique. But if that’s the only bit of revision you’ve done, ever, then...” he smiled, tutting mockingly at you as he strode to your desk and slid onto your seat.

He began to lazily flip through the book, resting his chin in his palm with a nonchalance you wished you could achieve.

How was this boy so … laid-back with academics, yet still in a preparatory class? You pouted. Life was unfair.

“Well not everyone is super smart,” you retorted,

“And not everyone wings their exams, (Y/N). Some people...” he paused for emphasis, resting a hand on his chin thoughtfully as he looked up, “revise!”

“Anyway, are you going to help me revise or…”

“What’s in it for me, (Y/N)?” he asked, innocently swivelling on your chair to meet your eyes.

His voice may have held the traits of innocence, but his smirk was anything but innocent. You backed up on your bed slightly, narrowing your eyes at him. Kuroo wasn’t known as a scheming captain for nothing, after all. Of course he’d want something in return. You wanted to slap yourself for forgetting this small detail. You’d thought you were onto something, and he’d just had to go and turn the tables.

“My eternal love and friendship, my friend,” you grinned at him, he waved his hand in the air in dismissal as he cracked a grin.

“How much percentage is this worth again, (Y/N)?” he asked.

He turned to the sheet, his eyes flying across the page until he pinpointed the success criteria. Down at the bottom it displayed all the marks available for different analytical techniques, including the percentage it was worth, adding up to forty percents’ worth of your final grade for the school year. You let out a groan as he chuckled.

“Well, I’d say you’re screwed, but because I’ve always been a nice person, I’ll help you out.”

He looked up at you, the light from your window shining onto his face and causing his flawless skin to glow as though he were truly a celestial being. An angel sent down to help you in your time of dire need. Of course, the obvious pointer that indicated he was most definitely not an angel being was the mocking smirk that appeared to be stamped on his face with inerasable ink.

“Are you sure?” you asked uncertainly, inching off your bed and padding over to where he was perched on your chair, “I could always ask someone else for help if it’s a bother to you.”

You chewed your lip, knowing that he was concocting a plan in the labyrinth of his mind. You understood that you’d dug yourself a hole too deep to get out, but you tried to push those thoughts aside and focus on the positive. Kuroo Tetsuro was many things, but you hadn’t ever known him to break a promise to you.

“Right, so this is what I do…” he trailed off, picking up highlighters and analysing your work along with you.

It continued for a while, back and forth. He’d analyse a quote, then you would, and he’d point out an alternative way to discuss the quote. He’d point out the ways it’d affect the reader, and everything in between. Four entire hours had passed since he’d first intruded your room when you finally stretched from your hunched position. You stretched your arms out, accidentally whacking Kuroo lightly on the arm.

“Hey, is that any way to treat your mentor?” he joked, and you laughed lazily.

“I haven’t even passed yet, Tetsu. Calm down.”

But you couldn’t deny the lack of stress you felt that night when you went to bed. Everything seemed to be fine. You felt as though you’d already passed the assessment without even entering your classroom.

+ 1 week

“Okay, class. I’ve marked all your assessments and graded them accordingly,” your teacher clapped their hands, silencing the class effectively.

There was an uneasy aura settling around the classroom, and you noted a few faces drain of their colour as the assessments were handed out. A red circle indicating their grade was printed onto each of the papers, and your stomach clenched as the time ticked on and your grade still hadn’t been placed on your desk. The seconds seemed to drag out, and you subconsciously began to hit your pen against your desk in anxiety.

Finally, your paper landed on your desk, and your eyes met your teacher’s.

“I know you fall asleep sometimes, but this here is proof that you do take in what I say. You just need to work on getting a good night’s sleep, now.”

Then, they moved on, and you were left staring at the grade that was circled at the top of your paper. There, in clear, red ink, was the unmistakable label that you’d doubted you’d ever receive your entire academic career. You’d always been an average student, sometimes even below average, passing at a C or a B. But there, circled at the top of your page, was a clear A.

You wanted to burst with pride at the sight of it, and you couldn’t deny that a slight smile grew on your face as you pulled your phone out of your blazer. Securely placing it under the desk, you began to tap away on the keyboard.

YOU: kUROO TETSUROU YOU UTTER GENIUS I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU I GOT AN A I’M SO HAPPY I COULD KISS YOU THANK YOU I LOVE YOU PAL Also not literally ew. I’ll forever believe u have cooties lol thank you pal see you later!!!

+++

“Hey, Kuroo!” you yelled as you opened the room to his classroom, marching up to where he was seated, picking apart his lunch absentmindedly as he talked with his fellow classmates.

“Oh, (Y/N)? You seem happy,” he stated, turning to face you.

“Did you not get my texts?” you asked, and he stared blankly at you as he discreetly checked his phone, a small smile growing on his face as he read through each text.

“Aww, my baby has finally grown up,” he said, flinging an arm around you and hugging you, “I’m glad I could be of assistance to you, m’lady. Now…” he trailed off, turning his head so he could fully look at your face.

Leaning down to your ear, he lowered his voice a few octaves so his voice was barely a note above a breath as he spoke. Low and deep, his voice fluent like silk as his breath tickled your ear, and you couldn’t fight back the blush at not only the close proximity you two were standing in, but at each syllable that left his lips. Dripping with a teasing suggestiveness.

“How about that kiss?”

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #nekoma x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu reader inserts #haikyuu scenarios

76 notes · View notes

fanfic-scribbles · 5 years

Text

Dragon Princess

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You don’t let anybody in easily. Steve doesn’t mind a challenge. Hopefully he also doesn’t mind getting his armor singed in the process.

Quick facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader – female!disabled!Reader]

Warnings: Female pronouns for reader, reader uses a wheelchair, reader is a Grumpy Gus (with a heart of gold), some ableism

Special Disclaimer: Reader is in a (manual) wheelchair for an undisclosed disability. I don’t use a wheelchair myself, I just go behind one, so if anything I said is offensive then message me and I’ll try to edit it. I did my best but unconscious bias is a bitch and trips up even the best of us.

Words: 2903

A/N: I love. Writing grumpy characters. Who are secretly soft. Can’t stop won’t stop. Anywho; this didn’t turn out exactly how I wanted but I quite like certain parts of it, and I’ll never not love writing troll-Steve, especially with cranky reader-characters. It’s just fun.

It has been a long day and you just want to go home. So it’s with no small amount of delight that you tear down the open space between bookshelves and tables and make a spectacular turn down the aisle you need– only to come to a complete and sudden stop.

That guy.

It’s a little harsh, but he’s standing right in front of the shelf you need. Captain America is a regular around here; so much a fixture that you can pinpoint the newbies and the visitors by how long they stare at him. Right now you stare a little too because, hey, you actually haven’t really interacted with him– it’s not like you have the time normally, but your co-workers won't shut up about how wonderful and nice the guy is. Nice, maybe. Easy on the eyes, certainly.

But not nicer than your bed and definitely not easier to look at than the inside of your eyelids.

You roll up next to him and find the spot where the book goes. Blocked by his thigh, of course. Grayson owes you big time for this ‘real quick favor.’

You clear your throat and steel yourself. “Excuse me.”

Captain Rogers blinks and looks down at you. Like he can’t fathom what you're doing here. You realize he’s zoned out just as a spark of life returns to his eyes. “Oh, um, can I help you with something?” he says. He then scans the upper shelves and looks down at you, meaningfully.

You sigh but temper yourself. “No, I know exactly where this goes.” You give him your brightest smile and hit the epic tome against your other hand. “On the shelf right above your kneecaps. Both of which happen to be at the perfect level.”

He jumps back and you’re able to slip the book right into its spot. He actually looks pretty amused. Since he’s a good sport about being threatened with a hardcover edition of “The Tale of Genji” (which might have to be registered with the state of New York as a deadly weapon, you’re not sure,) and since you’re only a week away from beating your record for number of days gone without a complaint, you sit back and say, “Since I’m here, is there anything I can help you with?”

“No ma’am, I’m just browsing. Thank you,” he says and goes back to staring at lettered spines, leaving you free to escape work for the day.

That went pretty well, all things considered.

It’s another long day when you come across Captain Rogers again. (Mr. Rogers? Captain America? Whatever.) You’re cleaning up the tables and he’s sitting at one, quietly reading. He’s got a small stack of nonfiction, the titles of which are all so boring that your eyes glaze right over them. As you get closer he raises his head and smiles at you. You’re not sure what your face does, but his lips twitch up against his best efforts and he looks caught between laughing and being concerned. “Sorry, did I do something…?”

“Other than be a nice guy to exactly the wrong person? No, you’re…fine. I guess,” you say. “If you want a smile you’ll have to go to the front desk; I’m the only one in this area.”

He laughs, which isn’t a half-bad sound. You roll your eyes and gesture at his stockpile of Boring Nonsense. “You done with any of those?”

“Yes,” he says and immediately puts two of them next to you. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” you say, grab them, and leave him be.

For a while. He’s still working on something that makes him scowl like he’s going to start fighting it when you come back over and drop a book right next to him hard enough to make him jolt. You smile. It’s the little things, sometimes. You pat the cover. “This is my favorite piece of trash. It has dragons and swords and is basically the book version of the most terrible-wonderful fantasy movie you can imagine. Give your brain a break before it goes on strike.”

His smile broadens, and he pushes the other, actual trash away so he can put your beloved trash in its place. “Enjoy, Captain,” you say and start to turn.

“Steve,” he says as if instinctive. But then he looks at you. “If you don’t mind.”

You shrug, but since you’re trying to be polite you tell him your name before leaving him to read in peace.

“Can I ask you a question?”

That’s as good as a loaded gun, as far as you're concerned, but you’re in a marginally good mood today so you face Steve with as much patience as you can hold at any one time. “Yes?”

He frowns. “Do you…” He sighs. “This is so random, but do you have any recommendations for books on food?”

That’s…not what you expected. “Huh,” you say as you actually have to think through the card catalogue of your mind. “I guess, but I think I should ask Grayson about–” Steve’s face does something terrible that is also delightful. “You already asked him.”

“He has to be joking,” Steve says desperately.

You crack a smile, already aware of the sorts of things your more exuberant and…adventurous coworker likely said. “Some, yeah, but probably not all.” You think you know what Steve’s aiming for. “Hold that thought.”

“If it’s too much trouble you don’t have to–”

You shush him– this is a library after all– and continue on your mission. You have to wave off one of the volunteers at one point but you manage to retrieve the book you’re looking for. When you return, Steve is focused on his book again– the poor, trusting fool. Nobody else is around, so you take great pleasure in making it slam right next to him. This book being bigger makes a louder sound than the last– he jumps, you laugh, and the day has gone from good to great.

“You like making me jump,” he accuses, poorly hiding a smile.

“My coworkers say I’m a sadist. Too bad for them I’m good at my job.” You flip open the book you brought him. “Ta da. The modern American cooking bible. Enjoy.”

Steve is immediately fascinated, leaning over and flipping through. “Betty Crocker is still a thing?”

“Oh yeah,” you say. “Still in grocery stores and the books get revised all the time.”

“Wow.” He smiles at you. “Thanks.”

You wave him off. Just as you’re about to go, though, you think of another possible concern. “By the way, Grayson talks a big game but he’s not serious. I mean, if he were single, yeah, but he’s got a wife and kids he loves more than anything. His flirting is all in good fun.”

Steve nods like it doesn’t bother him, but stops mid-motion. “What about Alex and Martha?”

You snort. “Good luck.”

He rolls his eyes. “Wow, thanks.”

You smile sweetly at him. “Always here to help.”

“Ooo,” Alex says under their breath and straightens their shirt.

You’re too annoyed to ask what they see. You find out anyways when Steve strolls up to the counter and says hello to Alex and then pointedly does the same to you, smiling like he’s gotten the best news of his life.

It’s fucking irritating and you wave him off like the obnoxious fly he is. Like the obnoxious fly he is, he remains. You give him a dirty look. “Away with you and your happiness.”

Steve laughs, showing his true colors for all to see. He leans on the counter closest to you. “That kind of day already, huh?”

You turn in the stool to properly glare at him. “I have great arm strength and three complete editions of “The Lord of the Rings” as well as the rest of our Tolkien collection. Do you want to find out how many copies of “The Silmarillion” are needed to take you out?”

Steve is unaffected. This is what you get for being nice– burning irritation and the blood of Captain America soon to be on your hands. Not to mention how all of your coworkers are probably going to give you the cold shoulder. Or worse– make you man the information desk.

You shudder. No, even Steve’s stupid fat head getting clocked by elven moping isn’t worth that.

“No,” he decides, smiling bigger as he watches you. “But I’ve been meaning to read “The Children of Húrin” if you happen to have it.”

You grab the book and…hand it to him, because you aren’t really a monster who would harm an innocent book just because someone else was irritating you.

Steve beams, the bastard. “Thanks!”

“Ugh, your sunshine hurts. Go away you fucking sadist.”

“We have that in common then,” Steve says and honest-to-god winks before strolling away to his area in the back. He’s so fucking jaunty that if he wasn’t in a library you’re pretty sure he’d be whistling.

“Nerd!” is your parting shot before you turn back to the task at hand. Alex, however, is gawking. Fucking great. “What?”

“‘Your sunshine?’” Alex points at you. “You were flirting!”

This might be the day you murder someone. And not a patron– that’s unexpected. “I was not!”

“And he was too oh my god.”

Blood rushes to your head. “Is this really how you want to go out? I made three 16 year old boys cry because they drew dicks in our books, my blood is pumping, I could fight a bear, don’t test me.”

Alex runs. To gossip; you’re not fooled. You shake your head. The problem with threatening people all the time is that eventually they find out you’re not actually violent. Not that those teenage brats know better, thankfully.

On that note, you do hope Steve enjoys their artistic interpretations of his text.

It’s too late to be irritated by the morning and too early to be irritated by the rest of the day, so you’re at the front desk, doing busywork to while away the slow mid-morning.

“Hi.”

You lift your head. “Do you live here now?”

“I wish,” Steve says. Your boss, William, is off to the side with Martha, and Steve politely greets them before focusing on you. He puts two books on the counter. “I wanted to return these.”

“Book drop is right over there,” you say.

“And deprive you of something to complain about? I would never,” he says.

Martha snorts. You magnanimously ignore her. It was pretty good, and you notice the first book you gave him sits on top. “How’d you like it?”

“It was fun.” Steve brings out a piece of paper. “I wrote down the author’s other work if you want to take a look?”

You take the list and give it a look-see before going at it with a pen. Some of the titles get stars, some get a ‘meh’, some get crossed out, and some of them get Sharpied out of existence.

“Do you need help?” you ask as you hand it back.

“No; I’ll just browse,” he says and holds it up. “Thanks,” he says, nods at the two useless observers, and goes on his way.

You open the first book to check it in and see a piece of paper folded in half. “Hey, you–” But Steve is gone. “Jeeze; even his bookmarks are dumb and big.”

You unfold it though and it’s– it’s a drawing. A really nice ink drawing of a snake-bodied dragon, fierce and blowing fire but…coiled at the bottom to sit on a throne of books that floats above the ground. Next to the picture is calligraphy that reads, ‘Thank you for always helping me.’

William and Martha crowd in, so you put the picture on the counter to let them see. You don’t look away from it but you can hear them admire it (as they should).

“Is…is he calling you a dragon?” William asks warily.

“This…” You breathe. “…Is the nicest thing ever.”

Martha and William scuttle off to gossip like the tweens they secretly are. You appreciate the drawing for a little while longer before you carefully fold it back up and slip it in your notebook under the counter.

God damn. He is flirting.

And god damn, you’re into it.

If you’re being honest, you’re not really that rude to strangers. Not most of the time, anyway. You know some who might argue that, but you love reading and books and stories and libraries and you want other people to love them too.

Some people, though, are hopeless.

“Here?”

“Next shelf over,” you say. “Left–” The guy moves his hand down and you sigh. “To the left, sir.”

He moves his hand, somehow, just over the book. “Yes! Th–” aaaaand he passes right by it.

Short of magically teleporting the book out of its spot and into his face, you're not sure what else you can do.

“Why can’t you just get it for me?” he whines.

You’ve had people practically strain their necks in effort not to look at the chair, but this is ridiculous. You rub your temples to ease the stupid. Someone is hovering in the aisle on the opposite side of where you’re trying to direct this disaster of a puppet show. Hopefully whoever is waiting has more patience than you. “I’m sorry sir but I don’t know how to be any clearer about it; you’ve literally passed over it–” Wait a minute. “Twice…” Wait a minute.

His mouth hints at a smirk even as he tries to look annoyed. Really? This is how he wants to harass you? This is weaksauce. He could have gone to Martha and done the same thing, she’s so short.

You smile politely. With fangs. “Sir, given our interaction here, I have to say I don’t think that book is right for you. The library has a great children’s section; I could show you the books for new readers. They’re well suited to your reading comprehension and your maturity level.”

It takes him a second. Unsurprisingly, he has the gall to get offended. “What did you say to me?!”

“We both know what you’re doing,” you say flatly, losing the gracious veneer. “Are you going to waste more of my time or can we stop pretending?”

He flounders for a moment, obviously too shocked by the turn to process. “I– I want to speak to–”

“His name is William and he’s at the front desk. Knock yourself out.” Please.

Asshole storms off and you sigh. It doesn’t seem fair that your ‘days without a complaint’ is about to get reset because of that, but maybe you can argue it. William is a reasonable guy. If he wasn’t you’d have been fired your first week when you heard someone making fun of their friend for reading Laura Kinsale and you signed the jerk up for every romance newsletter you knew of.

Steve steps out from the next aisle over and walks down to you. “Ah,” you say. “I should have known that particular looming.”

He blushes. That shouldn’t be legal. “Sorry; I wanted to talk to you so I decided to wait.”

Oh. “Then…thanks for not stepping in.”

“You had it handled. In fact…” He cracks a smile. “You were surprisingly patient.”

“I have to be.” You shrug. “My job involves dealing with the public. You know how it goes.”

“I do,” he says, smile growing. “Would you like to commiserate? Maybe over dinner?”

You try very hard to clamp down on your own smile. It peeks through anyway. Traitor. “Misery does love company.”

“Is it okay if I don’t think I’ll be miserable?” he asks.

“That’s fine, I can be miserable enough for the both of us,” you say. “You sure you want to go on a date with a dragon? You seem more like a princess kind of guy. White horse and all.”

He laughs and puts his hand to his chest. “Don’t let the suit of armor fool you. Besides, there’s more than one kind of princess.”

You shake your head. “I guess we’ll talk about it,” you say. “Over dinner.”

“Thursday?” he suggests.

“I get off work at six.”

“I’ll pick you up here then.”

“Cool.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

There’s an awkward moment where it feels like there’s something else– or should be something else. You know what you want, but…

Fuck it. You crook your finger to bring him in and Steve obeys, until he’s close and bracing his hands on the arms of your chair. You move to the side of his face and place a very light kiss on his cheek. He lingers for a moment and then stands, radiating carefully muted joy with a small smile that looks ready to erupt.

He’s going to ruin your reputation as a hardass. That doesn’t bother you near as much as you think it should. “Thursday,” you say and swallow. “It’s a date.”

He grins, like a sunbeam through the cloud. Yep. Ruined. “I’ll let you get back to work then,” he says and steps back. “Try not to set anyone on fire?”

Your smile shows teeth. “No promises,” you say and turn your throne around. This hoard isn’t going to manage itself, and you can’t just wait around for your knight– you’re not that kind of princess.

#steve rogers x reader #captain america fanfic #captain america reader insert #avengers fanfic #avengers reader insert #troll steve rogers #grumpy reader #tw ableism

168 notes · View notes

meetmeatthecoda · 5 years

Note

Lizzington: 3, 19, 26, 27

Send me a ship and a number and I’ll tell you...

Hi anon! :D Thank you so much for this ask! :) Here they are, I hope they’re good! LOL

3. - Are they open about their relationship? How do they feel about public displays of affection?

Hmm, good one. I think so, yeah. Depends on the place, of course. It’s not safe to do PDA around some of Red’s associates and acquaintances so they’re careful about that. But sometimes it’s beneficial to put on a little show for a stubborn business partner. Liz puts on a short dress and busts into a meeting to give Red a heated kiss or they take 5 and get “interrupted” in the middle of a make-out session which softens up the associate a bit. Red and Liz don’t mind, they like acting a little, keeps things fresh ;) On the flip side, they don’t usually like being too obvious at the Post Office, even though their relationship is the worst kept secret in the world and the whole team definitely knows. But they try to keep it subtle there, even though sometimes they indulge in a little hand-holding under the table or by the big board. And sometimes the case is tough and Liz needs a little support from her man and they sneak in a hug in a dark hallway. And, of course, sometimes they share some kisses in her office with the door closed. Until oblivious Ressler bursts in with a, “Hey, Liz, do you know – gah, oh, god.” And Red makes some snarky and suggestive comments, while Liz rolls her eyes and blushes, until Ressler runs away in embarrassment. But, if Red and Liz are in another country or on a day trip somewhere in D.C. where no one knows them, they have no reservations about sharing a kiss or 12 in public places. And they especially love to make-out in clubs, when the lights are low and the music is loud. They face so much judgement and skepticism about their relationship in real life so they love the anonymity of a club, where other couples who don’t even know each other are definitely doing worse things. LOL.

19. - What do they fight about? What are their arguments like? How do they make up?

Oooh. I think Red and Liz both have strong personalities and opinions on things but they are similar in a lot of their views and they do agree on a lot of things. That said, they do get into arguments about their safety, like when Liz does something stupid and has a close call in the field or Red takes unnecessary risks with his crazy plans and doesn’t let her in on everything. Liz can definitely get caught up following her moral compass and she can be a bit of a daredevil so when she takes a tumble or gets an injury from a blacklister, Red can lose his temper at her disregard for her own safety. But he only makes a big deal about it because he care about her so much obvi. And then, of course, Red isn’t completely blameless in these matters, since he has a bit of a problem hiding things from Liz that he thinks “she doesn’t need to know about”. Obviously, that pisses Liz off a bit, especially when he takes a risk she didn’t know about, and she can go off and tell Red how she feels. Red is trying to let her in more but old habits die hard. Their arguments, when it’s serious like this, can get pretty heated, screaming level, for sure. But since all the anger is based on their concern and love for each other, the arguments usually end with… well, sex. ;) And when all the passion has been expressed, for the moment, they both apologize, in the warmth and darkness of their bed, wrapped in one another, and promise to try and do better. Because, at the end of the day, they’re doing the best they can for one another

26. - How do their friends feel about their relationship? Their families?

Haha. I think most people who know them both well can see how good they are for one another. Papa Coops approves, even if he doesn’t know exactly why, Ressler resents Reddington for a metric shit ton of reasons (but he has developed a grudging respect for him over the years of working together, not that he would ever tell Red that) but he loves Liz like a sister and just wants her to be happy. Samar completely understands the attraction Reddington holds (cause, ya know, she has ovaries) and she privately thinks Liz and Red’s tempers are a good match. And, of course, Aram just ships the crap out of them, cause he’s a huge romantic dork and the love for Liz he has seen on Red’s face from day one could only ever lead to this outcome, as far as he’s concerned. Dembe is much the same, as well. He has witnessed the entire process of Red’s feelings for Liz, literally watched him fall in love and commit himself to her, and, for the most part, saw Liz fall in love with him. So Dembe just wants them to be happy and is grateful they managed to overcome their trials and tribulations and end up with one another. The only other person left is Sam, I think, and Liz wonders a lot about what he would think of her and Red’s relationship. She wishes more than anything Sam was still with them, because some days she wants nothing more than a hug and his advice, and hopes he would understand how good Red is for her, despite their past and ages.

27. - Do they have kids? Grow old together? Split up?

Ughhhh I wonder about this a lot. Cause in canon, there’s Agnes to consider, but it’s not like I can’t ignore canon easily enough lololololol but whether Agnes is Red’s or not shipping containerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr I’m a firm believer that he would love her anyway bc one, there’s plenty of canon instances to prove that he freaking adores her and two, she’s Lizzie’s daughter, what’s not to love? But out of canon, I do wonder if they would have kids. We know that Liz has always wanted them but Red has a painful past where children are concerned and would he really embark on fatherhood at this point in his life, even with and for Lizzie? There’s such a fandom headcanon that Lizzington gets pregnant unexpectedly, which is adorable, and they both handle it well and are completely devoted after getting used to the fact, but in reality, if there wasn’t an “accident” would they adopt, like Liz originally wanted? Or have one of their own? It’s certainly something they would discuss, I think. But, regardless, of their kids, they will definitely grow old together, are you crazy? And no, they will never, ever split up, don’t even talk to me, bye.

Ta da, there you go, anon! :D Thank you so much for these, I hope you enjoy them! :) Much love!

#The Blacklist #Lizzington #mine #headcanons #headcanon ask #ask #anon #thank you anon!!#:D #much love!!#<3

10 notes · View notes

aerialsquid · 7 years

Text

A wild fanfic appeared!

Title: [TBD if any] Pairing: Harvey Dent/Oswald Cobblepot Fandom: Batman, using @harveydont/ @drdickmd and @hermannco‘s versions of the characters Other Tags: Post-coitus Snuggling, Asexual Character, Asexual/Non-Asexual Pairing, No Sex Onscreen NOTE: Asexuals negotiating relationships with non-asexuals is one of my hot jams, and I also love everything @harveydont puts out on any ship possible. I have no idea if I got any of this character wise but here we go.

—————–

“So you got us off.”

“Mhm.”

“Twice.”

“Mhm.”

“In a quite satisfactory way, obviously.”

“Of course.”

“And it’s hard to fake a smirk that smug, so clearly you’re enjoying yourself here.”

“Most certainly.”

“So you want to tell us why after all that you don’t even have your shirt off?”

“I’ll change into my nightclothes eventually, I’m not some animal.”

They were lounging against the overly ample comforter on Oswald’s bed, sharing a cigarette. There was a warm intimacy that came with passing it back and forth, the brief touch and withdrawal of fingertips before you set your lips to the place where your partner’s had just been. Oswald would call it erotic if he cared for that kind of thing.

Harvey had the scarred half of his face pressed to Oswald’s shoulder. As Oswald handed the cigarette back he turned away, tucking it between the right side of his mouth to take in a breath.

As Harvey smoked, Oswald idly surveyed his recently conquered tract of land. He’d left a few marks of his own over the course of the last hour, dark bruises against the scars and bright against the clean skin. Oswald liked the idea of them hiding under Harvey’s suit the next morning and made a note to ‘accidentally’ rub against the scratches when they went out to give him a fond reminder of the previous night.

The current state of Harvey’s two-toned suit was in a crumpled mess at the foot of the bed. His tie, the one that managed to be perfectly bisected once tied despite the laws of physics saying that the knot couldn’t be that neat without being a clip-on, was dangling from the lamp.

Oswald, meanwhile, had neatly hung up his jacket on the way into the bedroom, shucked off his shoes and not bothered to attend to any of the rest.

“You sure you don’t want us to return the favor?” asked Harvey. Light plumes of smoke flowed from his lips and through the gap in his cheek.

“No.”

“It just doesn’t seem…” Harvey lingered over the phrasing. His tongue ran over his teeth. “Fair,” he finished.

“Ah. Yes, fair.”

Everything was about fairness with Harvey, wasn’t it? First the fairness of the law, and then the fairness of the coin. Oswald wouldn’t be surprised if he flipped these days for what position he took in bed.

He shook his head lightly. “It wouldn’t be a favor. And don’t take it personally, it wouldn’t be a favor off anyone else either. I simply enjoy your company.”

“Like the company you get from those women I used to see hanging off your arm at every party we went to?”

“A man in my position is expected to have an accompaniment to those events. They were accessories, not partners, and they were handsomely compensated for the privilege of being such.” Well. There had been one or two that had become more than accessories, but they lay under a pile of bad memories and fractured hearts that Oswald had no desire to bring into this comfortable bed. He let his fingers trace the ridge of a scar on Harvey’s thigh. “Of course now I have much more pleasant company that doesn’t present me with a bill afterward and then clock out for the night.”

“All right, but that one time we sucked your dick in the bathroom at the gala for…some shit or other. Something art-related. What got you on board with that?”

Oswald took the cigarette back with an air of scalded dignity. “For one thing, the sustained pressure of far too many martinis on both sides of the situation. I would say 75% martinis, at the very least.” He drew in a long breath of soothing tobacco. Hadn’t they agreed they weren’t going to talk about that little encounter afterward? Rude, Harvey.

“Mmm, that still leaves 25% on the table. You’re a greedy bastard, Mr. Cobblepot. Wouldn’t expect you to leave that much just lying around.” His arm tightened around Oswald, an adoring indication of the fact that he was just as greedy.

Oswald rolled his fingers. “You really want to know?” He tightened his fingers around the edges of the cigarette.

“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

Oswald stroked the hair on the unscarred half of Harvey’s head. “It was 20% for the optics of the situation.”

“The…optics.” Harvey raised an eyebrow at him.

Oswald smirked. “You were still DA, and you spent a large chunk of your career screwing me over. I got a measure of satisfaction from getting to do it to you in return, however metaphorically.”

Harvey let out a barking, harsh laugh. “Now that’s fair enough.”

“And what about you? I very much doubt you were left desperate with lust at my Adonis-like properties.” At the time they’d been desperate to maintain their balance long enough to walk to the bathroom. After he’d sobered up Oswald had taken shameful solace in the fact that Harvey, in his stupor, at least hadn’t been so uncoordinated that he’d bitten the entire matter right off.”

“80% martinis,” Harvey asserted. “At least 80%.”

“All right, and the 20%?” Oswald let out a loud squawk as Harvey abruptly pinched his stomach, making him jerk half an inch off the bed. His arm lashed out and sunk its nails onto Harvey’s thigh as penance. Harvey let out a strangled groan of mixed pleasure and annoyance before his voice mellowed out into a chuckle at Oswald’s offended expression.

“Because we wanted to see if you’d make that noise when you came.”

“Really? That was it? What were you, twelve?” Oswald glared at him. Harvey continued to refuse to take responsibility for the situation.

“No, just drunk. A lot of stupid shit seems like a hilarious idea when you’re drunk.”

Oswald huffed and flopped back onto the bed. “Well?” he said after a grumpy pause. “Did I?”

“Nope. Just a hard grunt, and then you patted our head like we were a good little dog. Bit anticlimactic, really.”

“Good.” Oswald patted Harvey’s head like he was a good little dog. Harvey shifted to put his head back down on Oswald’s ample chest.

“So let’s get back to my previous question,” he said, with that asshole lawyerly persistence that had driven Oswald into rages in their younger years. “What are you getting out of this if you’re not into it?”

“I never said I wasn’t ‘into it’. I said you didn’t need to return any favors.”

“You know we’d be fine without it. We got hands. Could even hire a hooker if we got desperate.”

“I want what I want, if I had a problem with it you’d be sleeping on the couch.”

Oswald extracted himself from Harvey’s arms to sullenly stab the cigarette into the ashtray on his night table. The ashtray was sculpted to look like a bird’s nest, naturally, and naturally Harvey had mocked it when they’d first rolled into the room in a whirlwind of kisses and wandering hands. (It wasn’t a crime to be thematic, Mr. ‘Everything we own absolutely has to be bisected and our hiring practices are biased towards twins’.)

He lay back down. Harvey curled back around him again, huge and warm. The ridges across his torso made it easy to trace the lines of Harvey’s body in his mind, envisioning where colors shifted and curled across his skin.

“The…there’s this look on your face,” Oswald mumbled. “Faces, whatever. You look like you’re dying of thirst and I’m the only person who can give you a drink, like I’m the most important thing in existence at that moment. You’re desperate for what I can give you, and you say my name like it’s an incantation to a god, and once you’ve finished you look like I’ve given you a glimpse of heaven. Even if I don’t particularly understand it, I can appreciate it, and it’s…not a look I get very often. And on you, I like it even more.” He sighed. “There, all right? I’m greedy, so sue me. You’d probably win anyway.”

Harvey rose up like a roused tiger, pressing his good hand to Oswald’s cheek. Yes, there was the look Oswald was talking about, though more sedate. That was an adoration that didn’t come out of idiocy, fear, or toadying. “We’re disbarred anyway. We’d lose by default.” His thumb ran across Oswald’s cheek.

Oswald smiled. “So let’s avoid the matter entirely and settle this out of court. It’ll be cheaper.”

“Settle it like men—by which we mean with our dicks.”

“Your dick, at least.”

Oswald rolled over to curl with his back to his partner. His soft, flat-palmed hand intertwined with Dent’s broad one. Maybe he could forgo the nightclothes and send the rest of the suit to the drycleaners in the morning; he’d completely lost the urge to do anything that involved getting out of bed.

“I can give you that look when I’ve dressed, too,” said a voice in his ear. So kind, when Harvey allowed himself to be. A coin’s toss away from mercy for far too many people who deserved far less. Oswald sometimes counted himself as one of them. “If you don’t want this.”

“I want what I want, Harvey. As long as we’re not in the middle of a meeting with Maroni you can give me that look as often as it pleases you.”

Harvey’s bisected lips pressed to the back of Oswald’s neck. Two kisses for the price of one, no coin flip needed. Oswald leaned back onto his muscular chest, a soft grin sweeping across his face.. “Just don’t make a mess on my good pants again.”

#harvey dent #oswald cobblepot #penguin #two-face #asexual character #squid writes fanfic #ozharv

37 notes · View notes