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pascalpanic · 3 years

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Miller Morales Mechanic Shop (Frankie Morales x f!Reader)

Part One of Miller Morales Mechanic Shop

Summary: Something is wrong with your car. What, exactly? You have no clue. So you bring it in to some professionals- who also have a toddler running around the shop.

W/C: 2.3k

Warnings: language, Frankie is a dad, brief mention of divorce and trauma bc poor Frankie, there is a child heavily involved in this so if you don’t like kids this isn’t for you :)

A/N: WELCOME TO PART ONE EVERYONE! This is such a cute AU and I’m BEYOND excited to start sharing it with you all! I don’t know how many parts this will be or anything but I can’t wait to take it and run with it.

Marisol Morales behaves for very few people. One of those is Ben Miller. Unfortunately, she has decided to break her own rules today.

Frankie loves summer. He loves his little girl playing outside in her baby pool, taking her for walks around the neighborhood with their three-legged dog, all of the fun parts. The hard part is when the nanny goes on a vacation and Mari has to come to work with him.

Benny and Frankie, ever since the chaos that was the Lorea mission, run a small mechanic shop together. Miller Morales Mechanic Shop isn’t necessarily the busiest place in town, but they make enough to get by and have some disposable income too. Mari loves to hang around the shop with her daddy and uncle. She’s there more than Frankie would like, but he supposes it’s not the worst thing in the world. When Frankie and Jules split and Frankie won full custody, he’d hoped a nanny would take care of most everything when Mari is home all day in summer. Sadly, he was in for a rude awakening when no Mary Poppins showed up on his doorstep.

It’s normally not too bad; Benny hung the moon in Mari’s eyes. If she won’t do something for her daddy, which is still somewhat rare, she’ll always do it for her Uncle Benny. That makes the day run much smoother. Mari has a whole host of quiet-time activities and toys to play with, and the men generally trade off periods of either working on the cars or being with the little girl.

Her favorite activities at the shop include drawing on the concrete with thick sticks of chalk and playing with her toy helicopters and planes. Benny insists tanks are cooler, but Mari prefers flying her Polly Pockets in the chopper, running through the garage and making flight noises. She’s a smart little thing; for her age, she’s picked up big words and can make sentences out of three words, which is quite a stretch for a baby just over two years of age. She calls for Benny and Daddy and knows the names of his tools: wench, scu-dwive, and her favorite, win-seeled wipe fwuid. She loves to babble at customers while they get their oil changed.

Being shit with cars is no fun. It only increases the anxiety when some light flashes on your dashboard. The lights can mean so many things that you find it ridiculous; “check engine”? Check it for what? To save yourself the anxiety, you find your nearest mechanic and pay them to deal with it.

Today, as you pull over into a gas station, you check your phone and find that the nearest shop is a place you haven’t heard of. It must be new. Miller Morales Mechanic Shop, 0.6 miles away. The name implies something more local and homegrown. You’re more than willing to support a place like that, so you start up the engine, pray you don’t explode, and make your way over to the shop.

It’s nearby, like the map indicated. The outside is a quaint little place, tucked in a strip mall next to a coffee shop, a dentist, and an insurance agency. The three car bays are empty, and knowing next to nothing about how these shops work, you pull inside and park your car, letting it run as you wait for an employee. The bell dinged to let them know you were here, so you stay patient and listen idly to the hum of the talk radio show from your car’s speakers.

After a minute or two pass, you realize that maybe this wasn’t the right place to be. Maybe you were supposed to go in the front or something. Concluding that you probably aren’t where you’re supposed to be, you turn off the car and get out only to be greeted by the sound of buzzing lips.

You can hear a baby’s voice, mimicking some kind of vehicle’s sound, and for a second you’re worried this place must have you hearing things. Then, from a swinging door to the front comes a little girl, running and babbling to herself about her toy helicopter.

She has a head full of dark brown curls, tied back into two puffs with pink scrunchies, and matching pink leggings and a t-shirt far too big for her, the back emblazoned with the shop’s logo. She’s barefoot, tiny feet slapping against the cold cement.

“I told you I had to piss, Fish!” A man’s voice shouts from one end of the garage.

“No you didn’t, dipshit!” Another man shouts back. Being caught in the middle of their argument is quite comical, if you’re being honest with yourself. “She’s fucking two! You can’t leave her alone like that, man!”

The first voice is matched to a person as a tall blonde man emerges from the customer service side of the shop. “Marisol Morales, come here,” he insists sternly as he rolls up the sleeves of his jumpsuit. “Come on, you’re gonna trip.” Ben is embroidered on a patch over his heart.

She pouts at him before stumbling forward and continuing to run, stopping as she sees you and looking up in confusion. Her lower lip sticks out in a pout as her eyes scan your face, as if she’s trying to remember if she knows who you are. “Hi,” she finally concedes as you bend to her level.

“Hi there,” you smile and hold out a hand. “What’s your name?” You pick her up, holding her on your hip so that she doesn’t trip, like Ben so desperately feared.

The second, unknown voice shouts for the little girl again before boots clunk on concrete up to you, rounding your car and stopping. This must be the girl’s father, you realize, as you rake your eyes up his body. He wears the same navy blue jumpsuit as the other man, though it’s unsnapped over his chest, exposing the white t-shirt beneath. The patch on his chest reads Catfish. He wears a ball cap and warm brown curls peek out from under it. He has scruff and a hooked nose that perfectly matches the one on the little girl. “I Mari,” she introduces herself proudly.

“Hey, leave her alone, Mar,” the man shakes his head as he hoists her up to hold her on his hip. “I’m so sorry about that,” he says with an embarrassed smile, showing a dimple beneath the scruff on his chin.

“No, it’s not a problem,” you laugh then set her down and tell the little girl your name. “Aren’t you just the cutest?” You chuckle as she looks at you. She blushes and buries her face in the man’s chest, giggling shyly.

He looks down at the little girl then up at you again. “Well, uh, hi. I’m Frankie, and you’ve met Mari already.”

“Your daughter?” you ask as you look at the pudgy little girl, who now stares at you in awe.

Frankie nods and adjusts his ball cap, pushing his hair back with it. “Yep. Our nanny is on vacation, so she gets to hang out around here,” he chuckles and kisses her head, setting her down. “Go see Benny, yeah?” He asks her. She happily waddles off towards the blonde man, who gives you a wave then heads into the back. “What brings you in?”

“Would you laugh if I told you I don’t really know?” You admit with a shy smile. “My check engine light came on while I was on the highway. I don’t know the first thing about cars, so I was hoping you’d figure out what that meant.”

“Nah, no laughing here,” he nods and gives you a genuine smile before looking over at your car. “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem. I’ll have you pop the hood for me and I’ll give it a look?” He asks.

“That would be great. Thank you,” you tell him, the desperation for his help in your voice. Now that you get the chance to really look at him, he’s quite attractive. His eyes are deep set and a beautiful brown, and they crinkle when he smiles. Facial expressions only accentuate the lines in his face, but he’s certainly not old. His eyes still hold his youth.

“No problem.” He leads you to the car and you pop the hood open before getting out. “Could I take your keys?” he asks you. “Just so I can turn it on and off and all that good stuff.”

“Yeah, of course,” you nod frantically and hand them over to him. “I’ll… be in the waiting room?”

“That’s how we usually do it,” he chuckles as he takes the keys from you. “Just shout for Benny if Mari annoys you again.”

That makes you frown. “She’s not annoying at all. She’s adorable,” you smile as you look over your shoulder and see her and the blonde man playing together.

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” he laughs and points his wrench at you as he walks to the hood of the car.

Shaking your head, you can’t help but laugh as you head back to the waiting room. You walk in and Mari perks up, turning to look at you. “Hi! Playing helicopter,” she tells you in her stunted speech as she holds up the toy.

“You sure are,” you nod and sit next to her. “Can I play?” You ask, looking up at Benny, silently asking him the question too.

He nods and Mari squeals happily. “Friend!” She shrieks and hands you another helicopter. “Go pew pew, okay?” She drags them across the toy mat like they’re cars, and you follow suit.

“Okay,” you laugh. Looking up at the blonde man, you extend a smile his way and introduce yourself. He’s busy repairing a Barbie dollhouse with a screwdriver.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Ben, Benny, whatever you wanna call me.”

Driving your helicopter around the ground, following Mari’s lead, you chuckle. “No preference?”

“Fish calls me Benny.”

“Fish?” You ask and tip your head.

“Frankie, whatever. We’re buddies from the service. His code name was Catfish,” the man explains with a shrug, testing the hinges of the plastic door.

That makes you smile down at Frankie’s daughter. “Really, just buddies? Could’ve sworn you’d be brothers,” you tease the blonde, blue-eyed man. “Does Frankie know how to do his daughter’s hair?” You ask and fiddle with her two pigtails.

“Yes, he does,” Frankie insists as he walks out to the front, cleaning a wrench. “But just barely.”

You look up at him, embarrassed. “Her pigtails just look a little messy. Then again, she was running around like crazy,” you laugh and watch her rush over to Frankie, insisting he pick her up.

Bending down to grab her, Frankie groans at the ache in his joints. “She was. I could use some pointers, if you’ve got ‘em.”

“Of course,” you nod and stand too, brushing the dust from the concrete floor off on your pants. “What’s the verdict on the car?” You ask.

Frankie turned, watching as Benny walks out to the shop, but he turns back to face you. “Oh, right. The engine was misfiring, and unburned fuel was being put into the exhaust system, and that damaged the catalytic converter.”

You nod as you listen to him, really staring at his face more than anything. He’s just so damn pretty, you note as you admire the curve of his nose, his slightly sunken and dark eyes. His lips look beautiful and soft, even though they seem a little chapped. When he stops talking, it takes you a second to process it. “I don’t know what that means,” you admit with a shy smile. “I told you. I don’t know shit about cars,” you laugh, playing it off like you were lost when you were really lost in his eyes.

He shakes his head and laughs, bouncing Mari on his hip. “Your car is gonna need some work. Couple hours,” he shrugs. “If Benny and I get to working on it together, an hour and a half, maybe?” He admits.

“Yeah, that’s great. I can watch Mari,” you offer.

Frankie would never be this trusting normally. You’re a straight-up stranger, but your demeanor is good enough for him. Besides, you’re right here. He can check on the two of you every so often, and Mari seems to love you. “That would be great,” he smiles. “You really don’t have to.”

“No, I have nothing better to do,” you chuckle and look at the little girl. “You wanna play?”

Mari nods excitedly and Frankie sets her down. She rushes back to her toy mat and you watch her go. “Thank you, again, for fixing all this.”

“Just doing my job,” he nods. This time, it’s his turn to admire you. He stares at your face, examining the curves and angles that make you up. Your eyes are kind and warm as they follow the little girl, and he can see that he’s making a good choice here.

When you sit down, Mari comes and sits cross-legged across from you. “What are we gonna play?” You ask her, looking at her wide variety of toys. Her pile includes dinosaurs, Matchbox cars, lots of toy helicopters and planes, Barbie dolls, and a plastic tea set.

“Tea party!” She says and hands you a tiny plastic cup and a felt muffin.

“Oh my goodness,” you gasp in a fake accent. “How delightful!”

Frankie peeks over his shoulder at the two of you. He could really get used to that sight.

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libermachinae · 3 years

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Night Shift

Also on AO3! Summary: Prowl and Jetfire analyze leads on a Decepticon smuggling operation, working together late into the night trying to find the missing connections. A sleep deprived slip of the tongue leads Prowl to revisiting old choices. Word Count: 2146

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Prowl didn’t keep track of his chronometer this late in the night. Morning was inevitable, and he knew he could rely on a burst of messages from Orion to let him know when it had arrived. As such, he had no idea what hour it was when Jetfire broke through the productive silence.

“How did you come up with these predictions?” Jetfire asked. Worst of all, he was speaking with his mouth full, apparently too incensed by Prowl’s logic train to be bothered with common decency. “Every gun you’ve pulled in has been running on fumes; I’ve had to scrape the insides of the barrels just to figure out what they’re fueled on.”

The impressive thing about Jetfire was that even as a voice over the comms, he sounded like the biggest bot in the room. It wasn’t just that his voice was deep; Orion, who wasn’t that much taller than Prowl, had a voice you could feel through the floor panels. It was something about the way Jetfire talked, deliberate and straightforward, rarely stuttering even when caught off-guard. It was refreshing.

“I’ve outlined the logic process in my report. I won’t be repeating it,” Prowl said, scrolling back through his files.

“What are they teaching in the enforcer academy that reports don’t need to communicate anything?” Jetfire grumbled

It would be a reasonable estimate to say they spent 50% of these near nightly calls complaining about their targets, their coworkers, and the administration, and another 40% about each other. Prowl sat through them strictly as a matter of convenience, being a faster mode of communication than the intermittent data bursts preferred by the sanctioned enforcer agencies.

Having someone at the other end of the line also assisted the rust sticks and nucleon microcubes in staving off recharge protocols.

“It’s as I explained to Tumbler: it communicates everything I intended it to.” Ideally, very little to anyone who couldn’t have worked it out themselves. That way, the important information stayed with those who could actually use it, and the rest—

“Who’s Tumbler?”

Prowl lost his train of thought as the rest of his processor caught up to what the .5% he reserved for conversation had said. He froze, rust stick halfway to his mouth.

“No one,” he said.

“Okay.” Jetfire drew out the word. “Did he buy that line?”

No, of course not. Tumbler was always relentless about that sort of thing. His curiosity and drive could have lent to the makings of a detective or captain if he’d dedicated them more often to investigations and less on critiquing Prowl.

“He was young and failed to grasp the necessity of efficiency in our line of work.” Prowl had tried to be patient, but he’d been young too, and Tumbler was the first partner he’d had who would listen to him. Even if it was just to argue that Prowl’s opaque writing was the cause of their inefficiency.

“Hmph.”

Jetfire liked to intersperse their conversations with meaningless noises, and although Prowl needed more samples before he was certain of his explanation, he believed they meant Jetfire didn’t agree with something he’d said but was ending the discussion prematurely. It was illogical, leaving a matter unsettled for which a solution existed, but normally Prowl’s priority queues were ordered such that work came before ideological disagreements.

“What?” he asked, finally setting down the rust stick.

“You’re normally terrible with names,” Jetfire said without hesitation. “I’m just trying to imagine what a bot would have to be like to leave that much of an impression on you.”

“He was talented,” Prowl admitted.

“Do you keep in touch?”

“No.” Prowl straightened his back and flared his sensory panels, ready to move on. “It was not a practical partnership. Being together diminished our respective abilities and prevented us from fulfilling our responsibilities. It was for the betterment—”

“Hey, hold on, Prowl,” Jetfire said, his rolling voice enough to draw Prowl up short. “I know that you—but, you know what that sounds like, right?”

Prowl frowned, immediately recognizing Jetfire’s social theory tone.

“Pragmatism,” he said. “We can’t have everything we want in an ordered society. I—we did what Cybertron needed of us.”

“By disposing of a part of yourself?”

Tumbler hadn’t liked that explanation either.

“We weren’t conjunx.” And for very good reason. There were more important things in life than feelings or fleeting commitments, and it was idealists like Jetfire who—

“Just because it didn’t have a name doesn’t mean it wasn’t important.”

Prowl’s thoughts stumbled. He hadn’t expected Jetfire to say that, not because it was out of character but because he was right. That was the exact sentiment Prowl had tried to put to words maybe half a dozen times and now it was being turned on him like a spotlight.

“There are things that should never be sacrificed,” Jetfire went on. Prowl felt his silhouette thrown into sharp relief. “Things we’re worse off for letting go of.” He paused. “A while ago, I was made an offer: instant entry to the academies. No exams, no fees. Everything I’d ever wanted. In return, though, I would’ve had to give up my wings. My… sponsor, I guess, knew I had the processor for science, just not the frame. They asked for me to give up one part of myself to let the rest go free.”

Prowl shook his helm, leaning away from the speaker. Jetfire’s tone was the same one he occasionally used with Bumblebee. With Prowl, he was hard edges and warning lights. They weren’t this for each other. They didn’t do this.

“You were nearly the victim of a scam,” he said, searching blindly for familiar ground.

“I’m sure it seems that way,” Jetfire said, unperturbed. “Do you get it, though? Giving up any one piece would’ve meant tacit agreement with the Functionists, that I wasn’t fit to do my work in any form but what they prescribed. Even if I’d told myself it was for Cybertron, it really would’ve been a sacrifice in their honor, and nothing would ever be worth that.”

Prowl wasn’t entirely obtuse. He understood what Jetfire was saying, but he couldn’t afford to hear it, not with everything he had already done and the plans he had yet to set in motion. Maybe Jetfire had found a way to live that allowed him to maintain his idealistic commitments, but most mechanisms weren’t so lucky. Everyone had to give up something.

“And now you’re here, working on behalf of the Senate,” Prowl said, just to prove that point.

Jetfire made his noise again.

“Right, I forgot,” he said. Annoyed or frustrated: the usual feelings they brought out in each other. “Waste of time. Forget I said anything.”

Prowl wouldn’t, but he also wasn’t going to give Jetfire an excuse to keep pontificating.

It would have been a waste of their time, anyhow, because however sincere Jetfire was in his admission, Prowl had never understood the hypocrisy of bots who would claim to reject Functionism while maintaining an almost fanatical devotion to their frames. In some intangible sense, maybe he did enjoy the opportunity to go for a long drive, but he couldn’t imagine himself grieving his tires for their own sake. He tried to compare it to what he had felt when Tumbler had said going to Kaon was a selfish, pretentious idea and immediately recoiled.

“Results are exactly what I told you,” Jetfire said. Prowl realized he hadn’t gotten any work done in the last several kliks. “Not nearly the concentration of materials to support your theory the Decepticons have contacts in Uraya, and a few that will probably trace back to Kaon, like everything else.”

“I’d like to see for myself,” Prowl said, standing. He didn’t often get this badly distracted, and it was easy to pin it on the state of his desk: used energon cubes and wrappers from the cheap snacks he kept fueled on littered the spaces he should have been using for case notes and displays. When was the last time he’d cleaned?

“Really?” Jetfire asked. “The data’s pretty clear.”

“Humor me.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?”

Neither said goodbye before they hung up: another of their customs.

Prowl cleared the mess into the trash. Exhaustion was nibbling at his processor like a corrosive. Another couple shots would get him through his morning meetings, and then a regular midday fueling would carry him over until he could recharge properly in the evening. Before that, though, the day had to begin, an event he discovered was closer than he’d expected when he stepped outside and saw the horizon just tilting toward the pale blue of an oncoming dawn.

The air was gentle, the pleasant cool that foreshadowed a blistering day. Jetfire was a dot over the Rodion skyline. Prowl glanced up at the few stars that could punch through the light pollution and was reminded, suddenly, of the time he and Tumbler had discussed getting a little patch of metal out on the Tungsten Moors. The barren sparkfields had felt nonetheless fertile with possibilities, and they had gotten hung up on whether it would be more practical to live in a house with two stories or just one. It had been a fantasy, nothing more; even on their joint income, it would have taken millions of years to save up. But there had been something, if not fulfilling, thrilling about it, making plans that didn’t hinge on work or promotions.

He wondered if Tumbler remembered that conversation.

Jetfire’s slow approach gave Prowl time to dwell while keeping an idle optic on his teammate. There was nothing spectacular about Jetfire’s flying: Prowl had worked with and chased down fliers who were faster, more maneuverable, and flashier in every way. But there was something resolute and sure about the way Jetfire coasted, a steadiness that Prowl would have appreciated sooner if he’d noticed it, his thoughts of Tumbler and past mistakes and pointless sacrifice sliding away as he watched Jetfire’s flight.

Jetfire’s flying was beautiful, in its own way. Its understatement reminded Prowl of his own assembly line colors, but with an underlying confidence that left Prowl feeling inadequate. Though technically strong, his power was limited to what he could siphon off Orion and their other high-level contacts. He’d experienced a taste of the real thing under Sentinel, but that had been an especially tenuous connection, liable to snap had he ever tugged too hard. Jetfire’s power was all his own. Not overwhelming, not enough to make the changes Cybertron needed. Incomparable, really, to what Prowl had wielded. But it radiated from the tips of his wings to the burn of his thrusters, self-realized, without reservation or concession.

Prowl’s tac net pinged him with the results for a problem he hadn’t realized he’d plugged in: 50% Prowl should have been strong enough to find another way, 50% choosing Tumbler would have made him stronger.

A perfect 50-50 meant his systems were badly in need of defrag. He cleared the cache and set his tac net to reboot, shaking his helm to dispel the resulting vertigo as Jetfire landed on the steps below him. Prowl waited patiently for him to complete his mode switch, taking two steps back so they would be at optic level with each other.

“Pleasant flight?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t trade it for anything,” Jetfire said with a smugness that allowed Prowl to scoff as he motioned for the datapad.

Jetfire handed it over. Prowl knew he was being watched as he powered it on and reviewed its contents, but he took his time, using Jetfire’s results to run through a few warm up calculations as his tac net came back online.

“You didn’t check for copper fluoride,” he commented.

“No,” Jetfire said slowly, “because it wasn’t one of the compounds we were investigating.”

“Run the tests again.” Prowl tried to return the datapad, but Jetfire refused to take it. “The chances we would find evidence of materials native to the Urayan region were always slim to none. However, the old blackmarket pipeline between Kaon and Yuss ran directly underneath the city. Does that make more sense?”

Prowl saw the moment Jetfire finally saw the case as he did, a knotted web of deceptions meant to dissuade even the most seasoned detective from untangling its core. Jetfire took the datapad from Prowl and stowed it, though the hard look in his optics did not waver.

“Could’ve said that from the beginning,” Jetfire griped.

Prowl didn’t bother to respond. What was done was done. Talking so much about the past was a waste of time neither of them could afford, because for all that it might have mattered, nothing they said could change any of it. All they had was the future, and the possibility of starting each day stronger than they had the one before.

#finally remembered to upload!#maccadam #transformers #prowl #jetfire #my writing #oneshot

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angelz-dust · 3 years

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masters of none - part 4 (jason todd x reader)

summary: after many months, we are back in action and back in reader’s head. pls enjoy these jason crumbs. if you need a refresher on the plot, the other chapters will be linked below!

word count: 3.7k

warnings: food/eating. alcohol. cursing.

part 1 /// part 2 //// part 3

gravity

ever since i ever felt ya, right there life couldn't seem better. tulip flowers in my sweater. ask me now, is this forever?

…

you rested your chin on the table before you, your arms hanging limply between your knees as you listened to your manager, dana. you were really just watching her mouth open and close while she pointed at a powerpoint. god, what you would've given for an extra hour of sleep. the all nighters in the studio were starting to take a toll.

the feeling of the back of daisy’s soft hands brought you back to earth. the smell of cocoa butter dancing beneath your nostrils as her smooth engagement ring rolled across your cheek. you breathed in her smell, exhaling in content through your nose.

“you good?” she mouthed and you closed your eyes, giving her a little nod. the bassist rubbed her calloused fingers against your forehead, pushing strands of your hair past your hairline. you pouted when she eventually pulled away, leaving you only with the sensation of touch that once was.

you heard tyler shift in his seat and then felt some air graze against your hand. you looked under the table, noticing he was holding something out to you. you two made eye contact briefly before you scooted back in, grabbing what felt like an envelope. looking down at your lap, you saw a sticky note attached to it. jason’s money was what it said. you carefully put the envelope in your jacket pocket, sitting back in your seat now and looking at dana’s powerpoint. she was going over reports from your publicist, jerry, which you didn't particularly care about.

“now, i have to ask,” dana’s words pierced your bubble of inattention. “have you all thought about what i said about this next album?”

jordy raised his hand like a school kid. “yes?”

“y/n and i decided that we'd be okay with making our album a group project. it has been, admittedly, kinda hard and boring without everyone else. we’d honestly be doing ourselves a disservice by not doing it together,” jordy explained, dana clapping her hands together.

“wonderful,” she nodded, keeping her hands clasped. “i know you two were excited to do your own thing, but i was talking to jerry and he was really pressing me to get a group album from you guys. the people wanna see you guys as a unit of established artists, which you all are. so what's the concept? we never discussed it.”

“uh,” you verbally paused, raising your arms above your head to stretch. “disco, jazz, and funk. it's a mix of those.”

“retro is in right now,” dana nodded, pacing around the room. “how far back will this set us on a release date?”

you grimaced, leaning back in your seat, the back of the seat lightly bouncing as it absorbed your weight. you pondered the question for a moment. “if it’s gonna be a group thing, it'll have to be significantly longer. we have a decent starting off point but i'm gonna need way more songs now.”

“what about the rest of you? any tracks that we could swing?” dana asked, looking at the rest of the group.

grabbing a pen and piece of scrap paper, you started jotting down notes as everyone spoke out to you. dex and quinton didn’t have anything, but they wouldn’t be a problem. you just needed to give them a beat to rap over and you’d be set. the twins had a finished song already that fit the concept, which was good. with tyler’s voice and aly’s excellent song writing abilities, you doubted very seriously that anything else needed to be done to it. daisy and hector had plenty of lyricless songs, too. funk and soul was their specialty, after all. misha even had a demo track she was willing to share.

you looked over the notes you had taken, tapping your pen on the table as you hummed to yourself. “this could probably work. we’ll need to go over everything in the studio, though.”

“we should just do it now. no one is doing shit else today, right?” dex asked the group, who all shook their head.

“i have a request,” you raised your finger, looking at dana. “i want gotham to be involved in this project.”

“gotham…” dana repeated slowly, unsure of what you meant. “care to elaborate?”

“music videos directed by student directors from gotham university, commissioning local artists for album art. dancers, actors, musicians, whatever. all of them have to be from gotham. i don't want any of the money we put into this project leaving this city,” you stated firmly, dana giving you a blank look.

“i like that idea,” hector said, giving you a kind smile before turning to dana, shifting in his seat. the drummer was like a big brother, always backing you up in moments like these. “accessibility to the arts is really limited here and we should change that.”

“i’d rather give back to the city, too,” quinton agreed, playing with the gold cross hanging from his neck. “we’re one of the only groups in gotham known outside of gotham. we should use that as an opportunity to rep our city.”

“it sounds like you have your minds made up on this,” dana narrowed her eyes, letting out a sigh. “it would definitely be good PR.”

“because god forbid we do something out of the kindness of our hearts,” misha laughed, rolling her eyes. “we're trying to put the city on and you're worried about how it makes us look.”

“that's my job, misha. don't you want me to do my job?” dana retorted. “besides, i'm more concerned with the funding. you all don't have disposable income, believe it or not.”

“but i know someone who does,” she said with a singsong tone, giving you a look.

“i hope you're not referring to me,” you deadpanned. your income was far from disposable.

“i’m referring to our good friend, bruce wayne,” she explained, grabbing a business card out of her purse, handing it over to dana. “ever since i got invited to that charity gala, i've had a direct line to a representative with the wayne foundation. i say we ask them to help fund the project.”

“now that could work,” dana admitted, eyeing the card as she tapped her foot. “if we pitch for more youth involvement, it'll probably go over better. we all know how much bruce wayne loves saving the children.”

you frowned at how dana described bruce’s initiatives as a philanthropist. you were sure his motivations for favoring youth projects were good intentioned, considering his parents had been killed when he was just a little boy. you wanted to go into this good intentioned, too and you hoped that they'd agree. they being the wayne foundation and subsequently, bruce himself.

“ty and quinton could do something with forrester. if we’re going for the youth involvement route, i mean,” aly spoke up.

“forrester correctional. our old stomping grounds,” quinton sighed wistfully as he patted tyler on the shoulder. “i think that would be a good idea.”

“they use the arts as an outlet for them, so it could be beneficial for everyone,” tyler nodded. “there are a lot of good kids there. just unfortunate circumstances, that’s all.”

“wasn’t one of bruce’s son’s a troublemaker before he was adopted?” aly continued, not noticing the look you and tyler shared. “i’m sure he’d probably be interested in doing something with them if his son comes from the same background.”

“it’s settled, then. you all keep working on the music. jerry and i will handle the rest. we need this album out before hector and daisy’s wedding,” dana said, grabbing her suitcase.

…

hey, i have your money. did you still want it?

you stared down at the unsent message, your thumb floating over the send arrow. you hadn’t spoken to jason since that night after the race, as per his request. your mind kept wandering back to it, even as time still went on. what happened was scary, to say the least. fun, but scary. you wondered how the hell jason didn’t get the two of you killed. that part, you didn't want to think about too hard. everyone in gotham had their secrets and it was an unspoken rule amongst citizens to not pry. secrets were secrets for a reason. nothing good ever came from unearthing them.

speaking of secrets, you hadn't exactly told tyler and quinton what happened that night. not in detail. you conveniently left out the chase and stopping to get something to eat. omitting the first part was obvious, but the second one was for your own sanity. you didn't need them teasing you over nothing. besides, all that mattered was no one was dead or arrested. and for the way the three of you used to get down, that was a win.

you considered texting jason earlier this week, just to check in on him, but you decided against it. he obviously wanted you to text him and you obviously had to do the opposite. his little mind game wasn’t going to work on you. you pressed send, frowning immediately as you did so.

maybe it already had.

“it’s too many people in this bitch,” dex sighed, the cold of the water bottle you had asked him for against your hand bringing you back to reality. blinking, you were suddenly very aware of the chaos surrounding you in the studio as you put your phone back in your pocket. you looked to your left, where jordy was leaning against the wall and scrolling through his phone. to your right was aly, who was scribbling in her songbook in the chair next to you. you remembered you were supposed to be working, too. “we need a new stu.”

“i’m working on it!” hector hollered from inside the booth as he and daisy were setting up equipment and instruments. you glanced up at the glass in front when you heard his voice, accidentally catching the pair share a little kiss. you quickly averted your gaze, smiling to yourself.

“new stu, new view, what it do?” quinton began to freestyle to a beat he was making on the coffee table in front of him. “off 92, posted up with southside crew.”

“okay,” dex laughed, noddinh his head as he was vibing with the beat, making his way out of your line of sight. you heard someone, presumably tyler, join in and add some depth to the beat. it sounded like he was hitting a pencil against a shot glass.

“i got a new boo, but i’m tryna slide with misha, too,” quinton continued, dex adlibbing in the back as quinton lowered his voice to his signature melodic whisper. “on the low, nobody gotta know.”

“would you shut the fuck up?” you heard misha say, followed by a barrage of muffled smacking noises and verbal objections from quinton, who you assumed was on the receiving end of what sounded like an assault by pillow.

laughing to yourself, you leaned your head in aly’s direction, not fully facing her. “pass me the flash drive?” you held your hand out weakly. once you felt the plastic in your palm, you leaned back over and put it into the computer, pulling up the proper files.

“we’re done back here,” daisy smiled at you, she and hector coming out from the booth.

you clapped your hands together. “wonderful. everybody shut up, please.”

you pulled up the twin’s song and let it play, your eyes fixed on the colorful audio loops on the screen. the green ones were tyler’s vocals, the purple were aly’s. it looked like blue was reserved for instruments and red was any added sound effects or layered sounds.

“you two sound really great,” jordy walked up behind aly’s seat, leaning against it as he swayed his head to the beat.

“thanks. i wrote it with our mother in mind,” aly said, the words coming out of her mouth uncomfortably. you placed your hand on hers and gave it a little squeeze, which earned you a look of appreciation.

“it's missing something, though,” tyler scratched the back of his head. “i need the producer squad to give us some assistance.”

“oh, say less,” dex laughed, snapping his fingers to the beat with one hand and holding his glass of hennessy in the other. he danced his way over, taking aly’s seat as she, tyler and jordy moved to give you all some space.

misha sauntered her way over, sitting against the table and flipping her hair over her shoulder. the smell of her sweet perfume floated in the air around you. “i think it just needs some fluffing up. some snapping might work. more vocal layering in certain spots.”

“i agree,” you nodded, dex letting out a satisfied sigh as he took a sip of his cold drink.

“is it good?” misha asked him teasingly and he took his final swig, letting out a more dramatic and drawn out sigh. this time, though, it was on beat with the song. you were pretty sure it was unintentional on his part, since he and misha just shared a laugh before returning their attention to the screen.

after a moment of pondering, you swiveled around in your chair, looking at tyler. “okay, hear me out…”

…

two weeks of very diligent working between the nine of you had given you a lot to work with for the album. all that was left was to start putting things together. you still had a ways to go, but you had a good starting off point. as much as you hated to admit it, it was a good call on dana’s part to have you all do a group album. the fans seemed to be greatly anticipating the release and the work ethic the nine of you shared was incredible. even in that cramped little studio, you all made it work.

you all agreed to take the day off, but you were still working at some capacity. you had just traded one small space for another, working in your walk-in closet/home studio for the day. you still needed said walk-in to function as a closet, so there were still garment bags pushed up into a corner and shoe boxes haphazardly stacked, surrounding your desk that you had shoved in there. there was just enough space for you to move your chair and safely get out without twisting an ankle, a fate you often flirted with in that room.

in the spirit of your day off, you hadn't done anything too difficult. you were just trying to decide what order you wanted the completed songs to go in. it may seem like an insignificant detail, but the order was important. the transitions between songs couldn't be jarring for the listener. everything had to flow together with natural progression. at this point, it didn't matter since you weren't done with the album, but it was just giving you an idea of how to fill the gaps with future songs.

the sound of your growling stomach indicated that it was time to stop for the day. you quickly saved all your work and headed to the kitchen. you popped some leftovers in the microwave and scrolled on twitter while you waited. the microwave beeped at you, so you set your phone back down and grabbed the bowl, mixing up the contents with your fork. the flash of light coming from your phone got your attention. a text notification.

are you home?

oh, so now he wanted to respond? cute.

despite your annoyance with the situation, you quickly responded with a yes and set the phone back down. you leaned against the counter, eating what little food you had in your reheated bowl. you mixed the contents around with your fork, grumbling. stupid jason and his stupid inability to text back. he could have at least had the decency to leave you on read. he probably didn't even have read receipts on. you weren't sure which was worse. tossing your now empty bowl into the sink, you grabbed your phone to read his next message.

i’ll be over soon.

soon was very vague and you wished that you would've demanded an exact time, but that opportunity had passed by the time you thought about it. you busied yourself with tidying up, trying to make your place look presentable. you even lit your new candle, which you found yourself focusing your attention on while you waited for him to show up. staring at the flame was much more entrancing than you anticipated.

you heard the door buzzer go off. you weren't expecting anyone else, so it had to be him. you leaned against the wall, pressing your finger to the button.

“who goes there?” you presented the question as a joke, but your tone was a little flat.

“it’s the irs,” jason’s voice came through and you buzzed him in.

not too long after, you heard him knock on the door. you cracked it open and the first thing you noticed was his cologne. it was a strong but pleasant scent. spicy and sweet. it was very intoxicating, actually. so much so that you almost forgot you were angry at him.

“hi.”

“hello.”

you opened the door fully and handed the envelope to him. jason eyed it suspiciously. he opened it up and began to count it out in front of you. he made an effort to do it very slow, the sound of the crisp dollars echoing in the quiet hall. his eyes stayed glued to yours as he counted out loud. you leaned against the doorframe as you watched.

“six… seven… eight,” he said, pulling out his wallet and stuffing it with the cash. “thought you would've skimmed some off the top.”

“i should have with how long you made me wait,” you said matter of factly, letting your annoyance be known now.

“i know. i’m sorry,” he sounded honest but you couldn't see it in his face or in his eyes, which was worrisome. it was a nice alternative to listening to a sputter of excuses, though. “let me make it up to you?”

“how do you plan on doing that?”

“i’m so glad you asked,” he smiled. “as it turns out, i've recently come into some money. let me spend it on you?”

“so you like throwing money at your problems?” you asked him. well, you weren't really asking. it was more like you were telling him.

“no,” he said, sounding a little offended. “i just thought-”

“you just thought that throwing money at me would make me forget about the fact that you ignored me for a month.”

“no, no,” he shook his head, sighing in frustration. “listen, i-”

“i really don't wanna hear it,” you said honestly, watching as his frustrated look turned into kicked puppy. you almost felt bad. “i don't like feeling stupid, jason. that's how i feel right now. i want you to make it up to me but you'll have to be a bit more creative than this.”

“you want me to make it up to you?” jason had repeated, confusion on his face.

you poked him harshly in the chest. “you do that or you leave me alone. those are your options. goodbye.”

you shut the door in his face and let out the breath you were holding in. you weren’t sure how jason was going to react to your little ultimatum, but those were your terms. you liked him but you weren’t going to stress over someone you barely knew, especially with your assumptions about him floating around in your head.

“i’ll be right back,” you heard him say through the door, catching you off guard.

“what?”

“don’t go anywhere.”

you didn’t respond but you heard his footsteps getting quieter as he walked down the hall. the elevator ding indicated that he had left. you stood there, confused as to what it was he was trying to do. you were still stewing in your negative emotions, so you went and busied yourself again. you decided the dishes needed washing and got on it right away. in the middle of scrubbing the stubborn sauce stains out of your plate, you heard your door buzzer go off again.

so he did come back after all. interesting.

you buzzed him in like you did before and waited by the door for him. he knocked and when you opened it, you were met with two gifts: a bouquet of pink tulips and a small box of something from the bakery around the corner.

“i shouldn’t have ignored you. it was rude and stupid and i’m sorry. it won’t happen again,” he said to you, holding out the items to you. you hesitantly accepted them, taking the opportunity to look through the plastic opening of the box to see chocolate covered strawberries.

“it better not happen again,” you pouted, looking up at him. you had to appreciate the effort he put in at such short notice. it was a sweet gesture and he actually looked sorry this time.

“it won’t,” he assured you and you smiled.

“i forgive you. but you’re on thin fucking ice,” you reminded him and he grinned at you with a nod.

“i’m going to make it up to you. just you wait,” he said confidently. “not all of us are naturally creative like you, though. you gotta give me some time to think of something else.”

“seems like you’re getting your feet wet with the flower selection,” you noted, taking a whiff of the delicate and fresh scent. they’d look nice on your coffee table.

“lady at the shop said they would convey my sincerest apologies,” he explained, a hopeful look in his eyes. “did it work?”

“for now,” you shrugged, setting the items down on the table next to the door.

“i can accept that.”

“you’re gonna have to because that’s all i’m giving you,” you said firmly. his charm wasn’t going to get him out of this one. not completely. “now go away. i want to eat my berries in peace.”

“i’ll text you as soon as i get the chance,” he told you as you were shutting the door. you peered at him, narrowing your eyes before shutting it again. “i’m serious!”

“goodbye, jason!” you said through the door. you heard his faint farewell as you walked away, plopping on the couch with your dessert in hand.

were you still a little mad at him? yes. but you weren’t going to pass up free stuff, even if you had made all that fuss about the money earlier. at least the gifts had some thought behind them. so long as he held up his end of the deal, you had a feeling being friends with jason wouldn’t be that bad.

hopefully, anyway.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #dc x reader #jason todd #red hood

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snelbz · 4 years

Text

What Happens In Vegas... {1}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Feyre x Rhysand, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Summary: For Feyre’s twenty-first birthday, her best friend took her to Las Vegas for a weekend of fun she could never forget. She’s going home with a lot more than memories.

What Happens In Vegas Masterlist

Fanfiction Masterlist

I decided on divorce while I was in the shower, practically slamming the door in my new husband’s face. I went over what I would say to him over and over and when I’d washed my hair for the third time, I knew I was stalling. This wasn’t something I could just pretend hadn’t happened, this was real.

Except maybe I could.

I had plans and life goals. I was only twenty-one. Surely he couldn’t have been surprised by my desire to make this disaster of a marriage go away. You don’t just meet a random person and get married in Vegas. You bring someone to Las Vegas and then you get drunk and get married. But drunkenly marrying an absolute total stranger, who’s name I still didn’t know? Not high on my list of personal accomplishments. I definitely wouldn’t be adding it to my resume when all of this was over.

My parents could never find out, they would kill me. I had plans and priorities. I was going to finish my degree and join my father’s architectural firm. Hell, I had a five- and ten-year-plan, and neither of them included drunkenly marrying a handsome stranger in Vegas.

No, we’d get this thing taken care of and I’d be back in my home town, and back to the life changing internship I was supposed to start in two weeks.

That was it, we’d get divorced and then I’d take this secret to my grave. I was sure my husband was thinking the same thing outside the bathroom door.

I dragged a hand down my face as I stood under the spray of the water and looked at the rock on my left hand. This thing must have cost a fortune. Like a legitimate down payment in a house fortune.

I froze. What if he was into something illegal? His clothes certainly didn’t seem like that of someone who had this much disposable income.

Marrying a stranger was bad enough, but marrying a criminal?

I suddenly felt the need to puke again, but reigned it in. There was nothing left in me to hurl up, anyways.

Attempting to shake the criminal thought away, I tried to take other possible theories into consideration. Maybe he was one of those rich kids that still takes his mommy and daddy’s money, even though he tries to pass off as normal so that he doesn’t have to go to go to all the boring events, full of other rich, snooty people. Or, maybe he had won the lottery and was using his winnings on his trip to Vegas, where he buys obnoxiously large rings for strangers that he marries.

Somehow the criminal theory seemed the most realistic.

A knock on the door had me jumping. “Feyre?”

Well, at least he knew my name.

I hollered back, “Just a second,” and quickly turned off the shower and got out. Wrapping a towel around myself, I looked for something to dress in, but my options were limited. I could put on my white dress, but it was now covered in puke, or the white t-shirt I assumed belonged to the man outside my door, still wet, hanging over a towel rack. I could only assume I’d puked on it, too. Or I could wear the towel.

Towel, it was, it seemed.

I cracked open the door. “Hi.” He was right there leaning on the door frame. I hadn’t noticed when we were sitting down, but he was quite a bit taller than me, a full head, if not more. And he was still shirtless, in those jeans, with those tattoos on display and I was too hungover to process how someone could look like that after a night of drinking.

“Hey.” He wouldn’t look at me, didn’t even seem to notice I was wearing only a towel, thankfully. “Listen, I’m going to have this taken care of.”

I blinked. “Taken care of?”

“Yeah.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes and he was staring at the ground. A scuff on his boots was clearly more interesting than I was. “My lawyers will handle it.”

“You have lawyers?” Criminals had lawyers. Shit. I had to get myself divorced from this guy now. “Yeah, I have lawyers. You don’t need to worry about anything. They’ll send you the paperwork or whatever. However this works.” He finally looked up at me, an emotion I didn’t recognize in his violet eyes, and grabbed his leather jacket from where it was laying on the bed. He shrugged it on, apparently deciding the t-shirt was a lost cause. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. If I were him, I’d divorce me and run as far away as I could. He probably thought I was going to puke on him again.

“This was a mistake,” he muttered, echoing my thoughts. Hearing him say it, though, hurt for some reason.

I breathed, “Oh.”

He looked up at me then. “What? You disagree?”

“No,” I said, far too quickly.

“Thought not. Wish we would have felt that way last night. Could have saved us a lot of trouble, yeah?” He headed for the door and said, “Bye, Feyre.”

“Wait!” I called and hurried to the door.

When he turned, I really wished I hadn’t seen the hope in his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Here,” I said, already tugging the ring off my finger. “This is yours.”

He looked down at my fingers, gripping the ring, holding it up to him. He blinked, then his eyes narrowed. “Keep it.”

I nearly gaped. “It must’ve cost a fortune. I can’t keep this.”

He shrugged. “I don’t want it back.”

“Please,” I said, following him as he took a step toward the door. “It’s yours and I have no need for it. Take it. Please.”

The second please came out much more desperate than the first.

“Look,” he said, rubbing his temples as he turned around. “Sell it, pawn it, I don’t care. Keep it.”

“No,” I said, without any hesitation. “It wouldn’t feel right. You have to take it.”

“No, I don’t,” he said, voice low.

He didn’t give me a chance to reply, storming outside and slamming the door behind him. The painting on the wall lifted and fell as the force reverberated through the walls. He never even told me his name.

I was left staring at the door, mouth hanging open, the ring still in my outstretched hand.

I had no doubt that whether or not he did have lawyers, he would make sure we were divorced now. I slowly walked over to the undisturbed double bed, the scratchy comforter still in place, and sat down. I sighed and said a prayer to the Cauldron that that really would be the end of this fiasco.

As I sat there, still wearing nothing but my towel, I noticed that my right butt cheek, strangely enough, was aching, throbbing for some reason. I shook my head, not surprised in the least that I’d somehow ended up causing myself bodily harm last night. I stood and walked back to the bathroom after tucking the ring away safely in my carryon bag. I made a mental note to call Joey, who was absent from our hotel room, but she’d come to Vegas with a goal in mind of her own.

It didn’t include getting married, but did include some other activities that go hand in hand with it.

The thought gave me pause and I froze, halfway to the open doorway.

My ass was currently the only thing aching, so I could only assume that me and my soon-to-be ex-husband hadn’t consummated our marriage. I tried to ignore the disappointment I felt at that fact.

I may not have wanted to be married to him, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy doing other things with him. Things that didn’t end up in a legal and binding contract with the state of Nevada and the Man upstairs.

I knew this was a blessing in disguise. Thank god he didn’t want to keep this mess going, I don’t date bad boys. And that man was definitely a bad boy. I was more into the clean cut, college-educated, I have a 401K type of guy.

Had I ever dated that type of guy? No.

Had I even gone on a second date in the past three years? Also no, but that wasn’t the point.

I could already tell that man was nothing but trouble, and getting as far from him as possible was my best bet.

I sighed, walking into the harsh light of the fluorescent bulbs over the bathroom mirror, wanting to inspect the damage to my ass. I turned and stood on my tiptoes, looking backwards at myself in the mirror. I wondered if it would end up bringing a scrape or a bruise. I hadn’t felt anything while I was in the shower, nor did I remember falling last night — not that I would have anyways. I cringed, hoping my husband hadn’t-.

Black ink and hot pink skin. All the air left my body in a rush. There was a word on my left butt cheek, a name:

Rhysand

I spun and dry-heaved into the sink.

———————

“How, after nearly twenty years of friendship, is your music taste still this horrible?”

Joey was scrolling through my saved songs on Spotify, sharing one of my ear buds. She had, indeed, succeeded in completing her goal last night. She finally stumbled into our hotel room, still orgasm drunk a mere two hours before our flight was scheduled to take off. Thanks to my overwhelming anxiety, I had everything packed and ready to go, sitting by the door when she walked in looking like exactly like she’d spent her night in someone’s bed. Rather than waking up on a clammy bathroom floor.

I thought this was supposed to be my birthday trip. How did I end up with the shit end of the stick.

“If you wanted to listen to your own music, you should have remembered to charge your phone before you slept with our waiter from last night.” It came across with much less sarcasm as was intended, and anyone else would have thought I was being an absolute bitch, but as she watched me swallow the rest of the shitty, airplane coffee, she knew I’d had a rough night.

She went on, ignoring me. “Have I taught you nothing?”

I snorted. “Not to drink tequila.”

With a roll of her eyes, she opened her mouth to reply, but the dinging of the PA above their heads rang out and she paused. The seatbelt sign lit up and we both re-fastened the belts across our laps. She said, “I’m trying to help you and your horrific music taste. Here.” She scrolled through my saved artists and found a band I hadn’t even noticed was on the list. It had a singular song saved.

A screaming electric guitar and aggressive yelling filled my head and I yanked the earbud out. So much for my headache beginning to fade. I was convinced my brain was leaking out of my ear, she’d turned the volume up so loud.

“How do you even listen to that?” I asked, rubbing temples as I began to feel my heartbeat behind my eyeball.

“It’s Illyrian Leathers,” she said, as if that was explanation enough.

“And they're lovely,” I said, taking my phone and pausing the song before unplugging the headphones. We’d begun our descent and would off the plane in a matter of minutes. “But, you know, maybe another time, after you didn’t pour twenty tequila shots down my throat.”

She scoffed, “It was only four, you took the rest of your own accord.” I could vaguely remember Joey putting back to back shots to my lips and tipping them back before I could stop her. Twice.

That vague memory was on the short list of things I could remember.

All I knew now was that I couldn’t wait to get home, climb into my bed, and forget about everything that happened in Vegas. For the first time in my life, I finally understood the popular phrase, What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

It would be easier to forget, though, if I hadn’t spent the entire flight trying to get comfortable in my seat with my throbbing asscheek.

I stared out the window, watching my hometown slowly fade into view as the plane descended in the sky. I made a vow then and there that I would never leave the comfort of Adriata again. I had proven to myself that nothing good happens when I leave the city limits.

“So what did you end up getting into last night?” Joey asked, gathering her dark hair and piling it on top of her head. “Aside from the toilet bowl.”

“That’s pretty much it.” The less said, the better. The less people that knew, the better. The sooner she was off this plane, the better.

“What a boring birthday weekend,” she scoffed.

We were quiet the rest of the short ride, my stomach mercifully survived the landing, though it did lurch once. After grabbing our bags from the overhead bin, we disembarked the plane, and I was very grateful that we had only brought carry ons.

In no time, I would be on my way home.

The thought had me almost smiling, but the nausea kept that smile at bay.

We exited the plane, past the smiling flight attendants, and exited into the tunnel that would lead us up into the terminal. Joey rambled on and on for the entirety of our walk, but I rarely made out a word she was saying. My head was back to throbbing, and I was counting down the distance that would lead us into the parking garage.

I could see the sign up ahead that pointed to baggage claim, and thankfully we wouldn’t have to wait for any bags, but what we did run into past that sign was much, much worse.

The second we stepped into view, flashes of light were blinding me.

“What’s going on?” I asked, lifting up on my toes, trying to catch a glimpse of the chaos ahead.

“Must be a celebrity on board or something,” she mused, glancing behind us, just like the people in front of us were. I followed suit, only to find the people behind us staring in front of us.

Then I heard it. My name. Being said by about twenty different people.

“Feyre, when’s the baby due?”

“Why didn’t Rhys fly with you to Adriata?”

“Is it true the band is breaking up?”

“What do you have to say about the allegations that you’re sleeping with the other members of the band?”

“Will you be having a second wedding?”

“When is Rhys coming to meet your parents?”

I was frozen, my heart had quit beating and I was pretty sure my stomach was in a puddle in my Vans.

An endless barrage of questions and flashes and my name and his over and over and over.

Joey gripped my hand and pulled my hood up my hair. “Keep your head down and don’t stop walking.”

She began forcing herself through the crowd, shoving one man and his camera out of his way as we hurried through the busy airport and jumped into a waiting taxi, cutting a line of nearly a dozen people. I couldn’t be bothered to care as the paparazzi descended on the cab.

“Drive!” Joey shouted at the man.

He blinked and said, “Where?”

“Anywhere!”

He stepped on the gas, just as I dropped my face into my hands and groaned. My mind was whirling. It made sense, but at the same time, I couldn’t comprehend it.

Rhysand.

The name tattooed on my ass.

My apparent husband.

He was...famous?

Not a criminal. Not some fake rich kid. Not a lottery-winner.

Famous.

Famous enough that paparazzi were greeting his new wife as she got off the plane, anyway.

“Feyre.”

By her tone, I assumed it wasn’t the first time Joey had said my name. My hands dragged down my face as I hesitantly met her gaze.

I blinked.

“What the hell was that?” she asked, her voice raising.

I looked out the window behind her head. We were exiting the airport, and I didn’t even bother to announce that my car was still in the parking garage.

“I…” I began, but my words fell short. I didn’t know. Yes, I did. But I didn’t want to, wanted to pretend that I didn’t, because this could not be my current reality.

“You didn’t happen to get…married while we were in Vegas, did you?”

“I… Yeah. I, uh, think I did.”

She blinked. “Wow.”

And then it just all blurted out of me. “God, Joey. I screwed up so badly and I barely even remember any of it. I just woke up and he was there and then he was so pissed at me and I don’t even blame him. I didn’t know how to tell you. I was just going to pretend it never happened.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work now.”

“No.”

“Okay. No big deal. So you’re married.” Lauren nodded, her face freakily calm. No anger, no blame. Meanwhile, I felt terrible that I hadn’t confided in her. We shared everything.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I whispered. “I should have.”

“Yes, you should have,” she sighed. “But it’s okay. I know now. So,” she said, crossing her leg and looking at me. “Who did you marry?”

“Rhysand,” I said, and she blinked at me.

“It’s not Rhysand Lunasa, is it?”

I shrugged, I hadn’t even known his name until I found it branded on my asscheek. “Maybe? It sounds familiar.”

“Where exactly am I taking you ladies?” The cab driver asked, glancing at us in his rearview mirror.

Joey glanced at me and said, “Feyre?”

I turned around, seeing the cars still following us. “My parents,” I breathed. I really didn’t want to lead them right where I lived, but it wouldn’t have surprised me if they already know.

Joey nodded and said, “Good call, your dad has a gun.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head as she rattled the address she’d had memorized for years off the driver.

She sat back against the cracked leather seat and took my hand. I looked over at her. “I’m so sorry I didn’t say something. I didn’t mean to get married. I don’t even remember getting married. I don’t even know how this happened. This is such a…”

“Clusterfuck?” She provided.

I snorted and said, “Yeah, that’s a good word to describe the situation.”

She squeezed my hand and said, “You’re right. You really shouldn’t drink tequila.” I could only nod, my head pounding. After a second, she asked, “Do me a favor?”

“Mm?”

“Please don’t break up my favorite band.”

My eyes widened as I realized all at once who my darling husband was. “Oh, my god. He’s the guitarist from that band.”

“Illyrian Leathers,” she said, smirking as she looked over at me. “And yes, he is. Guess you’re going to have to listen to his music after all.”

I didn’t bother to tell her the obvious: no, I would not. This nightmare of a marriage would hopefully be over before I’d have time to search and find one of his records.

I smacked my forehead. He’d been plastered on Joey’s bedroom wall since we were sixteen, when Illyrian Leathers had formed. How could I have not recognized him? “It makes sense how he could afford the ring.”

“What ring?”

I hesitated before fishing the giant rock out of my pocket. When I held it up, Joey’s eyes widened.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “I know.”

“It’s massive!”

“I know,” I repeated, still amazed at the size of the diamond.

“I mean, it’s-.”

“I know,” I interrupted, exasperated. “You can’t freak out, alright? I’m already freaking out, and we both can’t freak out, because that won’t work.”

“Right,” she said, quietly, clearing her throat. “Sorry, I just…holy shit.” She took the ring into her fingers and examined it as if it was a long lost family treasure. “How much does something like this cost?”

I shrugged. “No idea. A fortune, I’m guessing. And I really don’t want to guess.”

She was looking at it and suddenly her eyes were on mine. “We should sell it and take a world wide cruise! Probably take a couple laps on the bad boy. I wonder how many carats it is?”

I took it back from her, tucking it safely away in my pocket again. “Five, and no, I need to get it back to him. There’s no way I can keep this thing.”

She sighed, letting her head fall back against the headrest. “I know, but you could have let me imagine it for a few minutes.”

I snorted but didn’t say much else.

“Congratulations,” she said as we got closer to my parents’ house. “You’re officially married to a rockstar.”

I dropped my head into my hands again. “What the hell am I going to do?”

She chuckled. “I have no idea, but I have to tell you, you exceeded my expectations.”

My eyes slid to her. “What do you mean?”

“When I told you I was taking you to Vegas for your birthday, I was hoping you’d let your hair down and let loose for once. Get a life and give mankind another chance. But this is a whole new level of crazy you’ve ascended to. Do you really have a tattoo?”

“Yes.”

“Of his name?”

I sighed and nodded.

“Where, might I inquire?”

I shut my eyes tight. “My left asscheek.”

Joey lost it, laughing so hard that tears were streaming down her face.

I’m glad one of us found my current situation funny.

Because as my childhood home came into view, already surrounded by paparazzi, I knew that my life as I knew it was over.

My father was going to kill me.

#snelbz whiv #snacmc #snelbz tacmc collab #what happens in vegas #feysand #feyre archeron #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas

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yumgrapejuice · 3 years

Text

ALRIGHT bitches it’s speculation time because my head is Buzzing with Thoughts

(long post incoming; all of this is /rp btw lol)

Okay so first I wanna establish what we know so far about Ender Ranboo (or, at least, what I remember lmao)

(I think it’s safe to assume when the voice talks about things that Ranboo does and doesn’t remember, he’s implying ERanboo is the one that does it. Not getting into the voice right now, but I’m gonna take whatever it has said as at least partial truth to what ERanboo has been doing.)

Ranboo isn’t conscious of ERanboo and only knows he exists because of the blackouts and because ERanboo leaves evidence of his existence

He’s most likely been helping out Dream at the very least from middle of December (Dream was aware of the butcher army that had been kept only between the cabinet members, so it’d make sense if ERanboo was the one that told him about it)

Dream had given him one of the discs, saying he trusts this state of Ranboo

He most likely gave Dream Ranboo’s memory book for some reason, which can mean multiple things, but I’m gonna assume here it could have been a sort of show of trust from his side too (which would mean there’s some sort of mutual trust between Dream and ERanboo)

ERanboo only writes in ender language, but, evident from what Sam said, can speak in English just fine (I don’t think it’s clear whether he can or cannot write in English as well)

He tends to roam around without interacting with anyone, not paying them any mind when they try to talk with him (based off of at least Fundy and Puffy’s attempt)

However, when he is interacting (based off of Sam and his chatting that one time with Phil, was it? Don’t recall exactly now), he acts just like Ranboo

Ranboo has woken up in places he didn’t remember falling asleep at, but never somewhere incriminating, which is either very lucky for ERanboo or it’s intentional

ERanboo is working on some sort of project and is cautious about not letting Ranboo find or figure out anything (hiding away the chest with the disc, disposing of the maps, hiding away his memory book, etc)

He’s visited the prison multiple times, the last time being between Bad’s and Ranboo’s attempted visit

He messed with the waivers, deleting everything and writing in ender

:) has an effect on him

Okay, so we have very little concrete information about ERanboo, but that’s not gonna stop me from trying to psychoanalyze him lmao. First things first, I think we can safely assume it is Ranboo, just a different state. When he does interact with others, he acts just like you’d expect Ranboo to act (biggest evidence being from the way Sam talked about him, never suspecting something to be off), and whlie you could argue he’s just pretending, I think it’s more likely he’s not, and I’ll tell you in a moment why.

What sets him apart from Ranboo the most is his odd behavior, as mentioned in the bullet point. ERanboo doesn’t act like a human, which is very interesting, because Ranboo isn’t human either, but he’s mostly fine! To me it’s almost as if ERanboo has no concept of social norms or doesn’t care for them. Again, I think the former is more likely. ERanboo is intelligent, there’s no question about it, but he barely does anything to not come off as suspicious. If he’s working with Dream, that should be a priority to him, right? But he messed with the prison waivers, effectively locking himself out the moment Sam found out about it, which would just be dumb if he’d done it intentionally! Maybe he wanted to keep Ranboo out of the prison and this was his way of doing it, but it seems a bit too convoluted to me. Based off of his behavior with other people, I think his understanding of norms and proper communication and behavior is simply different. So yeah, he acts way less human than Ranboo, but is still Ranboo, because it’d make no sense if he pretended to be Ranboo but then continued acting suspicious in all other areas.

The idea that ERanboo is a less human version of Ranboo gives ground for quite a bit of interesting speculation. I wanna talk about manipulation for a moment here. The fandom seems to have taken the term and just run with it lol. By definition, manipulation is skillful handling or something or someone, usually with the intention of acquiring something. Change variable A to get a desirable variable B. In essence, it’s not a bad or evil thing, it’s merely a tool that can be used for bad things. We engage in various forms of simple manipulation daily with no nefarious intentions! But generally, yes, it’s regarded as a bad thing because it’s mostly used for that, but those forms of manipulation are more intricate than the simple ones, such as gaslighting or emotional manipulation or the such. It goes from just trying to get your friend to let you copy their homework to convincing someone you’re the only one that cares. Something here is needed for manipulation to work; the victim needs to be susceptible enough.

If we took the clearest example from the dsmp, it’d be the whole Tommy thing during exile. The psychological manipulation Dream performed on Tommy was, speaking from an academic pov lol, very skillful. He hit Tommy where he knew it’d hurt, he was aware what Tommy valued and what he needed and how he thought, and used that against him for his own needs. Tommy, with how human he was, was the perfect victim (which sounds really really terrible and i am still not over that whole thing je sus chr ist). So, what I’m trying to get to here, can ERanboo... even be manipulated? At least, in the same sense or a similar way? Again, there are many types of manipulation, and just throwing the word around isn’t saying anything, but it just makes me think. How susceptible ERanboo actually is? He acts so unlike humans, at least from what we’ve seen so far, that imagining him being manipulated in the traditional sense feels a bit out of place (for me personally!!!). By no means am I saying I don’t believe that’s what’s going on, Dream can very well be manipulating ERanboo, but I also like to consider the alternatives, that, to me personally, seem more interesting :))

There are so many different ways we can speculate about Dream and ERanboo’s relationship, so I’m gonna give my own two cents lol. I’m gonna go off on the assumption that ERanboo’s isn’t being manipulated into helping Dream. Not only because I’m questioning whether he can even be manipulated, but also the nature of their relationship just seems... very personal? If it makes sense?

No one else is aware of it (Sam and I guess Sapnap now probably suspect something, though), and they’ve both been trying to keep it that way, even now when Dream’s locked up. If ERanboo was in any danger from Dream or was acting against his will, this could be the opportunity for him to get away, which he hasn’t been doing. That can be for multiple reasons, such as not realizing he’s being manipulated or being co-dependent or the such, but it can also very well be because he isn’t acting against his own will, and their relationship is based more on trust than deceit, for whatever reason. It’s really all about whether you’d like to think ERanboo is a puppet or if he has his free will and acts on his own accord, and I personally find the latter more fascinating:D

Now, I really wanna talk about the whole :) thing, because FUCK is it so interesting. Up until now, I thought it was some sort of symbolic thing, but apparently not, and that opens up SO MUCH. Okay, first thing we gotta establish—not all :) are equal.

Ranboo has had the smile in his memory book for a long while and has seen it multiple times without much of an effect (he does go quiet or more serious for a moment but that’s about it, at least lately). In the beginning, though, it had a much stronger effect, but less in regards to ERanboo and more about Ranboo’s own stability. It’d be great if we could separate which effects are intentional and which are just Ranboo freaking out lol. At the start, in regards to the smile in the book at least, I think it was more the latter. However, at one point he did say that looking at the smile is what causes the voice to appear, but lately it hasn’t been having any sort of effect. I have two guesses about it—either what impact it did have was caused by Ranboo’s instability, or the effect wore off over time. Issue with this is that we don’t know who exactly wrote the smile in the book. It could have been Dream, but it also could have been ERanboo for whatever reason. Because I don’t know, I’m not going to speculate about this particular smile any further. If it was written by Dream, intentions could also play a role here, but again, it’s pure guesswork.

What I am going to speculate is the other smiles, namely on the “thanks :)” note and Sapnap’s message. Both of these were definitely written by Dream, and I think both of these were intended for ERanboo, not Ranboo. On one of Ranboo’s latest stream’s, he started in his ender state, I think we can all agree on that. He went back to his house and found the thanks note, looked at it for a moment, and boom, Ranboo was back. Now, Sapnap said Dream had a message for him, sent him a smile, and boom, ERanboo time. So :) that is directly written by Dream must be some sort of trigger for their switch, but I think ERanboo is fully aware of it, and is, in fact, taking advantage of it. Ranboo never woke up in any suspicious place that put ERanboo’s plans in jeopardy, and has, actually, been waking up in his house lately! Surely, that’d make him less suspicious about what ERanboo is doing, right? ERanboo may not care much for how others perceived him, but I think he’s definitely taking a lot of precaution to keep Ranboo out of his business.

No idea how :) came to be, but I think it’s a relatively new thing. The first time we’ve seen it in Ranboo’s vicinity was during the failed festival with the whole memory book and traitor thing. That didn’t immediately cause a switch, which leads me to believe either Dream didn’t write it, it wasn’t perceived as an indication to switch by ERanboo, or it wasn’t yet a trigger. Whatever the reason, we’ve only seen the smile be utilized for switching only a couple of times, both of which were very recent, so we can’t really assume it’s an old thing. It could have been developed as a sort of measure for ERanboo and Dream to have more control over switching, which would make sense if ERanboo is working on some sort of big project.

TL;DR: ERanboo is very confusing and very interesting and this mf is not even trying to be human, what’s his and dream’s deal, who knows, not me, very excited to see what the hell is happening

It’s very difficult to speculate about this since we’ve had so little info, but yeah! That’s what I’ve got right now lol. One single stream can throw all of my speculations out the window, which I’m more than happy to see happen if we get more insight on what’s actually happening:D

i just think they’re rlly cool okay,,,,

(i’d also actually really like to hear what y’all think is going on, it’s so fun to speculate:>>)

#dsmp #ranboo #c!ranboo #c!dream #dream smp analysis #my analysis #I’d like to preface again that I wholeheartedly think any interpretation is completely valid #and if you disagree with everything I’m saying and are convinced Dream is totally manipulating ERanboo awesome!#that’s what’s so fun about having no real idea what’s going on:D #tw swearing #long post #lol sorry for the ramble i just had to #i've been sitting on my thoughts for so long

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stanning-reyna · 3 years

Text

The Right Path - Chapter 3

“Here’s the rundown: the Greek and Roman gods now live in the US,” Piper began. The three of them were sitting around the coffee table in the Mclean’s living room, munching on ambrosia and pretzels. Jason’s shoulder and chest were wrapped in bandages from the monster attack.

“They often have children with mortals, resulting in demigods like us who have special abilities. You’re one of them.”

“But there’s a lot more to it,” Jason interjected. “Monsters, for one. They hunt down demigods for fun.”

Piper shot him a look. Jason knew they didn’t want to scare Antonia away before she even found out who her godly parent was, but he didn’t want to lie to her, either. Thankfully, she didn’t seem fazed.

“That’s cool and all, but I’m not sure you have the right person,” Antonia replied, straightening her posture and meeting both of their eyes. “I was born in Venezuela. Do these gods make booty calls to other countries?”

“All the time, actually. Canada, Brazil, Italy, you name it. They get around,” Piper explained, a look of disgust on her face at the mention of their parents personal lives.

Antonia didn’t respond and leaned back on the couch, her face deep in thought.

Jason had been told that being introduced to the demigod world was a lot to take him. He’d never gone through that himself, but Piper and Leo told him plenty about what it felt like. He couldn’t imagine what Antonia must be thinking right now.

“There’s a lot more to say, too. But right now there may be more monsters on our tail and we need to get moving. Do you have anywhere you need to be tomorrow?” Jason asked.

“Track practice at 9. I throw javelin, like I mentioned earlier,” she responded.

Piper and Jason exchanged a look.

“Sorry, girlie, but I think that’s gonna have to wait,” Piper said apologetically.

“Um, no, it won’t. The district competition is next week. I’m not missing practice before that,” Antonia insisted.

Part of Jason felt sorry for having to steal her time, but he knew a district competition wouldn’t matter if she got killed by a monster before then.

“Listen: more monsters will come. We were lucky there was only one tonight, but next time it could be much worse. There’s a place we can go where monsters won’t be able to reach you, or at least they’ll train you to defend yourself if they do. You really have no other options,” Jason said. He only realized after it all came out just how much it sounded like a command being given to a legionnaire.

“Fine. I can do that,” Antonia responded curtly. Her insistence from before had disappeared. It was like she knew just how serious this was, and just how much her life was about to change.

. . .

They set out that night. Piper had been more on edge than usual since the run in with the monster and wanted to get to Camp Jupiter as soon as possible. Jason couldn’t blame her. That creature had come out of nowhere and managed to overpower him in seconds. Even better, he’d never seen anything like that before in his life. It was worrying him too.

Antonia picked up that something was wrong, even if she didn’t say it out loud. She has the acute senses that most demigods possess. She was so clearly a half-blood, but it pained Jason that he couldn’t for the life of him figure out who her godly parent may be.

She couldn’t be a big 3 kid, monsters would have found her sooner. She wasn’t the child of war god, her demeanor was much too calm for that.

Jason spent the entire drive interviewing Antonia, asking questions about her hobbies, strengths, and if she’d noticed any weird occurrences before. He found out nothing that pointed to any god he knew.

When they entered Camp Jupiter, Reyna was there waiting at the gates to meet them. Somehow she knew they were coming. She was pacing back and forth while crowds of legionnaires bustled around behind her. The scene made Jason even more worried.

“What’s been happening here?” was the first thing he said to the praetor once they were within earshot.

“Children of minor gods and goddesses have been showing up here all week in large numbers. We’re not sure what it means yet. I assume that’s who this is,” Reyna responded, looking at Antonia.

Normally Reyna’s formal and cold glare was enough to make anyone cower in fear, but Antonia held her eyes as if it was nothing. Antonia might not have noticed, but Jason could see Reyna approved of the girl. She’d made a good first impression.

“We’re assuming something bad will happen, right? Why else would the gods be claiming so many of their kids right now?” Piper spoke up.

Reyna nodded. “We’ve been preparing our defences, but there’s not much more we can do until we have more information.”

“Maybe one of the incoming demigods will know something,” Jason suggested. He wanted to ease Reyna’s worries as much as possible.

“Perhaps,” Reyna said, her eyes scanning their surroundings as if she expected something to jump out of the hills.

Antonia had been quiet since arriving, likely taking in everything around her, but now she spoke up with confidence. “The more bodies you have at your disposal, the more likely you are to win a battle. That’s what this is, isn’t it?”

No one told her she was wrong.

Jason hadn’t wanted to say it, but he had been thinking the same thing The Olympians wouldn’t care about the children of minor gods and goddesses dying by the masses. This was the draft for a war.

Suddenly Antonia let out a yelp. She grabbed her right forearm with her other hand and let out a few curse words. Piper rushed to her side, gently pulling her arm out of her grip so that the rest of them could see it.

The symbol of a scale was burned into Antonia’s forearm.

“A child of Nemesis,” Jason whispered in shock. Those were few and far between at Camp Jupiter. The last one was seen in the 80s, when the Legion’s eagle was lost in Alaska. They almost always meant bad things were coming.

Antonia looked at Jason, ready to ask a million questions.

“Welcome to the Legion, daughter of Nemesis,” Reyna said. “Let’s get you sorted out.”

AN: Sometimes Nemesis is given the symbol of a broken wheel, but I decided to go with her other symbol, the scale, for her Roman claiming. We also don’t know exactly how demigods are regularly claimed at Camp Jupiter, but I think them getting branded out of nowhere is on par for the Legion. I’m not sure if I’ll continue this piece- if you would like another chapter comment!

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tisfan · 4 years

Text

Lucky Buck’s Magical Coffee Shop

For Fantasy Bingo Fill: Technomage

cowritten by @27dragons Art by @monobuu

“What even did you do to it?” Bucky demanded, peering in his cup. It was supposed to be a triple shot espresso with a custom blend lucky in love potion. One of his most popular drinks, and what practically kept him in business. Being a potioneer in the modern world was tricky business.

Back in his mother’s day, love potions were all the rage. But through legal pressure and the consent issues, that business was illegal. You could still get one if you knew where to look, but both the potion giver and the maker could be held accountable for overpowering someone’s will.

Bucky had learned to gently massage his skill, to influence the drinker in a positive manner, instead of having the potion get slipped in someone’s cocktail while they weren’t looking.

Lucky Buck’s was his shop. Potion-making was his game.

Also, he was a killer barista, and the caffeine base did a wonderful job of keeping the potions perky.

But what he was looking at right now was not Lucky in Love, but something that was a truly revolting shade of green.

Lucky, maybe. Green was still a lucky color. But, “I’m not sure what this would do to someone who drank it, Clint.”

“I didn’t do anything, it just came out that way,” Clint complained.

“Right. Okay,” Bucky said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Put out the temporary closed sign and I’ll call the repair guy.”

Not his favorite wizard in the world, either. Howard Stark was a good technomage, but he was a terrible person. The sort of guy who probably went looking for blackmarket love potions.

He dialed the number. It’d been years since he’d had to call Stark’s.

“Stark’s Wizardry; how may I direct your call?” The posh-sounding British receptionist sounded exactly the same as always.

“Emergency repairs, please, yes, I’ll hold,” Bucky said. He looked back at the green goop. “Here, put this next to my kit, I want to figure out what it does do.” Which could be important for disposal. He didn’t want to put, say, a sex pollen potion in the fire and spread it across half a city block.

“--fine, can I just--? Thank you! Stark here, what’s your emergency?” It had been a long time, but Bucky didn’t remember Howard sounding quite so... young.

“My potion dispenser is… churning out something dangerously not like what I asked for. It was cleaned two weeks ago, and my casting hasn’t been off, so I need someone to come take a look at it before I poison someone. Or lose all my income for the day.”

Bucky was watching outside the window as people leaned in to squint at the sign and then walked away. Each one, a customer who might not be back. God damn it.

“Yeah, those can be tricky, is it-- Tell you what, I’ll just pop over directly. Hang up the phone and step back a couple of paces. JARVIS, pull the return--” Stark hung up, mid-sentence.

Huh. Speedy service. That was better than Stark usually did. Most of the time, Bucky had to make an appointment.

But Bucky did as he was told. That was a new travel method, but he’d seen people do close-up teleporting before. Usually, however, it was to a designated travel pad. Bucky did a quick sweep of the area to make sure the guy wasn’t going to appear blended in with one of the chairs.

Only a few seconds later, there was an audible bamph of displaced air as a man appeared at the counter, only a few inches from where Bucky had just been standing, his hand resting on the top of the phone. “Great, okay, now where am I?” He turned around, stopping when he spotted Bucky. “Well, hello there, hot stuff. You call for a techno-wizard?”

That definitely wasn’t Howard Stark. Not unless Howard had mixed himself up some extremely dubious de-aging potions-- but no; Howard had blue eyes, and this man had wide eyes the color of really good whisky. Or dark honey.

“You’re not Stark,” Bucky said, instinctively. “Did he send you--” The espresso potion-maker started making weird hiccuping noises from the counter. “I did call. My potion dispenser made-- that.” He pointed at the cup full of green slime that was now bubbling over the sides of the cup. Yuck.

“Oh, wow, I haven’t seen that before,” the mage said. Before Bucky could stop him, he reached out and swiped a finger through the goo. He sniffed at it cautiously, then -- oh, yuck -- licked it off. “Coffee base? Yeah, okay, I can see it; the caffeine would interact with most of the common potion solvents to--” He kept talking as he edged sideways toward the espresso machine, almost as if it were accidental.

“...Of course, if you’re using chlorophyll, you’ve got to be careful to avoid Kenyan beans, especially a dark roast, because the particular quality of the oils those beans produce will--” He spun around and opened both hands, pointing them toward the sullenly-grumbling machine. He had sigils tattooed on his palms, Bucky saw, that were glowing a bright, eerie blue.

The light burst from the wizard’s hands and engulfed the espresso machine, which seemed to slump in dejection. “Yeah,” the mage said, leaning forward to peer through the light at the dispenser. “You’ve got a minor possession going on, here. When was the last time you had your wards updated?”

“Uh, the building doesn’t belong to me,” Bucky said. “I rent it. Hydra’s supposed to take care of all the warding, it’s in my rental contract. Every six months, I’m told.” Although come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Sitwell in almost a year now. “I can check my records -- usually the guy comes in for a lunch on the house, which I’m allowed to back bill against my rent.”

“Oh, Hydra,” the mage said knowingly. “Yeah, they’re pretty notorious for skimping on their wards, I’m afraid. I’m surprised you haven’t called me before this.” He puttered around the espresso machine while he talked, etching colored lines in the glowing globe around it.

Bucky watched, almost spellbound, as the man worked. He had long, quick, clever fingers and a way of talking to the espresso machine like he believed it was alive. Also, he kept bending over to check things, and the rearview was to die for.

“So, you’re Howard’s-- what, protege? I’ve never worked with anyone else.”

“What?” He glanced up, startled, then rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no, Dad never wanted to admit I existed, half the time. He didn’t like that I’m not very traditional about my spellwork, nevermind that it’s twice as effective.” He put his hands on either side of the espresso machine and his palms glowed bright blue again. It looked almost like it was pushing the magic and light through the lines he’d laid down, until the whole thing was nearly too bright to look at--

And then the lines of light broke away, tumbling off the espresso machine and reforming into an imp, no taller than Bucky’s knee. “Go on,” the wizard told it. “Off with you.”

The imp hissed at him, which didn’t seem to phase him at all, and then disappeared with a soft pop. “Right,” the mage said as the last of the glow faded. “Give it a try now.”

“Right,” Bucky said, staring at the spot where the imp had been. You always heard about those sorts of things, but he’d never actually seen one. “Uh, yeah, let me get a new cup.” He grabbed a mug, ground beans from his house blend and tamped them. Two drops from the Essence of Luck and one from Hearts into the bottom of the cup.

Steam hissed over the beans, and Bucky counted in his head. Twenty-six seconds. Pretty good. The espresso had a nice crema on it, and when Bucky added the steamed milk, he drew a little heart and arrow through it.

“Looks much better,” Bucky said.

“Smells fantastic,” the mage agreed. “Just a little fruity. Almost like... blueberries? No, plums.”

“It’s a lucky in love spell,” Bucky said. Obviously, he could drink it, but potions never worked on their makers. It was some sort of rule of three; Bucky had to give out in the world to get back. “Not a big one, of course. Just increases the possibility of meeting someone, or having it work out, or having a good date. It’s my second best seller.”

“Oh? What’s the best, then?”

Bucky rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “Money for Nothing,” he said.

The wizard laughed. It was a gorgeous laugh, rich and full, and made his eyes crinkle at the corners delightfully. “Yeah, I probably should have guessed that.” He reached out and picked up the espresso cup. “I’d rather have love, myself.” He turned the cup around in his hand carefully, then poured the coffee into his mouth, the foamy point of the arrow first, like it was leading the way down into his stomach. “The name’s Tony, by the way.”

“Bucky,” Bucky said, offering his hand. “Natural Potions master, and barista.” Natural was a title that was rapidly giving way; magic was diluted enough in the blood that most people were degreed. Not that, magically speaking, it mattered all that much. The only time a client really needed to have a Natural was for something custom, or complicated. Anyone with enough study and a few drops of magical blood could brew basic potions.

Tony took Bucky’s hand; his grip was firm without being obnoxious, and the tattoo on his palm was just a tiny bit warmer than the skin around it. “Glad to meet you, Bucky.” He glanced down at the espresso cup he still held in his other hand, then set it down with a faint smile. “I’d be even gladder if you agreed to go to dinner with me.”

Bucky knew his own magic. He couldn’t be affected by it, but he could be… well, he could be someone else’s match. Huh. That had never happened before.

“Uh, yeah. I… I think I’d like that.”

#fantasy bingo #winteriron #magical coffee shop

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lunawings · 3 years

Text

Ace (and Leo)’s PriZoom Birthday Party!! 4/4/2021

(Yes it took way too long before someone coined PriZoom... But)

That was..............

AMAZINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

Comments on Tatsuyuki Kobayashi’s live appearance at the end

Not to say this showing wasn’t without occasional feedback/unnecessary noise from people who should have been muted, but still, it went a LOT smoother this time. There were only about 170 people but there were supposedly two different rooms (text only and regular cheering) so I don’t know if that was the actual grand total. I did regular cheering of course. I don’t have that much to say in SSS but I like to be a part of the madness. People were really chatty and relaxed this time too! Making shoutouts to the cosplayers and such. Lots of familiar faces from the previous stream!

The staff has even started doing this little thing at the end where they showcase a bunch of different cameras. They didn’t pick mine, thoughhhhh. Actually the only time I was on the main screen was at the very end of the movie. (I think perhaps they have realized they have been inexplicably infiltrated by a gaijin and don’t know how to handle it, as is the Japanese way.) It was the perfect time to realize I... COMPLETELY FORGOT THE 366 LOVE DIARY DANCE FFFFFFNOOOOOOOOO--I have to practice before the next one. It hadn’t occurred to me that we would actually get 366 Love Diary.

So they have mentioned these showings would be the theater edit, and going into it I was really curious like... would it really be the theater edit? Like the completely original version with 366 Love Diary and everything? Or did they just splice the DVD into the theater cut? But I think it really WAS the theatrical version. I won’t know unless I see Part 3 or Part 4 though, because those had some pretty significant differences between the theatrical version and the TV version. (A really noticeable animation error with Leo’s hair in Part 3, Shin’s got a different phone background in Part 4, etc...) Nnnrrrgh I don’t really want to see Part 4 but I might have to... NOT today though. I made the difficult decision to only do Part 2 today. (I miss disposable income....) But hopefully I can do Part 1 in May for Taiga and Part 3 in June for Alexander?

I’ve always considered Part 1 and Part 3 to be my favorites, so I always forget how much I do like Part 2: BABY KAKERU, Joji dragging the Shuffle on his date, JOJI! HAIR!!!!, ACE, Orange Flamingo, Joker Kiss, sssAAAILInGGGGGGGGGGG... (even on ZOOM I got the full body goosebumps when Minato looked up).

Some notable stuff:

People yelling in Okayama-ben during the Joji flashback (そうじゃ、そうじゃ！instead of そうだ、そうだ！etc) I was DYINGGGG

When Ace’s mic is cut: “Is there a problem with Zoom??” “TAKE JOJI OFF MUTE!!”

Several people prepared fish for particular scenes in episode 4 and 6.

I think my favorite feed was the person who aimed their camera back at the screen with their Torachi and Dorachi plushies watching.

Or maybe just the person who had up the background of the Ikebukuro Train Station the whole time (PPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT)

Someone had up the ferris wheel in Shizuoka where the Kouji scene takes place too though!! AAAAHAAAAA!!! (Going there is seriously one of my favorite King of Prism memories of all time.)

Additional shoutouts to:

The Hiro cosplayer who was eating curry during episode 6.

The girl in the orange happi with “From the cradle to the grave” actually framed on her wall (possibly in real calligraphy!?)

The Tsubasa fangirl (!!??!) who held up a Tsubasa fan whenever she was on screen

The person with the Ace plushie (!!). I didn’t know they existed. He had his hat from the Joker Kiss performance too.

There was at least one Leo cosplayer but there were SEVERAL Ace cosplayers. Like WOW. Also shoutout to the person who cosplayed as an actual Ace of Hearts card omg I love this fandom so much.

But really though there was SO. MUCH. ACE. LOVE in this showing. So many Ace backgrounds/homemade Ace cheering goods, etc. I know this was specifically the Ace birthday showing but still. Considering Ace isn’t exactly a main character I think this was pretty huge.

And now onto what you were possibly all waiting for, the Tatsuyuki Kobayashi greeting! This was basically almost exactly what it felt like to go to a theater greeting show in Japan, just on Zoom. I used to always talk about trying to see the voice actors at smaller events to try and get them to notice me and this was... basically THAT. Almost better in a way!? Because he could see all of us equally? Read all of our comments on the screen!!! Of course I had no idea what to say when presented with this opportunity....... GAHHH HE’S SO FREAKIN CUTE

We started off by singing Happy Birthday to Ace and Leo (actually just him because we were on mute!), and then we all blew out the candles on a cake together. He mentioned him and the staff would eat the cake later haha.

He then started to talk about his experience playing Ace. He mentioned that when he first sang Love Mix for Pride the Hero, his character didn’t even have a name yet. He was simply the ghost singer. And when he came out and made that surprise performance at the MRS concert he was so nervous he barely remembered it!! But when he got to perform again as Ace at the SSS live in Feb 2020, now that Ace had come into his own, he was much more confident and it was very meaningful to him.

This really resonated with me. I’ve actually seen Tatsuyuki Kobayashi in concert a total of three times. The first time was at MRS during that surprise performance. It was an amazing surprise, but at that time I only saw him as Joji even though I knew he wasn’t. (And I wasn’t even all that attached to Joji back then because he was such a minor character at the time.) The second time I saw him was as Asahi at a Pretty Series show, where I was waaaaaay at the back and didn’t really get to see him that well, so I didn’t really get a proper chance to appreciate his performance. But when I saw him as Ace at the SSS live... THAT was when I fell in love with him (and HOW). Because really, he did just seem SO CONFIDENT and like he was enjoying it so much and finally seeing him perform as Ace for real was really meaningful.

Sorry for the tangent, but yeah. He talked about how moved he was by how many of us had come to cheer on Ace today with backgrounds, props, cosplay, etc. And he credited all of us cheering him on for him making it this far, for finally becoming the leader of the Shuffle! AWWWWWWRGH! I’m SO HAPPY for him AHH he deserves everything and moreeeeeeeee this was so nice

#king of prism #ace ikebukuro

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lovefrostbite711 · 3 years

Text

More Than Just a Dream

AN: Hey guys, thought I’d share this story I started writing on Ao3. I am having a lot of fun writing it and have developed the story far beyond the origins seen in this chapter. I hope you enjoy and feel free to reblog if you did!

Chapter 1

She dreamt of a man with green scales and emerald eyes hidden within black irises. His calmingly deep voice sent shivers down her spine when he whispered seductively in her ears. A man who was unlike anything she’d seen her entire 280 years of life.

She knew he was just a figment of her imagination. Something given to her by the parasite in her head meant to seduce her, brought on by the use of the Ilithid powers granted by said parasite. She knew she should stop using them, but she couldn’t make herself do so, if only just to see the strange alien man in her dreams.

So after exhausting herself every day by using her strange powers in order to see the strange man, she was always disappointed to wake up with no more answers then she had the day before. When she would pull from her meditations she would see the same familiar sights of her camp she shared with the others in the same predicament as her.

Until one day she didn’t. Instead of open skies and lush wilderness around her, she saw walls made from what appeared to be metal although it wasn’t shaped like anything she’d ever seen before. The area she stood was in darkness. Where the hell am I? She wondered.

She stood to her feet and began to wander toward the light she saw. Once she emerged from the alley she froze, looking at hundreds of creatures which she didn’t recognize. Then she spotted one that was familiar to her: humans

“Excuse me,” she said, walking up to the nearest human and speaking in Common.

The human glanced at her, and gave her a face of confusion before moving on, not seeming to care. She stared after them and tried to get another’s attention.

They paused for a moment as she said, “Can you tell me where I am?”

“The Citadel, duh,” the human replied before rolling their eyes and walking on.

She blinked and tried to think. Citadel? That was a church wasn’t it. But who are all these people? What are they?

One thing she knew for certain is that this was not anywhere in the material plane. These creatures were too...alien. She watched the crowd for a moment, trying to figure out what she could until she was bumped into and a tall thin creature with big bug eyes which snapped out a “watch where you’re going”. Except something was off.

She understood the words a few minutes after they were spoken, but before she understood them there was a very different noise. She began to hear all sorts of tongues she didn’t recognize, slowly beginning to converge into a language she did know. Her head throbbed and she clutched at it, grunting in pain as the headache started to surface. A headache she was familiar with.

But I’m not even trying to-

/You’re not doing it, I am/ a voice suddenly echoed in her head. /Sleep, Nyralyn, and all will be well./

She cried out in pain, her ears ringing and the lights becoming blindingly bright. Her vision blurred before she succumbed to the voice in her head, falling to her knees as her world went black.

When she came too, she was in a new place, her eyes being blasted once more by the light from above, causing her head to ache. She grunted and sluggishly lifted a hand to try to block out the light.“She’s awake!” came a voice to her side, causing her to turn to try to find the source, blinking away the light.

She spotted a human racing out of the room wearing some sort of white coat. As they left, her gaze began to focus and she noticed there were more things made of metal and shaped like boxes. She pushed herself up, feeling cloth beneath her and realizing she was on some sort of bed.

She realized she wasn’t wearing the clothes she’d been wearing earlier, instead wearing some sort of gown that was open at the back.

As she continued to gaze around the room, she noticed glowing images on what appeared to be glass nearby. She was about to go over and touch them before the human returned along with a strange blue human woman? No, they weren’t human. They definitely weren’t drow, despite the coloring. She had strange tentacle things swooping off her head, looking almost like hair. Nyralyn had never seen anything like her before.“Hello, Ms…”

“Kolith. Nyralyn Kolith.”

The woman smiled. “Kolith, we have some questions for you if you wouldn’t mind answering.”

Nyra gave the woman a cautious look. This didn’t sound good. Then again, neither did her predicament. She was in an unfamiliar environment with weird creatures she’d never seen before. She assumed she’d somehow been transported to another plane of existence, one known one had heard of before. “Depends on the questions,” she said.

The woman nodded. “First off, in order to help you, we had to take a blood sample, we’ve never seen anyone like you before so we didn’t know how to treat you. We noticed that you have similarities to humans, but enough differences that you aren’t of the same race. So, what exactly are you?”

“I’m a drow...a dark elf.”

“Alright. What is your home planet?”

She frowned, confused by the word. /Faerûn/ came the echoey voice in her head. She stiffened at the voice, trying to figure out where it was coming from, realizing the people before her were patiently waiting for her to speak. She decided to trust the voice for now. “Faerûn.”

“Interesting. I’ve never heard of that planet. Could you tell me where it is?” the woman asked, suddenly holding up a handheld thing of glass with glowing images. The image shown before her looked like a giant circle made of light. She stared at it, not sure what it was.

“Um...I’m not sure where Faerûn is. I don’t really remember how I got here.”

“I see. What is it you last remember?”

“I remember….bright lights. Something about a Citadel? Then I passed out,” she said.

The woman nodded. “While you were out we also did a scan. We noticed something strange in your brain. We’re not sure if it’s a racial trait for you, or if it was some sort of anomaly. But it could cause strange side effects or even be fatal.” She swiped on the glass and showed Nyra an image.

Nyra stared at it, noting the natural curls of her brain -- she’d seen brains before, despite being a bit shocked it was an image of one. Then she spotted something that didn’t seem to fit. It covered part of her brain, almost as if shielding it. Her blood went cold and she knew that without a doubt it was the parasite in her mind. It didn’t look exactly like the one that had been put in her eye, but she could recognize parts of it.

Her breathing began to get ragged and she curled up, pushing her hands into her eyes. “No, no, no…” she muttered.

“I’m going to guess by your reaction that it’s not normal.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not.”

“And you’ve known about this for a while?”

She looked up from her hands and nodded, laughing wryly. “Where I come from, the only cure is death, or making a deal with a devil.”

While she sat there, she suddenly started to feel emotions of pity from the woman before her. She knew she wasn’t attempting to read the woman’s mind, but before she could help it, she slipped in. Flashes of memories from the woman sliding into her. Her name was Kali H’ryn, an Asari of about 361 years. A doctor with two loving daughters who had a Salarian father.

Then she flashed back to her own body and she groaned, clutching at the new memories now swirling in her head. Kali likewise looked a little dazed, but once she regained her composure, she looked at Nyra with both caution and intrigue.

“What did you just do?” the Asari asked, a little breathless.

“I...I don’t know. I didn’t mean to do it. It just happened.”

“It was almost like mind melding, but not exactly like it. Incredible. Is that an ability of your people?”

Nyra looked away, wrapping her arms around herself. She didn’t answer.

“I see...well, thank you for answering my questions. I assume you know that whatever is affecting your brain is spreading.”

She nodded.

“If you need any further help, please feel free to return. I don’t think we have anything else for you. Since you’re new here, do you have a place to stay?”

“Um...not yet, but I’m sure I can find something. I’m resourceful.”

Kali smiled and stood, shooing the human out. “I can tell.” She then walked over to the counter and picked a pile of clothing. “Your old outfit wasn’t hygienic and contained some possibly dangerous chemicals to some of the inhabitants here so we had to dispose of them. I’m sorry. But your other personal effects are in this drawer,” she said, opening said drawer to reveal the weapons Nyra had been wearing.

“Thanks…”

“Put those on and I’ll have someone help escort you from the hospital.” The asari paused before leaving. “If you would like, you could stay with me until you’re able to stand on your own two feet.”

“Oh….thank you,” Nyra replied and then waited for the Asari to leave before she began to dress. The new outfit was white and simple with a top and pants. She frowned. She didn’t like white, it tended to stain too quickly -- especially for what she did.

As she was slipping her blades and their sheathes on the belt of her current garments, she thought about what she’d gone through in the last few hours? She hadn’t dared ask the time. But she missed home. Hells, she missed Gale and the others. She’d hated the predicament that had brought them all together, but she’d enjoyed her time getting to know them. And now she was stuck in some other plane of existence with no way to return home. Were they even still alive? She didn’t know.

She sighed and shook herself, knowing it would be useless to dwell on it. With that thought in her mind, she decided to take the Asari up on her offer -- at least for now. Perhaps she could convince her to help her find some income. She could tell from the memories she’d received that she would need to have some sort of background, but her true history couldn’t be revealed. No one would understand. This was not a world of magic but of technology and science -- a concept she didn’t yet grasp.

Squaring her jaw, she headed out of the hospital room to first speak with Kali, and then see where the “wind” took her.

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violetmuses · 3 years

Text

Grey || Chapter 2

Dedications: @clints-lucky-arrow @mymagicsuitcase @mypoisonedvine @punemy-spotted

__________

2023

Helmut Zemo

“I was a God. I did what no other scientist since Erskine was able to do, but mine was going to be different. No clunky machines or jacked up bodies. Mine was going to be subtle, optimized, perfect.” Dr. Nagel held enough arrogance to proclaim so-called immortality. We learned as well that Nagel recreated twenty vials of the damn Serum before Karli Morgenthau had stolen those items. I kept scowling, eying his boxed lab with disgust. Across the room, James and Sam were still alert nearby.

“How have we never heard about this?” Sam reasonably questioned soon after lowering his own firearm. James still kept his weapon close, planning to threaten Nagel once more if need be.

“Before I was able to complete my work, I turned to dust. When I returned, it was five years later. The program had been abandoned, so I came here. The Power Broker was more than happy to fund the recreation of my work.” Nagel continued speaking, his voice low but still purposeful. I quietly armed myself after finding a gun tucked under one silver cart.

“Where’s Karli now?” Sam probed once more as expected, keeping calm despite our current situation of urgency. With each passing moment, I’d become restless, but knew better than to react before questioning truly gripped its strong point.

“I don't know where Karli is, but a couple of days ago, she called and asked if I could help someone named Donya Madani. The poor woman has tuberculosis and it’s a typical consequence of overpopulation in displacement camps like that.” Nagel offered more information and I still listened intently, despite holding the gun.

“What happened to Donya?” Sam then asked logically to volley himself back for this interrogation.

“Not my pig, not my farm.” Nagel acted smug once more, irking my thoughts again.

For a moment, I concealed my weapon and stepped towards him, eying Sam as he allowed me to move forward. If questioning by “good people” didn’t work, then there was a chance that I would be convincing here. There was no other choice.

“If you won’t reveal where Karli is, then perhaps you can tell me where this woman could be found.” I reached for one of my inner coat pockets and showed Nagel this personal photograph. My own heart dropped and raced all at once this time.

“You’re definitely behind the times with this picture, but I know exactly who that is.” Nagel laughed almost menacingly to himself while sitting in the chair. James and Sam stood in place with clueless expressions, but of course I did not care.

Another story for another time.

“Where is she?” I asked, nearly gritted my teeth whilst anger coursed through every vein within me now. James and Sam were still watching us both, but questions had surely crossed their minds as I changed subjects of this probe.

“Dionne Charles has hid in plain sight for decades now. You haven’t been paying attention.” Nagel clued to me, but remained vague. It took everything in me not to shoot, but his answers would've meant quite the breakthrough. I needed more.

“Is she here?” I snapped once more, patience finally growing thin.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Nagel shrugged. I back away, deciding not to pull the trigger yet.

“Back to business. Is there any serum in this lab?” James stepped forward and pressed the barrel of his firearm right up against Nagel’s temple.

“No,” Nagel allowed his voice to tremble as he reached the brink of death once more.

“Guys, we're seriously outta time here!” Unexpectedly, Sharon Carter entered the container and warned us of more incoming trouble.

Not caring, I finally unveiled my firearm soon and pulled the trigger, killing Nagel without any further hesitation.

“No!” Sam and James then yelled towards my direction, pulling me back with his own stronghold.

“What did you do?” Sharon asked, peering towards my eyes. I still couldn’t care less. Impact of the powerful gunshot had shuffled Nagel and forced his hardened chair to fall backward. Blood immediately splattered all over his chest and face.

_______

James, Sam, and I had taken my private jet once more, moving to my safe house in Riga, Latvia the following day. One GRC resettlement camp had been located in this specific city and Donya Madani passed away there, which signaled one step closer towards Karli.

“I’ll ask you again. Who the hell is Dionne Charles? You won’t even show us the picture that Nagel saw yesterday.” Sam questioned me, sitting at the kitchen counter. I’d placed down a drink for him, but he crossed both arms, waiting for me.

“Fine, do you want the truth?” Sarcasm lined my voice, but he was right. I’d quietly spent the past few days hiding behind phones and secrecy to find someone and my veiled movement left them suspicious.

“Lying would put you back in jail without a doubt, so tell me everything.” Sam kept his words leveled, but this sense of curiosity peaked as well.

“Apologies for the old photograph, but this is the image that I showed Nagel yesterday.” I’d taken this laminated Polaroid out of my coat and finally handed the beloved image to Sam.

I’d captured the image myself with a disposable camera. 2003 had marked the year on a white border. In this candid picture, Dionne wore this cocktail dress and drank her favorite wine, sitting on the balcony of my family’s estate in bliss. The dark complexion of her skin tone nearly glowed as daylight turned into evening.

“She’s beautiful.” Sam mumbled gently, but I understood. Of course she was beautiful.

“I know.” I sighed, thinking back. Anyone with two eyes knew that she was arguably one of the most gorgeous people in the world. The phrase “often replicated, but never duplicated” was true, especially considering her presence.

‘Any reason why you’ve kept this picture around? I’m sure that times have obviously changed for both of you.” Sam asked, narrowing his eyes. At least he was not willing to act invasive.

“Nostalgia, perhaps. I haven’t seen her in person since…” I trailed off these words when James entered the safe house, entering my kitchen as well. Even Sam had then caught me and tucked the Polaroid back into that fur-lined coat of mine.

Mission first, memories later. I thought to myself.

“Well, the Wakandans are here and they want Zemo. I just bought us some more time.” James announced, not bothering to greet Sam or I in some content manner.

“Were you followed?” Sam asked James in return, completely forgetting and ignoring my previous conversation with him.

“No.” James answered quickly.

“How can you be so sure?” I joined in, facing the stain-glass window.

“Cause I know when I'm being followed.” James defended himself.

“It was sweet of you to defend me at least.” I turned away from the window and sprayed cologne, faintly smirking.

“Shut it, no one’s defending you. You killed Nagel.” It was not long before Sam spoke up once more, facing me.

“Do we really have to litigate what may or may not have happened?” I volleyed back, prompting Sam to respond again.

“There's nothing to litigate. You straight shot the man.” Sam eyed me as I handed over another beverage.

“Eleven injured, three dead.” James scrolled through his cell and offered information on Karli. A bombing at the GRC supply depot had taken place recently. There would be more attacks if a list of demands weren’t met as soon as possible.

“The very concept of a Super Soldier will always trouble people. It was that warped aspiration that led to Nazis, to Ultron, and to the Avengers.” I reiterated our need to rid the world of these monsters. No one deserved to have that immortality.

“So, Karli is radicalized, but there has to be a peaceful way to stop her.” Sam joined the conversation once more, facing me and James.

“The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path. She will not stop and she will escalate until you kill her, or she kills you.” I set down the truth of Karli’s intent.

Whilst discussing our mission, I didn’t know what to believe when my burner phone began ringing within the trench coat. Backing away from James and Sam, I discreetly moved towards my coat and reached for that pocket. James and Sam were clueless, just continuing to speak on Karli or the Flag Smashers radicals.

973-675-1342

As soon as I grabbed the phone, this New Jersey phone number flashed before my eyes, signaling memories that had been long buried. Ignoring James and Sam once more, I headed into this cornered master bedroom, closing the door behind me.

“Hello?” Pacing back and forth at the foot of this bed, It was not long before I smiled briefly, trying to register the possibility of hearing her voice without jumping through the answering machine. This chat would be twenty years in the making.

“Who the hell are you?” On the other line, a man’s voice nearly growled unexpectedly to somehow address me. I’d never heard his voice before, but anger coursed through my veins as time stopped. This stranger even sounded American.

“Where’s Dionne?” I snipped with a low tone, conjuring up the worst case scenarios. In short the time when Nagel explained that Dionne could’ve been hiding in plain sight, an abduction could’ve taken place soon after. My skin crawled.

“You really don’t remember me, Colonel? That’s a shame.” This bastard laughed to himself while briefly recalling my years with Eko Skorpion. Despite still holding the title of Baron, I’d taken military service not long before Ultron destroyed Sokovia.

“At least give me your last name during this call, please. You sound like some average and run-of-the-mill American man.” I said, rolling both eyes, regardless of ongoing anger. For all I knew, this man could’ve held Dionne for ransom right now.

“Perkins.”

Back in 2012, Russell Perkins somehow bypassed the no-flight list and failed this harsh attempt to assassinate one of Sokovia’s official diplomats. Not only was Perkins arrested and indicted immediately, but he’d been imprisoned shortly after.

“How the hell did you escape prison?” I grit my teeth. Enough was enough.

“I could ask you the same question.” Perkins chuckled, showing the velvet tone of voice that would’ve rivaled any one of my cousins on their best day.

“How I have now been freed from my cell is none of your concern, Perkins. Where is she?” I returned to our main speaking point: Dionne. My heart dropped and shattered once more, trying to calm, but still enraged now.

“Right here. Hold on.” Perkins lowered his voice once more. Both anxiety and anticipation had quickly raced through my mind as I listened out for Dionne's presence, hoping that Perkins wouldn’t make a joke out of this very situation.

“Z…” Dionne spoke to me at last. Her voice, nearly fleeting, edging on the brink of death, shocked me. Not a hint of joy or content lined her tone as she tried to utter my last name.

“Hello, Sweetheart.” Tears pickled my own eyes. Yet, at that moment, my heart sank. It took everything in me not to shout for her and give myself away during this phone call. Sam and James would’ve immediately noticed that I was not nearby.

“Don’t say that to me.” she warned, reminding my heart of the mistake that led to our breakup many years ago.

“Apologises.” I whispered to her, still keeping my voice leveled despite the anguish that filled my very being now.

“Just say hi to Sam for me and tell James that I’m proud of him. I’ve heard a lot of different things since The Blip took place.” Dionne offered greetings to Sam and James, emoting bittersweetness.

“I promise to speak with James and Sam, but where are you? Where is Perkins hiding you right now? Please tell me.” I tried to keep up this clear facade of strength, but the attempt crumbled with each passing moment.

“I’m so sorry, but I can’t tell you. He’ll...he’ll kill me if you find out.” Dionne whispered back to me. Her perfect voice had shuddered against my left eardrum in response, but one damn gunshot then pierced out loud just moments later.

“No!” I yelled, allowing the phone to drop out of my hand instantly. If James and Sam barged through the door, so be it. To be honest, this moment marked the first time that I’d genuinely cried since the loss of my family, including Heike and Karl.

______

“I took the liberty of crossing my name off in your book. I hold no grudges for what you thought you had to do. Goodbye, James.” I bid farewell to James one last time before members of The Dora Milaje could haul me away towards The Raft now.

“She’s alive.” Whilst lowering his firearm at last, James uttered something from behind me. At one point in time, even one member of the Dora had allowed me to turn around.

“What did you just say?” I asked, narrowing my eyes across the cobblestone path found between us.

“Dionne is alive.” James repeated himself.

#baron zemo #zemo fanfic #tfatws #angst #possibly triggering #violence tw

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anotherkpopvictim · 4 years

Text

The Company Dinner - Hoseok X BTS Littlespace Drabble

(my gif, feel free to use :))

“anonymous asked:

I know you just did a smut with hobi so I completely understand if you don't want to do this! But what I had on my mind was hobi and the rest as his caregivers, main one whoever! But he doesn't want to eat his food, so acts bratty maybe breaks a dish, throwing it at someone maybe? But there at a public restaurant so hobi has to sit scared for what to come when they get home, it can be smut too!”

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting! Requests always give me some inspiration when writing these so it’s very much appreciated :)

I changed this into a kind of hurt/comfort fic and there is NO SMUT in it this time. I hope this is still okay :)

Relationship: Little!Hoseok X Caregivers!BTS

Rating: G (spanking - non-sexual)

Words: 2903

Hurt/comfort, fluff, non-sexual spanking

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

It wasn’t often that BigHit Entertainment held company dinners - it was pretty much unheard of, really. Namjoon and Yoongi could recall one dinner with people from the company back in 2010, but it was far from a professional setup as they only went to the pizza joint down the street for their meal, and only seven or eight people had even been there.

Yeah...company dinner’s didn’t really happen.

Until, for some reason or another, whether it be the growing number of company members and subsequently, staff, or the growing income, Bang PD decided it was finally time for a proper sit down meal at a nice restaurant.

So, there the seven members of BTS were, sat in a large dining hall within an expensive Italian style restaurant. It had been rented out for the evening, as per the CEO’s requests, and was now filled with dozens of familiar faces. Looking around, Jungkook estimated that there were probably close to a hundred people there, all in good spirits and eating whilst chatting with each other.

BTS were sat at their own table, right next to the company’s younger group, TXT. The boys were still a little shy in greeting their sunbaes despite the other members having told them to treat them as friends. They knew they only needed time until they got to that point.

Jin had had to stop the two youngest of his group from rampaging the large buffet the second they’d arrived, and after some small talk and gentle conversations, they were finally allowed to eat.

Both the eldest hyung and Jimin looked on with mild disgust as Taehyung and Jungkook shoved their faces full of food from their overfilled plates, barely taking a second to allow themselves to breathe between bites.

“Well, I doubt they’re going to be doing any mingling tonight,” Namjoon sighed.

“Definitely not,” Yoongi agreed, “All that food is gonna knock them right out.”

Jimin eyed them longingly, “They’ll be off in their own world for at least three hours.”

Honestly, after a long day in the practice room, the last thing any of them wanted to do was mingle, even if it was with their pleasant co-workers. They were tired, and while they all kind of wished they could get out of it like the maknaes had, they also knew it would be rude for all of the BTS members to keep to themselves all night.

“Alright, I’m going to go...talk, I guess.” Namjoon looked at them. “I encourage you to join me, but I also don’t want you guys to push yourselves too much, okay?”

The others - save Tae and Kookie, who were already falling into their predicted food comas - gave their hums and nods of agreement before the leader walked off. Jimin followed not far behind him.

The rest of them had small plates of food for now, opting to just nibble throughout the night. Yoongi turned to Hoseok when he heard the younger huffing, obviously a little irritated. He found the dance leader wearing a prominent pout on his lips and slouching in his seat as he stared at his plate.

“Hey,” the eldest rapper began softly, “Don’t worry about talking to anyone tonight, Hoseok-ah. Just stay with the maknaes. I know you’re still frustrated about earlier.”

Earlier.

Earlier, meaning back in the practice room where Hoseok - for one reason or another - could not get the steps of their new choreography down. Usually, he was the one to learn the fastest and to help the others in turn learn the dance. Today, however, Jimin and Jungkook had to help him out. They were totally willing and didn’t treat their hyung any differently than they normally would, though he didn’t miss the glances of concern they, along with the others, sent his way.

As six’clock rolled around and they were let out early for the day (thanks to the company dinner) he had most of the dance down. Still, Hoseok couldn’t help but feel like he failed. What the hell was wrong with him? Did he suddenly lose all those years of intense dance training? Everyone had bad days, sure, but to be affected so much...that had to be somehow his fault...right?

Hoseok sniffled pitifully, “Thank you, hyungie. S-Seokie sorry...”

Yoongi turned fully towards him immediately, no panic in his eyes, just the gentle dominance of a caregiver. “Oh, baby, you must be feeling pretty bad if you slipped.”

Hoseok nodded and wished they weren’t in public so he could get a hug from his Yoonie-hyungie.

Jin stood up from the table, drink in hand, and got ready to follow Namjoon and Jimin. “Seokie, love,” he said as he leaned a bit closer to the little, “We need you to be good for just two more hours and then we can take you home and cuddle, alright?”

“M’kay,” Hobi replied.

Seokjin gave him a smile and ruffled his hair gently with his free hand before he wandered off into the crowd as well.

“Hobi, sweetheart,” Yoongi said, “Will you be okay with Taehyungie and Jungkookie while I go talk for a bit?”

Hoseok looked a little hesitant, but Taehyung spoke up before he could answer. “We can talk about anything you’d like, or you can play on my phone.”

The little was easily persuaded by the prospect of getting to play a game. “Okay, Seokie will stay with TaeTae-hyungie and Kookie-hyungie.”

Yoongi, praying that no one was watching them at that moment, gave a quick peck to the little’s forehead. “That’s my good boy.”

With Taehyung and Jungkook’s warm presence, the next hour passed by pretty fast for Hoseok. He was tapping away at Taehyung’s phone, in the middle of a game when he was interrupted by his stomach making a big growling noise.

“Someone must be hungry,” Jungkook commented, scooping up Big Hobi’s plate of food to dispose of it. “I’ll go grab a plate of little-approved food.”

When he returned, he had a plate with chicken bites (not quite tenders, but they had to make do) some kind of fancy version of mac’n’cheese, and some carrot sticks. Considering it was a fairly upscale Italian restaurant, this was the best he could find. Jungkook set the plate on the table in front of the little, and set down a glass of apple juice with it.

While it looked pretty promising, it only took a few bites for Hoseok to realize that he really didn’t like this yucky food. He put down his fork with an angry pout. Why couldn’t this day just be over? Why did they have to go out tonight at all when Hobi really just wanted cuddles from his hyungies and his duck plushie, Quackers, tucked into his arms.

Taehyung saw the fork set down on the table and said, “Hobi, honey, eat some more of your dinner, please.”

The anger his big side was dealing with seemed to add fuel to the fire that was the beginnings of a tantrum.

The little grit his teeth and answered harshly, “No.”

Both maknaes paused and turned to look at him. “Sweetie,” Jungkook began, “I know it’s not exactly like what you have at home, but-”

“It’s yucky!” Hoseok exclaimed, a little too loudly. Thankfully, it didn’t seem as if anyone noticed. “Don’t want it!”

“It’s really not that bad, love,” Taehyung said, trying to keep the little calm. He took a bite of the chicken and mac’n’cheese with his own fork and gave an approving hum once he finished. “I promise, if you eat eight more bites of this, we’ll make you whatever you want for breakfast tomorrow.”

“No, no, no!” Hoseok shouted, his voice rising as his anger grew. “Seokie said he don’t want the yucky food!”

The little punctuated his outburst by slamming his right hand onto the table. What he hadn’t anticipated, was that his hand would hit the side of the plate harshly enough to flip it and send all the food on it into Taehyung’s lap.

The world around them suddenly seemed to fall silent, though the others at the party seemed oblivious to what was going on at BTS’ table. Taehyung had frozen, shutting his eyes and sighing. Hoseok was frozen as well, completely shell-shocked with his wide eyes and mouth hanging open. Jungkook, who was sat on the little’s other side, recovered from the shock of it all first. He was the one that reached over to pick up the plate and set it right side up back on the table.

“S-Sorry,” came the little’s whimper. “S-Seokie sorry, TaeTae-hyungie. H-He didn’t m-mean to. He didn’t mean to!”

Taehyung hushed him softly, finally taking in a deep breath and turning to look Hobi in the eyes. “I believe that you didn’t mean to make the food fall on me. But you have been acting up and because of one of your tantrums, it did happen.”

“Seokie is sorry,” he replied solemnly. Now that the haze of anger was gone from his mind, he could understand that what he did and the way he’d been acting up all night was wrong. He was taking a bad day for himself and turning it into an even worse one.

Jungkook grabbed his midnight blue suit jacket that had been hanging over the back of his chair and handed it to Taehyung carefully. “Go clean yourself up a bit, hyung. Then, put this on to cover whatever stains you can’t get out here.”

The two maknaes locked eyes and Taehyung gave a small smile. He accepted the jacket from Jungkook and gave him a fond flick under the chin before he headed off to find the washrooms.

Jungkook sat back down next to Hoseok, who was staring at the floor and trying to cry as silently as possible. The little shake in his shoulders gave him away, though.

“Hoseokie,” the maknae began with a gentle tone, “We’ll all talk about your behavior later but I can tell that you already feel bad about it.”

The little nodded shamefully, “Seokie sorry.”

After finally taking a glance around and confirming that no one was giving them any odd looks, Jungkook turned back to Hoseok and bit his lip. He wanted so badly to just scoop the little up in his arms and coddle him, but he’d been bad.

“Seokie-ah,” the maknae said, voice somehow both soft and firm. “Sit here while I go get you some more food. I’ll ask you once, is there anything you want in particular?”

Hoseok sniffled and rubbed at his eye with a closed fist, “Seokie will eat the mac’n’cheese.”

“Okay,” Jungkook replied, giving in to the urge to ruffle the little’s hair. “I’ll be right back.”

Hoseok didn’t make a single peep as he ate his food, complaints from earlier washed away by guilt. Once he actually had another bite of it, he found that it really wasn’t that bad.

Jimin returned to the table just as the little was finishing up his last bite. The eldest of the maknae line paused as he gauged the aura around his two band mates. “What happened?” he inquired.

“We had a little bit of trouble from Hoseokie, but he knows what he’s done wrong,” Jungkook replied with a sad kind of smile.

Jimin’s eyebrows furrowed and he turned to the little in question, but Hoseok didn’t dare look up from his lap. “Okay, well, I guess it makes more sense for me to wait to hear about it. No need to make him tell the story a hundred times.”

It was at that moment that Taehyung approached the table, back from the washroom. He had a small cloth bag with the restaurant logo on the front that he must have asked for to put his dirtied clothes in. He’d changed out of his shirt and blazer completely, leaving him in only Jungkook’s buttoned-up suit jacket and damp slacks. Jimin was probably more confused about the situation as his fellow ninety-five liner returned, but he thankfully didn’t ask any questions.

Hoseok let out a little whine and squirmed around in his seat as the second youngest returned to his spot next to him. “Seokie really, really, really sorry, TaeTae-hyungie. The most sorry ever.” he apologized, his voice quiet so only Taehyung could hear him.

Taehyung smiled gently and leaned in closer to reply. “I’m glad to hear that you’re sorry, love.” The pet name slipped out before he could stop it. “And I forgive you, but you still will get a punishment when we get home, okay?”

“Okay,” the little nodded, “As long as TaeTae-hyungie doesn’t hate Seokie, he will take punishment.”

“Oh, baby,” Shit, another pet name. Thank god Seokjin and Namjoon weren’t around, otherwise Taehyung would be in trouble. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind and reached out to give Hobi a quick kiss on the hair. “I could never hate you. Hyungies could never hate you.”

Reassured for the moment, Hoseok tried his best to stay quiet and behave as the company dinner continued around them.

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

Later that night, all the members gathered in the living room and discussed the events that had taken place with Hobi and the maknaes. The little felt the familiar wave of shame go over him when Namjoon, Yoongi, Seokjin and Jimin all looked at him with disappointment in their eyes.

Thankfully, Taehyung and Jungkook explained that their little had been very apologetic immediately after it happened, so he shouldn’t be punished too harshly. Besides, Hoseok had been forced to sit quietly at the dinner for two whole hours with only a few words from the maknae line as a reprieve from his own thoughts. Just like a timeout, the little had the time to really think about his behavior.

It was settled that Hoseok would receive ten spanks over his underwear as punishment.

So now Hobi was in their massive, shared bedroom with all of his caregivers surrounding him. The little was splayed out on his stomach over Yoongi’s thin legs in only his boxers. Hoseok’s own legs were sprawled over Namjoon and his head was pillowed in Seokjin’s lap as the two were sat on either side of Yoongi. Jungkook, Taehyung and Jimin stood next to the bed and watched on carefully.

All the eyes on him made the little squirm until he felt a firm hand on the back of his neck. “No moving,” Seokjin said firmly.

“Y-Yes, hyungie,” Hoseok replied.

“You’re going to be good and count the spanks,” Yoongi ordered. The second oldest didn’t give him any more warning before a hard slap rang through the otherwise silent room.

The little let out a mewl and stuttered, “One.”

Yoongi had always been the type to get a punishment over with as quickly as safely possible, and now wasn’t any different. The next few spanks were fast and sharp, barely giving Hoseok a moment to register the sting and blurt out the number before another came down.

“F-F-Five!”

The eldest rapper paused and ran his hand softly over the younger’s shirt covered back. “You’re halfway done, Hoseok-ah. I’ll finish quickly.”

The final five slaps were just as Yoongi had promised - quick. Hoseok was gasping out his numbers and he was probably squirming again, but no one stopped him. They could all see that he was doing his best, and that was all that mattered to them.

“Ten! Ten!”

The second that the final number was called out, Yoongi maneuvered the little to sit properly in his lap, Seokjin and Namjoon both rubbing their hands along Hoseok’s back in an attempt to placate him.

“All done, baby,” Yoongi crooned, pressing kisses to the little’s tear-stained cheeks.

“You did so well for hyungs,” Namjoon added.

“Hoseokie is sorry,” the little whimpered, still coming down from his punishment and the even more submissive headspace said punishment had put him in.

Jin cooed and ran his hand through Hoseok’s hair, “We know, sweetheart. You’re forgiven.”

The little nodded, his tense shoulders beginning to relax with the reassurance. Then Hoseok looked up and searched around the room for the one person he was looking for. When his teary eyes locked on Taehyung, he held his arms up and made grabby-hands in his direction.

Taehyung was at his side in a moment, the hyungs moving out of the way so he could pick Hoseok up in his arms and hold him tightly.

“Seokie sorry, TaeTae-hyungie,” he murmured into the other’s warm neck.

“Thank you, love,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the little’s cheek. “No more apologizing now, okay?”

Hoseok hummed in agreement, his eyes fluttering closed as his head rested on the other’s shoulder. The night’s roller coaster of emotions really tired him out. “Can Seokie have cuddles from hyungies?”

The six of them glanced at each other before nodding in mutual agreement.

Ten minutes later found all seven of them in a pile of tangled limbs on the large bed, Hoseok intertwined right in the center of it all. Just where he wanted to be.

“Night night, hyungies,” the little said as he cuddled closer into Jimin’s chest.

“Good night, lovely.”

“Night, Seokie.”

“Love you lots, baby.”

“Don’t let the sharks bite.”

“Taehyung, that doesn’t even make sense!”

“Shh!”

Hoseok let a little giggle before snuggling further into the warm mess and arms, legs, and blankets and falling into a comfortable sleep.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

A/N: Two spanking fics in a row and both times Hoseok is the one getting spanked. I’ll change it up in the future but I hope you enjoyed the story!

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sugarbutterbroadway · 4 years

Text

Davey-Doll Chapter 3

After a comfortable hour of lounging on the floor, Davey left feeling much lighter and a promise that they would meet up next week. For the first time in months it didn’t feel like a chore to keep that promise. He was a homebody, he enjoyed his solitude--years of sharing rooms with newsies and siblings taught him that well. He took pride in his apartment, a year of furnishing and little handijobs slowly but surely turned it into a home. Davey’s apartment was small, but comfortable. There was the bedroom, located down the hall. The kitchenette which was next to the fireplace, and the washroom, which even had one of those fancy flushing toilets. That’s honestly what sold him on the place. If there’s one thing he hated, it was using a chamber pot. It came at a modest price too, the only downside was somebody died there.

There was a sofa situated against the wall opposite to the front door, and a dining table that was placed near the fireplace which was probably a safety hazard, seeing as it was made of wood. He wasn’t quite sure how that worked yet, but he’s been in for a year and it has yet to catch on fire.

The linen closet was filled to the brim with blankets Katherine and Sarah knitted for him every Christmas. It was a sweet gesture and he’d never say no to a good blanket. His cabinets were filled with tea—he hadn’t touched coffee since his few years as a newsie—and usually a treat if the money was good that week. He had yet to find a good tea set that didn’t break the bank.

The pantry was filled with the basics because Davey couldn’t cook and didn't have the disposable income to hire one. He did enjoy spending time with Sarah and Katherine, those two actually had a cook...and a maid, and a gardener. But, he wasn’t going to be bitter, he was happy for his sister. Whatever she and Katherine had going on was truly special.

There was a bookshelf in the far corner of the room. It had yet to be filled with anything but textbooks for his lectures and manuscripts of Medda’s shows that needed revising, but that was fine. He loved his apartment no matter how small, it was cozy and it was his. Well, his and Les. After their father had passed on due to his injury, Les had been staying with Davey. Their mother—bless her—hadn’t been the same since, she had fits of anger and sometimes would sob uncontrollably. Les was sixteen, he was old enough to understand grief, but Davey still didn’t want him to see that. He took up the couch and let Les have the bedroom, that’s how it’s been for the past two years, coexisting in peace. He frowned as he turned onto the block of his neighborhood, usually in peace. He’s still not sure what got into Les earlier. He was a good kid, he could be a little brash but things like this,arguments like this never happened, least of all in public. Surely he had to just be testing boundaries, because if this was the new normal Davey wouldn’t stand for it.

Once his apartment was in view he lengthened his strides. He could feel the grip of fatigue on his bones and he still had work to do, the manuscript for Medda’s show wouldn’t revise itself. He smiled a bit, he loved Medda. He reached the door and knocked once, then twice. It creaked open to reveal Les, still in his school uniform, it looked like he hadn’t even washed up for the night. Davey furrowed his brows and stepped inside. Everything seems as he left it, no trace of any other human life but Les. He shrugged off his suit jacket and swung it over the back of a chair, he’d have to pick that up later. He just about remembered to toe off his shoes and walked over to the couch taking a seat.

“Have you started your homework?”he asked. Les looked at him with a bored expression.

“Didn’t have any”

“Did you make yourself something to eat?”

“Not hungry”

He rolled his eyes. “Are you done having an attitude?”

“Nope”Les said popping the p.

He sighed. “Suit yourself”

Les grunted and stalked down the hall to the bedroom. The door slammed a minute later. Davey rubbed his temples, he didn’t have time to deal with teenage angst. It was getting to be late and he had a list of things that still needed to get done. This is why he rarely visited Racetrack, when they were together they still ran on Newsie time and could talk all night if you left them. The adult world really was something, so much to do but always so little time. He pushed himself off the couch with a groan, he needed his notebook but it was in the bedroom. He took a deep breath--honestly he took two, and walked down the hall. He knocked on the door, all he got was a cry of annoyance.

Les was really testing his patience. He walked inside to see Les’ face was already fixed so sour.

“What?”Les huffed. Davey simply walked past him, grabbing his notebook and fountain pen off his desk.

“I’m not here for you,”he said calmly.

“Oh”

Davey also grabbed a pillow and his pajamas, he didn’t feel like making a second trip. He was just going to leave the room but it seemed pettiness just ran rampant through the family. He paused at the doorway and turned around. “You know how galileo thought the sun was the center of the universe, right?”

“Yes…?”Les said.

“If the sun isn’t even the center of the universe--one of the most essential foundations to all living things--I can’t possibly fathom why you think that you are”

Before Les could respond he left, shutting the door behind him. He felt satisfied, sure he remembered being a teenager and thinking he knew everything but to have such audacity? It makes him wonder who exactly has been raising Les these past few years because it obviously couldn’t have been him. How much shit did Esther let slide when he was a kid? She would have never let Davey get away with half of that. He took another deep breath, there was no use digging into old wounds. Sometimes it was hard to remember that he was the adult in this situation. If it got anymore out of hand then he could send Les to stay with Sarah. He plopped down on the couch and started making his to do list.

Read over Medda’s manuscript, due Sunday

Read Othello, due in the coming week

He groaned, it was due so soon and he hadn’t even started. He needed to shake his grammar school work ethic.

Arithmetic work, due soon

He needed to get better at keeping dates, a calendar book would be going on his Christmas list.

Buy groceries, preferably tomorrow

Tidy up the house

He read over a few times before a realization dawned on him. He slapped his forehead and briskly wrote down.

Tip Elmer next time in Newsie square

There, now he was done. Looking at the list he realized it didn’t make him feel anymore organized. It was a gumble of vague deadlines and he was certain that there were things missing. The thought alone made him want to curl on on the couch and call it a night. But no, that’s how he got in this mess in the first place. He had to start somewhere, he’d start with the manuscript. It wasn’t too tedious and he genuinely liked working with Medda, she paid handsomely too now that the theatre was booming. His mother hadn’t been too happy when she realized he was working a theatre job, no one was. A man of his caliber could have been a teacher’s assistant by now, he’d tainted his reputation working in entertainment, it was a poor man's job. All things he’s heard before, heard recently and will probably hear in the future. He’s worked for Medda since he was a Newsie. Little writing jobs here and there, analytical pieces, costume mending--he’s even done a bit of acting himself. He smiled as his mind floated back to his

“Acting days”, it was funny to think of it like that when it felt like it was only yesterday. He remembers getting prettied up in the dressing room with the bowery beauties. He kissed one of them that night after the show. God Jack had been so mad to see his lips smudged with red..

Davey let out a soft chuckle. Is this what getting older was? Constantly reminiscing on the past? He wasn’t even old yet. Sure he had acquaintances his age already settled down with kids, but that didn't make them old. He kinda did have a kid to be fair. He’s sure he would’ve been right on that track too hadn’t he met Jack.

Davey always looked, at men, at women. His eyes always tended to linger on a woman’s lips or a gentlemans’ rear a bit longer than socially acceptable. He hid his looking behind books,grades,housework, obedience. It was the safest for him to just show no interest in anyone. But he had fancied a few girls here and there, he wanted to court one of them. Then his dad’s leg got messed up, then money grew scarce, then he became a Newsie and then he was thrusted into the hurricane of Jack Kelly. Hurricanes were dangerous, Davey knew this. But Jack had a way of softening it, making the harsh rain seem pretty.

Davey got swept in before he knew what was happening. Him and Les ended up right by Jack’s side in the most pivotal moment of Newsie history. So of course, they started to hang out more regularly. It started off innocent enough, it really did. Davey had no intentions of being immodest. But Jack Kelly was known for many things, one being that he could bring out the whore in almost anyone. Three weeks. He lasted three weeks of keeping his distance. That was before Jack had turned scab and they ended up in an alleyway. Jack gripped his jaw to shut him up and it was go go go from there. Davey swallowed and shifted in his seat, this was not the time to get all bothered about this, he still had a manuscript to read. He forced himself off the couch for the second time and walked over to the bookshelf where he left it.

He was embarrassed with how long it took him to find it, that definitely reflected the state of his bookcase and the last time he worked on it. He eyed the couch but decided against it, doing work where he slept never ended well. The table would have to do. He took his seat and flipped open the book, he bit his lip and squinted. This couldn’t be right, he’d annotated this page a few days ago...

He took a closer look.

“Fuck!”he groaned, throwing his head back.

He brought home the wrong one, no wonder it looked different. It was an actor’s copy. How could he be so careless? He closed the copy and slid it across the table. He didn’t have his manuscript and now this actor didn’t have their script. He’d have to make a stop by the theatre tomorrow. The walk to the Bowery from Manhattan wasn’t terribly long, but it definitely wasn’t in his schedule. Les would just have to walk to school tomorrow with one of his buddies so Davey could get it out of the way. Davey sighed and began unbuttoning his waistcoat, it was late and he was frustrated, might as well call it a night. He slid it off of his shoulders and let it fall to the floor, it was an older one anyways.

He untucked his shirt from his trousers and made his way back over to the couch, he couldn’t be bothered to put his pajamas on. He knew he should wash up and clean up and eat something, but he kind of wanted to wallow in his defeat for a bit, maybe read a book. Or stare at the wall, or punch it, or scream. He sighed, too much had happened for just one day. Les was rebelling, he’d reconnected with Racetrack,grabbed the wrong script and Jack Kelly, man of mystery had waltzed right back into his life. He shook his head at that, anyone would deserve a lay down after this day.

He grabbed the blanket folded over the top of the couch and wrapped it around himself. Les was definitely going to Sarah’s this weekend, they both needed the space and Davey needed his mattress. But all the logistics could be sorted out in the morning, right now he could feel a heaviness in his bones that meant it was time to sleep. He laid his head on his pillow, if he scrunched his eyes tight enough he was still sixteen, he wasn’t dealing with an ornery teen and a potential midlife crisis no--he had just met the famous Jack Kelly, had just organized the strike...he smiled to himself and snuggled closer against his pillow.

He let his mind begin to wander, that maybe if things had been different, had they not been both men, had he been better...maybe they could have worked out.

#newises #newsies broadway #davey jacobs #jack kelly #jack kelly x david jacobs #Davey-doll

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organabanana · 4 years

Text

Bloom || Harley/Ivy

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: DCU (Comics)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Pamela Isley & Harleen Quinzel

Characters: Pamela Isley, Harleen Quinzel

Additional Tags: Femslash February, Femslash February 2020, Femslash, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot

Series: Part 2 of Femslash February 2020

Summary: Harley wants to try her hand at being a plant parent. Pamela helps. Feels are had. Warnings: implied Joker/Harley abuse. Light mention of needles in a medical context.

[ao3 link]

"Look what I got ya, Red!"

Harley climbed into the greenhouse through the window, as was her custom, even if she'd had a key for a while. Pamela figured it'd become a sort of tradition at this point and chose not to fight it.

"I stopped by that banker's place. Remember the banker I was telling you about? With the--"

"The jewelry collection?"

"Right!" Harley grinned, clearly delighted with Pamela's memory. "So I stopped by his place to... y'know. Get acquainted with it."

"And you got me...?" Pamela tried to steer Harley back to the topic at hand, but even she knew it was mostly a lost cause. Harley would meander for as long as she needed to, and she'd arrive at the actual message when she felt like it and not a second before that. That was tradition, too.

"Well, I wasn't gonna take anything on the first visit! I'm way smarter than that," Harley tapped her temple and winked at Pamela, "but when I was walkin' past this guy's office I saw this! And I knew it belonged with you."

Harley's triumphant smile contrasted sharply with what she held in her hands as if it was the shiniest trinket she could've possibly brought Pamela. Her face looked like she was hearing a rousing drum roll in her head. Her hands held... a clay pot with some dirt inside?

"I uh..." Pamela struggled to find the right words. She knew a little gratefulness could go a long way, but she was a bit too stunned to engage the polite area of her brain. She'd been friends with Harley for long enough that she was pretty sure she actually understood the beautiful mess that was the shorter woman's mind. But sometimes Harley still caught her completely off guard.

Bringing her a dirty pot as a present was one of those times.

"Thank you. For such a... well-crafted pot? Looks... sturdy."

"What?" Harley frowned, looking at Pamela like she'd grown a second head and then down at the pot as if she was worried she might have shown Pamela the wrong one by accident. "Oh! No, no, no, Red, look!" She took a couple steps forward, officially invading Pamela's personal space as she held the pot up so the taller woman could take a closer look. "See?" Harley pointed at a particular spot inside the pot. "There's someone in there!"

Green eyes narrowed as Pamela looked in, and the line of her jaw hardened when she saw what Harley was pointing to. A sad-looking, nearly dead little stick that had probably been a healthy green stem at some point, pitifully poking out of the dirt.

"Bastard," Pamela said simply, nearly spitting out the word as she gently took the clay pot from Harley. People let plants die as if they didn't matter at all. They weren't much better to animals, but at least most people were on board with seeing animal abuse as a crime. Plants, though? Nobody cared about plants. She figured it had a lot to do with them not crying out in pain. If they could feel their pain like she did...

She placed the pot on a nearby table, in a spot where it'd get all the sunlight it'd need. The plant looked more dead than alive at this point, but Pamela knew it was nothing she couldn't fix. She'd just breathe a bit of life into it, and--

"Hey, Pammy. Red? Hi. Remember me?" Harley flashed her a goofy smile that never failed to charm Pamela and take the edge off whatever was currently making her see red.

"Sorry. Got a little carried away, didn't I? Thank you for bringing it to me. Most people wouldn't even have noticed it."

Harley shrugged. There was something about the look on her face that made Pamela think if Harley was capable of blushing, she would've been doing just that. "Eh, no biggie. Greenery's kinda been on my mind lately, y'know? What with spendin' time here in the jungle with you."

She motioned around the greenhouse, which was of course full of the vegetation Pamela loved so much. Plants and flowers everywhere, claiming every inch of the space. Just the way Pamela liked it. Just the way it was meant to be.

"Still. Thank you, Harley."

"Aw, c'mon, stop it! Gonna give me a big head and mess up my balance."

Pamela let out a quiet chuckle at the mental imagery and focused on the plant - what was left of it, anyway - instead. She could fix its sad state in no time flat. She just had to touch it and--

"Uh... Pammy?"

"Yes, Harley," her tone was drier now. She was grateful, but her patience had a limit and Harley's constant interruptions were getting very close to it.

"Can I keep it?"

What?

Pamela turned around, forgetting the plant for now to stare at the shorter woman and try to make sense of whatever she was trying to say. "Can you keep what?"

"The plant!"

Green eyes blinked, slowly, just once. She would never fully understand Harley Quinn, would she?

Harley sighed, as if she couldn't believe she had to clarify what she meant because it was so obvious already. "Can it be my plant?"

"You want to... take it home with you?"

"No! No way!" Harley shook her head emphatically. "It'll live here, with you and its buddies. But I'll take care of it! It'll be my plant."

Pamela couldn't find the word to say exactly how Harley's request made her feel. It was... strangely charming. Endearing, almost. Something else.

"I'd be fine with that. You come over all the time anyway."

"YAY!" Harley bounced on her feet in a way that made Pamela fear a hug was incoming, but it ended up as a false alarm. "I'm gonna call it Cupcake."

"Cupcake", Pamela echoed, making no effort to hide just how ridiculous she found it.

"Right! Gonna be good to Pammy, ain't ya, Cupcake?" Harley ever-so-gently tapped the little dry stick, "Red, you can't do your green... thing with it, okay?"

"Come again?"

"Y'know, the thing! Where you'll make plants grow with magic."

"It's not magic, Harley, it's--"

"Oh, I know, I know," Harley said, waving her hand dismissively, "but you can't do it. Not to Cupcake, all right? Cupcake's my plant. I wanna take care of it myself."

Pamela hesitated for a moment. Ultimately, she figured there was no reason she couldn't let Harley give it a shot. She could always intervene if she absolutely had to.

"All right. Your plant. I promise."

***

"Ugh. Do I have to?"

Harley eyed the needle with a mixture of dread and disgust in her eyes. Pamela pointedly ignored the way Harley's bottom lip stuck out in a pitiful pout. Cute. But not cute enough to change her mind.

"Yes, you have to. It's for your own safety." Pamela filled up the syringe with a light green serum and tapped it with one of her fingertips to make sure there were no air bubbles within.

"But Pammy," Harley had a way of saying Pamela's name that made something tighten in a very peculiar way in Pamela's chest, "I'm immune to toxins. To yours, to Mistah J's... No need to get pokey with that thing, y'know? I'm fine!"

Pamela felt her jaw tense. It was an involuntary reaction, she swore. A sort of Pavlovian response to hearing his name coming from Harley.

"I've explained this, remember?" Pamela said, gently nudging Harley's elbow until she relented and held out her arm so Pamela could dab at a spot with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball, "it's not for my toxins, it's for my--"

"Pheromones. I know, I know," Harley rolled her eyes, "but hear me out: I trust ya, Red. All right? I know ya wouldn't do your mind-control love potion thing to me."

Pamela couldn't help but smile. "Not a potion, Harls," and she didn't bother explaining because the way Harley winked at her let her know she'd been joking all along, "but still. We're partners. Think of this as a... partnership contract. Something more solid than trust."

Harley took a moment to consider Pamela's words. There was a slight frown on her face, and then she opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again before any words came out. And then, finally, she made up her mind.

"All right, fine," she said with a dramatic sigh, looking away from her arm and the needle and focusing her gaze on her mallet that rested against a nearby chair instead, "do your thing, Red."

Pamela nodded once. Even if it'd been her idea all along, she hesitated for just a couple of seconds before injecting the serum into Harley's arm. She still thought it was the right thing to do. She hadn't lied when she told Harley it was a sort of contract. A partnership couldn't be equal when one of them had the means to control the other's mind, could it? And yet... maybe she hadn't told Harley the true reason she was receiving this shot.

"All done," Pamela said, placing a small band-aid over the barely-there spot where the needle had been.

"Really?" Harley looked from the band-aid to the discarded syringe and then into Pamela's eyes, amazement written all over her face.

"Wasn't so terrible, was it?"

"Barely even felt it. Ya got some skills, Red!" Harley grinned and hopped down from the table where she'd been sitting, immediately walking over to the small clay pot where her plant was struggling to recover.

"How's it looking?" Pamela asked as she disposed of the needle and tidied up the space around her.

"Sad," Harley said, her own tone as downcast as the little plant in the pot.

Pamela nodded. She knew the plant - Cupcake - wasn't doing great. She cared a great deal about that plant and its recovery. And at some point in the last couple of weeks, she'd had an epiphany and realized her concern wasn't just for the plant's well-being. No. She wanted the plant to thrive because she knew any other outcome would break Harley's heart.

And that. That was what kept her up at night thinking about the plant and its progress.

Which brought her back to the true reason she'd insisted on making Harley immune to her pheromones. It wasn't just about trust and an equal partnership, even if those were very real and logical points to make. What Pamela truly wanted, if she forced herself to be perfectly honest, was to know this was real. This... friendship they shared. She wanted to know without a shadow of a doubt that Harley's smiles were real. The way she looked at Pamela, the way she invaded Pamela's personal space, the way she wanted to spend seemingly all her time with Pamela. Pamela wanted to know it was all real.

"Pammy?" Harley's concerned voice made Pamela turn around to look at her, and the look in the blonde's face made something twist uncomfortably in Pamela's chest. "Is Cupcake gonna be all right?"

There was something deeply moving in seeing a woman with plenty of blood on her hands look like she was on the verge of tears over a dry little plant's well-being.

"Of course, Harl," Pamela walked over and looked into the pot, "you're doing great. It just needs some time."

And maybe the serum wasn't the only thing Pamela Isley hadn't been completely honest about. Because if she had truly honored her promise and stayed away from Cupcake - oh, that name - it would very much have been dead by now. But a little help wasn't a big deal. It counted as a white lie, right?

A green lie.

"Wait. Look. Red, look!" Harley pointed at the spot where Cupcake's stem met the dirt. And right there, if you squinted and looked very closely, you could almost see the tiniest hint of a new leaf pushing through. "Cupcake's alive!"

Harley grinned, bouncing on her feet for just a second before she turned around and threw her arms around Pamela's neck, pulling her into a tight hug that nearly threw the taller woman off-balance.

A real smile, and a real hug. Who cared about a little green lie or two?

***

"Ain't she a beauty?"

Harley proudly held up the brand new pot where Cupcake now lived and thrived. Harley had painted the clay pot herself, a mishmash of poorly drawn green vines and diamonds painted black and red. It toed the line between beauty and ugliness in a way that made Pamela think it may very well have been a work of art. It certainly made her feel things, didn't it?

"So Cupcake's a she?"

"Yep," Harley nodded confidently, placing Cupcake and its pot on the perfect spot where the sun hit just right, "one of us, Red. A survivor."

Harley wasn't looking at her, but Pamela didn't need to see her face to imagine the look in Harley's eyes. A survivor, indeed. And maybe that's why she let her guard down for just a moment, because she was too busy thinking about Harley and her life outside the safe haven of Pamela's greenhouse to fully engage the walls she always kept around herself.

Maybe that's why her hand moved without her permission, hovering right next to Harley's for a split second before Pamela came to her senses and put it back in her pocket, where it belonged. Not on - or in - Harley's hand.

"Hey, Red?" Something in the tone that echoed right under the surface of Harley's question let Pamela know she'd noticed exactly what had almost happened between them.

"Yes, Harl?"

Harley's pinky finger lightly brushed against the fabric of Pamela's shirt, right above the waistband of her pants.

Pamela's breath caught in her throat.

"What happens if I touch ya?"

"What do you mean?"

"If I touch ya. Skin to skin." Harley's voice sounded different all of a sudden. Just a little lower than normal. Her eyes looked slightly darker, too, when they looked up into Pamela's. "What happens then?"

"Nothing," Pamela said, pretending they were only talking about her toxins, "you're immune, Harl. Remember?"

Harley nodded. Pamela watched her worry at her bottom lip with her teeth. She watched her eyes roam down Pamela's body until they settled on the hand in her pocket. She watched Harley's own hand move towards Pamela's, fingers hesitating mid-air for a second before gently wrapping around Pamela's wrist.

"Can I?"

Now it was Pamela's turn to nod as she let Harley pull her hand out of her pocket and hold it in her own. Harley looked at it for a moment, almost as if she was seeing it for the very first time. As if they hadn't been partners in crime for so long now each other's hands should've been more than old news.

Harley started by tracing Pamela's fingers, and then the vines on the back of her hand. She followed the swirly lines with her own fingertips, across Pamela's hand and past her wrist, into the sensitive, soft skin of her forearm.

"Pammy?" It was barely above a whisper. Pamela couldn't remember the last time she'd breathed.

"Yeah, Harley?"

"What happens if someone else touches ya?"

Pamela smirked, even if her heartbeat was still very much all over the place. What would happen if someone else - anyone else - tried to do what Harley was doing right then?

"They die," Pamela said matter-of-factly, with maybe a hint of poorly hidden amusement in her voice. She wouldn't have been able to explain why the thought of someone dropping dead after touching her was funny, but it was.

And of course, Harley let out a quiet giggle that reminded Pamela of the fact that she didn't need to explain. Harley got it. Of course she did.

"And what if ya touch me, Red?" Harley's eyes found Pamela's again. "What then?"

Pamela could've said something. She could've said nothing would happen. But instead, she found herself reaching up to tuck a few flyaway hairs behind Harley's ear, letting her fingers brush against the soft skin of Harley's cheek on their way back down towards her neck. And then-

Then an obnoxious horn seemed to shatter the air between and around them, its festive fanfare making Harley drop Pamela's hand and take a step back.

"Shit," wide eyes looked around the room in search of a clock until they landed on the watch on her own wrist, "I forgot I told Puddin' I'd meet him ten minutes ago."

Pamela wanted to say something - do something - but she was rooted in place, her heart still struggling to recover from their moment and its abrupt end.

"I'll see ya soon, Pammy," Harley said, a twinge of sadness dimming her otherwise wide smile, "keep Cupcake company for me!"

***

"I don't wanna talk, Red. Don't make me talk."

Pamela pressed her lips together and took in the sight in front of her. The bruises, the dried tears, the scrapes, the spot of blood on a swollen lip. The cut right above Harley's right eyebrow, red and angry and still bleeding.

She looked until she couldn't do it anymore, and then she clenched her eyes shut and forced herself to breathe. She wanted to kill him. She wanted him dead more than she wanted anything else in the world. But she knew Harley needed her here, with her. Revenge would have to wait.

"Is she getting a flower?"

"What?"

Pamela opened her eyes and saw Harley looking at Cupcake in her homemade pot. The little plant kept growing, with a little help from Harley's well-intentioned care and a lot of help from Pamela and the Green. And yes - she had a little bud which looked about ready to bloom.

"Sit down, Harl," Pamela sighed, shaking her head, "let's take care of you first. Then we can look into the flower, all right?"

Harley didn't seem too convinced, but she hopped onto the nearby table anyway, one fingertip gently tapping the still closed bud as if she wanted to reassure the little plant that she was going to be all right.

Pamela gathered her first aid supplies and arranged them on the table next to Harley, focusing on the task at hand instead of the many slow and painful ways she wanted to end that bastard's life. Harley needed her here, now. And that's where she had to stay.

"Let me see that cut," she said, one hand gently cupping Harley's jaw to turn her face so the light would hit the small gash on her forehead. Pamela frowned at the sight.

"That bad, huh?" Harley tried to sound like she was teasing, but for once it fell flat. There was nothing funny about the situation, and even Harley Quinn could tell.

"The lip's not too bad," Pamela said, "but that cut's going to need at least a couple of stitches."

Harley winced in anticipation, and the thought of hurting her was enough to make something twist in Pamela's chest. She'd seen Harley get far worse injuries than these a million times before. She'd seen her laugh it all off like she was made of rubber and nothing could ever hurt her. But this was different. He'd done this.

"Hey," Pamela said, covering Harley's hand with her own and giving it a gentle squeeze, "I'm here. You're safe."

Harley just nodded and looked down at the plant on the table next to her. And in that moment, Pamela would've given anything to be able to breathe life into her, just like she did with that little plant. But that wasn't how things worked.

"Don't worry about the pain," Pamela said as she walked towards a nearby cabinet and started going through the vials it contained, "I'll give you a shot of the really good stuff. You won't feel a thing."

Light pink vial in hand, Pamela winked at Harley and hoped that'd be enough to lighten up the mood just a little bit.

It wasn't.

"Here," she said, opening the vial and offering it to her friend, "drink up. It'll stop hurting right away."

Harley took the vial from Pamela and studied it for a moment, holding it up in the light. But instead of drinking it, she placed it on the table next to the other medical supplies.

"Where'd ya get that, Pammy?"

Pamela's eyes narrowed slightly in confusion. "What do you mean? I didn't get it anywhere. I made it."

Slowly, Harley's gaze moved from the vial to Pamela's hand, and then up, up, up, until she was looking straight into green eyes.

"Ya made it?" Harley tapped a spot in the middle of Pamela's chest, and Pamela knew exactly what she meant. Did she make it in the lab, or did she make it?

Pamela nodded.

"Why'd ya give me that lil' bottle then?"

"What do y-"

"Ya don't give Bats and the others their poison in lil pink bottles, do ya, Red?"

Oh.

Pamela licked her lips, her eyes subconsciously glancing down at Harley's mouth.

"Right," Harley said, a smirk slowly appearing on her lips, "that's what I mean."

"You know your lip's hurt, right?"

"I'll live, Pammy."

So after a moment of pause - more to savor the moment than anything else - Pamela leaned in and kissed Harley, gently, letting the blonde set the pace until the anesthetic kicked in.

And once it did... well. By then they were both a little too distracted to think about stitches or injuries or anything that wasn't each other and their kiss. Harley's fingers slid into red hair, greedily pulling Pamela closer and closer until they were pressed flush against each other, and even that didn't feel like they were close enough. And then, just as Pamela's hand started its trek up Harley's thigh...

"Look!" It took Pamela a couple of seconds to focus blown pupils enough to see what Harley was excitedly pointing out, "Cupcake got her flower!"

"Good for her," Pamela said with a grin as she captured Harley's lips with her own once again. For once, a plant didn't seem like the most important thing in the world.

***

"I've left him."

Pamela looked up from her microscope and stared at the woman on the other side of the greenhouse. They'd been sharing one of their comfortable silences for the better part of an hour, and Pamela hadn't been expecting Harley to speak at all. Let alone to say... that.

"What?"

"I've left him, Red."

Pamela sighed as she stood up and walked closer to her friend. As much as she wanted to believe her, they'd been through this before. Harley got hurt, she left him, Pamela helped her heal, and then she inevitably went back to him. It was a destructive, toxic cycle Pamela had no idea how to break without losing Harley's friendship in the process.

"Harl..."

"No. I mean it. I've left him. For good." Harley held Pamela's gaze, and Pamela saw something in her eyes that she'd never seen before when talking about him. Something like... confidence. "I told him right before Bats got him."

Pamela narrowed her eyes just so. There was something in Harley's tone and demeanor that made her think Batman had had a bit of help from the inside when it came to getting that bastard this time.

"He's in Arkham?"

Harley nodded.

"And you...?"

"I wanna stay here, Pammy. With you."

Pamela stood where she was, unable to make up her mind. She wanted to believe what she was hearing. She wanted Harley. Hell, she loved Harley. She'd loved her for so long, in fact, that a part of her refused to believe this was real.

"No rush, Red," Harley reached for Pamela's hand and tugged lightly, encouraging her to come closer, "Bats said he's gonna be locked up for a real long time."

"And when he gets out?"

Harley shrugged. There was a hint of embarrassment in the way she smiled, like she knew Pamela had every reason to doubt things would truly be as easy as they seemed this time.

"I dunno. Maybe we'll be off in a tropical island by then."

Pamela chuckled. "A tropical island?"

"Wherever ya want," Harley said, and in the silence that followed Pamela could hear her own heartbeat telling her how real this whole thing truly was, "I love ya, Pammy. I really do."

Pamela's eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she let the words wash over her. Harley loved her. Harley wanted to be with her. Harley--

"Have you been lyin' to me?"

"What?" Pamela opened her eyes to see Harley looking at Cupcake and the very nearly radiant flower she'd just sprouted. Crap.

"Have you been keepin' her alive all this time?"

Pamela kept her best poker face on, but she felt her cheeks warm up with guilt.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Harley."

The blonde tilted her head to one side, eyeing Pamela as if she was trying to read the truth in her eyes. And then, without saying a word, she leaned in and kissed her - soft and sweet, and keeping an eye on the plant next to them. And as if on cue, the second Harley deepened the kiss, a second flower bloomed next to the first.

"Oh, Pammy," she sighed, and Pamela didn't know if it was the tone of Harley's voice or the look in Harley's eye that was making her knees feel weak, "ya better buckle up, baby, because I'm about to turn this place into even more of a jungle."

#fic #harlivy #harley x ivy #femslashfeb2020

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evanstanwrites · 4 years

Text

The Notebook - 5- (slow updates)

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warning: angst , so much angst so please don’t hate me.

In 1940, Brooklyn, Bucky Barnes meets 17-year-old y/n at a carnival.

cowriter: @pawfect-melody

cover by: @im-finallly-clean

series masterlist

Dear y/n,

it’s been exactly 15 hours and 38 minutes since you left. god I already miss you like crazy. I don’t know what to do without you or how to go on. I want you back, I take back what I said, please don’t find someone else. I’ll wait for you, I'll wait till you’re back here in my arms. or I’ll get another job and save all my earnings so I can come to you. Please darling, wait for me too. I'll come for you and then I'll make you my wife and we’ll live in the house by the lake, I'll fix it for you. Please come back to me, doll.

i love you,

with all my heart, always yours,

Bucky.

Dear y/n,

It's been 4 days, 13 hours and 25 minutes since I last saw you, last heard your beautiful voice, last held you in my arms and tasted your sweet soft lips on mine. I can still feel you, smell your sweet perfume. I miss you so much doll, tell me you’re okay and arrived home safely.

I dreamt of you last night, I dreamt that I had you back in my arms again and we danced all night long. It could have been our wedding day.

I love you,

your Bucky

Dear y/n,

3 months, 2 weeks and 5 days, and I still haven’t received a letter back from you. Are you still mad at me? god doll, I’ll always regret what happened between us, how it ended. I’m so sorry doll, I still hope and wait for the day we’ll meet again.

I heard the war is moving closer and closer, Steve and I are enlisting to help the troops overseas. I hope war never reaches where you are, keep safe doll.

i love you,

your Bucky

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

2 years later

“TAKE COVER!!” “INCOMING!” “AIR ATTACK!”

multiple screams were heard over the open field somewhere in Flanders surrounded by trenches where the American troops had set up camp. Most of the day was spent by making sure their gear was in the best condition and altered if needed, wounded cared for and newlings were trained. The day had passed without any incidents and then the worst happened.

Captain Steve Rogers and Sergeant James Barnes sat around a small fire munching on some bread, Bucky writing yet again another letter to his love y/n when they heard the screams followed by the sound of the sirens. An air attack could be seen coming in from the horizon, their time of rest was over. Both men were quickly on their feet gun ready if needed, they didn’t have cannons or other big guns at their disposal to defend themselves against air attacks. They needed to take shelter and wait this one out before they could try and reclaim more land from the Germans. Even though everyone here was a soldier and knows what to do in these kind of situations, panic erupted everywhere in the camp, not a soul wanted to be outside the shelter. But of course both Steve and Bucky waited to help others into the shelter.

“Bucky, you should go inside too. Those planes will be here soon, we don’t have much time left, go.” Steve yells to him from halfway across the field.

“No! I’m not leaving you alone out here, not with an incoming attack.” he screams back

“As your Captain I command you to go!”

“No! Not without you!”

But it was already too late, the first planes arrived over the top of the field.

----------

Finally after all this time y/n had finished nursing school and was sent off to help care for wounded soldiers at the frontlines in Europe. She wasn’t going alone, she had quickly made some new friends during her studies, Lacy, Wanda and Natasha that had also been recruited for the job.

“who knows maybe we’ll meet some hot soldiers when we arrive.” Natasha giggles as she nudges y/n who was staring out of the train window looking at the passing scenery deeply sunken down into her thoughts.

“ugh? what?” she asks surprised when she felt the nudge.

“Where are you with your thoughts? are you thinking about a man?” Wanda teases.

Oh, if they only knew that she was in fact thinking about a man, her man, even if he technically wasn’t her man anymore she never stopped thinking about Bucky hoping that he would write her like he said he would. But his letter never came so she figured that he had moved on. Had he found someone else, was he happy or did he miss her as much as she missed him? she would never stop loving him, how could she? he was her first real love, everything could have ended differently if she hadn’t been made move, they could have still been together maybe even married. However, she couldn’t keep wallowing in the past, she had to keep going and leave the past in the past, she had to move on.

“oh no, just wondering about how everything will be at the camp when we arrive.” y/n quickly makes up.

“well I said that maybe we’ll meet some hot soldiers.” Natasha repeats herself just as the train arrives at the station. the girls keep giggling and talking between them as they get up with their stuff and make their way through the train towards the exit. y/n already being in a better mood was now enthusiastically talking along with her friends as they exit the train with all their luggage stepping onto the busy platform not really looking where she was going when she heard Lacy calling out to her. “y/n! look out” but it was too late, she collided with a hard body dropping everything she was holding onto the station grounds.

“oh god, I’m so sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going.” she started to apologise as she bends down to pick up her things.

“it’s okay ma’am I wasn’t really looking where I was going either.” the man spoke up in a friendly and warm voice as he dropped to his knees and helped her gather her stuff. When she looks up at him she finds two brown eyes looking back at her, he was a handsome man and for a moment she didn’t know what to say to him so she quickly mutthered a simple “hello”

the man chuckled but gave her a wide smile as he helped her back to her feet and handed her her stuff that had fallen.

“Hello, I’m Tony Stark. it’s a pleasure meeting you ma’am.” He introduced himself.

“y/n y/ln.”

--------

The moment Bucky saw the planes he knew it would be impossible for them both to reach the shelter in time. He had to decide if he would try to run to the shelter and hope he would make it in time or run to Steve and at least try to get them both to safety. Knowing that their chances were slim to none on making it back alive. But he couldn’t leave his best friend behind not after everything they had been through so he started to ran towards Steve. Everything happend quickly and before he knew the first bombs started to fall exploding around them, the shockwaves pushing him to fall to the ground with a smack, he knew he didn’t have much time till another wave of bombs would fall. so as fast as he could he got up to his feet and started to run in the direction of where he had last seen Steve but he wasn’t there anymore. He heard faint groaning coming from the trenches just a few feet from where he stood, he quickly followed the sound and made his way down in the trench.

“STEVE!” he called out to only get the groaning in return. Steve was laying on the ground covered in dirt. Bucky quickly made his way to his best friend and kneeled down next to him ready to help him to his feet and back to safety when his eyes fell to his face. blood, steve wasn’t covered in dirt but in blood, it seemed that one of the bombs exploded closer to him than he thought it had. Bucky quickly found where the blood had come from, there was a big gash just above his right eye that seemed to go till his ear and was the reason his face was covered but then his eyes fell to his upper leg and Bucky almost lost what little he had inside his stomach. It was too gross for words and there and then he realised he was too late, there was no way Steve could survive the bloodloss. Bucky refused to give up on him so without thinking he pushed his hands onto the bleeding wound on top of his thigh, if he was able to keep his friend alive long enough for help to arrive maybe there was a chance he would survive this. but just as he wanted to put pressure onto the wound he felt a biting pain in his left shoulder.

“Buck, you’re hurt.” Steve softly muttered out as he tried to lift his hand towards the bleeding wound on Bucky’s left shoulder.

Bucky just cursed as he grabbed Steve’s hand trying to calm his probably dying friend.

“it’s okay Steve, I’m okay, we’ll be okay, help is on the way. just hold on punk.”

“No... it’s not... Buck...I won’t make it...tell Ruth I love her.” he stutters

“you tell her yourself damnit.” Bucky growls knowing well enough Steve was right and he should tell his friend that he would do as he asked but before he could open his mouth a new wave of planes arrived above them, it was too late.

----------

pleas don’t forget to like, comment and reblog.

tags:

@geeksareunique @seasaurusrrex @creepylittlemarvelgirl @feelmyroarrrr @the-omni-princess @marvelgirl7 @panicfob @thisismysecrethappyplace @jamesbuckybarnes13 @lolabean1998 @seasidebarnes @heyohheyitsgabi @loricameback @momobaby227 @patzammit @hello-lemons @annielovebug22 @stylemute @loki7ms @adamsbubblegumbitch

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anna-mator · 5 years

Text

How to Draw a Toon - (In-Progress) Fandom: Warner Bros, Looney Tunes, Disney, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Animaniacs, Rating: M Categories: M/M Relationships: (eventual) Bugs/Daffy Warnings: Language, moderate violence, cartoon violence, racism, Additional tags: friends to lovers, mystery, adventure

<< FIRST CHAPTER |

When the Warner’s alarm went off, it was always a race between the two brothers to see who’d turn it off first. If Yakko got lucky, he’d be the one to turn it off first. Otherwise, Wakko would simply use his trusty mallet. This morning, Yakko was able to jolt awake just in time to stop Wakko’s mallet from hammering down onto the alarm. He tossed it aside and then hit the snooze button.

Yakko sat up slowly, disturbing his younger siblings only slightly. Being between the two, he managed to worm his way out of their sleepy grasps and slide off of the bed. He smiled to himself, deciding to let them sleep in just a little longer.

After his morning-care routine, Yakko headed downstairs. Unsurprisingly, Bugs was already up and hovering over the stove. Knowing how jumpy Bugs was, Yakko announced himself. “Mornin’ Bugs...” he chimed.

Bugs turned around and gave Yakko a nod. “Good morning. You get your sibs up yet?” He asked.

“Eehh… I thought I’d let ‘em sleep in.” Yakko told him before moving to make himself a bowl of cereal.

“You spoil ‘em more than I do.” Bugs chuckled, turning back to the hot meal on the stove.

“I’m their big brother. I’m allowed.” Yakko said it before he could really stop it.

The two went deadly silent. It had been a year since he had taken them in, and Bugs still had no idea where he stood. Was he simply an acting mentor? Was he some kind of parental guardian? No one who was involved really knew. At some point in Bugs’ life, he remembered having decided against having kids. And yet, he took in the three without any hesitation.

Once Yakko made his cereal, he carried it over and sat down on a barstool chair under the kitchen island. He ate and watched Bugs prepare breakfast for the rest of them. Finally, Bugs broke the silence.

“Daffy is stayin’ wit’ us.” He mentioned.

Yakko swallowed, “Oh really? Why here? Couldn’t find himself a private island off the coast of Malibu?” He asked.

“Dat, I’m sure.” Bugs chuckled, “Also, I thought it’d be easier for us to work on school stuff. Dat and I figured it’d be nice to have some help around the house.”

“Oh right, your school.” Yakko remembered, “You sure you really want to hire Daffy as a teacher?” He asked.

“Why is everyone askin’ me dat?” Bugs felt slightly annoyed, “I brought Daffy on because he’s my friend. He’s great with kids and he’s been in this business for as long as I have. Longer, if you can believe it.” He defended.

Yakko wasn’t entirely convinced, still he nodded. “If you say so.” He said.

“You three were invited to the ribbon cuttin’ ceremony yesterday, by the way.” Bugs mentioned, shooting a glare at Yakko.

“Ooh… was that yesterday?” Yakko asked, pushing away his now empty cereal bowl. “Well, you know how it is sometimes. We all get so carried away on set and we end up home later than usual.”

“Uh-huh.” Bugs said, not quite sure he believed Yakko, “Ya mind waking up your kin? This is almost ready.” He said.

“I’m on it.” Yakko said, hopping down from his chair and making his way back upstairs.

When Yakko reached their bedroom, he saw Dot fully ready to go. Wakko, however, was still sound asleep and had taken over as much as he could of the California king-sized bed. After a solid few minutes of Yakko working to peel his sibling off of the bed, Wakko was up and able to start his routine.

Once they were all ready, the three came downstairs to see the kitchen table full of food. Dot eagerly sat down in a seat Bugs pulled out for her. Wakko raced to his seat at the table and began to pile his plate with the assortments of food. Once Yakko and Bugs sat down, Bugs turned to Wakko and Dot.

“I wanted to let you both know I invited Daffy to stay wit’ us.” Bugs told them, taking a bite of his breakfast.

At that, the two of them looked super pleased. “Hooray!” Wakko cheered before chowing down.

“That’s great! And for how long?” Dot asked curiously.

After hearing that, it only just occurred to Bugs that he had absolutely no long-term ideas concerning Daffy. Was he going to help him hunt for another estate? Daffy made it clear last night that the rent was ‘so damn high’, Bugs wasn’t sure Daffy was looking for a permanent stay. If he wanted to continue being a teacher, it was clear he would have to come up with some kind of living arrangement. While he was thinking along those lines, why did Daffy even agree to a teacher’s salary? Surely after all their royalty checks, he didn’t exactly need the extra income. Daffy’s motives were obviously very unclear to Bugs.

Bugs swallowed his food, “Eeehh… We’ll see.” He said carefully.

As if on cue, the three siblings caught sight of Daffy floating mid-air down the hallway, past the living room and into the closest seat at the kitchen table. Bugs had watched him and couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. He took the act as a high compliment in regards to his cooking.

Daffy gave a smile and a small sigh when he opened his eyes to the plethora of food at his disposal. Immediately, he began to eat. “Oh man, I could get used to this.” Daffy said more to himself than anyone.

After a moment, Bugs’ cleared his throat slightly. “Eh, Daff… I was hopin’ to go over some stuff about the school today.” He said.

“Today? No can do.” Daffy said, pulling out a cellphone from behind his back, “I have about five different interviews, three of them are public appearances and I have just about fifteen different emails asking for article interviews.” He said.

Bugs’ felt his ear twitch in annoyance. “Didn’t you just fly in yesterday?” He asked.

“What does that have to do with anything? I’m Daffy Duck. Soon to be Professor Daffy Duck!”

“Not if I decide I don’t like what you’re gonna be teachin’ at my school.”

Watching the two banter was like watching a tennis match for the siblings. Especially considering the two were at separate ends of the kitchen table.

Daffy glared right back at Bugs with no fear. “Then why don’t you come up with whatever I’ll be teaching, huh?” He asked.

“Daff, I’m the principal of the only school in Toon Town. There’s no official district to tell us what we should be teachin’. I jus’ wanna make sure we’ll be doin’ this right.” Bugs told him. After a moment, he realized Daffy wasn’t going to budge so Bugs rolled his eyes. “Fine. How’s about this? You go an’ make your way around L.A., do all your lil interviews, and once you get back ‘ere we go over school stuff... If not tonight, then tomorrow... Capiche?”

“Fine.” Daffy said simply, though it didn’t seem like he was too happy about it.

Once the two were done arguing, Yakko decided to speak up. “Well, we better get goin’...”

The siblings took that as a cue to stand up from their places, with Wakko being the last as he shoveled in the rest of his food as quickly as he could. Daffy watched curiously when Bugs stood up and walked to the kitchen, pulling out three paper bags from the fridge. “Y’all have your studio passes?” He asked.

“I have the studio passes, this time.” Yakko said, presenting the three lanyards for Bugs to see. “Cuz we all know what happened to Wakko’s last week.”

“I got hungry…” Wakko said with a small pout.

“When are you not hungry, Wakko?” Dot asked, to which Wakko only answered with a giggle.

Bugs began to hand over their premade lunches when they were at the door, “Remember, you run into any problems on set you call me… alright?” He asked. Bugs was satisfied when he saw them nod in agreement.

“Eehhh… could you venmo a couple bucks for the Uber?” Yakko asked.

“Your account should have a hundred smackaroons already…” Bugs said, looking suspiciously at Yakko.

“What can I say? I leave ‘em great tips.” Yakko said with a smile.

“...You’re on dish duty when you get home, Yakko.” Bugs said, pulling out his phone.

Yakko rolled his eyes, took the three lunches Bugs had provided and walked through the door. Dot hugged Bugs before she turned away, “Bye, Bugs!” She chirped.

Bugs gave her a wave and looked on as Wakko gave his own wave, “See ya, Dad!” And saw a mixture of amusement and horror spread across his black and white face.

The word felt like something had hit Bugs’ chest and knocked the air out of him. As if to soften this blow, Bugs immediately returned with a rushed sounding, “GoodbyeWakko!!” and slammed the door shut.

When the three got in their designated car, Wakko looked at Yakko. “Did I mess up?” He asked, with a small blush on his white cheeks.

Yakko sighed slightly, “No kiddo, you didn’t mess up. I’m sure Bugs is taking it in stride.” He said. “It’d probably be best to try and not to say it again until he gives the okay though, alright?”

In the house, Bugs had hoped Daffy hadn’t heard the exchange. He had hoped he wouldn’t read into the deep blush that had bloomed across his fluffy cheeks. But as soon as Bugs looked up and down the hall, he saw a smug look plastered on Daffy’s face.

Bugs almost wanted to run away, but he couldn’t. Instead he sat up and walked over to Daffy. “Why are you givin’ me dat look?” He asked.

“So much for the biggest Bachelor of Toon Town. You realize once the paparazzi get in on this, you’re rep is gonna take a whole ‘nother turn.” Daffy said.

“Unlike you, I don’t care what anyone else thinks of me or what I do with my life.” Bugs snapped.

“If you say so.” Daffy said, his smug look never going away, “Personally, I think fatherhood suits you.” He told Bugs. “And who knows what could happen if this household had a more womanly touch?”

After hearing that, Bugs knew what Daffy was trying to say. He shook his head, “Oh I see, you like to think Lola suits me… Cuz you and nearly half of da world thinks she and I were made for each other.” He said.

“Bugs… She was literally created for you.” Daffy said.

“No! She was a Toon created for one movie in the nineties, to be cast in the role of my love interest. Nothin’ more.” Bugs corrected. Do you know what that does to a Toon’s psyche? He nearly asked, but kept it to himself.

“But you two were together, eventually. And I distinctly remember that the only reason you two broke it off was because you told me you didn’t want kids, and she did.” Daffy pointed out.

Bugs felt his cheeks ignite once more, “Believe you me, dat wasn’t the only reason.” He said.

Daffy hovered over Bugs as he began to clear up the kitchen table. “Oh really? Pray tell, what else was there? Did she snore? Was she draining your wallet? Did she have an annoying laugh? Did she cheat on ya?” He interrogated.

“What’s it to ya, Duck?” Bugs asked, continuing to ignore his friend’s line of questioning.

“Look, any Toon with half a brain would give their left foot to have a perfectly drawn counterpart like that. To get a fraction of what every iconic Toon couple has.” Daffy told Bugs, “Like Donald and Daisy, like Popeye and Olive Oyl, like Spiderman and whatever her name is.”

“Mary-Jane…” Bugs finished for him.

“That’s what I said.” Daffy said immediately. Bugs rolled his eyes and carried a stack of empty dishes to the kitchen sink.

Years before Daffy had moved to his private island, he remembered Bugs and Lola being the hottest couple in Toon Town. The two were featured on tabloids and TV shows, and their joint merchandise sold like crazy. They had been happy and nearly inseparable. Now, Daffy couldn’t even find a single picture of Lola inside Bugs’ house.

“What happened to you two?” Daffy asked.

“Don’t you have interviews to get to?” Bugs asked loudly as he turned on the faucet and began to rinse off his dishes. “I thought your day was soo busy!”

Daffy looked offended, “You don’t wanna tell your best friend about your previous relationship when he asks, then fine!” He exclaimed.

Bugs stopped what he was doing and shut off the sink immediately. “You wanna pull that card, eh?” He asked dangerously. “Last time I checked, best friends didn’t leave one anoda high and dry in a mansion off the coast of Central America!” He shouted back.

“Hey! Communication is a two-way street, bub! You coulda called or visited me any time!”

“Yeah sure Daff, lemme just hop on my private jet to my private yacht and snorkel my way to your front door when I need you most.” Bugs felt and swallowed a small lump that formed in his throat after saying that.

“Why would you swim to shore when I have a perfectly good runway for the private jet?” Daffy asked, more confused than anything.

“Missin’ the point, as usual.” Bugs said, disappointingly. He felt a headache coming on when he turned the water back on in the sink, “Maybe invitin’ you to stay wasn’t such a good idea.”

“Are you throwing me out?” Daffy asked.

“I jus’ might, if you don’t leave for those interviews soon.” Bugs said, throwing Daffy a harsh glare over his shoulder.

Daffy turned away and threw his arms into the air. “Fine! I’ll go, I’ll go…” He said with a low grumble.

Minutes later, without another word between them, Daffy was in the backseat of a hired car and driving away from Bugs’ house. He pulled out his phone and rang up his agent. It was clear to Daffy that he had missed out on a lot of Bugs’ life. He was going to make it his mission to bring himself up to speed. As soon as he heard the other line pick up Daffy didn’t hesitate, “Cancel Conan, I’m making dinner plans with a certain pig.” He said.

“Are you sure, sir? Conan is a big gig. He’s really curious about Bugs’ school.” His agent asked.

“Then tell ‘im to get Bugs on his damn show.” Daffy said lamely before hanging up.

Once that was cleared up he dialed another number, “H- h- ah- hello?” The other end asked.

“Porky! My ol’ pal! I’m sure you’ve heard about it already, but I’m in town--”

“N- n- nuh- uh, no.” Porky stammered.

“--and I thought we’d play a little bit of catch-up! Whaddya say?” Daffy asked.

“W- w- well I’m uh- I’m a lil busy…” The other Toon started to say.

“Nonsense! Let’s do tonight at seven. I’ll send you the address.” Daffy said and then quickly hung up.

Hours later, Daffy walked up to the restaurant to claim his reservation for two. The place was dark, seemingly only lit by fairy lights, therefore making it a little difficult to see for most. Luckily, Toons were created to see in low light situations. Once he had reached his tall wooden booth, Daffy began to order. Not too long after, he saw Porky Pig approach his table and sit down.

“Okay Porky, I’m gonna need a rundown of every major life event I’ve missed in Bugs’ life since I’ve been gone.” Daffy said, without exchanging any sort of pleasantries.

Porky sat across from Daffy with a blank stare. “You- you uh think I’m his chronicler? He- he- his secretary? Why w- why do you wanna know this all of a sudden?” He asked.

“I’m staying with him. And since I’ve been with him I’ve learned that he’s been watching the Warners, started a Toon school, cut out Lola from his life and looks terrible after all of that. You and I are his only friends in this life—“

“Ab ab- We’re definitely not his only friends.” Porky tried to interject.

“—and if we don’t find out what’s eating him up inside soon, it could be too late!” Daffy proclaimed dramatically.

“D- d- does he owe you something?” Porky asked curiously.

“Porky, I’m trying to do something decent for my best friend: find out the stressors in his life and stop them.” Daffy said, crossing his arms.

“I d- don’t understand why you don’t just ask him.”

“We had an argument.” Daffy mentioned, “Plus, you know how secretive Bugs can get.”

Porky sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to get out of this no matter what. He had learned by now that when either Bugs or Daffy had their mind on something, they would see it through.

“Listen… all I- all I know is that shortly after The Looney Tunes Show was cancelled, Lola and Bugs broke up.” Porky said.

“But how? They were the jewels of Toon Town! They were inseparable. They did all sorts of mushy couple stuff. Even before the show, Bugs helped get her athletic career going. And Lola went to every sleazy bar and fancy casino Bugs could gig at when he was trying to get into stand up during the late 90s. You remember that, right?” Daffy asked.

The phrase that had haunted Porky for years finally slipped out, “S- she changed. That’s what he said, anyway.” He said. He had heard it from the drunken lips of Bugs Bunny himself. To this day, he didn’t know exactly what it meant, but the way he said it still unnerved him.

Daffy sat in silence for a long time. “Changed… what? How? When?” He asked, feeling even more confused than ever.

Porky shook his head. “I d- I d- I don’t know. My best guess has been that they just grew ah, grew apart.” He said.

Daffy wasn’t fully convinced. “There’s gotta be more to it. You sure he didn’t tell you anything else?”

“No.” He said quickly, “Bu- bu- but I will say. Ever since he’s had this idea for a Toon school, he’s been becoming more paranoid and stressed.” Porky pointed out. Immediately, Daffy thought back to last night where Bugs nearly caved his skull in with a bat. “And- and I don’t think raising those rambunctious kids on his own is doing much good. So, if you can, try to stay on his goo- goo- uh, good side and help him out.”

Daffy gave a small huff in Porky’s direction. “Yeah okay…”

Back at Bugs’ place, he had spent all day working from home. Brainstorming different classes, sending follow up emails to potential teachers and over all trying to think about his school. He knew that a lot of people, especially Toons, were expecting a lot from him. So he wanted to make sure things were coming together.

Later on, he received a text from Porky Pig that read, “Your feathery guest came to talk to me. It seems like he has good intentions, but I never know when it comes to him.”

Bugs rolled his eyes and replied back, “I’ll take care of it. Thanks for letting me know.”

After all of that, Bugs had found himself spending quite some time sitting on the couch staring at his cellphone. Every twenty minutes or so he’d remember the number was sitting undialed on his keypad. And every time he thought about calling it, he’d circle the room. After a long while, he finally took in a deep breath and dialed the number.

“Allison… I think I’m ready.” Bugs said when he heard the line being answered.

There was a pause, “... For…?” She questioned.

“Operation, Dad.”

“Oh!! Oh I’ll get the paperwork to you straight away Mr. Bunny! I’ll also get another interview appointment for you set up soon, y’know, adoption agency stuff. I’m sure they’ll be properly in your custody in no time! Well... as soon as everything is signed and approved, anyway. I’m so happy for you all!” Allison chimed.

“About the paperwork, I’d like to make a special request…” Bugs said.

Over the course of the next hour or so, Bugs and Allison spoke about what was next in the process in terms of adopting the Warners. Technically, in human years, they were full-fledged adults and would have been well out of the system. The three were created in 1991, after all. But there were a couple of rules in place for Toons which simply states that because of their child-like nature, they were still recognized as children. So Bugs still had to go through the same process as though he were adopting children. Even if that wasn’t the case, Bugs would most certainly find the means to adopt them.

Once Bugs hung up, he felt better about things. This meant they all still had time to talk things over. Bugs still wasn’t entirely sure about each of their feelings on the subject matter, but he was even more determined to find out now more than ever. Bugs couldn’t help but think back to when Wakko had called him ‘Dad’ earlier. So much pride and happiness swelled in Bugs’ chest, he began to softly cry. He loved them so much, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself if they didn’t want this.

To keep himself from thinking about things too hard, he wiped away his tears and decided to start making dinner. Cooking was a source of comfort to Bugs. It helped him keep his hands and mind busy. By now, Bugs had learned to cook meals for six or more, to accommodate for Wakko’s monstrous appetite. In truth, Toons had a larger stomach than the average human, a fact that was commonly exploited. For some reason or another, Wakko’s stomach and appetite was two times that size.

Bugs’ ears perked at the sound of the front door opening. He peaked around the corner with a smile, only to have it melt into a frown when he saw Daffy walk through the door. He had returned to his cooking by the time Daffy made his way into the kitchen. The two sat in a long silence, Daffy watching Bugs’ every move.

Finally, Bugs broke the silence, “You eat?” He asked.

“Yes, I had dinner with a friend.” Daffy said.

“You feel like sayin’ anythin’ to me?” Bugs asked.

Again, there was a long and agonizing silence between them. Bugs couldn’t help but smile slightly. He knew it was incredibly hard for Daffy to apologize. To admit wrongdoing would be admitting failure, and failure was less-than perfect, which was the opposite of what Daffy strived for.

“I was jus’—“ He started. Daffy immediately stopped that line when he saw Bugs’ ear twitch. “I want to help.” He tried.

“Well then, you can start by apologizin’ for pryin’.” Bugs said.

Daffy groaned out like he was in physical pain, “Auugghhh! Alright! I’m sorry.” He admitted. “I just feel like I missed so much.” He said, just before he noticed Bugs’ tail wiggle slightly. Daffy wondered since when did he find that kind of adorable? He tried not to let his eyes linger there for long; instead, focusing up on Bugs’ gloved hands while he prepared his food.

“Well if you really feel dat way, you can always just talk to me.” Bugs said simply.

“You’ve always been so closed off! And stand-offish! And you wouldn’t tell me that one thing.” Daffy huffed, crossing his arms.

“Daff, I opened my home to you. I answered most of your questions and I’ve been very patient. As far as things concernin’ Lola, all I’m asking is dat you leave it alone. You don’t wanna go down this rabbit hole.” Bugs warned.

Hearing him say that only made Daffy more insanely curious. Still, he filed away these feelings for later. “Fine.” Daffy said with a small pout.

Bugs looked over at Daffy with a kind smile, appreciating the fact that he was respecting this boundary. Something that, if had been brought up in the past, would have been trampled all over. “Y’know, I have a coupla questions myself.” Bugs admitted.

“Oh?” Daffy asked.

“Yeah. Like, why’d you wanna come back to teach at a school? It can’t be for da money.” Bugs said.

“You know what I’m about, Bugsy.” Daffy told him, leaning on the kitchen island, “I want fame, recognition and fortune. Owning a legacy comes with that. I want to be remembered in history books. Being apart of the first Toon school? That’s history right there.”

“Well, I can’t argue with dat.” Bugs said with a shrug.

Soon, Daffy took the barstool and they continued to talk. And just like that, it seemed like they were right where they had left off all those years ago. Daffy wasn’t sure if it was the content of their conversations, or if that was just the effect Bugs had on others. He was always such a smooth-talker and it always felt like he had control of the conversation. Daffy interjected when he could (it was in both their nature to be the center of attention, after all) and most importantly they shared stories.

From what Daffy understood, the Warners brought a lot of joy and excitement in his life. Even if it had only been a little over a year. Ultimately, Daffy was proud of Bugs. “So when are you gonna adopt ‘em?” Daffy asked.

Hearing that, Bugs nearly dropped a dish he was pulling out of the oven. Luckily he had been close enough to the kitchen island that the dish simply landed on it a little harder than if he’d normally place it down. “Eeh.. well, I uh. I talked to the adoption agency today, actually. There just needs to be a few more interviews and some paperwork.” He said.

“Of course. Wouldn’t wanna rush into somethin’ like this.” Daffy said.

“I… still don’t know if I’m ready, Daff.” Bugs admitted, looking down at his casserole. “I don’t know if dat’s really what they want.”

“Are you kiddin’ me?” Daffy exclaimed, “All you’re missing are family portraits to put in your wallet. You’re perfect dad material. If they can’t see that, it’s their loss.”

“Who’s loss?” A nasally voice asked.

Bugs and Daffy turned simultaneously and saw the Warners peeking around the corner by height. Wakko sniffed the air and gave a small sigh. “It smells so good.” He commented.

Internally, Bugs was screaming. He wasn’t sure just how much the Warners had heard of their conversation until Dot spoke. “So when are we getting those family portraits?” She asked with a grin.

“I guess we could all use some new headshots.” Yakko joked with her.

Bugs took in a deep breath, “They’re sendin’ Allison over for anoda coupla home interviews.” He announced.

“Oh won’t that be nice? I was starting to miss her.” Dot chimed. “Can you believe it took them ten interviewers before they found her?” She asked Daffy.

“She’s put up with a lot of our shenanigans.” Wakko said.

“Eehh… What are we gonna tell ‘er about the duck?” Yakko asked, pointing his thumb in Daffy’s direction. Daffy looked a little annoyed, but didn’t say a word.

“Oh! What if we tell ‘er he’s our second cousin twice removed?” Wakko proposed.

“We ain’t lyin’.” Bugs said quickly, “He’s here temporarily, and that’s what we tell ‘em.” He said.

Daffy shrugged and got up to start walking out of the room. “Well it’s obvious you’ve got some things to talk about. I’ll see myself out.”

With that, the four began to set the table with what Bugs had cooked for them. Once the table was set and food was served, Bugs spoke up. “About the adoption… I don’t need answers from you guys yet. The process is long to begin with. Just… think about things for me, alright?” He asked.

“You got it, Bugs.” Yakko said with a smile and a small wink.

After hearing that, Bugs felt like he was on top of the world. Things were falling into place more smoothly than he could have ever imagined.

----

Huzzah!! This chapter is more relationship establishing stuff. Overall, I’m satisfied with it. Hope y’all enjoyed it!

#looney tunes #baffy #htdat #my fanfiction

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