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hotkoyo · 3 years

Text

SFW Howie Alphabet Headcanons

Author's Note: When will my husband come home from war?

Disclaimer: These headcanons are based on how I imagine Howie to be based on the game. You don't have to agree with what I say here as everyone is free to have their own ideas.

𝄥 𝄞 ── 𝄇

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

VERY affectionate. I honestly feel like he grew up surrounded with so much love and now he’s just overflowing with it. Howie is all about showing his love through warm hugs, having his arm around you, swinging your hands as you walk, head pats, you name it. Another one, in my opinion, is words of affirmation. He'd tell you how much you matter to him through words, like quoting lines from his favorite movies and saying "I love you" before you both go to sleep.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Affectionate. Lots of play fighting and cuddling during movie sessions. Singing to Disney songs at the top of your lungs. You guys make friendship bracelets for each other (and he never takes off his). Definitely one of those dudes who drive their best friend everywhere.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

If it’s not apparent already, this dude is a giant golden retriever and he lives for the cuddles. He is born to cuddle, baby. Due to his size, it’s natural that he ends up as a big spoon more often than not but he definitely loves the moments he gets to be the small spoon.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

So domestic, even when you guys just started dating. It’s easy to imagine yourself settling down with someone as warm and comforting as Howie. He would love to settle down and build a home with you and you guys love having conversations about your dream house and how your life would be like in five, ten years. He’s alright at cooking in general but can cook some amazing Chinese dishes that his mom taught him.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It would be hard for him to get out of a relationship, to be completely honest. He’s one of those people who easily gets attachment issues and finds it hard to move on from a relationship. If he really has to be the one to end the relationship, he would want to talk it out with you and try to end your relationship on a good note. I feel like he’s one of those people who really values respect, even when things aren’t working out anymore between you two.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Howie is a hopeless romantic and while he does have his insecurities, I feel like he would really love to commit to someone. In terms of marriage, it really depends on you. I don’t think his career would hinder him much when it comes to popping the question, to be honest. If he feels like he’s comfortable enough with the relationship and sees that you are, too, I think he’d propose to you when he feels like the time is right.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Howie is a textbook example of a gentle giant. He knows he’s strong so physically, he knows when to hold back a bit. Emotionally, it’s canon that he’s a soft and caring boy through and through and he would never hurt you on purpose.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Ugh, he LOVES hugs. It’s canon that the Yan fam is really good with hugs so if you need a pick-me-up, he’s your man. Whenever you guys are alone, he acts like an overgrown koala because he can’t get enough of hugging you. If hot chocolate is a hug, it’s what Howie’s would feel like. Warm, familiar, and comforting.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He knows he loves you when he does but holds back a lot in fear of coming off too strong. If he feels that you feel the same, then he would say it pretty quickly into the relationship or during a spur of a moment. If it seems that you need more time, he would hold back just so that you wouldn't feel uncomfortable.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He’s the type who’s less jealous and more insecure. His jealousy isn’t going to make him act rashly and put you on the spot. It’s slow and creeping and you might not notice at first because of how well he conceals it but it becomes apparent by the way he starts to act distant.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Warm and gentle. His kisses make you feel so safe and loved and he likes to take the time to show you how he feels through the gesture. He loves to kiss you everywhere but his favorite places to kiss you are your nose and temples.

Also, kiss him on the forehead and he’d melt into a puddle. Another one of his hotspots is at the back of his neck. Kiss him there and watch him sputter as he tries to gain back his bearings.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He loves kids, kids love him. He humors the kids a lot and is a great impersonator so prepare yourself for some improvised skits in front of the kiddos. Can’t say no to the kids, though, so you might have to step in from time to time. Kids treat him like a human jungle gym. Which he actually is.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

I definitely see him as a morning person. Also, he’s so fit that you can’t tell me he doesn’t workout every single morning. Probably goes on an early jog and is one of those people who seems so chipper even if it's only seven in the morning.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Have you seen actors with their stage makeup on? There’s no way Howie’s skin stays so smooth and supple without some form of skincare routine. Has his own skincare routine and loves doing it with you together in front of the mirror (while making faces at you). After a good skincare session, he'll sit on the couch or in bed with you cuddled up to him as he reads scripts from his new upcoming projects.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Depending on how much he trusts you, it could be sooner or later. The thing with him is that he keeps things bottled up to himself. It’s hard and it’s tiring and the moment he feels safe with you, the dam breaks and he starts to reveal things about himself.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

It’s definitely hard to annoy Howie and even harder to provoke him. He has the patience of a saint and unless something is very wrong, you can always find him just chillin lol.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He’s quite sentimental so he definitely remembers your relationship milestones. He remembers a lot of small things about you; like how you like your cereal and your best friend’s name from high school. Some of the details can be fuzzy at times but he tries!

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Canonically: The moment you said yes when he asked to be your boyfriend at Luca’s "sister's wedding".

Headcanon: The time you both visited his family in Chicago for the holidays. You were walking home from dinner when the snowfall turned into a snowstorm. It was terribly cold and windy but you both kept on laughing at the situation and you looked so gorgeous with snow stuck to your hair under the waning streetlight that he didn’t even care that he's freezing his butt off.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Isn’t too protective in the traditional sense because he knows you can take care of yourself. More protective of how you feel because of his words and actions so he’s careful in what he says and how he says them because he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. Highkey loves to be protected tho. Thinks it's kinda hot.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Puts a lot of effort in his career, obviously. Howie is always so passionate and ambitious when it comes to being a top actor. Relationship-wise, he’s a simp. Dates are mostly casual with him but he puts extra time and effort in choosing or making gifts. All the extra and expensive bits goes into your anniversary dates.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

A lot of times, he leaves his wet, sweaty workout shirts at the corner of the room and somehow always forgets no matter how many times you’ve scolded him. Sometimes doesn’t close or tie snack packages properly so when it's your turn to eat them, they’re often stale. A terrible snorer when he’s had a long day on set.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Quite concerned. He likes to highlight the nice parts of his body through the clothes he choose to wear and tries to follow a healthy diet in general. He worked hard for his body and as much as embarrassing as it is to admit, he loves to show off and be admired for it (especially by you).

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

A strong believer that every person is complete and whole on their own. He believes that every person is their own and just because you love someone, it doesn't mean that your life must revolve around that person. Even so, he is a romantic. So even if he knows that he's complete without you, he does prefer to have you by his side.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He can play the piano really well. Aside from dance lessons, his parents put aside a lot of money to sign him up for piano classes when he was younger. Now, he plays them whenever he’s deep in thought and it’s always relaxing to hear him play.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

In general, Howie doesn’t like broccoli. Keep those away from him. Please. When it comes to partners, Howie stays away from people who make him feel less. Basically people who put him down for being who he is and liking the things he likes. Narcissists, if you will.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He’s a snuggler and he nuzzles into your side a lot when he sleeps. Whether you get too warm is your problem because this dude is Strong™ and won’t let you push him aside that easily. And, God, I hate to say this but he’s definitely a snorer. Not all the time but when he’s really tired.... let’s just say you won’t be getting a decent sleep.

#howie yan #roadkill howie #fictif howie #fictif roadkill #roadkill #fictif #fictif nix hydra #nix hydra #howie yan headcanons #fictif howie headcanons

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presidentrhodes · 5 years

Note

How about some IronHusbands? Tony keeps telling the avengers how awesome his husband is but they don't believe he exists because it has been months and they still haven't met him yet and then finally, Rhodey comes home :)

See, I was going to write a cute 700-word fic for this, but your prompt was too good and this turned into a 5K monster. I’m sorry. :(

Title: The Other Mr Stark: Pilot, Scientist and Iron Man’s Mysterious Paramour

Rating: PG

Pairing: Tony Stark/James Rhodes

Summary: Clint leans over to Tony and whispers. ��For the record, I know you’re lying. You’re describing the perfect man and he doesn’t exist. You might as well say you’re dating Superman because at least Christopher Reeve was a looker.“

This ignores the chronology and canon from Iron Man 2. It’s not yet beta-ed so, I apologise for all mistakes!

***

“Don’t be ridiculous, Stark,” Clint says from the lounge floor, where he sits cross-legged, trying to build a house of cards on the table. Natasha’s lying on the sofa next to him, her feet on Steve’s lap as he massages them. Bruce sits in an armchair opposite them, his attention fixed on the Starkpad in his hands. Thor stands by the floor-to-ceiling window behind Bruce, watching the cars driving along Park Avenue 80 floors down. “You’re making shit up."

It’s team-bonding night: Steve came up with the idea a month after the Avengers stopped an alien invasion and moved into the spacious penthouse atop Stark Tower. New York began the long, arduous process of rebuilding; tall construction cranes wedged between damaged skyscrapers carried out repair work and men in reflective vests and bright yellow helmets became a common sight all over the city.

Tony’s at the bar mixing drinks for the team, even though he hasn’t touched alcohol in over a decade. His cocktails, he claims, are still kickass. "Why would I lie to you, Barton? I am going to get nothing out of it."

They have been going back and forth for an hour since Tony let it slip that contrary to what the New York Post says every week, he’s happily married. His husband’s a decorated Air Force Colonel and a rocket scientist by training and, Tony insists, he once fought a homophobe bare-chested outside MIT in the freezing Northeast winter, for insulting Tony.

"It was my birthday. Honeybear had no time for assholes,” Tony says, shaking the martini he’s making for Natasha. “The fight was brutal, and this guy was built like a horse. I thought Platypus wouldn’t last a minute but I was wrong. Dead wrong.” Tony gesticulates at appropriate moments in his recounting of the tale and embellishes it with just the right amount of spice to impress upon the demi-gods, assassins and supersoldiers in his audience that his husband is a goddamn hero.

Tony’s husband had apparently exchanged punches with the bigot that left both men bleeding profusely from their noses. “Then Honeybear uppercuts him out of nowhere and it’s a total KO,” Tony says, moving on to make Steve’s drink—a mojito; how typical of Captain Boyscout McSexypants. “I thought I was watching Ali versus Foreman on replay. It was beautiful.”

Bruce snorts at the comparison without glancing up from the tablet.

Clint’s face contorts and he knits his brows in frustration as the sparse details from Tony fail to add up in his mind. The stacked cards look dangerously close to toppling over. “You want us to believe in this ‘mysterious’ paramour, and all you’re giving out are a bunch of ridiculous nicknames and made-up stories with no evidence and no pictures. Sounds completely legitimate.”

“Hey, why did I never come across this husband of yours when I was your PA?” Natasha chips in, the corner of her mouth quirks up. Steve grins at the way Tony’s face turns red and his nostrils flair—from what he has learned, courtesy of Shield and Ms Potts, Tony’s pride hasn’t recovered from being thoroughly fooled by the Black Widow two summers ago.

Tony tosses a lime at Natasha. She swats it away with an expert backhand, and the lime crashes into Clint’s deck of cards. The archer snarls a string of expletives, forcing out Steve’s stern 'Captain America is disappointed in you, son’ look. Tony flashes a lopsided smile from the bar. “Well, Ms Rushman, I don’t discuss all aspects of my life with personal assistants. Even ones as attractive as you.”

“Call me Rushman one more time and—"

Thor finally turns to join the conversation and butts in before Natasha delivers the rest of her threat. "Your husband must be a good, honourable man. I’m sure he’s worthy of his place in Valhalla." The response draws surprised looks around the room. Even Tony double-takes at first, his eyes wide and bug-like as if he can’t believe what his ears are picking up. He recovers fast and rubs his hands together in glee. "See? The god agrees with me. It’s settled, I win.”

The conversation turns to Fury and Shield—specifically, determining if Phil Coulson is a human mimicking an AI or an artificial intelligence pretending to be a 39-year-old homo sapiens sapiens. Tony brings over the drinks and sinks to the floor next to Clint. The archer leans over and whispers. “For the record, I know you’re lying. You’re describing the perfect man and he doesn’t exist. You might as well say you’re married to Superman because at least Christopher Reeve was a looker."

Tony rolls his eyes. "You’ll eat your words soon enough, birdbrain."

***

‘Soon enough’ turns out to be a month later when the topic of Tony’s mystery husband makes an unannounced appearance in the middle of a mission. Taking on a small army of unidentified robots possessing a hive brain, near a country fair, leaves Steve, Natasha and Tony in charge of shepherding a group of children away from the direct line of fire. Thor and Hulk keep the main fighting focused on them while Clint takes out the spare droids, one by one, from his spot on a nearby roof.

Natasha leads them past smouldering scraps of metal and burning tarp, towards the carousel where the children huddle together, their faces white as sheets. Behind her, Steve’s limping along. He’s bleeding into his suit after taking several hits earlier from the droids and their shoulder-mounted plasma cannons. Tony provides aerial support, keeping the stray robots away from the kids.

"You know,” he begins on the team’s shared comms channel, watching Natasha approach the terrified children with an unnatural, almost enviable, ease, like she has spent a lifetime perfecting the art of looking after them. “Platypus is really good with kids too. His sister sometimes leaves her daughter with us when she’s travelling, and he’s a natural with her. I always thought kids are fussy about everything.” Clint groans. Tony ignores him and continues, letting JARVIS take control of the armour to round up and disable the remaining droids.

“Jeannie always says Lila is a fussy baby at home. She has made a career out of screaming when things don’t go her way. When she stays with us, she turns into an angel because of Platypus.” No one responds. Tony’s attention shifts to how pale Steve looks in his viewfinder. He watches the Captain stagger behind Natasha and asks JARVIS to scan his teammate to take stock of his injuries; Tony knows once the mission is over, Steve will downplay his condition. He’ll brush it off as “just a couple of knocks, nothing too serious,” and bury himself in paperwork in his office to avoid medical attention. The man hates hospitals. Tony can’t blame Steve—he detests them, too.

“My scans detect Captain Rogers has sustained three broken ribs and severe lacerations,” JARVIS drawls in his thick, mechanical voice. “Readings indicate his supersoldier abilities have already contained the bleeding, and the ribs should heal on their own by the week’s end.”

“Thanks, J.” Tony lands on the ground next to Steve. They watch Natasha usher the children towards the perimeter that Shield agents, who finally arrived at the scene, have set up. Worried parents, some of them openly sobbing, stand behind the barricades, waiting to be reunited with their children. “Captain. You’re hurt,” Tony informs Steve as a matter of fact.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Steve says, deadpan, and lets out a pained breath.

The faceplate lifts. Tony gives a half-smile at Steve. “Let me carry you back to the infirmary. You need medical attention and my husband is a big fan. He’ll lose his mind when I tell him I carried Captain America bridal style back to base.” Fortunately for Tony, whatever objection Steve’s about to raise dies on his lips as exhaustion wins him over. He collapses face-first on the muddy field, and Tony’s kneeling by his side in a flash, checking for a pulse. He sags inside the suit in relief when he finds one, and JARVIS helpfully diagnoses “severe fatigue” for the Captain. The AI chooses that precise moment to reveal to Tony that Steve Rogers hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in three months.

“Avenger down,” Tony tells the team. A chorus of concerned voices floods the comms channel. “The Captain’s had a long day. I’m taking him back to medical, you guys handle cleanup and Coulson. I am busy in the evening, so, don’t call me or page me unless the world is on fire and one of you is actually dying."

No one speaks for a few moments. Clint cuts through the static in a flat, disinterested tone. "What’s keeping you busy, Stark? Sexy date in the Bahamas with your imaginary husband?"

"If you have to know, birdbrain, it’s our anniversary and I’m going to the base to see him.”

Clint chortles.

“You still won’t tell us what base he’s stationed at. Let me guess, is it Area 51? Is your imaginary husband an alien, Stark? Holy shit, you’re married to Superman."

The words vex Tony. "Do you ever shut up, Barton?” He doesn’t wait for a reply and turns off his comms. Tony carries Steve in his arms and flies back to the Tower.

***

A few weeks later, after pulling another all-nighter in the lab, Tony walks in on Steve, Natasha and Bruce gathered in the kitchen for breakfast. Clint’s on vacation. Tony counts that as a blessing. He knows despite Clint’s cynicism, at some point, the archer started tailing Tony’s every move, inside and outside the Tower, to find out more about Platypus. Working as an assassin over the years, Clint honed his ability to stay under the radar, but all of that training didn’t stand a chance against JARVIS and his all-sensing presence.

“Barton’s been following me,” Tony says, pouring himself a coffee. He curses—someone, and he knows it’s Thor, keeps leaving coffee grounds inside the pot. That barbarian. “He thought he was being clever by using the vents, but nothing gets past JARVIS.”

Bruce narrows sleep-heavy eyes at Tony: “I thought J doesn’t surveil us.” The words come out as nothing more than a low, gruff mumble. Stifling a yawn, Bruce slouches forward and rests his face on the granite countertop. His eyes droop; for all of his unparalleled work in anti-electron collision theory, Bruce Banner remains incapable of being a morning person.

“He doesn’t when you’re in your private quarters. The vents are public areas, and standard building security protocols apply.” Tony strains his coffee. He makes a mental note to speak to Thor—the Asgardian proved himself to be a fast learner of Earthly etiquettes. He’s come a long way from smashing coffee mugs to ordering customised drinks at Starbucks without pissing off the baristas. Even Captain America sometimes gets the stink eye when he asks for soy milk instead of dairy. Tony suspects baristas around the city are too enamoured by Thor’s godly presence to ever crib about his order.

“Why would Clint stalk you through the vents?” Steve asks. Tony finds the puzzled look on Steve’s face endearing. “50% of his DNA is bird. He’s just following his instincts,” he says. Tony bites back a laugh at Steve’s hardened expression; he appears genuinely distressed by the idea that one of his human teammates may not be 100% human.

Tony admires the way the Captain works hard to adjust to his new life in the 21st century—waking up to an alien invasion led by a horned Norse god proved to be a hell of a way to get over the initial culture shock. And, while Steve made a quick study of smart kitchen appliances and most of the Internet, genetic modifications and other advances in technology set off regular alarm bells in his head. Noticing the way Steve’s lips curl downward, Natasha offers a quick clarification: “Tony’s being an idiot. Clint’s not actually part bird, even if he is as obtuse as one."

"Well, birdbrain has to get more creative than vents to get the jump on JARVIS,” Tony says, squeezing between Steve and Natasha. They hear Bruce’s gentle snores—he really hates mornings—and Tony whispers. “Honeybear is the only one who has gotten past J.”

On cue, JARVIS chimes in softly: “That is correct. His method was delightfully inventive, one that has enhanced my detection abilities tenfolds.”

Without being prompted, Tony volunteers the information to his teammates in a hushed tone: “We had a bet. Each of us picked a random day to break into Stark Industries. The goal was to get into my office without alerting J."

Steve and Natasha listen, their expressions dull, as Tony explains in unnecessary details how his husband got the jump on artificial intelligence—Natasha makes mental notes to make her own attempt later if only to test her own skills against an all-seeing machine.

"Honeybear set off a small and easily contained fire in our backyard while I was sleeping. Because J’s primary protocol is to protect me, he had to assess its threat level. But, it was in a contained environment; the variables were known, and the calculation should’ve been easy, except his protocol says he cannot dismiss the threat until it is eliminated,” Tony says, watching Steve’s eyes widen. The Captain, ever the cynic, is probably working out a hundred different world-ending scenarios about a rogue AI. He and J aren’t so different in their personalities, Tony thinks.

“JARVIS spent most of his processing power keeping an eye on me. His second protocol says he must at all times protect the Stark Secure Server, my private server. And, no, Natasha, I know that look. It’s not at Stark Industries, I know you’ve looked, and I won’t tell you where it is so that Shield can go snooping.” Natasha glowers at him, her cheeks flushed at being caught red-handed. “That left J with very little juice to handle everything else for all Stark Industries offices around the world. He didn’t even notice Honeybear walk onto the premises or enter my office.”

Tony pauses to let his teammates absorb and appreciate his husband’s ingenuity: Steve looks impressed, Natasha scowls at Tony. Bruce, with his eyes still closed and head down, breaks the silence. “I’ve seen J’s documentation. You wrote him to back himself up on local servers precisely to avoid this situation. You said your roommate at MIT gave you the idea. Plus, you use an insane amount of RAM, I’ve seen your set up.”

Tony claps.

“Finally. Someone who sees the obvious error in this story. And yet, somehow, Honeybear got into my office undetected. Either he’s the superspy of the millennium—sorry, Widow—or someone is lying.” Tony glances at the ceiling. “What? You like him better or something?” JARVIS doesn’t respond. Instead, music flits in from the overhead speakers: Tell me lies. Tell me sweet little lies (Tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies). Oh, no, no you can’t disguise.

“Smartass.”

***

On Christmas Eve, Tony arrives at the common floor and overhears the team in deep conversation. His curiosity plants him in a corner outside the lounge, within hearing distance, but strategically hidden from the occupants inside. He picks up on Natasha speaking with an underlying worry in her tone. “That’s not the point, Clint. When I assessed him, he was dying. Very painfully, if I may add. He’s proven himself to be a team player and he’s a vital member of this team—"

Clint cuts her off. "He’s delusional, Nat. He’s making up an entire person and coming up with these larger than life stories. It was funny the first time, but it’s clear he believes in the stuff he says. If he’s losing it, we need to know because we’re a team. We have got to have each other’s backs at all times.”

Steve chimes in: “His life is his own. We should respect his privacy, Clint. I’m sure when he’s ready, he’ll introduce us to his husband. Don’t force it on him.” Tony’s built-in cynicism would have once made fun of the unadulterated optimism behind Steve’s words. But, hearing the Captain speak in his, and Platypus’, defence like that makes Tony want to immediately buy the Brooklyn apartment he knows Steve’s eyeing and give him the keys in a gift-wrapped box with a bow.

Captain America’s assurances fail to convince Clint or soothe his exasperation. “Your optimism is misplaced, Cap. There is no husband, no boyfriend. Nothing! Nat and I have looked everywhere and there’s not a trace of Stark ever getting hitched, let alone to another military man. I get it, don't ask, don't tell when that was still the law, right? What about now? There has to be some kind of a legal record, somewhere, if Stark's really married.”

“Maybe it’s a manifestation of his trauma,” Bruce supplies. “He’s well overdue a psych evaluation. He hasn’t talked to anyone since the invasion. We should cut him some slack.”

Clint doubles down. “We need to know if he��s hallucinating before someone tries to take over the world again. It’s one thing if he’s making it up for street cred, but if he genuinely believes in it…"

"He’s creating another armour,” Natasha says. Tony feels vindicated by the admission—he knows she pokes around his lab whenever Stark Industries business calls him away to the other coast. Her clandestine efforts fail to outsmart J’s all-sensing presence, but confronting the Black Widow about it, and risking dismemberment, ranks low on Tony’s list of priorities. To have her admit it in front of their teammates takes a small weight off his chest. “I’ve seen the blueprint. This is a leaner, tougher armour with some serious firepower.”

“Yeah. Fury commissioned it,” Steve says. Someone—Bruce—curses out loud at the revelation. Tony bites his lips and presses a hand over his mouth to stop himself cackling. Fools, those god-damn irredeemable fools, Tony thinks. Steve continues. “He wants to recruit that Air Force Colonel he always raves about.”

“James Rhodes.” Clint jumps in. “See, now he is an impressive man. I’ve read his files and I can see why Fury’s in love with him. Hell, I’m in love with him, too.” Tony’s close to tears from holding back his laughter at the archer’s enthusiastic tone; he doesn’t want to risk giving away his location and miss the rest of the conversation about the new recruit. “So, Stark’s agreed to make a suit for the Colonel. That's…surprising, seeing how possessive he is of his tech. He tased me last month when I tried to get a good look under the hood.”

“Maybe, Fury made him an offer he can’t refuse.”

“Does Stark know?” Natasha asks. “About Fury’s plans to recruit the Colonel? I heard Nick mentored him in college.”

“Shit,” Clint shouts. Tony regrets the lack of visual cues to go with the congregation inside and makes his own: Clint jumps on the sofa without warning next to Bruce, who turns a deep shade of green. While Steve and Natasha work to calm Bruce down, Clint squats on top of the backrest, like a bird perched on its nest among sky-high branches. Tony laughs at the imagery in silence.

“Rhodes went to MIT too, didn’t he? He studied aeronautics and astronautics—basically, rocket science. And, he’s Stark’s age. It’s not impossible they crossed paths there. Do you think Stark is holding onto some creepy university crush or did he make up his fake husband based on the Colonel?"

"He really needs that psych eval."

That’s when Tony decides he’s heard enough. He can barely keep himself together and in his excitement, he knocks into a solid, immovable mass. "Fuck,” Tony mutters and looks up into Thor’s dark blue eyes. Maybe the city baristas had a point, Tony thinks, and it’s futile to fight the Asgardian charm that oozes from every pore on Thor’s body.

Tony still pinches himself from time to time and wonders how a god fell out of legends, waltzed into his life and took up residence in his penthouse. After butting heads over Thor’s murderous brother Loki, they forged a friendship based on mutual respect—another thing which puzzles Tony because Thor’s a deity and he’s just a guy. Thor protested once when Tony blurted it out. “You’re not just a 'guy’.”

Thor’s quieter and more reserved than his broad GQ-model-like physique suggests; he prefers to observe instead of participating in the team’s special brand of eccentricity. Everyone on the team agrees that Thor is immeasurably perceptive.

“Hello, Pointbreak,” Tony says, clasping his shoulder. “What are you doing out here? You’re missing all the fun inside. They’re talking about having me committed because they don’t believe Platypus is real. They think I’m hallucinating.”

Thor’s face twists into a frown, a contrast to Tony’s playful grin. “Then they are silly,” he says. “I have seen how fondly you speak of him, Tony. You love your husband."

"More than I can put into words, buddy.” Tony sighs as his smile falters, his arms crossing over his chest. “Platypus is the bedrock of my life. Got me through some really bad times. After everything he has seen me say or do, he’s still here, and I wonder what I did to deserve him. You know? It’s surreal. Which god answered my prayers that I got so lucky?”

Thor steps forward until he’s up in Tony’s face, mere inches separating them. That man may possess a delightful and exuberant personality. But he has no concept of personal space, which Tony files under 'Usual Asgardian Oddities’, along with Thor’s habit of speaking to inanimate objects when he thinks no one is looking. Large hands rest his bony shoulders in a hard grip, and Tony thinks Thor is about to impart some godly wisdom. Interruption, if only to point out the awkwardness of their proximity, may come across as rude. "Listen here, Tony Stark. I have lived and watched over your realm for a thousand years. I’ve seen civilisations rise and fall, kingdoms destroyed by greed, great men brought down by hubris. But, you, my friend, you are among the best of them. Midgard should be proud to call you her son. Never ever doubt your worthiness.” Thor beams.

Tony tries to think up a response to that, but his mouth snaps shut. How does one top a speech where an actual god calls you worthy? In the end, Tony nods and stays still until Thor lets him go. “I will consider it a great honour the day you choose to let us meet the man who has stolen your heart. For one who’s deserving of your love, I also consider him worthy.”

On his way out, Tony texts his husband: You won’t believe it but I think Thor just blessed our marriage.

The reply comes immediately: Holy shit. I feel blessed already. Merry Christmas and see you soon xx.

***

Fury calls the team for an urgent meeting after New Year’s Day. His memo reads like every other missive he sends, curt and to the point: Meeting at 10 @ HQ. Don’t be late.

They take Tony’s private jet to DC because the Quinjet was out of commission, undergoing repairs after their latest mission—a villain holding Manhattan’s power grids hostage—damaged the engines. Onboard, they huddle in front of the flatscreen watching CNN analyse Justin Hammer’s trial. Tony gives them a breakdown of his business rival—how Justin tried to sabotage the Stark Expo by presenting cheap knockoffs of the Iron Man armour that blew up the entire venue. The anchor reads out charges levelled against Hammer: money laundering, racketeering, fraud, public endangerment, copyright infringement. And a dozen lawsuits from Stark Industries and affected civilians.

“Ouch,” Clint says, reclining in his seat. “That’s a bit excessive, even for making cheap knockoffs of your suit and blowing them up at your expo, Stark.”

“Trust me, birdbrain, we take corporate espionage very seriously,” Tony replies. A live feed shows Hammer arriving at the courthouse in orange overalls, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair in disarray. The press swarms around him, shoving microphones and cameras in his face. Hammer tries to push his way through the crowd. “Oh, Justin. You know, if he had even an ounce of charm in his bones he could’ve gotten the charges reduced.”

“You can’t charm your way through everything, Tony,” Bruce points out.

Tony smiles. “Not everyone can, no. My husband on the other hand—” The shift in the atmosphere is palpable. Clint tunes out of the conversation to stare out the window. Bruce shifts uncomfortably in his seat, Natasha presses her lips together in a frown, and Steve surveys the lines on his palms. Only Thor shows interest, so, Tony continues. “Few years ago, I dared him to charm a store manager at Macy’s. They had this perfume set from their exclusive collection. I wanted to see if Platypus could convince her to give him a set for free. You should’ve seen him, Thor. He knew all the right things to say, the right moments to smile, and I think if he had asked, she’d have given him the keys to the store. We gave it back later because it would’ve come out of her paycheck, otherwise. Platypus is a real charmer. You’ll love him.”

Thor’s laughs drown out Clint’s audible scoff. “I look forward to meeting him.”

“We should buckle up, we’re about to land,” Steve says, pointing to the seat belt sign.

***

Fury waits for them in a conference room on the top floor of the Triskelion. One by one, the Avengers fill in, with Tony being the last to enter. He takes the seat closest to the door.

“I’ll keep this short,” Fury says, without preamble. It’s one of the few things Tony admires about the director—he loathes wasting time as much as Tony. “The Avengers Initiative was started to be Earth’s first and last line of defence against extraterrestrial threats. We’ve shown the world why we need to exist and your heroic efforts have won us more goodwill from the public than we have anticipated. My bosses have instructed me to expand this team. You will meet the new recruits over the course of the year. They will train with you and Stark has agreed to house them at the Tower.”

Clint perks up. “Colonel Hottie said yes?"

Natasha kicks him under the table.

"What? He’s perfect. He’s smart, brave, and real. No offence, Stark.” Tony shoots him a dirty look. Clint turns to Steve. “Hey Cap, what’s your opinion on team romances? Yay or nay?"

"Clint,” Steve gives him his best 'Son, stop disappointing Captain America’ look. “This is neither the time nor the place.” The archer slumps in his chair and says loudly, “Look, I just want to know how many protocols I’ll be breaking to ask Colonel Rhodes out on a date."

Before Steve or Fury can answer, a new voice replies. "The answer would be none, Mr Barton. As flattering as your proposition sounds, I am unfortunately off the market.” All seven pairs of eyes turn to the doorway—James Rhodes leans against the doorframe in a grey polo shirt, a black bomber jacket and a pair of tight-fitting black jeans. Clint swallows and stammers. Natasha kicks him again.

“Colonel Rhodes,” Fury says and motions him to come forward. “Meet the team."

Rhodes takes stock of the room, his eyes resting a millisecond longer on Tony, and says, "Hey. Call me Jim."

Steve’s the first to rise as he moves in to shake Rhodes’ hand. "Good to meet you, Colonel. We’ve heard a lot about you from Fury, and we’re looking forward to having you on the team.” Bruce and Natasha go next: They exchange quick, courteous 'hello’s before Clint almost trips over himself to greet Rhodes. He tries to play it cool but stutters at the last moment, and the words—"I’ve read your file, Colonel, where have you been all my life?“—come out all jumbled, lacking the charm and finesse he had practised ever since Steve let it slip that Fury was trying to recruit Rhodes. On his turn, Thor flashes the Colonel a knowing smirk, and despite never reading any of Rhodes’ files, he says, "Good to finally meet you, Jim. I’ve heard a lot about your adventures."

Finally, Rhodes turns to Tony, who has been hanging back with his hands jammed in his front pockets and a closed-off expression on his face. "You look like the cat peed in your cereal today."

"It’s your fucking cat,” Tony grumbles. He doesn’t move away as Rhodes treads over and steals a peck on the lips. The rest of the team stare in stunned silence; except Fury, who rolls his eye, and Thor, whose indulgent smile suggests he feels pretty damn good about himself for uncovering some hidden knowledge before everyone else. Steve notices the identical wedding bands on Tony and Rhodes’ fingers first, and it finally clicks. “You’re married to Tony?"

"I am afraid the secret’s out, Captain. I am the mystery husband you’ve been hearing about and I assure you, I’m very real.” Rhodes slings a hand over Tony’s shoulder, and Tony melts into the touch, leaning on him for support, with a hand around Rhodes’ waist. No one speaks—no one fully overcomes the shock around the revelation, and though Steve looks like he’s working out the right words to say in his head, he stays quiet. At some point, Thor starts recording the confusion in the room as it unfolds—for a Space Viking who gives off strong Luddite vibes, he turns out to be exceptionally adept at using Earth tech. Tony isn’t surprised that Thor not only knows how to use a smartphone camera but he also developed a keen sense of when to use it—Barton looking like a flustered deer caught in headlights should be memorialised in every medium.

“I’ve been told the secrecy around my existence has become a matter of concern among the team,” Rhodes says, fixing his gaze on Clint. The archer shrinks in his seat. He avoids looking at Tony. Or Rhodes. “I’m happy to answer questions, perhaps over dinner, and provide clarifications on whatever my husband has told you about me. He likes to exaggerate, as I’m sure you know. But if you don’t mind, I’d like some privacy with Tones right now. We haven’t seen each other in a year and this meeting was not my idea of a reunion. It’s lacking in some quality action if you know what I mean.” He leaves very little to the imagination. Steve’s scandalised; jaws clenched and his eyes dart from Tony to Rhodes and back to Tony. Thor continues recording as he holds the smartphone in front of the Captain’s face until Steve tries to swat it away, and misses. Only Bruce, Tony notices, shows remorse for doubting his accounts and questioning his sanity.

With a final nod at the team, Rhodes walks out. “Coming?” He asks from the doorway. “I’ll catch up,” Tony says and lingers long enough for Fury to dismiss the team and leave. Clint’s sour expression—his nose crinkles as if he smelled something horrible—clashes with the way Tony’s eyes sparkle and his grin stretches ear to ear. “Hey birdbrain, how does it feel to be a clown? For what it’s worth, you never had a shot with him because I sealed the deal in '87. You were still working the circus. Yeah, that’s right, I read your files too—even the 'redacted’ ones.” Tony trots out of the room as Clint flips him off, with a big, smug grin plastered over his face. Some things are worth the wait—Rhodey has always been worth it.

–FIN–

#james rhodes #tony stark #ironhusbands #tonyrhodey #rhodeytony #avengers #mcu #fics #asks #rhea writes #theherothechampiontheinquisitor

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bookjonsa · 5 years

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Hi. I know you will be pretty busy with the Jonsa meta week. Still I couldn't resist asking you about this. Do you think that jonnel stark and Sansa stark1 was in love before their marriage? I mean, don't you think that it is silly of cregan stark to arrange a marriage between the his eldest remaining son with the younger daughter. Marrying him to Serena would have been the perfect choice. Isn't it?

Hi there,

First of all, Cregan married three times: to Arra Norrey, to Alysanne Blackwood and to Lynara Stark. Jonnel was Cregan’s son from Lyanara Stark and Sansa I was the daughter of his heir Rickon Stark from Cregan’s first marriage with Arra Norrey. It’s recorded that Rickon Stark died during Daeron I’s conquest of Dorne and going by the family tree, it doesn’t seem like he becomes Lord of Winterfell. So it’s it’s highly possible that Cregan Stark was alive at the time that Rickon Stark died.

Either Cregan commanded Jonnel to marry Sansa I or Jonnel defied his father and married her for her claim. It must’ve been to make sure the next Lord of Winterfell was a Stark because the line of succession would have to follow through Rickon’s daughters as he was Cregan’s eldest son.

I highly doubt Jonnel Stark and Sansa Stark married for love considering he was her half-uncle. He had previously married Robyn Roswell but it seems like she died without issue (= heirs). His marriage with Sansa I also seems to yield no children. I’ve speculated before that he might’ve had fertility issues like Jon Arryn. Looking at the family tree would help make sense of all of this.

As you see Sansa I’s sister Serena was previously married to a Jon Umber, but that marriage seems to have yielded no issue either. It’s possible that Jonnel married Sansa I at the time that Serena was married to Jon Umber and only after his and Sansa I’s marriage did Serena marry Edric Stark, Jonnel’s youngest brother. I believe even that marriage may have been for political reasons and probably under the command of Jonnel.

As you see the line of succession does not pass through Serena and Edric’s line, but through Jonnel and Edric’s youngest brother Brandon (after their other brother Barthogan died without issue). Brandon had a male heir Beron while Serena’s twin sons seem to have never married nor is any issue of theirs mentioned so it’s possible they died young. Their daughters married a Cerwyn and Umber respectively. Again, making Brandon Lord of Winterfell must’ve been for purely political reasons to make sure the Lord of Winterfell was a Stark.

As for Jon/Sansa foreshadowing, I think it’s not meant to be a literal play by play parallel but something that drops hints of the possibility that is quite strange as their names are strikingly similar to our current timeline characters. You can read about it here and how it may connect to the Pact of Ice and Fire during the Dance of Dragons here. As I’ve mentioned before on my personal blog, if a marriage was to happen between Jon and Sansa, part of its reason will be for political convenience. But not without Sansa’s consent and it’s more likely that Sansa herself puts forward the suggestion to protect Jon in the eyes of the lords who see him as “dragonspawn” once R+L=J goes public.

So unlike her other marriage and betrothals, it wouldn’t be anyone taking advantage of her but rather she would be making that decision and choosing who her husband would be. As for love, it’s possible that Jon and Sansa have feelings for each other before they marry, but it’s more likely that they wouldn’t realize the other feels that way until after. As @butterflies-dragons has written Sansa’s lamenting over “It’s my claim that they want. No one will ever marry me for love.” and Jon giving up Stannis’ offer to take Winterfell when it was Sansa’s by right shows he is someone who could offer her what she wants. As I’ve also written, Jon is able to do what his foils Tyrion and Theon could not and how Sansa comes up in all their dilemmas because of her claim to Winterfell. It especially matters because Robb declares Jon his heir in the same book before the Red Wedding by giving him precedence above Sansa, much to Catelyn’s disapproval. There’s a lot more foreshadowing but that’s for later.

- Anya (lostlittlesatellites)

#anon asks #lostlittlesatellites #jonnel one eye and sansa stark #foreshadowing #jonsa #(so many typos ugh)

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leviloviatar · 5 years

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Do you think that we will find out more about Gendry's mother. For some reason I think she is important especially for Gendry's future. We know very little about her. We don't know her name or how she died. For some strange reason I think Vary's knows exactly who she is and maybe is the reason why he saved Gendry first. I don't think his mom is Cersei (stupid theory btw) but I think his mom could be a Blackfyre, Targ bastard or Lannister bastard or some other highborn bastard.

First of all hi lovely anon and thanks for the ask! I actually have another anon ask on the same topic, so I’m just going to include that here and try to answer both at once:

Ok, so my short answer is, no, I don’t think Gendry’s mother is a highborn, and I definitely agree with both of you that its not Cersei. Here’s why:

For one thing, if Gendry’s mother were a highborn, the entire situation would have been under a lot more scrutiny. Remember Robert’s very naughty behavior at Stannis and Selyse’s wedding that led to the birth of Edric Storm? Because Edric’s mother, Delena Florent, was a noblewoman (Selyse’s cousin, the niece of Lord Alester Florent) Robert was forced to officially recognize Edric. House Florent is one of the bigger houses sworn to House Tyrell, but its not as prominent as, say, House Lannister or House Targaryen. So just imagine if Robert had impregnated a member of one of those houses, it would have been a pretty big fucking deal and he would have had to recognize the child.

So yeah, I also have to agree with both of you that whoever Gendry’s mother is, it is definitely not Cersei. I’ve seen this theory floating around and every time I come across it, I cringe a bit.

To be honest, the Cersei theory only really works (if it works at all) in the show, because we hear Cersei tell Cat about her first child dying, ‘a beautiful black haired boy,’ and, if they choose to believe that she’s being truthful in that moment (debatable), show viewers can speculate that the boy was rescued by Varys, adopted by the tavern wench, and grew up to be Gendry, making him legitimate, etc. But even then, I think this theory still falls flat considering that the baby would have been given away as infant, and its pretty unlikely that Gendry would have any memories of his mother from his infancy.

And the entire theory goes out the window as far as the books are concerned:

“A dozen years,” Ned said. “How is it that you have had no children by the king?”

She lifted her head, defiant. “Your Robert got me with child once,” she said, her voice thick with contempt. “My brother found a woman to cleanse me. He never knew. If truth be told, I can scarcely bear for him to touch me, and I have not let him inside me for years. I know other ways to pleasure him, when he leaves his whores long enough to stagger up to my bedchamber. Whatever we do, the king is usually so drunk that he’s forgotten it all by the next morning.”

-A Game of Thrones, Eddard XII

Thus, in the books, the child Cersei talks about is never even born.

Here is basically everything we know about Gendry’s mother from the canon:

The boy shoved a fresh fall of black hair off his forehead. “She died when I was little. She had yellow hair, and sometimes she used to sing to me, I remember. She worked in an alehouse.”

-A Game of Thrones, Eddard VI

That’s not a lot to go on, but I think that’s intentional on GRRM’s part.

The real significance of Gendry’s mother being yellow-haired, to my mind, is to further solidify the proof of Gendry’s lineage, especially to Ned as he conducts his investigation. This is another way GRRM is taking great pains to show us that Gendry is the spitting image of his father. Had his mother also had dark hair, there could have been more room for debate, but its important that both the reader and Ned understand that the signature Baratheon-black hair comes directly from the Baratheon bloodline, and that genetic trait is so strong that it literally masks any corresponding trait from the mother:

The seed is strong, Jon Arryn had cried on his deathbed, and so it was. All those bastards, all with hair as black as night. Grand Maester Malleon recorded the last mating between stag and lion, some ninety years ago, when Tya Lannister wed Gowen Baratheon, third son of the reigning lord. Their only issue, an unnamed boy described in Malleon’s tome as a large and lusty lad born with a full head of black hair, died in infancy. Thirty years before that a male Lannister had taken a Baratheon maid to wife. She had given him three daughters and a son, each black-haired. No matter how far back Ned searched in the brittle yellowed pages, always he found the gold yielding before the coal.

-A Game of Thrones, Eddard XII

So: blonde mom + Baratheon sperm = black-haired Baratheon baby, every time

The truth is, we know very little about Gendry’s mother from the canon material because she doesn’t really serve any narrative purpose other than to function as a way to prove that Gendry is Robert’s son. By contrast, Gendry’s illegitimacy plays a critical part in his character development and narrative arc, and for him to ultimately be a legitimate son and heir would seem to completely undermine that, not to mention it would likely be altogether underwhelming in the face of the grand reveal of R+L=J and all its ramifications. (There’s also Edric Storm, Robert’s recognized bastard, to think about in terms of claimants to the throne, or what’s left of it after the war for the dawn anyway). The fact that he’s Robert’s son is going to be shock enough to cause Gendry to confront his conceptions of highborns, social class, and his place in the world for purposes of his character development and furthering the narrative, so it doesn’t seem likely to me that GRRM would suddenly reveal Gendry’s mother to be a highborn.

It would be interesting, I think, if his mother turned out to be a bastard herself, which could add another layer to Gendry’s issues with bastardry and the way bastards are viewed in Westerosi society. But, tbh I don’t think we will ever hear any more about her. I think she is exactly as she was described to us. A blonde who worked in an alehouse. Unremarkable, except for the fact that she gave birth to a King’s bastard, who grows up to be quite remarkable in his own right. I really don’t think that revealing her to be Someone Important later on would serve any narrative purpose, at least in terms of the way the story is going right now (in the books, anyway, I have no fucking idea where the story is going in the show since the plot has devolved into random nonsensical inconsistencies and Shock Value twists).

Though I do agree with the anon that mentioned that Varys probably knows exactly who Gendry’s mother was, so if we do ever get anything further on Gendry’s mother, it would probably be from him.

All that being said, however, I would love to hear more about your theory that she might be a Blackfyre or another highborn bastard, and if you guys have any other theories about this I would love to hear them!

#Gendry #Gendry waters #Robert Baratheon #Cersei Lannister #asoiaf #anon ask #really can't thank my anons enough i love you guys #like when i see a good ask in my inbox i'm just like yesssssss let's do this

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him-e · 6 years

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Hi, I sent the original ask about a Celibate Rey ending, I don't know what discourse came out of it, I didn't see it, but I wanted to clear the air. I didn't mean to come off dismissive of female romance/sexuality or of your ship in my ask. I understand it can be exhausting to defend your perspective over and over to people who don't want to listen, so I totally get if you thought I was baiting, though. I'm sorry for the trouble or stress this caused you.

Not asking to troll or continue the discourse, but if you don’t want to continue discussing this topic please delete this. But how can you see a valid Celibate-Rey endgame going? If IX were to end with Rey on her own and to some degree happy (Since this is Star Wars, the ending has to be at least slightly happy or hopeful) what kind of an ending would it be? If Kylo dies or survives, either/or.

Hey, no problem at all, and sorry for my snappish answer (hopefully you realized I was being part tongue-in-cheek, though). Admittedly the “better off alone/celibate” argument is something that cyclically resurfaces in other ships of mine, particularly Jaime/Brienne, which made me skittish on the whole thing, particularly when it’s tied to *female agency* buzzwords and the assumption that it’s the shippers who are arbitrarily trying to force a romance on the character, rather than it being part of the character’s canon narrative (not necessarily your case, but it’s such a popular argument against the J/B ship that I’ve developed particularly nasty anticorps for it)

So re: Celibate Jedi!Rey—

Is it a technically possible endgame for her? Totally.

Is it something I would personally be okay with and find satisfying? Well, yes, if:

a) it acknowledges and gives closure to Rey’s feelings for Ben, and viceversa. This includes admitting a degree of bittersweet in the happily ever after final picture.

Just considering the force bond alone without its romantic implications, Rey and Kylo, just the two of them, are connected on a deep intimate level. This is kind of a big deal, especially for Rey, whose familial bonds were suddenly and irrevocably severed when she was little, after which she was left completely alone with no chance to find her way back to her parents (ironically, now she has a magical tracking device in her head that allows her to communicate with another person even across galaxies. From completely alone, to never completely alone even in her own head. Big deal, indeed).

Even if the bond is broken (because Kylo dies, or else) and no overtly romantic stuff happens between them, it will still leave a mark on Rey, an empty spot where something magical used to be that can only be partially filled with familial or “muggle” love and the purpose of a “lone” Jedi path. That she would bury Kylo (or watch him leave never to return) and immediately go to join the Resistance’s party original trilogy style as if nothing sad just happened doesn’t make a lot sense to me. In fact, it would infuriate me, as I hate when characters are written as if they had some emotion switch hidden somewhere that makes them go from sad to cheerful in the blink of an eye (and tbh TLJ, for all I liked it, already went dangerously close to that, with Rey’s jarring post-proposal cheerfulness on the Falcon during the whole Crait sequence, imo).

So if they want to go that route, they need to be ready to tinge their happy ending with a little melancholy, otherwise I won’t find it realistic at all. This especially if Kylo dies, but also if he leaves or they are separated for whatever reason. (if Kylo lives, and redeems himself, and stays, I don’t see any reason why he and Rey should not be together, tbh. I mean it’s not like there’s still a Jedi order around dictating what Rey is or isn’t allowed to do. Like Palpatine was the Senate, she is the Jedi Order now, she can make new rules, lmao)

b) it avoids attaching moralistic implications to this choice (?) of celibacy (”that’s what I’m really meant for”, or “that’s how I’ll live my life to the fullest and be truly happy”, etc).

The figure of the Jedi in SW is, at the end of the day, a caregiver. A magical warrior/monk who essentially devotes their life to other people, denying any sort of personal ambition of satisfaction for himself (self-drive is closer to the Sith way). While the extent of this self-abnegation can be reframed and repackaged in a more “progressive” light (say Rey rebuilds a Jedi order with different rules, or just chooses a different way to be a Jedi, see above), the essence of caregiving and selflessness will probably remain untouched. It’s really funny to me that the people who want this endgame for Rey are the same one who get their panties in a twist at the thought of Rey being “reduced to an emotional caregiver” for Ben (paraphrasing some anti post I’ve read recently). The point is, Celibate!Jedi Rey wouldn’t be simply choosing friendship/family/a career over romance, she’d actually sacrifice her individual (in this case, romantic/sexual) desires in order to become a caregiver for an entire community. And this isn’t something I’d consider an especially subversive or /empowering/ endgame for a female character, quite the opposite, actually. The subtext here needs to be handed carefully, particularly if her endgame involves rebuilding some sort of Jedi school for gifted children: the risk of elevating her to a self-sacrificial virgin mother archetype would be pretty high. It can be done, and it can imply Rey will find happiness in this life, but without any sort of hamfisted *inspirational moral message for little girls*, if you know what I mean.

c) it doesn’t frame Rey’s choice not to be with Kylo specifically (if it is indeed a choice on her part and not something dictated by external forces, aka Kylo’s death or the Willabeth endgame, more on that later) in a moral(istic) perspective.

no “I can’t be with you because you have been mean to people, ewww” bullshit, thank you very much. This sounds like the ultimate anti wet dream, Rey rejecting Kylo because he’s awful, and I think we’re WAAAYYYY past it with all that happened in TLJ.

I hope this clarifies things a bit!

Another anon asked me to explain what I meant with the Willabeth endgame, and:

in POTC III Will Turner kills Davy Jones, so he has to take his place as the captain of the Flying Dutchman, which is a curse for life. He and Elizabeth (who are now married) spend a last day together on an island (during which it’s implied they fuck like rabbits and conceive a child, lmao), and then, at sunset, Will says goodbye, leaving the box containing his heart to Elizabeth, to whom he says, “will you keep it safe for me?”. It’s heartbreaking and a bit sadistic tbh but also incredibly romantic.

How does this apply to Reylo?

Well, Kylo could be

sentenced to lifelong exile on a remote planet, or

imprisoned for life, or

going on exile on his own will, or

leaving to form a new order of darksiders (or something) as he feels he has no place among the Good Guys and has Redeemed Himself But Not Really, or

sentenced to death and then promptly freed by Rey, who urges him to leave never to return, for his own safety, or

in general, literally or metaphorically cursed to live an existence separated from Rey as a form of atonement alternative to death;

and Rey obviously can’t follow him, because she can’t and won’t abandon her place among the Resistance, and they both know this, but it doesn’t stop them for wanting each other and swearing they will wait for each other forever, cue pants-dropping emotional final goodbye scene which, while offering complete closure, leaves the possibility of a future reunion entirely possible.

Why do I think it’s a valid scenario?

it’s a good compromise between endgame Reylo and Celibate!Jedi Rey;

Kylo gets to Suffer ™, as y’all hope for;

an unwritten but very common and wise rule of storytelling (whether or not you agree with it) is that a couple who can’t be together NOW is more interesting than a couple who is Just Together and chillin’ on the sofa or something, so this endgame leaves things open enough to be further explored in hypothetical tie-in canon material (comics, novels, tv adaptations, maybe even a standalone Episode IX-bis in five or six years from now, WHO THE HELL KNOWS?);

the fanfictions would SKYROCKET;

the force bond, if it still exists at that point, would be an INCREDIBLY convenient plot device;

Reylo Sex Island

end

#anon #asks #sw asks #sw for ts #sw wank #reylo for ts #celibate rey #sw endgame #sw speculation #the willabeth endgame #long post

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mileycfan4eva33 · 4 years

Text

Fandom: SVU

Title: Covenant From The Heart

Chapter 1: Violent Moment

P O V: Amanda Rollins

(A/N: Noah, Jessie, Billie do not exist in this fic. I own nothing except my ideas and original characters. All others belong to Wolf Entertainment and NBC.)

Saturday, June 2020

Christopher Street, New York, NY

"I hope you don't mind

I hope you don't mind

That I put down in words

how wonderful life is while you're in this world."

The radio plays as I sit inside the back of the Covenant House Van across from my Captain Olivia Benson, along with two trained Crisis Counselors from Covenant House, New York. Andrea O'Sullivan and Robert "Bobby J" Rodriquez. "Thanks for coming again with me, Amanda."

My smile is tight as I look back at Olivia there is a sadness in her eyes as we turn towards each other. "You're welcome, Liv, did Kat give any reason as to why she couldn't make it tonight?" "her mom has to work a double, and they couldn't find a babysitter last minute on a Saturday."

"Yeah, I hear that could be hard." Olivia sips her coffee, trying to keep warm. "I never mind helping Captain. Covenant House is such an amazing place Olivia, I'm always happy to volunteer for whatever they need."

"Thank you, detective Rollins we try. It isn't easy when we have 20,494 youth who are homeless." Andy's statement sends tremors down my spine. I try to hide the fact that I am shivering, as a cop, I knew those statistics. The number of homeless children in the United States is at its highest in more than a decade.

I can even break down the statistics that roughly 800,000 children are reported missing each year in the United States that's 2,000 kids who go missing every day in the USA. There are 115 child stranger abduction cases, LGBTQ youth represent as much as 40% of the homeless youth population. Between 1.6-2.8 million youth runaway each year in the United States. Children can begin running as young as ages 10-14. The youngest are the most at-risk for the dangers of street life.

Too many people take the attitude of Children who runaway make their own decisions to go. Let them be, they've made their personal choice and must deal with the consequences. If they want to come home, they will. That is so wrong because once these kids hit the streets, they have hours of reaching an inner-city before they become targets for these pimps. Once the pimps get their hands on these kids, they no longer have a choice. They are property of those pimps, and these monsters would take a bullet before they lose their 'product.' It is estimated that many young people, especially girls, begin engaging in survival sex within 48 hours of leaving home. Sex for food and a place to stay can quickly escalate into formalized prostitution.

I've seen what happens to those kids after becoming branded; they learn quickly to harden themselves and trust no one. The treacherous environment in which they must learn to survive is heartbreaking. They do not always outwardly present as sympathetic victims. They also frequently suffer from short–term and long–term psychological effects such as depression, self-hatred, and feelings of hopelessness. These child victims also need specialized services that are not widely available given they often have illnesses, drug addictions, physical and sexual trauma, lack of viable family and community ties, and total dependence—physical and psychological—on their abusers.

"Amanda, do you want some coffee?" "no, thanks, Liv, I'm good." "Sure you are; that's why I can see those goosebumps on your arms, Rollins." Olivia's left-hand grazes across my left arm, which she has now caused to go stiff in fear. Olivia's touch, smile Liv has no idea how she effects me.

Every hair is standing at attention, my heart racing, face flushed. My brain stutters to find words to respond to Olivia. It should be simple to say those words to tell Olivia how I feel; this is 2020, not 1990. I shouldn't be afraid of rejection to tell someone I have a deep crush on that I have a crush. I've told more than a half of a dozen women in my past that I liked them. I am not ashamed to identify as a lesbian.

Which brings me to question why I haven't confided in anyone I have worked with over the past nine years. Swallow Amanda, just swallow and relax. Olivia has no idea how you feel; she isn't asking you to spill how you feel. She's asking you for a drink stop freaking out you'll look like a fool.

"No, I'm good save the coffee for the kids, they need it more than I do. I'm okay."

"Detective Rollins we have more than enough." that's a lie I know before it even escapes Andy's lips she's just being nice to us since it's rare for cops to volunteer to do ride a long's, the department does not sanction them. 1PP truthfully goes out of their way to discourage us from doing them because they are so dangerous because these pimps could recognize one of us and blow our covers in the future. Sometimes I think they fear we will become too sympathetic with a homeless kid because God forbid NYPD cops be human and understand what life on the streets is actually like; we might let these kids go when indeed we are forced to pick them up for simply trying to stay alive.

Saturday nights are one of the busiest nights in New York City, especially for the homeless population in our impact zones. Turning down Bleeker Street, which is alive with nightclubs blaring music. Flashing neon signs obnoxiously calling out $2 dance bars—other signs signaling their bars, clubs, stores. Panhandlers line every corner, many with bloodshot eyes, sniffling noses, and scanning the crowd from our blackened windows. I can see swindlers working in pairs trying to rob the tourists who unsuspectingly stroll among them the glittering, neon buildings. Many are walking with cell phones out, looking for directions.

Olivia and I both exchange a look knowing half of them will be robbed. There's so much we both want to say but don't. Drug deals go down in plain sight to the untrained eye. It would be easily missed, in between the blaring lights and smells of Colombian bakeries, beauty salons, Mexican restaurants, and bars like the Gentlemen's Club advertising beautiful female dancers. People along this stretch of road hand out business cards emblazoned with half-naked women or fruits and flowers all that advertise "Free Delivery" and typically list the hours of operation between 10:30 a.m. and 2:30 a.m. It's a cover, of course, the cards are marketing tools of brothels that have set up shop inside private homes and apartments.

As the hour is growing later, the tourists are fading away; the clubs are starting to shut down, and the other Christopher Street, the one never mentioned in magazines, or featured on the nightly news and morning talk shows comes alive. This is our Christopher Street teens strutted past in the dark, often stopping to air kiss, catcall, or sometimes brawl.

Young LGBTQ youth in platform thigh-high boots, buttocks-revealing denim shorts, red-pleather boleros with matching caps and tops of the backless, sleeveless, or even frontless variety, those on the nightly parade here do anything but hide. They compete for best outfit, /best moves in nightly dance battles that rage beside the Hudson River to the sound of a boombox on the pier at the end of the street.

The teens are beautiful, but the night-life here is ugly, violent, and scary; the teens themselves often fight turning violent. Customers drunk throw glasses, bottles, or try to take the girls, ripping hair out, beating them. Not every person working is trying to cause problems; of course, there are many just trying to get by to pay rent that now topples over $3,000. I can barely afford my apartment in Brooklyn with my salary.

Cops are lining every street, but we are not here as cops Olivia and I are riding with the covenant house team to help them reach the kids whoa re too afraid to find Covenant House or don't know that help exists. We are reaching to find kids who need food, warmth, and shelter. We provide sandwiches, beverages, ears to the kids if they are ready to tell their stories.

In the van we provide education about sex, pregnancies, STD prevention, we give them condoms. We let them cry, scream, ask questions, or sit in silence; we let the kids choose what they need when they need it. Many have never been given a choice of anything in their lives. We gain the kids' trust and, when ready, we will get them to our crisis shelters, where they're given love and support to permanently stay off the streets. Some stay only a few days and decide they aren't ready to give up the life they know. They have to be willing to be drug-free and make other commitments to stay at Covenant House. Some, however, remain with Covenant House and complete the whole program.

Frequently it takes multiple interactions before the kids will trust those of us on the outreach team enough to accept our offers of help they've simply been burned by adults too many times in their lives.

"So Captain Benson, my boss tells me you've been coming on these rides along's since you joined SVU in 1999. Any specific reasons?"

Andy's question perks my interests in the nine years I have known Olivia; I have never known the answer to this question myself. For the first six years, when I went on these outreach trips, I never knew she went along. I only found out three years ago when we were paired together by accident on a night when they had more volunteers than vans. I never asked myself for fear of having to answer the same question back; it's a part of my past. I have kept hidden for many years. I have no intention of starting to share that story now.

"I was on the job about two months with Special Vics when we came across the case of a fourteen-year-old girl who we had to arrest for selling drugs to her classmates, sometimes in exchange for sexual favors. The whole Squad called her Spoiled Sally because she came from the upper west side, went to a private school. She had all the advantages of a rich kid, yet she chose to squander her life by selling drugs."

"You thought there was more to her story though, Olivia, didn't you?"

"You know me well, Amanda." Olivia has no idea how well I know her how I have spent my whole adult life, and most of my teens years studying her career trying to be half the cop she is. Olivia has no idea that I listen to every conversation hoping to gather a new detail I didn't know already. I know her favorite, color, movie, TV show, her worst fears, her dreams. I know which ice cream flavor she likes best, her favorite spot for ice cream, who her favorite baseball team is, and which sport she hates the most. I know Olivia uses vanilla body lotion but hates vanilla ice cream.

My body shivers despite being June. The temperature is dropping fast the later it gets. "I did think there was more, so I started investigating further. Interviewing her friends, teachers, classmates. Came to learn Sally transferred schools six times over the last year, she had moved from city to city since she was six years old."

Olivia bites her lower lip as she laughs slightly "Amanda you'll love this part, my boss told me to drop it, or he would transfer me, I couldn't drop it, I defied his orders and kept digging. I matched her picture into enhanced facial recognizing came to discover our Spoiled little Sally was Marcella Marginals, a kidnapped girl from Mexico who vanished at age six when her family was on vacation over there. They let go of her hands for two minutes, and she was snatched. Marcella was smuggled into different cities by different men. Who caged her up like an animal beat her raped her, sold her from family to family."

"This last family was an elderly couple who never had kids of their own; the man who sold her to them kept weekly checks on her forced her to sell drugs for him. Raped her weekly to keep her in-line raped the wife weekly to keep the parents quite. When we went to collect Marcella, the bastard was there raping the wife, the husband an 82-year-old man who could barely move was tied to the chair. A battle broke out between the police and the pimp, Marcella was shot in the battle, by my gun. I was devastated. I felt as if it was my fault if I had left it alone, as my boss told me. Marcella would be alive no matter how hard her life was, at least she drew breath. Because of me, that sweet girl was dead."

"All my co-workers kept telling me it wasn't my fault; it was just part of the job. I had to accept it as God's plan. I couldn't though, I mean, how did God see that to be fair? How could any God justify a fourteen-year-old girl being raped, beaten suffering every day as okay?"

"So I headed to my favorite bar to get there I had to pass the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church, I wasn't raised in any dominant religion growing up, but I felt drawn to it. I felt like I needed to talk to God, to let him know how angry I was at him."

"At first, all I could do was sit there, staring at the candles, the altar, tears running down my face. I have no idea how long I sat there for; till I felt the gentle touch of Sister Mary Rose McGeady, she sat by me and listened to me. Then she said something to me that has stayed with me my whole life; she replied ours is not to ask God why; ours is simply to close our eyes and listen to our hearts, and believe God always has a reason why. It's hard at times, but I made a promise to God to listen; he has to lead me to my calling to help kids on the street, his kids."

"As you know at the time, Sister McGeady was the president of Covenant House from 1990-2003. She took me to the house and showed me the center; I spoke to counselors, volunteers, and the kids themselves. I fell in love with the mission, with the kids the staff. I knew I had to try to make a difference."

"I started doing the outreach van around 12 years ago, at first, it was just because it was always so short-staffed, not many people volunteer to do something so dangerous. Then it became another passion for me."

I reach over and take Olivia's hand "you know Marcella's death wasn't your fault, Liv. No more than Easter's was mine."

"I know Amanda, up here, I know that." She points to her head, "But in here." Olivia's hand moves to her heart. "that takes reminding I am sorry I couldn't comfort you after telling you about Easter, I should have held you talked to you instead of getting up and walking away. The memories of that day hit me so hard; I think I am moving on, and then I am hit with a wave of guilt so intense it takes my breath away."

"Liv, it's okay. I needed my Captain than you did what I needed. You gave me time to cry, scream you stayed in the room, so I knew you were there, but you gave me privacy. No one can take someone else to pain away. But having you in that room brought me comfort."

Olivia smiles at me as Bobby J speaks "You two should come Tuesday for our annual Sleep-out for Covenant House, we have a line-up of stars who are performing and over 1,000 people who have signed up to raise money for our kids by sleeping out."

"Yeah, sounds good, Amanda?" "I'm in for sure."

"So Miss southern sweet tea, what is your story? I know you got one." My body tenses at his suggestion I feel all eyes on me my heart races as my stomach twists. How am I suppose to get out of this one? "Don't be bashful to spill your game." Bobby J nudges me as I fight to keep my nausea from spilling out onto the van's floor. If Olivia knew the truth, she would never look at me the same ever again.

"Help me!" Loud, intense screams ricochet off the buildings in the side-street where we are parked; a young girl comes racing out of the cover of darkness shadow. So fast her legs stumble, but she doesn't allow herself to fall; she can't she's running for her life. Those skinny legs barely hold her body up, yet she hurls herself forward, never glancing back. I can hear her heavy breathing as she approaches "not here." she points to two streets over. Eyes glance at us. I see the pain and fear "My man he's watching he'll see me get in, I'm dead then, he'll know where to find me."

She's gone in a flash, hurling her skinny body down the side streets in a race for her life, dodging into different avenues. The van squeals to life as our driver Michelle steps on the gas, the girl's arms pump flying as she dodges cars, people she isn't quitting or playing. It's pitch black out here now except the glow of a few broken street lights.

Michelle flips off our headlights as we reach the street the girl wanted us to, we sit in silence the radio shut off now. Our heartbeats are the only sounds slowly. I get out my legs a little shaky from being crouched in a van for hours. Olivia follows me closely behind as seconds tick into minutes both of us praying her man as she called him didn't find her, which we know damn well means her pimp. Rustling has us both turning around I spot her first she comes running full speed towards us, fooling her pimp she had run around the block twice; New York blocks ain't no joke either, they are long.

This girl is in eight-inch heels her feet must hurt so bad I feel tears well up I can barely walk in those types of heels nerve mind run. The girl is only twenty- yards away from us. I can see the depth of fear in her cyan blue eyes. An ocean deep of pain she is so close to safety just within feet of being saved Olivia and I are both tense ready to grab her up. The squeals of tires alert us to a sense of danger; I don't think twice I take off "Rollins!" Olivia yells as I pump my legs harder than they have ever been pumped before. Hoping that this girl can see it in my eyes that she can trust me, she can reach better days if she reaches out, allows me to take her hands. Gets in this van with me, I can help her find the sunshine behind these rainy days. Sometimes one person can make a difference. I close my eyes every day I pray I can be that person.

My hands reach the girl at the very last second my lungs are screaming in pain, I can barely breathe my muscles are straining with every-step. "Grab my hands, don't let go no matter what I got you." My arms wrap around the girl's frail body as my feet make a sudden turn burning my heels. I pull her body racing to the van as doors fly open. "Rollins, get down!" Olivia screams as a hail of bullets rain down on us I push the girl into the van slam the door and bang on it. Michelle takes off my legs give out as I crash to the ground Olivia is returning fire. I can't breathe or think my legs are twitching in pain I can feel my blood filling my mouth as I start to cough.

I can't seem to focus on anything. Every breath is harder to inhale and exhale. "Amanda, it's Olivia we've got to move, they took off, but they'll be back we just cost them a major investment. Can you move at all?"

Olivia's arms lift me pain stabs me at every angle it's mild though so after a few breaths I can put pressure on my legs she doesn't let go of my arm though pulling me along with her as we race to meet the van a few blocks over. Sweat pours down my body as my stomach cramps I feel flushed. I'm losing blood I can feel how weak I am, but I have no idea where or how serious it is. "Amanda that was stupid as hell, we are off-duty you know the department does not cover any injury you get, any action you take as a citizen which means you face the same charges they face. No union rep to cover for you."

"Yeah, I know Liv, and it also means I don't have to play by the rules."

"Amanda, it doesn't mean you get to risk your life."

"It's mine to risk Olivia, and if you ain't willing to risk your life, why are you out here?"

"Uh! Why are all the bad-asses so damn stubborn!"

"That's what makes us hot."

"Yeah, I know that's why the bad-asses like you are always the one who looks the most fuckable."

My ears ring did Olivia Benson just say she wanted to what with me? I stop moving physically, yet my Vertigo didn't get the message. I can't speak all I can do is stare at Olivia, watch her long legs so muscular her statuesque frame so lean and beautiful, long dark hair loosely held back with a decorative clip. Her appearance takes my breath away. She smiles as she slowly moves us towards the van.

All I can do is picture her lying on top of me on her bed as she places her mouth over my clit. A direct hit, her gorgeous lips closing around it and lapping at it with her tongue. Her hands hold my hips as I try to buck against her face; she is a master at getting me off like this. I can feel an orgasm building in my walls, I can feel the heat rising as I writhe under her face, and just as she is about to push me over the edge, she inserts a single slender finger inside as she does I feel the first wave of fire rising and spreading through me. I come hard onto her hand as she rapidly pumps two fingers in and out while she sucks on my clit.

"Amanda, move!" My head peaks up from the daydream of Olivia, and I making love seconds too late as the car comes speeding towards us headlights as bright as the Georgia summer sun. Michelle rushes towards us, Andy and Bobby J throw open the doors. "Get in!" Olivia's hands push my body into the van's. I feel Andy and Bobby grab me pulling my limp body up as Olivia screams at Michelle. to"Go."

Wait, where is Olivia going? Why didn't she get in with me? Gunfire fills the air as I try to stand but am thrown back against the wall hard as Michelle takes off, tires squealing. "Calvin!" I hear Olivia's scream as my head slams into the floor, sending me crashing into a world of blackness. All I can do is pray; God keep Olivia safe.

A/N: For More information on how you can help Covenant House and Homeless Youth visit their website

Our Youth deserve a kinder, better world than the one we have today. Let us commit to building this world together. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13643440/1/Covenant-From-The-Heart

#svu #Rolivia #AmandaRollins #OliviaBenson #HomelessKids #Youth #LGBTQ #Fanfiction

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theselkiesea · 7 years

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4, 6, 15 for the kisses, 17, 24, 29, for the sweet moments. Lets say... choose any three darling. Don't all have to be one fic. :)

Oh my God, first off these were so much fun to do. Secondly, I love how I wanted to write something cute….yeah, these aren’t cute. I don’t think I’m ever meant to write cute. But there’s three prompts here, each over 400 words so only read if you’ve got the time. The first one is Bioshock related, second is my original motel series and the third is Arkham Knight. Enjoy!

4. A Drunken Kiss - Character: Vivianne Warren

“Do you remember when this place didn’t look like shit?” Vivianne laughed as she opened up another bottle of Arcadia Merlot. In her other hand she held a cigarette which she brought it to her lips and inhaled deeply then past it to Daniel. He took a couple of drags then dabbed it on his wooden desk, not bothering to dust any of the ash away.

“But ya still come here even though it looks like shite. Ya be movin’ in ta the Pink fecking Pearl any feckin’ day now. Don’t know any splicer who’d pay ta fuck you though.”

“Fuck you, Daniel!” she shouted, lifting the bottle to throw at him but stopped, not wanting to waste the alcohol. “I’m the only friend you’ve got left now. Your brother scampered off to be with that bitch so if you want to be my friend, you better be nicer to me.”

Daniel grunted and clutched the side of his head as it thumped in pain then gulped down his own drink hoping it would ease the pain. It didn’t.

“Hope you plan on sharing that.”

He twirled the bottle in his hand and glared at her smugly then downed the full bottle, thinking that being drunk would help him with his headache. Streams of alcohol spilled from the corners of his mouth and rolled down his cheek and neck, he didn’t bother to wipe them away.

“Fuck you, Daniel” she said again, pouting and took another drink.

“I think I might be drunk enough ta kiss yah, love” he slurred.

Vivianne hiccupped and looked Daniel up and down, then hiccupped again. “Me too, pal. But I think I’m about to pass out.”

“Oh for fecks sake, get over here, now!”

Grunting, Vivianne wobbly climbed over his desk and ungracefully slid off it, sheets of paper and other objects falling to the floor with her. She leaned her head on his leg and tried to find the will to stand back up but Daniel grabbed her and sat her on his lap, holding her tightly.

“Yer a pain in the arse, love” he told her then kissed her. It was sloppy, the mixture of alcohol and smoke was revolting, but it didn’t feel wrong. Vivianne melted into his arms, for a moment she forgot these past few months. She had lost everything. Her job, friends, the love of her life and was betrayed by someone she trusted. But Daniel was still here.

He’d have to do.

17. A Love Bite - Character: Lola Hopkins

Lola clocked herself out for her break and went into the staff bathroom to fix herself up. She straightened her white blouse and undone the two top buttons, put on a fresh coat of red lipstick and a spray of perfume and she was now ready to seduce her boss.

He hardly ever worked from the motel but this morning he had come in, out of the blue, to sort out paperwork and hadn’t left his office for a few hours. Lola had worked at the Redbark Motel for three years, her boss had flirted with her a lot in the past but she always rejected him, he was a married man with two children, it wasn’t worth the possible hassle.

In those three years she had seen him bring back countless of woman, he’d either fuck them in one of the rooms or his office and would hear everything. And once the girls would leave his wife would turn up to see him and Lola would smile, keeping her bosses secrets silent. Now her curiosity had built up and she had an itch to scratch.

She knocked on the manager’s door and waited for him to answer.

“Hold on!” he called out. She waited for a couple of moments then the door opened.

“Lola? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, Mr Harvey. May I have a word with you, please?”

“Of course, come in,” he stepped aside to let her through then shut the door, “So what do you want to chat about? If it’s about hiring new staff I’m currently going through the applications and-”

“I want to have sex with you” she interrupted and flashed him a smile.

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, he studied her expression and noticed the little changes she had made and smirked. He leaned against the door, wetting his lips in thought.

“Well I’m flattered, Lola, but I’m a married man. I couldn’t cheat on Karen” he said, his sarcastic tone challenging her.

Lola rolled her eyes and stepped towards him. “Oh please, you’ve had so many affairs here!”

“How many?” he questioned.

“I lost count after you went up into the twenties!”

With speed he clamped his hand over Lola’s mouth and pushed her up against the wall, glaring down at her. “Keep your voice down! How dare you come into my office and demand something like that from me, who the fuck do you think you are?”

Her eyes gazed up with fright into his, this wasn’t how she expected things to go. She started to think she had made a mistake, he could fire her for this. “I’m sorry Mr Harvey, please, I’m so so sorry. Don’t fire me, please” she begged, her voice muffled by his hand.

He chuckled. “I’m not going to fire you, I can’t lose anymore staff. And…I suppose, you have been loyal to me all these years. I think you deserve a little treat.”

He released his hand from her mouth and trailed his fingertips down her neck and crossed a little spot like he was marking an x on a treasure map. Lola opened her mouth to ask him if she could leave but before she could he pressed his lips to her neck and trailed kisses to where his fingers were placed. Her cheeks started tingling, the soft sensation gave her a desireable warmth in her chest but it was short lived when his teeth bit down.

His tongue rolled around the spot he chosen and he sucked and nibbled until he squeezed a moan out of her, when he pulled away, he came up to her mouth, inches from her lips but did not kiss her.

“Hmm, I think I’ve changed my mind, Miss Hopkins. See me after work.”

24. Slow Dancing - Character: Madcap

She looked at the broken boy tied to the wheelchair but she still approached him cautiously. Blood old and fresh was splattered across his face and outfit, she was sure that many of his bones were broken, the Joker did a good job of beating within inches of death. But he was still alive.

“Jason?”

He didn’t respond. She stepped closer then reached out and poked his shoulder, still nothing. Madcap searched up her long sleeves and went through all her hidden pockets and brought out a cassette. She skipped over to the cassette player that sat on the counter, rewound it to the track she wanted and let it play.

The song was a sweet romantic violin piece, it sounded scratchy in certain parts due to its age but it still sounded nice. She hopped into the center of the room so that she was facing him then folded her arms, her

long sleeves getting tangled in the process, she regretted not changing into something more suitable for what she had planned.

“Hi Jason…I’m Madcap, but you already know that, eh…my real name is Emily, I think you actually might already know that too,” she paused, her face flaring red with embarrassment, “Man, I’m glad you are unconscious right now, this is so awkward. I’m sorry that Uncle J has done this to you, I mean, I like fighting you but…I didn’t think he’d take it this far.”

She sighed and cursed at herself, then continued. “I wanna tell you this, even though you can’t hear me, and I know we’re enemies but I think you’re really cute. Wow, it feels good to get that off my chest! I know that things would never work out between us. We’d try to kill each other time and I don’t want to be in a relationship like Uncle J’s and Harley.”

Madcap slowly began to move behind him, her eyes watching out for any signs that he was now awake then carried on when she was sure.

“So, I was thinking, because we can never be together, and I doubt you’d ever have a crush on me but, I was wondering if it would be ok if…I could have a dance? I’ve never been kissed before but you’re unconscious so that wouldn’t be right. And I know you’re tied to this wheelchair but, spinning you around counts as dancing right?”

He didn’t reply.

She sighed again and grabbed the handles then unlocked the wheelchair’s brakes. She began to move the chair swiftly back and forth, trying to travel with the music then as it got quicker she was spinning Jason around, but not too violently.

“This totally counts as dancing!” she giggled gleefully. The song slowed down until there was silence and Madcap still twirled Jason in smooth circles until the cassette automatically stop and rewound itself. She couldn’t stay much longer, Joker would be returning soon, he’d be furious at her if he caught her here.

Swiping the cassette she tried to match up were Jason originally sat and propped his head into a more comfortable position.

“Thank you for dancing with me, Jason. Maybe one day I’ll get a kiss from you” she smiled.

“What?” he croaked. Jason’s eyes could barely open but she looked into his, her heart panicking and beating so fast she couldn’t think straight. Her hand grabbed the back of his head and her grip was tight, she pulled back and he hissed in pain.

“Don’t tell him I was here! If you do, you won’t die at his hands but mine,” she threatened, “Thanks for ruining my lovely evening!”

She released his head, spun around and sneaked off into the shadows and hoped that the Joker hadn’t been to her cell.

#but seriously this post is mega long so #jenjenwrites #thanks for the prompts sweetie!

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princesa-panda · 7 years

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A little A-Z even though I don't see how it'd be interesting at all

tagged by my sweet @musichenni133

A - age? 16, turning 17 in julyyyy B - biggest fear? Losing myself, becoming the one I hate C - current time? 11:30 pm D - drink you last had? a glass of coke yo E - every day starts with? a groan, checking social media and checking the weather F - favourite song? That’s like making me choose between my children G - ghosts, are they real? I have yet to find out H - hometown? Bergen, it’s cold I - in love with: Lee JooHeon (and I'm kinda sorta in love with jeon Jungkook), the art of languages, writing J - jealous of? anyone, anything…I’m an asshole K - killed someone? murder makes me cry, and I can’t even kill bugs bc they scare me and make me cry L - last time you cried? I’m crying right now oops, I cry a lot M - middle name? Elize N - number of siblings? 3, two of them are only half tho (and I don’t even think one of them knows I exist dang) O - one wish: I want to be able to look back at my life and smile P - person you last called/texted: henni and robin oops Q - questions you are always asked: “what are you writing?“ "Where are you from?” “Why do you listen to Korean music?” R - reasons to smile: the fact that there’s someone’s out there achieving their dream, kissing the love of their life, getting a good grade, eating their favourite food, a puppy was born, people fall in love S - song last sang: Wrong side of heaven by Five finger death punch bc I’m making a cover dang T - time you woke up: 06:55, after sleeping two and a half hours U - underwear colour: atm its pink heck yeah V - vacation destination: I actually don’t want to go on vacation but live places…oh well, Santiago, Chile or Seoul I guess W - worst habit: saving others before saving myself, causing me to sink further down X - x-rays you’ve had: only had one of my heel when I feel from a 3 meter tall wall and broke it Y - your favourite food: don’t have any I just love food Z - zodiac sign: cancer

I’ll tag my two sweeties @rachthepeach and @julidietze (bc my other sweetheart @robins-art has already been tagged)

#why the fuck did I do this #I'm boring #love you guys tho #idfk #help

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macadoodle1996 · 4 years

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Arguing with an old fashion accessory was not how Evanna had imagined her first night of Hogwarts going.

"NO!" she said. "I'm at Hogwarts-I'm away from my family for the first time-you can't just send me back to them!"

The Sorting Hat chuckled. "You truly know nothing," it said amusedly.

"I know enough to blast you off the face of the earth," she growled.

"Should I not place you in Slytherin, where would I put you? You are no Hufflepuff," it reasoned.

"Anywhere. I don't care. I just want out from my father's thumb," she replied.

"My dear, you have never been under your father's thumb," it told her. "And in Slytherin you will rise so far that Lucius Malfoy would never be able to touch you."

Evanna pictured it in her mind's eye. Making her own allies in the House of Snakes, giving and taking favors, gaining respect and power, starting out of Hogwarts with an internship and connections, climbing her way up and shedding the Malfoy name until she was standing taller than all of them.

"So, léitheoir aigne, what do you say?" the Sorting Hat rumbled. Those words again, she would have to focus on that later.

"Are you sure you can't just send me to Gryffindor?" she all but whined. The Sorting Hat chuckled.

"The only one that would be more upset about that than my maker would be SLYTHERIN!"

The last word was said aloud, to the applause of the Great Hall. Evanna smoothed her skirt primly as she stood, making her way slowly to the table at the far left side of the hall, though not without a dirty look to the Sorting Hat. Her brother clapped her on the shoulder, but leaned over to her to mutter disapprovingly.

"You were almost a hatstall. What took so long?"

Evanna looked at him coolly. "I told you-I won't be Lucius Malfoy's prisoner any longer. The Sorting Hat just had to convince that I could do that without going to Gryffindor."

Her brother choked. "Gryff-"

"Shh, Draco," she said haughtily. "There is a Sorting ceremony going on."

Like they had predicted in the compartment, Bridget was Sorted into Hufflepuff and Ginny into Gryffindor, though Evanna noted that the girl looked a little disheartened as she went to sit with the lions. The feast was delicious, though Evanna did almost find herself wishing for the long oak table at the Manor, on the nights it had just been her and her mother as her father was out of town. She wrinkled her nose as her brother's friends, Crabbe and Goyle, overstuffed their plates and mouths.

"That's really who you choose to spend your time with?" she said derisively.

"Oi, Malfoy!" someone called from down the table. Evanna turned to see a dark-skinned boy with closely shaved hair and sparkling eyes. "You never told us you had a sister."

The boy winked at her. Evanna felt her cheeks burn.

"Shove off, Zabini," Draco glowered, halfway blocking Evanna with his body. "I didn't mention her to you for good reason."

Evanna shoved her way around him, holding out a hand as though she were some great lady. Which I will be. "You may call me Evanna."

"Then you may call me Blaise, fair lady," the boy said, giving her hand a dapper kiss. Evanna all but giggled. Draco looked between the two with obvious distaste.

"You're about to make me lose my supper, Zabini," he drawled.

"Anyone hear anything about Potter and the Weasel yet?" a whiny voice said from down the table. Draco's face crumpled in disgust for a moment before smoothing to the usual aristocrat in a way that Evanna knew the voice could belong to only one person: Pansy Parkinson.

"No, but I assume that they must be with Snape-he's been gone all night," someone else said down the table.

Draco looked almost gleeful. "Then surely that means that they'll be expelled!"

Evanna felt her heart pound uncomfortably at the thought. She had been wanting to see the boy with the broken glasses again, ever since she had met him earlier that summer. But for him to be expelled before she ever even got the chance…?

"Don't be so sure, Malfoy," Blaise replied. "Dumbledore and McGonagall have left now."

Draco said something that Evanna knew their mother would have never stood for. Before their conversation was able to go any further, however, the dishes disappeared from in front of them, eliciting groans from the hulking beasts that Draco called friends. Evanna wrinkled her nose.

"First years! First years this way!" a girl with a Prefect pin on her chest was calling, waving the Slytherins her way.

"Oi, midgets, get moving or get lost in the dungeons for three days!" her male counterpart followed up.

"Classy, Warrington," the girl sneered.

"Always, Padgett."

"You better get on," Draco said. "We'll see you in the dungeons."

Evanna nodded, clambering out from the table as gracefully as possible and joining the small group of Slytherin first years-and it was small. There were only four boys in her year and three girls. Evanna knew that Purebloods generally had very few children but it was more than that-the year she had been born was when the Dark Lord was at the height of his power. As she looked across the hall, she noted that her House did not have the only small incoming class. Growing up when she did, she knew that the war had been devastating to the Wizarding World in an intellectual sense; now she truly saw it for the first time.

"Is that all of you?" Padgett said with a sort of resigned look on her face. "Let's move."

The two Prefects began leading the first years through the corridors, the atmosphere growing darker and cooler as they drew closer to the dungeons.

"How far down do you think we'll go?" a blonde girl with glasses that made her look rather owlish asked nervously.

"Why? You scared of the dark?" one of the boys snickered, a nasty look on his face. Evanna decided that she did not like him.

"Any sane person should be," she informed him coolly. "Don't you know what lives in the dark?"

The boy must have seen something in Evanna's face that made him nervous because he quickly shut up and hustled to the front of the group. She smirked at him.

"Alright, little Snakelings," Padgett said, stopping in front of a nondescript door. "Welcome to your new home."

"Mind you don't forget the password-it changes every fortnight and if you forget to check it, you're just outta luck," Warrington said nastily. The first years clustered closer to him to make sure they did not miss the password. "Avalon."

The door sprang open and the students all filed in. If looking at Hogwarts had felt like coming home, the Common Room felt like a look inside of Evanna's soul. Directly across the room was a long window that seemed to have been carved from the rock itself. As she watched, a merwoman swam past, waving at an older student and making several hand gestures in quick succession, that the student seemed to respond to. There was a low fire burning in the stone fireplace, making what could have been damp and cold inviting. The room was decorated in rich greens and burnished silver, with low, plush couches that would not have looked out of place in the home of a Roman aristocrat. Without truly meaning to, a soft smile came to Evanna's face.

"Welcome to Slytherin House, firsties," Padgett said with a grin. "You all have a lot to live up to-Merlin was one of ours after all-but the Sorting Hat must've seen something in you lo-"

"I can take it from here, Ms. Padgett," a low voice said. From the shadows emerged a man who seemed to be draped in shadows himself. His lank hair was as dark as hers, and his skin just as pale, though he seemed a little more on the sickly side. All in all, he had the appearance of an overgrown bat. "You all will refer to me as Professor Snape or sir. I shall have the overrated privilege of trying to make you each into competent potion brewers in addition to being your Head of House."

Severus Snape. Evanna had heard the name before, and knew that he ran the same soial and political circles as her father, as well as being her brother's favorite professor. However, like so many names she knew, she had never met the man in person. He was intriguing, to say the least.

"In your seven years here, you will learn to comport yourself with the utmost of dignity and uphold the Slytherin ethos of tradition, fraternity, and excellence," he said pacing the line of new students, eyes landing on each one. "This means that no disagreement with a House mate will leave this Common Room and that any just punishment you receive from another teacher I will give you double."

The same nasty boy from earlier opened his mouth and Professor Snape held up a finger, giving half a smirk.

"That also means that I will always fight for you when that punishment is unearned," he said slowly. "You shall always do your very best in your classes and seek assistance from your Prefects or myself when your efforts are insufficient. And finally, your appearance shall always reflect the long tradition of excellence that our House has held. With that in mind-Eva Blishwick."

The blonde girl jumped forward as Professor Snape read her name from a scroll. He handed her a silver and green tie, and a patch with a swirling snake on it.

"The House-elves shall see to it that all of your uniform robes have your crest and are properly lined with green," he told the room at large before speaking to her directly. "Wear it well."

Blishwick nodded and darted back to the line.

"Elias Gamp!" A boy with a smattering of freckles darted forward. "Wear it well. Elin Gamp." The girl who was obviously his twin stepped forward, almost at his hip. "Wear it well. Jaime Hughes." The nasty boy who had made fun of Eva Blishwick. "Wear it well. Teagan Leroy." A lanky brunette. "Wear it well. Evanna Malfoy."

Professor Snape had paused before he read off her name and his eyes snapped up to her own immediately.

She looks nothing like Lucius.

Evanna blinked in confusion and took a few measured steps to her new Head of House, his fathomless eyes burrowing into her very being as she took her tie and crest from his tapered fingers. She wondered absently if he had ever played piano, like her mother had taught her to do when she was young.

"Wear it well," he said slowly, seeming unable to tear his eyes from her. The longer he stared, the more uncomfortable she felt.

"Thank you, sir," she said, just to break the tension. "Is something wrong, sir?"

The professor seemed to shake himself. "Off to bed, all of you. Boys to the left, girls to the right. First years' curfew is 9:30 and all of you are to be in beds, curtains drawn at that time. My prefects will report to me if you are not."

The first years all hustled to do as they were told. Evanna felt so exhausted-and her belly so full-that she knew she would immediately fall asleep. The letter to her mother would have to wait until morning.

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