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ded-and-gonne · 1 year

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by @firstpersonnarrator || Header gif by the divine @salvador-daley || possession prompt by anon

Part 4: Somebody’s in the garden

<<———😵‍💫———>>

TW: main character injury; possession; two not-brothers flirting; my absurdist sense of humor heavily featuring a not-so-bright, omniscient-first-person narrator; a hazy grasp of Pilgrim-speak; bad gardeners; mimes.

AN: The night before Halloween is Devil’s Night, when the veil between the living and the dead is at its 2nd thinnest. After Klaus’s delightfully successful Devil’s Night prank, he’s feeling moderately guilty for scaring the shit out of Ben. So he has decided it would be best to target Ben’s vanity, and boost his not-brother’s self esteem by finally giving in and substituting ‘Evil’ in place of ‘Mean.’ Don’t worry, it doesn’t last.

<<———😵‍💫———>>

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“Evil Ben? Is it just me, or is this garden surprising?”

They’d agreed to attempt a search for a hypothetical concept called a “kitchen” somewhere in their wing of the building. It had worked. But instead of being knee-deep in champagne like Ben prefers to be, they’re off bumping, unintentionally, into creepy buried gardens, and things of that nature.

Klaus had popped wood at the mere thought of owning a secret garden. To be fair, he had also just been fondling a green man.

Now, atop a set of low, rough-hewn steps, Klaus and Evil Ben stand looking out over a broad, circular patio of stone, surveying the strangeness beyond.

A perfectly Devil’s Night-ish kind of garden lies beyond, full of dead things that had formerly been alive.

It’s clear that the flagstones had once been leveled, engraved, and polished to a high shine. But the frost heaves that bedevil New England in winter have utterly destroyed the flat perfection of the patio over time. Flagstones thrust up like fallen gravestones, with ropes of ivy pulling at the gaps between.

Sad patches of brown grass dot bald earth where once there had been a lawn. The remains of an ancient orchard have devolved into nothing but a twisted stand of five skeletons and their splintered deadfall, all of it jagged and aggressively stabby. An intricate design of garden beds has been overtaken and strangled to death by tall weeds, persistently poking through years of matted, decaying leaves. Darkness. And urns.

Ben is currently scanning with intense eyes beneath matchingly intense eyebrows, and croaks, “What?”

“Wow. Bennerino, you still don’t sound so good,” Klaus unhelpfully points out. “Huh. I wonder how your threats will sound now. Will you be miming them?”

Ben turns a face full of anger and accusations on Klaus. But he’s forced to admit to himself that he will not be picking any more tantrums for the foreseeable future. He deflates, and finally mimes *huh?* followed by *I fucking hate you.*

“No you don’t,” Klaus replies, exaggerating the shaking of his head no, as if he, too, has to mime.

Ben rolls his eyes, then nods with exaggeration, accompanied by miming, *Yes, I do. I really do.*

“This is fun! We should make up our own miming language!” Klaus exclaims. “We can use it as code when we get our first job detecting supernatural stuff and things.”

Ben mimes, *That’s stupid.*

“No it’s not,” says Klaus, once more exaggerating his head-shaking.

Ben mimes, *Yes it is. It really is.*

“We should probably discuss this when you don’t have to play charades. I hate to say it, babe, but you’re not very good at it.” Klaus flaps his hands, effectively miming *Nevermind all that.* “So, hey. Remember what I was saying before? About the surprising garden?”

Rolling his eyes, Ben huffs a deeply frustrated breath.

“Is this place supposed to have a garden?” Klaus asks, side-eyeing the vegetation.

Ben again looks to the heavens, then gives in and mimes, *I am unrolling invisible architectural blueprints with my hands, see me pointing? See me shaking my head no? There was no garden in the blueprints.*

Klaus mimes back, *You’re getting better at this, good job!*

Ben again mimes, *I hate you. I really do.*

*No you don’t.* Klaus is again exaggerating his head-shaking, when he remembers that he’s the one who can speak. “Blueprints? What blueprints? You got to see blueprints? I don’t believe you.”

Ben starts tapping his foot to indicate annoyance.

“So what was I saying?” Then Klaus remembers what he was saying, “Oh right.” He puffs himself up a bit to declare, “I, too, find this garden surprising.”

Ben slumps, indicating to Klaus that his not-brother is experiencing strong feelings of negativity, and should probably be left alone in contemplation. Lucky guess.

The entirety of the secret garden is enclosed by the building’s stone walls. Ben’s hidden excitement mounts as he descends the steps and takes in the view from a new vantage. It appears that the only point of access to this world of death and dead things is through the head of a green man.

Klaus wonders aloud, “How old is this place? Hey, Bennerino.” Ben bothers to turn and face Klaus, which is a start. “How old do you think this place is?”

*How the fuck am I supposed to know?* Ben really is getting better at being a mime. Especially the swear words. The next one’s easy: *I am feeling snarky and Evil as I ask you, ‘Why?’*

“Well, for starters, there’s the fact that this place looks really old.”

Ben’s eye rolling is just a safe assumption at this point.

“I mean, look at the walls.”

They both gaze about, mounting interest still mounting.

Klaus is correct. It does look old. Really old.

Ben needs Klaus’s attention in order to mime, so he yells “Klaus!” as loud as he possibly can. Unfortunately, that isn’t very loud. His cracked wheezing hasn’t managed to break through the sound of Klaus thinking thoughts. In the meantime, Ben is gripping his poor, damaged throat with both hands, eyes scrunched in pain, and wishing he could whimper. Self care would help, but this is neither the time nor the place.

“Did you say something, Benji?”

Ben mimes, *There are no windows.*

“Anywhere!” Klaus agrees. “I know! That’s why I asked!”

*Yes, I too would like to know why there are no windows,* is hopefully what that body language conveyed to Klaus.

“Friday,” Klaus answers.

Yeah, that one was unclear. Maybe Ben just needs a little more practice.

*Same stone,* Ben mimes, gesturing toward the patio. *All the way,* Ben mimes, gesturing at the walls. *Nobody builds stuff like this anymore. It’s probably old old.*

“Tuesday,” answers Klaus. “Kidding! Just kidding. Old old. Yeah, real old old. Like maybe even Harvard-old. Did you know that our prissy ol’ dame was founded in 1636? I’m serious, silly! First institute of higher education in America. I looked it up in case it affected our property taxes.”

*Are you shitting me?*

“No, Ben. I don’t kink shame, but no, I will not take a shit on you. Not if I don’t want to. I do not give you my consent.”

*I hate you. I reeeelly do.*

“That’s ok. I grow on people.”

*Gross,* Ben mimes. A bentacle shoves Klaus away.

Ok, what was that? Ben hadn’t been able to keep himself from doing it. Literally and precisely, he had not been able to avoid doing it. One of his bentacles has just shown free will.

Ben comes close to that realization, or pretty close, and shies away before he can take in the full impact of that truly horrorfying thought. Ben is so nauseous right now.

Rough one. Meanwhile, Klaus is blissfully unaware of what has just taken place. “Very funny, Mr. Grumpy Guts. My guess is,” Klaus strokes his beard to increase the suspense, “it never had any windows. ooooWOOOOooooo” [insert scary twinkle fingers here]. “I mean, there’s no way to know that for sure, other than tracking down the architect or the stonemason’s ghosts. How deep do you think we are?”

Ben looks uncharacteristically tongue-tied.

He keeps miming what might mean *under* or *underneath,* or even more likely, *inside,* and pointing at his nauseous bellybutton.

“What? Under? Under what? Oh, are you hungry? I gotta be honest, babe, these charades are getting a little old. A little tired. No offense.” Klaus sighs, and pats Ol’ Grumpy Guts tenderly on the shoulder. “Nevermind, I’ll do the talking. Ok, ready? 3 words, 1st word, 6 syllables.”

Klaus is taking his life into his own hands by talking. He should know that by now, but he’s still happily pushing Ben’s buttons. “Kidding, kidding! Ok, so,” Klaus begins counting, “this is the sub-sub-basement, and these walls are wicked high, so that includes the sub-basement, too. Ben, I really think it might be as tall as the basement! That’s tall!”

All Ben can do is nod.

“I know what this feels like!” Klaus crows. “This feels exactly like I’m in a box with no lid. Buried in the ground. Doesn’t it feel a little klaustrophobic?” he asks. “Now that you know we’re at the bottom of three basements?”

Ben mimes in agreement, *Like I’m at the bottom of an open grave, looking up at a rectangular patch of sky.*

Klaus scratches his beard again, trying to look like he’s ruminating on whatever it was Ben just acted out. “Ben, I’ve thought about it, and there’s never a good enough reason to mime shooting yourself in the head. That’s not funny. I’d miss you.” Klaus is 100% serious.

*No no no, that’s not what I meant. Look,* Ben mimes, and draws a knife across his throat.

“Ben,” Klaus looks hurt. “Stop offing yourself. It hurts.”

Ben goes to grab handfuls of his hair in frustration, then realizes his fingers would just get stuck in all the product. He tries again. *You, look at me. I am digging in the ground with a shovel. See me shoveling? Good. Thumbs up. Second word: I have dug a long rectangle with four sides. A four-sided rectangle. See it? Good. Thumbs up. Third word: I have two fingers that are pretending to be legs walking. But they stumble into the rectangle and look upward to the sky.*

“Huh?”

Ben continues. *All of that, see me drawing a circle, it means all of that, all of it taken together = a grave.*

“Huh?”

Ben tries to growl, and grips his throat in pain. It’s obvious that Klaus thinks he’s miming strangulation.

*No, no, no, look at me, you.* Ben tries to mouth the word ‘grave,’ skipping all the theatrics.

“To blave? To klave? A rave? What, you want to go dancing?” Klaus shakes his head in acknowledgement that that’s probably not what Ben is saying. “Nah, that can’t be it. Took me way too long to make you shake a tail feather at the wedding, why should a pit in the ground be any different. OH! Now I get it. A grave! Where?”

Ben wants to take a nap. Instead, he points at himself, then points toward the bracken vegetation beyond. It’s a wise choice, and evidence that Ben is capable of practicing self care. Maybe some peace and quiet will keep him sane while he contemplates the potential that his belly monster is sentient.

There’s something wyrd and wrong about the direction Ben has chosen to walk, but no matter how hard he squints, Klaus can’t quite make it out in the macabre gloom. Being Klaus, he naturally wants to explore it. But he also wants to naturally explore everything else, and anyway, Ben needs some alone time.

But, being Klaus, he gets distracted and addresses Ben, anyway. “Hey look!” Klaus excitedly points out a small rise to one side of the lawn. “We get our own tiny little miniature grassy knoll!” More like a lump in the lawn. A bump, a tiny mound.

Ben is past caring about something called a ‘grassy knoll.’ What the hell even is that, anyway? He’s also past paying attention to Klaus.

That happens a lot. With Ben and people other than Ben. Sometimes Klaus minds, but other times the lack of supervision suits his purposes nicely. It’s just that today, he minds. Because it’s Devil’s Night, and they have to be paying attention to each other if anyone is going to get scared. He would have thought that went without saying, but Ben seems to be playing dumb about this whole Devil’s Night business. They all had the same Dad, so they should all play the same games. Flawless logic. More or less.

Watching Ben follow a stone path off into the murk, Klaus tisks at the sere remains of their lawn. “We need a new gardener. This is just shameful.”

<<———😵‍💫———>>

Klaus is now tip-toeing through the frost heaves.

Looking about, he calls after Ben. “Would you call this a garden? Or a courtyard? Courtyard sounds way too much like the Academy, and that is not my idea of heaven, so it’s a garden. Officially. It’s an official garden. Even if it’s a court- Ben, wait, hey wait a minute.” Ben has been ignoring him, ever since he started wandering away.

“Rude!” Klaus squawks in disapproval. “Has it ever occurred to you that I might have- Hey, wa-wait! Baby, baby, stop. Ben’nuh!”

Klaus decides that the frost-heaved patio is difficult enough to walk on even without falling to his detriment. At least falling to his detriment would give Klaus a chance to take a closer look at the swooping, interlocking designs carved on the stones beneath his feet. He makes a mental note to come back and fall elaborately (so as to catch Ben’s attention), and then moves on to poke about the patio’s periphery.

Dotted at regular intervals around the edges stand five huge stone urns, and — possibly to his own detriment — they have drawn Klaus’s attention. From a distance, it looks a bit like there might once have been some kind of dense, black liquid flowing over their lips, coating the outward swell of the great pots with slow droplets of the black, sticky-looking stuff. Up close they give off a sickening sweet molasses smell. Yet a faint note of something perfumy can be caught quietly lingering beneath the brutish odor of the burnt substance. Almost as if someone set fire to flowers, consigning them to the flames licking skyward from the urns. It’s as though Klaus can see the phantom flames — an image so strong and clear that he reaches up and rubs his eyes.

“Who the fuck were these people, and why?”

Klaus has to remember where he stashed his self control, if he wants to keep himself from touching. But despite all his stupidity, Klaus is not stupid. There’s enough about this space that seems just a bit off (or a whole lot off), that Klaus decides against living his most chaotic life. Under these wyrd circumstances, he decides to lean conservative, instead, figuring now is as good a time as any to give self-conservation a try.

“Wow. These guys were serious,” he observes aloud as he walks toward the tiny little miniature grassy knoll. “I don’t know what these people were up to, but it involved five mammoth burning urns filled with fire to accomplish it.” He kicks at the weeds as he passes.

He wants to know if Ben has any theories. “Yoo-hoo, Benneriiiinooo,” he calls after his not-brother, but Ben is busy following the path to the dark side.

<<———😵‍💫———>>

Ben has set his sights beyond Klaus’s grassy knoll. It looks as if all this dead vegetation might be screening something beyond. There’s an impenetrable darkness back there, which strikes Ben as rather concerning.

He sniffs the air, and pulls back. Freshly turned earth, and a faint rotting smell. He flashes back to the Oily Darkness of Terror in Klaus’s room. The hair on the back of his neck stands up once more. He whips around, but neither Klaus nor anyone else is behind him.

Ben is coming to terms with the fact that he will be doing a lot of post-traumatic jumping from now on, whenever he gets that foreboding prickle at the base of his skull. Or his Bentacles announce they have (always had?) a mind of their own.

*Focus, Ben,* he mimes to himself.

“Sorry, did you say something?” Klaus calls out. Ben just flips him off while walking away. It’s his favorite way to end conversations. Second favorite being hanging up on Klaus, but he doesn’t get to do that much anymore.

A phantom gust of wind buffets him and sets the dead leaves still clinging to the trees a-rattling. Like teeth. Like bones. Rattle them bones. Like a death rattle.

Ben jolts at the sound of something distinctly alive, skittering off the stones ahead of him. It’s a purposeful sound, and Ben shivers. Was that something moving out of the corner of his eye? Something too big to skitter. Much too big.

Ben refuses to be terrified again tonight. He doesn’t have any terror left to give. It’s just not going to happen, he promises himself. But he’s still unsure of exactly what he’s walking into. Particularly because the light has gone dim and heavy, and all sound from the world behind him is dulled.

<<———😵‍💫———>>

Klaus tries the Yoo-Hoo approach again. “Yoo-hoo, Bennerino!”

He descends the mound, ready to take off after Ben, like a little brother who keeps following you around, being annoying to get your attention. Exactly like that. But after only a few steps he halts, goes still, and stays still.

Klaus does not usually stfu without being told to. Ben is intrigued enough by the silent stillness to pause. Swinging around to see what could possibly have caused this miracle, Ben watches slack-jawed as Klaus is yanked backward with a jolt, heels dragging parallel lines in the dirt back up the knoll. Ben’s no engineer, but quite frankly, whatever just made that happen to Klaus’s body clearly considered the laws of physics more as suggested-guidelines-of-physics than laws.

“Klaus?” Ben’s voice sounds small to his own ears, because it is. It’s tiny, if it actually has a sound at all.

But the memory of Klaus’s prank still really gets under his nails. And anyway, he’s panicking.

*Oh, no. No no no noooo.* Ben gets his whole body into it.

*You are not doing this to me again, you. Whatever nasty little joke you have fumbling through the darkness in your skull, you can forget it. You, I’m not falling for your shit again, you Klaus.* This tirade featured pointing really hard, a lot.

Eyes glazed and oblivious to Ben, Klaus starts to sing. Or not so much singing as chanting. Picture a little kid reciting a nursery rhyme, and name him Klaus. It would be cute if it wasn’t so worrisome. Something about that flat monotone.

Somebody is in the garden

Somebody’s in the garden

Somebodies in the garden

Some body is in the garden

Some body’s in the garden

Some bodies in the garden

Ben mimes at Klaus. *This possession-face you’re trying to sell me? I’m not buying. No really, Klaus, stop. You’re embarrassing yourself.* ‘Embarrassing’ is actually a rather difficult word to mime, but nowhere near as difficult as ‘possession-face’. Ben continues, undaunted. *This is sad. And boring.* He huffs and again turns to the dark side of the garden. *Whatever,* he mimes.

Klaus’s unflagging chanting is eerie, nonsensical. Every line sounds the same to Ben, like a Gregorian chant, and he can’t decide if the words are relevant, or just blather.

Ben finally digests what he’s heard. “Somebody is in the garden,” he mouths to himself. His nerves are now amped to full alert. Somebody’s in the garden?

Klaus’s phrasing is all running together. There’s no pause, now. No rhythm. As if it’s all just an infinite series of syllables. It’s fucking creepy, is what it is.

“Ok, Klaus. That’s enough!”

Klaus hasn’t heard him, because Ben can only mouth the words, stomp his foot, and hope he’s understood. Especially when Klaus with his eyes closed is a blind Klaus. And even with his eyes open, Klaus is somewhere else. In a galaxy far, far away.

It has to be said, and it has to be admitted, that Ben isn’t usually the first to jump into battle. He likes to peacock, in red leathers, and to snap at people, literally, to indicate that it’s their time to do his bidding. And the Sparrows did do his bidding. Until they quickly agreed not to do that anymore, twice. But as proven unto Oblivion, when Ben needs to step up, he does. And he’s certainly well trained.

Meanwhile, Ben is just standing there slack-jawed, and he probably wouldn’t want you to know that. Moving on.

“Some bodies in the garden some body’s in the garden somebody’s in the garden…”

Ben powers up his courage and rushes the knoll. Charging purposefully, he’s half way up when he hits an invisible wall. In the blink of an eye, Ben is dragged backward, leaving two jagged marks in the dirt just as Klaus had done. The moment he reaches flat earth, Ben is tossed aside like an argumentative drunk from a bar (which Ben has no experience with whatsoever).

Oh Jesus, that looks like it hurt. Yeah, so, Ben has just been flung into the air at a high enough height that 1. he is flying, without touching the ground; 2. sailing straight over the stabby orchard of trees; 3. into the formerly impenetrable darkness beyond which no one can see except Ben; and finally, 4. so far that he crumples painfully against a hedge. Understandably, this causes Ben to have a fear-based emotional response. Looks like Ben, acts like Ben, but a Ben with his eyes huge and round, and a permanently ‘oh!’ shaped mouth.

From between Klaus’s normally-flirtatious lips blasts a harsh, grating baritone — a blast far louder and lower than Klaus could ever achieve, not in his wildest, most depraved dreams. “The key!” it booms. This is sufficient to distract Ben from pretty much everything else in life.

*Huh?* Ben is quick and to the point when he’s buying time. Which has never been terribly helpful.

“Seek, and thou shalt findeth to this prison a key! Such key that hidest in sight most plain. Do this bidding with haste, or thy next breath shall grow weak. The next, so much the weaker. Telleth me, shall I press thee to death as thou hast hastened and chastened me?”

*Do you ever shut up?* Ben’s compulsion to snark overrules any pesky fear he might be experiencing. The ghost had lost Ben at the beginning, when the first ‘thou’ dropped.

“What am I to shut up?” Mr. Mouthy Withoutamouth is confused. “But no! I shan’t be diverted by thy Devil’s word-perversion. You speak it so recklessly, heathen sorcerer!”

No he didn’t just call Ben a heathen. But actually yeah, he did.

*What did you just say?* The ghost has crossed a line. In addition to allllll the other lines already crossed. Starting with possession. *Say that again.*

“Which part dost thou wisheth me to repeateth, heathen sorcerer?”

As Ben officially loses his shit and once again rushes the mound, the ghost expands his bouncy rubber force field beyond the mound in every direction. Ben is bounced back at the shrubbery like a ricochet from a trampoline.

Take a short break from contemplating what might be happening to Ben next, and instead take a moment to contemplate one of Ben’s key characteristics. During interrogation training, Dad had impressed upon the Sparrows that someday they might need to interrogate each other, and possibly even themselves. Ben defaults to training whenever he loses his mind. ‘First question,’ he thinks to himself. ‘How does this whoever-it-is have powers? He can’t be one of us, can he? He sounds wayyyy too old to have been born in 1989, even if he’s only talking all old-timey like that to get into character for Halloween. Or maybe for community theatre.’

The deep-voiced possessor of Klaus growls, “I pledge to thee an oath! This body shalt tear itself to shreds most small, shouldst thou tarry in thy quest.”

*I never agreed to a quest! Kiss my ass, Dusty McRotsalot.*

“Know of this McRotsalot, I do not. But of thee, Hargreeves? Thou art known to me.”

*I am?*

“Thou art, young Hargreeves. Thou art he who wakes the dead with screams. Thou dost dissemble in thy feigned ignorance! By the pricking of mine thumb, thine head dost now stand hexed. Hear, oh Hargreeves, thou art hexed! Be it ever so! Didst thou takest Giles Corey for a man to be so vexed?”

Most unwisely, Ben dost snarketh, *Are you done yet?*

To prove his hex genuine, the threat real, The Ghost of Giles Corey splits Klaus’s mouth as wide open as it will stretch. The spirit of the dead man gathers aether to itself, accreting his physical form in a way Ben never dreamt possible. In a feat of what can only be called magic, or possession, or the exorcist, or an exorcism, a head that is not Klaus’s head attempts to squeeze out of Klaus’s mouth. And not in the cute, messy way that Ghost Ben did. Remember? Way back in the olden days? The ghost accretes aether steadily until wispy, smoke-like hair and one eyeball try to emerge from an orifice that truly cannot open further.

Does Klaus scream? No. Does Ben scream? In his own way. Plus tears, because he’s afraid for Klaus. Deeply afraid for Klaus.

There is only one thought in his mind: getting his superhero on and saving the fuck out of Klaus.

Ben has just come to the startling realization that his damned not-brother Klaus is a light-bringer to this jaded world, even if it’s a red flashing light accompanied by sirens.

*So? What? You want me to find some key, is that it? Hey, moron!* he mimes through his tears. *I can’t find it if you don’t tell me where it is, now can I! Is it on one of the key rings?*

“Strange is thy speech. From whence dost thou come, and wherefore?”

*LA, and because it’s LA. Not for…other reasons. It’s not cuz I wanted to live here in Boston, or anything.*

“CAMBRIDGE!”

*Yeah, whatever.* Ben flips The Ghost of Giles Corey off. Or at least the Ghost of Giles Corey’s eyeball.

“Thou dost err most grievously, when thou mistaketh mine own self for a moron.”

*Do you ever stop talking? Threats, pfft.* Ben sneers in disgust. *You are talking to the only threatener in this household, Bitch Cassidy, and that’s me! See how I’m pointing at myself in the chestal region? I will be making all the threats in this house.*

“But I, young Hargreeves, I maketh good on mine own threats.”

Klaus drops to the ground, head bouncing off the dirt.

“HEY!” Ben attempts to shout. Though it comes out in barely a whisper, the eyeball hears him well enough.

Again Ben rushes the knoll, and again he flies backward into the hedges.

Ben takes a little longer to get up than he did the last time he hit shrubbery from a height. Rolling to his stomach, he catches a glimpse of Klaus.

His not-brother is on his knees atop the knoll. Ben’s eyes burn with hot tears. Klaus is digging. Klaus is digging with his fingers.

“STOP!” Ben whispers. “MAKE IT STOP!!!! Klaus! Can you hear me, too? Klaus!” he whispers with everything he’s got.

Klaus does not stop. The two wet tracks down his cheeks are enough for Ben to know that Klaus is still in there somewhere. And he’s in pain.

*STOP! Stop,* Ben pleads. He drops to his knees and mouths the words, “Please. What do you want? Some kind of key? I’ll get you the key, I’ll get it for you, I’ll do it, please, just stop!“

“I was of the mind that thou wouldst. Given the encouragement most right and good in the eyes of-”

*STOP! You got what you want! I’m helping! So stop!* Ben mimes as loud as he can.

“Why shouldst I? Verily. Let the sight serve thee as thy inspiration.”

*But you’ve given me NOTHING! NOTHING! Some key? Is that it? That’s supposed to be enough to go on?* Ben jangles two mammoth key rings.

“Such tiny things as these?”

“In this century they are!” Ben whispers.

This century.

Despite not liking history, Ben is certain that Giles Corey is not of this century.

*A skeleton key?* Ben asks, then realizes that with this guy, they might get hung up in a debate about bones. *About this big?* Ben’s back to miming illustratively.

Aaaand now back to whispering again. “Black, solid, heavy, metal. Iron? It wouldn’t be lead, would it?”

“Bone.”

Giving him Ben’s signature head bobble/shoulder wobble, Ben sneers. *Ah. Of course it is.*

The entire conversation turns to bones after all.

“AND?! COME ON! LET HIM GO! You fucking bastard bitch, sad, BORING fuckin…violence…in your face!” Ben is trying so very hard to mask the feeling of panic overtaking his body, by getting pretty bitchy.

“Speakest thee English?”

*Get talking, asshole!* Ben vibrates with rage as he mimes.

“No sane, godly man would suggest such base, vile blasphemy,” the ghost declares in horror. “To speak from thy- Thou art no sane man.”

Ben looks again at Klaus’s poor, bloodied hands, still brutally attacking the baked earth.

Ben realizes he can see bones, and finally lets himself panic. *WHERE? WHERE? WHERE AM I SUPPOSED TO GET the bone key, fuckin asshole, motherfucking fuck my life, I-*

‘I can’t do this,’ is what Ben had intended to say. The feeling of inadequacy is stifling. Ben can’t breathe. For the second time tonight, Ben hyperventilates from sheer, blinding terror.

Which is not a thing that Ben would want you to know. Moving on.

“Thou art weak, heathen blasphemer. Thou art repugnant.” Ouch.

*Tell me what to do,* Ben whispers, in abject defeat.

The Ghost of Giles Corey begins to laugh.

Cold, man, cold. That’s just cold.

Two trickles of blood wend their way down from the corners of Klaus’s splitting mouth. Two trickles of tears wend their way down from the corners of Ben’s streaming eyes.

Klaus’s hands. His poor hands. Klaus. Maddening and lovable. His poor, mangled hands.

This, friends of the occult, is called ‘leverage.’

“The key, young Hargreeves. The key of Solomon ist what thou seekest. Fashioned of skin and bone, thou shalt find it in the ground amongst the bones before me. Seek, and ye shall findeth the key in the ossuary.”

“*Where?!*” Ben both whispers, and mimes. Ben is all in, raging and ready to bring this thing to an end. “*And WHAT THE FUCK is a motherfucking OSSUARY?*”

<<———😵‍💫———>>

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I’m kinda hoping you won’t look up Giles Corey. I’m kinda hoping you will reblog, though. 🙏

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ladyofthelake · 2 years

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A 1 star Rings of Power review: Craig Reviewed in the United Kingdom on 06 September 2022 Who is this for?Terrible acting from the very first scene. Some of the actors lack any merit and have odd ways of delivering lines, from out of place facial expressions to downright flat voices. This show is badly cast, I can't put it any other way. Bad writing, evident throughout the first two episodes with minor glimmers of hope from some of the secondary characters (the dwarves) interspersed with common points of boredom, disbelief and despair. Some of the direction in the scenes is downright odd. Example: Galadriel is floating on a raft for some time in episode 2, talking to a fellow survivor (the stupidity of this entire scene is not my point), while the camera cuts a good 5- 10 times between them. Throughout Galadriel is pulling on a rope, in a very animated and distracting fashion, for precisely what reason? This ruins any intensity from the discussion and is just strange. The CGI is phenomenal, but overused and often pointless. Each geographical shift is explained with the transition of a map of middle earth. Welcome the first time, but this will get old quickly. Where CGI and traditional 'real' backdrops are used, the quality is glaringly poor and sticks out like a sore thumb. Some of the scenery in the elven wooded scenes looks like it's from thunderbirds. The armour and costumes are terrible. Everything looks fake. Compared to the films, the attention to detail is non existent. Cloth is all exclusively felt or felt like and looks cheap. Armour, plastic. Not one piece of real chain mail to be seen. Just dire and immersion breaking. Many people more familiar with the books than me will complain about the lore. I am confused as to why it has been ignored so severely. Elves with short hair, dwarve women with no facial hair, and Galadriel now being a sword wielding bully. Bizarre. The action is violent and bloody at times, the jokes and body language immature and almost slapstick like at others. Confusing. It offends hard-core fans, alienates newcomers and clearly isn't for kids...so who is this for?493 people found this helpful

Craig you’re an idiot 😂as are the 493 people who upvoted your obvious trolling

#the rings of power #lets laugh at the troll guys

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y2fandom · 2 years

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Warming Up — Ben Hargreeves

→ Summary: You are convinced Ben hates you, Ben is convinced you hate him. Klaus is convinced you are both idiots.

→ Genre: Mutual pining! Idiots to lovers! Fluff! Humour! The whole circus is here

→ Warnings: A very small passing mention of murder

→ Word count: 6K

→ A/N: I genuinely think this is my longest fic and I don't regret a single thing.

English is not my first language and this is not beta-read, please let me know if there are any mistakes

tua masterlist l navigation l fandoms | buy me a kofi

The universe is based on absolute truths. Truths that no matter how many people deny them will always be. The earth is not flat. Water makes things wet. Ben Hargreeves is absolutely head over heels in love with you.

It isn't up to discussion, in any way. Anyone who denies any of these facts is immediately considered a fool by everyone around them.

And yet…

"Klaus, for the last time," you sigh, resisting the urge to run your hands through your hair for the millionth time in the afternoon, "Ben. Is. Not. In. Love. With. Me."

Surprisingly, instead of the singsonged 'yes he is' response you expect, Klaus only gives you the weirdest look. He looks like he has never seen someone so stupid in his entire life, and he sees himself in the mirror every day.

"Quit looking at me like that," you grumble, hiding behind the battered drink menu. You pretend to consider ordering a milkshake, muttering the flavors available.

"You really don't see it," Klaus states, an airy laugh following his observation. "You really think Ben hates you,"

You wince. Leave it to Klaus to rub salt to a very sensitive wound. "I don't want him to hate me but—"

"He doesn't!" He interjects.

In your exasperation, you drop the menu. "Then how do you explain how much he avoids me? The minute I look in his direction he leaves!"

"He's nervous!"

You scoff. Ben Hargrevees. Number Six of The Umbrella Academy. Number Six who fights bad guys on a daily basis. Ben Hargreeves with an intergalactic horror living inside of his stomach. Nervous of talking to you? As if.

"He is," Klaus emphasizes, like he can't think of a way to make you understand.

"Sure, okay," You roll your eyes, "prove it then."

"What?"

"Prove it." You say, shooting him what you hope is a determined glance, "Prove Ben likes me like you claim oh so confidently."

Klaus shifts in his seat. Ben is going to kill him.

"Fine," He nods and you don't pay much attention to the way your heart beats with renewed hope.

You know Ben doesn't even like you as a person, much less in a romantic way, but your traitorous heart doesn't care about the facts, it just flutters against your ribcage, fueled by the notion of Ben Hargreeves returning your affections.

The drinks menu feels soft under your touch as silence falls on your table and you allow yourself to wonder what it would be like to be sitting in front of Ben, instead of his brother. You wonder what flavor of milkshake he likes. You wonder if he would like to share one with you.

You have to shove the last piece of your abandoned donut into your mouth to stop the stream of thought. Klaus always says things, whether they are true or not is another issue. You can't let his words feed any sort of hope inside of you, lest it takes root and crushes your heart.

"Easy there or you might choke, Y/N," Klaus says.

You shoot him a glare that doesn't really do the job when you are very clearly still chewing what was at least a two-bite sized chunk of donut. He immediately laughs.

"Do you want another one?" He asks when your chewing comes to a stop.

You shake your head, "You have no money, I paid for the both of us,"

Klaus shrugs, "I am a well educated young man,"

You snort, "You murdered chivalry right outside of Griddy's and spit on its corpse."

Klaus smiles, "You know who can bring it back to life though?"

The groan you release is probably heard by everyone enjoying a nice donut dinner tonight but you don't care so much about it as you care for getting out of the booth before Klaus can joke about Ben being chivalrous.

You just can't hear about it. You know. God knows you know Ben Hargreeves is one of the most chivalrous guys out there. You can tell in the way he holds the door for older women or in the way he politely says thank you after everything a waitress does for him. You know and it makes your heart burn with ideas on how he will treat you on a first date. It's not fair.

You hop out of your seat like you can physically escape the intrusive daydreams. "I think I need to go."

Klaus visibly deflates and you feel a pang of guilt. You were probably Klaus's only non-drug-involved friend and the only person he could actually talk to and escape the mansion with, without having pills be involved.

He follows you outside of Griddy's, silently begging you and tugging at you to stay. You bite your lip, weighing down your options.

"I'm sorry, Klaus," you say, reaching for him, "my parents…"

Klaus gives you a small smile that looks slightly forced, his eyes already look far away. "It's okay, see you on Saturday?"

You nod, giving his arm a light squeeze. "Noon."

You remember the first time you saw the Hargreeves.

It was a normal Saturday for you. With your father off to some business trip, your mom and you had decided to go and get some donuts from your favorite place.

When you got to Griddy's they were already there. The first thing you noticed was that there was something odd about them. You couldn't really pinpoint it then but they stood out like a sore thumb. Maybe it was their clothing or that they seemed vaguely familiar or even that they looked way too giddy for a normal group of teenagers in a small donut shop.

You hadn't talked to them that time, you just watched as you tried to think of what drew you to them. When they noticed your gaze they lowered their voices and seemed uncomfortable so you decided no to bother them anymore and looked away. You didn't notice that a certain gaze lingered.

The second time you saw them you were on your own. You had taken on the duty of getting donuts and coffee for your family and you noticed them as you got there. You made a point of not staring and you stayed in the to-go queue.

You were getting your coffee when something hit you from behind and the coffee cup overflowed with the scalding liquid all over your hand. You hissed a curse as you turned around to find your assailant.

Honestly, you didn't know what you expected but one of the teens from the group was in front of you and he looked terrified.

"I'm–" he stuttered out, "I hit you, you were in the way—"

You frowned, turning to receive a wet towel Agnes was handing out to you. "Sorry," you muttered bitterly. He wasn’t the one with a third degree burn on the making but ok.

"I have to go." He announced before rapidly bolting to the door. The other four teenagers followed suit.

Agnes offered to refill your cup and you thanked the woman a million times, glad you wouldn't have to pay twice but deeply ashamed that she felt like she had to do that. It was that mysterious guy's fault and it annoyed you to no end that he hadn't even offered to pay for the damage.

It amuses you, in a way. You hadn't appreciated Ben back when you first met, and look at you now, harboring a secret crush for a guy who has barely spoken to you since you met.

Your opinion on Ben changed and he grew on you but it is clear it isn't like that for him. Instead, The Horror himself can barely stand you, and it hurts to know so.

A book flies through the air before hitting Klaus square in the chest and the next one comes swiftly a second later and lands on his head. (If anyone asked, Diego would totally deny altering the trajectory of any of the books, despite everyone knowing Ben has the worst aim out of all the umbrella members).

"Ow," Klaus laughs, falling silent when a hardcover hits him. "I take it you like the idea,"

If looks could kill, notes Diego, Klaus would be as dead as the apparitions he sees.

"Why can't you, for once, mind your own business?" Ben hisses, trying to keep the fight out of Reginald's earshot.

"I did you a favor!"

"I didn't ask for one." Ben facepalms and groans into his hands. "What am I supposed to do now, Klaus?"

"Chillax, it's not like you're gonna be all alone on a date."

Another book hits Klaus and it sends him tumbling to the floor.

"Right, thanks for that," Ben mutters sarcastically, "You just told her I have a giant embarrassing crush on her."

"It was a jerk move." Diego says, looking over his book.

Klaus clicks his tongue. "I told her you don't hate her."

"And now I'm supposed to talk to her."

Klaus shrugs. "Easy peasy, right?"

Ben looks just about one dumb-Klaus-comment away from choking him to death, and Diego has no intention of stopping him from doing so.

"I physically can't talk to her, you idiot!"

Klaus seems to think about that little fact for a second before he dissolves into giggles. "Oh right! Cause you aren't a man!"

Ben lunges at Klaus, and though the ambient noise isn't ideal, Diego keeps reading.

Ben remembers the first time he saw you. It was one of the few times he had actually decided to join his siblings in their escapades to the donut shop.

To be honest, Ben wasn't having the greatest time out with his siblings. When you live with a group of people there's hardly any story they could tell that would entertain you and even if he was enraptured by the outside world, the curious side glances his group received tainted that wonder and made him hyper-aware of how much they stood out.

As the conversation on the table continued, Ben silently people watched. He kept wondering about the lives of normal people, people unburdened by the weight of saving the world on a daily basis.

The ring of the bell above the entrance snapped him out of his thoughts and his gaze went back to the glass door.

Ben felt like someone kicked him in the stomach. All thought of breathing was forgotten as he watched you walk into the building, it suddenly felt like it was only you in the whole place and Ben didn't mind giving you his whole attention.

And then your gaze flitted over to him. Ben looked away and scrambled to appear busy in any way. He took a discarded menu and pretended to read it. The weight of your gaze made his face burn and his siblings were being so loud he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

"Someone is watching us," he said in between clenched teeth, "you're acting weird, we will get recognized."

The comment had the desired effect and an uncomfortable silence set in. Some of his siblings pretended they didn't notice they were being watched, the others were trying to look for whoever Ben was talking about.

After a few minutes of Ben containing his breath the bell rang again and you were gone. He longingly looked at your figure until you were no longer in his range of sight, and unbeknownst to him, he sighed when he couldn't see you.

Of course, his demon brother; Klaus, immediately picked up on the small gesture and he took the opportunity to tease Ben in stride. "Ohh, it looks like Ben has a crush!"

"Shut up. " Ben muttered, trying to shrink in his place and avoid the prying eyes of his siblings.

"He really does." Diego pointed out, his tone making it clear that he found the situation amusing.

"You don't even know her," Allison said.

"I just think she's pretty," Ben defended himself weakly.

"Ben, you know we can't date." Luther chastised and Ben wanted to bang his head against the table.

"Yes, I know," he said, "It's not like I'll ever see her again."

Ben didn't know at the time that his words that day would become complete and absolute lies. He also didn't know that he would actively try to make them lies, as he did when the next week he was the first to agree to go for donuts when usually he was the last one to do so.

He didn't want to admit to himself that he was only going because of you. He fooled himself into thinking he had liked the last donut flavor he got (though he couldn't even remember what it was) and when he told the other's his flimsy excuse it was obvious none of them actually believed it. It wasn't like it mattered though, Luther couldn't stop him from going out because he wanted to see a girl from afar. Who was he going to tell? They were already breaking the rule of not leaving the academy grounds.

Honestly speaking, Ben wasn't hopeful. He knew the chances of seeing you again were slim to none but the smallest speck of hope moved him and added a noticeable perk to his posture. His enthusiasm grew with every step they took in the direction of the donut shop and this rare outward indication of how Ben was feeling had the cogs in Klaus's brain turning.

"Ben, truth or dare?" Klaus asked as soon as Griddy's came into view.

Ben gave him a confused look, and then he looked away.

"Ben, truth or dare?"

Ben squinted at him, trying to read what he was planning. Tentatively, he said, "Dare."

Klaus was… dumb when he put his mind to it; but he wasn't dumb enough that he would dare Ben to do anything that would blow their covers. Ben didn't mind eating some dirt or ringing a doorbell and bolting if he got to have a good time with his siblings. He knew Klaus couldn't possibly dare him to do anything too bad.

"If the girl you liked is there for some reason, you have to talk to her."

Ben went back over his thoughts and crossed all of them out. He had been a naive little boy who foolishly expected anything close to being a nice human being from his brother, the raccoon man.

"No way," Ben expected the words to come out of his own mouth, instead the words came from Luther.

Ben felt a pinprick of annoyance, a reaction that seemed irrational given how he agreed with the sentiment. But he was used to reacting that way, a knee-jerk reaction stemming from years of being pitted against each other and made to listen to one of your siblings. A perfect recipe for jealousy, envy, and annoyance.

Ben envied Luther. He was very clearly in love with Allison and it seemed that she felt the same. Even if none of them did anything about it, it still felt like Luther had an advantage in the love department. The no interacting with normal people, and therefore not dating them didn't affect Luther in any way, so it was easy for him to enforce it.

"C'mon Luther!" Klaus protested, "She might not even show up!"

"But she might."

"He is just gonna say hi!" Klaus said, then he looked at the others, "It's all in good fun, right guys?"

He was met with silence, but no one joined Luther either.

"We can't talk to normal people."

"He won't say anything weird! Just a simple hi!"

Silence. Then, "Fine."

Ben jolted. "What?"

"Fine," Luther repeated, "She won't recognize you without the domino mask and you won't give us away."

Ben considered running, and he wondered if his siblings would follow him. He knew for a fact Klaus would and he would rather not make a scene. He took solace in the fact that you might not show up.

The visit to the restaurant went on. They ordered and ate without a sign of you anywhere. Ben was equally disappointed and relieved that you hadn't shown up.

The bell on top of the door rang.

Ben immediately looked at the door, a nervous reflex he'd been exercising through the whole visit. Immediately he felt himself blushing. Impossibly, you looked prettier than the last time he saw you. He knew he couldn't speak to you, not while he was going into cardiac arrest by simply looking at you from afar.

Ben forced his eyes to look at the plate in front of him and his jaw to close. He counted the crumbs on his plate and the seconds until anyone noticed you, pretending to be doing literally anything else.

Ben knew his time was up when he heard cutlery clanking in Klaus's general direction. He pressed his eyes closed and vehemently swore on the inside.

"She's here!" Klaus exclaimed way too loudly and it made Ben cringe. "She showed up!"

Ben sighed, he had partially hoped his siblings cared so little they wouldn't recognize you, but he should've known better, after all, you weren't someone people could just forget.

"You have to talk to her!"

Ben shook his head, "No, I don't want to."

"It was a dare you can't say no!"

Ben looked at Allison, a hundred pleads in his eyes. "Allison, make Klaus forget about the dare, please."

"I can't," she said, but she meant I don't want to, and though Ben knew she wasn't obligated to do anything he was desperate.

For the second time in the day, Ben considered running away.

"I need to go to the bathroom."

Now, if he hadn't been in such a panic to be literally anywhere else he probably would've thought of a better excuse, an excuse that didn't involve getting close to the counter –where you were– to ask Agnes for the customer bathroom key.

He would've thought of an excuse that didn't make it easier for his brother to shove him right into your arms (figuratively speaking anyway). Ben didn't hit you hard, so it seemed like an accident but it was just enough that he made you spill coffee.

Ben's head was reeling. You were so close and so pretty and oh god. But also, he made you spill coffee all over yourself oh no oh no. His head swirled, trying to find a coherent train of thought to grab onto. All the blood flow was going to his face and somehow he managed to feel lightheaded.

He heard you whisper something akin to a curse and suddenly the anxiety train took over his whole head. He was sure he'd made you angry and the idea terrified him. He wanted to apologize, he wanted you to know he was truly sorry.

"I'm—" Ben thought of justifying what had happened and then he thought against it, nevertheless the words still left his mouth. "I hit you, you were in the way—"

"Sorry," it was impossible to deny it then, you were mad. Ben cursed internally, his whole body shutting down, there was only one option left:

Running away.

"I have to go." He blurted out and before he even noticed he was outside Griddy's but he didn't stop there for a second, instead, he kept running until his lungs burned the same way his face did, Ben tried to ignore the sting in his eyes but that didn't stop the hot tears from running. He made a frustrated sound and wiped them away before his siblings caught up to him.

Ben sulked all the way home, cursing himself over ruining the first and most likely only impression you would ever have of him.

That day he hadn't expected anything that later happened, like Klaus finding you a third time or him befriending you. To this day Ben feels like you hate him because of the coffee incident, and he doesn't blame you either, he just wishes he could go back and handle it better.

You shift in your seat, trying to find a sitting position where you don't feel like you look dumb. You shift again, and this time you also glance at the clock over the door. 12:01.

They are not late, you tell yourself because they are not, you are just nervous and excited because for the first time since you befriended Klaus you're going to be able to exchange more than two words with Ben Hargreeves. Your crush. You feel lightheaded, willing time to either move faster or to stop completely.

It's almost embarrassing how fast you whip your head towards the door once you hear the chime of the bell overhead. It's almost embarrassing how easily all blood flow goes to your cheeks at the sight of Ben Hargreeves.

You suppress the urge to spring from your seat and go meet them at the entrance like some sort of 70s hostess. Instead, you press your fists to the plush seat and wait for them to find you and come to the seat.

You feel the seat dip by your side and it's almost embarrassing how you expect it to be Ben as if he hasn't made it entirely clear since you met him that he wants as much space between you and him as politely possible. You're sure he would move to the moon if it was possible, just to put distance between you.

Two arms are around you before you even have time to process who it is that is hugging you. You give Klaus a puzzled look while you return the hug, while he is your most touchy friend, hugs as a greeting are rare and entirely not a thing your friendship has a lot of.

Klaus shrugs when the hug is done and you recognize the entirely too familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. You squint at him but it only makes a smile break on his face.

You look away from your friend to pay more attention to his siblings. They are all already looking at you and suddenly you feel like you are under some sort of spotlight.

"It's nice to see you Y/N," You hear Allison say and it does wonders to soothe your anxiety.

"Hi Allison," you give her a weak smile.

"Hi Y/N."

You startle at the voice. Was that..? You look up and find Ben already looking at you and he is smiling. Your cheeks burn and you barely manage to squeak a greeting out.

"I can get us donuts!" You suggest once you've said hi to everyone. You know that despite having a millionaire as a father The Hargreeves kids rarely carry any money with them but you don't mind, it feels nice to be able to do something for them, a way to thank them for saving the city on a daily basis if you will.

"Do you need help?"

Again, you startle slightly at Ben's voice. These are probably the most words he's ever directed at you and it makes you feel better than you care to admit. Your heart aches at his chivalry and even though, realistically, you can manage just fine bringing back six donuts you still nod.

"Sure!" You confirm, "Does everyone know what they want?"

The Hargreeves tell you their orders and you split the memorization with Ben. He takes Luther's and Allison's while you take Klaus's and Diego's.

The silence settles between you and Ben as soon as you are done ordering and are waiting for your orders. You sway on your heels and toes awkwardly.

"I don't hate you, you know?"

You look at Ben, hoping you don't look as bewildered as you feel.

"Klaus told me you think I hate you."

Blood runs to your cheeks and you are reminded why you have never told Klaus how you feel about Ben. You would most certainly die if Ben knew you might be into him like that.

"I don't hate you."

"Oh." It's not exactly the most carefully formulated answer but it's the only one you can come up with. "I thought you did because… because you are always avoiding me."

Ben winces but you don't notice. "I, uh, I actually thought you hated me."

You choke, just a little bit. "What?"

Ben flushes under your gaze and the environment makes it all too easy to remember the reason. He's pretty sure you're standing in the same spot as when the accident happened.

"When we first met…" He says and he sees the realization dawn on your face. "I didn't make the best first impression."

You chuckle, moving any hair away from your face. How can you tell him that he's right? That you didn't exactly like him that first time?

Instead of being completely honest, you settle for: "I don't hate you."

Ben smiles. Genuinely smiles and it makes your heart stutter. You decide that you'll do whatever is needed to make him smile like that again.

Agnes places your orders in front of you once the conversation halts and you have a creeping realization that she usually doesn't take as long to serve you, even when you order from the secret menu. Her smug smile only confirms your thoughts.

Once you return to the table with the others it's almost like you've been friends with all of them for ages and you fall in easy conversation with them. Sometimes they ask you questions on what a normal life is like and you ask them to confirm what Klaus had shared before with you; the training, the silent meals, and all. It saddens you to know Klaus wasn't exaggerating for the most part and silently you decide that you're going to try and make them live a little bit more outside the mansion.

Despite everyone practically fighting for your attention for the first few minutes, once the one-hour mark has gone by your conversation is mostly with Ben and it amazes you how comfortable he makes you, despite the ever-present burning in your cheeks he causes.

Slowly, Griddy's is left with less and less of the Hargreeves as they bid their farewell before Sir Reginald Hargreeves notices their absence.

"So, are you two love birds done?" Klaus interrupts, he is looking intently at both of you and it makes you self-conscious about how much you've been talking to Ben.

Ben shoves Klaus and says something under his breath that you can't quite catch but he looks awfully flustered and you remember how much Klaus insisted that Ben liked you.

For the first time since you met Ben, you allow yourself to hope.

"Are you jealous Klaus?" You tease and Klaus outright laughs.

"Of what?"

"Your brother just stole your best friend."

He makes a face, "You are not my best friend."

You gasp, offended. "Excuse me?"

Klaus cackles and you fall on easy banter with him, almost like its second nature for you to shoot snarky comments back and forth with him. Not for the first time, Ben feels a twinge of jealousy for Klaus.

Ben figures this is the part where he leaves.

"I should head back or I'll be dead," he says and it takes all of his energy to pretend nonchalance. "It was nice talking with you Y/N."

You startle and hope you don't look as desperate as you feel. You are not ready for this (whatever this is) to end and so you shoot out of your seat almost immediately.

"I can walk with you guys, I don't have anything to do today, anyway."

Liar, your internal voice answers and you make a point of ignoring it. So what if you have homework for Monday and a packed Sunday? Surely your English teacher would understand you wanting to spend time with Ben Hargreeves himself.

Klaus looks at you incredulously because you never offer to walk with him, in fact, whenever he wants you to do so he has to insist and do a lot of dragging. You pretend you don't notice him boring holes in the side of your head.

Ben smiles again and the blocks of extra walking don't matter because the world is always right if Ben is smiling. "Sure, that'd be cool."

Klaus guffaws but he is still trying to figure out where this sudden interest for Ben is coming from so he agrees. He purposely walks behind you both, which gives him a front-row seat to a lot of stolen glances. Finding out you like Ben as much as Ben likes you is not as surprising as he expects it to be, maybe deep down he already knew it was like that.

Climbing the fire escape is already muscle memory for Klaus and he waves you goodbye in favor of maintaining his cover. He makes kissy faces at Ben, who promptly flips him off.

"Don't you have to go..?" You ask, your voice softer than intended. Being so close to the mansion feels dangerous and thrilling.

"Klaus has to go first," Ben explains and he feels impossibly close even if he hasn't moved.

"About the book you told me about…"

"I can lend it to you." He offers and it implies seeing him again.

You nod.

Ben hesitates, "Are you busy tonight?"

You are. You have a whole English essay to write on top of all your other homework. You shake your head.

"Meet me in the fire escape after sunset and I'll give it to you..?" He says, but it sounds more like a question.

You nod, a smile threatening to appear on your face. "See you, Ben."

It's cold.

That's the first thing you notice. The sun has been gone for less than an hour but the chill still bites at your skin and leaves goosebumps behind. You consider going back and getting a coat but decide against it, you don’t want to make Ben wait, he is already being excessively kind by sneaking from his house to lend you a book.

Now, with the wind hitting your face you feel ashamed of having brought the topic up, only to have an excuse to see him again, no less. It’s not like you can back out now, so you keep treading towards the mansion, finding comfort that maybe Ben wanted to see you too, after all, he’d suggested seeing each other instead of just letting Klaus give you the book.

Ben is sitting on the window sill when you get there and the warmth that explodes on your chest at the sight of him makes you forget the cold. Ben looks worried when you meet him in the fire escape and you worry that maybe you got him in trouble.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you smile at how he stole the words from you. You tilt your head when the question sets in. Ben thinks you look way too cute to be real.

“I am,” you say, confused, “Why?”

Ben points at your face. “You’re flushed, are you cold?”

You feel the heat in your face increase and you panic. You had been blushing and hadn’t even noticed. You nod and then shake your head.

“I’m- “ your voice breaks and you know you are positively red, “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

Ben looks unconvinced but he doesn’t press any further. He holds a book towards you and you relish the seconds your fingers brush his to accept the paperback.

“Thanks,” you whisper and you know you have to go, you know it’s late and he probably has training tomorrow morning but, “Ben?”

He looks startled but he gives you his complete attention. You wish he didn’t.

“Um, Klaus said,” your voice feels small but you can tell he is listening. You don’t meet his eyes. “Klaus said you have a crush on me, is that true..?”

Panic flares inside of Ben. A million emotions run through him. Anger, at Klaus. Embarrassment. Fear. Hope. He squashes the last one, you were probably looking for the best way to reject him.

He considers lying. He considers telling you that no, he doesn’t like you. That he doesn’t think you look adorable with your cold-flushed cheeks. That he doesn't think about wrapping you in a hug every time you shiver and that he doesn't want to kiss you every time you make eye contact.

But he can't. He is weak for you and lying to you, betraying your trust, it's unfathomable. Ben wouldn't do that, not to you.

Ben looks away, past your figure and into the darkening alley. He nods, though the movement is barely noticeable.

"It is." His voice sounds small, even to him. He hopes you didn't listen but your head snaps to look at him almost immediately. There's something in your eyes, though he can't really tell what it is.

You open your mouth to say something and then close it again. It's almost impossible to hide the smile on your face but Ben is not looking at you. "You do?"

He looks at you, confused. You aren't rejecting him and it takes him aback. You can't possibly like him back. But he looks at you and you are smiling so brightly. Unless you find some sort of sick pleasure in rejecting people, he is pretty sure you are not about to reject him. His heart skips a beat.

"Why..?"

"Oh, um…" You look away. "Just wanted to be sure…"

Ben feels the hope falter.

"Since I like you too…"

Taken aback, Ben studies you. You like him? Despite searching he can't find a single hint of malice or deception in your face. Relief washes over him and everything comes into sharper focus. He is hyper-aware of everything around him. The cold wind hitting his face. The freezing metal rail on his hand. How close you are to him, less than a foot away.

"Can I..?" he says, "Can I kiss you?"

Your eyes widen at that but it takes you less than a second to process his request and nod eagerly.

Ben steps closer to you. His steps on the metal are loud on the dead silence of the alley, to Ben nothing is louder than the blood rushing through his ears.

"Is this okay?" He murmurs and you're so close you can feel his warm breath in your face.

You nod, looking at him with big eyes.

His hand finds your face and you lean into his cool touch. You close your eyes and sigh.

The soft feeling of Ben's lips on yours startles you and before you can properly kiss him back he is already pulling away. You swallow the disappointment and doubts start to claw at you. Has he changed his mind? Were you so unkissable he lost all his feelings for you?

You look at him and the doubts go away faster than they came. He is smiling and red and he hasn't pulled away from you.

You stand on your tiptoes and kiss him. Just a peck. He kisses you again. The whole situation has your head turning and you almost feel feverish from the small pecks Ben gives you and you give him.

You don't notice you're giggling until you can no longer kiss him. "I can't believe you like me."

His other hand cups your face and he looks adoringly at you. "How could I not?"

You duck your head, feeling the blood rushing back to your face. "Stop."

Ben's forehead presses against yours and you sigh in content. "It's actually a relief that you like me back."

You try looking at him without breaking any contact. "How could I not?"

He laughs and you feel positively delirious. Any weight in your chest is gone the second he laughs.

You stay like that for who knows how much, just breathing in the other. You wish you didn't have to go home, you wish you could stay like this forever. And though you know you have to leave at some point, it doesn’t matter when on a cold night, Ben provides you all the warmth you need.

#ben hargreeves x reader #hargreeves x reader #the umbrella academy x reader #hargreeves family #ben tua x reader #tua ben x reader #tua headcanons #the umbrella academy scenarios #x reader

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weasleylangs · 3 years

Text

swipe right / f.w

Summary: Finding your best friend and your biggest crush on Tinder is always awkward. Pairing: Muggle!Fred Weasley x Muggle!Fem!Reader Warnings: Discussions of sex, language, alcohol, food/drink mention. Word Count: 6.9k (this is the longest thing i’ve ever written)

AUTHORS NOTE / hiiiii... this is my first fic in SO long but thank you for waiting for me!!! a huge thank you to my lovely rosie @spacexcowgirl for inspiring this fic and also listening to me ramble on about it for hours on end as i was writing it and for also beta reading it guys this fic rly wouldnt exist if it wasnt for rose so.........

/ also, george’s girlfriend in the fic is named ‘em’ and she has no physical description besides also using she/her pronouns. i’m trying this out so even people who aren’t (primarily) fred simps can self insert in this fic!!!

taglist / @amourtentiaa @weelittleweasley @lumos-barnes @lumosandnoxwriting @loveboyhalo @harrysweasleys @freds-slut @rcwenaclaw @barneswidow @fandomhideout

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

Y/N stared at her screen, the Tinder profile of Fred Weasley staring right back at her, teasing her ominously. She eventually decides to lock her phone to avoid the familiar and unwelcomed feelings rising in her throat. The last thing she ever expected to see during her mindless swiping at 1am was her best friend’s Tinder profile.

She knows it’s hypocritical to feel this way but she’s also not stupid. She and Fred both have had their fair share of dates and hookups thanks to dating apps- they’re in the twenties and single after all. But she can’t shake how weird she feels finding Fred. Like she’s stumbled across something private.

Y/N unlocks her phone again, curiosity eventually making her cave after staring at her ceiling blankly for way too long.

‘Pros: I’m an Aries (I’ve been told that's a good thing). Cons: I’m an Aries (I’ve been told that’s a bad thing).’

It’s a short and simple bio, much like her own but she has to stifle a choked laugh. She and George’s girlfriend have said these to both the twins and she feels a sense of accomplishment that she can’t explain. Almost like Fred thinking of her while he sets up his dating profile means something.

She hesitates a moment, debating between swiping left and never thinking about Fred and dating profiles ever again and swiping right just to see what happens. Y/N’s definitely making it a bigger issue than it has to be, which is why she doesn’t realise when George’s girlfriend and her roommate suddenly appears in her doorway holding chocolate.

“Em, it’s 1am and you have work tomorrow?” She questions and the girl in the doorway shrugs, making her way into the room and sitting down without an invitation.

“I can vaguely hear you monologuing next door,” she laughs as she breaks a line of chocolate off the bar and hands it to Y/N. She groans, in her moment of panic she completely forgot about the fact it’s late and their bedroom walls are paper-thin. “All I heard was something about Fred and the word fuck. I hope I’m not interrupting anything…” she winks and Y/N cringes, Em’s usual 15-year-old boy humour shining through as she pops the piece of chocolate in her mouth.

“You’re hilarious,” Y/N says rolling her eyes but she can’t deny the fondness that’s there for her best friend. “No, you’re not interrupting anything, rather the opposite actually, look.” She passes her unlocked phone to Em and Y/N wishes she could have captured the shocked look on Em's face.

“Fred has a fucking active Tinder?” She’s quickly swiping through his profile and she hates to admit he has good pictures, but when she gets to his bio she snorts and rolls her eyes. “That’s something you say, Y/N.”

Y/N feels her face go red at Em’s comment. She’s acknowledged this already but when someone else says it she feels like she isn’t being as far fetched as she’s convinced herself. While she outright refuses to acknowledge her feelings for Fred to anyone who isn’t herself, she knows Em knows without having to tell her. Call it best friend instinct, ‘dating-his-twin-brother’ instinct, whatever she pleases, which is why when there’s a mischievous glint in Em’s eyes, Y/N immediately is reaching for her phone. “No.”

Em whines, rolling onto her back. “Why not, you’re so boring!”

“I am not swiping right on Frederick fucking Weasley.” She feels her face becoming warmer as she says it. Em gives her a look as if to say ‘I believe you’ with a glint in her eye that makes Y/N know she doesn’t. “I’m just never going to open the app again!”

Em rolls her eyes but the fond smile on her face is unmistakable. “And do what, love?”

Y/N falters for a second before shrugging. “Not perceive his profile. It’ll be gone into the abyss of people who live in London and I’ll never think about it again.” She’s smiling, thinking she’s concocted the most perfect plan.

-----

It wasn’t the most perfect plan, for when Y/N is hanging out with Fred two days later she’s faced yet again with the ‘Tinder Predicament’ as dubbed by Em. Fred and Y/N are sitting in their favourite park, the new spring weather of London on their skin as they soak up the friendly sun rays after a harsh winter. Y/N is laying on her stomach, the book open but she’s barely reading as she pretends to listen to Fred ramble on about only God knows what.

It’s 11am, not too early for the park to be empty but busy enough that other people are turning up, mostly couples. Y/N tunes Fred out, quickly getting lost in her own thoughts. Do other people think we’re a couple? she thinks to herself. She knows if Em could read her mind she’d say yes and Y/N is quick to push the thought out of her mind.

Everything is interrupted when her phone lights up with a ‘You’ve got a new match!’ notification and before she can hide it from prying eyes, Fred’s wolf-whistling.

“You’ve got dating apps, do ya, Y/L/N?” he teases and Y/N wants the Earth to swallow her up, she can’t think of a worse situation to be in.

“Yeah, don’t you?” The second the words leave her mouth she regrets them. Fred’s smirking at her, a signature smirk of his he only does when she knows he’s up to something. Unfortunately for her, she is on the receiving end of that something.

“Something along the lines of ‘looking for a golden retriever boy?’. Ring any bells, darling?” Y/N feels her blood drain from her body and Fred releases a laugh that can only be described as a full-body chortle. “You know I have one, darling. Besides, you popped up last night. I already knew.”

Y/N groans. This shouldn’t be as embarrassing as it feels but it’s Fred and knowing Fred has seen her dating profile was low on her wishes for this week, or for her entire life for that matter.

“Did you at least swipe right on me?”

It’s said with a teasing manner, falling right out of Y/N’s mouth before she can stop it. Her curiosity always gets the best of her and she wants to kick herself for it. But she doesn’t even notice Fred’s slight falter, the red tint kissing his cheeks and emphasising the freckles across his face at the comment. “You’ll have to swipe right on me to find out.”

She can’t tell if he’s joking. But Fred is always joking. So she laughs and pushes him slightly, “If I come across your Tinder profile, I’m reporting it.”

“It would be a blessing from the universe for you to come across my dating profile. I’m sure you’d appreciate my bio.”

“Let me guess. ‘6’3 if it matters’?” Fred scowls looking down at her and she knows she looks way too proud for that comment but she doesn’t care and after a few seconds, Fred doesn’t care either. He starts to feel a small shred of jealousy from knowing Y/N has a Tinder profile, but he swallows it, tabling it for later when he isn’t with her.

“Why do you have the app?” He blurts out, annoyed at himself for letting it slip out. “Just… Curious, y’know?” He adds on when he notices Y/N looking up at him with an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t really want to know, but the words are out there and the cute scrunch of Y/N’s nose as she thinks of an answer almost makes it worth it.

“Male validation, mostly,” she laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck when she hears Fred laugh along with her. “I don’t know, Freddie.” She says, exasperatedly. “I barely use it. What about you?”

“Sex, if I’m honest.” Now it’s his turn to awkwardly laugh because he knows he answered that way too quickly and a little too honest for his own comfort. Y/N’s been his best friend for years, probably knows him best besides George but she didn’t really need to know he uses his Tinder profile to hook up with people.

When Y/N doesn’t respond immediately, Fred takes it badly. He knows she would never judge him, not about anything and especially not this, but his thoughts get the best of him and sometimes he can’t help it. He has no idea Y/N is in her own head, jealous other girls get to hold Fred at a distance closer than she ever will.

He clears his throat and checks his phone to see no notifications besides a direct message from Lee Jordan. He knows George isn’t expecting him home- cursing his brother when he remembers George demanded the flat to himself (and in turn, also Em) today for a few hours. “Hey, uh. I’ve gotta go. Emergency with George apparently.”

He knows he shouldn’t have lied, it’s not even a good lie but it was the first thing he thought of. He notices Y/N’s eyebrows furrow before she shrugs, nodding before closing her book. “That’s okay, I was getting tired anyway. I might pop back to my flat for a nap.”

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” Fred asks and his chest feels warm when Y/N meets his face with a smile.

“Of course, Freddie.”

She watches Fred leave, her thoughts getting the best of her. She knows for a fact there is no ‘George emergency’- she knows George is with Em probably being sick and in love and she’s sure Fred knows this too. The realisation Fred made an excuse to not spend time with her hits her like a truck, her mind frantically searching for what she could’ve possibly done to upset her best friend.

“Fuck,” she whispers to herself, the second she realises.

-----

To: Em > if you come home tonight dont mind me being drunk x

Y/N sends the text as she stands in the kitchen, pouring herself her second glass of wine before it has even hit 6pm. On her way home, she stopped by the liquor store, picked up her favourite wine and decided to drink away the anxieties of upsetting Fred.

From: Em > ill be home. ill pick up chinese on the way. save me some wine!!! x

She smiles down at her phone, knowing Em would always be there without even realising it. She sits down on their couch and turns on the television- old reruns of early 2000s sitcoms playing on almost every channel.

It’s 20 minutes late when Em turns up. She’s nursing the Chinese food as if it’s a child as she tries to unlock the front door without dropping the food or her bottle of wine. She smiles proudly at Y/N the second she gets in, putting the food on the table before she grabs her own wine glass.

“What happened today?”

Y/N is caught off guard but she shouldn’t be shocked. She doesn’t usually drink and when she does, it’s very rarely without Em. “Nothing’s wrong!” she says, skulling the rest of her wine when Em gives her a knowing look.

“You were with Fred today and now you’re sad drinking. What happened?” Usually, she loves when Em is her all-knowing best friend, but right now she wishes she’d shut up.

“Nothing happened!” She’s adamant to not say too much. She knows it’s probably all in her head, that she and Fred will be fine in a few days but when Em gives her one more knowing look, she breaks. “Okay, fine. I think I upset him today.”

Em’s confused, to say the least. Fred, for as long as she has known him, has never been upset with Y/N- even on accident. She has the tall redhead wrapped around her finger. “How?” she questions, because she truly can’t think of a single thing that Y/N could do to hurt him.

Em places Y/N’s food in front of her when she starts speaking. “We were talking about Tinder- don’t give me that look he saw a notification and it came up and he asked why I had it. I said I don’t know and when I asked him, he said he uses it for sex,” Y/N says softly, pouring herself another glass of wine before continuing. “I didn’t say anything when he said that, because… Well… You know why.”

Em does know. She knew the second she became Y/N’s roommate their first year of University that she had feelings for Fred and she knew immediately Fred liked her too but Y/N’s never believed her. “You think he got upset you didn’t say anything about sex?”

“I think he thinks I was being judgemental.” Em sighs at Y/N’s response. She loves both her best friends- they’re her favourite people besides George but she knows they can be idiots. They sit in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the forks against their Chinese containers before Em grab’s Y/N’s phone, unlocking it.

“Well if Fred’s using Tinder for sex, so should you!” she says matter-of-factly and when Y/N groans from the kitchen sink, Em speaks again. “It’s true! He likes you but won’t tell you, you like him but won’t tell anyone! Who’s a good meaningless shag going to hurt?”

That’s how they end up in Em’s bed, cuddling under the duvet with ice cream and Y/N’s Tinder profile open on her phone. “You’re so fucking picky, holy shit,” Em says when Y/N scrunches her nose up at the sixth consecutive guy. “It’s a shag, not a hand in marriage, love.”

“They don’t do it for me!” Y/N is avoiding the elephant in the room- that she’s comparing every guy that pops up to Fred. “I have to be attracted to them for this meaningless shag you’re preaching about… See, he’s cute!” His name’s Cormac, he’s 21 so only a few years younger than Y/N and he’s not bad looking.

“He looks like a douchebag!” Em exclaims and Y/N groans.

“You told me to stop being picky!”

“Stop being picky doesn’t mean saying yes to the first conventionally attractive guy we see!” Em exclaims as she swipes left on poor Cormac. Y/N gets up to pour herself and Em one more glass of wine each and she hears Em starting giggling to herself when the new profile shows up, hiding the phone from Y/N’s eyes when she walks over. Without even questioning Y/N, Em swipes right and immediately she starts howling laughing.

‘New Match!’ the screen reads and Y/N feels her breath hitch when snatches the phone from Em’s hands and she sees who she matched with.

Fred, 24. 2km away.

“I remembered after dinner, you said he told you to swipe right to see what he did,” Em says proudly, and Y/N regrets even mentioning it to Em offhandedly. Y/N’s eyes are transfixed on the tiny screen. There’s no way he seriously swiped right, she’s sure it’s only a joke- people jokingly match with their friends all the time. “So here you go, Freddie swiped right on my lil Y/N/N.”

Y/N shakes her head at this. “I’m sure he only did it as a joke. People do that when they find their friends on Tinder all the time!” she says, sitting back down on the bed and cuddling up next to Em. “You were telling me to swipe right on him last night, after all.”

Em looks at Y/N and sighs, clearly sensing how uncomfortable Y/N is feeling right now from the confrontation of her feelings for Fred. “I was telling you to swipe right because I know you’re in love with him,” she says softly, not missing the way Y/N’s eyes soften at the mention of her feelings for Fred. “I’m sorry if I’d known-”

“Don’t apologise! I’m just going to ignore the fact we matched,” she says softly, unlocking her phone and immediately exiting from Fred’s profile. The tension from a few moments ago quickly dissipates as Y/N receives another match, this time from a boy named Neville who Y/N knows is friends with Fred’s little brother.

“When did you swipe on Nev?” Em asks and Y/N shrugs. She knows she probably did it to be funny, like what she thinks Fred’s done to her, but the more she thinks about it, Neville isn’t a bad match. He’s nice, friendly and now he’s in his twenties, he isn’t bad looking either.

“Nev’s sweet. If he asked me out I’d say yes.” She says. She isn’t lying- there’s been times she’s considered going on dates to avoid her feelings for Fred, to get over him once and for all but whenever it gets to that point, she chickens out. “I know you want a meaningless shag, but I think maybe a date would be a good idea. You know?”

Em nods, pulling Y/N closer to cuddle her and suddenly feeling bad about preaching for meaningless sex. “Maybe you’re more of a date before shagging kind of girl, and that’s okay.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

-----

Em’s fast asleep and Y/N’s overthinking next to her when she gets a message from a match. Y/N rolls her eyes when she sees the time reads 2am; knowing whoever's messaging at this time is just looking for a booty call but she opens the notification nonetheless.

From: Fred > i can be a golden retriever boy :)

She smiles at the message, Fred’s presence always does that to her. She never expected him to message her on tinder considering she’s convinced it was just a joke swipe right, but this is probably just a joking message too. She checks his bio is still the same Aries joke before quickly replying.

To: Fred > good thing im a big aries fan then ;) > how tall are you though? im sure youre well aware it matters

She hopes Fred laughs at her messages because making Fred laugh is her favourite pastime. The three dots signalling Fred’s typing pops up and her heart starts to race.

From: Fred

> im 7’5 if its that important :/

She giggles and when doesn’t know how to reply after that, she exits out of their messages, but it’s not like she has to keep a conversation with Fred going. She’s trying to think of a funny message to send Fred when she gets another message; this time from Neville.

From: Neville > hi Y/N! i hope this isnt a weird time to message you, i just finished grading some work. i was wondering if you’d like to get dinner sometime this week? we were kind of friends at school, after all, and it’ll be nice to catch up :)

The message from Neville is sweet, and she almost feels guilty reading it. Attached is his number and everything and Y/N feels her throat closing up. She would feel terrible going on a date with Neville despite what she claimed earlier, knowing her heart currently belongs to Fred.

But Fred’s lack of interest in her is eating at her as much as her own feelings for him do, and she knows she deserves better than to sit around and wait for him any longer. If Em was awake the date would already be confirmed, she knows that much so she decides to say yes to Neville, to at least put herself out there. She can imagine the little Devil version of Em dancing on her shoulder as she begins to type out a reply to Neville.

She doesn’t even think to look at who it’s being sent to before clicking send. But by then it’s too late- she doesn’t even know how she ended up back in Fred’s messages but now she wants to roll up into a ball and die.

To: Fred > hi neville! id love to grab dinner one day, here’s my number and we can organise it tomorrow because im going to bed now! x

She’s staring at the message for so long she doesn’t even notice the ‘???’ she gets back from Fred. She quickly copies and pastes the message to the right recipient this time before plugging in her phone and rolling over to sleep.

Em’s slight snoring lulls her to sleep, thoughts of Fred filling her mind before she passes out for the night. What she doesn’t know is that while she falls asleep, Fred lays awake, staring at his ceiling. Contemplating the knowledge he has knowing Y/N’s potentially organising a date with one of his little brother’s best friends.

-----

Fred hates this feeling; this feeling of jealousy in his stomach that’s threatening to spill out of his throat. He hasn't been able to stop thinking about Y/N accidentally messaging him about a date with another person all morning and he knows George is getting annoyed with him.

“Why are you being such a prat this morning?” George had asked when Fred scowled at his brother for simply standing in the kitchen. Fred had huffed as a reply, grabbing the milk for his tea before sitting down at their table to munch on his toast.

“Not being a prat,” he says, words muffled by the food in his mouth and George gives him a disgusted look before taking a bite of his own toast. “Do you remember Neville Longbottom?”

George nods, of course, he knows Neville. “Ron’s friend? Super nice bloke. Think him and Hannah Abbott just broke up, why?”

Fred shrugs, he’s almost positive it’s the same Neville now. “Think Y/N’s going on a date with him, that’s all.” When George raises his eyebrows, Fred speaks again, “Just wanted to make sure she wasn’t going on a date with a prat.”

“Wanted to know who she is going on a date with in general, more like it,” George mutters under his breath. He knows Fred better than he knows anybody, better than he knows his girlfriend and almost better than he knows himself. “You sure you’re not jealous?”

Fred squints at George. “Why would I be jealous?” Fred stands and makes his way to the kitchen to wash up his dishes and he almost drops them in the sink when George speaks again.

“Because you’re in love with Y/N?” He says it so casually Fred almost chokes on air. He’s never thought about himself and Y/N in that way. Sure they like to cuddle when they’re drunk and they spend every waking moment together but he’s not in love with Y/N.

Is he?

“What makes you say that?” Fred asks quietly, hoping to hide the red blush forming on his cheeks. George might be his best friend and twin brother but he knows he would never live it down admitting he has feelings for Y/N.

“You two are worse than Em and I, and we’re actually dating,” George speaks as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “When Em first met Y/N, she asked how long you and she had been together for, mate.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Fred says a little too quickly.

“I’m sure it doesn’t, Freddie,” George smirks as he speaks, getting up to wash his dishes now. Fred stands in the kitchen, nursing his cup of tea as he contemplates George’s words. Sure, he always knew he had some kind of feelings for his best friend, but being in love was another whole ordeal. It means wanting long term commitment, probably a house together, maybe marriage, perhaps kids if Y/N wanted them and the longer Fred sits with these in his mind, he quickly realises he does want all that and even more with Y/N. He’s probably wanted it with her for a while and he just hasn’t ever realised.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, low enough for George not to hear but when Fred doesn’t have a rebuttal to George’s words he knows he’s accidentally sent Fred into an existential crisis.

“Look, Fred. If Y/N going on a date bothers you, you need to tell her.” George knows he’s about to cross some lines that he promised himself he would never cross but it’s getting dire in his eyes. “Y/N likes you and deep down you know you like her too, even if you’re oblivious. She deserves to know and if you’re too much of a chicken to admit it to her, then you don’t get to be bothered about her going on a date with Neville Longbottom.”

Fred huffs. He knows George is right, but he can’t help but feel like he truly noticed too late. He swiped right on her on Tinder hoping she would swipe right back and they could go from there. But he knows Y/N only swiped right to see if he had done it first, that she only swiped right out of curiosity and right now, Fred is cursing the app under his breath.

“Well, fine, yes I like Y/N, but I can’t just stop her from going on a date. That’s controlling and mean.” Fred states and George just sighs. “I’ll talk to her after her date, if it’s meant to be, it’ll be.”

George stares at him. “Since when are you mister Que sera, sera, Freddie?” Fred shrugs, not understanding the reference George made. “Since when are you just letting it happen?” George translates when he notices the blank stare on Fred’s face.

“Since right now. I don’t want to come off controlling to Y/N.” Fred says. In actuality, even though he knows George would never lie to him, he’s scared. Y/N is his best friend and the last thing he ever wants to do is ruin his closest friendship all because of some jealousy.

“Okay fine, but if she gets a boyfriend, I’m sorry mate,” George says and he knows putting the threat of losing Y/N romantically on the line is harsh, but it’s what he has to do. He’s watched the pair pine for each other for years and he’s sure this is the last straw.

“We’re going out with the lads in a few days, by the way! Maybe you can stop moping enough for a shag!” George calls out and Fred flips him the finger as he walks off to his bedroom.

-----

Y/N and Neville decide on getting dinner together three days later. It’s a Friday so neither of them has to worry about work or coursework the next day, which is perfect. Neville tells Y/N about his favourite Italian restaurant right near Old Street subway station in Shoreditch, so that’s where the pair decide to meet.

It’s rather busy when Y/N gets to the station. Neville has apologised profusely for still being fifteen minutes away but she reassures him it’s fine and that she’ll meet him outside the station so they can walk to the restaurant together.

Y/N’s on her phone, texting Em and telling her she’s safe when she feels a presence next to her. She tenses up quickly but she soon relaxes when she looks at the person next to her and realises it’s Fred.

“Hi,” she says, smiling. She hasn’t seen him since the day in the park, but they’ve texted and called so she’s sure everything is fine. “What are you doing all the way on this side of London?”

Fred smiles and shoves his hands in his jeans pocket before replying, “Grabbing a drink with the lads tonight, love. What about you?” His tone is casual and Y/N has to stop herself from checking him out. He’s dressed in a nice dress shirt, it’s orange and on anyone else, it would clash with his hair but Fred somehow manages to pull it off. He’s got a black jacket over the top of his shirt, alongside black jeans that show off his long and muscular legs on and his outfit is paired off with a pair of boots on his feet.

He’s not making it easy to get over him, that’s for sure.

“I’ve got a date,” she’s shy when she says it, looking away from Fred and then back down at her phone. The time reads 6:47pm and Neville’s train will be getting in any second now. She’s trying to get over Fred and the last thing she needs is Fred lingering when said date turns up.

“Ah yes, with Neville, if I remember correctly,” Fred’s teasing and Y/N has to force a laugh out. She blocked out the fact she’d accidentally messaged him instead of Neville and was hoping he would forget as well. But this is Fred she was talking about, and Fred never lets up a chance to tease Y/N for something.

“Yeah, Neville Longbottom,” she says and she catches the look of recognition that flashes across Fred’s face. “He was friends with your brother in school.”

Fred nods in acknowledgement while he can’t decide whether or not he’s happy with the confirmation that he was right. He’s sad and jealous, that much is obvious, but he’s a little happy. Happy that even though Y/N is going on a date with someone who isn’t himself, it’s someone he knows would treat her like she deserves.

“Neville’s a good guy, I’m happy for you,” he forces out and Y/N smiles up at Fred and he wants to sink into the Earth. The smile on her face is one he wants to be the cause for forever. “I should get going, tell Nev hello for me!”

He pulls Y/N into a quick hug, presses a quick kiss absentmindedly on the top of her head before letting her go and crossing the street and making his way to the bar he’s meeting Lee, George, Harry and Ron at.

Y/N watches him leave, dumbfounded. The kiss on the top of her head is nothing less than usual; Fred’s always been touchy with her but now it feels weird. All she wants is to call out to Fred and demand the redhead take her on a date instead.

But before Y/N can do anything drastic, she hears Neville call out her name and she turns around quickly. He’s just as sweet and cute as she remembers and even if she wishes Fred was the boy she was on a date with, Neville is someone she would be friends with above anything.

“I hope you weren’t waiting too long!” He says when he reaches her, kissing her cheek as Y/N pulls him into a hug. His presence is comforting and he smells like cinnamon and Y/N feels herself instantly relax.

“Not too long!” She replies as she begins walking towards the restaurant with Neville. During Spring, the cold weather still returns at night so their hands are shoved inside their jacket pockets to keep warm but they’re walking closely together. “I ran into Fred just before, so he kept me company.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Neville says as he grabs the door to the restaurant, “can’t have a pretty girl waiting outside a subway station alone.” Y/N feels her cheeks heat up at his comment.

They’re quickly seated and wine is ordered. They’ve been placed in a booth right near the window, where they’re able to watch the City of London go by. “How’s teaching going?” Y/N asks when she remembers Neville recently graduated and got an immediate job offer at the Agriculture department at a college in Surrey.

“It’s going well! I specifically teach the floriculture courses so I love it, of course,” Neville’s smile couldn’t get any wider. Y/N specifically remembers his constant fascination with plants and flowers in school and she couldn’t be happier for him to be doing what he so clearly loves, “What about you?”

“Being hammered by my postgrad coursework,” she says, laughing and taking a sip of her wine. “My job at the bookstore near my flat doesn’t suck but I definitely don’t work as much as I used to, unfortunately.” Neville raises his glass, almost to say I’ll drink to that when the waiter comes over to take their order.

Dinner goes quickly, conversation flows easily between the two and soon enough the bill arrives and Neville grabs the cheque before Y/N can even say anything. “You can grab it next time.”

Y/N falters at this. She knows she should say something to Neville; that this has been nice but there won’t be a second date. She’s too caught up in her panic and she’s beginning to curse Fred Weasley under her breath when Neville gently places his hand on the small of her back to lead her out of the restaurant.

“Are you okay?” Neville asks when they get outside. He noticed the tensed look on Y/N’s face the second they got outside and when she nods and sighs he takes it as a sign to stop walking.

“This has been nice, Nev,” she starts and she feels terrible even though she knows it’s better, to be honest. “But I don’t think I’m-”

“Ready for a relationship?” Neville finishes for her, and he’s not condescending when he says it. He could tell even before dinner was finished that she probably felt that way and he doesn’t mind. “I don’t think I am either. But this was fun, was it not?”

Y/N nods, smiling as the anxieties of hurting Neville wash away. “It was fun!” she says, “I hope we can do it again. Even as friends?”

He nods back, a warm smile gracing his cheeks. “Of course.”

They walk back to the station together, promises of seeing each other again soon leaves their mouths as they walk to their respective platforms.

From: Neville > thanks for tonight. i forgot to mention, please tell me when you’re home safe!

She smiles down at the text, shooting Neville a reply of reassurance that she will before opening her messages with Em to let her know she’s on her way home. She’s jumping through her apps, Snapchat that she only uses for filters, Facebook she only uses to check the ‘Dogspotting’ group until she lands on Instagram.

She sees a story from George and when she opens it, she immediately regrets it. It’s their friendship group, that much she expected but she sees a girl sitting next to Fred nursing what looks like a Gin and Tonic and Y/N feels sick.

She immediately closes the app, pretending she didn’t see it. She has no right to be upset over this but it plagues her thoughts for the entire subway trip home.

That’s when she decides she’s going to demand answers from Fred. She doesn’t know how, or when or if she’ll even do it without Em forcing her to, but she knows she deserves better. That she doesn’t deserve to hang on the end of every touch, every word of Fred’s in hopes he’ll hold her closer than arm's length while she desperately wants more.

-----

The next night, Fred’s laying on his couch in an uncomfortable position searching Netflix at 10pm when he hears a knock at the front door. He knows it isn’t George, or any member of his family for that matter and any normal person would ring before coming over this late at night. So when Fred gets up and looks through his peephole to ensure he’s not about to be murdered, he’s shocked to see an angry-looking Y/N.

He opens the door and she’s immediately inside, pushing past Fred’s body and when she turns around, she has the most determined look on her face he’s ever seen.

“I’m annoyed at you.” Fred’s taken aback, he tries to think back at their interaction the evening before, trying to piece together anything that would annoy Y/N but he’s coming up blank.

“What did I do?” He wearily asks and when Y/N purses her lips together and looks like she’s about to cry Fred has to resist the urge to apologise without knowing what he needs to apologise for.

“I’m annoyed at you because,” she pauses and takes a shaky breath, “I’m annoyed because I went on a date last night. I went on a date with the loveliest man I’ve ever met. And I spent the whole fucking time wishing I was on a date with you. And I’ve spent all of today debating coming over here and telling you that so I drank half of Em’s bottle of wine for some liquid courage and here I fucking am!”

That’s the last thing Fred was expecting to come out of Y/N’s mouth. “Well, that’s not-”

“I’m not finished.” She stares at Fred and he immediately shuts up.

“I’ve been in love with you for years and it’s not fair on me anymore, Freddie.” Her voice is shaking like she needs to get everything out as soon as possible. “I need to know if you feel anything for me, even in the slightest, because if I need to move on, I’m begging you to be honest with me.”

Fred feels his heartbreak at how sweet, how broken, how defeated Y/N looked standing in front of him right now. He can see the need for an honest answer swimming in Y/N’s eyes and he’s never felt braver to admit his feelings than he does right now.

“I’m an idiot,” Y/N scoffs but lets him continue, “because I didn’t realise how fucking in love with you I am until I almost lost you. I thought…” he pauses, looking for the right words and when his eyes meet Y/N’s, there’s a softness there that wasn’t there previously. “I thought what we had was normal; the cuddling, the constant need to be with each other, the constant subtle touches. But George knocked some sense into me.” Y/N lets out a breath as she laughs, of course, it was George’s doing.

“I’m in love with you, and I think I have been since we were 17. So I’m so fucking sorry, for ever letting you think you meant any less to me, my love.”

Y/N’s eyes are overflowing with tears at his words and Fred panics for a second before he sees the biggest and most loving smile overtake Y/N’s face. “Fucking hell, you big dummy.”

She crosses the room, quicker than she’s ever moved before and pulls Fred’s 6’3 frame into her arms. She feels Fred pull her away, only slightly, so he can look down into her eyes and cup her cheek with his hand. His thumb is providing comfort as it strokes across her cheek and wiping away any stray tears.

She cups the outside of his hand with her own and brings her face to the side to kiss his palm. This is the closest the two have ever been and both their hearts feel like they could beat out of their chests at any moment. It’s the adrenaline from this moment that causes Fred to blurt out his next question, without any hesitation.

“Can I please kiss you before I die?”

Y/N laughs as she looks up at Fred. She doesn’t even give him an answer, she just pulls the tall boy down before locking their lips together. They’ve both kissed plenty of people, had many first kisses whether it be with first dates or partners but they can both agree this is the best kiss either of them has ever experienced.

Y/N is pouring everything she can into the kiss, knowing she will never get tired of the taste of caramel that she will forever associate with kissing the love of her life. She presses her lips harder against his, her tongue running along Fred’s chapped lips asking for more before he opens his mouth to massage his tongue with hers.

Fred decides to be a tease, pulling back slightly before capturing her lips again and biting her bottom lip slightly. This action pulls a moan from Y/N’s throat, soft enough that Fred almost misses it but he can’t help but smirk into the kiss. He wants nothing more than to kiss Y/N for the rest of his life, but eventually, he has to pull away to catch his breath and the whine that leaves Y/N’s mouth might be the cutest sound he’s ever heard in his life.

“I hope to God you know I’m never letting you kiss anyone else ever again, holy shit,” she says, cheeks flushed red and when she looks at Fred she thinks she’s fallen even further in love with him. His hair’s messy, thanks to her running her hands through it and his lips are slightly swollen. She thinks this might be the most beautiful she’s ever seen Fred in her life and if this is how gorgeous he looks after a few minutes of kissing, she’s secretly anticipating how gorgeous he’s going to look laying in her bed, naked.

Fred smiles dopily down at her, “Don’t worry darling, I never want to be with someone who isn’t you ever again.”

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #fae writes

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yemilnisu · 3 years

Text

Dear Y/N,

This is really weird, sending a mail in the twenty first century but I really need you. I know you’re well aware that I’m currently in a vacation with the team. Honestly, I think you already know why I sent a letter, owing the fact that you’re a good predictor yourself. But I just don’t get why they all thought it will be a good idea to let Lev Haiba pick out the location for this vacation, we are literally camping in nowhere! Let me update you on how my first two days in here have been:

Firstly, they are making me play with them. No, not video games, if it were then why would I rant about it. On second thought, I probably would still, since they’re bad at playing video games, but not this time. They are making me play a volleyball game with them.

I thought this was going to be a chill and relaxing vacation because that’s how vacations should be! But they want to go hiking, rock climbing, mountain biking and all these tiring activities. And I don’t like it.

Second, they kept making me eat their badly cooked food. I mean, they’re pretty average when it comes to cooking but since where in the middle of nowhere and with little resources that they packed, it has gone below average. I want your homemade apple pie so bad.

Third, they are a mess in here. Lucky for them were surrounded by trees and mountains so no one can hear how freaking noisy they are! Unfortunately, I have to hear it.

Yaku-san is non stop scolding and yelling at Lev for something stupid he did, a little side note that Lev’s middle name is stupidity means Yaku-san is yelling every millisecond. To add fuel to the fire, Kuro is also teasing Yaku-san for his height or arguing something about docosahexaenoic acid or was it astaxanthin, I think it’s something about fish or meat? Honestly, I don’t even know what language they are speaking.

Inuoka, Fukunaga and Shibayama are coming up with theories on whether the earth is flat or not, if there’s a parallel universe and something about aliens. I would join them but I’d rather discuss those stuff with you.

Let’s not forget that Tora’s here too, do I need to explain what he’s doing??? Let’s not.

Last but not the least and the worst of it all, there’s no signal nor electricity in here. I know you packed me two extra power bank but I already used them all, they’re drained. My game console is also drained and my phone is on 20%. I think I’ll go insane if I stay another day in here.

Just so you know, I’m at the verge of dying. I am dead serious when I tell you that I literally walked down that mountain from where we were camping to this town’s post office.

It seems like I don’t have a choice. This is the best option I got if I want to get the hell out of here as soon as possible. If only I didn’t let Kuroo talk me out to not bring my own car. I would be able to get the hell out of here as I wish.

I added a tip so they’ll deliver this letter to you faster. So please, I beg of you to come pick me up as soon as you read this. I love you so much, get me out of here.

Love,

Kenma Kozume

nisu entries:

This is my first time to participate in a collab and I would like to thank @babyshoyo for inviting me to join her Haikyuu Letter Project. Just contact her if you want to join or you know a someone that would like to. If you need help or needs someone to read their drafts first, I’ll gladly give you my time! Happy Holidays!♥️

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meowdymista · 3 years

Text

For my first RDR2 event, I was paired with @sunspott / @polybigbang. Their art was for a playlist on spotify called Going’s All We Know, and I’ve tried to incorporate the mood of the playlist into my first impression of the art.

You can read my submission on AO3 or follow through with the read more :)

Still No Rest

Feet are itching again, plus it ain't like we can stick around much longer. Going is all we know, even if we ain't got nowhere else left.

Things had been too steady of late. They had been too safe, had slipped away far too easily, had pulled moneybags out of places that should have fought back but hadn't even batted an eye.

Arthur pushes back his hair, greasy and long, off his brow. The clouds above are smoky and dark - a storm, just as anticipated.

Maybe he jumped a little too far too fast today. Maybe if he hadn't been so on edge waiting for something to go wrong, they could have deescalated the situation. Maybe lives could have been spared, but it’s not like the guilt isn’t scratching the ridges of his brain like a dusty gramophone needle.

What makes you any different? You who's always scraping for a scrap of some sort. Them trying to do the right thing and crossing your path to do it. Better you than them, right? Like Daddy always said, if they didn’t want to die they should mind their own business.

A new start: isn't that what they had promised themselves? A new state, a new town, a new camp: a clean slate that he had managed to bloody in a record three days.

Every bullet that screamed past his ear left his bones ringing with that too familiar dull tired ache. Every blade that snagged his clothes instead of his skin embittered him. The tiniest of voices hummed with the thought that maybe, maybe, he should fight that craving for carelessness and even tell someone about it… but the beast he’s become scowls and reminds him with a low growl that then they would stop him. They would take him off the front line, teach the gangly adolescent John - who is a far worse shot - to replace him.

It's not even jealousy really, he reasons as he slips his journal away and stretches into a stand. They need him. Need his gun, his eye, his blade. Worrying them isn’t an option, especially right now. He doesn’t need to make them doubt his reliability, or question whether they’ve misplaced their trust. He knew in his heart that if anyone in the gang confessed the same, he would refuse their gun, even if he needed it - and afterwards? In the weeks, months, years to come? He would always pick someone else. Someone less vulnerable. Someone he never doubted or needed to protect.

Which is how he ended up going out with the feller Dutch had picked up when they were up North. He’s had a few too many close shaves under Hosea’s watchful eye of late as he struggled to conceal the beast's rearing head. The old man was onto him, his brown eyes still boring into him, even after Copper found his way to him.

Bill, on the other hand, is always game for a ruckus. He has as much of a temper as he does, and can match him drink for drink. Some of the stories he lets slip prickle him - like the beast recognising a party equal, a fellow host. He says nothing. Doesn't validate them, doesn't acknowledge them or aim to empathise, he just accepts the added weight of tar and grudges home with another bottle.

“Arthur?”

"M'tired," grunts Arthur, walking past Hosea, boots scuffing the dry red earth beneath them. “Besides, you know how it is. Sometimes bullets fly no matter what you do.”

Hosea doesn’t dignify his excuse with a response, and despite the poker face, Arthur can feel the guilt twist a little tighter in his gut as he sets about washing his arms and face in the barrel by the food reserves. He knows nothing good would come from trying to explain the truth of the situation... How a glimpse of a little boy in his peripherals is as sure a sign of upcoming thunder as lightning flashing in the distance. His not-brown-not-blond tussle of hair brushing the wind with fat drops of rain… rain that never came, leaving Arthur to water the ground with blood, like somehow it could make him feel less like he’s drowning in the driest desert outside of New Mexico.

He pats his pockets for the cigarette he had rolled earlier, until, retracing his steps mentally, he sighs in disappointment. He had been about to light it when it all kicked off. Or rather… it had been in his mouth whilst he tried to align yet another match to the tobacco when he had caught the eye of another patron and decided to swap the nicotine for some adrenaline.

His fondness for Bill always grew at moments like this. Bastard heard one cross word and his guns were out before he found his balance.

Deflated, he uncaps a beer instead, emptying it, tossing it aside and grabbing another, before spotting the girl devouring a bowl of stew a stone's throw away.

"Who's she?" he asks before Hosea can try to raise the day’s events.

"Your new ward."

Arthur stops, scoffing, growing angry when the elder doesn’t back down. "Nuh uh! No way! I just got rid of Johnny! Get Williamson to do it!"

"You'd trust him with her?"

"Sure! Why not?" He glances back at the girl despite himself. His index finger is itching again. "Or get Marston on it. Ain't like he's doing much else."

"John is still learning how to take care of himself, and Bill…"

"He ain't gonna beat up a little girl." Restless, his feet shuffle beneath him, his beer swapping hands before touching his lips again. "And ain't like he's gonna have interest in her."

"You think he wouldn't do it just to prove a point?" Their eyes meet briefly before Arthur's gaze drops. "People who are insecure are far more dangerous than those comfortable in themselves, never forget that Arthur. Besides, I'd rather not expose her to the prejudices she can get any day of the week. She ought to feel safe here, don't you think?"

He finishes the dregs and tosses the bottle, preferring to change the subject than admit he’s right. "Where’d she come from? She got any family?"

"She left her cousin back east. Came this way looking for her mother but she’d passed meanwhile."

"So… what’s the plan? We taking her back east?"

"Sure as shit you ain't!"

The girl has stepped around the table, legs planted apart, hands folded across her flat chest, her hair as free and untamed as her temperament. She is glaring something fierce, making the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end in a fight or flight instinct.

Hosea chuckles softly, eyes bright with pride. "I reckon she's one of us now."

"Well, does she have a name?" asks Arthur, incredulous.

"Jackson." She jerks her heart shaped face in a defensive greeting. "My name is Tilly Jackson."

"Well, Miss Tilly Jackson, you always so fierce?" He stalks the couple of steps to the nearest crate of whiskey and pulls one free.

"You always this stupid?"

"Hey now, Miss Jackson," interrupts Hosea before Arthur can bark. "We don't talk to each other like that here."

"He started it!"

"And you’re sitting with Mrs Matthews when you’re done so she can keep an eye on you!” He ushers her towards Bessie to keep her out of harm's way before turning back to his first product of adoption with a raised brow.

"You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

"Try coming back just half soaked some time. Might make them go easier on you."

Arthur scoffs, his rebuttal dying in his throat. He dampens the ash with another swig.

"I want you to take her with you when you go out."

His scoff is solid. "No way."

Hosea straightens up, watching him, using his body language to ask the questions.

"I ain't taking her out. You want her shot?"

"You intend to shoot her?"

"No, course not-"

"Then what's the problem?"

Arthur's eyes roll in exasperation, his finger flexing around the neck of the bottle like it's a button that will win the argument if he squeezes tight enough. "The problem is other people shooting at us."

"You intend to get shot at?"

"No, but-"

"Then I see no problem."

"That don't mean we ain't gonna get shot at!"

"Why would you get shot at?"

'Cause that's what I set out to do most days, he wants to counter. And if I ain't likely to get shot, I'm likely in jail or black out drunk in a saloon someplace.

Instead he closes his mouth, any excuse dead before it passes his lips.

"I'm not asking you to take her with you to rob a bank, Arthur." Hosea's tone is firm but still soft - a talent of his. "But while you're out looking for leads, or even looting a homestead or something… She's nifty."

"Hosea, I-" He trails off, distracted by the clip of notes Hosea is picking through, and downright thrown when he passes him the thinned out clip. "What's this for? I gettin' paid to be a nanny now?"

“This-” Hosea holds up a couple of notes before putting them in his pocket. “-is for arguing with me. This is for the box, as it seems you’ve forgotten to pay the camp's share, and this-" He casually holds out the last few dollars to the side like he’s ashing a cigarette. A small brown hand slips it away as both Hosea and little Miss Tilly regard him smugly. "Is for a mark well scammed."

"You mean-?" He checks his pockets, ears growing hot. "You son of a-"

“Ah-ah! Language!” Dutch swaggers up with a smirk like he has been watching the introduction unfold in its entirety. “C’mon, Arthur, you have to give it to her. She’s talented!”

“Might finally have picked up a smart one, eh, Dutch?” winks Hosea. Arthur scowls and turns on his heel, leaving them laughing and praising their newest addition.

****

Arthur remains cool and calm the next few days, hunting local and sticking close to camp. Every time he approaches his horse, the little girl is waiting, watching him with her fierce brown eyes.

"Where we goin', Mr Arthur?" She asks as soon as he's within earshot. "Do I need anything bringing?"

Every time he offers to pay double what Hosea has offered her, and every time she refuses to discuss the terms of their negotiation. Every time he curses everything under his breath, keeping his language savoury for the child nearby. Every time he scowls, and every time he gives her a grunt of "naw, we ain't going far" before mounting up and lifting her onto the rear.

"I can ride myself, ya know?" She shoots one morning as Arthur leads his stead into a trot away from camp, heading towards the softer, greener terrain that’s barely visible on the horizon. "Properly. Not side saddle."

"Good for you."

"If I had a horse I would show you."

"And run off with the money we got, huh."

She bristles. "I ain't no snitch."

"Sounds like somethin' a snitch would say." He pops the cork from a half full bottle of rum and takes a swig. Replacing the bottle, he notices her scrunching her nose in disdain. “Got a problem? I can take you back to camp.”

“You sure don’t drink much water,” she comments drily. “You ain’t worried ‘bout heatstroke out here?”

“Liquor’s hydrating,” he scowls, pushing the horse into a canter.

“Pretty sure it ain’t, but you do you. Besides, I got dibs on your things. We all gotta start somewhere, right?”

Arthur snorts angrily, adrenaline prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. “You sure as hell do not, princess. I ain’t going nowhere!”

Miss Jackson hums sarcastically. “Sure you ain’t. You don’t eat, don’t drink anything under forty proof, don’t talk to no one-”

“If you don’t like it, I can drop you right here!”

“Go ahead.” Her tone is defiant, but it doesn’t escape his notice that she grips his sides a little tighter. “Mr Matthews was pretty explicit about what he’d do to you if you tried.”

He stews the next mile or more, not speaking up until he finally dismounts for a break at the change of terrain.

Wide open spaces always helped to ground him, even though it could make vanishing into thin air difficult. To some extent, it forced him to not be so careless. In others, it made it easier to kid himself that he had never crossed the threshold into civilisation, let alone crossed a kind faced waitress.

Listening out for creeping cougars and restless rattlesnakes, he crouches down by the water’s side and splashes his face, washing off the worst of the sweat and dust that��s caked itself into every pore available. The girl makes no move to dismount, so he takes it upon himself to refill her canteen as a gesture of goodwill.

“You don’t got to stick to us, you know.” She turns her big brown eyes from the sky onto Arthur’s face. He shuffles his feet awkwardly, focusing his attention on brushing out the biggest clumps of dust from the horse’s mane before they continue. “If you need me to take you somewhere-”

“And what’s a girl to do then? Hit the road with a couple dollars?” She fixes him with a look that is too old for her face. “Naw, I think I’ll stay with youse a little longer.”

“That’s alright, but we’re gonna have to be moving on real soon.” He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the unspoken reminder that it’s because of him and his actions. “It ain’t like we can promise to be back up this way any time in the near future. If you change your mind-”

“I won’t change my mind about them, Mr Morgan.” She shivers in a breeze that only seems to touch her. “No, sir. They had me bound real good for real long, but I don’t need ‘em. I won my freedom, Mr Morgan, an’ I ain’t going back.”

He risks a glance, curiosity getting the better of him. Her eyes are sparkling as bright as the water's surface, but her jaw is clenched tight. He debates riding further, doing what he can to get them set up at the fishing spot Hosea had heard about as they moved through the state to their current set up, but the child looked too old. Too tired. Too existentially exhausted.

Plus, when you get low enough, it's like some things will follow wherever you go.

“Let’s stop here a while.”

As predicted, Miss Jackson double takes. “Don’t you want to get to where we’re headed?”

Arthur shrugs. “Ain’t like there ain’t food to be foraged here. Nothing to come raising any hell or bother us into raising it for them. Reckon this spot’s as good as any.”

He turns his back to her as she dismounts warily, focusing his energy on starting a small campfire they can add to.

"I ain't goin' anywhere if you wanna swim." He grimaces as his words come out gruffer than intended. "I got clean clothes in the saddle bags here if you want 'em for the trip back or to swim in even. Can't imagine that skirt is the lightest when it gets wet."

"You ain't wrong, Mr Arthur, sir. Thank you for the offer but I think I'm just gonna stick to paddling for now."

"Sure."

It's not his first choice. This land is a little too dry for his liking, but that's what comes with being so close to the desert. Money means nothing to nature, besides she provides everything and more than what shops and butchers supply. Who needs civilisation when there's the wilds to retreat into? When there is wild carrots and rhubarb aplenty, fresh meat, shelter, all for the low cost of taking what you need as you need it?

The fire started, he sets out to look for fuel and food. Crouching down to check dung and disturbances in the foliage, he finds the damage is minimal. He swears again, taking a swig of whiskey from his satchel.

He doesn't really remember a time he didn't drink, but he knows this is different. He knows this isn't a choice on his behalf. The demon demands fuel as a child demands milk, and like the fool he is, he provides without much hesitation. Anything for a glimmer of peace from the screaming child in his mind.

He scoffs at himself and straightens up, looking around on the off chance some animal is dumb enough to be caught out in the open - and as luck would have it, a pronghorn buck is grazing a stones throw away.

He inhales deeply, taking aim with newfound focus, and fires.

The pronghorn bolts, but it's no contest for the bullet soaring his way. A mournful cry bleats through the undergrowth as it flees. He follows, as loud as he likes given the rip of the shot would have blasted a warning to anything within earshot. Breaking through a wall of cacti, he spots Miss Tilly aghast in the shallows as the buck splashes into the lake he had washed up in on their arrival.

He keeps going, realising the buck is heading for a wet escape. Shedding his guns as he runs, he wades in after it, shouting.

The buck is swimming in deep water, leaving behind a trail of blood behind with every baleful bleat, leaving Arthur with no option besides taking a spur of the moment swim or going home with an empty stomach.

"C'mere!" he cries, breaking into breaststroke. The buck is slowing, every cry growing more lamenting and mournful. "Stop! I can make it stop, just come a little closer."

It's crying weakly by the time he manages to reach it. He throws an arm over its neck and fumbles for his hunting knife, but the blood proves too thick and one small fumble sends it disappearing into the depths.

"C'mon," he grunts, tugging the wounded animal with him as he kicks his way towards shore. "You ain't gonna get any lighter."

He struggles towards shore, gasping assurances every chance he gets. When his boots finally scrape the bottom, he whistles for his mount with the last of the air in his lungs.

He finally releases the animal, using both hands to search for a knife or a pistol - something to end its suffering quickly. Drowning the thing felt too callous, too slow, too-

"Will this be enough?"

Arthur, still gasping for breath, hair dripping into his blue eyes, pauses, surprised. A small hand is proferring a flip knife, her small face reflecting the distress of his own. Recovering, he nods quickly, thanking her as he takes the tool from her and advising her to look away and cover her ears. Obeying doesn’t lessen the heart wrenching last cry of the animal, but on opening her eyes again, she decides it is less painful than watching the poor thing struggle as it drowned.

Arthur is holding the animal, counting, as though held to some strange code to make sure it is dead before removing the tool of choice. He shakes the knife under the surface and folds it up, passing it back to her with a grunt of thanks. She takes it, still in shock at the unexpected show of violence.

He pushes the carcass out of the water, promising to be back soon before swimming back to where he caught the animal. Watching his head disappear under the surface, she is left with the silence of the cooling body nearby. It looks strangely peaceful staring off into the east.

Arthur swims back, pushing back the sodden mop of brown hair as he wades out with sopping boots and a shiny carving knife he must have dropped earlier. He advises her to leave him to it if she’s squeamish, and she refuses up until the animals guts plume onto the sand.

From a distance, she watches him carry them away from their makeshift camp, covering them up with some leaves and branches to disguise the worse of the mess but leave it readily available to the creatures due a feast. Returning to the body, he begins to carve with care, piling steaks onto canvas. He wastes as little as possible, even wrapping the exposed neck of the head in canvas before tying it onto the horse. He turns to the water, notices her watching and walks over.

“Reckon we’re almost done here,” he calls as he gets close enough. “Just gonna wash up and we can get going.”

“You always butcher your kill before going back?” she asks.

He huffs, a twinkle in his eye. “Sure, when I don’t plan on walking back. Figured you’d rather hitch a ride than straddle a dead deer.”

She shudders, making him laugh as he kicks off his boots and setting them aside to dry from earlier. He doesn’t remove his clothes, just pulls a bar of soap from the saddlebags and asks if she minds if he doesn’t dry off. She herself finally admits internally that she feels grubby. She had washed and washed and washed, and eventually came to accept the grime was not going to wash off her. Too much dirt, too ingrained, too repeated to ever shed properly…

She follows him, still keeping her distance. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, just keeps scrubbing suds under his nails, over his forearms, into every fibre of his shirt. When she finally feels brave enough to speak up, she takes a deep breath, and on a whim decides to splash him.

He turns around, frowning, before picking up on the giggles and grinning himself. His arms are stronger, thicker, longer - the retaliation engulfs her with a responding tidal wave that leaves her gasping for air. In the small glimpse she makes of him, she notes the guilt and the apology on his lips as he believes himself having gone too far, but she’s too quick. She pushes him in the chest and tries to swim away as quick as she can, squealing the whole way.

Their laughter disturbs the birds in the branches, and they take flight, not that either of them notice. They play until the sun lowers to kiss the leaves around them. They share the bar of soap, and Tilly takes refuge in his disinterest. He lets her wash. She lets him wash. Both of them keep their distance when appropriate.

“Perhaps we oughta ride back in the morning,” Arthur muses when he notices how much she is shivering. "It's only gonna get colder, and at least we've got a fire going here."

“I don’t mind making the ride.”

He chuckles, eyes soft. “Miss Tilly. You’re dead on your feet, and sure as hell will be dead in the saddle. I can fall asleep just about anywhere if you’re alright with the tent and bedroll? Hell, it’d make a nice change to waking up to Susan and Dutch arguing, huh?”

“You ain’t wrong...” She is still hesitating. Arthur tried to shake the thought of what she must have been through and instead tells himself that it's standard practice to be wary of new folk. She could feel safe in camp because there were more people to keep tabs on one another. Out here, it was just him, her and the stars, and since when did the stars ever do anything to help?

“Listen. Choice is yours. I’ll ride through the night if that’s what you want, but I promise you’re safe with me.” He checks the barrel of his revolver, counting the six bullets nestled inside before snapping it in place and holding it out by the barrel. “Here. I can’t give you both in case we get jumped, but I’ll stow the long arms on Wyn if that makes it easier.”

She sits in silence for a long while before nodding slowly.

“Alright then. You get to eating your fill while I set you up for the night.”

*****

She wakes up, well rested and warm. She takes a few minutes to lay there, watching the shadows of the flies buzzing on the canvas above before finally crawling out in search of fresh air.

Owain is grazing not so far away, but Arthur is nowhere to be seen. His long arms are still stashed, the fire just ash now. Panic rises in her throat, torn between the fear of him being jumped and him abandoning her willingly.

She frets, pacing, checking their reserves. No, she has no clue where the hell he has taken her so she doesn’t know where to even start on trying to return to Mr Matthews and Mr Van der Linde. She curses him for being so spoilt as to be threatened by a little girl.

“Mornin’, Miss Jackson.” She flinches, immediately retreating from the greeting. Arthur is frowning under the brim of his hat as he dismounts the small bay coloured horse. “Everythin’ alright?”

“I thought you left me,” she admits, still choked up. He seems surprised, then bashful, trying to hide it by patting the neck of the horse he has with him.

“Naw. There was a herd moving through here early this morning and I remembered about you wantin’ a horse of your own.” He gives her an awkward nod. “Whaddaya reckon? She rides pretty nice. One of the smaller one, but she seems friendly enough. If you wanna keep her, I’ll set you up on mine until we can get this one broke in properly if tha’s alright?”

“Sure.”

“Awesome.” He begins to pack their things away, tacking Owain and bribing both steads with sugar cubes.

“We going hunting again?”

Arthur puts away the brush and pats his horse’s neck. “Naw. Today we’re headed to Greyhound Station.”

“Why?”

“Boring stuff. Check to see if anyone’s tried to write us. Check for bounties and that we ain’t most of ‘em. See if there’s any jobs goin’, keep an ear to the ground in case there’s money to be had. You know, standard outlaw stuff.”

“I ain’t ever been on a wanted poster yet,” she muses. “That I know of anyhow. Knowing the Foreman Brothers, they’ll be tryin’ to frame me for something.”

“The Foreman Brothers?”

“The… gang. The ones I was with when Dutch and Hosea found me.” Arthur hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t press it. It’s like he knows it’s a big bruise still there after months of riding with them. “They was wrestlin’ to hang me or bury me alive. Never did find out which since I managed to wriggle off the wagon without them noticin’. So much for family.”

“Y’all were related?”

“Yeah.” She spits off the side. “Good riddance to ‘em.”

He hums. “If anybody tries to pull that with you again, you lemme know. I’ll get ‘em before they blink.” He rummages in his saddle bag and pulls out a glass bottle of clear liquid. She frowns as he takes a greedy few gulps before offering it to her.

“I ain’t much a fan of the bottle, Arthur.”

He throws her a look of befuddlement over his shoulder before understanding befalls him. “It weren’t my first choice, Miss Jackson, but I’ve yet to learn how best to store water if not in a bottle of some kind.”

“Water?”

“Water,” he repeats with a shake of his head. “Whiskey’s the other side if you want some.”

“I’m good for now, Mr Morgan,” she smiles, raising the bottle to her lips, squinting at the sunburned strip that’s the back of his neck. “Maybe some other time.”

#rdr2 reverse big bang #rdr2 #rdrbigbang #rdrreversebang2021 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fic #tilly jackson #arthur morgan #sunspott

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gunnerpalace · 4 years

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You really are delusional aren't ya? Btw latest update says that the voice actors for Byakuya and Ichigo would be on stage with Kubo to present the new project on the ANIME stage ;).

That’s not new news. Your boy already reported that one. Seems you’re not keeping up. Seems you’re also incapable of thinking things through. When Morita Masakazu shows up at KLab, does that mean he’s narrating an audio book for them? When William Shatner shows up at a Star Trek convention, does that mean they’re making a new TV show focused around Kirk? No.Neither of those means such a thing. They’re easy paychecks to cash. Assuming they were would be called “reaching.” Reaching being the core reflex of delusion. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m done being nice to you. I’m done extending even the barest hint of a modicum of civility toward you. I’m tired of it.

So try this on for size: fuck you, you fucking projecting piece of shit.

I’m going to go through this finely and carefully, because I already wrote out my first angry reply to your dumb ass, and I was pretty satisfied with it, only for Tumblr to eat it. So now I’m even angrier at you, you stupid fuck.

Let me say that despite the number of words I am about to spill, and the specific vitriol behind many of them, I know you care. You care more than I do, in fact, because you are here anonymously commenting in my inbox, when you could be doing literally anything else with your wretched and pathetic waste of a life. You care so fucking much you’re willing to go out and waste your time trolling on the internet about dumb anime bullshit. In other words, you are perhaps one step above some peasant on a forum desperately trying to defend Apple, Sony, Microsoft, or some other major corporation, yet you are still about a hundred steps below what is commonly reckoned to be the level of human decency.

Right about now you’re probably thinking, “Haha, you’re getting mad about anime,” and the thing is, I’m really not. I don’t know you, and yet I do know you. I know exactly who you are, and I know exactly what you want.

Human behavior is pretty scalar invariant—that is to say, it looks pretty similar regardless of whether it applies to something big or something small. While yes, we are discussing some dumb anime bullshit on the internet that really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, your behavior is still readily identifiable.

You want to live in a delusional little world where you need your ego to be assuaged, your aesthetic preferences to be fulfilled, and your emotional needs to be met, and you do not care for little inconveniences like facts or truth or properly cited sources because all those things get in the way of your feelings and there is absolutely nothing more precious in the universe to you than your feelings, especially feeling right and feeling justified.

You know how I know that? Because you’re not alone. People like you—shitheads like you—are at the core of things like the anti-vaccination movement, or climate change denial, or chemtrail or moon hoax conspiracy theories, or the fucking Flat Earth Society. Shitheads like you voted in assholes like Trump, Johnson, Morrison, Putin, Erdogan, Orban, and Bolsonaro. Shitheads like you nod along sagely at assholes like Xi when they explain the Uighurs just have to be exterminated for the sake of security. Shitheads like you agree with assholes like Stephen Miller, Steve Bannon, Nigel Farage, and Marine Le Pen when they appeal to your worst emotional impulses, and damn the consequences.

And just like the followers and supporters of all those things and people, when you are called out on your behavior, when you are smacked in your stupid fucking face with actual facts and figures and sources, you project. You turn around and you attribute everything you are guilty of engaging in onto the other party as a defensive reaction and paint yourself as a victim.

You are exactly like a Trump voter crowing about corruption while supporting the most corrupt motherfucker to ever hold office in American government. (And no, for this analogy to work, it doesn’t matter if you’re American or not, and I don’t give a damn whether you are or not.) There is actually no difference between your behavior and theirs, it’s just a question of the scale of the matter being discussed.

In other words, to reiterate: you are a piece of shit.

Shitheads like you are not just an annoyance that the rest of us have to deal with. In your willful and self-serving ignorance you enable—you aid and abet—the assholes of the world, be they great and loathsome like Trump or tiny and laughable like Jaymes, and allow them to do what they do. You are the closest thing to a personification of evil that exists in the world because of that. You are the literal bane of civilization. You are a cancer upon the body of humanity.

If our species is to fail, if we are to all go extinct before ever reaching the stars, if we are to rape and pillage our planet to death, it will be because of shitheads like you and what you enable.

You disgust me. It is difficult to capture in words, be they in English or any other language, the contempt in which I hold shitheads like you—and since you are currently filling my awareness even if you are not in my proximity, the contempt in which I hold you in particular. I want you to imagine the most callous and dismissive look that you have ever been given in your life by someone, and I want you to multiply its severity by an order of magnitude so you might have some inkling of the low regard in which I personally hold you. I view you as less than dirt and dogshit on the tread of my boots.

Your sycophantic ass-kissing of some attention-whore white guy on Twitter and your desperate, sorry need to believe that you got exactly what you wanted from a fucking manga when it did the textual equivalent of shitting in your mouth is, in many ways, even more sad and execrable than those masses that desperately need a strongman to lead them or who have perverted and betrayed their so-called values in the name of stability and security, because at least those people chose to compromise themselves and become slaves to movements at a scale that actually meant something. You can’t even meet that low bar.

You are a fucking waste of oxygen. You are beneath hatred. I would tell you not to write even a single word to me again, but I actively encourage it so that I can block you and I am never troubled to read the pained excretions you pretend are cogent language ever again.

Fuck you, you piece of shit.

Fuck you.

#Asks #fuck you #fuk u #f u #fu #f #u mad? u mad?#u sure look mad #you look like a stupid bitch

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artemis-entreri · 5 years

Photo

[[ This post contains Part 3 of my review/analysis of the Forgotten Realms/Drizzt novel, Boundless, by R. A. Salvatore. As such, the entirety of this post’s content is OOC. ]]

Genre: Fantasy

Series: Generations: Book 2 | Legend of Drizzt #35 (#32 if not counting The Sellswords)

Publisher: Harper Collins (September 10, 2019)

My Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

Additional Information: Artwork for the cover of Boundless and used above is originally done by Aleks Melnik. This post CONTAINS SPOILERS. Furthermore, this discussion concerns topics that I am very passionate about, and as such, at times I do use strong language. Read and expand the cut at your own discretion.

Contents:

Introduction

I. Positives I.1 Pure Positives I.2 Muddled Positives

II. Mediocre Writing Style II.1 Bad Descriptions II.2 Salvatorisms II.3 Laborious “Action”

III. Poor Characterization (you are here) III.1 “Maestro” III.2 Lieutenant III.3 Barbarian III.4 “Hero” III.5 Mother

IV. World Breaks IV.1 Blinders Against the Greater World IV.2 Befuddlement of Earth and Toril IV.3 Self-Inconsistency IV.4 Dungeon Amateur IV.5 Utter Nonsense

V. Ego Stroking V.1 The Ineffable Companions of the Hall V.2 Me, Myself, and I

VI. Problematic Themes VI.1 No Homo VI.2 Disrespect of Women VI.3 Social-normalization VI.4 Eugenics

VII. What’s Next VII.1 Drizzt Ascends to Godhood VII.2 Profane Redemption VII.3 Passing the Torch VII.4 Don’t Notice Me Senpai

Poor Characterization

Boundless sees an overall regression from Timeless in terms of quality of characterization. It almost feels as though Salvatore is saying, "I don't have room for character development because Boundless is such a non-stop action novel". Most of the page space is taken up by the many unfolding events, with opponents one after another that Zaknafein has to duel in the past and a full on war fought on at least three separate fronts in the present. However, even putting aside the fact that so many of those pages could've been truncated and space dedicated to character progression, instead, what we find in Boundless is shallow, self-inconsistent, lazy, and really, just mediocre. I'm not sure what effect Salvatore was trying to achieve through the cursory and flat overviews he gives to all of the characters in his Dramatis Personae section that precedes the body of the novel. Descriptions like the one for Briza Do'Urden, which reads, "Malice's eldest daughter. Huge and formidable" makes me wonder if Salvatore was going for humor. Yet, there isn't anything funny about the rest of the characterizations, except in an ironic sense in how bad they are, as though they were the words of someone trying to explain the characters to a not very bright child. I suppose it's an appropriate precedent, given how the "fleshed out" characterizations go in the novel.

"Maestro"

As suggested by Boundless' cover art, there's a lot of Jarlaxle in the book. Sadly, this manifests as a sort of butchering of Jarlaxle's capability and characterization in both the past and present timelines of the novel. Overall, Jarlaxle is very flat-footed, constantly doing the proverbial rocking back on his heels and falling on his butt. A character rocking back on their heels is one of Salvatore's favorite descriptors, and while, ironically, that phrase doesn't appear in Boundless, Salvatore does an excellent job of showing that Jarlaxle does it a great deal. This would be great in terms of showing instead of telling, except that, unfortunately, it happens when Jarlaxle's supposed to be doing something clever or there's some great revelation that manages to escape his masterfully strategic mind. I'd often joked that Salvatore isn't smart enough to write a character who's supposed to be as smart as Jarlaxle is, and this is very much evident in Boundless, except there's nothing funny about it. It's really just disappointing to see a character who is actually a nonconformist dragged down and forced to conform to Drizzt. Jarlaxle is also becoming more like Drizzt in the sense that he acts very differently from how he's supposed to be, all while we are being told over and over how he is truly, for real, pinky swear that certain way. In Drizzt's case, it is a judgmental, sanctimonious, pretentious, self-aggrandizing and presumptuous twat hailed to be the shining hero of goodness and virtue. And now, sadly, in Jarlaxle's case, a dopey, shortsighted, reckless, inattentive and not very bright clown wrapped in the cloak of one whose flair is matched only by his genius.

As he is presented in Boundless, Jarlaxle would've been wholly consumed by the perils of Menzoberranzan almost immediately. The Jarlaxle in the past timeline should be closer to how he was in the Legacy of the Drow trilogy, but he's been tempered to beyond how he is in The Sellswords trilogy. He's even more tame than how he appears in Waterdeep: Dragon Heist, where he features as a genteel, at worst mischievous, sort of villain. Jarlaxle has become closer to Drizzt than even Zaknafein, with Zaknafein being more brutal. The Jarlaxle of the past is nearly identical to the Jarlaxle of the present, as though he were transcribed across the hundreds of years. I don't understand the reason that Salvatore did this. The current version of Jarlaxle is unpalatable enough, with all of the "intrigue" and the being for himself stance as nothing but empty posturing. It makes no sense that Jarlaxle would be that way in the past, for supposedly, experiencing the personality-altering phenomenon that is Drizzt Do'Urden hadn't even happened then.

That said, let's look at some details. First, Boundless introduces an activity that Jarlaxle and Zaknafein enjoyed together, "cavern jumping", which is what we call free running or parkour in our world. They first partake of this activity in a super inspired and uniquely-named chapter entitled "Running Free". I was sarcastic just now, but I'm absolutely not sarcastic when I say this: parkour is dangerous. Even in our world, experienced traceurs can and do get hurt, and they don't normally run in an environment where many individuals stand to benefit if a fatal accident befalls them. Despite Jarlaxle saying that the risk is what makes the activity fun, this seems like a weak justification injected by a paranoid narrator who's aware that they're recounting a very unlikely event. For, the reality is, it's already dangerous that Jarlaxle and Zaknafein perform risky acrobatic maneuvers in one of the deadliest cities of Faerûn, they're doing it without any of their magical equipment. The very fact that Jarlaxle engages in this activity is reckless, and what makes it even more unlikely is the lack of assurances that are put in place to minimize potential "accidents". Zaknafein and Jarlaxle's cavern-jumping escapades aren't at all like when they pillaged Barrison Del'Armgo's armory. Although both are adrenaline-seeking activities, the latter was a controlled simulation that Jarlaxle had engineered and pulled strings to achieve. Jarlaxle might be a daredevil and an excitement-seeker, but he's not stupid, and he's supposed to be prudent, else everything that he's worked for would be for naught. He takes risks but we've been told that they're calculated ones, ones in which he's already figured out and examined every possible outcome. There's nothing calculated about cavern-jumping, and the only aspect that's even approaching consistent is their route. Even then, "consistent" can hardly be applied, for the two are constantly one-upping each other, pushing one another to quicker paces and more daring maneuvers. There aren't even Bregan D'aerthe scouts watching every turn, keeping an eye out for any parties of ill intention that might target the two high profile male drow. Heck, Jarlaxle isn't even aware of who's watching them, and he should both know and care, especially since Zaknafein is big enough of a target that many individuals wouldn't care about implicating Jarlaxle while attempting to "cavern-jump" Zaknafein. In fact, we even see in the same chapter one such interested party, and given that so much of the book is about people wanting to kill Zaknafein, I feel like the whole free running thing was just an excuse for Salvatore to show off his action scenes, except that there isn't anything to show off there. Simply showing off to this degree puts both of them at a disadvantage given how cutthroat and scheme-based drow society is supposed to be. Shouldn't Jarlaxle be worried about illustrating how flexible and agile he is, and doesn't Zaknafein want opponents to underestimate him?

Far from being circumspect, Jarlaxle doesn't seem to think at all. Even obvious things that would've occurred to a novice strategist escapes the one indirectly dubbed as "maestro". Following the fight between Zaknafein and Duvon Tr'arach, a holder of a century-long grudge against the weapons master who destroyed his house and humiliated him in combat, Jarlaxle is surprised to find that the drow whom he thought were ambushers were actually reinforcements brought by Zaknafein. This is not evocative of a streetwise genius maestro super spy. Of course Zaknafein would bring back-up, he knows the way of his society and knows how many want him dead. It would have been more reasonable for Jarlaxle to be surprised if Zaknafein hadn't brought anyone from his house with him. Salvatore has Jarlaxle thinking Zaknafein clever, but what should've happened is that Jarlaxle should have known about Zaknafein's backup in the first place, and have had agents monitoring them the whole time instead of embarrassing himself with his lack of foresight. Even better would have been if he feigned being surprised and impressed while we see Jarlaxle's agents melt back into the shadows without them alerting Zaknafein's assistants.

Jarlaxle being blindsided by the relationship between Zaknafein and Dab'nay, while more reasonable than the previous example, nonetheless doesn't belong to the same drow who, during the Crenshinibon era, knew immediately that his two lieutenants were conspiring together against him. It's true that Jarlaxle is younger and less experienced during the flashback scenes of Boundless, but there's already a rapport between him and the members of his band, a trust that would not have built up solely based on individuals sharing the same plight. Jarlaxle's followers are fiercely loyal to him, and not solely because of his charisma. Jarlaxle shows these second-class citizens of his society something they've never known before, that someone is interested in who they are. He wins their favor because all they've known previously is that their worth is measured by their bloodline, their aptitude in combat and their aptitude in the bedroom. Even if Jarlaxle's intellect wasn't enough to allow him to foresee Dab'nay and Zaknafein hooking up as a possibility, his personal knowledge of Dab'nay should've suggested the probability to him. There's another poor characterization in that if Zaknafein's hatred of priestesses was as absolute and blinding as we've been told that it is, the only dagger he'd have plunged into Dab'nay wouldn't have been the one that's permanently attached to him. However, the relationship between Dab'nay and Zaknafein being what it's forced to be, surely, Jarlaxle would've known Zaknafein well enough to at least suspect the possibility.

Although Jarlaxle is only literally stated to have "for once, seemed at a loss for words", his demonstrated lack of cleverness fails to back this up. Even in the scenario in which that is explicitly written, it's uncharacteristic of Jarlaxle to not know what to say. The passage reads:

So, from this we are to believe that the genius Jarlaxle can't produce an answer to that simple statement, when even I can think of a number of things to say on the fly: that Jarlaxle's not just any drow, that there are varying levels of trust that should be adjusted based on the circumstance, that there's such a thing as "trust but verify", that, fundamentally, the drow word for "trust" isn't as black and white as what Zaknafein is demanding. Jarlaxle's int score is a staggering 20, and he should easily come up with everything I've come up with just now and many many more answers that I can't even begin to think of with my far less staggering intellect. Things like these are just downright embarrassingly inept portrayals of Jarlaxle's alleged brilliance.

In the current timeline, Jarlaxle is even more dull, which I suppose is appropriate given the nerfing of who he was in the past. In addition to being just as flat-footed and shortsighted as his past incarnation in Boundless, Jarlaxle draws some really inaccurate conclusions. For instance, "Jarlaxle knew, of course, that Bruenor was more friend to Drizzt than Zaknafein had ever been, and indeed, more father to Drizzt than Zaknafein had ever been." Really? He knows, of course and indeed, this totally untrue assessment, does he? The first might be true, for Zaknafein wasn't present in Drizzt's life for nearly as much as Bruenor was, and even while he was there, the interactions between him and his son was restricted. But when did Bruenor risk his life on numerous occasions to simply ensure that Drizzt's moral compass and free will were not tainted? When did Bruenor sacrifice himself so that Drizzt might live? Bruenor was never even in a position to entreaty an assailant to take him instead of Drizzt. Perhaps if Salvatore defines father figures as aloof and distant presences in one's life who give tough love but never direct validation, then certainly Bruenor has been more of a father to Drizzt than Zaknafein was. However, the reality is that Bruenor never protected Drizzt the way that Zaknafein did and never guided Drizzt the way Zaknafein did. The only way that it would make sense for that assessment to belong to Jarlaxle is if Jarlaxle's own understanding of parent and child relationships is so incomplete that he doesn't know better, or if he's as stupid as he is shown to be in Boundless. The first possibility is most likely true from a personal angle for Jarlaxle, but Jarlaxle has lived long enough on the surface, mingling with enough surface folk to know, especially with what should be his level of perceptiveness, what it means to be a good father. He would need to have a good understanding of those kinds of dynamics, because they contain weaknesses that can be exploited. So, really, the only thing that would make all of this consistent is the latter possibility, which sadly, is where everything is trending anyway.

I'm not very emotionally invested in Jarlaxle, though I prefer him to most of the rest of the somewhat bland characters we see in Boundless. So when this many things make someone like me unhappy about Jarlaxle's characterization, I'd hate to see what someone who feels towards him like I feel towards Artemis Entreri will take away from Boundless. I'm sure that I'm missing a lot of irksome things, but the ones that I've pointed out are what stood out to me, and I'll end the discussion of Jarlaxle with one final example. In both Timeless and Boundless, Jarlaxle has this strange and decidedly non-Menzoberranzanyr perspective regarding "married couples" of drow. The usage of "husband" and "wife" in these books is extremely weird, because as we know from all D&D and Forgotten Realms source material, including Salvatore's own books, that there is no formality in Lolthite drow relationships. Females take males at their pleasure, abandoning them as whimsically as they pick them up, and being a Patron of a house means nothing. What's even more strange is that Zaknafein isn't even the Patron of House Do'Urden, Rizzen still holds that title while Zaknafein and Malice are sexually active together, yet since Timeless, Zaknafein has been referred to as Malice's husband. Furthermore, while, as far as we know, Jarlaxle has never slept with the partners of people that he likes, it was always more of a strategic decision rather than a moral one. For instance, he found Calihye and Dahlia unstable, thus not cuckolding Entreri and Drizzt, and the closest he'd come to showing interest to a "taken" partner was with Catti-brie, but even then, morals aren't what prevent him from pursuing her. Yet, steeped in the degenerate society of Menzoberranzan, Jarlaxle prefers not to have sexual contact with Malice because Zaknafein is his friend. Where did this belief come from? It certainly doesn't exist in drow culture, males are sex objects for the females, perhaps sometimes rising to the rank of favored toy, nothing more. In a society like that, the toy doesn't have delusions of possession. Jarlaxle is one of the few, if not only, male drow in Menzoberranzan who even has a choice, who can even say no to a female without being killed horribly. I get that Salvatore is trying to show that Jarlaxle is honorable towards his friendship with Zaknafein, but he doesn't have to break the character in addition to his own world-building, as well as that of other creatives', to do so. There are so many ways to do it, but I suppose those are less obvious and require more thinking.

Lieutenant

The poor characterizations extend beyond what's done to Jarlaxle. The number of times that an inconsistency arises between what a character is supposed to be/know and how they perceive things or act is staggering. In the past, there is Arathis Hune, Jarlaxle's first and only lieutenant for a long time, and presumably, one of his most trusted friends. Arathis and Jarlaxle should understand each other quite well, so the fact that Arathis didn't foresee that Jarlaxle would assist Zaknafein during Zaknafein's rigged duel with Duvon Tr'arach is unlikely. Arathis might've had an ace in the form of psionic assistance in swaying the match, but unless he is a total fool, he wouldn't think that Jarlaxle wasn't aware of his dalliances, especially with potential allies as powerful as Oblodrans. Furthermore, Jarlaxle's fondness of Zaknafein is enough of a thorn in Arathis' side that Arathis would've certainly anticipated Jarlaxle intervening on behalf of Zaknafein, even if Arathis didn't specifically guess that Jarlaxle would do so by means of lending Zaknafein his eyepatch. Even if Jarlaxle had never explicitly told Arathis about the functionality of his eyepatch, Arathis, who would've certainly witnessed Jarlaxle constantly escaping the various mind-manipulating magics of the priestesses of Lolth, should've been able to deduce that Jarlaxle has a magical item that protects him against such intrusions. Arathis might not be a master genius like Jarlaxle, but he is a drow, who are supposed to be masters of intrigue in their own right as being able to survive in Menzoberranzan requires such of them. Moreover, he is a capable enough drow that Jarlaxle chose him to be at his side, rather than tending the bar at the Oozing Myconid. Yet, Arathis doesn't foresee any of what he should've known immediately, nor did he have a backup plan, which to a drow is something that one possesses as certainly as keen eyesight.

Barbarian

In the present timeline, Wulfgar suffers from the same treatment given Arathis, which is really saying something since Wulfgar's characterization has been all over the place even before his rebirth. Nonetheless, two things that Wulfgar is supposed to be, are one, a good guy if not a hero, and two, not dumb, if not intelligent. Yet, Wulfgar's portrayal in Boundless shows him as possessing none of these positive traits. For the first trait, it wouldn't be the first time that a member of the Companions of the Hall thought or performed something dishonorable. In Hero, this manifests as Regis and Wulfgar literally kicking people who were already down. In Boundless, Wulfgar is surprisingly nonchalant about the possibility of Kimmuriel committing casual murder, even hoping for it:

The only thing that Calico Grimm is guilty of, that we're shown anyway, is being boisterous and foolish, which is hardly grounds deserving of death, unless it was early Artemis Entreri doing the adjudication. But this isn't early Artemis Entreri, or even current Artemis Entreri harboring such thoughts, it's Wulfgar, a returned hero. Calico Grimm might be obnoxious, but he's still a comrade in arms whose ship Wulfgar boarded. Even if it were the case that Calico Grimm is actually a pirate, one of the ne'er-do-wells that gives Luskan its shady reputation, it doesn't change the fact that they are on the same side. After all, the Companions of the Hall are supposed to stand for noble self sacrificing values like not randomly murdering people that are even temporarily on the same side as them.

Not only is Wulfgar's moral compass unaligned with how it's supposed to be, apparently, the damage that he'd done to his brain during his The Spine of the World alcoholism managed to stay with him through the reincarnation. That, or Drizzt and his supposedly tight-knit group of friends aren't as close as they're made out to be. During Wulfgar's duel with the demon-possessed captain of the fleet besieging Luskan, Kimmuriel imbues Wulfgar with a psionic shield that absorbs all damage and releases it all at once at the absorber's will. It's the same mechanic that's been used countless times in the past, including but not limited to saving newborn Jarlaxle from Matron Baenre's sacrificial dagger, preventing Calihye's blade from piercing an otherwise defenseless Entreri's heart, and, of course, allowing Drizzt to strike down Demogorgon with one hit. That last scenario is pretty monumental, and the kind of thing that Drizzt would've told his friends every detail of, for even if he didn't volunteer, surely they and others would've pried and pried about how he defeated Demogorgon. Yet, Wulfgar has no idea what's happening when his opponent's blows fail to scratch him. It's just mind-boggling that he doesn't make the connection, especially since psionicists are rare enough already in the Realms, even more so in Salvatore's corner of the Realms; Kimmuriel is literally the only psionicist that the Companions of the Hall know. Wulfgar's failure to put one and one together really leads me to wonder if the whole purpose of making him so obtuse is to perform yet more tedious review and Drizzt-flattering.

"Hero"

Most painful to me, of course, is Artemis Entreri, who only appears a bit more in Boundless than he does in Timeless, but what's done to him in Boundless is pretty bad. Entreri's characterization kicks off on the wrong foot from his entry in the Dramatis Personae section, which reads:

For the umpteenth time, Entreri would not have a concept of "friend", especially how it is presented in the Drizzt books. It's an oversimplification and kills the nuance of a character who would still have significant psychological scars and trust issues, even if he were truly and completely over his childhood traumas, which in itself is highly unlikely. I can forgive this bad summary of Entreri, but I can't overlook how, quite frankly, melodramatic, he's presented to be in Boundless. While the assassin seems to talk the talk, calling Regis a fool and ridiculing him for his naiveté, he definitely no longer walks the walk. The aura of intimidation that's so integral to his character no longer feels present. Entreri is quick to reassure Regis about the safety of Donnola, something that even his tempered down self seems unlikely to do. Regis and Entreri have history, and not all or even most of it was pleasant. It's as though Salvatore forgot that Regis found a helpless and broken Entreri dangling precariously from a branch, and rather than finishing him off quickly as would be the honorable thing to do, Regis stole Entreri's most prized possession, then cut him loose so that his final moments would be spent in fear and helplessness. One as fiercely protective of his own free will as is Entreri would not forget that so easily, and even if he doesn't actively hate the Companions of the Hall anymore, just as it makes sense that Regis is uncomfortable about the stub of his pinky that Entreri had inflicted on him in his previous life, Entreri should've let the little rat squirm before perhaps mentioning off the cuff that all the citizens of Bleeding Vines survived.

The worst thing done to Entreri in Boundless, however, is worse than the physical trials and travails that befall him. Given that the situation that ensnares him is that he's trapped in an unbreakable cocoon being stung on every mentionable (and unmentionable) part of his body by vicious demonic wasps, more and more I feel that it'd be best for Entreri if Salvatore just killed him off before ruining him more. While Entreri's plight is pretty dire, still, it doesn't seem like enough for him to launch into Drizzt journal entries' level of melodrama. Entreri has high levels of pain tolerance, as we've seen countless times in the past with him losing none of his agility or fighting prowess even after taking a blade through the ribs. Furthermore, the amount of psychological punishment he's endured far outweighs what he's gone through physically, such that he shouldn't resort to wishing for death right away, or cursing everyone, including himself, so quickly. I can maybe accept that he'd do so after a couple of tendays, but we only see him in the cocoon for a few days during Boundless. Furthermore, the impression given by how the pain is described in Boundless is significantly less than the pain that Herzgo Alegni inflicted upon Entreri by striking a tuning fork against Charon's Claw. It's more likely that someone of Entreri's discipline and willpower would've found some way to put his mind above the constant pain to focus on figuring out how to get out, if not simply detaching himself from the sensation. Instead, right from the get-go, the first soliloquy we see from him in the cocoon is:

In addition to being too weak, Entreri's portrayed as being too dependent. As a person who's lived twice as long as he should have and endured much more than his fair share of torment, one who is used to depending on no one save for himself, how quickly Entreri cries out for Dahlia, how quickly he wishes for death to be spared the pain, just doesn't fit. Instead it simply completes Salvatore's neutering process, now not only is Entreri a good guy, but he is no longer even a disciplined warrior. Salvatore's handling of Artemis Entreri is akin to what I'd said about Salvatore being not intelligent enough to write someone as brilliant as Jarlaxle. It's clear that Salvatore doesn't have enough understanding of trauma and physical pain thresholds to do justice to Entreri.

Mother

Another poor characterization in Boundless has to do with Dahlia, who seems to have completely forgotten about Effron. Effron doesn't make an appearance, or is even so much as mentioned, despite some portion of the novel dedicated to the Hosttower of the Arcane, where he currently resides. While I can buy that Effron isn't significant enough for Gromph to even think of him when declaring the position the Hosttower will take, he is, or at least should be, important enough to Dahlia for her to at least think of him. The relationship between Dahlia and Effron might have started off at a badly, but throughout the entirety of the Neverwinter Saga, Dahlia is tormented by guilt over her son. Seeing what she believed to be the remains of Effron broke Dahlia's mind and will, causing the normally fiery and irrepressible elf to docilely accept being dragged away for further torture. Seeing that Effron was safe and being reunited him would've granted Dahlia closure, but closure doesn't mean that she wouldn't want to see him and be near him. We've seen that Dahlia tends to be very clingy to those she cares about, so it seems unlikely that she'd accept living in a different city from Effron. Given what Dahlia's like, she should be torn between her love for Entreri and her love for Effron, especially as the two male characters don't much care for each other and most certainly wouldn't want to live together, which Dahlia would likely prefer so that she can be close to both. It should be a cause for tension, not Dahlia simply following Entreri around like a pet, not that Entreri would've allowed that anyway. For all of his dislike of Effron and his brusqueness with the general populace, Entreri has shown himself to be extremely devoted to the women that he's loved. Just as he looked for Calihye after she tried to kill him and accepted her back into his life years later, Entreri would've made certain that Dahlia wouldn't be miserable choosing him over her son.

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rhabakoli · 5 years

Text

Targets On Their Backs - Part 4

This is getting so damn long, oh my. Also, in case anyone wants to be alerted, that’s oc an option, fyi.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

You had just tucked Ragnar in - he’s been very cranky and whiny- when Ivar came in, wooden box under his arm and grinning from ear to ear. “Y/N, Love, come here.”

He laid the box on the table and waved you over. Curious, you went and were promptly shoved down into a chair. The box laid in front of you, your husband stood by your side, basically vibrating on the spot. “What’s this?” “A present.” “Oh?” You let your fingers run over the lid, completely amazed by the beautiful carving. Your fingertips followed the spread wings of the falcon, who stood amidst a bed of flowers. Ivar leaned on the table next to you and watched your every reaction. Carefully you opened the box. “What- Ivar?”

There were three knives in it, bedded on green fabric. Each one was about twice as long as your hand, flat with sharp edges, which dulled farther from the handle than you were used to. The grip was wrapped in thin leather straps, the edges covered in blood-red stitches, and ended in a ring. They reminded you of Ivars throwing knives, but his were blank metall all around. “You like them?” “I-” You were speechless. Never would you have thought you’d be so taken by a weapon. And then Ivar happened. “They are magnificent, I-” You touched ones handle, feeling the soft leather under your fingers. “Where did you get them?” You touched a hand to his thigh, over his brace. “These must have been so much work?” “Oh, I called in a favour.” He played it off, but his ears did seem a bit darker than usual. Suddenly emotional, you got up and hugged him, arms around his middle, pressing close and breathing him in. “Thank you so much.” “Everything for you.” He cleared his throat. “I also let the smith make a set for Ragnar.” That made you look up in exasperation. “Ivar, he is barely teething!” His big hand were on your back, stroking up and down, while he laughed at your expression. “He can start very early then!” You scrunched up your nose and shook your head. “You’re incorrigible.”, you groaned, while lifting your hand to raise it to his bicep. He didn’t seem to suspect and you used this moment to burrow under his arm and pinch the soft skin on the inside. Flinching, he caught your wrist, curses flying off his lips and he free hand rubbed at the offended spot. You just smiled innocently. “Woman, you are just as bad as me.” “And whose fault is that?” You freed your arm and faced the knives once again. “You’re the one gifting be knives.” “You said you wanted to learn.” An arm came around you and pulled you closer to the warm body beside you. “And to throw well, you need fitting knives.” He started to go on a tangent about proper balance, the right shape and techniques. It wasn’t often that he spoke so carefree, even when the reason was such a dark one. You tried to soak it all up, remembering techniques and what he was saying about finger placement, while taking in the sight of your excited and animated husband as well.

“Bree, are you still in contact with Edgard’s court?” You twirled a knife, let the ring spin around your finger. Bree looked up from her work and put her quill away. “I exchange letters with Aethel. Lord Aldwyns wife, I’m sure you remember her.” “She sliced her hand open on a knife at dinner once, didn’t she? And then proceeded to eat and refused treatment, on grounds that ‘her food will get cold’? If her husband was as dedicated to her as she was to meals, they’d have had a proper happy marriage.” “Indeed. And don’t pretend you could refuse any meal the cook ever made.”, Bree chuckled. “She sends me updates once in a while.” “Is she loyal to my brother?” Maybe… “The only people she’s loyal to are the cook and her son.” “Did she say anything about rumours, or strange behaviour regarding my brother?” “She did not. But I can ask her.” Bree narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Do you want her to spy on Edgard?” “It wouldn’t be spying. She��d just tell a long gone, dearly missed friend about current happenings in her old court.” You closed your hand around the knife and laid it on the table with a dull knock. “None of the Lords in Edgard’s court think of women as independent and intelligent beings. They’d never suspect her to actually be audacious enough to spy on their King and give his hated sister information that could ruin him.” You went back to playing with the knife, pointed end drilling into the wood as you twisted it around. Bree tilted her head and thought quietly for a moment. Then: “How would you repay her? I’m sure she’s going to ask.” “I’ll let her and her son live, when we take down Edgard.”

It’s been a couple weeks since the attack, and your inner circle started to gradually relax. Word surely had reached the offender, but if they were wise, they’d not attempt again. However, your guts as well as your experience with men in powerful position told you, it wouldn’t be that way. There was another attack coming. But opposed to last time, you felt not intimidated, or scared out of your wits. You had your dagger and knives on you, at all times, hidden under your cloak. You had a belt made, with worked in sheats, so you’d be able to draw them comfortably by simply reaching back. It gave you security, a sense of protection, even if a trained assassin, or just any experienced warrior could take you down in a couple seconds. Bree had written that letter, and now it was only a matter of time, until either answer arrived or your brothers ships. “Lock your wrist more.”, Ivar called over. “You need to be steady, so it flies steady.” You tried again. It almost stuck, this time. “Take a step back. If your knife doesn’t meet your target on point, you’re either too close, or too far.” You did as told, and tried again. With a groan of frustration, you stomped over to the target and collected your and your husbands knives. “I don’t get it. Only every other throw hits, and I am doing them exactly the same way.” “Well, dear sister, throwing knives are fickle bitches. There’s a reason, we’re preferring axes and swords.” You fixed Ubbe with a mean look. “Are you sure it’s the knives and not lack of patience and talent?” You straightened up and walked back to your spot. “Also, watch your words in front of your nephew.” Ubbes brothers just about died of laughter, sending Ragnar into a giggle fit as well. He was seated in Galas lap, who was residing on a fur on the earth. Ubbe threw an apple at Ivar, who caught it promptly and presented the most shit-eating grin. “You are the worst influence. She was so nice and timid when she arrived, and now look at her.” “Yes, lovely isn’t she? Gets my blood running, seeing her like this.” Now, that earned him a sharp hiss from you, and another apple, this time it hit it’s intended target. Gala suddenly spoke up. “Y/N, maybe… maybe if you pull your arm back, like you would with a bow? It seems, it’d be more comfortable for you.” You turned around, blinking stupidly at her. “How do you mean?” Ivar squinted at your hand and slowly nodded. “She’s not stupid, I’ll give her that.” He took his crutch and came over to show you. Behind him, you could see Hvitserk moving over to Gala, talking to her and, judging by the sudden redness on her face, complimenting her. You hid a grin, as you looked down at Ivars hand on yours. “Find the point of balance, that’s where your finger has to be.” You did, fingertip pressing against the dull edge, handle in your palm. “Right, just like that. Now grip it, not too hard, we talked about that. And then you’re gonna pull back your arm, like Gala said- keep your wrist straight- and just when your hand is on height with your face, you’ll bring your arm and shoulder back. Good.” His hand was on your shoulder blade, pressing slightly. “Before you actually throw, repeat the very same movement, just the other way around. Shoulder, arm, then wrist. You finger has to slide along the edge.” You tried. And while it was better than the other tries, you didn’t hit. “By Odins balls, why!” “Language, Y/N.” You threatened Ubbe with the knife in your hand, before turning towards the targets. Bjorns voice interrupted you: “Imagine it’s someone you hate. Your brother. Or Arna. Channel the hatred you felt for Ivar, when you gave birth to your son.” You concentrated, but their voices still reached your ear. “Who’s Arna?” “Earl Finnrs daughter.” “The one who tried to seduce Ivar by surprising him in his bed, right?” “Yes.” Hvitserk let out a harsh laugh. “Ha, good times.” “I’d have killed her, if it wasn’t for Bree.”, you let out. “What?” You could feel their eyes on you. Gala jumped in. “Bree had to block the door.” Then she raised her voice towards you. “I’ve never been happier to have hid your dagger.” Ubbe grumbled at Ivar and his voice barely carried over Bjorns laugh. “As I said. Your influence is horrible.” The sound of metal meeting wood interrupted their banter, and you’ve never seen gala look so smug before. You just hit bullseye.

You were in the Map Room, discussing with the Ragnarssons, when Bree breezed in, letter in her hand. “Y/N.” You immediately understood and got up, taking the paper from her. “What’d she say?” “Edgard is unpredictable, barely listens to his advisors. She says, he acts paranoid and rash and he and the queen haven’t been seen together in at least 6 months.” You skimmed the letter for additional information, before you threw it on the table and pressed your hands into the cool wood to ground yourself. Ivar stood next to you, Ragnar in his arms and looked quizzically at you. “What is going on?” You couldn’t talk. You tried not to scream and rage, you’d only wake and scare your son. Bree started talking instead. “I wrote a friend in court. I asked her, if there were any rumours, regarding Edgard and the attack.” Bjorn stood up, suddenly in fighting mode and went over to her. His face was like an open book. Bree’s surely going to have a heavy discussion with him. Ivar didn’t move, but you could feel him tense. “What is the answer?” You simply pushed the papers to him, and pointed at a line.

My husband and Lord Barth discussed in our chambers, I was there. They say, he is going crazy from fear, due to a failed attack he ordered. I think it very much possible to have been the attack on the young Queens child.

Part 5

#Targets On Their Backs #totb #Vikings #reader x Ivar #there's gonna be blood #not in this one #but the next #Faint Of Heart #Faint of Heart au(?)

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spookyblackwidow · 5 years

Text

Nat x Reader request

Author’s note: this is my first ever attempt at writing a reader insert, but I did my best to keep the character as neutral as possible! Enjoy some fluff at a party with the team <3

Luminous

1622 words

“Ready to go?” You smile at Nat, her blue minidress sparkling in the bathroom lights. She sighs, sets down her lipstick, and flashes you a coy grin.

“What if we stayed here instead?”

“Hmm,” you arch an eyebrow as you take in her final look—the long legs, plunging neckline, and loose curls, “tempting, but you look far too good not to be seen.”

“But it’s just a stupid party,” she pouts, batting her eyes in that ridiculously over the top way you claim to hate, although it usually worked.

“Not this time, Nat. Clint insisted that we at least make an appearance, and I have a feeling my life will be much easier if your best friend doesn’t hate me.”

“Fine,” she groans, “but if anyone even mentions bringing out the karaoke machine, we’re leaving.”

“What, not in the mood to watch Tony attempt some classic rock while absolutely plastered?” you laugh.

“Ugh, I saw enough at his 40th to last a lifetime.” Natasha shudders but fails to hide a slight smirk. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen her pretend she didn’t care for Tony, but this was her worst bluff yet. You wonder if she’d cracked open the vodka without you in preparation for this event; unfortunately, she holds her liquor well and rarely shows definitive signs of intoxication, so there was no way to tell how many drinks she’d had.

In order to protect his safehouse from inevitable damage, Clint had called everyone to the Avengers compound under the guise of team bonding, not that they necessarily needed it. He’d tasked you with luring Nat there, as she isn’t particularly keen on socializing, especially not with people outside her immediate circle of friends.

She grumbles all the way from the car into the compound. Most of it’s in Russian, but you don’t need to ask what’s upsetting her.

“Welcome! You’re only,” Clint glances at his watch, “32 minutes late! That might be a new record, Nat!”

“You’re lucky I’m here at all. But now that we’ve arrived, I can leave at any time and not feel a shred of guilt, so keep it up, I dare you.” Natasha winks at him and heads for the bar, where she ushers the bartender away and starts mixing her own drink.

“How much has she already had?” Clint drops his voice to a whisper as he hugs you.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” you shrug. “But hey, at least she’s here. Wouldn’t want her to miss the celebration.”

You make your way around the room, politely greeting the rest of the guests before settling in on a barstool next to Nat and Maria.

“Now, this may just be a rumor, but I heard he has an issue with toast being cut diagonally,” Maria laughs.

“Think that applies to other types of bread? I’m tired of losing my lunch to all these boys.”

“It may only discourage Nick, but it’s worth a shot, right?”

“Busy conspiring against the boss?” you ask.

“Always!” Nat winks. “Maria, if you’ll excuse us a moment.” She leads you away from the others, down a dim hallway and into a training room. The lights flicker on in rows, revealing an arsenal of weapons. You’re finally close enough to smell the vodka seeping from her pores, to see the faint glaze in her eyes, and you start to panic, knowing she’s gone too far.

“Nat, love, let’s go back to the party, maybe get some water?”

“Shh, it’s fine. I’ve had way more than this and survived, it’s kind of an annual tradition. Besides, if Clint didn’t want me to get drunk tonight, he wouldn’t have stocked the bar with my favorites.” She reaches out to intertwine your fingers, tugging you even closer. With her other hand she smooths the worry lines across your forehead. “I’m fine, I promise.”

She kisses you gently, slowly, and pulls away, leaving you desperate for more. With a teasing wink, she slips through the doors, leaving you in the middle of the nearly empty room. You regain your composure and follow, back to the bright lights and animated chatter of the party.

Thor is in the corner daring Tony to lift Mjolnir, egging him on to see if the suit will help. Curled up on a couch nearby are Pepper and Rhodey, deep in discussion, but each keeping a close eye on their best friend and the Asgardian. Bursts of laughter draw your attention to the bar, where Maria, Sam, Clint, and Bucky are loudly cracking jokes with an increasingly embarrassed Steve. Nick and Bruce appear to be discussing schematics for new tech at a table across the room, which would seem odd if it were anyone else, but in the time that you’d known them, you’d never really seen those two loosen up.

You scan the room again, certain you’d somehow missed her, but discover that Nat’s nowhere to be found.

“She’ll come back, when she’s ready.” Clint sidles up beside you and hands you a glass of champagne. “You know this is a big deal for her, even being here today. Give her space to sober up a bit and calm down.”

“She didn’t seem mad,” you shake your head, “just suspicious that I know.”

“As long as they don’t,” Clint nods toward the other guests, “she’ll be fine.”

You make the rounds again, doing your best to bond with these wonderful people you hope will be in your life forever. Pepper and Rhodey commiserate with you over dealing with a loved one being a stubborn ass at times, although you have to acknowledge that they have it worse; Natasha could be completely unwilling to compromise, but she was much less likely to behave recklessly.

As you rise from the couch, Thor calls you over and tries to goad you into lifting Mjolnir, but, much like your girlfriend, you aren’t sure that’s something you want to know. Instead, you smile at Tony, his repulsors on full blast, the magical hammer refusing to budge whatsoever.

“The physics of it don’t make any sense!” he yells, releasing his grip and finally quieting the hands of his suit.

“That’s because you’re relying on such primitive knowledge!” Thor laughs. “See, what you consider magic is quite simply science so advanced, your realm likely won’t understand it for another thousand years or so, at the rate you’re going. You may be smart on Earth, but the genius of Asgardians—”

Fearing an incredibly technical argument above your pay grade, you slink away to join the group at the bar.

“—and he looked at her, eyes wide, like a fucking deer in the headlights, completely silent, until she gave up and asked someone else to dance!” Bucky claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder and throws his head back, practically cackling.

“Okay, Buck, I think that’s enough about pre-serum me.” Steve smiles weakly, his cheeks tinged red.

“Pre-serum?” Sam chuckles. “Man, he could’ve said that was last week and I would’ve believed him!”

“Making fun of Steve again?” Nat’s voice, low and rough, startles you, but months of her intentionally sneaking up on you has taught you not to jump. She wraps her arms around your waist, her head resting between your shoulder blades.

“Welcome back to the party, Nat.” Clint grins. “Got any stories you’d like to share?”

“Well,” without relinquishing contact, she slips around you to stand at your side, “there was this one time in New York…”

The details of her stories would seem exaggerated if you didn’t know the realities of their abilities and jobs. You spend the next hour or so laughing along with the others, blissfully unaware your time together is quickly drawing to a close.

“Hey, anyone want to break out the kar—” Tony yells, but Natasha is dragging you outside before he can finish his ill-fated question. Clint comes running after you, his tie flipping up over his shoulder as he jogs.

“Wait!”

To your surprise, Natasha actually stops and lets go of your arm, even starts walking back toward the building as if this all was anticipated. They embrace and whisper a few words to each other in a language you can’t hear well enough to identify. Clint smiles at you before heading back inside at a leisurely pace.

Nat’s quiet as you climb into the car, the toll of so much social interaction weighing on both of you, although you know the night’s not over yet. What comes next scares you more than it should, but you will your heart to slow, beg your voice to stay steady.

“Nat? Would you grab something out of the glovebox for me?”

“What could you possibly need—”

“Please?”

She sighs heavily and opens the compartment to discover a flat black box tied with a red satin ribbon. She shoots you a quizzical look as she loosens the bow. Inside sits a dainty silver chain with a single round charm, five small diamonds set at the points of an engraved design.

“It’s the constellation Delphinus,” you start to explain.

“Named after the dolphin Poseidon sent out to find Amphitrite,” she finishes the thought and traces the engraving with the tip of her finger. When she looks up at you, she’s smiling softly, her eyes brimming with tears. “How did you…?”

“Clint told me because he knew you wouldn’t.”

“Of course,” she laughs, wiping at her eyes. “How many other secrets has he shared?”

“Just the one, I promise.” You reach over and give her hand a reassuring squeeze. She gently kisses you, the bracelet slipping from her free hand as she moves to hold the back of your neck.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“Happy birthday, Nat.”

...

Tag list: @romanoff--natasha @clintashaotp @baker151910 @unholyromanoff @unsociable-hobbit @thexploress

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the-borhap-boys · 5 years

Text

Bruises Fade : Chapter Seven

Summary: Amelia Mcallen is Queen’s assistant and now must figure out how to navigate life with the band and her personal life while keeping them separate

Word Count: 2117

Warnings: language

Note: Short chapter with some cute fluff

“Freddie, I don’t have any wine glasses. Can you drink out of a mug?” Millie called, turning her head away from the steaming mugs in front of her.

“if I absolutely must,”

She scoffed softly and finished preparing her tea. As she carefully carried the mugs and the bottle of cheap wine over to the couch he flipped through a magazine lazily. She curled up beside him, wrapping the blanket covering him over her legs. He wrapped his arm over her shoulder and pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead as she stared absentmindedly at the magazine and blew on her tea. A comfortable silence filled the room as the two friends relished in each other’s presence.

After a few minutes he lowered the magazine and turned to look at Millie. She arched her eyebrows quizzically at his oddly cryptid movements.

“Why have you and Roger been acting like pissy children?”

“What?” she reeled back in surprise at his bluntness.

He took the tea from her hands, placing it on the table before turning back to look at her.

“Lovie, we may seem dull but anyone can see that you two won’t even look at each other much less speak,”

She swallowed thickly, glancing down at her hands.

“We had a bit of a falling out,” she murmured haltingly.

“Ah, a lovers quarrel.” He said absentmindedly, picking up the magazine again. She stared at him in shock as he began to flip through the pages calmly.

“What! No! Why would you think that?” she jumped up and threw her hands in the air erratically. Her eyes were wide and frantic as he glanced up at her teasingly.

“Well I was only taking the piss but I believe you are protesting a tad bit too much,”

“Oh,”

She settled down beside him again and buried her head against his shoulder in embarrassment. A hot flush crept over her neck and cheeks.

“I was only kidding too,” her voice was muffled against his shirt and he chuckled at her pitiful form.

“Yes, of course you were, darling,”

He patted her hand patronizingly before turning back to his magazine. She pulled herself off the couch, grabbing her mug and settling herself on the floor across from him. Her eyes tracked across his movements as she bit down on her lip anxiously. She pulled a notebook off the coffee table but let it fall in her lap and stared down at her hands.

“Freddie?” her voice was barely a whisper as she glanced at him through her eyelashes. “you hired me because you like me, right? Not because you felt guilty?”

His eyes widened slightly and he slowly placed his magazine down beside him. She swallowed thickly, anxious for his answer.

“Why on earth would you think a stupid thing like that?” his voice had a slight angry tone to it and Millie cringed slightly.

“I don’t know. I just wondered. I thought maybe you saw how pitiful my life was and you were trying to rescue me the way you always used to. I don’t need rescuing any-“

“Close your mouth.” He interrupted her bluntly and her eyes flicked up to meet his in fear. “You are too damn stubborn for anyone to feel sorry for you. You don’t let anyone feel sorry for you. I hired you because I enjoy having you around and you don’t put up with anyone’s shit. That’s it. I did not feel guilty and I will not have you feeling all mopey and sad.”

“Oh, Ok,” she glanced back down at her own hands and began to pick at the dry skin around her nails.

“Now would you quit looking like a kicked puppy and get back to whatever you were doing? You’re making me feel ill,”

She scoffed under her breath and rolled her eyes.

“Oh, I’m so sorry Freddie am I making you uncomfortable with my sadness?”

He gently tossed the magazine at her head, squinting at her in play annoyance. She dodged easily and sat back up, giggling. He refilled his mug and she grabbed a pencil off the coffee table and pulled her knees to her chest as she began jotting notes down. A comfortable silence filled the room again and Millie sighed softly, content to simply sit and write.

A weight seemed to have lifted off her chest and she smiled to herself.

About thirty minutes later the phone began to ring, startling Millie into jerking up. She stumbled over her feet to grab it off the hook, her fingers fumbling over the receiver.

“Hello?” “It’s probably the boys. They’re out shopping and I told them to give us a ring when they are done,” Freddie sang out before whoever was on the other side could answer.

“Hello Love, it’s Bri,” Brians warm voice filled Millie’s ear and she began to fiddle with her hair. “Freddie said to call when we finished shopping. He thought we needed to discuss some lyrics and said you wouldn’t mind hosting us for a bit,” his tone was almost apologetic but she still had to roll her eyes because of course Freddie invited them all over without saying a word to her.

“Sure, Brian. Come on over. I’ll let Freddie know,”

“You are truly the best. Thank you,” he gushed before hanging up.

She stood by the phone for a moment, listening to the dial tone as she tried to brace herself for the noise and excitement the rest of the boys would bring.

After a few short seconds she hopped into action, trying to make the flat look neat. She scrubbed at the counter and quickly washed all the dishes in the sink, watching the clock, counting down the minutes till they would arrive.

The knock on the door twenty minutes later yanked her out of tidying and she glanced at Freddie for a moment before staring at the door. She didn’t feel prepared to have Roger back in here again. It was too soon. She couldn’t open the door and watch him saunter in, filling the room with his loud laughter.

“Want me to get it, darling?” Freddie questioned. She nodded her head frantically before turning back to wiping off the kitchen counter.

The door creaked open loudly and instantly the room was filled with chatter and laughter. Freddie threw himself back down on his spot on the couch as Brian sat on the floor, curling his impossibly long legs around himself. Roger stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, staring at Millie who couldn’t be bothered to even lift her head from her task, before he flopped down beside Freddie. John wandered into the kitchen, leaning against the counter, watching Millie with a smirk.

“Hi Mils, you ignoring me like you’re ignoring Roger?”

She threw the rag in her hand into the sink and whirled around to stare at him.

“Do you all just confer behind my back?” she hissed quietly, trying not to draw attention from the other boys.

John snickered as he glanced over his shoulder to Roger who was drinking straight from the wine bottle that had been half full and was now nearly empty.

“Did Freddie mention something?”

“Yes, Freddie mentioned something. He called it a lovers quarrel,” she hesitated to glance over at the boys. “Which it is not!”

“We’re not as daft as you seem to think we are. Well Roger is but the rest of us have at least half a brain,”

A tussle broke out in the living room as Freddie tried to snatch the bottle back from Roger, resulting in red wine spilled all over Millie’s couch.

“OK, so Freddie and Roger share half a brain.”

“Honestly Deaky, as much as I love you I really don’t want to talk about Roger. At all. I may have to work with him but that doesn’t mean I have to talk to him.”

John smiled tightly and nodded his head before wandering back into the living room. Millie grabbed a bag of crisps from a cupboard and poured them into a bowl, stalling until she had to follow him.

“Millie, darling? Do you have any more wine? This bimbo spilled it all,” Freddie called to her.

She sighed heavily grabbing the last bottle Louis had left and carrying it and the bowl into the living room.

“I come bearing booze and chips,”

“Millicent, we are far too classy to call anything booze,” Freddie claimed as he placed his hand on his chest in mock shock.

“Millicent?” Brian questioned turning to her.

“Freddie feels the need to make everything as extravagant as possible,” she groaned, settling down beside Brian on the floor.

Her hip pressed gently against his knee and she gasped softly when the denim of his jeans rubbed against the sliver of skin between her shirt and skirt as she leant forward to place the chips on the coffee table. He shifted slightly, stretching his legs forward as he placed his hands behind his back to rest his weight on. The tip of his thumb grazed against her hand and she jerked away as sparks seemed to jolt across her skin. He murmured a quick apology and she nodded her head, keeping her eyes on her feet.

“So what song are you working on now?” she questioned, scooting away from Brian slightly.

“Fred wanted to talk about Seven seas of Rhye, I believe,” Brian answered quickly.

Millie grabbed her notebook off the floor as the boys began talking lyrics and harmonies. She laid on her stomach on the floor, her feet in the air, waving back and forth as she wrote. Her mind began to drift away into the world of her story as she worked. A faint smile played across her lips every time a new sentence flew into her head.

“Millicent!” Freddie nearly yelled, yanking her from her thoughts.

She sat up straight and stared at him, fear playing just behind her eyes. Her fingers twitched against the notebook as she tried force out a sentence.

“W..what Fred?” she stuttered out.

“We’ve been calling your name for hours but you were far too invested in what you were doing to pay any notice to us.” He whined before quirking an eyebrow at her. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Just some homework,” she lied quickly, shutting the notebook and standing up. Her hands continued shaking as she rubbed them roughly against her skirt.

“Well if you can’t share, I’ll just ask what I’ve been trying to ask for the past hour,”

Roger rolled his eyes exaggeratedly at Freddie dramatics and Millie couldn’t help but giggle.

“Do you have a scrabble board, darling?”

“Yes Fred, you forced me to buy one, remember?” she wandered into the kitchen, shuffling through cabinets looking for the seldom used game.

“I thought you would enjoy it! It’s good for the brain, lovie. And it’s fun.”

“It’s not fun. It lasts far too long and you are too competitive for it to be fun,” She whined finally finding the game and carrying it back into the living room.

Brian pulled it gently from her hands, placing the board on the coffee table and handing out tiles and tile holders.

“I thought you were here to work. Not play games,” she murmured.

“All work and no play makes Freddie a dull boy,” Fred answered quickly, his lips twitched into a smirk.

“Freddie could never be a dull boy,” Millie rolled her eyes and sat on the arm of the couch, resting her arm on Freddie’s shoulder.

The game began quietly, Millie watched over shoulders, trying to guess what their next word would be. As it progressed on it grew more heated. Roger began yelling at Brian because he thought he was cheating and Brian dropped out of the game altogether, too fed up with Roger to deal with him any longer.

Millie wandered over to Brian, and stood behind him, her fingers ghosting over his curls.

“Can I braid you hair, Bri? It’s so curly I think it would be fun to try,”

He shrugged his shoulders and rested his back against her knees as she began weaving her fingers through his hair. His closed in contentment and he let out a soft sigh as she gently tugged his curls. Roger couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from them as Millie’s giggled and whispered to Brian, her fingers constantly pressing against his scalp.

“try being nice to her and maybe she’ll braid your pretty blond hair too,” Freddie whispered in his ear, causing him to jolt up and glance down at his tiles.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“Of course, you don’t,” Freddie snickered.

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

Taglist always open

Taglist: @itsametaphorbriansblog @shutup-sorry @b-r-o-s-k-i @kellypenac @irishhiggins @heda-mikaelson @letmedanceamongthestars

#ben hardy! roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x oc #roger taylor #brian may

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nightmaretyrantvantas · 5 years

Text

I am not my insecurities reflection- a truthful based oneshot

IMPORTANT AUTHORS NOTE PLEASE READ

Ok, this will be a long author’s note but please bare with me as this is very important for you to understand this oneshot. For some context here because I havent posted alot about her yet, this is a oneshot about my Dc oc Gracie Lucio, set kinda in the same universe(i guess) of the teen titans judas contract movie( with Damian as robin) and its a oneshot written partly out of a vent of my own body image issues and partly out of an expression of how I’ve learned to look past said issues slowly.

But this gets very angsty until the end

Now to give a bit more context for the piece itself. The oc herself, Gracie Lucio( because I havent posted any art of her yet) for the reader’s understanding, she is not human, she is a werewolf(it feeds into her story so dont get me started on it alot of research went into this aspect of her character and it plays into her body issues)and body wise looks similar to Dick in the first season of Young Justice. Shes a naturally thin figured , broader shouldered girl who could( if she really wanted to) pass as a feminine boy with short jaw/ barely chin length hair( think of a thick messy longish pixie cut of dark hair). So shes naturally lean and lanky and a little underdeveloped for a 13 year old girl and as a heroine she has toned muscles from years of hero work. Most wouldnt see her having too many insecurities about her body image and appearance, but in truth shes riddled with them. She ages a bit differently than humans, it takes her body longer to develop and even then in some areas it develops differently all together. She struggles to gain any extra weight or build up natural feminine curves, something she wants. She WANTS to look like other girls her age, with more developed and heavier bodies, with curves and more weight and an actual figure. But with a supernaturally high metabolism added on top of a already genetic based thin figure and a intense and sometimes rigorous training and workout routine plus her work as a heroine gives no leeway to gain really any extra weight, its always worked off one way or another. And this causes...comments to be made about why she looks that way by civilians. and though she never shows it publicly she takes many of these, usually not flattering and sometimes cruel and rude, comments to heart(much like I used to unfortunately) and it worsens her negative feelings. This is a small story of her seeing those problems and issues and trying to face and overcome them. This is more centered around Gracie and Dick and Jason and their platonic and sibling like relationship as they help her through her darker times( again, this is partly me expressing my own personal struggles with body image (which arent the exact same as the character but the language and the comments are very similar)and partly how those two helped inspire me to have more confidence in my body no matter what I look like) and also a deeper peek into her complex relationship with Damian(but thats not the biggest focus) Sorry this was so long I mightve info-dumped a little but its important to understand the story. I hope you guys enjoy?

This is also told in Gracie’s point of view

This will cover some pretty deep kinda issues like body image problems and over eating and weight loss/gain and mentions of eating disorders without really discussing them and bullying so if that upsets you in any way now is the best time to scroll past for your own sake, I dont want you to upset yourself over my crappy emotional writing

I do not look that bad.

That’s what I have to force my mind to accept as I look into the mirror, meeting my own aqua green eyes hesitantly.

I always hated looking in the mirror lately, especially after training or after bathing, like now as I stood in the middle of my room in a slightly loose training type sports bra and spandex shorts. I don’t even want to glance down at my body, out of fear for seeing the same thing I always do.

‘She so skinny...is she eating right’

‘She needs to eat more and gain some weight’

‘what a twig for a superhero’

‘how have bad guys not snapped her in half? Jesus Christ I could probably break her with a sneeze!’

‘What a bad influence shes setting for young girls with such an thin figure!’

‘I think He needs to eat more Christ that poor boy must be starving! Why isn’t Nightwing feeding him more’

The flashes of comments flooded my mind the moment my eyes flickered down to the rest of me. To my thin, unfeminine figure. My underdeveloped and flat birdcage of a chest. To my lanky, toned, too flat stomach. The pinched waist figure. The flat empty expanse I called hips that blended too well into my too dainty looking bony legs. I looked too fucking skinny. And maybe they were right...as a hero I was a role model to those younger than me, and I promoted a Bad Body Image for girls to idolize with my lanky boy figure.

And it was a horrible body type I had no goddamn control over.

My species was not an easy one to live as, especially not intermingled with humans. The team knew, the team understood, but the rest of the world didn’t. As a lupinotuum pectinem, or lycanthrope which in easy translation is simply “Werewolf”, my whole body inner workings were different. Most of my kind were naturally lean and thin, like tall healthily thin model athlete body types and in general the females, even alpha females, were practically born twig like almost. And on top of that our bodies developed....differently. I was not raised by a pack or by my own kind after age 8, so even I didn’t know the full extent but females bodies took longer to grow and it made it very hard for them to gain weight because of the unnaturally high metabolism. Add being a superhero who once trained under a certain league member to the mix and you go from being the “healthy and admirable” type of skinny to the “unhealthy and concerning”type of skinny.

I hated it, and I hated my body. I hated pictures of me from the neck down, because they all looked the same no matter who they were with. And I saw the comments everyone made. Whether its a surprise photo Garfield took dragging me into the picture to commemorate something or another or me taking pictures around Gotham or Blüdhaven with Dick on the social media Gar helped me set up, or even the rare photos I’d get to take with Jason or Damian or Tim and get to post. Every time the flood of comments were the same. The same things I now repeated over and over as I looked over my body angrily.

OMG look at that poor girl is she ok??? She looks like she needs to be hospitalized!

Christ almighty BB isn’t it too early to be posing with skeletons?? LOL

Dude not funny that girl must be anorexic or something.

Such a cute sibling couple but sweetie you need a fast food break to add some fat to those bones!

Fuck kid go eat something instead of taking pictures

Awwww you two look real happy! I hope you’re on the way to lunch or something!

Holy shit your guy’s size difference is so vast its almost worrying

how are you even alive with that little weight

Go eat some junk food or something before you pass out

OMG look at her shes so small and stick like! Her clothes look like they’re hanging off a scarecrow!

That girl cannot be healthy tell me someone is making her eat more

Every time its always the same damn thing....

I couldn’t do it anymore. I turned away from the mirror nearly in disgust and went back to changing into more casual clothes, bitterly noting how my clothes did in fact seem to hang awkwardly on my body as if I was too thin for them to fit correctly. Like they always did lately.

Ew look at her she looks so gross all stick-like like that!

What a fucking twig of a girl! Are those her ribs poking through her shirt??

Bitch go eat a fucking hamburger you need some damn food in you.

God that weight cant be healthy you need a doctor!!

“Kid? Yo kid you in there?” My head jerked up from the comments flooded screen of my phone to meet Jason’s eyes, catching the quirk of his eyebrow as he sat across the diner table from me. We were at a diner he favored whenever he came into town to visit, a little family owned treasure with delicious and greasy food and the sweetest staff on earth. We frequented the spot during his visits, our own personal little thing since we’d gotten closer. I plastered on a smile and ignored the slight narrow of those blue eyes, the small furrow of his brow got as I snapped off my phone and set it aside.

“Sorry Jay, BB tagged me in something dorky and I got distracted. So what were you saying?”

He didn’t believe me, and I didn’t blame him. I wasn’t the most convincing at that moment but I kept that damn plastic smile on my face and snagged some of his curly fries right in his face, making him crack a smile and smack my hand away from his tray.

“ Hands off my food, eat your own wolfie.” I rolled my eyes at the stupid nickname I’d been branded and let the plastic smile slowly be replaced by a more genuine one as we began chatting again, grabbing my over sized cheeseburger and finishing every last bite and moving onto the large fries and two milkshakes, hopelessly praying that maybe this time the calories would stick and trying to push away the comments to the back of my mind. I was with Jason and we were having a damn good time, and I wasn’t going to let those comments ruin his visit...not again.

You should be ashamed. All you’re doing is promoting bad eating habits looking like that.

You’re such a bad influence for young girls who idolize you with such a horribly unreachable appearance.

Shes too bony to ever be considered pretty

Does she have a eating disorder or something?

I stiffened instantly startled by a hand on my shoulder, turning off my phone instinctively and making the endless comments disappear into darkness before whoever could see them over my shoulder. The hand was big, calloused, and gentle and I felt myself relax as I looked up behind me with a smile.

“ Hey Dick, did you need something?” He smiled down at me with that big bright smile that made all the dark thoughts and feelings melt away and gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze, blue eyes meeting aqua green.

“ Well I was wondering if you’re doin’ anything right now or if you’d want to go catch dinner with Kori, Dami, and I. I noticed that you’d skipped your usual early dinner....” I wasn’t surprised he noticed, he normally did...

Once again that smile plastered itself on my face as I told him I’d love to, and to just let me go get changed into something better. I saw his hesitation at the fake smile, practically smelled it on him and prayed he wouldn’t bring it up right now, god please don’t ask now or I might just break...

Maybe god is listening because he didn’t mention it and just told me to meet them by the front doors of the tower in ten.

How are you not dead yet?

Jesus Christ stop promoting your eating disorder like its a good thing!

She looks so sickly is she ok? :(

Yeah shes sick, sick in the damn head for posting such disgusting pro-Ana pictures

How can you post pictures with a clear conscience looking like that?

Some “superhero”

I was wrong, no god was listening to me.

Dinner was rough to get through, even if it didn’t start that way.

For once I didn’t have to worry or dread possibly checking my phone for anything, I turned it off by the time we got to the restaurant. I even got a small compliment from Damian on our way in, though it was more a snark at me not tripping up the stairs. But it was Damian so I snapped right back with a smile, knowing he didn’t really mean it. Sitting beside Dick and across from Damian, I nudged his foot with mine in a silent gesture to cheer up even a little. He huffed through his nose but I saw his body relax and it made me relax. Those moments before the food came, our chatter and soft laughter as we looked over the menu, and the soothing knowledge knowing that Dick pulled me and Damian along to this dinner so we would go out on a date ourselves, ever the best brother and wingman. The mood was light and pleasant and I could see even the ever sharp and moody Dami lighten up a little by the time we ordered. Maybe the mood shifted into something different as we waited for our food and I was sipping on my tall glass of iced cola, when Damian’s fingers casually brushed over the top of my unused hand that laid peacefully on the table. The gesture was subtle and light, quick enough to miss if your senses weren’t sharp. I didn’t acknowledge it and neither did he, a silent understanding that words would just ruin whatever this was. I accepted that happily, as he was much more engaged in the conversations and even smiling a little more during them as he debated with Kori on leading strategies. Things were pleasant, comforting at that table in those few seconds before the decline, Dick smiling and chuckling at his lover and little brother, Said lover and brother having a more upbeat discussion about different leadership styles and their effects, and lightly debating which work better for what. And Damian’s hand next to mine, ever so lightly brushing against it in his wordless way to say I was still there and at even the smallest twitch I’d have his attention again. Dick ruffled my hair and asked how my online courses were coming along, since I didn’t attend schools publicly and I was more than happy to babble about my classes, and my current work in them. It was nice and I was happy, all the horrible feelings from before draining away as I tuned everything else but these three out of my enhanced hearing. Why had I even felt so shitty when I had great people like them in my life?

Then I heard it as that damned supernatural hearing tuned back in to the rest of the world.

The words and whispers and mutters and the blatant gossip and bad mouthing.

“Look at that younger girl sitting at that table dear...shes so thin I think she should be in a hospital not a restaurant.”

“Ewww mom look that girl looks like a skeleton!”

“ Honey shush….”

“Is….is that girl ok?”

“Dude of course she isn’t just look at her shes unhealthy as fuck. Probably has some kind of eating disorder too or something.”

It all flooded over me and all of my happy mood washed away under the wave. I couldn’t tell if the others could hear them so I grit my teeth tried to tune it all back out, trying so hard to focus more on Kori’s explanation of her points. My hands began to curl up subconsciously, making Damian’s attention snap to me. Fuckin I….no, I cant tell him...I shouldn’t. I forced my hand to uncurl and that stupid smile sprawled across my lips as if someone had put tape over them. I saw his eyes narrow and near begged mentally for him to not say anything or for Dick to distract him...anything.

“Ahem….your meal.”

I have never more thankful to a waitress before in my life...until I saw the look she gave me as she placed my admittedly large order of food in front of me, something that was normally a platter for two people’s worth of beef and sides. I caught the judgmental and suspicious look she had glancing between me and my food and I felt shame burn all over, starting to hang my head to avoid that damn look.

“ If this is all our food then your job is done. Don’t you have OTHER tables to be serving?” Damian’s curt and sharp tone cut through the air and briefly through my shame. This waitress knew nothing about me and i certainly owned no one any explanations about my eating habits, so why was she hanging around giving me looks about my food…?

“ Damian don’t be so rude!” Dick cleared his throat and I felt his strong arm wrap protectively around my shoulder as he leaned close to the edge of the table while Kori’andr apologized for Damian’s attitude vaguely. But I could hear it, there wasn’t much life to her apology. It sounded like a politely required apology, almost...defensive?

“ I am so sorry about my little brother Miss. He’s also sorry. But do you need anything else since we seem to be all set here but you’re still hanging around when you must be very busy…?” Dick’s words were sweet and cheerful, but there was an edge to his tone that gave a clear warning. His arm around me tightened a little protectively as he gave one of his signature charming smiles that could light up half the damn city as he then inquired if there was some sort of problem. The waitress stammered that there wasn’t any problem and that it was fine and for us to enjoy our meal before scampering away to continue her work. I felt other patrons eyes most DEFINITELY on us now and I couldn’t help shrinking into the taller man’s side to hide.

“ I’m sorry this keeps happening…” I murmured to him as our respective dates started eating and slowly reviving their conversation, moving on to mission recounts and training while Damian shot a dark look at the other patrons that made them look away. Dick gave my shoulder a squeeze and i moved closer for that familiar warmth and comfort...my chest felt heavy and my appetite had died and I wanted to curl up in my room and die of the shame. But I couldn’t, he wouldn’t have let me. So instead I instinctively sought out the safety Dick’s presence brought me, like a protective older sibling whose arms I could be enveloped in and forget about the harsh world outside them.

He knew without words, catching my body language before anyone else at the table. He knew me best.

“ Do you want to leave? We can get to go boxes and enjoy this meal all the same back at the tower, or even mine and Kori’s apartment. Is that what you’d rather do?” It was tempting, oh god it was so tempting to just say yes and let him lead me away while I re-gathered myself, same way he did when we were both 13 and living under the same roof...before…

I shook my head and forced those thoughts to the very back of my mind. I was in a dark enough place of mind already without that.

“ N-no...you guys set this up...i...i don’t want one nosy waitress to ruin our whole meal. Lets just eat ok D?” He smiled at the nickname and ruffled my hair with a nod, both him and Kori making sure I knew if things got too uncomfortable we could leave and the heaviness eased a little at their consideration. I started picking at my food and slowly regaining my appetite, once again nudging Damian with my foot to start up conversations. I ignored the words for the majority of the dinner, we even began to enjoy ourselves again. The last straw was probably as we were paying and putting leftovers in to go bins. I was admittedly nibbling on food out of my bin, despite starting to feel full.

“ I swear you are a bottomless pit sometimes Gracia.” I rolled my eyes at Damian’s remark and gave him a small smirk as I licked my fingers clean.

“ This bottomless pit can still kick your ass in training wonder boy~” He grunted and I saw the challenge glow in his eyes as he smirked back, an excitement for tomorrow’s combat training flaring up between us.

“ You really shouldn’t mix up your delusional dreams with reality alpha PUP.” I said something snarky back and we began to bicker halfheartedly over who was winning. I finally snapped shut my leftover box and stood with Damian as we stared each other down confidently, Dick chuckling at our competitiveness.

“ Tomorrow morning’s combat training will certainly be interesting with these two all riled up already.” The words didn’t fully process as I cracked my knuckles and squared up to the admittedly….taller boy.

“ Last I checked Damian I was ahead 11-10. And tomorrow, I just cant wait to make it 12.” He gave a hard laugh to my face and faced up to me with a smirk as our other two companions stood and shooed us more in front of the table so they could leave their seats. He opened his mouth to say something likely scalding and snarky back at me when the worst comment pierced between us both like a goddamn bullet.

“ Damn, I never knew such a sickly, too skinny bitch like her could eat like such a fat fucking pig.”

I think I stopped breathing as my body flinched at the following laughter. The man was clearly on the tipsy side and sitting at a larger table with a group of laughing friends, though the one who said it was standing next to the table with a drink that reeked of the cheapest alcohol this restaurant probably sold, and he didn’t stop there. Oh god of course he didn’t stop there. He kept laughing and loudly making obvious comments at me and openly mocking me and how much I ate to his table, either fully aware of what he was doing and that we could clearly see and hear him or too drunk to really care as more insults and name calling that I had heard and seen and read plenty of times before fell from his mouth. My heart was pounding in my ears as the next few moments happened slowly.

I thought I had seen anger plenty of times before, the worse being the one and only time someone made a malicious joke about my appearance to my face when I was walking beside Jason and it took all my supernatural strength to drag him off and away the guy before he murdered him in broad daylight and to keep him walking to wherever we had been heading.

I had seen pissed, but I had never seen downright hellish fury until that moment when I looked at Damian and Dick.

I had seen Damian mad, and angry, and pissed, a few times in our first meetings at me personally. I had seen Dick mad, angry, and pissed off a a fair chunk of times, even if they had never been directly at me. I had never seen this expression on either of them in those times. And in those few moments that passed almost in slow motion and Damian began to lurch forward with murderous intent the thought finally hit me. ‘ Was this...the first time these two had really heard the comments about me? Oh god…’ I felt like I was moving in honey as Damian stalked past me and I tried to reach out to him slowly, a gleam to his eyes that made my blood go cold.

If someone was to ask me in the future what I believed Death looked like, I would say with completely conviction that death would have the exact eyes Damian had in that moment: lethal, merciless, and furious. And he would have Dick’s cold expression, a look I never wanted to see on the normal cheerful man’s face ever again.

Time snapped back to a normal speed like a whip and my hand grasped nothing but air as Damian stormed over to the man.

“D...da--”

“What did you just say you disgusting drunk.” I might’ve shivered at his tone and I felt Kori’s hands on my shoulders tugging me back protectively as she looked down at me worried.

“ Gracie...don’t listen to him, there’s no reason to cry.” Cry? What was she talking ab--

That’s when I felt it, something warm and wet sliding down my cheeks and dripping off my chin. I...I was crying. My walls and my limit of bottling things in for one day was crumbling away as I watched Damian go to confront the man, my voice disappearing under the surge of hurt and anxiety. I couldn’t even say his damn name. I felt frozen and helpless as Dick stalked after Damian, fists clenched.

I had to do something say something anything to stop them before things went badly I had to I had--

“Eh?What the fuck did you say to me brat?”

“ You heard me you worthless piece of filth. Apologize to her, now.”

I needed to do something anything as I felt myself crumbling. Why wasn’t Dick stopping him why

“ And what if I don’t pipsqueak? You gonna hit me? Now scram. Maybe take your little bitch to a hospital for treatment instead of parading her around a restaurant with normal people!”

“ He might not do anything, But I will. Now take it back before things get messy.”I think my body began trembling as I watched panic swelling. I just wanted to leave and go home. I didn’t want to see this unfold, I just wanted to be home at the tower curled under my covers to simulate the warmth of another person holding me. I wanted to be anywhere, anywhere else then stuck in this nightmare.

So I moved without thinking and lunged, aiming for the back of Dick’s jacket to grab and ready to swallow any shards of pride and beg to leave. Instead I collided with Damian’s back and rolled with it, hugging him tightly from behind and tugging back with a whimper.

“ P-please you two...l...lets just leave...please lets just go home please…” Kori grabbed Dick’s arm firmly and tugged him back.

“ Dick...shes in the midst of an anxiety attack, let it go and lets leave. We need to get her out of here.” He took a difficult deep breath but nodded glaring down the man harshly enough that he flinched and scurried to the bar with his tail between his legs mumbling insults. One of his friends started to stand and began nervously apologizing, though one vicious look from the boy I was holding shut him up fast. It took me and Kori working together to drag the two out of the restaurant and the ride home was tense and silent. I couldn’t look at any of them, instead opting to stare at my feet wiping my eyes.

“ Does that happen often. People talking about you like that.” His cold tone made me flinch a little. At this point I was so upset and anxious and emotionally drained on the inside that I thought Damian was mad at me of all people for what happened. Those dark thoughts began to slowly bubble up to the surface and my insecurities screamed that he blamed me for what happened in the restaurant. I remained silent, too upset to answer. I heard his growl of annoyance and I began to hunch up, ready for a verbal fight.

“ Damian drop it for now. Shes in no right place of mind to talk about it.” Dick warned from the driver seat with a low voice that reminded me he was also upset and angry. When we got back to the tower I didn’t wait for anyone to say anything, I just bolted for my room as fast as I could, at a inhuman, unnatural speed that they couldn’t keep pace with.

I stayed locked in my room for three days, not willing to face any of them the next morning during training. Everything was heavy and hurt and it was hard trying to rebuild those shattered walls of protection, that image of unbothered confidence. I stayed in bed locked away from the world and curled up under the weak protection of my sheets mostly unresponsive to those outside it.

The first to come knocking and checking on me was Kori, asking if I was ok and if I needed to talk. She left after a little while of trying for a response unsuccessfully though, saying she’d come back to check on me later. It was maybe an hour later that Garfield came knocking, asking why I’d missed breakfast AND training. His voice was concerned as he asked if everything was ok and if I was even in there. The concern poked painfully into my silence, tempting me to speak and make myself vulnerable.

Vulnerability killed. I knew that first hand. So I forced myself to stay quiet until his knocks and footsteps faded away.

The rest of the day passed in a bit of a self deprecating blur, only marked by Kori’s two other attempts at my door. The last one I barely noticed as exhaustion kicked back in and I drifted off into an unsteady sleep

The next day after I woke up things still went by in a near timeless blur. I could hear my phone buzzing and vibrating and rattling for my attention but I left it there on the nightstand unnoticed and curled further under the sheets, lost in a slate tinted world of dark thoughts and darker temptations. But that day was harder to drift away through.

The first to stop by was Jamie, knocking a few times and calling out to me with concern and worry clear in his voice as he asked if I was ok. He asked if I’d eaten at all since yesterday, since he hadn’t seen me leave my room. The thought of eating made my stomach stir and my body curl around it ashamed. He knocked a few more times after that, his voice growing a bit more worried at the lack of answer. After awhile I heard him walk away and I barely lifted my head as I hugged my too skinny too unhealthy body close, feeling those blaring imperfections and flinching at myself.

It was no wonder everyone said those things...if so many people said them so often then they must be true.

The next to come by was Raven. She only knocked twice and gave a small sigh.

“ Gracie...I know you’re in there. If you need someone to talk to...my room is in the next hall over, and I will be here to listen. I wont force you to come out...just please remember you aren’t alone here. You have the team behind you.” I bit my lip hard enough to make it bleed to keep my ensuing whimper silent. The words, soothing and reassuring in context, stabbed into my heart and my resolve. I WANTED to depend on them, to throw open the door and break down under the assurance I could and would not be treated differently after, and be assured and comforted and remind of the positives. I wanted it so badly I was scared of it. Or maybe...I was scared of it NOT happening as those damn fears and insecurities and dark thoughts sowed heavy doubt through me. She lingered a little longer than Jaime, eventually her footsteps disappearing. I remember meekly poking my head from the sheets to stare absently out the half covered windows lost in thought, time slipping by me once more to the point I almost didn’t register Garfield and Kori both stopping by my door again at least twice more worried.

When Dick stopped by as the sun was setting was when the harder pain set in.

I heard the knocks and ignored it in favor of the changing color sky the sunset offered, my room washed in a dim orange and amber gleam. Then I heard his voice, soft and sick with worry from the outside and my heart thudded so hard it hurt. Hard.

“ Gracie...C’mon Gracie-girl please open the door. We’re all worried about you...I’m really worried about you. You haven’t eaten for a day and a half...Please let me in...” I almost broke completely at the pain in that familiar voice, the voice I never wanted to be the cause of being in pain or anguish again.

Well looks like I did a GREAT job of preventing that didn’t I?

He knocked again, asking and pleading and trying to reason, anything to get that door to open. My eyes burned with hot fresh tears and I curled up into a tight ball whimpering softly and breaking my vow of silence.

“....D-dick...p-please...j-just leave me a-alone…I-i just need some t-time alone…”

My voice came out pathetically weak and shaking with tears, which I know he heard. There was a silence for a few moments, perhaps shock that I actually answered this time. I felt warmth sliding down my cheeks as he sighed and reluctantly muttered that he’d come check back on me tomorrow and that there was leftover dinner ready for me to heat up on the kitchen counter before he slowly walked away. His fading footsteps echoing in my ears. Was my heart breaking on every step away? I couldn’t tell. That feeling slipped into the dark thoughts that followed the setting sun. Dark thoughts that also reminded me of the one person who HADN’T come to check on me, and the resulting pain of his absence.

The third day had been mostly quiet. It was almost a painful relief, quiet meant no additional pain of--

“ Gracia.”

That one word coming from Damian’s mouth sent so many things through me and sent any resolve I had spiraling away. His tone was a forced kind of neutral, he sounded as if he was trying to stay calm but it wasn’t exactly working. There was something to his voice I had no energy to figure out. He didn’t knock and there was silence for a few moments but I felt his presence remain.

“ You haven’t eaten since the restaurant.” No questions with him, he didn’t need to ask, always calm and analyzing.

“ ...You cant just stay in there forever Gracia.” A stern lilt to his voice, weakly enforced by the faint sound of his hand on the door. I could only whimper and curl up more. There was another stretch of silence before he sighed and his footsteps continued down the hall.

He was the only one to come check on me, a blessing and a damnation.

The day and night went by so listlessly I didn’t remember falling asleep, only waking up to banging knocks on my door. The volume grated on my sensitive hearing and made me flinch. Who would even be knocking like that…?

“ Oi. Kid. I know you’re still in there. Open the door.” Jason’s hard and no shit taking voice shot through me. Why...Why was Jason in the tower? Why was he in the city?

The knocking continued relentlessly, unlike the others. It even got louder and angrier.

“ Kid I said open this goddamn door.” There was no request or plea in his voice. It was a command, a harsh, cold command. I tried covering my ears with my hands and curling into a tight ball as the knocking continued. He wasn’t about to give up to a little girl.

I knew this too well.

“ Graciea Rosica Lucio I swear to god if you don’t open this goddamn door in the next couple second I will break it down. Now get off your fucking ass and answer me.” I don’t know what it was, but hearing his threat sent my body into mechanical motion, trudging over to the door and reluctantly unlocking it and letting it slide open with a low hiss, the banging finally ceasing. I couldn’t look him in the face, empty and ashamed it took threats to get me to open the door. So I stared dully at his boots and took in his scent as he grabbed the front of my shirt and dragged me back inside. I stumbled clumsily along with as he sat me on my bed and stood in front of me. I kept my gaze down towards his knees, the smell of nicotine wisping off his body in a way that told me he very recently had been smoking, no less than an hour ago most likely. Smoke and city is what filled my room. There was only a beat of silence before he spoke.

“ Look at me.” I lifted my head and stared at his chest and his crossed arms, unwilling to look him in the eyes. I couldn’t bare to see what kind of disappointed look he likely had on his face. Perhaps I didn’t want to see my reflection in his eyes, see the sickly, disgusting and bony figured girl with greasy hair and dark circles under dulled eyes and sallow cheeks. I heard the slight growl that rumbled from the back of his throat in warning and I briefly wondered if I would be forced to look him in the eyes. His arms uncrossed and I prepared myself for anything.

Anything except for two big plastic grocery bags filled with fast food bags and orders was dropped onto my lap, the contents still hot. I blinked slowly once, twice, and finally got enough courage in my confusion to look up at his face. When I did I was a little startled.

“ Eat. And you aren’t moving until those bags are polished off understand me?”

He looked visibly angry, eyes narrowed and mouth locked in a fearsome scowl with eyebrows furrowed. But his eyes were soft and worried and it took me a minute to realize worry was what was making his scowl so harsh. He crossed his arms across that broad chest again and I realized he was in his work gear, all the way down to the guns strapped to his thighs. All he lacked at the moment was his helmet and domino mask, his dark hair messier than usual and the white streak falling between his eyes. We had a staring contest and in those pupils I saw myself, I saw the shell I had become and it made me sick, breaking me briefly from the depressive haze.

How the hell had I let myself fall this far, this deep?

We didn’t speak until he grunted, eyes narrowing more in a way even those concerned blues didn’t weaken the glare as he spoke gruffly.

“ You better start eating before I start just shoving it down your damn throat.” I knew he would too. He wasn’t fucking around, I didn’t doubt he’d follow through with any threats made. Slowly I looked down at the pile of food and reached for the first bag, pulling it open and blinking fast as fresh tears stung my eyes.

It was from our favorite diner, and it was my usuals two cheeseburgers and large lightly salted fries with a second order of fat steak fries and fried pork strips. He’d even gotten all the little sides I enjoyed with it and I looked back up at him with a pained look. Maybe that look made him relax because his expression softened slightly, his voice quieting to something gentler.

“ C’mon now...I brought you all your favorites, now start eating...it’s been three days and your body cant handle that. We can talk after.” My shoulders slumped as all the tension stored in my body dissipated a little as he continued to speak, like a tightly pulled strong finally cut loose.

“ Kid I’m not mad at you. No one is. So just eat the food and then we’ll figure shit out, just like we do on any other visit.” I think the tears started falling because his face got blurry and there was warmth in my face. If I did start crying he didn’t say anything, just nodded at the bag. I gulped and slowly but surely pulled out one of the burgers and slowly took a bite, struggling a little to swallow it with a throat that was closing up from emotions. Once I did though my hunger kicked me hard and I began devouring the food, one bag after another.

It took me about a half hour to finish both plastic bags but I did, followed by slamming through at least two water bottles and one thick milkshake that almost made a mess. Jason simply watched over me as I ate from his spot in front of me. The silence was almost soothing, not painful as it had been before. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand as I looked back up at him and we made eye contact.

“ So are you going to tell me what happened? Really happened?” I broke his gaze to stare towards the floor as the acidic shame began to creep back over me. He sighed.

“ C’mon kid just let it out already. Who am I to judge? So why don’t you trust me like you USED to and tell me?” Those words shot through my heart and head.

I...I wasn’t trusting him...trusting anyone...I…i...

It was like Jason opened a flood gate.

It all came spilling out with a new surge of tears and mid sentence cracking sobs, my body physically heaving from the intensity as it all came out. All the months of insecurities and pain and doubts and fears and comments and negativity and hate and bullying came rushing out like a tidal wave and Jason took to all, listening to everything without a single word as I let everything out and let myself break down completely, wails and sobs replacing words eventually. I felt him shift and kneel in front of me, felt big strong sturdy hands grip my shoulders to steady me and keep me anchored as I buried my face into my hands and gasped out cries and pained wailing yowls that filled the room and spilled out of it. I vaguely remember the sounds of multiple hurried footsteps coming towards the door but I didn’t care. All I felt was Jason’s hands on my shoulders and his steady, continuous heartbeat in my ears as well as he strong breathing. One set of footsteps dared to enter the room and hurry over, only stopped by Jason’s calm voice.

“ Let her get it out, its the only thing that’ll help.” The footsteps stopped and eventually the wails faded into blubbering whimpers and whines and hiccups, constantly sniffling. I lifted my head to look at him through blurred eyes and got one brief sight of Dick standing behind Jason that sent me into a whole new wave of sobs.

God I’ve been nothing but selfish and now I’d fucking hurt Dick again even when I swore I’d never do that again and i--

I let out a high pitched whine that turned into pathetic blubbered and wailed apologies. Over and over like a broken record I couldn’t stop apologizing to them for everything even parts that weren’t my fault in any way I still apologized for it I just couldn’t stop. Jason’s grip on me tightened only slightly before slipping away and for a single moment I was terrified I’d annoyed him with all the apologies and was about to add that to my list of them when two strong arms wrapped around me and and Dick’s scent surrounded me.

“ Shh shh shh shhh….shhh Gracie its ok now shh shh its ok I got you its not your fault…” I sniffled and wailed out more sobs and begs for forgiveness as I clung to him like he was a life preserver. And at that moment he was. He hugged me tighter and practically cradled me into his chest stroking my hair as he murmured reassurances, assuring me I was well forgiven and it wasn’t my fault. Everyone got insecurities especially when facing so much negativity. How I was so strong for fighting it for so long regardless. But it was ok to not always be strong and be able to handle it. That he was there and it was ok now. It took awhile but eventually all my noise quieted down to sniffles and hiccups and the occasional whimper as my trembling and heaving finally eased away into a limp tiredness. I felt exhausted but in a way different than the past couple days. I felt lighter and the more Dick spoke gently the lighter and more relaxed I felt,all the pain easing as he banished every dark thought one by one.

“ You ARE a hero Gracie.”

“ you aren’t a skeleton or a scarecrow or a twig.”

“ You are not too bony.”

“ You’re beautiful.”

“ You aren’t sick and you don’t need any doctors.”

“ You’re ok. The way your body works and retains weight naturally is not your fault.”

“ You’re only thirteen you’re still growing kiddo.”

“ I was scrawny and thin until I was at least sixteen Gracie its not that uncommon.”

“ You do NOT have to hold yourself to stupid human beauty standards.”

“ You’re beautiful to us, that’s all that matters.”

“ You’re ok, you have us.”

Each and every statement cleared my mind and I slumped against him with tears still falling down my cheeks. His hand carefully cupped the back of my neck in a soothing gesture to ease the wolf side of me, adding a very small amount of pressure to ensure the sense of security and safety the movement brought. I whispered out a hoarse thank you, my throat sore and raw but already beginning to heal. He smiled into my hair and I let my eyes slip shut in contentment. I felt...stabilized, as if the whole world had been constantly tilted dangerously under my feet for months and now it had finally been returned to normal, balancing me once again.

I felt a second, no technically third, hand tangle itself into my thick and greasy hair and ruffle it affectionately, fingers tangling themselves in the dark chestnut locks.

“ We’re always here for you kid. Whether you like it or not. You can be honest and confide in your inner circle Gracie. We aren’t going to look at you any differently...so next time don’t keep your mouth shut.” My nerves settled and I leaned into his hand with a loud hiccup, making him snort. I looked up and saw both older men smiling down at me, both with their own kind of soft expressions. I rubbed my eyes and wiped my nose and smiled back shakily, feeling like everything was going to be ok for the first time in a long while.

I learned a few things a few hours later, after I’d fallen asleep in Dicks arms and woke up on the couch out in the Tower’s game room with Garfield and Jaime looking after me. My head was resting on Garfield’s leg and he had his elbow rested on my upper arm comfortably as he and Jaime played some kind of two player video game, keeping their voices lower than usual to be considerate of me sleeping. Opening my eyes was difficult as they felt dry and crusted and stung from crying so much. But my throat was no longer sore. When they saw I was awake they paused the game and and told me they were happy I was up, as I had been out cold for at least a solid couple hours. That was when I learned the first thing : Dick and Kori had informed the team of the incident at the restaurant after the first day I stayed locked up in my room, and Garfield had let it slip in his rage that he thought I had finally stopped getting those comments, and confessed that I’d been getting bullied and harassed about my appearance online for months. What I found out was all those months what I failed to notice was Garfield fighting back on my behalf every chance he got. He defended me, constantly called people out for harassment and even worked on getting some of the worst and most aggressive ones banned. For months he’d been do it as relentlessly as he could, filling his own social medias with both our pictures and his constant defense and positivity towards me to fight it back. It got lost in my own comment section so I stupidly didn’t realize. It warmed my heart knowing he’d kept my back even when I never noticed or mentioned it, though he waved it off and just gave me his big old smile telling me it wasn’t that big a deal,

“ After all, you’d do the same for me in a heartbeat!” And he wasn’t wrong. But I still hugged him tight in thanks anyway, an embrace he happily returned as he warned me next time I lied about being harassed there’d be hell to pay.

I assured him there wasn’t going to be a next time anymore and for the first time in months finally wholeheartedly meant it.

The second thing I learned was Jaime told me during those first two days I was locking myself away Damian had gone back to the restaurant and used Bruce’s name to hunt that guy that had been harassing me down and gotten a few hefty harassment charges and minor endangerment charges slapped onto the guy, throwing in a sob story of how I was now in emergency care in the hospital because of him. I knew he didn’t throw his last name around often, didn’t exactly like having to do so to be taken seriously. The fact he did for me…

I had a lot more feelings for Damian after that knowledge.

The third thing I learned was that the only reason Dick and Kori hadn’t come by to check on me yesterday was was because they spent the entire time hunting for Jason to get his help with getting me out, and when they DID find him he stormed for the tower and made it there before they did somehow, he was that angry.

As they were telling me this and retelling a very tense video call between Nightwing and Batman during the second day Damian came in in his full Robin attire, regarding us stoically. When I saw him I stood and the room quieted as I approached him, the both of us observing each other. When we stood a foot apart I stared into his masked eyes quietly and he looked into my tired eyes. I saw his mouth start to open to speak and my body lurched forward without me, hugging onto him tightly.

“Thank you...you didn’t have to do that for me thank you thank you thank you…” He was quiet and I was about to let go and move away when I felt his arm come around me and grip the back of my shirt, returning the embrace. Neither of us was at a point that we were really physically affectionate by any means but my heart swelled when he hugged me back, leaning his head against my own and allowing me to bask in the warmth of his arms and his scent. When I felt him roll his shoulders I took that as my cue and slowly pulled away, gently pressing a kiss to his cheek as I did before retreating back to give him his space.

I think I saw his cheek flare pink but I’ll never say for sure because that would mean admitting just how red my own cheeks were.

I’d love to say that after that everything ended happily and perfectly and things went great forever and ever. But I cant, life doesn’t work like that.

But things did get better.

I was under heavy supervision several weeks, with almost stricter watches on my food intake to make sure I didn’t try to over eat or try to force weight gain. Bruce had me stay with him and Damian for a few weeks as well to make sure I didn’t slip back into that dark place. It was a bit smothering at times...but in all honesty I welcomed the smothering because I knew it meant how much they all cared. And staying with Bruce again...it brought up my mood believe it or not. Being in the manor brought back happier memories of my childhood and seeing the man I considered a fatherly figure more often perked me up. Plus I got to see Tim a lot more than usual in those few weeks, a perk and joy all in itself as he kept me company when he wasn’t too busy with his work. Tim was also the one who disabled all comments on my social medias one calm rainy evening in the lounge. I was grateful and he patted my head after as he read his case files. I think I might’ve fallen asleep against him, I cant say I fully remember. With each passing week I felt better and better. It took a long time for my self esteem and confidence to rebuild itself, but it got some jump starts. Perhaps the best part was two months later after a sparring session with Kori. She was giving me tips on striking with a staff when Dick and the big bad bat Brucie himself walked in.

“ Batman? Has something happened?” He shook his head and put his hand on my shoulder.

“ I’m going to borrow Gracie for a few minutes.” Dick gently took her hand and smiled as he whispered something to her as he led me out of the training room and placed a long bottle of what looked like red chewy vitamins into my hand. When I looked up at him confused he gave me some of the best news of my life.

“ These are specially created vitamins designed to accommodate your body’s inhuman metabolism. Tim helped me create them. They're designed to help regulate fats and carb distribution in your body and allow your body to hold onto and gain more weight without immediately burning it off. Take one every week and in a few months you should be up at least one weight class if not more as long as you keep to your regular healthy eating habits, just like you wanted. By Tim’s calculations within the year you should gain enough weight to have a thicker figure, though you may always retain this thinner “ballet-ques” figure...you will more closely resemble the figure of girls your age.” I stared up at him then at the vitamins and sniffled, fighting off tears of joy. All those weeks with Tim and his seemingly just curious questions about my species and their anatomy...the “ case files”...I owed Tim a lot for this.

“ It was Dick’s idea, after all that happened two months ago.” The softer tone brought a smile to my face and I nodded, barely restraining the urge to hug Bruce while he was in the cowl.

“ T-thank you...thank you this means more to me than you know…” He nodded and turned to leave but I caught the ghost of a smile on his face as he walked away.

And once he had I ran back into the training room and tackled Dick to the ground with a ecstatic howl, shifting mid leap into wolf form and licking his face in gratitude, making him laugh as he lazily tried to push away my affection.

I started taking them that day, and it took a few months for a noticeable difference to take place, but it did. My clothes and uniform stopped hanging off me like a walking scarecrow and I started developing the beginning of a feminine figure. I stopped trying to stuff my face too much at every meal and with every week after my self esteem raised back up a little higher. Maybe people saw it in the big, wide crooked smiles in pictures of me now, no matter who they were with. Or maybe the team saw it in the fact I stopped trying to hide my body in layers of clothes, walking around in my favorite tank top after missions instead of over sized sweatshirts and shirts, or the fact I didn't mind sudden pictures taken of me. Regardless it showed and in time I was more than happy to show off that confidence. Throughout it all Jason made near constant visits between jobs to make sure I didn’t have too major of setbacks and Dick stayed by my side as often as he could, supporting me and being a physical reminder almost that I was never alone.

And I didn't feel alone.

And one day as I was getting ready for an outing I paused in front of the mirror and looked at myself, looked at my slightly more filled out tank top and the small curve of slightly more defined hips and an actually fairly filled out stomach, a fuller figure to match my broader than normal shoulders. I slowly looked into my own eyes and after a moment I began to smile.

Somehow….I didn't hate looking into the mirror as much as I used to.

“ I do not look that bad. I look fine.”

“ Gracie c’mon you coming? C’mon the others are gonna leave without us!”

I smiled at my reflection wider before running off out of the room after Jaime’s voice.

“ Im coming!!”

I dont look that bad.

And now I could finally start to see that.

The end.

OOOOOOOH ITS FINALLY DONE ITS FINALLY DONE!

Ive been working on this for three months now and it was really difficult to finish. Originally it wasnt supposed to be so angsty but...it turned out really angsty at the end.

@phantommoonpeople

@kid-crashed

@call-me-n0ni-chan

Tagging those I know will want to read this

I hope you all like it!!

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