#but at this point i don't think it ever existed

[moondirti]

Hellloooo🖤 I’m the anon who asked about the Safehouse story!

My brain, unfortunately, is not nearly as wrinkly as yours so I cannot come up with creative ideas like you 😂 BUT! I have a few ideas? Maybe? If you can call them that lol.

Was the spanking the first physical interaction they had? What did the morning after that look like?

What happens if reader has a nasty mental health episode & tries to hide it from Ghost?

Does the pet thing progress? I think we all know that Ghost has a thing for the pet play. I don’t even care, that’s totally canon for me at this point.

Would you ever consider writing about the general dynamic they have? Like the “rules” Ghost might have for them?

Totally and completely a self indulgent ask from someone who just had to pull themselves out of a nasty mental health episode lmao I’m so sorry please ignore this if it’s annoying or dumb!

shh i love all of these. i have so many thoughts now / prev

cw: dubcon d/s lifestyle. petplay. controlling behaviour. possessiveness. panic attacks. toxicity. noncon collaring. financial manipulation. mention of self harm. brief fluff.

Your thing with Simon is hard to contextualise.

Or even understand, really.

Parts of it are welcome. He asserts himself in a way you haven't found in the nobodies you've hooked up with previous, happy to fuck you dumb if it means you'll surrender yourself completely. Which you do. You listen intently and follow every direction he gives in bed, and as a reward he wrings orgasm after orgasm from your squirming body. You cum more in one week than you have in the past month, never not naked and sore, wrists tender from where he anchors his hand to keep them pinned above your head. You hear puppy more than your own name, at this point. And it's a concerning because– Well...

You don't mind it.

But you still don't like him.

It isn't like you necessarily need to like your partners in order to have a good time, but it certainly helps if you can tolerate them beyond a dick-in-hole condition. Simon is an anomaly in that he is the worst person you know, whilst also serving as the best lay you've ever had.

That is to say, his habits haven't changed. He's a fucking terror to live with. Nightmare flatmate, the type you see strangers complain about on reddit forums or hear in a friends story from their sister's husband's cousin. Not something you would take seriously until you live the experience – now existing as a sore, precautionary tale you'll no doubt be pitching to anyone also considering subleasing their place as a safe house.

Perhaps it's made worse by the sexual element you share. Before, he had just been your average perverse man, stealing clothes and walking in on you in the bathroom. Now, it seems that sleeping with him has given him the go-ahead to push that behaviour to an extreme. He'll pat your ass while you go about your business, or tug your hair when you raise your voice. Treats you like a pet that has yet to be debarked; just a silly, sub-human way of entertainment.

You can't help but feel you enabled it. But no–

The pet play is cute when he's drilling your brains out – and perhaps only because you can't think straight enough to raise concern – but you're not a dog. Nor do you want to be treated like one throughout all hours of the day. The onus is on him for not catching the hint.

But of course, accountability isn't in his lexicon.

Things only get worse from there.

"An' where d'you think you're going?"

You're halfway out of the door when he catches you leaving.

If you had been more iron-willed, you would slip out and scurry away before he can continue whatever spiel he has stirring. Instead, it's instinct to shrivel in on yourself, clicking the door shut before turning to face the behemoth waiting in the foyer.

"Out." You huff, intent on cold-stoning him. But it's a fools game when your opponent in the broad-shouldered lieutenant – for he merely cocks his head, waiting your silence out with more silence, and it's all you can do to bite your tongue against the deluge of excuses that pile up. "My mates thought it would be a good idea to catch brunch. Y'know– to celebrate the start of summer break. It's a nice day out so..." You gesture to your attire, like you have any reason to justify a sundress to some man you are in no way committed to.

But you can read the possessive gleam of his eyes as they take stock of your appearance: from your expensive mules, up your moisturised legs, to the low cut of your décolletage. It's easy to connect it to that look he had when you came back home that fateful night, the look of warning before he'd taken you over his lap and slapped your ass raw.

And for some odd reason, you're compelled to dig yourself out of trouble.

"Hm. It is a nice day, innit?" You nod a bit too quick. He stalks closer. "Lots of people out." Your nod is a little less enthusiastic. He's centimetres away now. "Some bad, bad men too."

He lifts the ends of your dress, slowly. Your next words quiver on their way out your chest. It's alarming to find that they don't sound nearly as assertive as you intend for them to be, not like they do horny.

"Where are you going with this?"

Your skirt pools around your hips now, held up by one hand as the other smooths over with the gusset of your panties.

"You plan on lettin' them have at this puppycunt? Have I not been givin' it enough attention?" He mockingly coos, pressing harder against the mound between your legs. Your knees grow weak. Not of your own accord, but weak nonetheless, and you have to hold onto his wrist to keep yourself upright. "Is tha' it?"

"N-No–"

"No? But that's what they'll think seeing you walk around like this, silly thing. Poor, neglected mutt, they'll say. Don't have a firm hand to keep 'er in line." Simon tuts, releasing his grip on your dress to pull something out of his back pocket. With the way he crowds into you, you can't crane your head to see what it is. "Now we can't have tha'. I spoil my girl rotten, wouldn' you say?"

"Yes. Yes but–"

"No buts, pup. Have ta stake my claim on you somehow." Something clicks. All too suddenly, you're made aware of the new weight on your neck. It tightens against the column of your throat – not enough to constrict your airways, but enough so that it hinders the way you move. "There we go. So pretty like this."

Panic seizes you, the steel fist of paralysis capturing your muscles in a vice-like clutch. Even as Simon pulls away, you're almost scared to find yourself in the nearest mirror. Scared of what you'll find dangling between your collarbones. There's no mistaking the textured leather that presses against your skin, nor the soft clink of metal hanging from it. No fooling yourself that this is all some cruel joke, not with the sick leer of satisfaction that warps his face.

Stumbling, you navigate to the bathroom and blindly turn on a light.

That cruel fuck.

"Simon," Your voice is devoid of the anger you feel roaring through your veins, circuiting through the frenzied stutter of your heart to find new passion. Instead, you sound horrified. Near hysterical, choking on your own pleas as you run back to the foyer. Your hands tug at the collar clasped around your neck, desperately searching for a buckle that will aid you in ripping it off, despite seeing the lock latched right at the centre that tells of its permanence. What's more, he had it engraved with a crude variation of a dog collar tag. If lost, leave alone. Or else count your days. "S-Simon, Simon please. Fuck– take it off. Take it off, take it off! I don't want this, I don't want... This isn't funny. I'll change if that's what it takes. Please."

Snot bursts from your nose, cheeks wet with a hot mess of tears. You can't suppress the hiccups that interrupt your begging like pathetic shots to the chest, or the weak hits you beat across his pecs. If you could, then perhaps he would give your tantrum more weight.

As it stands, you're nothing but a feral creature resisting training.

"Shhh. Pets can' speak. Pets don't cry." His thumbs press to your under eyes, tamping the flow of brine that mark steady tracks from your lashes. "You'll ruin your makeup like this."

"Si–"

He stare hardens into something dangerous. Against your better judgment, you clamp your lips shut.

"That's it. You're s'good when you listen to me, pup." Once he's sure you've stopped crying, he removes his thumbs to instead push one into your mouth. You can taste the salty residue of your tears on his fingertips. "Now, this is the bes' of both worlds, see? You can go see your friends with this on. I know pets need their playtime, af'er all."

You arch your back in protest, but all that does is bring you closer to the lieutenant. He misinterprets that entirely, of course, and a small smile breaks his face like you've agreed to his terms. A heavy palm pats your ass.

"S'jus' so you don't forget who you belong to." He chuckles. "An' if your friends like the idea, then I have a few friends for them."

You make it one block before hightailing back home.

Nothing in you wanted to give that bastard the satisfaction, but he made it so that whatever you chose to do – stay home or leave wearing a symbol of his ownership – he'd end up triumphant. Naturally, then, you opted for the lesser of two evils: to leave his vicinity immediately. Besides, you'd promised your girls you'd see them after going AWOL the past fortnight, and you knew you'd get an earful if you decided to reschedule at the last moment.

You thought you would convince them it was a bet. That the collar is just some silly joke you have to bear for the day after a football match didn't go in your favour.

But you make it one block before a tradie on his lunch break catcalls you (you about that freaky ting, beautiful?) and decide to change course completely.

You arrive back at your flat without further incident. Ego stung from the various odd looks you received on your way, but nothing as egregious as being singled out as a freak in the midst of a crowd occurs again.

Still, your hands shake as you push your key into its slot.

Which progress to full body tremors as you turn it in place.

Thankfully, Simon isn't waiting on you on the other side of the door. He sits, manspreading on the couch instead, focus zeroed in on the telly that broadcasts Fulham v Man City. When he doesn't look away, you allow yourself to hope he hadn't heard you come in. But it's a naive pool to place your faith in. Nothing escapes the man, and soon enough, his tone of humoured indifference shatters the silence you've been precariously trying to keep.

"Miss me 'lready?"

A wretched sulk, pit of anger hollowing out anew. You swiftly snatch your laptop from the breakfast bar before storming to your room, making sure to lock the door firmly behind you.

The website is bookmarked. Taunting. Sublet your home as a safehouse for our armed forces. Serve your country and help soldiers find refuge. You would laugh if you weren't so single-minded, typing in your email and password upon being prompted to. You don't have to deal with this shit any longer, nor do you intend to. If you remember correctly, there had been a way to report any problems you face. If you phrase yours right, you might just get Simon pulled from your services.

Good dick be damned.

But when you hit enter to sign in, an error message blinks in red.

Account does not exist.

Which is fine. Shit like this happens all the time. There's no reason to work yourself into a panic, you probably just used the wrong email.

So you try your alternate. Account does not exist.

It feels unlikely, but maybe you'd created it under your school email to give yourself credibility. Only–

Account does not exist.

Your blood pressure is no doubt sky high by now. Other symptoms of stress already start to wrack through you – blurry vision, chest aches, difficulty breathing. Your hands sweat excessively as you dig for the customer care number you're sure exists somewhere, efforts impaired by the ever-present weight of the collar around your neck. You wonder if Simon can smell your anxiety like a predator does its prey. If he's in the other room, salivating, waiting for you to wobble out of your room to go for the kill. Some part of you – a needlessly paranoid part – rests on the conclusion that this is somehow his fault too.

Your phone already rings in an outgoing call once you blink back to the present. While you've been functioning on autopilot, you must have found a number to call that related close enough to your issue.

And your suspicion is confirmed when an automated voice picks up. You are currently... second... in line.

It takes five minutes. When a placating woman speaks up amidst the nauseating music they have queued, you can hardly contain yourself from word-vomiting onto her. Safehouse signup. Lost account. Need to report an issue. Please. It's urgent.

"Okay ma'am. If you could give me your name, I'll be happy to find the source of your problem today." You can't spell it out any faster. "Alright. One moment, please."

"O-okay." You sniffle miserably.

"I see. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it seems that you've been pulled from the program after a complaint was lodged against you. Unfortunately I can't provide more detail than that, but if you need anything else, I would be happy to assi–"

You hang up. The poor thing doesn't need to hear the incensed scream that tears from the deepest parts of you, or the following crack as you chuck your cell at the wall. She'd done what she could. It isn't her fault. It was that self-serving bastard that had you blacklisted from the only thing keeping you financially afloat. It is that that self-serving bastard that continues to occupy space inside your home, despite having no real right to it now.

The tantrum isn't near cathartic enough to unfetter you from your prison of aggravation, and you continue to take it out on everything in your near radius. Your duvet and pillows. The lotion you keep by your beside table. Your own skin, nails piercing into the soft flesh of your palms.

And especially the collar constricting your throat, like vines that tighten at the first sign of struggle.

You have to get this collar off. Even if you fail at everything else, you have to get this collar off.

Scrambling off your bed, you turn your room upside down looking for a bobby pin or a knife. One is unquestionably the safer bet, but you know you'll sit for hours trying to pick the lock that keeps you shackled – so when you find the boxcutter sitting at the bottom of your junk drawer, you immediately take it to your neck.

Just as Simon barges into your room.

You're so far gone, you don't even question how this must look to him. In fact, it doesn't occur to you that you locked your door, and that the only way he could've gotten in is by having a replica of your key. No. You merely twist away from the all-encompassing hold he wraps around your arms, determined to keep the boxcutter away from his confiscation until you can slice through the leather.

But you're crying. Visibly, alarmingly unstable. And Simon's breaths are a little faster than normal, faltering in a way they only do when he's close to climax. He must be worried, which is a funny thought, seeing as he's the reason you're in this mess.

"Alright thas– that's enough of that." He grunts after managing to pry the blade from your hand. You hardly mourn the loss, rather crumbling in on yourself as your sobbing escalates. No longer frustrated, nor determined. Just primed into a suffocating panic attack.

Somewhere in your auditory periphery, you hear the clinking of glass. It doesn't register until he holds a vial of lavender extract you keep under your nose, forcing you to inhale the medicinal aroma. Soon enough, your mouth opens to swallow gulps of unscented air alongside it, and the imposed breathing exercise calms you to a point of blubbering calm.

(For someone so apathetic, you admit he handled that expertly.)

That isn't the end of it, though. Moments later, you're lifted off your feet. He cradles you in both arms as he makes his way to your bed, sitting up against the headboard and placing you on his lap. Safe. Undisturbed.

You say nothing, pressing your wet face into his shirt. For comfort, first and foremost, but the makeup that'll undoubtedly stain the white fabric is an added bonus.

"Know this is hard for y'to understand, pup." Simon begins. "Hard for you ta wrap your head around ownership after bein' alone for s'long. I won't punish you for tha'."

"Y-You don't own me." You accuse.

He shakes his head in response, like your mind is truly as little as he claims. Like you're a dog, complete with two ears and a tail, and he plucked you off the street on the condition that you heel.

If anything, he's the stray.

"Oh, but I do." A large hand rubs circles on your back. Never have you been so conflicted, so torn between leaning in and biting back. "Just don't see it yet, pet. Bu' you will, in time. And in the meanwhile, we'll establish some ground rules to help you adjust."

#do not be a cute girl around this man he will ruin your life #unedited #sorry this took me ages to pump out #tumblr deleted the first draft (?) so i had to rewrite #hate this dumb site #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #ghost #simon riley #x reader #x female reader #call of duty #fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

[taylorswiftbutsimp]

Unread Letters To The Emperor

Mini Series Masterlist

Emperor Blade (yingxing) x Empress Reader

Chapter One: To My Beloved Empress

Word count: 1675

Author’s note: Happy reading readers!

⚠️Warnings⚠️: Death, time-skips, Blade giving everyone a cold shoulder, fluff, angst and use of alcohol , talk of children, having a slight baby fever if you squint

The sheets were as cold and unwarming as always, and tonight was just like all the other evenings you've experienced.

Alone in a larger chamber than you had previously had, you failed to like it because the emperor had chosen the room's décor.

It's not because you didn't like it.

It seemed like a waste.

What a waste of hope that the emperor will cast a light between you two and talk about xianzhou and how he was raised over a cup of tea in the garden.

It was simply wishful thinking that an empress should not care about the affairs of the emperor and should only focus on her duties.

A waste since you couldn't curl up in his arms at night and mumble cutesy phrases like in the book you read. The life in the palace wasn't romantic and bright as in the novels; instead, it was a huge dark hole that swallowed your light so that you could become the puppeteer's next puppet.

A few months had passed since your marriage, but it felt like a year. Love in the palace was difficult, especially if it had never existed in the first place. Everything was a political game. When will you ever escape this pit of loneliness?

It was overwhelming.

It wouldn't hurt to take a stroll through the gardens instead of closing your eyes, would it? You got up and covered your thinly nightgown with a robe.

Not a single person could be seen in the corridor, and the moonlight passing the windows was the sole source of light.

You came to a stop there; the new portrait of you and the emperor was in the center of the stairway.

You can't deny that the two of you appeared desirable together, yet the very thought of it made your heart hurt.

"What are you doing?”

"I intended to stroll through the garden" you uttered, a slight scowl appearing on your lips. 

Blade was silent for a short while, and even though you weren't sure if he was judging you, you still felt weak in his presence. He was tall and

When did he become so attractive?

"This late in the evening? with flimsy sleepwear?"

Your robe, which you use as a cover, became undone, revealing your chest and collarbone. Your cheeks burned scarlet, and you hastily covered it up again. The emperor watched in dismay as you panicked.

Blade replied in an impassive voice, "Don't cause any trouble; I don't like cleaning up messe” As he left, a strong smell of alcohol linger in the air.

Even though the smell was strong, he managed to walk and scold you, leading you to believe that he had a high tolerance for alcohol.

You might be able to adjust to this palace and loneliness.

———

Before you knew it, two years had gone by since you and the emperor were married, and during those two years as an empress, the public adored you.

Mostly, the mask you put on, along with the staged laughs and smiles you showed them, made it impossible for them to tell which side of you was fake or real since they never got to know you in the first place.

The longer this continued, the more you began to lose yourself in the high heels that blistered your feet, the fitted clothes you wore, and the diet you followed.

However, even though it hurts, a smile can make up for the emperor's ignorance and the mountain of papers at your office.

As an empress, it was expected of you to be flawless, pretending about everything until the point where you lose the last bit of your sanity that has kept you this far.

Sometimes you cry yourself to sleep until you can no longer cry, considering you're drained. Other nights, you sit up late writing in a diary to remind yourself that you're still alive. 

Just like now, the celebration did not feel like it was one, even though everyone brought gifts and expressed congratulations to the empress and emperor on their milestones, to which you could only nod and smile.

If the emperor and empress were strangers to one another, what was there to feel happy about?

A waiter came up to you and offered you a glass of wine, which you eagerly accepted after you excused yourself from the guests you were now entertaining. 

Blade saw you standing around five feet away from each other, staring at no one in particular, but he did manage to get a glimpse of your figure as you swirled the crimson liquid gently before taking a sip.

You committed a mistake there. 

The wine, or should I say poisoned, had a strong effect on you. The glass broke on the floor, and your body fell like a feather, with blurry vision and struggling to breathe. 

As everyone gasped and cried out for aid, you were on your dying breath, and your vision was fixed on the emperor, who was still; all you could do was stare at him with a single tear falling from your eye.

Did he really hate you that much?

———

The empress's death didn't concern Blade in Jing Yuan's eye. He watched as the emperor placed a white rose on your open casket, emotionless, hearing the people behind him crying and talking about on how your death was so sudden.

He waited for Blade in the corner hallway, ready to investigate.

“Jing yuan” blade spoke as he eyed the general; he didn't expect him to be here, especially at this time when the general gazed at the emperor.

"My condolences, your highness; have you found any witnesses?" Jing Yuan spoke loudly and clearly, and the emperor realized what it meant.

“What was the empress to you?”

“Does it matter general?” The emperor replied no hint of remorse

That was the only answer Jing Yuan needed to confirm his theory: he wasn't talking to the a friend; he knew he was talking to the emperor, who showed no symptoms of mourning.

For Jingyuan, everything fell into place. Did the emperor kill the empress? If so, why was he silent when you were dying?

Blade walked away from the general, uninterested in what he had to say. Everything has been chaotic since your passing, and it has only been three days. He passed by the half-covered portrayal of you and him. 

The two of you looked exceptional together, he thought, staring at the opposite part, where your form was barely visible due to the curtains shutting and the portrait getting ready to be removed.

Why was everybody fond of you?

It was silent, his office door was open, and it was odd that no one could enter until he specifically said so. In truth, he was restless. When you were here, he had time to relax, even for a few minutes.

Dan Feng was positioned at the window of his office, glancing at the vase touching the flower as it wilted and lost its color.

"The empress did a good job taking care of the flowers, although they're starting to die” Dan Feng pondered, looking back at the emperor.

"Apologize for my intrusion, your highness. I came here to pass on my condolences"

"Leave"

The Vidyadhara withdrew before he could say what he had come for.

Blade sighed as he watched him go, wondering why it was that the mere mention of you set him off. His hand found its way to his hair, pulling his long locks through his finger. There had never been an issue when you were here.

———

He was told by his butler, "Your highness the empress left a diary and a few letters attached to the pages; it might be valuable." He accepted the item and left to give the emperor privacy.

He never imagined you kept a journal like this. As he traced the patterns on the cover, he noticed how cold it was and wondered if your warmth would help.

It was strange; the maids were nowhere to be seen, and the gardener you were close to failed to maintain the herbs and rows of roses you enjoyed.

The entries were like any other diary—a brief rumble about your day and things you found hysterical. Blade found himself half smiling and felt like he knew you after reading the first few pages.

— entry 25

"I'm getting married. Will I do okay? I need to be ideal so that the emperor would acknowledge me.

— entry 32

The palace was not for the kindhearted; my feet ached from the blisters on my heels, my clothing was too tight, and I missed eating sweets, but I have to maintain a diet for the emperor.

— entry 44

I went to an orphanage today. Everyone was thrilled to see me. The children's laughter was like music to my ears, and their lovely thank-yous were all I needed to hear.

I want to be near you, Emperor, and for the daughter we won't raise, she will wait for your care—the son you never sought.

—

Reading the empress journal was an emotional rollercoaster. Why would you keep this to him? Your fears, insecurities, and concerns

He couldn't stand the guilt; it was eating him alive. Why didn't he move when you were dying? With your begging eyes, you looked for him even as you died.

It was the first and last time he witnessed your tears.

How can he cast a light between you two if he is the shadow of your light?

Yingxing was an emperor who mastered the art of swords, from crafting them to wielding them. He knew that changing the past would affect the future, and he knew who could help him. 

His darling empress, he vowed to change for the better even if you did not end up in his arms at the end of the day, seeing you alive. 

It was all he needed, and it was worth it.

"Prepare a boat; I want to visit the high elder now" His voice was commanding enough to make his long-time butler shudder.

#ᗯiᒪᒪoᗯ #hsr x reader #blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #dan heng x reader #emperor blade #jing yuan x reader #yingxing x reader

[maroonsweetpea]

This may make some of my newer followers disgusted by me but I feel like this perspective should be addressed. I have had problems with hypersexuality since genuinely as long as I can remember. Like, I'm talking about six and seven years old. Before I even understood what was wrong with me. I'm not going to get into details because the truth is that the details that I have are blurry at best and any attempt I have ever made to uncover more has only led to panic attacks and alcohol relapses. At around 13 I discovered porn online. Not like I didn't know it existed, but, I had never interacted with that kind of content previously. I had a serious porn problem until I discovered radical feminism, honestly. It opened my eyes to what should have been in front of me. Things I knew deep down but wanted to forget because it's okay if I'm imagining it happening to horrible me, right?

And, I'm not talking about the most baseline forgivable. I mean hard kinks. I mean that I was self-destructive to the point that I begged my boyfriend to go farther than he seemed to want to at times. And I honestly wanted to die and for him to be the one to kill me. When I was being choked I feel like I was going to reach the gates of Heaven. That peace was nearing because death is the ultimate freedom. I was so masochistic. I was such an alcoholic, dealing with anorexia....what I have never been clinically diagnosed with but I could only describe as violent OCD. I thought I could control what terrified me by playing pretend. Needless to say it did not work and it did not help in any capacity. But, if you asked me back then I would have told you it did. And I would have mostly believed that.

I channeled all of these problems into sex. It was all I could think of. I masturbated CONSTANTLY. It's like I was on fire all the time. The online communities I lingered on and even some female friends irl to this day told me that it was completely fine and healthy to cope with these problems, especially the childhood....whatever with things like CNC. That it was just my old man that didn't do it correctly. I think about a lot of this almost daily and guilt isn't a good enough word to describe it. If there is a word beyond that or shame I don't know it, but, I feel it. At this point in my life my sexuality.....is almost a dead weight. A big part of me thinks I will never be cured, that my need for pain and my need for sex will trickle back the same and I'll explode.

I say all of this not for pity points, but because I think that fucked up women deserve to have a place here and for things like this to be discussed more openly. People can't be born pure and many people learn by terrible mistakes. Or maybe I'm the odd man out. Either way.

#ive made a few posts abt this and delted bc 1 no one interacted lmfaoo and #2 it was just way too personal #radblr #radical feminist safe #radical feminists do interact

[galacticlamps]

ok I have A Lot of thoughts about the staircase confession (well really about Edwin's whole character arc, but all roads lead to rome) but for now I just wanna say that, yes, I was bracing myself for something to go terribly wrong when I first watched it, and yes, part of me was initially worried its placement might be an uncharacteristically foolish choice made in the name of Drama or Pacing or Making a Compelling Episode of Television but at the expense of narrative sense--

But I wanna say that having taken all that into account, and watched it play out, and sat with it - and honestly become rather transfixed by it - I really think it's a beautifully crafted moment and truly the only way that arc could've arrived at such a satisfying conclusion.

And if I had to pinpoint why I not only buy it but also have come to really treasure it, I'd have to put it down to the fact that it genuinely is a confession, and nothing else.

That moment is an announcement of what Edwin has come to understand about himself, but because it takes the form of a character admitting romantic feelings for such a close friend, I think it can be very easy, when writing that kind of thing, to imbue it with other elements like a plea or a request or even the start of a new relationship that, intentionally or not, would change the shape of the moment and can quickly overshadow what a huge deal the telling is all on its own. But that's not the case here. Since it is only a confession, unaccompanied by anything else, and since we see afterward how it was enough, evidently, to fix the strangeness that had grown between him & Charles, we're forced to understand that it was never Edwin's feelings that were actually making things difficult for him - it was not being able to tell Charles about them. 'Terrified' as he's been of this, Edwin learns that his feelings don't need to either disappear completely or be totally reciprocated in order for him to be able to return to the peace, stability, and security of the relationship with which he defines his existence - and the scale of that relief a) tells us a hell of a lot about Edwin as a character and b) totally justifies the way his declaration just bursts out of him at what would otherwise be such a poorly chosen moment, in my opinion.

Whether or not they are or ever could be reciprocated, Edwin's feelings are definitively proven not to be the problem here - only his potential choice to bottle it up - his repression - is. And where that repression had once been mainly involuntary, a product of what he'd been through, now that he's got this new awareness of himself, if he still fails to admit what he's found either to himself or to the one person he's so unambiguously close with, then that repression will be by his own choice and actions.

And he won't do that. Among other things, he's coming into this scene having just (unknowingly) absolved the soul of his own school bully and accidental killer by pointing out a fact that is every bit as central to his self-discovery as anything about his sexuality or his attraction to Charles is: the idea that "If you punish yourself, everywhere becomes Hell"

So narratively speaking, of course it makes sense that Edwin literally cannot get out of Hell until he stops punishing himself - and right now, the thing that's torturing him is something he has control over. It's not who he is or what he feels, but what he chooses to do with those feelings that's hurting him, and he's even already made the conscious choice to tell Charles about them, he was just interrupted. But now that they're back together and he's literally in the middle of an attempt to escape Hell, there is absolutely no way he can so much as stop for breath without telling Charles the truth. Even the stopping for breath is so loaded - because they're ghosts, they don't need to breathe, but also they're in Hell, so the one thing they can feel is pain, however nonsensical. And Edwin certainly is in pain. But whether he knows what he's about to do or not when he says he 'just needs a tick,' a breather is absolutely not what's gonna give him enough relief to keep climbing - it's fixing that other hurt, though, that will.

Like everything else in that scene, there's a lot of layers to him promising Charles "You don't have to feel the same way, I just needed you to know" - but I don't think that means it isn't also true on a surface level. It's the act of telling Charles that matters so much more than whatever follows it, and while that might have gone unnoticed if anything else major had happened in the same conversation, now we're forced to acknowledge its staggering and singular importance for what it is. The moment is well-earned and properly built up to, but until we see it happen in all its wonderful simplicity, and we see the aftermath (or lack thereof, even), we couldn't properly anticipate how much of a weight off Edwin's shoulders merely getting to share the truth with Charles was going to be, why he couldn't wait for a better, safer opportunity before giving in to that desire, or how badly he needed to say it and nothing else - and I really, really love the weight that act of just being honest, seen, and known is given in their story/relationship.

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne #the case of the very long stairway #im sorry this really IS the short version of my thoughts i swear #i didnt want to get long and rambley backing everything up and mentioning everything else this forces me to reconsider #i just feel like i've barely interacted w this fandom and still seen quite a few odd duck takes on this moment imo #i dont think he wouldntve got the nerve to say it otherwise #(he was already going to! & if anything his new experiences in hell only cement that being the right choice) #and as much as i get what fear can do to a person i still definitely dont think he was resigned to staying in hell if charles reacted badly #i truly think he just couldnt keep it to himself any longer #the show is upfront about his escaping hell being a testament to his own strength rather than a lucky break of some sort #so i think even being on the receiving end of a rescue mission getting out still must take a lot of strength in this universe #and telling charles that definitely made him stronger/in less pain #so yeah totally necessary it happened where and when it did in my book #also i hope it doesnt sound like im being dismissive of anything charles says in this scene #but the way i see it those were all things they both already knew #so reaffirming them just adds to the idea that the act of Telling Each Other Things is what's so important here #rather than counting as a truly separate thing this conversation achieves #just my two cents

[nekropsii]

Why do people call Porrim an MRA??? it's such a bad take I can't even begin to fathom the logic.

Uuuuugh. Okay, to my understanding, the logic is predicated on two concepts:

Kankri is Correct, there is no Misogyny on Beforus.

Since Beforus has a Matriarch, "complaining" about the Oppression of Women on Beforus is the exact equivalent... Men complaining about men being oppressed, despite us living in a Patriarchal society.

This is a terrible argument, because... Porrim literally explains in detail that that is not the case.

Yes, Beforus has a Matriarch... A Superficial Matriarch, where the woman in power is more of a Figurehead than anything. Law Enforcement and Politics are handled mostly by "Higher CIPs" - Ceruleans, Indigos, and Purples - which are predominantly born (hatched?) as men. ... If all of the Social Order and Politics are Enforced and Dictated by men... Then that... Is a Patriarchy.

So, we have it directly explained to us that Beforus is Superficially a Matriarchy, with a Governing Body largely composed by Highblood Men, who canonically benefit from the subjugation of women, because having women be of generally lower class than men means that... Men can cull women, potentially on the basis of being women. You know, that social system, enforced by the predominantly male-lead government that allows for what is essentially the ownership of people you deem incapable of caring for themselves as pets? The system that will take any excuse in the book? Sure, that may have been a social rule implemented by their version of HIC, Feferi fucking Peixes, but it's still being used as a weapon. Just because something was made by a woman, does not mean it cannot be used as a weapon against women in the name of misogyny. You think Alternian Culling doesn't work the same damn way?

There's a sharp cut of irony you have to feel at the fact that Porrim literally says that conversations of Misogyny on Beforus are often shot down using "The Matriarchy" as an excuse. If Misogyny wasn't a thing, why the fuck are Rufioh, Kankri, and Cronus literally, textually, purposefully Misogynists? Why the hell is Latula like that, then? I don't think this is a 1-to-1 allegory for the real world, man- Troll World Building has NEVER been a direct, clean allegory for the real world. I do not think she was ever intended to be read as an analogue to Men's Rights Activists, I think she was intended to be read as an Alien Feminist. If anything, this feels less like an MRA, and more like someone getting shut down for trying to have a conversation about how Misogyny Exists in, like, Thatcher-Era England or something. Well, there's a Female Prime Minister, isn't there? Misogyny is over, clearly.

Porrim is constantly posed as an Exposition Fairy on the same level as Aranea, just... With Politics and World Building rather than Character Analysis. Porrim is portrayed as cool, collected, and correct. Do you think Andrew Hussie - literal Andrew Hussie - would portray a fucking Men's Rights Activist with that level of grace and style? Because the answer is no! Every time a character is a Misogynist in Homestuck, they are comically terrible! Rufioh, Kankri, Cronus, fucking Caliborn! Hussie is a lot of things, and yeah, some of these things are bad, but none of these things include the label Misogynist. Hussie is well known for... Not doing that, actually, that's, like... A major appeal of the comic. The female characters in Homestuck are known for being really, really well written and really, really well handled!! If there was a Men's Rights Activist in Homestuck, we would know about it, because that character would be comedically terrible, constantly dunked on by everyone around him, totally bitchless, and posed as a relentless fucking menace who does not deserve to breathe the same air as any of the women in the story. You know, like Cronus! And Not Porrim!!

Also, can we all take a moment of silence to ponder how much of an L it is to have your entire point of discourse be based in the idea that straight up literal actual Kankri Vantas is correct? That is capital e Embarrassing.

#homestuck #homestuck meta #homestuck analysis #beforus #alpha trolls #beforan trolls #dancestors #porrim maryam #beforus.pdf #porrim.pdf #nekro.pdf #nekro.sms

[compressedrage]

How big of a crisis do you think Purple gave Blue and Green when they first saw him?

Up until this point I don't think any of the CG knew other stick figures existed at all, judging from the way they reacted

Imagine thinking that you are unique, the only ones of what you are, and then stumbling upon someone else like you completely by accident

Do you think they ever bring that up to Purple later, when they're all friends? Like,

"Yeah, you were the first stick figure we ever saw outside of the PC. We didn't know that anyone else existed!"

And then there's Purple, who clearly grew up in the Outernet somewhere, around other sticks, and he's just completely weirded out at the concept of just existing on a computer, content to not know if you and your friends are the only beings like you

#I feel like this could get into come existentialism so ima end it there #animator vs animation #animation vs minecraft #alan becker

[terresdebrume]

"You had another nightmare."

Crystal gives Edwin her most venomous glare. She thinks the effect is kind of ruined by the big bag under her eyes, but still. It's the fucking thought that counts. He wasn't even condescending about it this time it's just. He's the wrong half of the boys for this. Just because Crystal figured out how to exist alongside him doesn't mean they're close.

Well, they are. But they're the kind of close that comes from caring deeply about the same person. Not the kind of close that comes from spontaneous appreciation. Crystal sighs, and lets her head fall down on her knees.

"Please go away," she mumbles.

By her side, Edwin scoffs.

"Believe me, I too wish Charles were here instead of me. However, since he very inconveniently decided to take a walk tonight, I'm afraid you'll have to make do with me."

Crystal sighs again, fingers digging hard into the sides of her knees. The problem, of course, is that Edwin isn't wrong. She's not sleeping again tonight, that's a given. She might be able to sleep properly tomorrow, but she hasn't had a full night since she confronted David, so she's not exactly holding her breath. She could wait for Charles, but then what? Think of the way she kissed him and chicken out? Not fucking helpful.

"It's not a nightmare," she admits at last, bumping her forehead against the bones of her knees. "It's memories."

"Please trust that I am deeply familiar with situations when those two things are one and the same."

It still strikes her, sometimes, how weird Edwin's speech pattern sounds to her ears. Not enough to make her laugh, or at least not anymore. Just weird enough to stretch her mouth into a smile. For Edwin to click his tongue.

"I do not feel like my efforts are being properly appreciated."

"So sorry, your highness," Crystal snorts.

She knows he's rolling his eyes from the way he sighs. It does make her feel better, to be honest. She's not sure if Edwin's doing it on purpose, but there's something about annoying him that works very well to take her mind off the new information in her head. It's simple, too.

Things with Charles are. Awkward. Which is probably a bit her fault for sending somewhat mixed signals, but Charles has been a little off ever since Hell, so he's probably to blame too. A little. The point is: even if he were here, Crystal wouldn't go to him.

Edwin is a shit listener, and even shittier at hiding he doesn't care, but he's here. And easy to annoy. And actually being... Okay. For once. With a sigh, Crystal tilts her head sideways so she can glance at Edwin. He's not looking at her, of course. Is in perfect profile from her, actually. Straight nose, frowning brow, stuffy jacket and vest and collar.

"Thanks," Crystal makes herself say, just to remember she can.

"Oh, don't be sentimental," Edwin says, primly. "Now that you are our official psychic, it is merely good business sense to help you digest your new memories."

Crystal bursts out laughing. It's way too loud for this time of night, and shrill, and more than a little fucking hysterical. In her throat, she can still feel the balls pressing against he windpipe, her skin, her bones. She remembers the way they blocked her air, the irrational fear that she wouldn't be able to get them down. The terror washes over her and turns to more laughter, then wheezing breaths.

"Yeah," she manages between two gasps for air, "they were really fucking hard to swallow."

She doesn't think she'll ever be able to tell Edwin why she laughs until she cries.

Reblogs make the world go round. Please share this story if you like it :)

#dbd fanfic #Crystal Palace #edwin payne #s: dead boy detectives microfic #Dead Boy Detectives #Matt writes #15n

[3hks]

Dark Thematic IDEAS (in the form of quotes) to Explore

"Don't trust blindly"

"Rules were meant to restrict."

"Things are not always as they seem."

"Heroes and villains are just titles."

"There's no such thing as 'right' or 'wrong.'"

"Heroes don't exist, and they never did."

"In this world, self-preservation is the key."

"This world is nothing but cruel."

"What is justice? It's different for everyone."

"Sometimes, sacrifices are in vain."

"People take advantage of others, and there's nothing one can do about that."

"'Good people aren't real."

"One can't save everyone. No one can."

"Don't expect heroes to suddenly show up when one needs them because they won't."

"It's survival of the fittest, no matter how one looks at it. The weak will always lose"

"Everyone is going to leave at some point."

"A 'happily ever after' only exists in fairytales."

"Perfection is a lie. There is no such thing as a perfect person, a perfect life, or a perfect world."

"Death, loss, and failure is inevitable."

"Sometimes the suffering is just not worth it."

"There's no god looking out for us."

"Not everyone wants the same things as you do. Not everyone wants a better world or love. Not everyone even wants to live."

"There is no perfect time for anything."

"Selflessness doesn't exist--everyone wants something from you. You can't give something without expecting something else in return."

"Forever? What forever? Everything is going to come to an end at some point."

"You can't get everyone to agree with you, which is why the world will never work together."

"There's no dodging the future and no hiding the past."

"You think that people were just born evil? Satan was once an angel too."

Apologies for making you all wait and then releasing something so small. As most people are probably aware, finals are coming up and unfortunately, I have to take them early so I'm trying to cram (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ) The next few should be better, if you have anything you want me to post about, let me know! I'd be more than happy to comply!

Happy writing~

3hks ^^

#writing #writeblr #writerscommunity #creative writing #writing inspo #theme ideas #thematic ideas #ideas for theme #dark theme ideas #dark quotes #dark ideas for theme

[imaginesforallkindoflove]

For Vaultknight nation ✨️🙌 sorry fort shortness I am writing something bigger

(They're cutiespapooties)

“What is that?”

That was Maximus’s first question as he glanced at a nearby and nearly destroyed store. All of the windows had been smashed, and the front door was torn open. Without a doubt, some people tried to get inside, as an attempt to get shelter or in hope to find something to destroy. It was dangerous too, as it threatened to fall over. But Maximus was attracted by it, by the still bright yellow letters. He could read the shop’s name: The Gamer’s Den. He found it odd. Turning to Lucy with a smile, he called her over. Knowing she would be as interested as he was, she would love to explore that one building.

Ever since they had parted ways with their teams, if you could call it that, Maximus and Lucy’s relationship had blossomed. Of course, they stayed in contact with Vault 4 and Lucy’s vault, now run over by the fierce Stephanie Harper. It had been hard for Maximus at the beginning. It was relatively new for the former Brotherhood member. All he had known his whole life was bullying and discipline. He had suffered, he had bled, he had grown. But Lucy changed his life forever. God, he loved her silly words, her innocence about the world they were living in. And he admired her bravery.

“Is that… a game store? Oh Maximus look!” She pointed to a RobCo promotional sign with an excited face. “Oh jolly, Norm would have loved to see this! Let’s try and find some of those games!”

“Sure.” He smiled back at her as he followed her inside.

“They were supposed to release those when the bombs dropped.” Lucy whispered as she caught a box behind the counter, a bit opened. Maximus knelt down beside her and started to rummage through the packaged games. They looked brand new despite the dust on them.

“I feel kind of bad for them.” Maximus admitted. He had noticed the skeletons around the city and inside the shop as well. “They must have believed they would be safe there.” His voice was barely audible.

Lucy hummed as she tried to find interesting games for her brother. She always had felt awful about the skeletons, she… tried to pretend they didn't exist. But how could she not? Those skeletons had been people, with hopes, dreams, problems on their own. She couldn’t shake the image of that family when she left her vault. Entering that home had not been a good decision and seeing that Vault Tec had sold those “Plan D” pills… How did the parents feel about giving them to their children? They wanted to spare them, giving them a quick death, and pretend nothing was happening. What a sad way to end your life.

Maximus noticed how gloom Lucy looked. He shouldn't have spoken about the skeletons… He was used to it, but not the vault dweller. Maximus decided to cheer her up. With a smile, he approached her and kissed her cheek.

“Don't think too much about it, Lu. You weren't the one who dropped the bombs.”

“You're right.” She sighed as she picked up some games and put them in her bag. “Let’s go back to the vault and give those to Norm. He will be happy to see you again. He likes you.”

“Really? Because I feel that each time I come with you, he stares at me like he wants me dead.”

“Oh that's just how Norm looks at people.”

#n speaks #fallout amazon #fallout prime #lucy maclean #fallout maximus #maximus x lucy #vaultknight

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

hi i need to complain more abt fe7

who the fuck decided "the dragons went away" meant "the dragons literally went to another world" like oh my god are you serious?

ONCE AGAIN this is a dumb cheap shot against fe6 because it is a PLOT POINT that it is a mystery to be figured out of "where did the dragons go?" and the answer is BLATANTLY OBVIOUS.

the dragons disappeared because they hid in arcadia. fuckin duh.

I don't even mind the concept that dragons also hid elsewhere. Maybe some learned to blend in with humans so well they went unnoticed. Maybe some hid in some other far off corner of the world! (Like, yknow, Jahn from fe6, who hid inside the sealed Dragon Temple in Bern.)

But the existence of this Whole Other World is kinda. Wild.

a) Why did only some dragons escape to this other world?

b) Why didn't Jahn escape to the other world, if he hated humans so much?

But like, whatever. This is the first instance of dimensional travel in Fire Emblem, so at least I get to thank it for kickstarting the FE multiverse and also adding points for my conspiracy pinboard.

The REAL stupid thing about this is Ninian's dragon asthma. "Living in the human world is gonna kill her", ok, why?

She was born in the human world! To a human father! The other half-dragon, Sophia, seems perfectly fine? How is ALL OF ARCADIA perfectly fine but Ninian isn't?

Oh yeah, right, because Roy's mom is ambiguously dead in fe6, and nobody considered the implication of giving Eliwood a love interest for more than .5 seconds.

Like, the EASIER retcon to make would be if Roy's mom was alive offscreen in fe6, because she's literally only ever mentioned in the Lilina-Marcus B support, and the only indication she's dead is Marcus referring to her in past tense.

So, contradict ONE line in one support? Or invent nonsensical bullshit lore to kill off Ninian?

Watsonian vs Doylist reasoning at its finest, I swear to god.

Did anybody writing fe7 think about fe6's lore for more than a minute... please i am dying

.

#fe #fire emblem #game hate #story takes

[ryin-silverfish]

Stray thought: something I found the "SWK is manipulated into the Havoc!" take often obscures is his fear of death. Y'know, the very reason he begins his quest for immortality in the first place, and I'm glad the LMK show at least paid some homage to.

Death is but one of the many sufferings that accompanies existence and samsara itself. So is his fear of death and the desire to avoid it. The problem is? The way desires and attachments work, getting what you want doesn't solve the deeper issues.

First, he sets out to avoid death for himself. Then he did that, and also made death null for as many of his fellow monkeys as he could find. But it isn't enough, no.

His own immortality will not grant the safety of all of his subjects, his friends, and all the good stuff he has ever gained that rightfully belong to him, mind you, and he is responsible for. So he just needs to find a way to hold onto them, forever and ever and ever.

Since he has an abundance of creativity and intellect, but not the wisdom to match, his solution is to find the "Hows" rather than asking the "Whys".

Keep stacking up the powers, the immortalities, the allies, the weapons, the victory counts——which eventually became its own rewards, the thrills, the satisfaction of getting away with yet another daring heist, the feeling of invulnerability.

But let's go on a tangent and talk about book!SWK. When he came back after getting banished, he found his monkeys bullied by the Monstrous King of Havoc, wrecked the guy, and rescued his subjects. Immediately afterwards, he emptied the armory of Aolai Kingdom to arm his monkeys and robbed the dragon kings blind to arm himself.

Yeah, seeing a bit of a connection here. He is pulling off these heists to protect against perceived threats to him and his people. Then, moving on to the First Havoc, when he came back to his monkeys, he was surprised at just how much time had passed since he departed for the Celestial Realm——10+ years in the Lower Realm!

Yet, after the First Havoc is resolved, he happily stayed in the Celestial Realm for half a year, without remembering that meanwhile, at least a century had passed for his monkeys and demon allies. In a sense, he had become detached from his subjects, despite his first instinct still being "bring my buddies all the divine wine" after he got sober and returned to them.

I don't know you, but I feel like he probably expects everything to stay the same while he was gone. He isn't yet selfish, but certainly self-absorbed, in that he doesn't seem to realize that his actions can have consequences for people other than himself.

Like, if he is in his old "Monkey King" mindset, he may have comprehended that the Celestial Realm will treat him and his monkeys as a single entity that will be collectively punished for his misdeeds. But by becoming the Great Sage, he has drifted away from his duties as a king, which sets the stage for his behaviors during the Second Havoc.

After the 72 caves of demon kings have all been captured during the first wave of attack, his reaction is basically "lol, at least they didn't get any of my monkeys". This, I think, is the point where he is showing true selfishness instead of just being self-absorbed. Like, if I were one of his non-monkey allies and I heard that, I'd be pretty pissed.

The thing with the unrestrained freedom of the Havoc is, by cutting himself loose from all the rules and norms and disregarding every potential consequences, he is also unknowingly severing his tethers to others and alienating himself from his people.

Which is how I interpret SWK becoming so disheartened when his epic battle with Erlang terrified his own subjects into a rout, he just turned and fled——he realized that they, too, were seeing a monster.

He is no longer fighting for his people's safety, but an idea of them, who will always look up to him and do okay without him and never perceive him as a threat, and when that idea is shattered, so does his will to fight on.

I feel like the same could be said for his pursuit of immortality and power: it started off as a way to rid himself of existential fear and defend against concrete threats, but the list of "things I must do to secure my happy eternity and what is rightfully mine" just keeps growing longer and longer, until he's only focused on that sweet, sweet feeling of reward whenever he ticks off a checkbox and tunes out everything else.

After all, the more you have, the more you can potentially lose. A never ending cycle, exacerbated by his desire to never lose, until it all comes crashing down, figuratively and literally.

Back to LMK: People always point out that Azure worships this idea of SWK, and never quite sees SWK as his true, flawed self. Which I agree, but also: SWK does this too. He, too, loses sight of the actual people he's fighting for.

"I did it for US!"

The thing with a claim such as this is, multiple people can all try to do everything for the idea of "us", instead of something that may actually help each other, then feel wronged when their efforts essentially amount to nothing.

"We were all on a path of self-destruction."

For this statement to land, the self-destruction has to genuinely be each character's own doing. The fallout can, and is indeed magnified by what the others did or didn't do, but ultimately, the causes of their consequences come from within themselves: their own obsessions and attachments.

And making SWK the exception, the innocent figurehead and scapegoat, removes the complexity from the character while outright ignoring the few implications of the show that actually have some basis in book canon and are kinda interesting.

I rest my case.

#journey to the west #xiyouji #lego monkie kid #lmk sun wukong #sun wukong

[xitsensunmoon]

Thinking about how in a lot of dca fics when we meet dca, we're nice to them because, well, why wouldn't we be?

But- consider our reality for a second. How every tech is made to somehow steal or manipulate, spy on or push propaganda... How everything ends up being used to gain profit, absolutely ignoring everything else... Just imagine our poor guys trying to prove us that they're not like that- they would never.

But truly, do they have a choice? Anyone from management can access their memory chips at any second. Even their thoughts can be read by the staff.

If they had a choice they really would never do that to you.

But they don't :)

#xit shh #i don't think i would ever be able to exist like them #imagine having absolutely no privacy. to the point where people who you hate can literally read your thoughts?

[butterflysonnets]

yes i'm rooting for m*leven breakup because byler is neat but mostly? i'm rooting for m*leven breakup for the sake of el and mike.

to me, their romance was always a puppy love born out of a combination of social pressures, naïve curiosity, and a lack of true understanding regarding intimacy and romantic love and what it really is. it was real in that they do truly, deeply care about each other and they are close friends, maybe even shared an attraction, but a maturing romance is so much more than that. they've grown up and out of being boyfriend/girlfriend, and that's okay! i think television/film needs to show more often that most of us don't have definite "soulmates" or first childhood loves that we spend our whole lives with. it doesn't mean these relationships meant nothing and didn't impact us, it just means they've run their course and that something else is in the cards, and this is part of life!

i've always felt el was at her best and most confident self when broken up with mike, discovering who she was and what she liked alongside another girl her age instead of just relying on mike for mentorship on how to live in the real world. she deserves more of an opportunity to find herself, her autonomy, and her independence, and to love who she is, and she's made it clear she's felt insecure in the relationship with mike because she isn't being loved and understood the way she wants, needs, and deserves from someone who is her partner.

also, it's okay if mike doesn't love her in "the way he should". he is not obligated to love her romantically and stay in a relationship with her just because she's a girl, because she "needed someone", or because he cares about her a lot. he shouldn't be pressured into a romance if it's not truly coming from his heart. he deserves freedom to find out and honour who he is, too, instead of just staying in his non-functional first relationship — one he got into as a child, essentially — and defining himself that way because it's what's expected when a boy and a girl are close. he loves her in some way, yes, but it's okay if he doesn't feel comfortable or secure being her boyfriend anymore, for whatever reason that is. he's felt insecure too, and that's valid and it matters.

they are their own people and are steadily growing and changing every day. they need time to figure out who those people are, and it's become clear (at least in my opinion) that those people aren't meant to be a couple at this stage.

they deserve freedom. they deserve to grow up and be authentic to themselves and not feel like they need to lie for the sake of a relationship. they deserve to move on from this version of their relationship that isn't making them happy and rekindle the best part of their bond: their strong, beautiful friendship. they don't have to be a couple if it doesn't make them stronger and better and happier people.

i think it would be healthy and wonderful for a show, especially one consumed frequently by young adults, to show a relationship starting, progressing, and ending on good terms in this way. sometimes things don't work out, and that is okay.

#eve text #elmike #stranger things #byler #only tagging byler because i feel like yall will like this take lol #tagging tagging tagging WHAT ARE EVERYONE ELSE'S THOUGHTS #god i can't believe i'm making a post about stranger things. this feels like poking a bear #i'm not particularly anti m*leven but like... they'd have to do something pretty special at this point for me to feel like it's viable #i'm seeing the bts of s5 and it's got me Having Thoughts #elmike friendship is something i am so passionate about #even before i ever liked byler (didn't ship at all until s4 even though i knew it was a thing before) i've felt this way about elmike #i always believed they were close friends at heart and needed to break up #the romance part of them felt very distinctly young and very much “he was a boy she was a girl” to me #and it hasn't deepened into anything more mature and i don't see how it could based on the current state of the writing... #the fact that lumax exists — a young relationship that is actively maturing and is healthy — makes that clear to me #and the “love confession” in s4 and how disingenuous and miserable it felt was just the nail in the coffin #also the fact that will (who is IN LOVE with mike) was instrumental in making it happen? ... uh... okay... interesting choice… #fucked up and reductive if they make it another queer unrequited love sacrifice for the sake of pushing the heterosexual agenda YUCK #so i really hope the speculation about a m*leven breakup is real!! i think it just makes sense for their characters but who knows #i don't believe in the notion of love at first sight or one true love and i think the writers don't too??? #love to me is an accumulation of experiences and we inevitably choose it at some point rather than fall into it... but idk #tv is so fixated on keeping couples together... sometimes it's just not reality guys especially with young people... LET IT GO... #like i said though i'm not 100% sold that they're going to give up their “golden couple” LMAO #stranger things hasn't historically subverted too many tropes if i'm being honest #anyway i seriously need this season to come out quickly... i'm so bored and getting my master's is crushing my soul #i need frivolity #ALSO btw i won't respond to hateful messages about this so please don't bother. it's not that serious. this is a netflix show

[mikesbasementbeets]

"if they don’t tell me explicitly that mike was never attracted to el then that means he was"

[removes hands while kissing]

[unresponsive to kiss & "i love you," eyes wide open]

[the sunglasses stay on during kiss, also get off me you're crushing the flowers i carefully placed right in between us]

[no fear]

[one fear]

"idk if they don’t make it clear to me that he doesn’t love el romantically then that means he does"

"they haven't given any indication yet that he doesn't like girls..."

"yeah, mike has definitely shown attraction to girls"

[image not found]

...

#this is NOT in opposition to elli's post i rb'd btw it's not obvious it's not supposed to be obvious. but that's the point. if you read #between the lines and pay attention to the subtext then it becomes the only logical conclusion. it's not going to be In Your Face obvious #that's the POOOOOOOOIIIIIIINT #the idea that if it's not explicitly stated outright then it's not there is just. annoying and literally not how this show works ever #a bi m*ke reading recognizes the subtext without acknowledging the fact that the whole liking girls facade is just that. a facade. #and that mike's queerness being invisible and his generally being constantly dismissed and invalidated is a HUGE part of his character #i DO think they'll make it more explicitly clear in s5 but. it IS already there if you look closely enough and don't ignore things #that don't fit into your existing perspective #anyway this post is for marianne who said it was time for gay/bi mlke discourse again #harbinger of the discourse cycle. hi #(jk don’t make discourse out of this im kidding it’s not serious) #(i mean the 'bi m*ke totally makes sense' takes never stop it's just that whenever people refute them everyone cries discourse) #(don't do that) #mikesbasementbeets posts #mike wheeler

[front-facing-pokemon]

#meloetta #okay. let's all be honest with ourselves. first of all‚ pirouette form that i didn't even know existed is under the cut #second of all. do any of us REALLY know anything about meloetta's lore? they show up in the gti postgame i THINK but i don't #even remember why they did that. something about helping you with the town building mechanics (which i still think is insanely cool) #and i don't think this “pirouette form” ever happens. in there. i think they're barely relevant even in gti #the hell is this thing? like. an event pokémon that was somehow even less relevant than genesect and keldeo? #if anyone knows what this thing is or what its lore significance is. then. i'd be surprised. lemme google it actually. bulbapedia time #okay…… plays music…… sings or whatever……… pirouette form is. normal/fighting? ok #bulbapedia dropping a whole-ass ♩ which i didn't even know was a unicode character #ok. it sings. why #yeah only ever released via event. sad? sad #it would be more sad if i knew anything about this bitch other than that they sing and that is it #why do they need to be mythical. what is the point

[introspectivememories]

what's wrong with data analyst bernard?

summary: tim's a workaholic ceo. bernard is, to put it simply, a down-on-his-luck loser with a kid to take care of. somewhere along the line, they meet. (very loosely based on the 2018 hit kdrama, "what's wrong with secretary kim?")

A/N: for @chamiryokuroi bc this fanart has given me brainrot since the moment i saw it. but also bc, i missed writing and your art helped. i hope you like it. (more notes at the end.)

Today is a good day, Bernard thinks happily, brand new ID badge bouncing on his tie. It's his first day at Wayne Ent. and Mori had sent him off with a hug and muttered, "have a good day, Tou-san." It's been bouncing around in his head all day. Tou-san, Tou-san, Tou-san, he's really a dad now. He's got to make sure Mori has everything he needs and this new job is going to make sure he can do that.

Shaking his head once to clear it, he takes a sip of the complimentary coffee a team member bought him for his first day. His team leader, Young-joon Lee, is taking him on a tour of the building. Young-joon is a wonderful man in his late 30s but it's very clear that he's been consumed by the office lifestyle.

"...and here is our magnificent lobby!" Young-joon is saying as he tunes back in. His team leader spreads his arms wide out as he speaks, "Everyone knows the lobby but it's my personal philosophy that making friends or at least being on amicable terms with the ground floor staff will make your life easier."

Bernard laughs politely, "I know what you mean. I can't tell you how many times being nice to the host at the restaurant I used to work at saved my butt during rush hour."

"A man after my own heart!" Young-joon says, smiling widely as he leads him to the help desk.

Bernard tilts his head up to look at the skylight. It's a gorgeous thing with little animal motifs running alongside it. It lights up the lobby bringing a welcoming feeling into it. With the sunlight pouring into the room, along with the din of busy workers in slacks running to and fro, it really feels like stepping into a movie.

Are you seeing me Darls?, he thinks with a childlike glee, hand coming up to thumb at his badge again, I made it!

"This, my friend," Young-joon says, pulling up to the help-desk, "is our wonder-duo. Tamara and Abhishek. They practically run this building. Lord knows we'd be tripping all over ourselves without them."

Tamara and Abhishek smile as they get introduced.

"They run this building?" he asks confusedly.

"You see, young padawan," Abhishek says, "not only do we help the people that come in here asking questions or for instructions, we also answer any questions the staff has for us."

"Things like, 'What's HR’s number?' or 'Can you page Data for me?' or 'No seriously, I'm calling HR on this man right now. What is their number?'" Tamara says grinning.

Bernard laughs. It feels like that's all he's been doing since he got here. "You have to tell me the story on that one day."

"Sorry," Tamara says, faux-apologetic, "the minimum clearance on that story is half-a-year. Gotta level up."

His cheeks hurt from smiling. This is his and Mori's new beginning. This is where they level up. Nothing's gonna stop him now.

"Do you know the story behind that one?" he asks, turning to Young-joon.

"Of course! But where would be the fun in telling you? You have to stay the six months and if luck comes my way, longer."

"You want me for longer?"

"Of course, I saw the way you worked during those practice problems in the interview. I had to fight the other team leaders for you. It was brutal."

"Get back I say!" Young-joon says, miming a sword fight. A pleased warmth builds in his chest; they wanted him, they wanted him!

Darls you better be fucking watching this. I'm movin' up in the world.

"Ooh, send me that footage. I wanna see our newest recruits skills," Abhishek says.

"You got the data team fighting over you?" Tamara asks, eyebrows raised, "I wanna see it—"

Whatever she was going to say is cut off by the sound of both of their pagers pinging. Immediately going stock still, they start typing on their computers.

Bernard turns to Young-joon confused but his team leader looks like nothing is out of the ordinary.

"The boss is coming." Young-joon says, like that's a reasonable explanation for two people shutting down in the middle of the conversation, "It's always quite a spectacle and they always have to notify the other execs. Just watch."

Still, the boss? Maybe Bruce Wayne will say 'hi' to him and he'll charm the CEO and Mr. Wayne can figure out a way to—

No, no. He's done making those kinds of fantasies. Nobody is coming to help. Bernard is going to figure out his life on his own, he is going to take such good care of his kid, and he is not going to wait for some rich billionaire to swoop in and take care of him. He got this far didn't he? He'll get even farther.

He and his team leader lean against the help desk sipping coffee as they wait for the CEO to come in and sure enough, a black Rolls Royce pulls up to the driveway in the front. The minute the door opens, flashes from the paparazzi's cameras start going off. Out steps a bodyguard in a black suit with an umbrella opened. From below the umbrella he sees a nice pair of brown loafers step out. The CEO seems to be wearing a navy blue suit today. The paparazzi roars and the flashes increase.

"Oh wow," a man remarks a few feet away from him, "the circus is strong today, huh?" His friend laughs.

A woman wearing red heels steps out after the CEO, the paparazzi flashes decrease dramatically. More bodyguards exit after the woman and form a square around the CEO and his assistant/secretary. They shuffle towards the entrance where he sees the elderly doormen greet the executives with a smile. Whatever they say is lost to the sound of the city but the doormen laugh and push the doors open.

Young-joon's been making small talk throughout the entrance and Bernard tries to keep up but whatever the hell is going on at the entrance is way more interesting than anything his team leader is talking about. As they enter the guards spread out and dissolve the square. The woman comes into view first, red heels with a black slacks and a white button down. She's holding a long coat in one hand and a laptop bag slung over her shoulder. She's gorgeous and clearly the one in charge, going by the way she barks orders at the guards.

Young-joon says something and he turns around to respond, grabbing his coffee cup off the desk counter. His CEO's loafers tap across the lobby's marble floor, something about it is comforting. A lull in the room's conversations causes the CEO's voice to carry over.

"...Tam, make sure the quarterly reports are on my desk by at least 4 today and make sure to push back the sales meeting by 30 minutes to an hour, the board wants to talk — Oh Mr. Bardakcı! Thank you for stay—..."

Bernard's heart jackrabbits in his chest. He knows that voice but- it can't be. It's not possible; he chose Wayne Enterprises for a reason. He's not supposed to be here. He's supposed to be at his father's company. Unless... there was a merger? No, that seems like the kind of thing the news wouldn't've shut up about. He would've known.

When was the last time you had time to sit down and read the news, Bear? Darls says inside his head

She's right. With filing for custody of Mori and graduating from college and the job search, he hasn't had time for much else. It's entirely possible that he could've missed one of the biggest mergers of the decade.

Fuck, Fuck.

He wasn't supposed to be here. Bernard was supposed to be moving on. He was supposed to be building a life for himself away from the shadows of his childhood. He was supposed to be forgetting that Tim Drake ever existed.

He has to make sure though. Turning his body around, he prays that it's not the man he thinks it is. But sure enough, there stands Tim Drake, resplendent in a navy blue suit and a golden tie.

Golden ties for golden boys, he thinks absentmindedly.

The suit fits him perfectly, stretching across his shoulders and wrapping around his waist. Even the tie looks knotted perfectly. How long did it take him to learn, Bernard wonders. He could never get it right back in high school. Does his assistant Tam do it- no, no! This is why he didn't apply to Drake Industries. Bernard can't do anything around Tim and Tim is never going to care enough about him to stay.

Tim's head seems to be turning in his direction and Bernard whips his head back to make sure Tim doesn’t even catch a glimpse of him. His hand twitches violently enough that the coffee cup falls out of his hand and spills all over the floor. The cup rattles deafeningly on the floor. Bernard can't fucking breathe.

"-ernard? Bernard!" his team leader's voice cuts through the haze in his head. Young-joon looks concerned, "Are you okay?"

He blinks slowly, "...What?"

"I said, 'Are you okay?’ You look like you've seen a ghost?"

No, Bernard thinks, seeing Darls would be preferable to whatever level of hell I've found myself in.

"I'm—, I'm fine." he says rather unconvincingly. His eyes dart back to the spill, "What am I saying? There's a large puddle of coffee on the floor. I—, I should get some paper towels for that."

"Do you have any paper towels, Wonder-Duo?" he asks, trying desperately to ignore Tamara and Abhishek's concerned looks.

"I already called the custodial staff," Tamara says slowly, like she’s trying not to spook him, "but if it makes you feel any better," she pulls out a huge stack of paper towels, "go crazy, I guess."

Bernard takes a handful of paper towels and gets to work. The cleaning is meditative and with each swipe of the paper towel, the puddle gets smaller. Bernard pretends the puddle is his feelings for Tim. Swipe, forget about the 4pm milkshakes and his laughter when Darls snorted milk out of her nose. Swipe, don't think about the way he used to smell. Swipe, he left and never looked back; you don't look back either.

The tap, tap, tap of loafer on marble is getting closer to them for some reason. Why is it getting closer? Does it not have staff meetings, market research, and people to leave behind?

"What is going on here?" Tim asks.

"Nothing much, sir." Abhishek responds, "Newbie just spilled some coffee."

Abhishek, no!

"Oh is that all? And he took the initiative to start cleaning instead of waiting for the custodial staff. You made a good choice, Young-joon."

"Thank you, sir!" Young-joon says, "I was taking him on the tour when you came in. Most newbies love the show so I thought we'd stop here for a little bit."

Tim laughs. Bernard hates that his heart still skips a beat at the sound.

A pair of brown loafers and a wool-covered knee slowly appear in his vision. Why is Tim crouching in front of him? Why won't this man leave him alone?

"This looks like quite a lot of work, let me help."

You can help by leaving me the hell alone, he thinks uncharitably.

"I hope you found the facilities to your liking," Tim continues, like he hadn't heard Bernard's thoughts, "My name is Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO."

I know, he wants to say. I know you're Tim Drake. I know you like to skateboard and that you stared at Tony Hawk's photo for an hour every day in high school ‘cause didn't want to be one of those people who didn't recognize him. I know you struggled with your dad not really being there. I know you loved Mrs. Winters as much as you loved your mom. I know that you like history more than any other subject even though your best was always math.

Bernard says nothing instead.

Tim laughs awkwardly and Bernard knows he isn't helping the conversation along but whatever, he's allowed to be petty, right?

"I assure you, whatever you heard in the tabloids and the news, isn't true. I promise I won't bite…," Tim’s voice trails off as Bernard lifts his head.

"...Bernard?" Tim whispers, he looks like he's seen a ghost.

Bernard tries for a smile, he's pretty sure it comes out looking like a grimace.

"Sir," he says nodding curtly, hands still moving to sweep up the coffee puddle.

Tim's hand reaches out to touch his face, as if to make sure Bernard is really there. Bernard recoils as Tim's hand grazes his cheek. Tim's hand hangs in the air uselessly.

"Bernard?" Tim says again, as if to make sure his eyes aren't playing tricks on him.

"That's my name, Sir," he says through clenched teeth, "don't wear it out."

He can feel Young-joon and the Wonder-Duo's confused stare but he says nothing. What would he even say, really?

Hey, this is my old friend Tim Drake? Hey, I used to know him like the back of my hand? Hey, our best friend died and it feels like I'm the only one still grieving? Hey, in my junior year, five different gangs shot up my school and my best friend died in my arms and he left and I had to pick up the pieces by myself? Hey, I'm the idiot that's still in love with Tim Drake?

The clack of Tam's heels comes as a welcome distraction.

"Tim!" she says, grabbing his arm and pulling him away, "What the hell do you think you're doing? We have to go talk to the board. Build rapport with your employees later."

Tim stumbles to his feet, "Yes, but—, I—, This is—"

He sounds like he's glitching. Bastard. Is it really such a surprise to see Bernard in a well paying job? Even Tam is starting to look a little concerned now.

"Explain later," she commands, dragging Tim behind her. Bernard keeps his head down and continues wiping up the coffee puddle. Sneaking a glance upward shows him that Tim keeps turning back around to stare at him.

For a moment their eyes meet, brown against blue. 'Bernard?' he sees Tim mouth. Bastard, saying his name so many times. Doesn't he know what that does to Bernard? Why does Tim insist on breaking his heart again and again and again? Was once not enough?

He's tired of putting these walls up and just for a second, he lets them come down. Let Tim see the entirety of his brokenness. Tim already has his heart, he can have this too.

'Tim' he mouths back, smiling sadly. Tim looks stunned and the rage that had been simmering in his gut begins to boil over.

Do you see what I've become? Do you see how thoroughly Grieves ruined me? Is this not your doing too? Why did you leave? Have you ever visited Darla? Why was it so easy for you to not look back? Was I not your friend? Or was it just a time pass? Why wasn't I enough for you to stay?

He watches until the elevator doors close, separating him from Tim once again. His body sags like a marionette cut from its strings and his fingers clench uselessly around the coffee soaked paper towels. A hand lands on his shoulder and he flinches.

"Hey, hey," Young-joon soothes from where he's crouched right next to him. When did Young-joon crouch down? How much time has he missed? "It's just me, Bernard. Are you okay? What was that? Does our CEO know you?"

He exhales shakily. He needs to get out of here. He needs to sob hard enough he throws up. He needs the steady press of a knife on his back. He needs things he's not allowed to have anymore.

Bernard shoots up so fast the world spins around him. holding onto the desk for support, he tries to smile at his team leader. It stretches across his face misshapenly.

"I'm—, I'm sorry," he says stumbling over his words in a rush to get them out, "I have to—"

He has to what? Pretend to not see Darls out of the corner of his eye? Pretend like his hands don't have blood on them? Pretend like he isn't seeing bullet wounds every time he closes his eyes?

"—go to the bathroom," he finishes lamely. Gathering up all of the paper towels, he walks away dazedly, ignoring Young-joon's calls behind him. He shoves the towels in the nearest trashcan, letting his feet lead him to the nearest bathroom.

The bathroom is thankfully empty when he enters and he locks the door behind him. Sliding down the door, he exhales shakily. There's not enough air in this room; he can't breathe. The fluorescent lights hum above their coverings. The one on the left flickers. Who's bright idea was it to install school lights in a business office's bathroom?

The world outside the bathroom rushes on too loudly. Somebody is talking about their vacation. Someone is bemoaning their presentation today. His chest is getting tighter. His hands come up to tug on his hair. Why can't he breathe?

The exhales are coming quicker and quicker. Something comes tapping down the hallway. It's the gunmen, it has to be. A quick glance down tells him all he needs to know: he's covered in blood.

It's Lila's, he thinks dazedly, I had to carry her into the office. Or no, it's Olu's. I held him when he died. He said, he said, what did he say?

Why can't he remember? He hits his head with the heel of his palm.

Think he tells himself, we have to tell Olu's parents what he said. He said—, he said—.

His body sags.

Oh now he remembers. He said, "I don't wanna die Bernard."

A whimper tears itself out of his throat and he slaps a palm over his mouth. There's blood smeared across his face now, he must look like he walked out of a slasher film. He has to be quiet. if he's too loud, the gunmen will find them and then they'll all be dead.

Cry quietly, he tells himself, Darls doesn't need—

Darla! How could he forget about Darla with a hole in her gut? He needs to get to her. Lurching forward, he scrabbles across Mrs. Castillo's linoleum floor. He's smearing Olu's blood everywhere. Why won't Nikhil stop fucking crying so loudly? Goddamn freshmen and their hysterics. Where is Tim? Is he safe? He can't lose both friends today, please Lord, please.

BANG!

A violent flinch tears through his body. He sobs audibly this time, gagging on his spit. It's the gunmen, it has to be. He hasn't even held Darls' hand or counted Tim's moles for the last time. Where are the Darls? She shouldn't be alone. She doesn't like violence like this.

"Why didn't you save me, Bear?" a voice asks from behind him.

He freezes. Slowly he turns around and nearly yells in shock. Falling back on his butt, he stares up at his friend.

(He has to be quiet, he has to be quiet, he has to be quiet-)

Darls is standing behind him still in her crop top and cargo pants. Her once smooth midsection, bloodied and warped. The bullet wound still drips blood.

Plink, plink, plink.

Bernard hates the scent of iron.

"Why didn't you save me, Bear?" she asks, her voice echoing, "I thought we were friends."

There’s blood dripping down the side of her mouth. Now he remembers, the blood on him isn’t Olu’s or Lila’s — although there is that too — it’s almost overwhelmingly Darla’s. He’s covered in it. Elbows deep in it. It streaks up his arms like a macabre tattoo. He wore a white shirt to school today. The stains will never come out. He is Carrie at the end of prom, mortified and humiliated.

He crawls backwards until his back hits the wall, the impact knocking him out of the worst of that night. He's back in the bathroom. The lights hum loudly overhead. Darla hasn’t left yet.

She tilts her head, “Why didn’t you help me, Bear? I thought we were friends.”

“We are,” he rasps out, “we are friends.”

“Are we?” her eyes have no pupils. His Darls had eyes that shone in the sunlight. His Darls is dead. “Then why am I still bleeding? Why am I still hurting? Why is there a bullet in my stomach, Bear?!”

She’s shouting by the end and he flinches. His hands can’t seem to stop tugging at his hair. The blood must’ve smeared all over it. Talk about taking strawberry blond literally.

“I swear I did everything I could Darls,” he sobs out quietly, voice cracking, “I followed all of Mrs. Castillo’s instructions as best I could. I put pressure and tied the dressing as tight as I could.”

“You thought that was enough?” she snarls, hands coming down to grip the wound. It twists grotesquely; he gags, “You think any of that matters when I’m dead and you’re still alive?”

“Please, please. You know I wouldn’t leave you to die, Darls. Please, please, please believe me.”

“Liar, liar!” she screams, blood dripping out of her mouth onto her pink LOVE shirt. It darkens as each drop hits it. Soon it’ll be completely drenched and she’ll be drowning in it. Where did his smiling friend go? “I’m dead, Bear! I’m dead, dead, dead and it’s all your fault! Why didn’t you save me?! Why didn’t you save me?!”

He keens, body curling in on itself. One hand goes down to press on his throat; he’s making too much noise. Nikhil’s just a freshman. He shouldn’t have to die just because Bernard couldn’t shut up for once in his life.

“Please,” he whispers raggedly, “I tried, I tried. I swear I tried, Darls.”

“It hurts, Bear,” she sobs. Darla’s too young to be sounding so wrecked, “It hurts so much. Please help me.”

All of sudden, it’s too much. The taste of iron sits heavy on his tongue and Darla won’t stop sobbing. His fingers fumble for his phone and he presses one. It rings once, twice and finally on the third ring does a voice answer.

“Bear?” the other side says groggily.

“Ty please, I can't do this anymore,“ he sobs.

Tyrone suddenly sounds a lot more alert, “Bear what’s going on?”

“Darla won’t stop crying and she keeps on screaming that it’s my fault she died.” he wails, “I know I should’ve done more but please, can you tell her I tried? That I stayed with her until the end? She won’t listen to me, Ty. She won’t listen to me.”

There’s a muffled yell of ‘Babe!” on the other end. “Yeah,” Ty breathes out, “I’ll tell her.”

“You put me on speaker, okay?” Ty instructs, “And you gotta tell me if she’s nodding or if she’s gone or if she said anything, alright? I can’t see her.”

“Okay,” he whispers, pulling the phone away from his ear to press the speaker button.

“You tell me when to start, Bear,” he says, voice filling the bathroom. Darla looks up from where she’s sobbing.

“You can start now Ty,” he rasps out, holding the phone out.

“Hey Darla,” Ty says, “Bear told me you said a lotta mean things about him. Stuff like, ‘he’s the reason you died’ and that ‘he never cared’. Darla, you gotta believe me when I say Bear never stopped caring. He held your hand the whole way through. Told you stories about all the things you two were gonna do once you got out of that nurse’s office. He tried, Darla, honest. I’ve never seen him as focused as when you stopped breathing and Mrs. Castillo had him give you CPR. He couldn’t stop sobbing the whole time.”

“But I’m still dead,” she says.

“But I’m still dead,” he repeats.

Ty inhales sharply, “Yeah,” he says thickly, “you are. And I’ll never stop being sorry about that. But you can’t take that out on Bear. He’s just trying to live his life.”

Darls’ face twists up like a childs, “But it hurts,” she cries.

“But—, but it hurts,” he repeats, voice hitching.

Ty curses, “Oh, fuck. I can’t do this. Babe, can you—?”

“Yeah, of course.” 

“Hey, Darla. It’s me, Jimmy from the football team. I don’t know if you remember me but I remember you. After high school, me and Tyrone ended up getting married. Somewhere between shitty weed brownies and bad college parties, we fell in love. Isn’t that nice?”

Darls nods; he tells them as such.

“We visited you after the ceremony. I hope you felt that wherever you are these days. But the point I’m trying to make is that from all I’ve told you just now, you can probably figure out that Ty and I didn’t go pro like we planned. The shooting fucked up Ty’s knee and and my arm. After the hospital stays, playing football for a whole bunch of people just didn’t sound appealing anymore. We’re high school teachers now. Ty teaches math and I teach gym. When it rains or gets cold, my arm and Ty’s knee hurts like hell. But Darla, it doesn't hurt forever. It gets better, I promise.”

“Darla,” Jimmy says, voice unusually serious, “you’re right, you are dead and it does hurt. I’m sorry, I’ll never stop being sorry. I don’t know if it’ll ever go away for you; I’m not too much of an expert on the supernatural. Ty’s the smart one, after all. But I love you, Ty loves you, Bear loves you. I hope that when it hurts the most you can use that as a balm.”

“Auntie Bea loves you too!” Ty’s mom hollers from the background, “Aunt Betty, too!”

Ty laughs wetly and Jimmy snorts, “Does that sound okay?” they ask.

Darls smiles, her teeth stained red from all the blood that built up in her mouth. Bernard misses her with an ache he feels in his bones. Darls nods.

“She nodded,” he says quietly. He blinks once and she’s gone. Where did she go? Doesn’t she know that the gunmen are still at large? She needs to be somewhere safe. He can’t lose a friend today.

“Bear, Bear, you gotta breathe. Take a deep breath for me, c’mon,” Jimmy says.

“She’s gone, Jim. She’s gone again. Why does she keep leaving?” he says, crying. His body can’t stop trembling. How long has he been here? How much time has he missed?

“I miss the cult,” he whispers, “I never had things like this happen when I was with them.”

“Yeah,” Ty snaps, “‘Cause you were high off of like 50 different pain meds ‘cause you let them whip you.”

“Ty, not helping.”

“Move over, let me talk to him."

"Hey, sweetheart," Auntie Bea's voice crackles through his tiny speaker, "I know you're tired and I know you're hurting. I know you miss the cult but you gotta breathe for me, okay? You're gonna pass out otherwise."

"I can't, I can't," he gasps out. 

"Sure you can, you just gotta tell me five things you can see. Can you list those five things for me?"

Bernard desperately tries to get his breathing under control, "The sink is dirty."

"Good, good. Anything else?" 

"The tiles need to be re-grouted."

Aunt Betty barks out a laugh. Bernard's lips twitch upward.

"Keep going."

"My pants, my white shirt, my ID badge," he rattles off.

They talk him through the rest of the grounding techniques and by the time he feels like he's in control again, he's exhausted. His eyes hurt and his throat is dry. 

"Can you tell us why you spiraled so hard, Bear? This hasn't happened in a long time," Jimmy asks.

"I spoke to Tim again," he says simply. He pushes himself up onto his feet and walks over to the sink. Setting the phone down on the counter, he grips the sink with both hands and just breathes. The Bernard in the mirror looks like he just came out of a warzone, eyes haunted, hair messed up. 

"Oh fuck," Ty says, "Where did you even meet him?"

"At my new job at Wayne Ent."

"Why would you apply there?" Jimmy asks, stressed.

"I didn't know! It's not like I've had a lotta time in the past few years to check the news!"

"Well, whatever, what’s done is done." Ty says, ever practical, "Are you going to quit?"

"No!” he says vehemently.

“No,” he repeats quieter, “Wayne has the best benefits and Mori needs that. I’ll just suck it up and try to avoid him.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Aunt Betty says.

“Ma!”

“Oh be quiet Jimmy. I’ve never heard of a more stupider thing. He’s your CEO, Bear, and he knows you work there. He’s obviously going to want ‘to catch up’ or whatever. There is no avoiding him. Can you handle that?”

What can he say? Aunt Betty is right. He can’t handle talking to Tim. Even seeing Tim felt like touching a live wire. He can’t deal with another episode. Mori doesn’t need him to be fucked up, Mori needs him to be the stable adult he promised the courts he was. 

“You can’t, sweetheart,” she says softly, “you can’t handle it.”

There’s some shuffling on the other end of the phone. 

“Bear,” Ty says gently, “I love you, man. You’re my brother. Jimmy loves you, Mama loves you, Aunt Betty loves you. But you gotta start thinking about therapy.”

“I know, I know,” he sighs, “I shouldn’t’ve dragged you into this. I’m—”

Ty cuts him off with an exasperated huff, “It’s not about that Bear. I’ll keep talking to your hallucinations for as long as you need me too. Even when we’re seventy, I’ll do it for you. I don’t care about that. I care about you and I want you to be happy and healthy. I don’t want you to keep seeing Darla. I don’t want you to keep trying to scrub the blood off your hands. 

“And I know you’ve been avoiding therapy ‘cause you don’t got the money and ‘cause talking about your problems is scary but it’s not just you anymore. You got Mori now. That custody claim is going through. You can’t just avoid things ‘cause they’re hard now. You work at Wayne now; that paycheck is more than enough to set a few dollars aside each month to save up for therapy. Hell, mental health probably comes with your medical benefits. Please, Bear. If you can’t get help for you, then do it for us, for Mori. Please stop making us watch you hurt.”

Bernard exhales shakily.

“I never wanna find you the way we did after the cult, Bear. I never wanna see you in the hospital bed like that again. Please don’t do that to us, please,” Ty whispers.

Unconsciously, his hand comes up to rub at the scar left behind from the sacrifice. It stretches along the length of his sternum, jagged and rough. On good days, he can pretend that it’s a scar from a heart surgery. He doesn’t have that many good days.

Bernard presses the heel of his palms into his eyes before using his hands to scrub at his face. He’s always so tired these days.

“Okay,” he says simply, “okay.”

“Okay?” Ty asks hopefully.

“Okay, you’re right. It’s not just me anymore. Mori deserves the best and I’m gonna give it to him. And I love Tim, I think I’ll always love Tim but he clearly doesn’t give a shit about me. So I gotta make my peace with it or I’ll go crazy.”

Ty whoops, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he chants.

“Bear, it’s still the middle of the workday,” Jimmy says, although he too, sounds happy. Auntie Bea and Betty are muttering about a feast, he thinks. “Don’t you have to get back to work?”

“Yeah, that’s if I’m not fired already,” he mutters.

“Hey!” Jimmy admonishes, “Optimism only, no pessimism.”

“Alright, alright. I gotta get back to work now. Thanks guys.”

“Of course, we’ll let you go now. Ma wants me to tell you that we’re having dinner at your place today.”

“Aunt Betty,” he whines, “I haven’t cleaned and you and Auntie Bea are just looking for a reason to spoil Mori.”

“Absolutely,” they say, unashamed, “he’s our only grandson. We have to spoil him.”

“Fine,” he sighs but he’s smiling. Fuck, he loves these people. God knows he wouldn’t have survived the past six years without them.

“Bye Bear,” they say before he hangs up, “Good luck on your first day!”

He cuts the phone and slides it back into his pocket. Turning on the tap, he splashes some cold water onto his face. Using his wet hands, he tries to rearrange his mussed up hair into something acceptable for an office job.

Time to face the music Darls, he tells her smiling face in the mirror. She gives him a thumbs up in return.

The walk back to his office feels like a death sentence. He’s fucked this up, he knows it. Freaking out over a small interaction with his CEO and then running away only to come back two hours later? It’s over, done for. Bernard takes comfort in the fact that at least the severance package will be nice.

Stepping into the office, immediately draws the eyes of his team members. Every step towards his team leader’s office feels nerve-wracking. Just before he enters, Esperanza, the team’s second in command, stops him.

“Whatever happened,” she says, “just explain it to him. Young-joon’s a reasonable man, he’s not gonna yell at you.”

Some of the tension leaves him and he nods. Knocking on the door, he enters. His team leader looks up and smiles.

“Ah, Bernard! Why don’t you take a seat for me?”

He crosses his wrists behind his back, “I’d rather stand, sir.”

His team leader looks confused, “‘Sir’? Just call me Young-joon like I told you.”

“Anyway, after you left, I took the liberty of going through your file to see if there was anything I missed. I hope that wasn’t overstepping my boundaries.”

“No s-, Young-joon. You’re fine.”

Young-joon sighs and pushes the file he was reading before Bernard came in forward. It’s his file. 

“I’m going to say some statements,” he says, “and I want you to confirm whether it’s true or not. If any of these questions make you uncomfortable, just tell me okay? I’ll drop it immediately.”

Bernard nods.

“You went to Louis E. Grieves Memorial High School.”

“Yes.”

“Based on the dates you put in your file, you were there for the shooting.”

“...Yes. Junior year.”

“You know our CEO.”

“Yes,” he breathes out.

“How?”

He used to fall asleep on my shoulder during lunch and I would listen to him breathe. He’s got moles all over his face. Darls once connected them with a sharpie. His step-mom was so hot, I thought I’d spontaneously combust every time she smiled. HIs dad didn’t really like me and flirting with his wife didn’t help my case. The Drake condo had a crocheted flower blanket on the sofa that his mom had made during her pregnancy. He liked to skateboard but couldn’t roller-blade to save his life. I have all this love and nowhere to put it.

“It’s a little private,” he says instead.

“I’m only asking because we work quite closely with him. We see him often and if that makes you uncomfortable, then I can have you transferred to another team.”

His shoulders sag, “We went to Grieves together for one year. Our mutual friend died. It’s a little hard to look at him.”

“Jesus Christ.” Young-joon says, “Okay well the offer is still on the table, Bernard. Do you want to be transferred?”

“No, I like your team. I’d like to stay,” he says, firmly.

“Are you sure?” Youn-joon asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yes.”

“Okay then,” and it’s like a switch had flipped. Gone is his serious team leader and in its place is the man he met this morning.

“If you plan on staying,” he says smiling, “then my primary recommendation is that you use the medical benefits the company gives you to find a therapist. If you need help, the infirmary here will walk you through it.” 

Oh thank god it comes included with his medical, Ty will be overjoyed to hear that. But first, he has to ask Young-joon why he’s doing all this. Bernard knows his experience with authority figures is a little skewed towards the shitty side of the spectrum but even so, people usually aren’t so kind in his experience.

“Why are you doing this? Why didn’t you fire me? Why are you helping me?”

Young-joon chuckles, “Do you want to be fired?”

“No! But still, why are you helping me?”

Young-joon sighs and stands up. Walking around his desk, he stops right in front of Bernard. Young-joon puts a hand on his shoulder.

“This city takes a lot out of its people, believe me I know. And you were so young, when Gotham took her piece of you. It wasn’t fair of you to go through that. Just like it wasn’t fair to me and my wife when we got kidnapped as children. These kinds of things don’t go away. I still get worked up over zip-ties. My wife still has nightmares. All you can do is learn to live with it.

“You seem like a good kid with a good head on your shoulders. I’d hate to see all that potential go to waste ‘cause you kept getting trapped in your mind. I had a lot of help to get to where and who I am today. Consider this, me paying it forward. One day, I hope you can pay it forward too.”

His eyes feel suspiciously wet. “Thank you,” he chokes out, “thank you.”

Young-joon laughs, “There’s no need for the waterworks, Bernard. Now, pack up your things and go home. You’re in no state to analyze data today but I expect you here at 9AM sharp tomorrow, alright?”

Bernard mock salutes, “Yes, sir.”

“Goodbye, Bernard.”

Right before he exits, he turns around and calls out his team leader’s name.

“Young-joon,” Young-joon looks up confused, “you can call me Bear, by the way.”

A wide grin stretches across his team leader’s face, “Okay then. Goodbye Bear, see you tomorrow.”

Walking out of the office, it feels like a burden has been lifted off his shoulders. Esperanza takes one look at him and snorts.

“You just got Young-joon-ed, huh?”

His jaw drops, “He does that often enough you guys have a name for it?”

The other team members laugh, “Welcome to Data Analysis Team 1, kiddo. We look forward to working with you from now on.”

Smiling, he gathers his things and leaves after a few goodbyes. Once outside the building, the smile drops. It’s an hour-and-a-half bus ride from Wayne Tower to his house. The bus stop sits right in front of the tower too. Some new initiative by the mayor to promote the city moving towards green energy. Hey look, even rich people take the bus! What a fucking joke.

The tower warps the sunlight around it and he stares up at the top floor. Is Tim watching? Can Tim see him from up there? Does he care or was it just the shock of seeing someone he once knew this morning? Has Tim ever thought about him, about them? Or were they just moments in his life? Perpendicular lines, intersecting once and then never again.

I miss you, he thinks staring at the top floor, I miss you more than anything but I’ll walk into oncoming traffic before I ever reach for you again.

The bus pulls up next to him and he snags a seat in the back. Dropping his head onto the seat in front of him, he stares out the window. Darls smiles back at him in the window reflection, perpetually sixteen. He’s twenty-two now.

Fuckin’ hell Darls, he thinks wearily, we’re really in it now.

Darls places her hand against the glass, he leans his shoulder onto it. If he closes his eyes, he can almost feel her warmth.

We’ll make it through, she says.

The bus rumbles forward and he lets the cracked streets of Gotham lull him to sleep. He’ll make it through.

A/N: chami! i hope you like it!!! i've never gifted a fic before, i don't really know how this works. and to everyone who read it, i hope you liked it too! please leave your thoughts in the reblogs or replies!!! i miss the days when td:r was coming out and we were all collectively freaking out. anyway when i said loosely based, i really did mean loosely. props to you guys if you can figure out the direct references to the drama. but this is a one-shot. i'm not gonna be writing anything else for this 'verse? au? (god i'm always so worried im using em dashes wrong)

if you have questions or you're confused by something i wrote, feel free to ask questions or send an ask or message. oh, and i know some people like know the exact wordcount. so, it's exactly 6,785 words long. nice number right?

also, please note that if you want to make art or a podfic or hell, even fanfiction of this, feel free to do so! i hope that's not too presumptuous or anything. idk i see fanfic writers make this disclaimer all the time, so i thought i'd do it to.

thank you for reading!

#god i'm exhausted #writing the latter end of a fic always feels like finishing a marathon #no more fics for like the next 6 months (<- me when i lie) #anyway big fan of the bear hallucinates darla club! #currently there's only one member (me) but you can change that #also favorite trope ever is when you see a regular dude and you're like 'what a nice normal dude' and then you talk to him for like #5 minutes and you're like '/oh./ this dude has something wrong with him' #also the tyrone/jimmy pairing? do you see my vision? #also big fan of the the shooting was worse than what you see in rr club! #it's just there was a city-wide gang war and all the gangs came to grieves to kill darla and you're telling me only she died??? #i think way more people died. i think too many people died actually. i think the school had to do remote learning for all of tyrone's sr yr #cause the renovations were too much. #also just to clarify #the is hallucination!darla and there is the darls he sees all the time. no they are not the same to him. yes he is mentally ill. #also yes!! superheroes do exist in this world!!! i just didn't mention them. #also if we're being a little self-critical for a moment #(don't look at this part) i feel like i could've ended this at a way earlier point in the story but i had such a strong vision of what the #fic was supposed to be like that i just wrote everything #anyway lets start tagging #bernard dowd #tim drake #timbern #timber #dc #red robin tyrone #red robin jimmy