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ramenrescue · 3 months

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If it’s alright with you, can you talk a bit abt Asirpa and Ogata? I wanna know ur thoughts on them and their dynamic?

Yes!

Apologies in advance that this is just a looooong disorganized stream of consciousness. Also I don't own all the volumes and bingeread most of it during a "read everything for free" campaign, so please excuse any inaccuracies!

GK spoilers below

Firstly I find it so interesting that despite Shiraishi being part of the main squad with Sugimoto and Asirpa, that Ogata is the first person out of the main cast of people to come in contact with the protagonists. If he were the Sailor Scouts he'd be in the Sailor Mars position. I don't know how much Noda had planned when he first started serialization and I don't know how much I should read into this symbolism-wise, but still! cool!

I also really like how despite Sugimoto being there (who has a similar physical appearance to Yusaku enough to pass off as his double), Ogata fixates on Asirpa due to her pure soul giving off similar vibes as Yusaku. He draws parallels and projects his brother onto her (and arguably his own mom, too) which is very unhealthy and anyone aside from Ogata can see from a mile away this is not going to end well, but alas, this is how Ogata's brain works.

Ogata and Asirpa's interactions are interesting to analyze because there's a couple different interpretations for each one. I have my own biases but always love reading all the different ways others have interpreted them!

Ogata saying "citatap" or "hinna" and Asirpa being the ONLY one to hear it, and everyone elses' unimpressed faces -- I tend to interpret this as partially Ogata playing nice and partially him plotting to trick Asirpa into thinking he's a good guy -- mainly because at this point he kind of joined the squad by chance. Asirpa acting like a mom by feeding Ogata and treating him like a newborn who uttered his first word is honestly very heartwarming.

Ogata shooting Asirpa's father and Sugimoto -- I'm still not well-versed in the whole Kiroranke subplot but it seems like the plan only included Asirpa's father, correct? The fact that he also tried to kill Sugimoto is just so funny to me because it's just exhibit 724793274 of Ogata doing whatever he wants. There was no logical reason to kill Sugimoto, but the illogical, completely selfish reason to kill him is to isolate Asirpa from anything she loves and anything that loves her back. I'm like almost sure he went along with Kiroranke's plan to kill Asirpa's father mainly for the aforementioned reason and because he wanted to see Asirpa grow up without a father, like how HE grew up without a father and eventually got rid of him with his own hands.

Essentially, Ogata treats Asirpa as a fresh test subject for his whole nature vs. nurture experiment. Before, Ogata himself was the test subject: he was experimenting by killing the people around him. He killed his mom to test if his dad would care enough to come to the funeral; he killed Yusaku to test if his dad would start caring about him instead; he killed his dad to see if Tsurumi would start caring about him (I'm taking Usami's analysis of Ogata's character at face value here). Unfortunately, his experiments are all failures. He hypothesizes (the oddly optimistic) outcome that SOMEONE will start caring about him, and they ALL fail. His dad doesn't come to the funeral, his dad doesn't suddenly dote on him because Yusaku is dead, and Tsurumi's attention is divided amongst like 3~5 other dudes.

Ogata fixates on Yusaku and how different he is compared to him despite them sharing the same father, to the point that Ogata starts a side experiment in which he tries to test his hypothesis that "no one feels guilt when killing another human and this is true regardless of ones' upbringing or bloodline". He experiences a PROFOUND failure in that Yusaku not only refuses to kill the prisoner, he straight up tells Ogata he is wrong and that "there is no way a person does not feel guilt upon killing another person".

This failure is so profound (I'm almost certain he killed Yusaku as 90% because of this and 10% as trying to gain attention from his father) that trying to prove Yusaku wrong becomes his main experiment. For this he needs a new test subject - and this is where Asirpa comes in. Ogata is his own n=1 (success?). Yusaku was an n=2 (failure). Asirpa is his n=3. It's interesting that Ogata killing Sugimoto and Asirpa's father can also be a test to see if Asirpa would start caring about him, like he's trying to test his old hypothesis while setting Asirpa up for his nature vs. nurture experiment. How efficient of him. We love to see it.

The Karafuto confrontation(?) with Asirpa -- okay it lowkey broke my heart to see Ogata saying "I guess it can't be me after all" which is just him accepting yet another failure to manipulate someone into loving him by killing someone off. I feel like someone with Ogata's level of perception would be able to foresee (bad) outcome of his experiments, but he always ends up going for the pie in the sky?? and inevitably failing every time?? It's almost as if he's failed so many times he knows he's going to fail so he keeps going and self-sabotages by going for things that are impossible. Also it's poetic that the way he gave himself away is that his irrational side that yearns for love overtook his rational side and he inserted himself too much into his bullshitting about Sugimoto.

His final confrontation with Asirpa on the moving train -- Chapter 309/310 is so beautiful. I constantly have this part open on Bookwalker (app where I buy and store my manga) and give myself psychic damage every time I open the app. First of all, I love the way Asirpa's eyes turned PITCH BLACK when she shot Ogata. And the way Ogata LOOKED AT HER right after...with the sweat oozing out of his forehead and him being drawn with the outline of his pupil (rare)!? The way his mouth was contorted into a grimace AND a grin!? Stop everything right fucking there. I think that might've been the highlight of Ogata's life. His experiment worked! The n=3 has shown him that yes, even pure people like Asirpa, are capable of killing without remorse (or so he thinks). Now he can use Asirpa to prove that Yusaku was bullshit until he reappears and Ogatas from Christmas Past come out of the woodworks to tell himself "actually you were wrong, you DID feel guilt". The Hivemind of Ogatas defeat him by reaching some kind of state of acceptance, and it almost feels like they're honored that Asirpa is the one to kill him.

Who can blame him? Asirpa fed him, cared for him when he was ill, appreciated all the birds he hunted, appreciated all the reindeer he hunted. Asirpa is very special to Ogata. Going back to the "citatap" "hinna" moments, it makes me wonder if part of that was genuine. What's interesting and a little tragic is like, Ogata views Asirpa as a source of "light" but Asirpa isn't just a ray of sunshine to Ogata -- IIRC Sugimoto also refers to her his "light" as well -- and she manages to tease out a lightheartedness in the most hard-core dudes like "Dick-sensei" Ushiyama and "Grandpa" Hijitaka. Ogata's no exception.

And I think that's why I've analyzed most of their dynamic from a Ogata-centric perspective: Asirpa is very special to Ogata, but Ogata is not all that special to Asirpa. She's like Jesus and Ogata's just one of the disciples. Ogata (and other characters) arguably had a profound impact on Asirpa's life, but her defining influences are her father and Sugimoto. Even her motivation to kill Ogata is driven not because she was influenced by Ogata, nor is she trying to get revenge for her father's death, but because she is acting on her commitment as Sugimoto's partner. What is kind of ironic and beautiful is that in that moment that Asirpa shoots Ogata and contributes significantly to his death, he does, in fact, become special to her: by becoming the first person she intentionally killed.

The act of Ogata shooting himself is an interesting point of discussion because I can argue that "technically, Ogata killed himself" OR I can say "Asirpa's poisoned arrow would've killed him eventually so it doesn't matter whether or not Ogata fired that final shot: Asirpa killed Ogata." I actually think both are true!

It can be debated that Ogata shot himself because he would've rather died than accept that he was wrong this whole time. I do see that. I think it's also highly plausible that Ogata, who rapidly psychoanalyzed himself in the last moments of his life, had some kind of spiritual awakening to do a good deed for once in his life and try to take away Asirpa's impending guilt by killing himself. This is analogous to Sugimoto ripping out Ogata's poisoned eyeball in Karafuto and preventing Asirpa from getting her first kill. It seems like there are "many" rational Ogatas (plus Yusaku) arguing against the one sweaty, irrational Ogata, and the final action of the physical Ogata appeared to be very calm and rational -- I mean he was rational enough to balance his gun just right and carefully used a sword to pull the trigger -- so the one making decisions in the physical world could arguably have been the collective hivemind of rational Ogatas moving Ogata's physical body in one last action of empathy towards Asirpa.

What is interesting is that this act of supposed empathy did nothing to assuage Asirpa's discomfort with killing a human being. After she shoots the bear, Asirpa is seen squeezing her eyes shut and turning her head to look towards the direction that Ogata's body fell. There are a few characters in the story with completely darkened pupils and there are a few others like Sugimoto, Kiroranke, and Wilk who manage to keep the "glint" in their eyes despite having killed many -- so I truly do not know what makes them different, but I do know what Asirpa's mental strength far surpasses that of Ogata's (and possibly everyone in the story), and I think her eyes regaining their natural glow (catalyzed by Sugimoto reminding her that she has proved herself to be his partner by this intentional kill) is symbolic of her rapid acceptance of her own guilt.

TLDR: I think Oripa is a little fucked up, and it's great!

#asks #ogata #asirpa #oripa

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chicken-fifi · 11 months

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Sleepless Night - Heechul (SuJu) Imagine

Requested by @bokkibunny: Hi, I was wondering if I could request a long-ish Heechul (SuJu) expansion on the "Super Junior Reaction - Their S/O Falls Asleep Waiting for Them"? I was thinking he's with his non-celeb gf and they have a fight (maybe about the struggles of their relationship, I don't know) and he leaves the house in anger. He then comes back late at night to find her asleep, which connects with what you wrote , only she wakes up and they make up and there's fluff. Is that too specific? Thank you so much!

Word Count: 785 words

Expansion of: Their S/O Falls Asleep Waiting for Them

Your voices shouted obscenities at one another back and forth, growing louder with each and every snide comment the other could come up with. It was as if whoever was louder would be able to win the argument and everything would be over. Alas, that was not the case. Neither of you were giving up on the matter. Between you trying to make a case for the reasonable feelings of upset and frustration regarding how your relationship suffered due to his partial negligence, Heechul was trying to make a case of his own: you knew what you were getting into when you began dating. And while yes, you did, you also recalled that he was the one who made a promise that he would do everything in his power to make sure he was still able to spend time with you, even if it was only during mealtimes either at home or at a restaurant. He hadn’t been doing as such.

He stopped yelling realizing this was going nowhere and would not be ending anytime soon while the two of you were still heated. He walked past you grabbing his car keys and a light jacket making you turn to look at him in confusion. You watched as he walked to the door before you began a very cliche line that you knew was a low blow.

“If you walk out that door, do not expect me to be here when you get back. Do you hear me Kim Heechul?!”

He opened the door, jumped over the step - of course he would find some loophole to leave - and closed it without a single word. Steam was still coming off of you as you raked your fingers through your hair loose strand falling out with each raking motion. Closing your eyes you tilted your head back, hand intertwined at the back of your neck as you allowed yourself some time to think. You didn’t want to leave, and he hadn’t exactly walked out of the door either - he jumped. Sighing, you resorted to simply finding something to do to cool off, to find the voice of reason in his own argument, something that would allow the two of you to have a civil conversation to find a solution.

Eventually you were able to calm down enough and see his side of the argument enough to understand where you were both in the wrong. Heechul, however, was still gone. Unsure of where or if he had calmed down himself, you turned on the tv deciding to kill time by watching something while waiting for him. The late hour, combined with the energy spent yelling at one another, and the time it was taking for Heechul to come back finally took its toll on you. Before long you found yourself laying down, eyelids growing heavier with each passing second until you fell asleep.

~~~

Heechul practically dragged himself back to the front door. Your car was still parked where it had been when he left so he knew you were still home - you hadn’t left - back he wasn’t sure if you would be willing to hear him out. Unlocking the door, he prepared for the worst, round two of you guys’ yelling match but was met with near silence, only voices from some show hosts talking faintly from the tv. From the living room entrance he could see your body curled up on the couch, a peaceful expression resting on your face. Gently shutting the door, he made his way over, deciding not to disrupt you in any way. He noted the way you were curled into yourself, something you normally did to get as much warmth as possible into your body. Grabbing a nearby blanket, he carefully placed it over you smiling as your body uncurled a bit, extending in a relaxed motion.

He turned off the tv before turning back to look at your debating on whether or not to sleep on the couch with you or head somewhere else in the house - mainly if you were still upset with him - either way he would need some blankets. Going to the nearby closet he grabbed a few more, before hesitating on where to go before eventually making his way to the couch and carefully crawling into the space between you and the couch, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. You stirred a little bit, opening your eyes a crack but not looking back at him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered softly, kissing your temple, his chest pressed against your back. “I’ll do better.”

“I’m sorry too,” you whispered back, hand squeezing his arm. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. Let’s just get some sleep.”

#kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #super junior #super junior masterlist #super junior imagines #super junior scenarios #super junior heechul #super junior kim heechul #heechul #kim heechul #heechul imagines #heechul scenarios #kim heechul imagines #kim heechul scenarios

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learningnewways · 2 years

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Jordan - Day 1

Yesterday was our final day in Israel, where we had a much needed sleep in, then wandered the streets before heading back to our hotel for an early night. We were hoping to visit the Temple Mount, but we decided against it after waking at 1:30am to every possible siren sounding outside, then in the morning finding out there had been a shooting on a bus at the Western Wall, which is where the entrance to the Temple Mount is! Needless to say we decided it would not be the best idea! Maybe next time...

We left our hotel this morning at 6:15am, ready to be picked up at 6:30am down the for our tour. Turns out, we’re the only ones on the tour this week... So private tour it is! We were both kind of hoping for an actual tour group, but alas, it is just two of us. We drove two hours to the border with Jordan, then had to go through the ordeal that was the border crossing! Very hard to do just us two, not many English signs and no clear directions! After an hour of border crossing, going through eight different passport checks, we finally made it to Jordan!

Our driver Muhammad and our guide Wael were waiting for us on the other side of the border which was great. Wael talked to us about Jordan, the land, the history, the people, their relationship Israel, and more. Later in the day, Muhammad talked to me for over an hour about Jordan’s relationship with Israel, from his perspective as a Jordan Palestinian, which was super interesting and quite a different perspective from the Jewish one we’ve had for the last week in Israel. Too much to explain on the blog, but basically, it’s super complicated and tense!

Jerash was our first site for the day and it was so impressive! It was built in the 2nd century AD by the Romans. It was a huuuuuuge site, bigger than any we went to in Israel and so much more intact. In Israel, some of the sites were partially original and partially reconstructed, whereas here the sites were mainly original. Wow! We saw the hippodrome, the theatre, the main street, the gates and more. Everything was so large! See if you can spot me in some of the photos, I look tiny compared to the giant structures. Impressive that they are in such good condition after nearly 2,000 years. The mosaics were also mostly intact which was impressive too.

The reason everything was in such good condition is because there was a massive earthquake in 749 in the region that destroyed parts of the city, which people then abandoned and it laid under sand and dirt for many years, until it was excavated in the 1960’s. They call Jerash the ‘Pompeii of the Middle East’. Walking the old streets lined with pillars and seeing the theatres made me think this must be what Rome and Athens is like. Definitely had more ‘wow’ factor than the similar sites in Israel. The modern day city of Jerash is literally just across the road from the excavated site, so it was interesting to be walking through Jerash while hearing the Muslim call to prayer!

We then went to Mt Nebo which is where Moses saw the view of the Promised Land, before he died on the mountain. It was a hazy day, so we couldn’t see the view all that well, but it was still special being where Moses was and thinking about him viewing the Promised Land with his own eyes after all those years in the desert!

Our final stop was Madaba, where there is a huge mosaic map of the Middle East in the floor of a church. The mosaic was created in the 6th century AD and used around two million stones. Wow! Only parts of it remain, but it was still super cool. Mosaics are a big thing over here. They still make and sell them around Jordan a lot.

And that was our day! We then drove the three hours to Petra where we are now at our hotel. Lots of driving today, the most on our whole trip so far. I’m pretty tired and have a headache, so no long blog today for a change. Here’s hoping we don’t faint in the heat at Petra tomorrow!

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rozcdust · 2 years

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Waste it on me

Crack route

Pairing: Takeomi Akashi x f!reader

Genre: Crack, SMAU

Word count: 700ish

Warnings: Canon divergent, profanity, ooc, sugar daddy/ sugar baby relationship, age gap (both are consenting adults), suggestive, everyone is dumb

“And here we can see the youngest Akashi cub, stalking her pray for the first time. As an inexperienced hunter, the child is not subtle in the slightest. In fact, she is extremely obvious.”

Senju smacked Wakasa without a thought, not even sparing him a glance nor a glare as her eyes stayed transfixed right on her target, staring him down from the entrance to the gym room, partially hidden by the doorway.

Baji.

She required answers, stat.

But she would also feel bad to interrupt him in the middle of his cool down, so she chose to creepily stalk him instead, which Wakasa personally didn’t consider the best course of action, but alas, what Senju wanted, Senju got.

Spoiled brat.

Which was almost absolutely partially Wakasa’s fault.

“Why even bother? Takeomi’s an adult, he can sort his own shit out.” Wakasa hummed, leaning on the wall next to Senju to stare the smaller girl down, and when he didn’t get an answer, he sighed, deciding he almost defiantly didn’t get paid enough for this.

Baji appeared to just be done with the thread mill, and Senju jumped, dragging Wakasa out of sight into the room across as Baji innocently made his way to the changing room, not even noticing them as he took a swing out of his water bottle, staring at his phone.

“You stalked him, and you won’t even talk to him?” Wakasa raised an unpressed eyebrow, getting quickly shushed as he got dragged to the part of the gym closest to the exit, getting shoved into his office rather rudely while Senju stood on her tippy toes to peek through the window facing the parking lot.

A couple of minutes of eternity passed, boring Wakasa swiftly out of his damn mind, getting him to mess around on his phone, before Senju promptly pulled him away from TikTok to get him to look at the window.

You were leaning on a car, smoking with your arms crossed as you glared at Baji, who only grinned at your irritated face, embracing you to pepper your face with affectionate kisses, dragging you inside the car.

Now, Wakasa could justify a lot of things, mostly because he didn’t give a shit 99% of the time, but even he couldn’t come up with an excuse currently.

Senju looked beyond baffled.

“Well you look stressed.” Baji noted, leaning on the car door to observe your scrunched-up face.

You threw him a glance.

“Me? Stressed? No sir, nuh-uh, never. I love getting blackmailed into picking up your sweaty ass from the gym.”

He grinned, ignoring all safety regulations to plant a swift, sweet kiss on your cheek.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Kei.”

“EMERGENCY MEETING! Y/N IS CHEATING ON TAKEOMI!” Senju screeched, emphasising every word with a smack on the bulletin board containing numerous photos of you, Baji, Chifuyu, Kazutora and Takeomi, all connected by string with multiple notes attached to it all.

She honestly looked deranged, but Kakucho chose to wisely not comment on it.

He still wasn’t sure how he got roped into this, but here he was, listening to it all while Sanzu was taking notes, which looked more like a very extensive plan for murder.

Jesus fucking Christ, Mikey doesn’t pay enough for this shit.

“They’re not even dating.” Kakucho murmured, but a single glare from the Akashi siblings shut him up in a heartbeat.

“Takeomi is in love with her! He is a hopeless wreck of a simp! And she’s doing him like this?! Unacceptable!” Senju basically screeched, pointing to the board, “And also doing what with a guy in a happy relationship?! Horrid!”

Sanzu nodded along to every word she spoke, finally putting the block down.

“We kill them both.”

“We tell Takeomi and Baji’s boyfriends like normal people!”

“Or,” Kakucho interjected, “You just talk to Baji and y/n? Maybe this is all just a big confusion.”

“They’ll just deny it.” Senju huffed, climbing to crouch on one of the chairs , “Peace was never an option.”

Kakucho gulped.

“But murder-“

“NO!”

“But Senju-“

“Okay, maybe.”

“ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT!”

You let out a yelp without a thought, looking over your shoulder, much to Hakkai’s confusion.

“You okay?” He asked, mildly concerned as he cooked you actual food, since you apparently decided to live off of ramen and spite the whole finals week.

“I can feel in my left pinky pinky nail someone is talking shit about me.” You frown, shuddering.

Hakkai looked back to the food, making a mental note to contact your therapist as soon as humanely possible.

🔖Taglist (closed):

@1818cigarettes @dilf-city @wakasa-wifey @rinsie @kisekihany @missarabellla @bajifairyy @cryszus @r-xochitl @emilywaters @m0rrax @levistiddies @bxnten @spookygeto @graythecoffeebean @yukihime-mikeys-girl @mukounisuru-gashadokuro @sunahyejin @crybabylisa @yamaguccitadashi @minoozi @gigibobigi @trashmemebitch @frogtits1 @sup-zfam @whydohumansss @xashiui @bontens-whore @nqctre @kennyb0y @chaoticyuna @haitanihime @adeptiixiao @denkis-slut @wakasagurl @dontfollowmelol @yukimaniac @marrymemanjiro @bajitorasprincess @somniari-94 @haikyuu-simps-assemble @gulfkfl @the-invincible-mikey @lumi-does-some-stuff @hana-patata @snowyseungs @sanzuswh0re @itsyournumber1whore @lem0nsquizy @nana-phobia (second taglist in the comments! please let me know if i forgot to tag you 💕)

#tokyorev #tokyo revengers #takeomi x y/n #takeomi x reader #bonten #takeomi akashi #kakucho hitto #haruchiyo sanzu #imaushi wakasa #baji keisuke #chifuyu matsuno #kazutora hanemiya

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twst-campos13 · 3 years

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ANWHWHAHHAHAH YEAHHHH NONBINARY/MALE FOCUSED BLOG THIS IS EVERYTHING IVE WANTED UR SO POGGERS!! can i have an agender reader who’s dating vil where he gets turned into a catboy? you can choose whatever format you like! congrats on the new blog; i cant stress how happy i am to see a blog like this!

Hi mac!! thank you for visiting my blog!! here’s your request >:0!! I hope you enjoy it! (some commentary in the notes!)

Warnings: mild language! Tags: agender reader, catboy Vil, fluff!

Simply put it, Professor Crewel assigned his class to perfect an animal shifting potion for the authentic assessment. Something as advanced as this could not be perfected without any assistance, so of course, you approached the person that you know excelled in this area.

At first, Vil Schoenheit declined. “There is a reason why Professor Crewel strictly assigned it as an individual assessment, potato,” Vil Schoenheit said with a certain amusement in his tone despite his stoic features. You pouted, tugging on his hand and pleading to help you with this assessment. Eventually he gave in but only on one condition: he will only be assisting you and that is final as you should be the one doing most of the work. If Vil is helping you, then that is enough for you.

After a grueling 6 hours later, you have reached the near end of your potion brewing. The potion that was mildly viscous and muddy turned smooth and dappled white in color. It smells mildly pungent however, a contrast to the clean appearance of the potion. Even Vil's nose scrunched at the smell. "Lovely," he commented.

"This means it worked right?" You asked, looking down at the swirling liquid and watching a few bubbles rapidly pop at the surface. You would need to simmer it for a few more minutes before taking it off the heat and cooling. Vil studied the simmering brew. "An animal shifting potion's appearance vary from color and smell based on what animal you wish to transform into," he said. "I would not conclude its success without testing it."

You looked at him innocently. "Will you drink it for me then?"

You nearly laugh when his face slightly contorts to disbelief. "I came with you as an assistant, not a test subject." Vil planted his hands firmly on his waist. "What reason do you have to not consume it yourself?"

You remembered a mundane ingredient added to the potion. "I'm allergic to nutmeg," you answered.

You were not allergic to nutmeg.

Vil squinted his eyes at you and you smiled. Sighing with a roll of his eyes, he takes out a small kit from his bag. It was a rectangular mahogany box, varnished, with intricate gold borders. Inside were empty vials and flasks with nameless labels. "Fine. But I will not be drinking straight from a beaker. That is highly dangerous and unethical."

"Ace and Grim did it once or twice." Your queen looked at you with a certain judgement behind his goggles. "You often forget that I am different from them, darling," Vil stated.

Your eyes looked back and forth on your notes and your boyfriend. His skin became noticeably paler and he was visibly perspiring. Once you identified the obvious signs of discomfort, you knew the potion was taking effect. Vil was quick to unbutton his lab coat—and suddenly you remembered that you still have an ounce of decency left and turned away. You bit the inside of your cheek as excitement bubbled at the pit of your stomach. You were excited about two things: one, being that you may have successfully brewed an animal shifting potion; and two, you get to see Vil Schoenheit turn into a cute little furball—

You...did not expect his voice to exasperatedly purr your name.

Startled, you turned around—forgetting the moments before that was disrobing himself; he must be covered in fur somehow—and became even more startled that you nearly elbowed nearby equipment. You gaped at him, words failing to form out of your mouth and instead stammering gibberish that soon turned into a single, coherent, verbal reaction.

"Holy fuck."

"How eloquent," Vil snide sarcastically, his tail—holy fuck it's so big and fluffy—swaying behind him.

You tried not to—but you did—took note of his partially disheveled appearance. His lab coat and goggles were neatly placed on the table. His pants were slightly hung loose around his waist and a few buttons of his shirt collar were undone, exposing the dip of his neck. Both of you were expecting at least some fur to cover his skin, but alas, there was none.

Instead, a pair of fluffy ears twitched atop his head, and a tail nearly round and fashioned from the clouds, soft around the edges and puffed up like a squirrel's. But Vil did not turn into a squirrel. He turned into a minuet cat. Half-cat. You turned Vil into a catboy. It seems the potion did not work in a way you were expecting it to.

"I don't understand," was all you could say. Vil scoffed. "Now you speak after ogling at me?" He raised a brow, tail flicking behind him at a sudden intonation. You noticed that his manner of speaking changed a little. If he was elegant before he is certainly more elegant now. Like...a domesticated cat that perfected etiquette lessons.

"I wasn't ogling—I was just staring, surprised," you corrected, despite the heat at the tip of your ears. Vil hummed—purred—and his eyes narrowed at you. "Ogling and staring are two very similar things, darling."

You question if he is purring on purpose. Every syllable at the end of his sentence ended with a smooth purr. Maybe, you thought, it is just an adverse effect of the potion.

So, you tried retracing your steps. Where did it possibly went wrong? All ingredients were measured carefully, weighed even, and you made sure to be precise in stirring—

"Darling." You jumped a little from your thoughts. When did Vil get so close to you? "You are standing there like a sprouted potato," he said, eyes peering at you. "Have you figured out where you went wrong?"

"I was getting there," you muttered, eyes glancing at his tail again. You wondered how soft it would be if you run your fingers across the fur. Can a cat's tail reach that level of fluff? Now you wonder about his ears...would they be as soft as they look? If you touch it—pet it—would he like it? Will he lean more to your touch like a cat asking for more affection? Would he—

You froze when your chin was lifted. Your entire face flared at the intimate gesture. "It seems you would rather focus elsewhere than pinpoint your misstep..." he purred. There was a hint of teasing in his tone. You swallowed. "I mean, this—" you gestured at him vaguely "—this is new." You lightly chuckled, trying to calm yourself down. You cannot even meet your boyfriend's eyes from how intense he is staring at you. Vil's fingers remained curled under your chin. Light, but noticeable.

"And what do you plan on doing?"

His fingers moved on from your chin and slid behind your neck to fiddle with the hem of your back collar. Now he is starting to act like a curious cat.

"W-Well if I plan on reversing the effects then that means I have to properly observe this result of the potion first," you mumbled, not fighting the smile that draws from your lips. Something about this scene seemed affectionate. Vil chuckled, and you did not miss the way his lips tugged into a slight smirk. "Is that what you are suggesting to do? To observe?"

You do not miss the flirtatious tone in his voice, either. "Don't make it sound weird, Vil..." you muttered, and he laughed at your probably pouty face. A laugh that is soft and quiet. His hand slid past your shoulder and he sat down on his chair. He leaned back with his legs crossed. His tail idly swayed back and forth behind him as his ears twitched with interest. His plum-purple eyes beckoned you, as do his inviting purr.

"Well, your assessment is not finished yet, yes? Go on. Observe me."

#fullcowling #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst #vil schoenheit #twisted wonderland vil schoenheit #catboy vil #twst vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #listen #i know a lot of writing blogs already accepts fem reader or fem hcs #and thats okay! to each their own!!#i havent seen a male/nb focused blog before and i want to do that #ALSO this took like three rewrites #solely because im wondering how long a scenario should be????#ajfefaejfeg????#yeah thats ots akjfaefa #tw mild language

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callmeelle22 · 3 years

Text

Blue Dream IX

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Allen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 6, 258

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes

Chapter VII: Brave

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Chapter IX: He Loves Me; Because she looks like a woman drowning in bliss, a woman draped in desire, the look of it hugging like a second skin. She looks like the way women might be described in romance novels, so satisfied she can’t think of anything other than being wrapped up in the man giving her the satisfaction. She looks like the woman in some fantasy or dream, ascending the clouds, spread out and open in an expanse of blue. She sings it in her head, you school me, give me things to think about; invite me, you ignite me, co-write me, you love me, you like me; incite me to chorus, at the same time that she sings out loud, “god, Bear, baby yes,” her eyes fluttering closed at only the very last minute. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter.)

He Loves Me

You love me especially different every time

You keep me on my feet happily excited

By your cologne, your hands, your smile, your intelligence

You woo me, you court me, you tease me, you please me

You school me, give me some things to think about

Ignite me, you invite me, you co-write me, you love me, you like me

You incite me to chorus, ooh

She tells him she loves him on a Friday night.

A week later, and it's the first night in a long while that she doesn’t get to stay at home because Barry has asked if he can have her time tonight. He doesn’t give her any details, only tells her to come over to his place around 8 and to be prepared to stay over. He seems particularly animated, when he asks, and it makes Iris wonder why, if he’s got something planned or if it’s just that he’s happy he gets to spend the time with her, even if they’ve been around each other more than usual this week.

So, the entire day, she’s dizzy with excitement.

Her taping of Good Morning, Central City is mid-morning. The segment tapes live at 9:30, which gives her some time to down a cup of coffee or two to settle her nerves, and then carefully apply her makeup. She dresses in one of her favorite dresses, a long sleeved wrap dress in black with soft, pretty flowers printed on it and a pair of shoes that boost her confidence, tall black pumps with a gold heel and gold double chains around the ankle. The neck of the dress dips and the delicate material flirts with her lower thighs; she feels pretty in it, in a lighter, brighter way than she’s found herself feeling before. Her makeup is subtle, except for the dark maroon lip, and she’s had her hair blown out and it hangs in soft fingered out curls just past her shoulders. A small black bag is all she takes to keep her keys and cards and then she’s out the door.

WCCTV, the station that houses the studio, is a short drive away, tucked into a neighborhood that Iris doesn’t frequent. She isn’t sure what she was expecting of the station, but it’s a squat little building in an unimaginative cream and brick scheme that would look like any other commercial building if not for WCCTV printed in large blue letters on the building and the satellite dishes spaced intentionally around it.

A news producer meets her at the door, a thin young woman with thick red hair piled into a high ponytail who introduces herself as Katherine.

“We’re all excited to have you here,” the woman says, smiling as she leads Iris through a number of desk cubicles towards a back room. She recognizes a couple of the anchors from the station, who all look either intensely focused on their work or bored out of their minds.

“Thanks,” Iris says politely. “It is a little overwhelming here, though.”

Iris doesn’t love speaking in front of people, which is why she's firmly on the invisible side of her work, but she isn’t as nervous and she figures she could be. There’s that feeling in her belly she connects with nerves, but it’s slight; instead, she’s ready. This can change the trajectory of her blog, invite more viewers and more paying ads. It could invite more stories, people who see her and trust that she wants to do right by them and their lives. She’s practically giddy with the idea.

Katherine’s response is an easy grin. “I know it seems that way, but you’ll be fine. You look fabulous so that’s one concern out of the way. Plus, Alexa and James are phenomenal at getting people to open up at the same time that they project a sort of calmness. It's fascinating to watch and I can tell you’ll be great.”

“Thanks, Katherine. I really appreciate that.”

Iris is led back to a small room where the two anchors for Good Morning, Central City are standing with four other local internet stars. Alexa May is tall and blonde and exactly like what one thinks about when they think of a news anchor: pretty and personable on a killer black skirt suit, though Iris is a little surprised at the naturally kind gleam in her eyes. James Broderick is even taller, his dark hair styled to look windswept, his ice blue eyes looking constantly around the room, as if he’s always wondering where a new story might be.

Iris steps in to greet the other four guests. They include a short Somalian woman in a beautiful bright purple hijab who cooks and shares recipes on YouTube; a stocky white guy known for his skits on TikTok; a dark-skinned Black Instagram beauty guru; and a non-binary Mexican person who discusses true crimes on Snapchat ala Buzzfeed Unsolved. It’s an eclectic collection of people and Iris feels honored to be a part of this group. She’s watched all of their videos in some fashion, though she’s more partial to Aya, the home chef, and Nadine, the beauty grammer. Still, they each have large followings and to be included gives Iris such a sense of pride, that she’s a little drunk with the force of it.

“You guys ready?” Alexa’s strong voice pulls all of their attention immediately, and Iris passes one more look through the crew of them before locking eyes with Alexa and James.

She nods her assent.

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

At 8, Iris pulls into Barry’s two-car driveway right next to his Jeep backed up into the drive as usual. The garage is open, though, and she takes that as an invitation to walk into the house, finding the kitchen door unlocked. She steps in and presses the button that closes the garage, locks the kitchen door behind her.

Her giddy mood has stuck with her.

The segment had been a quick fire round of questions and answers, with the hosts wanting to know how they all got started, what motivates them to do what they do, and the ups and downs of being in spaces of both influence and criticism. It’d been fascinating to hear the stories of the others, and afterward, they’d all exchanged contact information with the idea of collaborating on future projects.

After, she’d gone to lunch with her dad and Wally, who’d all but hinted at a watch party planned for the following night. She'd merely shaken her head at her family’s love of partying.

Now, she’s at Barry’s and she recognizes that tonight is going to be different. Because she knows that she’s going to say it. After the last part of her interview, where she’d all but explained to Alexa and James that she’d fallen in love with someone, she understands that there is no way that she can announce it on television and not tell the man himself.

It’s fairly dark in the house; there is a small light on above the stove. She continues through the quiet living room, a single table lamp lighting her path down his hallway. She pauses to pull her jacket off, tossing it over the arm of the sofa as she treks towards his room. That’s where she finds Barry, sitting in the large overstuffed chair in the corner near the window.

She takes a moment to look at him, in a pair of soft looking pajama pants and a simple white t-shirt, tattooed arm hooked behind his head as he sits wide-legged in the chair. His dark hair is only the slightest bit messy. Iris likes the look of the breadth of his shoulders, the bulge of his biceps, the print of his sex visible through the thin cotton of his pants. He’s not overtly sexy in the way that other men she’s dated have been, but there’s something about Barry, his eyes and his mouth and his length, that really gets to Iris.

She drags her eyes away from him and that’s when she suddenly notices the two gift-wrapped boxes sitting in the middle of his bed, the large bottle of wine and two glasses on his bedside table, a couple of pre-rolled joints sitting beside them too.

Iris steps further into the room, her heels heavy on his hardwood floors; the movement is enough to catch his attention and his head pops up, those sea-foam eyes glittering behind the wire frames of his glasses as he smiles up at her.

(And, Iris will realize later, her entire body floods with her affection for him, the feeling familiar in that the thought comes so much easier now, comes to her so smoothly that she doesn’t know how it’d once felt so difficult to get the words across.)

“Hey, beautiful,” he greets as he stands, unfolding his long frame from the chair. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” she smiles at him as he comes to a stop in front of her. She naturally reaches out to wrap her arms around him, tightening them around his waist. His touch is automatic too, his big hands landing on her neck, thumbs trailing softly across the skin on her cheeks. She falls against him, his firmness and his warmth and the soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leans down and kisses her, a peck and then another, and then a longer one, his tongue easing out to coax her open. He pulls back first, though slowly, and Iris chases after him. He obliges with another kiss, this one longer, wetter, Iris squeezing him to her.

“Hi,” she speaks, voice a little faint.

“Hey, beautiful” he repeats. He thumbs at her bottom lip, the tip of his finger tracing gently over the line of her mouth.

“What’s all this?” she asks, when she pulls away from him this time. She gazes around the room again, at how the only lights on are the bedside lamps and at the weed and wine waiting on one of those tables and the gifts sitting neatly on the bed.

“It’s a celebration,” he says with a wide smile. “Well, it’s your Friday night routine, just here. I got the wine and the weed, and Thai ordered out here for a bit later.” His smile dims a little, becomes unsure. “And I thought we could talk about your segment today; maybe actually watch it. I recorded it.”

“Really?” Iris’s eyes widen in slight surprise. “I know my dad and Wally did because we’re gonna have a watch party at dad’s place tomorrow. And probably Linda, but...”

“Of course I recorded it, baby.” Barry gives her an indulgent look. “I tried to watch some of it at work, but we got called out on a case before you came on. Then I thought it’d be better to wait to watch it with you.”

Iris doesn’t have a response other than to bite at her lip, eyes trained on him, the reality of his kindness rendering her momentarily speechless. Barry doesn’t acknowledge her silence; instead, he plants another firm kiss to her mouth and steps away from her, nodding at his bed.

“Is this all okay, though? Maybe you can open your gifts and then we can pour the wine and turn on your interview?”

Her smile is big. “Yeah, Barry, of course.”

She looks over at the sleekly wrapped presents before going to sit on the edge of his bed. She makes quick work of unclasping the buckle around her ankle, leaving her shoes strewn on the floor, and then she hops up into the middle of the bed, pulling the two boxes in front of her, her dress riding up to the top of her thighs.

One of the boxes is bigger than the other, though it’s lighter than the heavier one. They’re wrapped in shiny gold paper with dark blue bows sitting in the corner of each. She picks up the bigger present first, tearing through the paper. She recognizes the garment box and thumbs open the top. Nestled in white tissue paper is a pile of red silk, the material so soft and delicate it looks like waves on the cardboard.

“Bear?” she questions, picking up the folded clothing. It’s a nightgown and matching robe. The gown is almost like a dress she’d wear out, with thin straps and a split up the right side, except the fabric of it is so light, one can tell it’s only made to be seen by a lover. The feel of it in her hands is so nice and Iris knows that this isn’t like the inexpensive dresses she buys for herself.

“I thought that you could have one to keep over here sometimes,” he says when she catches his gaze. He looks a little bashful, cheeks slightly tinged pink. “I know that Friday night is largely your thing, but maybe every so often you can spend it with me.”

“And wear this?” Iris asks, her grin widening slowly.

Barry nods.

“I think that this is really a gift for you,” she says and he barks out a laugh.

“It is my favorite color.” He grins. “And I admit that when I saw it, the first thing I wondered was how it would look as I took it off of you.”

Iris rolls her eyes in jest. “Pervert.” She fingers the material again. “So you picked it out yourself? In a store?”

“You have no idea how embarrassing it is buying women’s lingerie. The sales lady kept making these innuendos and I thought I was gonna pass out, I was blushing so hard.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Iris laughs as she reaches over and pinches his cheek. “You did good though. It’s so soft.”

Barry beams at her. “Can I get a kiss as a thanks?”

Iris shakes her head. “Not until I open this other one. I could hate it and then that would overshadow how much I like this nightgown.”

He snorts. “Even if you do hate it, I’ll still get to see you in the nightgown and, honestly, that’ll make my night.”

“Like I said: pervert.”

He just chuckles as she picks up the heavier box and claws at the paper on it. It looks like some sort of leather book, and once Iris pulls all of the paper off, it takes everything in her not to just start bawling right then and there. It’s the journal she’d seen at the fall festival, except in a pretty royal purple instead of the coral she’d picked up there; this one’s definitely a better choice. It has the rose gold edging that the other had and her name is stitched in that same color at the bottom right corner of the journal. She flips through it, fingering the heavy cream paper. Handwriting catches her attention and she turns to where Barry has written a message on the first page in small, scrawling script.

Iris,

I think I knew that I was falling for you during fall fest, when I saw you staring down at the notebook with such a look of reverence on your face. I could see in that moment how much you loved your craft. It made me curious about you, about someone who’s goal in life is to be the voice for those who can’t or simply won’t. And when I started to read your work, I saw your heart in everything you wrote, in every line that scrolled across my computer screen. I wanted to know that heart.

Now that I do, now that I’ve seen it firsthand: in the way that you touch me, in the way that you smile at me, in the way that you make me feel like every day is new story to experience, I want to be able to experience it for as long as you’ll let me. Because you are a lightning bolt, Iris, brilliant and electric. You are beautiful and tenacious and the single most fascinating person I’ve ever met.

So keep putting your heart into your stories, and I’ve no doubt that everyone who reads it will love it as much as I do.

Barry

“Barry,” she says, breathes really. She looks up at him, his expression nervous, his eyes tracking her. She feels the moisture pricking at the corners of hers and she blinks, letting the tears fall.

“Iris.” His voice is a little raw as she gazes up at him. “I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. I can…” he cuts himself off as he reaches for the journal. Iris swats at his hand and brings the notebook closer to her. “Iris?”

Another tear, and then another and then more, roll down over her cheeks and Barry stares at her, hand outstretched, mouth agape.

“Iris,” he tries again. Wordlessly, she places the journal back down in the box and then she crawls over to him, planting herself in his lap. She wraps herself around him, legs locking around his waist, arms crossing behind his neck. He closes his mouth, but his features are still twisted in turmoil. “Baby, please tell me why you’re crying.”

He asks this as he reaches up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Everything in Iris seems like it’s settling now, even as the tears fall. Even clearer than before, she can read the story of them, like the book is in front of her, words bold and in technicolor. She can see the dream she’s living in, the vision of them laughing with each other and making love to each other, for days on end, one that plays out like a movie in front of her.

She tightens around him, trying to get as close as she can without crawling inside of him—she really wishes she could right now—and she sniffs, looking down at Barry through her wet lashes. She takes a deep breath. And then she tells him.

“I’m crying because I love you.”

Much like the last time they’d had this conversation, Barry’s body stiffens beneath her. He asks carefully, “And loving me makes you cry?”

She nods and Barry looks stricken. It’s what she needs to bring a modicum of levity to the moment and she huffs out a small laugh. “These aren’t sad tears, Barry.”

Iris can physically see him exhale, letting out a shaky breath. His shoulders lose their tension and he gives her a tentative smile. She returns it.

“For someone who always seems to know what I’m thinking, you completely missed the mark here.”

Barry shakes his head as Iris notes the flush climbing up his neck. “The tears threw me off.” He wipes at her face. “Please never do that again.”

She laughs. “I’ll do my best.”

Barry runs a hand down her back, over the fabric of the dress she’s wearing, and he grips her chin with his other thumb and forefinger, bringing her down so he can stare into her eyes.

“So you love me?” he wonders. His voice dips, lower like midnight walks on a beach in the fall or like early morning talks before coffee and reality ease in. He pulls the glasses from his face, folds them on the table beside them, and gives her all of his attention. She likes being surrounded by him like this, by the look of him and the smell of him and the feel of him. She stays wrapped around him like a koala and Barry holds on to her too, gripping her chin and pressing her to him with a wide palm to the small of her back.

“I do,” Iris nods. “Very much.”

Iris can see the joy brimming in his gaze. “Can you tell me?”

“Tell you?”

“What you love about me.”

Barry shifts so that he’s sitting more comfortably on the bed and she’s perched even closer in his lap, the crotch of her panties almost pressing against his belly. He pushed the boxes and wrapping better towards the edge of the bed.

“For example,” he says, and he lets go of her chin to touch his palm to her chest. His hand is warm through the fabric of her dress. “You know that I love this heart, how gracious and compassionate it is.” He reaches down and picks up on her hands, rubbing a thumb along her knuckles, along the rings that adorn her fingers. He brings it up to his mouth and presses a few tiny kisses along the pads of her fingertips. “I love these fingers, because it’s through your writing, your typing, that you show yourself, even when you can’t always physically or verbally.” He goes back to her face, his thumb caressing the middle of her bottom lip. “I love this mouth: the way that it smiles and laughs, the way that it purses when you’re annoyed, the way that it feels on my own.”

Iris can’t help it when she licks her lips, tongue swiping at Barry’s thumb. He makes a soft grunting sound.

“Tell me, Iris.”

She thinks back to the second night they’d been together, when he’d been hard inside of her and he’d asked her to tell him how he felt fucking into her. She decides that this is even harder, not because she doesn’t know, but because when she speaks it, it’s officially there, written out in the sky, heaven coming to collect on its bet.

“I love your tattoos,” she starts, tentatively. She unhooks one of her arms from around his neck and touches at the skin on his arm, tracing the outline of a white daisy. “I love that you did it as a way to remember your mother; I love that you were brave enough to put the iris on your heart, even when I wasn’t sure how to receive that.” She reaches up to trail her fingers along his brows. “I love your eyes. I love the look of them, the fact that I can’t actually name what color they are; I love the way you look at me, how you can tell my feelings by just watching me, how it seems like I’m the only one you see whenever we’re out together.” She lets a nail trace the outline of his mouth, dropping her hand to rest on the back of his neck. “I love your mouth too; the way you always say things that make me feel beautiful or smart or loved.” She licks her lips again. “Or make me blush, like when you’re saying those dirty things when you’re…”

Barry gives her a deep smirk, those eyes flashing in a way that makes Iris’s body clench. Her thighs close around him.

“Like me saying those dirty things when I’m…?”

She rocks her hips. “You know.”

“I do,” he nods, “but I want to hear you say it.” He grinds up into her. “When I’m what, baby?”

“When,” she licks her lips again, slower this time, buoyed by the way his eyes darken, “you fuck me.”

“Mmmm,” Barry groans and then his grin changes to something a little indecent, darker and dirtier. “You know what else I love?”

Iris shakes her head, though she thinks she does.

“I love the way you respond to me, when I’m saying those dirty things to you when I’m fucking you.”

Iris rocks her hips again and she knows that it’s an involuntary moment. Because, like always, she responds to him easily, fluidly, like they’ve become extensions of the other.

Barry fingers at the hem of her dress sitting around her thighs. “Take this off,” he demands. “I want to show you how you look.”

Even with her brows furrowed in confusion, she does what he says, pulling the dress up and over her head. She reveals to him her bra and panty set, a dark green that even she thinks makes her skin glow. He fingers the lace at the top of the cups of her bra, at the same piping along her hips.

“As pretty as this is,” he murmurs, “I want it gone too.”

She unhooks the bra first, staring back at him. She tosses the bra on the bed beside them, her breasts sitting heavy on her chest, nipples already pointing out at him, seeking him, his fingers or his tongue or the nip of his teeth.

He helps her off of him so that she can take her panties off. Then, instead of letting her climb back on top of him, however, he positions himself so that he’s facing the side of the bed. He pulls her to him and sits her so she is sitting between his open knees, her back to his chest.

This brings a different part of the room into focus. Iris has always paid more attention to the wall length window on the other side of the room, the one that Barry will open when they’re together sometimes, taunting her with the eyes she’s sure she’s seen peeking through their blinds and his. The bed sits on a platform facing front, a television mounted on the wall above a stand that holds his game consoles and a few other knick knacks. But on the other side, there’s a bookshelf, above which hangs a mirror. Of course Iris has known it was there, has looked into it as she’s done her makeup or straightened one of Barry’s stolen shirts on her. But it looks almost dangerous now, only in that she can only imagine what Barry has planned for it. In the mirror, she can see all of her. It’s not an extremely large mirror, but it spans the length of the bookshelf and it’s just high enough that, on the bed, Iris can see both of their bodies.

“Barry?” she questions as she looks over her shoulder at him.

“I know you like it when other people watch,” he says, and she almost rolls her eyes at the smug, laughing look on his face. “But I want you to watch you right now. To see yourself the way I do; to see why I felt so compelled to come to you that first night.”

Iris’s lips quirk up slightly. “I didn’t look like this the first night you saw me.”

“I’ve got a great imagination,” Barry winks.

Ignoring his statement,

(but not the way her heart fills with love for him, the kind that sits heavy in her chest, bold and open; the kind that stays strong in her belly, flipping and fluttering and always present; the kind that dips low in her sex, warm and wet and wanting)

Iris turns back to the mirror and catalogs what she sees: her naked body cocooned in his fully clothed one; her brown eyes bright with anticipation, his darkened with barely disguised lust. There are still traces of her lipstick on her full mouth, and some of it is on Barry too, a look that shouldn’t be as arousing as it is. The fabric of his clothes are so soft on her bare skin, and the warmth of the heat through the room only serves to heighten her desire. Barry moves her hands, throws them over either side of his thighs, and uses his to open her legs; the move puts her even more on display, the gold necklace she’s been wearing all day nestled in between her breasts, her belly taut, the pinkish brown lips of her pussy already slick.

Barry circles a hand gently around her throat at the same time that he palms the inside of one of her thighs, holding her open, rubbing gently at her skin.

“I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you,” Barry says to her, whispers it, his voice soft in her ear. “I admit I was drunk that first night, but I saw you and it was like, like the entire world came into focus. I think my body knew I would love you before the rest of me could even deny it. And, by some miracle, I got you to take me home with you.”

He touches her lightly on her neck and then moves down, the tips of his fingers feeling on her breasts until he circles a nipple. She gasps, the sound more like a low moan, and Barry smiles at it.

“You were so responsive,” he explains. “I’ve never seen anything like the way you respond to me; it’s so electrifying, baby.”

He circles one nipple with the rough pad of his fingers, pinches at it until it fully hardens, the action almost painful in that she needs more. He moves to the other nipple, does the same thing, and Iris grinds her hips, hoping to move the hand still gliding on her thigh closer to where she always wants him.

“It can be the slightest touch,” he continues, running his nails down the space between her breasts. She proves his point, whimpering a little as he glides down to her belly, and then up again, adding a finger as he goes down once more, and then up. It should not feel like this, such an innocuous move. But he’s right; she’s so responsive to him. This ghost of a touch, just the barest hint of his fingers on her, and she’s heated, her thighs quaking, her sex fluttering.

“Barry,” she sighs, catching her gaze through the mirror. He licks those pink lips, eyes honed in on her, and in that moment, she sees that it is mutual. However true it is that she so easily reacts to him, he is not unaffected. He is, just as much as she is, the truth of it right there in his wrecked countenance: the burning gray of his eyes, the pink flush of his cheeks, the colorful bunch of the tattoos on his arm as he holds her tight.

“I’m in love with this pussy, too,” he mumbles into her neck, his pale hands moving to grip her thighs. The sight of it is a touch obscene, his lightly tanned skin on the umber of hers, his long fingers pressing into her flesh. He doesn’t touch her sex, not right away. Instead, he squeezes her thighs before repeating his pattern of running his fingers up and down, up and down again.

“Look at it,” Barry groans, and she watches his gaze go down to her before she looks at herself. She knows her own body, but Iris has never looked at herself like this, has never spread her legs in front of a mirror when her lips were wet like this, flushed red like this, puckered open as if begging for the stretch of his cock.

“Look at how pretty you are, baby.” His voice sounds like music to her. “Look at how slick you get for me; how open you get for me.”

“Bear,” Iris moans.

He chuckles. “I know. I wanna fuck you right now too.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because I’m not finished playing.”

Iris gripes at that, throwing her head back on his shoulder and canting her hips toward his hand.

“No, be a good girl for me, Iris.” Those nimble fingers inch toward the middle of her. “Be a good girl and keep looking while I finish playing.”

He waits until she looks back at the mirror and then he starts. That first touch to her sends electricity coursing through her. He swipes a finger straight up the middle of her slit and she jerks, followed quickly by a limb-loosening moan when Barry sucks the digit in his mouth.

“I love the taste of it,” Barry says.

He reaches back down again, uses his index and ring fingers to hold her open and then dips his middle finger into her. He fucks that finger into her slowly, rubbing against her walls as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of her, gathering the slick of her on that finger.

“I love the feel of it.”

He shifts to use all three of those fingers, dipping them in her wet and rubbing them over her. This is where he finds his rhythm. Iris catches, and this time holds, the sight of them in the glass. Her hair is a curly mess, the strands hanging loose and tangled around her head. Her lips are swollen from how often she keeps tugging the bottom one between her teeth, her chest heaving as she prays for release. In all of that, Iris swears she’s glowing, eyes darkened and alight, her entire body lit with pleasure, bringing out the honeyed undertones in her skin. She looks raw. She looks fucked. She looks like a woman who sings out whenever she can, you woo me, you court me, you tease me, you please me.

And Barry holds on to her, fingers moving a little erratically, going between fucking his fingers into her and massaging her swollen clit with his wet fingers. All of it is, a lot, the way his fingers look slicker and slicker until she’s dripping down onto his wrists, the way that their different skin colors seem to matter right now only in how erotic the contrast looks right now.

“Come, baby,” Barry says. “And watch yourself.”

She does, watches herself as she comes, watches Barry watch her as she does. And it’s as beautiful as he says. Because she looks like a woman drowning in bliss, a woman draped in desire, the look of it hugging like a second skin. She looks like the way women might be described in romance novels, so satisfied she can’t think of anything other than being wrapped up in the man giving her the satisfaction. She looks like the woman in some fantasy or dream, ascending the clouds, spread out and open in an expanse of blue. She sings it in her head, you school me, give me things to think about; invite me, you ignite me, co-write me, you love me, you like me; incite me to chorus, at the same time that she sings out loud, “god, Bear, baby yes,” her eyes fluttering closed at only the very last minute.

“I love you,” Barry tells her, after, as she blinks through the haze of her orgasm.

With low, shaky limbs, she turns around, crawling on top of him and pulling him out of his sweatpants only enough that she can slide down the length of his dick. He stretches her, even as wet as she is, her cream coating him. Then he wraps his arms around her, pulling her down to him, all the way until there is only the ocean blue shade of his eyes filling her gaze, so different from the molten whiskey of hers, though nothing in Iris doubts that the same expression shines in both of them: that of a craving for this to last until the last breath shudders from their bodies, that of the love that she hopes makes that dream come true.

“I love you too, Barry.”

And this time, they only watch each other, reading each other, their climax hurtling toward them with the sort of rugged elegance that has always accompanied her idea of love. It’s bliss, la, la, la; da, da, da; do, do, do.

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

“So Iris, tell me,” Alexa May starts. Iris inclines her head as she awaits Alexa’s question, the other woman’s gaze kind and curious. “Are any of the stories on your blog particularly personal to you?” James Broderick nods his head at the question.

“Well, they’re all personal to me,” Iris tells her with a side grin. “But I assume you’re asking if one of the stories I’ve written is particular to my life?”

“Exactly,” Alexa gives her her own smirk.

Iris shakes her head, pauses for a minute as she decides how much she wants to say on a widespread television

“None of them are,” she says, carefully. “But I’m working on one.”

Both Alexa and James’s blue eyes light with interest.

“Oh really?” James questions.

Alexa leans toward her, crossing her slim legs and settling her elbows on her thighs. “Is it a love story?”

“It is,” Iris laughs softly. “It’s a story still being written, so I don’t want to give too much away. But I can tell you that it’s about two people who’ve found something neither had been particularly expecting. It’s about two people who’ve struggled to find acceptance in different ways, to fight through the pain they’ve experienced. It’s about two people who feel into each other’s lives in one of the easiest ways possible, like puzzle pieces clicking or locks being secured or some other metaphor for two people who just… fall into place.” There’s a round of sweet chuckles from Alexa and some of the other guests. “Most importantly, though, it’s about two people who’ve stumbled right into something out of a storybook, something that can only be described as love.”

There is a pause. And then Alexa sighs. “God, that’s beautiful.”

Iris presses a hand to her heart, trying to keep in the surge of emotion that floods through her in that moment.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “So are we.”

“And there you have it, viewers,” James says, pulling the attention away. “Keep a lookout for that love story on What a Life You’ve Lived. Thank you all so much for watching. We’ll be right back.”

You're different and special

You're different and special in every way imaginable

You love me from my hair follicles to my toenails

You got me feeling like the breeze, easy and free and lovely and new

Oh when you touch me I just can't control it

When you touch me, I just can't hold it

The emotion inside of me, I can feel it

#westallen fanfiction #strangers to lovers #iris west #barry x iris #barry allen

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pandoraborn · 3 years

Text

Part one

How long has he been sleeping for? When he wakes, the sun is high in the sky, streaming in through the window and nearly blinding him. Tommy’s pretty sure that’s what woke him up in the first place. He lays there, hiding under the blanket, even though it does very little to block out the light.

He barely remembers what happened the night before. Barely, but he does recall vague details.

Tommy remembers Techno grabbing him and carrying him through the nether back to this stupid cabin in the snow. Tommy specifically remembers seeing Ranboo staring at him. He doesn’t remember much after that.

Slowly, Tommy stretches and tugs the blanket down, lifting a hand in a vain attempt to block out the sun. Curtains at this point would be perfect, but alas, Techno is either too poor or too stupid to craft some.

When he finally sits up, he feels a pounding headache. It’s something he can fight through, especially considering he needs to get back right away. He has business to work on, and he doesn’t want Sam to worry about him.

“Tommy?”

It’s Ranboo’s voice. Tommy fights back a cutting insult, forcing himself to clench his teeth instead as he responds with a very curt, “what?”

Ranboo pokes his head through the floor, blinking innocently at him. Tommy now remembers that he wanted to punch Ranboo, and he’s certain he could make that thought come to reality. It’s just the two of them, he’s sure, and seeing Ranboo crash to the floor below would probably help, but not by much.

“Er, I thought you might be hungry,” Ranboo says. “I was coming up to check on you to see if you were awake yet, and I...oh. You don’t look happy.”

If Tommy’s eyes could change any color, he’d love for them to change to red. Red is the color of fire and anger, and he wants Ranboo to see how furious he really is.

“I was kidnapped,” Tommy snaps. “Of course I’m not happy. None of you need to waste your time on me.”

“Yeah, but they care about you.”

“Who is they? Techno and Phil?”

“And Wilbur,” Ranboo adds gently. He lifts himself more into the room. Tommy finally breaks out of his frozen stance and moves forward, pressing his foot to Ranboo’s shoulder in an attempt to push him back down.

“Wilbur didn’t care before, he doesn’t get to show up with everyone else and act like he didn’t aid the rest of my family in turning their backs on me.” He narrows his eyes when Ranboo struggles against the pressure, finally managing to dislodge Tommy’s foot.

“Wilbur said he cared last night,” Ranboo says. “I don’t know how much you remember since you were pretty out of it, but Wilbur said you were a family. You two, especially.” He keeps a tight grip on Tommy’s ankle, not letting him go. Tommy gives up on trying to push Ranboo back down the ladder and sits down with a heavy thud.

“I don’t care.” He hates how stubborn he sounds right now. Because of course Tommy doesn’t actually mean it. He does care, he cares more than he wants to. He cares that they’d all banded together and showed up to show him some semblance of love. It’s all crumbs at this point though.

“Don’t you?” Ranboo asks. “Tommy, none of us have to be enemies. A lot of chaos happened to you, but you don’t have to push us away.”

“Shouldn’t you be telling yourself that?” Tommy retorts bitterly. “Like you’re not pushing people away or hiding your own issues from everyone.”

“This isn’t about me right now,” Ranboo says slowly. Tommy knows he’s treading on dangerous ground, but he’s too stubborn to give up. “This is about you and how you cope with your issues.”

“This is exactly about you,” Tommy insists, raising his voice. “You think I don’t know about you sleepwalking everywhere? You think I don’t know how you struggle to remember anything?”

In a flash, Tommy’s being pinned to the ground, with eight feet of enderman hybrid on top of him. He freezes, eyes wide, as he finally feels a spike of fear. Ranboo could destroy him in a second if he really wants to, and Tommy wouldn’t be able to fight back. At this point, he isn’t sure he’d want to.

“Tommy, enough,” Ranboo says, voice carefully controlled. “You and I can push each other’s buttons and make mortal enemies out of each other another time, but I want you to understand that I am not willing to do that. Just because we don’t talk much does not mean I hate you. It’s actually the opposite.”

Tommy’s struggling to breathe now. Not because Ranboo has a knee digging into his sternum (even though that’s painful), but because Ranboo is making more sense than he is. It’s strange to think that someone is actually showing kindness toward him. More than that, it’s someone he can actually relate to. It’s such a strange, alien concept and Tommy feels tears pricking his eyes.

“Why?” He whispers. “Why do you care so much about me?”

“Because Tommy, I think I need you. I need someone to talk to, I need someone to tell me I’m not a bad guy or evil or messed up.” Ranboo finally pulls away. “No one else but you knows what I’m going through. So yeah, you’re right, this is about me, at least partially. But I need you to understand first that you’re not alone.”

“But...Techno?”

“They care about you too. Techno spent half of last night beating himself up over how bad things’ve gotten. They’re still your family, but I don’t think any of you know how to show it.”

“They like you more.” Tommy forces himself to sit up, drawing his knees to his chest. “They didn’t hesitate to take you in. I’m still trying for Phil-”

“They barely trust me,” Ranboo corrects. “Techno barely lets me in this house, they’ve been doing something secretive and won’t tell me what it is. Something about a syndicate, I don’t know, and I’m past the point of caring. I’m literally only out here because I’m done with everyone else’s bullshit, and so are they. It’s not like we’re a family, not like you are with them.”

Tommy nods as if he understands, but he really doesn’t. He’s confused and feeling lost all over again, numbness settling over him. That same familiar emptiness he’s found solace in for so many nights...

“No, hey!” Ranboo shakes him. “Tommy, don’t dissociate on me, please. Stay with me, okay? Actually, come on. Let’s get you some food.” He gets to his feet, pulling Tommy up with him as well. Tommy allows Ranboo to guide him around, only needing to remember to put one foot in front of the other.

“There you go.” Ranboo’s voice is distant now, but he can feel the other teen’s arms around him. “Down the ladder, there you go. You’re okay. You with me?”

“Yeah,” Tommy breathes. “Sort of.” He’s dizzy, he’s spiraling, but he’s leaning against Ranboo once they’re on the lower floor. It’s keeping him grounded, like Ranboo is the end of a tunnel and a chance for safety. “You won’t leave?”

“No, of course not. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Tommy nods as they start walking again. He sucks in breath after breath, using his surroundings to keep him grounded. Ranboo’s arms around him, the scent of steak and eggs wafting from the kitchen. the sensation of home starts to settle in as well.

“Yeah,” he says after a few minutes. He’s sitting down now, with Ranboo setting a plate of food down in front of him. “Yeah, we’re friends.” He glances up to see Ranboo look elated by that confirmation.

“Cool.” Ranboo sits down next to him, reaching out to pat Tommy’s arm. “Let’s get you settled in for awhile, and then we can work on me. I’ll even page Sam for you, if you want.”

“Thanks, Ranboo.” Tommy hunches forward to eat. Maybe being kidnapped by his brothers and dad hadn’t been ideal, and he knows he has a ways to go before he’s ready to speak to them, he’s glad Ranboo is that bridge to fix the gap.

And hey, maybe Ranboo isn’t so much of an asshole after all.

#mcyt #dream smp #tommyinnit #ranboo #friendship piece #anxiety attack #dissociation #suicide idealization #suicide mention #whump #hurt/comfort #i want them to be friends please #long post #ask to tag #miishae writes

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mysterytickingegos · 4 years

Text

The Dream Team

Pairing: Mayor Damien x Reader

Genre: Fluffy beginning, then Angst.

Word Count:2,965

Summary: The newly elected mayor and district attorney were set to change this city for the better, perhaps as more than friends. Alas, fate (or at least, Mark) had different plans. Once-good people make a mistake, and upon striking their final deal in an effort to protect their friends, they instead set themselves on a tragic path for vengeance.

Anonymous Request: So for the request things, maybe 12, 43, and 44 with Damien? Maybe during WKM with female or gender neutral pronouns? (Thank you! I’m super excited to see your writing!)

Authors Note: Thank you for being my first request!

Want to read more?

[Image Description: A gif of Mayor Damien from chapter one of who killed markiplier, walking our of frame while bidding goodbye to the viewer. End Description.]

You stepped out of your car, almost in awe of the manor before you. At the bottom of the stairs stood a familiar raven-haired young woman, who upon hearing you coming up behind her, turned around.

“Tsk tsk, is this the kind of punctuality we should expect from our new district attorney?” She asked, crossing her arms as she bit back a smile.

“Ophelia, I never pegged you as a hypocrite.” You shot back at her, leading to her holding her hand over her heart in mock offense before you both broke into laughs. “Is your uncle inside already?”

She sighed, “Yes, why do you think I’m still out here? Postponing the inevitable lecture.”

You started to nod in agreement, then stopped. “Do you...really think being even later will help your predicament?”

You could see the wheels turning in her head before she winced through her teeth. ‘Damn.”

The door opened up with the houses butler on the other side, confused to see the two of you lingering outside. He kindly welcomed you and took your invitations, and as soon as he left your line of sight, there was Damien, the other half of your political dream team. Ophelia immediately ducked into the archway to her left, but it was too late, he had seen her.

Luckily for her, you were in a playful mood yourself. Just as he passed you, you caught his hand, bringing him back in your direction. “I just got here and you’re running off already?”

“Of course not, Y/n.” He said with a kind smile, before placing a kiss on the top of your hand. “I’m glad you made it. How have you been settling into your new office? It’s going to take some getting used to I’m sure.”

“Certainly. I still get this strange feeling I’m intruding every once in a while.” You shrugged softly, even with the thought you got a hint of that same feeling in your gut. “But that seems to come with the title in general, to be frank.”

Damien just shook his head, “My dear, there is no one I would rather have alongside me to protect this great city of ours.”

“Well, I appreciate your confidence in me.” You’d been working together for almost 5 years now and yet it still amazed you how well you worked as a team. “You know it’s funny, when we met, this is not where I saw my life going.”

The laugh that got out of him warmed your heart, although not half as much as what he said next; “Hopefully I’ve helped exceed your expectations.”

“Perhaps in more ways than you think.” You couldn’t stop yourself from saying it. As subtle as it may have been, the recognition in his eyes made it obvious to you that you had revealed your true feelings for the man standing before you, at least partially.

Before either of you could speak again, the butler cleared his throat behind you, almost making you jump out of your skin as you instinctively took a step back from Damien. “Champagne?” The tall man asked, seemingly unable to read the room.

“Uh, y-yes, thank you.” You took the small glass he was handing you, and chose to keep your focus there, at least until you heard another voice coming down the stairwell. After the speech that came from the man who invited you, you braced yourself for the rest of the night by downing the glass in one go.

After that, the rest of that night was mostly a blur. All of the usually posh guests loosened up at the table and you had done rather well, getting a rather stubborn detective out of the game early on.

There is one moment, at the end of the night, that sticks out clearly in your memory though. It always will.

You and Damien had left the crowd at maybe one in the morning, choosing to cool down on the balcony off of his room. “I haven’t had this much fun since...well before law school!” You exclaimed, taking another swig from a snagged champagne bottle you’d been sharing up there for a half hour.

“You were incredible down there. I mean- pft - his-” Damien erupted into a fit of the giggles, and you couldn’t help but follow suit. “Abe’s face when you put down that awful hand!”

“God help me if I ever need his help in court...” You sighed, and then you both lost it again.

Finally, when you had both calmed down, caught your breath, you locked eyes. You could’ve sworn that time slowed down just for the two of you. He pushed the hair out of you face, gently resting his hand on your cheek. “You know, you never cease to amaze me, Y/n.” With those words you both began to lean closer, and as you closed your eyes you could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

His lips had just barely ghosted over yours when he pulled away from you, wincing. You opened your eyes to your friend ghostly pale, gripping onto the rail of the balcony for support. “Woah, Damien are you alright?”

He had trouble even looking up from the ground, making it clear how the world must’ve been spinning in his perspective. “I...I don’t feel well.”

“I think you’ve just pushed yourself a bit too far tonight,” You reassured him, gently trying to guide him away from the balcony.

“No, this is...is...” He stopped to catch his breath, as though he had been holding it throughout the conversation. He then shook his head, a forced smile at his lips. “...Nevermind, it even sounds mad in my mind. I’m sure you’re right.”

“Come on, you should rest.” You brought him inside, surprisingly sobered after seeing the look on his face. As you shut the door to the balcony, the lights to the room flickered and stayed dimmed afterwards.

Damien groaned in pain, holding his hand to his head. “You do that?”

“No...” You stepped over and noticed now that Damien was also in a cold sweat. “Oh, goodness. Perhaps you’ve caught some kind of bug.”

“In that case I apologize for kissing you.” The joke just barely got a laugh out of either of you, him in too much pain and you far too concerned for his well-being.

“I’m going to go downstairs and see if-”

He was the one to catch your hand this time. “No, no, Y/n I’m- I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry so much.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes...You should go off to bed as well, it’s so late.”

You were hesitant to leave him, but chose to trust him. If it was that bad, he would tell you, right?

So you bid him goodnight, told him to get help if he needed it, and did as he said despite the pit in your stomach.

The next day it was as though nothing had happened at all, he seemed to be in perfect health as he greeted you on the staircase, not saying a word about his illness or anything else that had happened before then. You felt strange of course, and had plans to speak to him in private, but those plans vanished in a cloud of smoke when the body of the host of this event fell flat in front of you. Naturally, that remained at the forefront of your mind.

Even later as you began to notice your good friend acting slightly off, you ignored it. After all, he was grieving, you told yourself. He was still processing all of this and the best you could do was be there for him. Besides, you had your own troubles to deal with today, the investigation becoming more and more bizarre with every passing minute.

All of it seemed to boil over with you trying to calm an impossibly chaotic situation; a screaming match between the very panicked and very guilty looking colonel, a young woman demanding answers as to what happened to the only family she had, and a stubborn detective who just wouldn’t stop pushing all the wrong buttons...until he was shot. After that, you made an attempt to disarm William before he could hurt anyone else.

This was the next-to-last poor decision you would make.

Yet another gunshot rang through the old manor alongside a horrible shriek from you.You clutched your stomach as your body jerked backwards into the railing that was just low enough to bring about another tragedy. Regret immediately flashed over William’s eyes, he dropped the gun and both him and Ophelia tried to reach out for you once they saw you were falling backwards. It was too late, your body hit the ground with an awful crunch and your sight went black.

And then...and then you were floating. In some kind of void, you started to move forward until a body fell in front of you for the second time that day. “It’s not fair, is it?” It hissed at you.

No, it wasn’t.

Tears began to sting at your eyes but you held them back. In the distance you could hear voices, voices that were too familiar, and began to move towards them.

“He took everything from us.” The first voice started, “He trapped us here with this broken shell and no way out!”

“This whole time I thought it was the house, but I never thought he’d fall this far.” The second voice began to crack, laced with pain and guilt.

“And we played right into his hands. He’d been planning this for years and now that son of a bitch is out there walking around in my body!”

You approached two figures, with two auras, red and blue. The woman surrounded by red, a psychic you had met just hours before, glanced up at you. “Damien we can’t do this right now...” She warned him.

“Why not?! From where I stand we seem to have all the time in the world!” She rolled her eyes and nodded in your direction, and the moment he laid eyes on you the rage turned to sadness. “Y/n...”

You didn’t hesitate to go to him and he pulled you into his arms, the both of you having thought you’d lost the other forever. “Damien, is this...” You paused, having to push for the next words to come out of your mouth. “Are we dead?”

“It would seem so.” He said quietly. Once your fears were confirmed you broke, letting a sob escape as tears ran down your face. “Don’t cry, darling, we’re going to be alright.”

You laughed in disbelief. How? How could either of you be alright?

“You will be, death doesn’t mean the same thing here.” Celine’s voice echoed through the nothingness.

You pulled away from your friend to look at her, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“What Celine means by that is, this doesn’t have to be the end. You are trapped in here just the same as us but...your body, broken as it may be, it’s still out there.” Damien attempted to explain.

“Mark is not the only one who can use this place to his benefit. The same way I brought you here, is the way that I can send you back.”

“Send me back? I understand you want to help but that is just...unnatural.” You told the psychic, thinking back to the way you had passed.

“It wouldn’t be merely selfish. William and Elli are still in that house, clueless as to what’s really happening. And if William doesn’t pick up on it soon, well you’ve seen first hand he is just as dangerous as Mark.” Damien explained.

You nodded, beginning to understand. “So somebody has to stop the madness.”

“But... I’m afraid you won’t be able to survive on your own.” He started, taking your hand in his. “You are dead after all. But if you trust me, if you let me in, we can fix this together.”

“Together? So we’ll both be...”

“In your mind, yes. It won’t be pleasant, but it’s only temporary.”

You nodded again. Of course you trusted him, after all these years you had no reason not to. Celine began to push you to reality, a rush of wind surrounding and spinning around the two of you. ‘Damien?”

“Yes y/n?”

“...I’m Scared.”

“...I am too. But we’ve got this, we’re going to make things right.”

And in the blink of an eye you were back on the floor of the manor, gasping for breath as you felt unimaginable pain throughout your body. Yet the pain was overwhelmed by the shock of hearing two separate trains of thought in your head. Two separate voices commanding your body to sit up, to find your friends. Far as you could tell though, yours was still the one in charge. And of course you reminded yourself that this new voice belonged to Damien, that it was okay.

You pulled yourself up off of the ground and did not need to venture far, seeing William on a loveseat just a few feet away as well as Ophelia sitting in the archway with her knees tucked to her chest and a red blotchy face. Both were staring at you, one in awe and the other in terror. Every breath you were taking felt like you were inhaling glass, and you struggled to speak.

William sat up, holding his hand out to show he was unarmed in an attempt to comfort you. “We thought you were dead,” He barely muttered out. “I-I mean of course you’re not dead. How could you be dead? I wouldn’t have killed you. I didn’t kill you. I mean of course I...I...”

Your emotions kept twisting and turning and shifting. From concern and compassion for the person who seemed to be unraveling in front of you, to a sick, burning rage at the fact he was going through this at all. You wanted to reach out for him, but everything felt so heavy. Every movement you made came with stings and aches that shot through you. You instead remained blank, unmoving as you listened. Ophelia had begun to approach you cautiously. “I think you should sit back down Colonel.” She told him softly. The thought crossed your mind that this poor girl was never going to recover from today.

“I’m fine! Everyone is fine!” The Colonel exclaimed, setting Damien's cane down and running his hands through his hair. “I didn’t kill anyone I...ha! It was all a joke! Of course it was all a joke! Oh, Damien put you two up to this, didn’t he? Of course he did!” He waved you both off, wandering off almost with a drunk-like sway to go find his lost friends.

You realized your fists were clenched at your sides, and released them. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, though it wasn’t all you could hear. Damien was trying to comfort you as tears stung your eyes and the unbearable pain left you shaking.

It was so difficult just to stand. Your head was pounding, it was too full. Too much happening at once.

Ophelia hesitantly placed her hand on your shoulder, an attempt to get your attention surely. “Y/n? How...how did this happen? I mean, you were gone. Cold.”

You held back a wince at her gesture, even that soft a touch was making you want to scream. The ringing in your ears was getting louder, screaching.

You tried to ground yourself to reality, to her voice, “Y/n, can you hear me?”

“Go get in your car Elli, get away from this place.” You finally managed to speak, your voice coming out shaky and low through gritted teeth.

“What about you?”

The words that came out next were not your own, that you were sure of. “I have some unfinished business to attend to.”

“Hold on just a minute.”

“Go.” Your voice dipped down to a growl and she was more scared now, looking at you as though she was pondering whether or not you had come back fully human. You weren’t quite sure either. After she rushed out of the house with the door slamming behind her, you braced yourself on the accent table in the hall. You now felt as though you were fighting for dominance of your own mind. You knew what you wanted, and that was to find Mark, no matter how long it took. Your better half disagreed. You wanted out of this house as quickly as possible, and grabbed the cane in front of you to support your broken body.

Wrong move.

Feeling chills up your spine at what you had caught a glimpse of in the corner of your eye, you looked up into the mirror, and saw a reflection that did not belong to you. Instead it belonged to the man you loved. Or at very least, a shell of who he was the night before. He gave you a sad smile, then closed his eyes and against your will your body moved, your head tilted to one side, then the other with harsh cracks coming from your neck. On the second, the mirror broke, nothing but static in the missing pieces. Static that resembled all of your buried thoughts in your mind. Instead of your confused pleas and questions as to what was happening, you heard his voice.

“It’s okay, my dear. You should rest.“

The very last thing you managed to get through, before the pain faded away completely; “Damien, please, don’t leave me.”

But as you already know, that plea landed on deaf ears.

You already know that he pushed you out.

That he left you behind.

That he let the darkness consume him in an effort to save you anymore pain.

So much for the dream team.

#Mayor Damien x reader #wkm damien x reader #markiplier egos x reader #Mayor damien fanfiction #wkm fanfiction

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karoiseka · 3 years

Text

Forgotten Home

Spoilers for End of 5.0-takes place 5.1-2 ish. ((This is finally digging into a bit more of Karo’s backstory. I really took my time with this one, and am very proud of it. Hope you enjoy!))

The Twelveswood felt different. That was the only way Karoiseka could describe it. The First was saved, and she was back on the Source again, giving an update to the Scions still here, but had felt a pull to the woods just to the South of Camp Tranquil. The forest giants of years past had given way to a younger growth bordering Thanalan, the warm air from the desert colliding with the cool shade under the trees. She could feel Ardbert's curiosity at what they were doing there, paired with her own. The paths she had walked most of her life held an extra forgotten meaning that was clawing its way back into her memories. This wasn't just a hunting trail, like so many others, there--beneath the tall oak--she could remember her first hunting kill with her new larger bow, a gift from--

There was almost a physical pain as the forgotten memory surfaced, almost an Echo manifestation, and she could see a snapshot of the moment, Seirlait--her Da--proudly standing nearby. Her heart ached as she saw his face in her mind as clear as it had been that day. As clear as it had been when she had waved good-bye to them-both her fathers- a smile on her face as they headed out to help with the preparations for the clash at Carteneau as she stayed to look after the cabin. How? How had she forgotten them? Da and Pa both, the memories assailing her senses as feet tore along the trail heading to a destination her mind had not reconciled yet.

There- that tree had been so good for climbing.

The little stream that held such wonders to the small child she once was.

That clearing holding the best herbs for the evening stew to be cooked over the fire.

Tiny fingers weaving a flower crown, placing it triumphantly on Feophaux's (Pa’s) head.

The boughs of a willow creating a curtain to play hide and seek in--learning more skills from both her fathers.

The perfect reading nook nestled high in the treetops with just enough light.

Eyes unseeing of the present, Karo lived in the flashbacks of her past as every step closer to- closer to home. The word burned in her mind as a beacon, blinding her to all else. Was this what she had been seeking all these years? Wasn't that the Rising Stones? Hadn’t she found her other home in the Crystal Tower on the First? She vaguely remembered in her unforgotten recollections the Highlander and Duskwight, eyes full of grief as they watched her escape the cabin that she had lived in after the Calamity--and before she now knew again. The pain in their voices as they pleaded with her to remember them, and the anguish when she told them to stop calling her their daughter. She left shortly after, headed to Gridania to find her own way, adrift with scant more than the short bow she had been teaching-reteaching-herself to use, and a small pack.

The Calamity. It had to have been the catalyst of the memory loss, for she could see clearly now that nothing but muscle memory and a vague sense of what felt right were all that had remained from before that fateful day. Now she wondered what had changed again, even as the sheepish feeling from Ardbert guided her to an answer. The shock of living through the initial seventh rejoining of souls must have triggered the amnesia in the first place, her mind blocking the trauma of the moment. The acceptance and welcoming of Ardbert's soul to her own had healed all those splintered parts, even those that were unknown to her to begin with. It had taken time to come back to her, and a slightly longer stay on the Source than she had taken in a long while, but now that the trickle had started, the dam was broken--her mind filled with all that she had forgotten. Ardbert ensured that they didn't stumble through the frantic rush she made down the trail--not caring about the tracks she was leaving in her wake.

Malms later, her feet stopped and past and present collided as her eyes saw again. The small cabin was sealed tight against the elements, and the overgrowth in the garden and clearing spoke of no one having tended to them for at least two years. The Bard fell to her knees, a low keening sound filling the air--she vaguely recognized it as her own voice, grief overwhelming her. The run, much less the mental exertion, had taken a huge chuck of energy from her, and Karo wept, broken at the sight of her childhood home--empty.

As the sun crawled across the sky, Karo slowly took in the details of the clearing. Not much had changed in the years since she had left. The garden was overgrown, but the perennial plants fought for their place among the weeds. The archery targets were still affixed to the surrounding trees, all at different heights, some now hidden from the growth. Bluebells covered the small meadow, and she remembered stubbornly throwing the seeds all over instead of planting them in neat rows in the flowerbeds because they were her favorite and she couldn't see the flowerbeds from her bedroom window. Looking carefully, finally pacing forward on shaking legs, Karo noticed that the cabin was carefully secured--just as it had been every time they had left for their summer journey. The only thing that concerned her was that it looked as if they hadn't been back in at least one winter--maybe even two or three--not even passing through during the warmer months.

Digging into her newfound memories, she spun and headed to the tree that was surrounded by the most bluebells. The archery target there was still attached to one of the lower branches, but the Bard still had to climb a bit to reach it. Fiddling with the back of it, the small compartment made itself known, and the prize ended up in her nimble fingers. The front door key. Jumping down, she forced herself to walk fully around the house, checking for any breaches that could mean that the house wasn’t secure, or that someone or something, was residing within. Not finding even so much as something that would let a draft in, she braced herself and headed to the door.

The key slid into the lock, and only needed a slight bit of jiggling to get it to turn, the door itself stiff from disuse and the hinges creaking with the rust buildup. Karo was hit with the sweet smell of dried lavender, vanilla, and sweet cedar; all the smells she remembered that hearkened to what home meant. The curtains being drawn left the main room in shadows, the light from the doorway streaming into the air laden with the dust she had kicked up by entering. The cabin was one main room split with partitions into areas for cooking, dining, and leisure. There was a bedroom for her fathers off to one side, and a small bathing chamber on the other. The tiny loft above the bath area had been hers to claim, curtains creating a small wall for her privacy.

Leaving the door open for the light, and to air the place out a bit, Karo started to open the curtains to let in more natural light before she looked around for any clues to where Seirlait and Feophaux had disappeared to. Absentmindedly, she headed to the kitchen sink, and ran the tap for a few moments, letting the components loosen up and water to come back through the pipes since it had obviously been a while. Grabbing a rag, she wet it with the first bit of water that came through, and wiped down the counters, removing the thin layer of dust that had gathered. A quick peek at the pantry showed that beyond some items that kept for seasons, naught had been left. That was normal enough, so she continued on to the all-purpose room. The large fireplace on one end was one of two in the house that provided most of the heat in the winter, as well as some basic charms. The wall was lined with books of all types, and one of the racks of shelves was full of supplies for writing, and hooks for instruments that had obviously gone wherever their owners were.

Karo’s attention was pulled to her left, for there, lying on the table near the fireplace, was a folded piece of paper, her full name carefully written across it. Hands shaking, she picked it up carefully, blowing dust off of it as she broke the seal on the back and started to read.

Dearest Karoiseka,

If you’re reading this, it means, we hope, that you have found your way back home and that beyond our wildest dreams that you have finally remembered all that occurred prior to Carteneau.

After you left, we continued on best we could, despite missing you dearly. We know that we had spent a long time at Carteneau helping to clean up and transport people all over Eorzea, but we had not anticipated you not remembering us at all or anything from your childhood.

Some time after you left, at least a year, we started hearing your name out of Gridania--how you were a bit of a local legend as an adventurer. You had cleared out several dens of evil, and were becoming beloved by all that crossed your path. Incredulous, we followed any scrap of information we could get, hearing about the Scion, Primals, and Garlean forces and your role in taking them down only made us fear for your safety.

Then came the accusations from Ul’dah. None of which could be true. Word of you dropped off except for hushed whispers, before rushing back in a whirlwind of fantastical stories of you bringing the Dragonsong War to an end in Ishgard. We even made the trek to Mor Dhona hoping to catch a glimpse of you, but left before we did--partially because we feared you still wouldn’t recognize us. We heard that you were part of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn there, and even talked with an Ironworks engineer who said he had worked with you before. Knowing you were safe among friends eased our hearts for a bit as we headed home.

Another year passed and the uprisings in Ala Mhigo are now all that the city-states are talking about. The Scions are said to be helping with the organization and negotiations , so we have decided to pack up for this year and help. I know not if we shall cross paths while there, or if you will ever see this, but we must do what we can to help. Not only for those that live there, but for you as well. Knowing that we can hopefully take even a little of the burden off of your shoulders is all that we can hope to do.

We love you, and miss you, and pray that you stay safe and healthy through it all.

~Da an Pa

A hot tear splashed onto the paper in her hands as Karo put together the timeframe that they had been gone. They hadn't yet returned from the liberation of Ala Mhigo--and they had left near the beginning of the conflict, well over two years ago. Considering they had taken almost five years to return from Carteneau, she shouldn't be much surprised. They were probably helping courier refugees back home, and the wounded to the respective city-states. She paced the length of the room, worrying for their safety throughout the conflict as well. It had been extremely wide-spread with the Garlemald forces targeting anything and anybody they even thought were helping the Resistance. She had seen it time and time again from the small villages and hamlets throughout the region in the aftermath as she tried to ease her own guilt from not being there for them and tried to help with the smallest of tasks from anyone who asked. She knew logically she could only be in one place at a time, and that the forces she had been helping were the same. If they hadn’t done what they had, there was a chance the country would still be occupied even now..

Had she seen them though? Walked right by with unseeing eyes? Had they greeted her, only to get her strained public smile in return and a generic platitude--all that she could muster? Had she passed by their graves not knowing who lay there? She had talked to so many people all over the broken country, her mind raced, but all the faces were a blur. She had spent plenty of time in Doma as well, not counting for all the travel back and forth, during that time-paths may have crossed, or may have been missed without even the chance of happening.

Karo wasn’t sure how many times she re-read the pages, and wasn’t fully aware that she had curled up in the large armchair until the evening light hit her eyes streaming in from the still open door. Blinking blearily, she stood and lit a couple of the candles to provide some light in the growing dark. The house had electricity, however, she didn’t feel like finding and turning on the generator quite yet. She closed the door, and got a glass of water from the tap, scrounging for some trail rations that were still in her pack from earlier. The Bard didn’t remember relinquishing her bow and pack at the door, but old habits die hard, and they were neatly hung by the door on the pegs meant for that very purpose.

Tucking the letter safely in her bag she cleaned up the small mess she had made and went to the washroom to clean her face of the salt-crusted tears that had dried there. Not a thing had changed, towels and soap stored neatly away in the same places they always had been. The vase on the sink, usually filled with wildflowers picked during the day, was empty for the time--and she longed to fill it and keep the room cheery, but knew not how long she would be there herself. Responsibilities still loomed both here and on the First, her comrades bodies still laying still in the Dawn’s Respite.

As she climbed up to her loft, not much had changed since she had last been up here. When her memories had first escaped her, she had stayed down in the main bedroom, not realizing that it wasn’t her’s. The loft she had never quite gone up the ladder-like stairs, and so it remained very similar to when she last called it her own. The bed was made, but with an additional sheet covering it all to keep the dust off, ready to be used at a moment’s notice. The hope that lived in her parent’s hearts nearly broke her own, as she caved to exhaustion finally, Ardbert’s comforting presence allowing her to drift off to sleep when she thought it was the furthest thing from her mind.

On the morrow, Karo would write her reply and leave it where she had found her own letter, secure the cabin once more and return the key to it's hiding place. She wouldn't forget again now that her soul was healed, yet her obligations would keep her busy, she knew. When she had time, she would ask her various contacts, hoping beyond hope that someone has news, and if they didn't, that her note would be read, and that they would return once more to the Rising Stones, asking for her proudly by name.

#ffxiv #karoiseka #karo's backstory #My writing #proudofthisone #I really like how the chair pose came out too #did that from scratch #I got a little lazy with the other shots #might redo them later #if I keep the apt set up like this #bought and decorated a whole apt just for some of those

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tigereyes45 · 4 years

Text

An Embrace like Her’s

A request for @ajcutiecat

Also on Ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27378811

If you have a request feel free to make one! We’ll all get through this election together!

______________________________________________

The Midnight Hammer does not sway the way the Ball-Eater did when cutting through the ocean. What is unmistakably the fault of thick layers of ice before their path. Never had he imagine himself sailing. Forever Caduceus expected to spend his life peacefully in the Blooming Grove. Caring for the graves, growing his tea, brewing it for dinner as Colton and Calliope would finish the rest of their meal. Even now despite the bitter cold he can imagine those meals. Heat rising from the steamed veggies. Clarabelle preferred her tea hot, but his older siblings liked their cold. He'd pour there's first. Colton always finished his first cup before Calliope would even finish receiving her first. Then he'd heat the pot. To the point where it risked cracking the pot. Only then was it warm enough for the daring Clarabelle. His parents would both patiently wait for theirs to cool down.

He can still remember the way he'd pour each of their cups. Even that gentle breeze that would stick with them throughout dinner. Eventually even lulling them to sleep. It's easy to get lost in those memories. To crave rest after being gone for so long. Especially on a journey like this. When they go from one place so foreign and strange to another even further land. Another slight breeze of freezing cold air weasels it's way through his layers of clothes. He tries not to show his discomfort. In the end he's not alone in suffering this weather after all, and tonight was a moment of victory. Avantika was gone. If not forever then at least for now. Fjord must feel immensely proud of himself. He deserves to.

Heavy steps race across the cargo hold. It was a small area, so even soft steps echo and bounce off the walls. Yet whoever this was, was in a rush. Caduceus raises his head up from the warmth of his chest. There heading straight for him, was the very man who his thoughts were drifting too. Fjord, dressed in his regular clothes and a slightly heavier coat, was rubbing his hands furiously up and down his arms. His green skin was paler then usual. Could that be a sign of frost nipping at him? Worry grips him, and Caduceus catches himself frowning.

"Fjord,"

"Ah there you are Caduceus. Caleb said you were down below, napping." Nervously Fjord smiles. His teeth chatter as even his tusks bounce. They tear at his frozen lips. His skin ripping slightly from their points. The injuries were fresh. Caduceus watches as in these brief seconds of silence new cuts appear. That must hurt. Surely it does. Could he not feel them?

"I attempted meditating, but" Caduceus smiles politely. "the cold makes it difficult."

"Caleb says it may be a bit before he comes down to set up the dome."

"Today was a long day."

"This journey has been long."

Caduceus nods, unable to do anything but agree. "It has."

Fjord shifts in place. Turning his body partially away Fjord's eyes drift up. Instantly boots stomp above, as if on cue. The young warlock's yellow eyes flicker back and forth. He's nervous. If not for the cold Caduceus was sure his palms would be sweaty. They often were when he's unsure of what to say. Which means Fjord wants something. Caduceus sits straighter. Allowing his knees to fall to the side from where they were before. His chest aches from the sudden lost of heat.

"So are you tired?"

Caduceus leans his head to the side. Thankfully his hair drifts down, covering the slight curve of his lips. It's hard not to smile when he tries to be brave. It's admirable. Many things about Fjord are.

"I could rest." Swimming had taken a lot from him. Especially clinging to Caleb's whale back. Jester had far more control over those ropes then he had.

"Ah, alright." Fjord risks a glance back at him. His left hand instinctually moving to scratch the back of his neck. "Would you," he coughs quickly into his hand. "mind if I joined you?" Immediately red flushes his pale green cheeks.

"Only because it's so cold. It's easier to conserve body heat when you rest with someone else." Caduceus doesn't need the excuse. Slowly he nods taking some joy from the way Fjord anxiously watches. It's a cruel thoughts, he knows, but Fjord's face looks better when he's trying hard not to appear embarrassed.

Caduceus opens up his arms and Fjord walks closer. He tries not to look happy as he lays down. Even going so far as to not smile until his face was against Cad's chest. The embrace made the ship feel ten times warmer. Though it's entirely possible that it is his own racing heart, pumping blood throughout his body twice as fast as before that could be heating him up. That too would be because of Fjord. So the reason why he's warmer does not matter in the end. Only that they both were.

Gently Caduceus wraps one arm under Fjord's head. Carefully cradling him as his other arm snakes around his back. In return Fjord pushes his head deeper into Caduceus' winter outfit. His own deep green shirt never coming close to the lovely tone of Fjord's skin. Even when it's cold and has frost nipping away at him.

"Just until Caleb comes down." Fjord promises. Already his words were slowing down. A yawn escapes on the end of down.

"It can last longer if you prefer." He wants to ask Fjord not to move. If they could just stay like this for the rest of the journey his heart would never struggle keeping his body warm. Alas Caduceus knows how impractical that is. In the end Fjord will pull away. Perhaps because he'll be warm enough, or maybe it's out of fear of burdening Caduceus. One is understandable, but Caduceus will always try his best to alleviate the other. He never wants Fjord to feel fear in his arms. If he could, he would always be a warm, welcoming embrace, just like the Wildmother.

Fjord holds him tighter. One last squeeze of strength before drifting to sleep altogether. Caduceus waits for his hold to slack. He waits to have to hold Fjord closer in order to keep the pair of them warm, but Fjord's arms never let go. Not even a little bit. Graciously Caduceus takes it as a sign and a little less apprehensively he let's himself rest.

#cr #teahaw #fjorclay #critical role #critrole #caduceus clay #fjord #cr fjord #cr caduceus #caduceus #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #ff

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falkenscreen · 4 years

Text

Star Trek: Voyager

Yes this show ended some time ago; that doesn’t mean that it’s not still underrated.

A relative late convert to Star Trek, this author committed to traversing the Delta Quadrant having finished The Original Series, The Next Generation, Discovery & Picard to date. Deep Space Nine is next; like the Doctor I don’t know anything about this ‘Dominion’ but they seem important and we’ll get there.

Having now finished Voyager, here’s the (spoiler-filled) thoughts of someone who came to the bridge afresh and savoured the light-hearted nature of the show. Yes TNG demanded more attention and the episodes herein that do are generally better, but for relaxed, semi-serialised adventure Voyager is a high point.

We’ll start with the negative and get to the fun stuff.

From the get-go there was a jarring disconnect between the premise and goals of the show. If a ship more advanced than any in the region is travelling really fast in one direction they’re not going to keep running into the same people; better begetting a saga poised for episodic rather than serialised fiction. The writers and audience were evidently a little tired at this point of TNG’s slavish devotion to wrapping everything up in 40-odd minutes so wanted to try variations on a theme; it was the right approach for the time accompanied by a smart premise that didn’t match.

And a stellar premise it was only set to be buoyed by the Federation-Marquis dynamic. Also partly squandered, corresponding grounds for strong tension and stories were left by the wayside – characterised by Chakotay’s ill-established, apparently immediate and seemingly endless trust in Janeway; together major failings of the show.

On continuity, and just so it’s out of the way; no they don’t show it but it’s clear the crew just manufactured more photon torpedoes like they did so much else.

Commencing with one of the best episodes, there is rarely a subsequent moment as character-defining as Janeway destroying the array. Don’t get me wrong, Kate Mulgrew is great, but she alike Kirk and Picard are, as fleshed out as they become, for stretches bare variations on a tired theme; young headstrong hotshot dedicates their life to the stars to become a reasoned, seasoned Commander. ‘Tapestry’ did it best and there was no need to explore this further.

Voyager had a general problem with characters that took several seasons to grow; it was a long time before Neelix stopped being grating and his earnestness became endearing. There is too very little you can relay about Tuvak beyond his being a Vulcan and a little sardonic, or Harry besides his yearning for advancement or Chakotay aside his membership of the Marquis and focus on his cultural background.

The stand-out worst episode of the entire show was Chakotay finding out that the Sky Spirits central to his people’s religion were actually from the Delta Quadrant; you can garner Robert Beltran’s clear ambivalence (at best) to such material. This author is aware of the significant tension between the actor and others on set; I can understand the frustration at a lead cast member belittling the series in public but the directions and emphasis the character took in later seasons was something else, as were the music cues whenever his or some others’ cultures came up.

Star Trek, and notably The Original Series, is often (but not always) shrewd for both telling stories addressing the place of culture, religion and community in people’s lives while not overly if at all drawing attention to particular characters’ backgrounds. To Beltran’s credit, he only made the disaffection perceptible on screen in the episodes that were of poor taste, as opposed to the ones that were just bad. There are many lousy episodes of The Original Series but what near always makes it enjoyable is Shatner et al’s absolute commitment to the bit. One of the very worst episodes of Voyager is the one where Harry is lead to believe that he’s actually from a planet in the Delta Quadrant full of attractive women; yet no one in Star Trek ever needs to look bored reading their lines. There are good ones and bad ones and we’re along for the whole ride.

There’s also that one where Tom and the Captain turn into salamanders, start life on a random planet and somehow transform back into their usual selves with these shenanigans never brought up again. Yeah that was awful but it was preceded by a generally decent few acts centred on exceeding warp limits; reputation aside it wasn’t quite down there.

On Alpha Quadrant folks being in the Delta Quadrant, as much as I missed the Klingons they did not need to rock up latently and near the very end; there were plenty of better ways to give B’Elanna an arc. One of the more interesting characters, she offered a variation on Worf’s overwhelming pride as a Klingon, though she barely got enough episodes to shine and these were predominantly featured much later on. And when the show stopped pretending Tom was the cocky pilot we’ve seen dozens of times before he too managed to get a whole lot more interesting.

It would have made a lot more sense for McNeill to just directly continue his character from TNG’s ‘The First Duty;’ alas.

Also welcome were the insights into the Borg; even if they became a lot less eerie it was great to learn that much more about them, though nothing, save the introduction of Seven, bettered the recuperating drones who were the ship’s first Borg encounter. The Borg children were also very funny (the related Voyager pick-ups in Picard were excellent) and should have stayed on the ship longer so Seven could say more things like “fun will now commence;” she can only say “Naomi Wildman” deadpan, as good as it was, so many times.

Heralded by such a superb actress, Seven and the Doctor thrillingly shared dual arcs akin but distinct to Data’s and each other’s, permitting us to relish their gradual growth and revel in their leaps forward. Seven’s narrowing down of eligible crewmen, unlike Chakotay’s later courting, was a particular highlight, as was her month of isolation when the crew were in stasis and the one where the Doctor overtook her node.

The Doctor however emerges the best character, far and above all others save the near as interesting Seven. Picardo’s charisma and stage presence, well-befitting an exaggeratedly humanistic, bombastic piece of programming, only propelled the most relatable arcs in the series; his desire to fit in and, as any, make a contribution. The Doctor’s opening number in ‘Tinker, Tenor, Doctor, Spy,’ but one occasion where Picardo’s vocal abilities were graciously integrated into the series, by this author’s judgement is the funniest sequence in seven seasons.

‘Message in a Bottle’ with the Doctor centre was too among the very best of the series. Mining any opportunity for comedy we can nonetheless be grateful, alike TNG, that they kept the bald jokes to about one per season.

As asides, it was lovely to see Reginald Barclay return and realise his aspirations in one of the best and most heart-warming episodes of the saga, while the singular and very obvious inspiration one episode draws from Predator proved amusing for just being so unabashed.

‘Scorpion’ was amazing as was anything to do with Species 8472. Captain Proton, acknowledging the entire franchise’s schlocky roots, was a definite recurring highlight, with Mulgrew in one installment clearly having no end of fun alike the cast’s enjoyable turns in late 90’s Los Angeles alongside Sarah Silverman. Speaking of guest stars, seeing The Rock was a nice surprise though with hindsight they may never have cast him given Star Trek shrewdly chose to not have celebrity appearances overshadow the show. But hey, they can’t see the future; at least cleverly opting to obscure Jason Alexander in piles of costuming.

‘Year of Hell’ is good, but the premise befitted an entire season and alike the lacklustre finale nothing really matters (with some well-executed exceptions) if you can just go back in or erase time. There were many, many episodes that shouldn’t have been contained within forty minutes and deserved longer-form devotion, ala ‘30 Days.’ ‘Timeless’was a much better (and unusually technically-focused) variation on the aforementioned themes and it was fun to catch Geordi, as it was Deanna and especially Sulu. ‘The Omega Directive’ was cool; ‘The Thaw’ was great.

The fable-esque nature of the franchise has always been enjoyable and digestible given the show is partially aimed at kids, though there are episodes where it’s just a little too direct, and characters take a little too much pause. ‘Alice,’ the one where Tom almost cheats with his ship as an overly obvious parallel about why you shouldn’t have sex with other people if you have a girlfriend, if a good lesson, in execution was a tad much.

On reflection this author was surprised to discover some of the least generally favoured episodes, among them the Fairhaven double. It may be my great personal affection for Ireland but it makes perfect sense that given the time available this sort of world would be created and characters might pursue holo-relationships, a theme underexplored in Voyager yet still covered to great effect. The established technical deficiencies of holo-technology in such regular use should not come as a surprise when they recur.

The one where Kes comes back was actually a later highlight; her character was never very well handled and no it wasn’t that blast off into the sunset but sometimes old friends lose their way and it’s the job of old friends to set them on the right path.

Most surprising was the dislike directed at ‘Tuvix.’ The difference between Voyager and much heavier sci-fi is that herein characters make a lot of decisions that are hard, not ones that are difficult. The destruction of the array was devastating but not morally questionable within the confines of the show. As a tangent, you could argue that had Janeway made the decision to return to the Alpha Quadrant at the beginning of the series that it would have been the morally correct decision given that, as we see in ‘Hope and Fear,’ another highlight, the ship would not otherwise have been a factor in much disorder and destruction. The show was not however so expansive philosophically as to greatly tread such ground as the franchise otherwise managed in the likes of ‘City on the Edge of Forever.’

In ‘Tuvix’ Janeway, a figure, like Chakotay, who often shifted characterisation to fit the requirements of any given story, was faced with a difficult decision with no easy moral out nor ethically unquestionable approach. It was a refreshing change and correspondingly dark denouement to boot apparent in the likes of ‘Latent Image,’ another fine instalment with the Doctor.

‘Eye of the Needle,’ the only episode this author has watched twice to date and a deeply empathetic early high point, save ‘Balance of Terror’ is the best treatment of the guarded but necessarily relatable Romulans (I haven’t seen all the movies!). ‘The Void’ bookends the show as a later stand out while the in respects not dissimilar ‘Night’ bears one of the darkest challenges and finest, most resonant endings.

This brings us to the ‘best episode;’ one featured regularly in top ten lists but seemingly not a very favourite.

‘Blink of an Eye’ is everything that is exceptional and aspirational about Star Trek. Stranded in the stratosphere of a planet where time passes with greater rapidity, the curious presence of Voyager in the skies begins to influence the society to the point where the inhabitants develop space travel to face the spectre.

A commentary on the Prime Directive as deft as any and a relatively novel variation on both the time travel and petri dish tropes resplendent throughout sci-fi and Star Trek, the episode is also a fabulous meta-commentary on the place of the franchise in popular culture much less crude than Janeway bemoaning the Doctor’s fleeting interplanetary fans’ obsession with every aspect of his personal life. Incorporating a fair bit more science than is typically par, the astronaut’s moving decision to help them, as with his staring into the heavens as Voyager finally departs, speaks to the selfless ethos and sense of overwhelming curiosity so intrinsic to the most basic lore of Star Trek, the most beloved episodes and all that Gene Roddenberry best achieved.

It’s also an amazing meditation on first contact principles and pitfalls which unlike many episodes doesn’t borrow story bones from TNG.

A more than welcome reprieve from a pandemic, I didn’t spend as long in the Delta Quadrant as the crew but for what I did I was glad to relish with them.

Star Trek: Voyager is now streaming on Netflix

#xl #film/tv #voyager #star trek #star Trek: voyager #gene roddenberry #jeri ryan #kate mulgrew #roxann dawson #robert duncan mcneill #robert beltran #ethan phillips #tim russ #jennifer lien

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timehealsfanfictionbka · 4 years

Text

Time Heals....Chapter Fifty-Three Pt.3

Robyn smiled as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her new diamond pendant glistened under the bright spotlights in the vanity ceiling and matched the diamond studs in her ears. Apparently, leaving Chris alone for even two minutes begets expensive gifts that she would’ve never let him buy if she was around him. After fifteen minutes of arguing, she just accepted them and let him put them on her person. They were really pretty though. She brushed her hair into an updo and carefully pinned it into place. Tonight felt different for some reason but in a really good way.

“Robs, are you ready?”

She went to yell back when she heard his footsteps come up behind her in the bathroom. She smiled at him through the mirror, “You look good.”

“Thanks Baby. You ready to go?”

“Just give me one more second,” she carefully curled a few loose tendrils of hair then turned off her curling iron, “we’re good to go.”

“You look amazing.”

“Thank you Christopher,” she leaned and pecked his lips, “I like white on you.”

“I remembered.”

Robyn chuckled as she grabbed her clutch off the console as she passed it, “there is a car service for tonight that’s taking us to the boat and bringing us back. It should be waiting downstairs.”

“Cool. I might get use to this getting taken care of stuff.”

“Please, you couldn’t not buy me anything for one weekend. I’m not that convinced.”

“I mean you look amazing in diamonds, how can I deny being able to see that?”

“Anyone looks amazing in diamonds. It’s diamonds.”

“You’re not just anyone.”

Robyn blushed as she reached for her coat. Chris grabbed it before she could and draped it over her shoulders. She reached back for his hand and they left.

“For some reason, I feel really adult being here.”

“Are you saying I take you to childish places?”

Robyn scoffed as she took a sip of her drink, “as much as they cost, that’s one expensive childhood.”

Chris laughed as he gently nudged her shoulder, “meany.”

“I’m just being honest. You go for the gusto. A lot.”

“I have it and I want to spend it on you. Is that a bad thing?”

“No but it’s not a fiscally responsible thing either.”

“What? Do you want to see my financial documents? Will that make you feel better about accepting gifts from me?”

“No because I’ll still worry.”

“Such a Mom.”

“You made me one.”

Chris smiled, “that I did. And I’d like to do it again.”

“I know you would but alas no luck.”

“Always blocking.”

“Learn how to shoot better then.”

“Ouch. Why do you like hurting me so much?”

“Boy please.”

Chris winked at her as he took a sip of his drink, “so how you feeling?”

“About?”

“About anything.”

“I’m good. You?”

“Same.”

“That’s good. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“This weekend has been perfect.”

“Really? Good. I was hoping so.”

“Now you know I’m easy to please. You didn’t have nothing to worry about.”

“You say that now”

“Trust me, we could’ve stayed in the hotel all weekend and it still would’ve been perfect.”

“That’s because all you want to do is fuck.”

“You’re partially right.”

“Ugh…you’re annoying.”

Chris laughed, “now you know that’s something I wouldn’t lie about but that is not all it is for me especially when it comes to you.”

“You’re a grown up now, Christopher?”

“I’ma grown ass man and I definitely appreciate more about you than your body.”

“Well you didn’t have a choice in the manner.”

Chris shook his head, “must you ruin every sweet moment with your sarcasm? I’m trying to compliment you, Robyn.”

“Oop, you can continue. Sorry.”

Chris laughed, “My God, Woman. You make being a sweet guy very difficult you know.”

“I’m not trying to. It’s just a habit.”

“And you wonder why we call you the Ice Queen. You like cutting men down at the knees, huh?’

“No, I swear I don’t. It’s just- I don’t know.”

“A defense mechanism so you don’t have to be vulnerable.”

Robyn raised her brow at him, “don’t start throwing therapy words at me.”

“I’m not but I’m right.”

“I don’t have an issue being vulnerable. I don’t like being emotional.”

“Allowing yourself to feel emotional is vulnerability. Every moment doesn’t have to be broken up with quips, no matter how funny they are.”

“You think I’m funny?’

“You’re a natural but your humor can be kind of mean.”

“Do I really hurt your feelings, Chris?”

“No because I don’t take a lot of your comments serious but that doesn’t mean it’s not mean.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“No need. I knew what I was getting into.”

“That doesn’t give me the right to be mean to you, though.”

“It’s fine besides I can separate based on intent. I know you’re not trying to be mean.”

Robyn squeezed his hand in both of hers then pecked his lips, “still I apologize and try to be more mindful of my humor.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Chris looked down at her hand and furrowed his brow, “you’re wearing- you brought it with you?”

“Brought what?”

“That’s a nice ring.”

“Oh this?” Robyn held up her hand and smiled, “thanks. My fiancé bought it for me.”

“Fian- wait, you’re serious?”

Robyn nodded her head as she playfully held her hand out to him, “I’m accepting your proposal, Christopher.”

“Holy Shiii-“ Chris gently grasped her face and kissed her hard on the mouth, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Robyn giggled as she pressed her forehead against his, “I love you too, Christopher.”

“Did you plan this? Were you already-“

“Actually, I’ve had the ring on my person for the last few weeks. Just thinking about it. Weighing my options. I’ve come to the conclusion, that I was only saying no because a part of me was scared of saying yes. I’ve always been afraid of losing myself in you because of how I feel about you but I realized that I’ma big girl, you know. I’m not in high school anymore, trying to fit in or make friends. You’re already here and if you really want to marry me just like this, who am I to argue with you?”

“That is the most,” Chris paused to chuckle, “non-romantic proposal acceptance, I have ever heard.”

Robyn laughed, “Christopher”

“But its honest and for that, I am ok with it. It’s exactly what I expected you to say, something logical with a touch of love in it.”

“I admitted to being afraid, I don’t get more credit for that?”

“You are agreeing to marry me, you can get all the credit you want for absolutely anything.”

Robyn kissed him, “I am accepting your proposal because I love you. And I don’t know if this will last forever but I know that I want it to happen. I know that I don’t see the rest of my life without you in it. And I know that if I really want this to work, I have to be willing to commit 100%. I can’t have my guard up with you especially when you don’t have yours up with me. I love you and I want you and I want to be your wife.”

“So you got a little bit in you?”

“You’re rubbing off on me. I don’t know how much I like it yet.”

Chris laughed as he held her hand and twisted the diamond encrusted ring with his fingertips, “I almost thought you forgot about this.”

“I promised you that when I was ready, I’d wear it. I’m proud that you didn’t keep asking me about it.”

“I thought about it but I trust you and part of that trust was allowing you to make a decision without my pressure. I can’t make you love and I can’t make you marry me. You have to decide what’s best for you.”

“Sometimes I don’t know if you’re good for my health or not but a little moderate indulgence never killed anybody.”

“I’m an indulgence?”

“Oh very much so.”

Chris smirked, “so what makes me an indulgence?”

“You and the way you do things. Go big or go home seems to be your only two modes.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Depends on the situation but I’ve learned how to handle it over the years.”

“Hmm…”

“Let me ask you something.”

“Ask away.”

“When we get back to the hotel-“

“Yes?”

“Can you do something for me?”

“Am I still on stripper watch?”

“As much as I would love for you to strip for me, I’m not gonna beg you.”

“There’s a lot of things I’d love for you to beg for but that’s not big enough to warrant it.”

“And what is?”

Chris turned to swipe his thumb across her bottom lip. Robyn flicked out her tongue to wet the bed of his thumb and he bit down on his lip.

“You’re playing with fire.”

“I can handle getting burned.”

“Ok. Tonight, I’ll give you what you want but…”

“Always a give and take thing with you.”

“I just want you to do that split again.”

Robyn laughed, “you liked that, didn’t you?”

“More than you can imagine. You act like you aren’t that limber but you are.”

“Adrenaline helps.”

“It’s way more than adrenaline when it comes to you. You like lowkeying it, huh?”

“It has its advantages especially when I have an agenda.”

“Like training him?”

“Exactly. Sometimes showing your hand makes it difficult for people to learn. Giving it a little at a time always seemed to work best for me and you.”

“Have you unconsciously been training me in other ways?”

“And if I was, why would I tell you?”

Chris chuckled then took a sip of his drink, “I’m gonna figure you out one day, Robyn.”

“All these years and you think you haven’t.”

“I thought I had but clearly I haven’t.”

“Well since we have a bit more time before we get back to the dock and our hotel room, what do you want to do?”

“Dance with me?”

Robyn smiled and took his outstretched hand. They both stood up and Chris guided her to an isolated corner of the dance floor. The jazz band began to play a rendition of “In A Sentimental Mood” by Duke Ellington and John Coltrane. Chris gingerly placed one hand on Robyn’s lower back as he held the other hand in his. Robyn smiled at him as they gently swayed to the music.

“I feel so adult right now,” Robyn murmured.

Chris lowly chuckled as he pressed his lips to the side of her head, “see, I’m not childish all the time.”

“I think you’re incredible.”

“I think you are too.”

Robyn pressed her cheek to his as they continued to dance.

As the band took a break, the speakers flawlessly transitioned into playing, “I’m Glad There is You,” by Carmen McRae, Robyn could feel her body relax into Chris in a manner it never had. She sighed into his neck as he pulled her closer.

“You ok, Baby?”

“In a way I never imagined. I’m good.”

Chris leaned back and ran his hand down the side of her face, “you getting soft on me?”

“Yea. And I think I like it.”

Chris laughed softly then kissed her lips, “your eyes are watering.”

“Oh God, I do not need to start crying.”

“Nobody but us will know,” Chris whispered as he wiped his thumb underneath her eye.

“They need to play something more upbeat. All this slow music is messing with me.”

“Well my beautiful fiancé, I think that’s a good thing. Tonight, don’t think about it, just feel.”

“We are really getting married, aren’t we?”

“Absolutely. I would kidnap you before I let you renege on me.”

Robyn giggled then wiped her face, “leave it to you to make me laugh.”

“To make you happy.”

“That too.”

“So about that peace you always wanted to keep.”

“I think you’re a part of it now.”

“Is that a good or bad thing?”

“I said yes, I think it’s pretty good.”

Chris pecked her lips, “you’re my fiancé, Robyn.”

“I’m your fiancé, Christopher.”

“Man, its so late but it feels so early,” Robyn murmured as they walked into the hotel room. Chris took her coat after closing the door behind them, “what time is it?”

“Almost 12.”

“Really? Doesn’t feel like we’ve been up that long.”

“I know.”

Robyn sat her purse down on the console then plopped down on the couch. Chris sat next to her and she placed her feet in his lap as she leaned back against the pillows, “you want anything, Baby?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Shoes?”

“You can leave them on, I’ll take them off in a minute.”

Chris chuckled as he slipped the pumps off her feet.

“What part of I got it, did you not hear?”

“The part where I know you’ll mess around and fall asleep in these shoes before you actually take them off. I’m just here to help.”

Robyn sighed as Chris started to massage her feet, “you don’t have to-“

“I’m helping. Can you be quiet and just enjoy for once?”

“Well sorry.”

Chris laughed, “Robyn, I thought we talked about this on the boat, you don’t have to fight me on everything.”

“I’m not trying to. It’s just some things you don’t have to do.”

“I know I don’t have to. I do it because I want to. It’s ok to accept a nice gesture without overthinking it. It took me half an hour to get you to accept the necklace and earrings.””

“It was fifteen minutes but either way, you shouldn’t have bought it in the first place. I told you about that.”

“I told you that we were going out shopping and I was paying, why is it you don’t listen to me when I say things like that?”

“I do listen but jewelry is not a necessary part of shopping.”

“When you’re shopping with me, it is.”

“Like I said, always going for the gusto.”

“And I will continue so you should get used to it. You’re stuck with me forever.”

Robyn rolled her eyes, “I guess.”

“About being stuck with me, are we telling the kids?”

“We can if you’re ready to.”

“I was ready months ago. It’s up to you.”

“We weren’t engaged months ago.”

“In my head, we were.”

Robyn laughed, “oh my God, what am I going to do with you?”

“Love me very much.”

“I do. I really do.”

“Come here,” Chris grabbed her hand and pulled her up to straddle his lap, “you ok?”

“I’m good, Babe.”

“You sure you don’t need anything?”

“I’m sure.”

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Because I’ll give you anything you need, want or desire, you know that right?”

“I know, Baby, I know.”

“Ok.”

“I know I was supposed to get my strip show but can you just hold me instead?”

“Now that I have no problem doing.”

Chris wrapped his arms around her as she settled into his lap. He began to rock her gently as she fingered the hair at the nape of his neck. He smiled as he felt her sigh brush against his skin, “you falling to sleep on me?”

“Not yet.”

“Let’s get out of this dress so you’ll be more comfortable.”

“I don’t wanna move.”

“Never said you had to. I got this.”

#chrianna #timehealsfanfiction

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cotillion-the-rope · 4 years

Text

Hallownest’s Here Chapter Seven: Epilogue

On the final chapter on Ao3 someone asked for an epilogue and they said 'please' so I figured why not? It was *supposed* to be fairly quick and short but uh... I got a bit carried away.

Lost Kin gets the name 'Buddy' because I couldn't think of anything better to call them and I thought Elderbug would probably have trouble figuring out what to call them anyway and him eventually settling on calling them 'Buddy' because they're a buddy to everyone in town made sense. And it's kinda cute so that’s what I went with.

(Also, I never want to edit 6k words in single sitting ever again, that was not fun .)

The Hollow Knight statue was just as cryptic and frustratingly fascinating as ever. What Lemm wouldn’t give to learn more about the figures it depicted. Who they were, what they’d sacrificed, or even just their proper name. But alas, it didn’t seem like he’d ever know. That didn’t stop him from coming out look at it every so often though. The husks avoided it for some reason, making the clearing a safe place to hang out when he needed to get away from his shop for a little bit.

It was time to go though, he’d had his little walk and rest. Now he needed to get back to shop to finish translating the last of the journals the silent wanderer had sold him during their last visit. There were only two and a half left so hopefully they’d come back soon with more artifacts or he might start getting bored again. But with how long they’d been gone this time, it was starting to look like they might not…

Back under the canopy of the building, Lemm froze solid as something emerged from the now open sewer grate a few feet in front of him. The he head of something larger, it was impenetrably pitch black except for its eyes, eight of them all locking onto Lemm. The smart thing to do would’ve been to run and hide and pray it didn’t give chase but its gaze rested heavy on him, pinning him to the floor.

“Lemm.” Its voice was deep and cold, sending a shudder of fear down his back. How did it know his name? What did it want? … What even was it?

More of it emerged from the grate, its body moving and flowing almost like a liquid before solidifying into a large shape with four arms ending in large clawed hands. Its bottom was mass of tentacles that partially liquified again as it slid closer to loom over him

Welp, it was probably too late to get away now. Lemm had a lived a fairly decent life at least. Hopefully it would leave his relic collection intact for another relic seeker to one day find and study, perhaps even discover the secrets he’d been unable to pull from them.

It didn’t kill him right away though. Instead it pulled something out with its lower pair of hands, to show him. … The silent wanderer’s mask, broken in half. … Lemm hadn’t particularly cared about them but it was sad to see them go anyway. They didn’t deserve such a fate, poor fellow. But why was…

“Me,” the being said, holding the two halves together.

“Uh… what?”

“My old form. I do not know what you called me so I’m showing you.” Wait was it saying that it’s the silent wanderer? But how was that even possible? “Don’t be afraid. Everything’s okay. I’m still me.”

Well, looks like Lemm wasn’t dying today after all. That was good. “But… but you’re… you’re…” He gestured vaguely at them because what even were they now? And how had the become that? Some species of bugs went through pretty drastic metamorphosis in their lifetimes but he’d never heard of anything like this.

“A god. Call me Ghost.”

“How though?” Lemm couldn’t even articulate how baffled he was. He still wasn’t sure he believed that this thing and the small wanderer were the same thing.

The now not so silent wanderer turned god/Ghost, hesitated before answering. Long enough for Lemm notice the fire moth baby hovering by their shoulder, chirping softly. His presence gave credence to Ghost’s claim because he always seemed to be with the wanderer in the past.

“I ascended and killed the Radiance in Godhome,” Ghost finally said. What did that mean though? “I have stuff to sell.”

Lemm took a breath to ask for more information but stopped because he wasn’t going to get any more, was he? Or at least it would take a long time to; Ghost clearly wasn’t the type to explain things without being heavily prompted to. Which honestly made sense, presumably godhood had brought with it the newfound ability to speak and thus they weren’t great at communicating verbally. More than ever Lemm didn’t want them sticking around that long so…

“Very well,” he said. “I do not believe you will fit inside my shop anymore so we will have to conduct business out here. Show me what you have and I’ll bring out the appropriate amount of geo.” He was just going to pretend that this was a fairly normal business transaction for now. He’d try to learn more later, after he’d had some time to calm down from the shock of it all.

***

“This must mean that whatever’s been animating the husks and making the air heavy is over, right?” Cloth said as she turned back to look at Tiso.

He shrugged. “Maybe, I don’t know. We’ve only seen like three husks that aren’t animated anymore, so maybe they just finally failed or something.” Granted one of those husks, they’d seen randomly fall over in person and it hadn’t seemed like there was anything different about it. “Maybe it’s because of the rain or something.” It didn’t make much sense really but it was the only thing truly different between the City of Tears and everywhere else. This was only time Tiso had seen a husk just randomly fall over so they had to take that possibility into account.

“Hmmm… I suppose you’re right. We’ll have to look into it more. Let’s go.” Cloth hefted her giant club off the ground and set off once more.

Tiso followed because what else was he going to do? She’d been the one to invite him on this adventure and he’d agreed to go instead of leaving like he’d planned to. But… she was cool and had a big club, how was he supposed to say ‘no’?

Judging based off all the once fancy buildings they were in what was once the rich part of the city. Meaning they could probably get rich here if they looted a couple houses. Was Cloth the type to do that kind of looting though? Would she be offended if…

Cloth froze as she turned a corner forcing, Tiso to skid to a quick halt to lest he run into her.

“Maybe let’s not go that way,” she whispered as she backpedaled.

“Why not?”

“There’s something out there that I don’t think we want to mess with.”

“I’m not scared.” Puffin his chest out, Tiso walked through the entryway she’d just retreated from to get a look for himself. It was back outside of the buildings, almost immediately to the right was a clearing with a statue in the middle. Looking at it was a large pitch-black thing with big horns, fours arms, and many tentacles. Definitely the kind of thing they were probably better off not messing with.

It was too late to retreat though, it was already turning away from its examination of the statue. Its eight eyes locked onto Tiso, freezing him in place for a second or two before it started moving closer, gliding across the ground like a specter from a fairy tale.

What were the chances his ‘friend’ would come to his rescue this time? Probably not very high. So he readied his shield for combat. He’d rather die fight than running away or hiding. “We can take it,” he said.

“Uh… yeah, yeah, yeah,” Cloth said as she stepped up beside him. “I ain’t afraid.” She let out a battle roar, lifting her club high as she charged it. Gosh, she was badass. Tiso, scrambled to catch up.

The being stopped and didn’t do anything as her club hit it beneath its lower set of arms, seemingly doing nothing to it. Tiso came in next, slicing at its tentacles with the sharp edge of his shield which also didn’t seem to have any effect whatsoever.

“Am I really that scary now?” It tilted its head as it looked down at them instead of attacking back. By its shoulder hovered the pale wanderer’s fire moth baby who was now hissing at them. What the fuck?

“Oh,” Cloth said as she lowered her club. “You’re friendly?”

The thing nodded.

“I wouldn’t trust it,” Tiso said, not lowering his shield even if it was useless. The moth baby being here had to mean the pale wanderer was close by though, right? Unless something had happened to them, presumably at the hands of the void thing, which Tiso couldn’t let stand because he still owed the wanderer for saving him in Colosseum.

Instead of answering the void thing pulled something out. … The pale wanderer’s mask, broken in two. “Me,” it said before Tiso could react, holding the two pieces together. “My old form. I’m a god now. Call me Ghost.”

Wait, what? Was it saying what Tiso thought it was saying? Surely that was impossible, right? It couldn’t actually be the wanderer… could it? And what kind of name was ‘Ghost’? Especially for a god? And what was Tiso doing even caring about that?

Cloth broke the silence. “You’re really them?”

The void thing… the pale wanderer(?)… Ghost… nodded in the exact same way the wanderer did when answering a question. So… maybe it was them? That would explain why they had the moth baby on their side. And they were a god now? …

“What the fuck?” was all Tiso could say because it simply didn’t make sense. How did something as small as the wanderer become whatever this thing was? A god apparently. … “Does this have something to do with the gold place with the clouds?” Wait, no, that had been a dream so…

Ghost nodded as if they knew exactly what Tiso meant. “Godhome. I killed the Radiance there. How did you get there?”

“Uh… I don’t know.” Tiso had made the smart move in not messing with that stuff now if only he’d made the smart move and gotten out of Hallownest and getting away from all its supernatural bullshit altogether.

“I want the whole story,” Cloth said, her cheer all the way back now.

“Can’t yet. Busy.” With that Ghost turned and left without even a ‘goodbye’. … Yep, it was them all right, when they were done with someone they just left.

“Uh… okay, see you later then.” Cloth then turned to face Tiso again. “I feel like the husks all failing might have something to do with them becoming a god.”

He couldn’t argue with that logic so… “Probably.”

“What did you mean by the gold place with the clouds though?”

“Uh… it’s complicated.” No way was he going to tell her about that whole incident. “Let’s just… go back to what we were doing before.” He’d rather not think about the possible implications of his ‘friend’ becoming a god. … Did they even still think of him as a friend? … Which answer would be worse? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

***

The moment Lurien saw the Void God he knew that this was the being that had killed the Radiance. Perhaps the vessel had summoned it. Or perhaps the vessel had merged with its siblings to create it. Or perhaps something else had happened. Regardless, the vessel had something to do with it and it was here visiting Lurien’s tower now.

He stepped out to meet it. If it intended to kill him, there’d be no getting away from it so he might as well come out and meet it head on. And as much as he hated to leave his tower, he needed to go out and search for the Pale King anyway. His Majesty had not foreseen this… Or maybe He had and just hadn’t told the Dreamers? Hmm… a theory best not dwelt on until Lurien had a better understanding of Hallownest’s current situation.

“I suppose you want to claim yourself as Hallownest’s new god?” Lurien asked it as he approached.

It stared down at him, a little moth baby hovering by its shoulder, for a few seconds before shrugging and shaking its head. Hmm… that was odd but good. And it didn’t seem hostile either, hopefully it would stay that way.

“I’m Ghost,” it said, placing a hand to its chest.

“An… odd name for a god but I suppose it’s no matter. I’m Lurien the Watcher, loyal servant to His Majesty the Pale King.”

“He’s dead.” Was that… anger in its voice?

“R-really?” That couldn’t be true, could it?

Ghost nodded. It could be lying but… what were the chances of that? And it seemed so sure.

“That can’t be though, He’s… a god.” Gods could die though; this one had killed one a very short time ago. “How could Hallownest survive without Him?”

Ghost stared at him for a couple seconds before seeming to sigh and turning around to leave.

“You… you come here, tell me that and then leave?”

“You’re attached to the Pale King,” it said as if that was a bad. As if it didn’t like the Pale King even though He was ultimately the reason it existed. “We can’t be friends.”

What kind of god wanted friends? It should be more concerned with gaining worshippers. … Maybe that’s what it had meant, it didn’t want Lurien as a follower because he was still attached and loyal to the Pale King. … Well, at least it decided to leave him alone instead of getting rid of him. But… it had left him at even more of a loss than before. What was he supposed to do with the Pale King gone?

***

Upon freeing Monomon from the tank, Quirrel hadn’t been sure how she’d get around but it turns out, just like the Oomas she could just float through the air. He was fascinated by it now just like he suddenly remembering being in the past. She’d never explained how she did it no matter how many times he’d asked about it.

“It’s just something I can do,” she replied when he’d inevitably ended up asking her about it again. Which was her usual answer. Recovering his memories sure was an interesting time.

What wasn’t interesting though was Monomon’s sadness at the state of the Archive. Thankfully most of the storage containers were safe, though a few were broken or leaking. Not a single Ooma had resisted the Infection though. And now that it was over, they were all lifeless, their cores a dull gray instead of the green they were supposed to be.

“I suppose I shall have to make more,” Monomon said as they mourned over the fallen Uumuu in the central room, its cores riddled with slashes made by Quirrel’s nail. He hadn’t known at the time what he’d been fighting and now he felt bad about it but… it hadn’t given him much of a choice if he didn’t want to be electrocuted.

“I’m sorry Madam,” he said anyway because he was sorry. Maybe if he had found a way to sneak past it, it might’ve been strong enough to recover after the Infection vanished. That was a big maybe though.

“It’s okay.” She patted him on the head with a tentacle. “I don’t blame you. Given enough time I’m sure we can…” A sound from above cut her off.

Quirrel looked up to see ink black tentacles slithering through the opening in the ceiling. They wrapped around various things to help pull their owner in. Quirrel reached for his nail but Monomon’s tentacle stopped him.

“I believe this is the being that killed the Radiance for us,” she said. Which didn’t at all mean it was friendly but she still seemed unafraid so Quirrel relaxed too. A little bit anyway, remaining mentally prepped for battle when around an unknown being was always smart regardless of the circumstances.

The being settled in front of them. Two pairs of arms, large horns, eight glowing eyes, and tentacles everywhere made it quite the intimidating figure. The moth baby – that looked identical to the wanderer’s companion, enough that they were probably the same which raised the question about why he wasn’t with the wanderer – flying just behind its shoulder somewhat lessened that effect though.

“Quirrel!” It said, its voice deep and cold. But despite that it sounded excited to see him? It even raised a hand in a small wave.

“Oh, do I know you?” Was this related to another memory he’d lost? It didn’t feel like it but who could say for sure?

The being nodded as its lower pair of arms moved to show him something. … The wanderer’s mask split in two. “Me. My old form. I’m a god now. My name is Ghost.”

That was peculiar but… this was Hallownest, strange things were everywhere so this wasn’t too much of a stretch, was it? “Well Ghost, it is nice to finally know your name. And may I introduce you to Lady Monomon? Teacher of the Archive. It was you that freed her from her Dream, correct?”

Ghost nodded again as they put their old broken mask away.

“And for that, I must thank you,” Monomon said. “I appreciate this second shot at life.”

“Yes,” Quirrel said. “Thank you Ghost. I’m not sure how you did it but thank you for sparing Lady Monomon. You forever have my gratitude and friendship.”

Another nod but no words. Looks like Ghost wasn’t the talkative type even when having the ability to speak. That was fine though, the world could probably use less people constantly trying to make their voices heard.

“You will have to tell us the whole story sometime,” Monomon said. “But first we need to get the Archive up and running again so we can record it properly. So your tale will have to wait for a bit, I hope you don’t mind.”

Ghost shrugged; clearly they didn’t have much reason to care. “New friend.” They made a heart with their upper pair of hands at Monomon very similar to what they’d done towards Quirrel during one of their meetings.

Monomon chuckled. “Yes, new friend. I’m eager to see what becomes of whatever’s left of Hallownest with a void god as its ruling god. The civilization that existed here long ago worshipped the void, was it the void itself or a being like yourself though?”

Ghost shrugged again. They then looked all around and started climbing back up and out. Clearly they were done here and had other things to attend to.

“See you later friend,” Quirrel called as he always did when they left.

“See you later friend,” they returned this time which was quite nice. Now that they could speak, Quirrel would have to ask them about their adventures later, he’d always been curious about them and where they’d been and where they were going.

***

Neither Hornet nor Herrah had ever been particularly talkative and yet they talked for a while. They had a lot to catch up on, more Herrah than Hornet as the only news Herrah could share was that the Radiance was dead and that’s why she’d woken up.

The Radiance being dead had to have something to do with Ghost and why they’d never shown up to break the seal, right? Perhaps Hornet was just jumping to conclusions, possibly even based off what she hoped to be the case. She’d have to look into it later.

“What are you going to do now though?” Hornet eventually found herself asking after all her news had run out.

Herrah shifted and was silent for a few seconds before replying. “I don’t know. I was never meant to wake up and yet here I am. There are worse things I suppose.”

Hornet hummed her agreement. This meant she was no longer Deepnest’s leader – not that there was anyone left alive down here except for the Midwife and the Maskmaker anyway so Herrah wasn’t queen of much either anymore – and… Hallownest probably didn’t need a protector anymore, did it? So the role she’d been playing for the past… how long had it been? It was impossible to say – was also defunct.

Perhaps now that the stasis was over, they could rebuild. And maybe Deepnest wouldn’t need to be separated from the rest of Hallownest. Ghost was king now, were they going to do anything with that title or…

“Hornet!” The voice was loud and deep, coming from outside. It was also not a voice she’d ever heard before.

“Not a friend?” Herrah asked her as she stood, readying her needle.

“Nope,” she replied in a whisper as she led the way towards the exit. Being unfamiliar didn’t mean they were hostile but it was best not to take chances so she’d operate under the assumption that they were until proven wrong.

At the exit, a quick stealthy peek outside revealed who the visitor was. A massive void black thing rested its chin comfortably on the platform’s edge.

“A void thing,” Herrah said with a frown in her voice after she’d taken her own quick glance outside. She was going to say more but cut off as something flew into the room.

It was Grimmchild, noticeably grown since last Hornet had seen him. He chirped when he saw her and did a little flip before heading back out, perhaps expecting her to follow. If he was here that meant Ghost was nearby. So before Herrah could ask about him – Hornet would have no idea how to explain him because she wasn’t sure of all the details herself – Hornet stepped outside.

“Hornet!” Yep it had been the large void being that had said her name before. “Sibling… sister! It’s me Ghost. Not little anymore. I killed the Radiance. I’m a god now.”

Well… that was a lot to suddenly have thrust upon her. It… they couldn’t actually be Ghost, could they? But Grimmchild had settled on their head, between their horns. He seemed quite content with them and he’d know best, wouldn’t he?

“You’re… huge,” was all Hornet could dredge up to say.

Ghost (?) lifted their chin off the platform to nod.

“How did you even get in here?” As big as the room was all the entrances were rather small.

“I can shrink.”

“But you want to show off, huh?”

Ghost paused before a moment before lift their head to shake it. “The room is big. I didn’t want to climb. Hello Herrah.” They lifted a large clawed hand into view in a greeting.

Hornet turned her head to see Herrah had stepped out too. “So… you’re the one to thank for waking me? And presumably also the vessel that disturbed us?”

Ghost nodded. “Killing people who can’t fight back is wrong. I killed the Radiance in Godhome instead.”

Hornet wasn’t sure she believed them but at the same time it made some sense. Ghost had been trying to find a way to kill the Radiance, apparently the way they’d found involved becoming a void god. They’d already been very near to being a god before anyway, they’d just need a bit more of a push and they’d evidently found a big one.

“Well,” Herrah said, “you have my gratitude for giving me my life back then.”

“New friend.” Ghost lifted two hands this time to make a heart shape with their fingers. … Yep, it was Ghost all right; they’d done that at Hornet once too and she’d seen them do it at a few other people as well.

“I wouldn’t say that. Befriending the void isn’t something I’m interested in.”

Ghost paused for a moment before shrugging. Hurt by Herrah’s words or indifferent? It was impossible to say. Well Hornet was interested in befriending Ghost regardless. They’d saved Hallownest and Hornet’s mother when at best she’d expected them to fight the Radiance in Hollow’s mind. So…

“I would like to thank you too Ghost.”

They nodded in acknowledgement. The fact that they could speak now was amazing. It would probably take them a while to get used to it though and Hornet wouldn’t be surprised if they were never good at it after how long they’d been cursed with silence. Speaking of curses though…

“Do you know what’s become of the Hollow Knight?” Hornet had been so caught up by Herrah’s awakening she hadn’t paused to consider the possible fate of the Hollow Knight now that the Radiance was gone.

Ghost shrugged. “Freed I hope.”

“You should go look for them, make sure of it.”

They nodded again this time hard enough to disturb Grimmchild on their head. He let out a rather undignified squeak as he caught himself from with a flap of his wings. He shot Ghost and annoyed look but was ignored as without another word or gesture, Ghost’s form lost its solid shape, shifting to look more like thick liquid pulling in on itself. They were shrinking, condescending in on themself presumably so they could leave.

“You see them as a sibling?” Herrah asked, her tone purposefully neutral.

Hornet turned back to face her. “Yes.” Even before gaining the ability to speak, they’d proven beyond any shadow of a doubt that they had a mind and a will, meaning they were alive. Meaning they were her sibling rather she liked it or not. Having a sibling who was the god of the void would perhaps be interesting to say the least.

“Fair enough.” Again, Herrah’s tone was neutral, not allowing any insight into how she felt about that. She’d never liked the vessels but this situation was so unique Hornet couldn’t guess how she felt about Ghost. It didn’t matter though, she’d grow to like Ghost regardless, everyone always did. They’d certainly grown on Hornet like mold.

***

Hollow had never been this far from the White Palace before. When they’d been transported to the Black Egg it had had been via Stag. Even if they remembered where the Stag Station was up here, they wouldn’t be able to communicate where they needed to go so walking was their only option. They had no idea where they were so they just went downwards as much as they could. It was down there somewhere. If they passed it and found the entrance to the Abyss, they should know where to go from there.

As they walked, dragging their nail behind them, they passed many lifeless husks but not a single living person. Was that normal? How bad had the Infection gotten before the Radiance’s demise? Had it killed everyone? Had Hollow really failed that badly?

That thought shouldn’t be making them feel anything but it weighed on them as if they were still wrapped in chains. They shouldn’t even be capable of having that thought. That’s why they’d failed. And that’s perhaps why the Pale King hadn’t come for them. But they had nowhere to go but back to him so onward they trekked.

Eventually they reached what seemed to be the end of this upper rocky area. But that’s where they stopped because something was coming up, something big and made of void. Even though they couldn’t see it, they could feel it so they stopped and waited for it.

Finally after several minutes, it arrived. It was tall but Hollow sensed that this was its smallest form. It was a void god and… it had a mind; Hollow could feel it as it… no they, approached. They were siblings. The sibling who had been just behind them during the ascent from the Abyss to answer the Pale King’s call. They’d almost made it too but had misjudged the final jump just enough to fail it, grabbing the ledge instead.

They’d killed the Radiance and was a god now. Their name was Ghost. They’d been dubbed that by Hornet, their sister. … Not clarification Hollow needed, they knew who Hornet was, they’d even met her a few times when they’d both been children. … Oh! Ghost wanted to know more about that but first…

Right in front of Hollow now, one of their tentacles reached up to caress Hollow’s face, just below the crack. Another tentacle hovered where their arm had been before the Infection took it. Did it hurt?

Hollow nodded. The crack still hurt a little. The arm was mostly numb. It had hurt a lot when the wounds had occurred though, searing pain that would’ve made them scream if they’d had a voice to.

That made Ghost sad, their sorrow for Hollow’s pain radiating off them like waves. Hollow pushed it away, taking a step back. They weren’t supposed to feel things and it was their own fault for not being truly hollow so they deserved… No!

Hollow flinched as Ghost utterly drowned the thought with their own. Hollow deserved nothing that had been done to them! … They shrugged because how were they supposed to argue with a void god? Ghost could obliterate them with little more than a single thought. … They would never! Hollow was their sibling, they’d never hurt them. They knew that, right?

They nodded; they had no reason not to believe that when that was what Ghost was telling them. It’d be much harder to lie when communicating like this anyway, right? … Right! And Ghost would never lie regardless.

Well, good. Hollow needed to get back to returning to the Pale King now. … He was dead. Ghost had seen his corpse in what was left of the White Palace. They’d knocked it off the throne with their nail.

That… that couldn’t be right, though. He couldn’t be dead, he was immortal and… No! He was dead and that was good so Hollow shouldn’t be sad, they should be happy.

How could Hollow possibly be happy about that? He was their Father!

Ghost was mad now at the Pale King and at Hollow for loving him. They just didn’t understand. They’d never even met the Pale King properly. If they’d had then they’d know that he wasn’t that bad, that he was…

No! Ghost again forced their own thought onto Hollow, this time hard enough to make their head ache and almost sent them to their knees. They could easily destroy that entire line of thinking, not let Hollow think about the Pale King ever again but… but they wouldn’t. They would never. They weren’t like the Pale King or the Radiance, they would never force their will onto others. They were sorry they’d done so this time, they shouldn’t have.

Hollow shrugged. They didn’t care, Ghost could do as they pleased. It was far too late to be of use now but they could erase Hollow’s mind completely if they wanted to. They’d failed at their one purpose in life and now the Pale King was dead, they had no more reason to exist.

More sadness from Ghost. They didn’t force it onto Hollow but so close, it was impossible not to be almost overwhelmed by it. They didn’t want to feel things this strongly. … Ghost was sorry but they didn’t know how to stop, this was new to them.

They’d make it better though! They were going to introduce Hollow to all of their friends! They would make sure Hollow got a chance to be happy and give them a reason to live again! Given enough time, they would see! … Hollow shrugged, they doubted it but Ghost’s determination made it hard to completely discount it.

Good! First, they had to meet Grimmchild, Ghost’s dearest companion. He was a reincarnated Nightmare God but also absolutely the cutest thing ever.

Hollow glanced over to the side where Grimmchild had settled to the ground to watch the two of them; unnoticed before due to Hollow’s attention on Ghost. Cute wasn’t an adjective Hollow had much familiarity with but yes, he was cute. … He liked to be pet! Hollow should pet him! On the head, between the horns!

With a shrug, they obeyed, dropping their nail to crouch down and pet Grimmchild’s head the way Ghost had indicated. He was pleasantly warm as he made happy noises and nuzzled into Hollow’s hand. It was… kind of nice? What was nice supposed to be like though? … This! It was nice! One day they’d know all about what feeling nice was supposed to be like, Ghost would make sure of it even if they weren’t super familiar with it either.

***

In the middle of Elderbug’s tale, Buddy lifted a hand as if to shush him as they looked up and over towards the well. They’d never done that before.

“Is something wrong?” Elderbug asked.

Not answering even with nod or shake of their head, they stood up and started for the edge of town towards the well. Were they planning on heading down? But they didn’t have a weapon and they’d seemed content to stay, unlike their wandering near lookalike. So, curious, Elderbug followed.

They stopped at the edge of the well. They made no move to venture down, instead they put their hands on the crumbling wall and stuck their head out to look down it. … Elderbug looked too, seeing nothing. The air coming up from it seemed lighter than it had for the past little while though. That was a good sign.

“Is something down there?” he asked, looking back up at Buddy.

They didn’t answer of course. They didn’t even look up at him.

“Well… I’m going back to the bench, come hang out again when you’re done here.” He didn’t like the well so he’d rather not be near it.

Back by the bench, he looked up, ascertaining that Buddy indeed was still staring down the well. And they continued to do so for many minutes, completely unmoving. Elderbug kept an eye on them even though they were probably capable of taking care of themself, they weren’t a child after all even if they did look a bit like one. And their wandering near lookalike was certainly very capable so it made sense that they would be too.

Eventually when Elderbug looked back over there again it was to see that they’d moved and were no longer alone. A tall fellow had come up from the well. It was hard to tell for sure at this distance but it looked like they had only one arm which was odd, it must be a…

Inky blackness surged up from the well. There was no way that could be a good thing, could it? It settled, forming a figure even taller than the first new one. It was pitch black and rather scary looking but… Buddy seemed totally at peace with it, settling in beside it as the three of them started back towards the town.

Zote shouted something when he saw the large being and charged, waving his sword like the buffoon he was. … If Zote got the town in trouble with whatever that thing was, Elderbug might be tempted to strangle him. … Thankfully no trouble seemed immediately eminent as the being just wrapped one of its four hands around Zote restraining him with ease.

With a sigh and praying for the best, Elderbug started in that direction. Hopefully this could be handled peacefully.

“What is that?” Myla shouted from somewhere to his left. “Let’s go check it out.”

“I don’t know if that’s…” Bretta’s protest cut off with a yelp as Myla tugged her in that direction, pulling her along with a surprising amount of strength for such a little bug. At their speed, they reached the being a few seconds before Elderbug.

“Unhand me foul beast,” Zote was shouting, wriggling for all he was worth in the being’s grip.

Surprisingly, it obeyed putting him back down with far more care than Zote probably deserved. “Calm,” it said firmly, its voice deep and cold. “It’s okay. Everything’s fine.” That was certainly a good sign, whatever it was seemed to be friendly at least.

Alas, once free, Zote immediately pointed his sword at it again. “Name your business here foul beast before I…”

“Hush Zote,” Myla interrupted. “They’re friends with Buddy so they’re obviously a friend.” She gestured at Buddy who was standing between the two strangers, looking up at the larger of the two

“My siblings!” The being said. “Hollow.” They pointed at the one armed fellow who’d shown up first. “Zote, Myla, Bretta, Elderbug.” They pointed to each of them as it spoke as if introducing them to Hollow. But how did they know…

“How do you know our names?” Bretta asked before Elderbug could even finish the thought.

In answer, they pulled something out from somewhere to show all of them. … The wanderer’s mask broken in half. “Me,” they said, ignoring the shocked gasps at that reveal. “My old form. I’m a god now. My name is Ghost.”

Elderbug suddenly wanted to sit back down. The little wanderer was a god now? He figured they’d attain greatness in some fashion but this was a bit much. Having a god roaming around Hallownest could only attract trouble or at least noise, the last thing little Dirtmouth needed. But at least they were a kind god so it wasn’t all bad. Heck, maybe as a whole, this might ultimately be a good thing for Hallownest, only time would tell.

#my writing #Hollow knight #Ghost #Grimmchild & Ghost #Ghost is the Shade Lord #Shade Lord #Lemm #Tiso & Cloth #quirrel and monomon #Hornet & Herrah #Ghost & the hollow knight #elderbug #Lost Kin

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vikingpoteto · 4 years

Text

we don’t have to dance (to the beat of their songs)

Chapter 4 on AO3

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Relationships: (Gen) Tim Drake & Jason Todd

Tags: Battle for the Cowl, Alternate Canon, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Mental Health Issues, Past Child Neglect, Domestic Fluff, Canon is not valid I am, and I want them to be friends goddamnit

Summary: In the middle of their battle, Jason asks Tim to leave the nest and be his Robin. Tim decides it's not a bad idea, after all.

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When Tim walks out of the crappy motel room, the sun is already up. He curses inwardly, guessing it must be past eight in the morning at least. He hadn’t meant to stay up all night, but that’s what happens more often than not. He remembers reading somewhere online that ADHD people have a different sleeping cycle, something about working better when sleeping from 2am to 10am or something. He didn’t read the full article because it didn’t seem that relevant at the time.

Alas. Since he’s up, he might as well get himself some breakfast. He walks to the vending machine he was planning on visiting anyway. He blinks his blurry eyes trying to see the options in front of him. He considers buying just an energy drink and calling it a day, but he doesn’t think his empty stomach will appreciate that course of action.

“The fuck? You’re still here?”

Tim turns around. Jason is in front of his own room, only half wearing his leather jacket.

“I’m a paying customer?” Tim says. He hadn’t meant to make it sound like a question. God, he’s sleepy.

“I thought you’d be back in Gotham by now,” Jason says.

Tim frowns at him. “Where would I go?”

Jason considers that for a while. Usually, Tim would be bothered by being scanned like that, but he can’t find in himself to care or to try and figure what Jason might be thinking right now. Finally, the older boy sighs.

“You got breakfast yet?”

Tim gestures vaguely at the vending machine full of snacks.

Jason stares, his expression empty. Then he rolls his eyes, grabs Tim by the collar and starts dragging him as though he’s a sack of potatoes. It’s a testament to how tired Tim really is that he stumbles and barely manages a noise of protest.

“Jason,” he whines, the tone in his voice catching even himself by surprise.

A couple gives them a judgemental glance as they cross the street. Tim wonders what they look like to strangers. Tim’s clothes, while a lot more expensive than Jason’s, are battered and faded from his misadventures. His painfully pale skin doesn’t match Jason’s dark tan at all, even with all the freckles he got from having fun with assassins in the desert. Still, to a passerby, Tim’s juvenile tone and pathetic attempts to slap Jason’s hand away should make them look like bickering friends. In spite of Jason’s size, his young face still betrays his real age. They could pass as…

Tim straightens himself in a swift movement. Whether he’s finally successful in his attempt to free himself or Jason notices his tension and lets him go, is up for debate. He shakes his head and pretends that no stupid thought almost crossed his mind.

“What are you doing?” Tim complains.

Jason points at the building in front of them — an old diner — and walks in, expecting Tim to follow. He does.

A tired looking waitress squints at them as though she’s expecting trouble for whatever reason. Tim doesn’t know why, he’s sure they look perfectly innocent as they find themselves a place to sit. They make a beeline towards a table in a discreet corner, partially hidden behind a nook of the wall. The spot allows them to see almost all the other patrons without being too visible. Tim notes, but doesn’t comment on the fact that both of them chose that spot seemingly at the same time.

When they sit across one another, however, Tim has a weird feeling in his gut. Maybe it’s the sleepless night, but he has a hard time not thinking about the last time he sat across Jason like this: the older boy had been in jail and Tim’s stupid plan to get him out resulted in… well.

Babs used to say Tim talked a lot or didn’t talk at all, and she had been the first person to realize that the former meant Tim wasn’t thinking and the latter meant he was thinking too much. Tim does what he does best when he’s nervous or uncomfortable: he starts talking. A terrible mistake in retrospect, really.

“Are you buying me breakfast?” he asks.

Jason glares at him. “You’re richer than I am. Buy your own food.”

“Not really. Plus you dragged me here.”

“You said you were a paying customer.”

“Yeah, at the hotel. Credit cards are hackable and Babs taught me a thing or two in case I ever found myself in a tight spot, which I definitely am right now.” Tim points at the ‘cash only’ sign behind the counter. “The pocket change I have is cool for a vending machine, but a diner is fancier than what I’m ready for.”

Jason groans and rolls his eyes. Tim thinks that the closest thing he’ll get from a yes, so he takes it.

Without talking about it and even though they’re not talking about anything too secretive, they go silent when the waitress walks towards their table. Rather than greeting them, she shows her little notepad and arches an eyebrow at them. Tim is loving the service already, it’s doing great things to his nerves.

“Coffee. Black,” he says.

She turns to Jason, but he’s still looking at Tim as though waiting for him to say something else. When Tim simply gives him a quizzical look, Jason appears annoyed.

“What do you mean black coffee?” Jason says. “You’re making me pay for your food and you’re not even ordering actual food?”

“Uh… I’m fine? I don’t eat much this early, it makes me nauseous.”

“Jesus Christ, kid. We gonna have your largest order of pancakes for this stupid child.”

Tim kicks him under the table.

“Little shit,” Jason hisses.

And Tim almost falls over when he pushes his chair to avoid being kicked back.

“Cut it out, Jason!”

While their feet battle under the table, the waitress rolls her eyes and walks away. Tim really wishes he could give this place a five star review.

When Jason’s sole finally connects to Tim’s chair and he has to hold onto the table to avoid toppling over, he groans:

“Truce.”

“Nah. You lost.”

Tim stares.

“Admit you lost and I stop.”

“Fine, you oversized baby, I lost!”

Jason smiles. It’s stupid to get so worked up at such a small thing, not to mention how extremely out of place it feels after his little vacation with the League. Still, Tim can’t help but think this is the first time he’s seen Jason look so satisfied. Annoyingly smug, sure, but satisfied.

Silence stretches. Jason grabs a napkin from the table and starts methodically tearing it apart for no apparent reason. Tim wishes he thought of doing something like that, because his hands are itching to do something. It’d look dumb if he started doing the same thing as Jason, wouldn’t it?

“I thought you were rich,” Jason says, startling Tim.

He shakes his head, reprimanding himself for spacing out. “What?”

“I get not using your own credit card so you can’t be tracked,” Jason says, “but you’re so obsessed with planning everything. I kinda expected you to have a secret stash of money somewhere.”

Tim frowns. “What, you think I just stole Bruce’s money before leaving?”

Now that Jason mentions it, that would’ve been smarter. It’s not like Dick would miss it, and money would’ve left less of a trail than the fake credit cards he’d been using. Maybe Ra’s wouldn’t have found him if… He’s spacing out again. Jason is speaking. Crap.

“... your other father?”

He needs a few blinks to realize what Jason means. “My dad lost everything before he died. You didn’t know?”

“Wait, so what are you going to do when you go back to Gotham? Go back to the manor?”

Tim frowns. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

“He’d take you back.”

At that, Tim gives him a pointed look. Jason realizes his misstep.

“Don’t,” he grits out. “Don’t you dare say it. We’re not the same by any means.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Tim says simply.

He never does. Ever since he reached that weird truce with Jason, Tim only said it once. He said that Jason should go back; Jason told him to fuck off. Tim said that Bruce wanted him back and Dick missed him; Jason told him to be quiet. Tim told him that Alfred wanted to see him; Jason stormed off.

Since then, in the very few times they’ve met and talked like semi-civilized people, Tim never brought up Jason going home again. Jason seems to firmly believe that he’ll never be forgiven. Tim knows that he’s the last person Jason wants to talk about family, and it’s not like he has any arguments that could change his mind, so Tim keeps quiet. It works, unless one of them (usually Jason) is trying to kill the other (Tim). Even now, after the whole clusterfucker before Tim’s trip - had it really happened a few weeks ago? - there is no doubt in his mind that Dick and Alfred would take Jason back with open arms, more than willing to work on their issues. Perhaps Dick would still be a bit upset about Jason shooting Damian, but hey, the kid barely stayed down for a day.

As it is now, neither of them are planning to go back. Once more, the question looms over them. Why would Tim make the same mistake again? What was that fancy quote about insanity? Something about doing the same thing and expecting a miracle or whatever. Tim hopes Jason won’t ask.

But then again, if Jason asks Tim why he wants to stay, he’ll have to explain why he’s accepting it, and Tim doesn’t think he’s too keen on that.

The waitress comes back with their food. Tim twists his nose at the pile of pancakes in front of him. Jason threateningly points a fork at him until he sighs and starts eating.

“We’re taking off after I’m done eating, so get to chewing, Replacement.”

Tim feels a smile stretching his lips. “We?”

“Don’t be a smartass. If I regret this, I’ll dump your ass in the middle of the road.”

“Can’t do, boss. It’s part of Robin’s job to call you out on your shit.”

“But you’re not Robin anymore, are you?”

That wipes Tim’s smile off pretty fast. He has to keep reminding himself that Jason can be as much of an asshole as Tim can, if not worse. He resumes eating in silence, pretending he’s too mature to be bothered by Jason’s stupid smug face.

Never mind that he has to grit his teeth to hold back at least three different smart retorts. He doesn’t want to risk Jason giving up on him out of spite and the son of a bitch knows it.

Tim takes his sweet time poking at his pancakes and sipping his coffee, hoping that Jason will be done first and they’ll leave. When Jason realizes what he’s doing, he starts barking out threats and insults until Tim is kicking him again.

They don’t stop fighting until Tim’s plate is empty and his stomach is filled to the brim.

The waitress looks unreasonably relieved when Jason throws a couple of crumpled bills at the counter and they turn to leave. Tim didn’t think they made a fuss big enough to warrant that reaction. But, then again, maybe they just look like trouble makers.

“We’re going back to Gotham?” Tim asks.

“What do you think, genius?” Jason rolls his eyes. “God, my territory must be a mess by now.”

“No one told you to fall from that height, dude, I’m surprised you’re not out of commission for longer,” Tim says.

“Replacement, I swear to God…”

“Just sayin’,” and his mocking smile is back. “We’re going to one of your infamous safehouses?”

“Hm.”

“The one in Burnley? Or the one behind Crime Alley? Or…”

Jason stops walking. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “No one likes a smartass, Tim.”

“Jokes on you, no one likes me anyway.” Tim grins. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure Dick doesn’t know about the Burnley one.”

“Guess that’s where we’re going then,” Jason huffs. “Can’t have them breathin’ on my neck while I get my stuff together. Can’t believe I have a fucking kid now.”

“You’re only two years older than me, Jason. Less, if we consider you were dead for a couple months.”

Jason ignores that. “You better not go running to them, Replacement. You’re on your trial run. You fuck this up, you not gonna like the consequences.”

Tim rolls his eyes, but says nothing. Jason will find out soon enough how good he is at keeping secrets.

They grab their things at the hotel, not that Tim has a lot of luggage. Jason grabs a motorcycle that definitely isn’t his. Tim doesn’t comment on it, because the one he’s currently riding was paid with money that wasn’t his either.

They hit the road, and the sleepless night and the breakfast still threatening to come back don’t bother Tim as much, because he feels like he’s finally moving again. Finally has a sense of purpose again.

Tim didn’t expect to live with Jason. He thought he’d look around his place, help him set up a functional computer system - how Jason survived alone for so long with the tech he had was beyond Tim - and then he’d leave to figure out what to do. His credit card fraud system wouldn’t work as well in Gotham, at least not if Barbara was in town, but he was willing to figure it out.

The fact that he came this far without a plan told him that his month with the assassins had thrown him off his game. He’d grown used to winging it because the last weeks had been so unfairly unpredictable, but he has to go back to his old modus operandi as soon as possible.

Or at least that’s what he thought, until he emerged from the secret Red Hood bunker downstairs and Jason casually told him to take the vacant room upstairs.

That solved a lot of logistic issues, so Tim forces his mouth shut and heads upstairs.

If you forget about the heavy arsenal in the secret basement (a secret that Tim will spend the whole weekend tinkering because holy shit, his childhood bedroom was more secure) the house is almost… normal. Like an abandoned middle class house. There are boards on the windows and signs that it should’ve been demolished at some point. Other than that, Jason had made the place a functional home. It’s a bit sparse in the furniture department and not unlike the hotel room Tim found Jason in: mismatched pieces, old wood and dust everywhere. There are marks on the wallpaper where pictures had presumably hung once, but that was probably before Jason took over the place.

It occurs to Tim that he’s probably going to be on cleaning duty, which is a bit worrisome. As much as he’s okay with less than hospitable places, he’s never had to clean. Ever. He hopes there’s a YouTube tutorial on it.

His new room clearly belonged to a very feminine person at some point, and all they left behind was an old bed with no sheets, a beaten dresser and marks on the pink walls where posters had probably been. Tears in the wallpaper hint they were carelessly ripped off. Tim carefully removes the mirror from the dresser and puts it out of sight before dumping his duffel bag near the bed. Home, sweet home.

Someone clears his throat by the door.

Leaning against the frame as though he doesn’t know what to do with himself, Jason crosses and uncrosses his arms.

“I’m going on patrol in a bit. Gotta assess the situation.”

Tim nods and waits. This would usually be the time Bruce gave them instructions for the night. Jason shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Whether he’s deliberately trying to be less like Bruce - which is futile, since Bruce is the only reference he has - or he simply doesn’t know how to handle a sidekick… Tim takes pity on him and says:

“I’ll be ready to join you in five.”

Jason aqcuiesces stiffly. Then heads down the hallway. Tim swears he hears Jason mumbling to himself as he leaves, which would be amusing if he wasn’t feeling just as awkward.

He grabs the light chainmail armor from his bag and puts it on. The black, sleek outfit that follows still feels uncomfortable and foreign, but Tim supposes it will have to do. He hesitates before pulling on the black hood and even more before reaching for the Spoiler-like mask that will only cover the lower half of his face. Finally, he discards the piece of fabric to a corner. Associating the thing with Steph does the opposite of making him feel better about it. He’ll have to ask Jason if he has a spare domino mask he can borrow.

He heads downstairs just as Jason is emerging from the kitchen in almost full Red Hood gear, his helmet under his arm. He tries to ignore the tug at his stomach when he sees it. Judging by Jason’s expression, he was thinking something similar.

“What the fuck are you wearing, Replacement?”

“Discreet clothes for an undercover mission. What are you wearing?” Tim tries to play it off as nothing, but, judging by Jason’s expression, he’s failing. “Look, I didn’t have Robin anymore, okay? I had to wear something and this is what Ra’s gave me.”

“Yeah, I’m not going out with a mini-League of Assassins recrutee.”

Tim wishes he had a logical argument against that. He thinks there is one, but the sleepless night is finally getting to him and he can’t think straight. “Well, damn, Jason, what do you expect me to do? Go out in civies? Not all of us can pull off the leather jacket.”

The older boy considers him for a moment, and an irrational part of Tim’s brain keeps him frozen on the spot. This is it. This is when he realizes this has been a mistake, and me thinking he’s like me was a gross miscalculation. He’s going to send me away. He’s going to tell me to go away.

“Stay here,” Jason says. “Now that I think about it, if I go alone there’s less of a chance of them finding out I’m back.”

Tim is panicking, but not hard enough that he misses the opportunity to quip: “I’m not the one with a bright red helmet.”

“Shut it. Do digital detective work while I’m gone. Can you find out what happened in my territory for the past month without bringing Oracle down my ass?”

“Of course I can. What do you think I am?”

“Inferior to Barbara.”

“Bitch…!” Tim pauses. Takes a deep breath. “Okay, fair, I am. But she isn’t actively looking for me and I know her M.O.”

Jason nods. “Then do your thing. I’ll be back in the morning.”

Tim watches him head to the door. So he isn’t fired again, which is good.

“Jason?” He calls, because apparently he can’t take a win and keep his damn mouth shut. “I’m not going to stay indoors. I’m not the computer guy. I’m in this to fight crime and I didn’t look for you to stay back because you don’t like my fashion choices.”

Jason looks absolutely disgusted at that. “The problem with smart people like you is that you keep thinking everyone else is a fucking idiot. I’m not. And you know that, since you chose to come after me.”

Tim could tell him Jason offered first. That would lead to a childish back-and-forth until accusing the other of starting wouldn’t be enough and they would have a fist fight on top of the ratty couch. Considering the thing looks like it’s about to collapse under the mildest gust of wind, Tim wisely stays quiet for once in his life.

He turns around and heads to the kitchen, to the secret entrance that leads to the secret basement. He hears when Jason leaves. He’s still pouting when he boots the stupid computer in serious need of an update.

He’s going to hate this.

Tim hates that he enjoys himself.

It’s been quite a long time since he worked in such a simple case. He’d forgotten how enjoyable it is to work on a puzzle and watch the pieces fall together with ease. Like skating for fun after spending months practicing complicated maneuvers. He doesn’t see time going by as he takes notes and prints info, compiling a thorough report on everything Jason missed, up to some cold trails from when he was in Blackgate.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

At least not until he wakes up and immediately lets out an unholy screech because his bed vanishes under him. Except he isn’t on his bed, he’s spinning around on the computer chair and he scrambles to stay on the seat before the chair finally hits the wall and stops.

After the shock is gone, he looks up and finds a rather smug Red Hood smirking at him from across the room.

“What the… Did you seriously kick my chair?” Tim gasps.

“My chair,” Jason corrects. “That I let you borrow in exchange for work. Slacking on the service on the first day?”

Tim shoots up. “I was not! Fuck you!”

Jason blinks, his eyes widening. “Easy there. And I’m the one with anger issues.”

“I gathered everything that there is to find from the past month,” he protests, frantic and irritated all at the same time. “Sure, I didn’t finish the time you were locked up, but that’s because your internet is fucking slow. Give me until morning and I-”

Strong hands grab his wrists and Tim looks up. Jason’s expression is so oddly telling that Tim thinks he’s trying to manipulate him somehow. His brows are knitted together and his warm brown eyes are still mildly wide. Enough that Tim can see the specks of green in the dark iris, a reminder of Jason’s dip in the Lazarus Pit. He tries to come up with an explanation, because Jason has no reason to make Tim think he’s worried about him.

“The fuck is wrong with you? I didn’t expect you to be done before I got home. And I didn’t expect you to get info about the time I was in jail either.”

Tim is confused. He misinterpreted his mess up? “You didn’t want me to know what was going on before? That’s counterproductive. Plus a lot of this isn’t new information, I was monitoring…”

“Tim,” Jason cuts him off again.

It’s weird that he says Tim and not Robin. It’s correct, because Tim isn’t Robin anymore, but this is Robin time regardless. Tim feels as though he’s back at the cave and he’s 13 years old. This time he doesn’t have Dick’s hesitant encouragement or Alfred’s worried glances, but it feels too similar to being around a grief-stricken man, broken almost beyond repair. That man is his boss and, in order to earn his stay, Tim has to succeed.

Except next time Jason speaks, he doesn’t sound like Bruce. Not like Bruce after he started healing. Definitely not like Bruce sounded when he first met Tim. He sounds - and that’s extremely weird - like Cassie when she found Tim pulling an all-nighter reviewing the case files. It was right after they got their team approved and could take over Titans Tower. Tim had to make sure everything was running smoothly, but Cassie thought not sleeping after sparring all-day was a bad call. She had been absolutely bewildered by the concept, for some reason.

It’s ridiculous that Red Hood reminds him of Wonder Girl.

“I don’t fucking care that you checked old news,” Jason says. “I’m just surprised you’re done already.”

Tim’s brow furrows and he reviews the night, again trying to assess his mistake. “You said I was supposed to do digital work while you were on patrol,” he repeats slowly, almost to himself.

“Yeah,” Jason agrees, letting go of his wrists. “I thought you were gonna collect some info and go to bed. Continue tomorrow.”

Tim gives in and straight up asks: “And you’re angry because…?”

“I’m not?” Jason is the one looking confused now. “You think me kicking your chair was me being angry? I was just being a jerk. I didn’t think you were that sensitive.”

Oh. Tim feels his cheeks warming. “I-I’m not! That is, I don’t care that you kicked the chair and sent me careening across the room while I was asleep.” There’s a beat. “Wait, no, I do care about that, what the hell, Jason?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Come on, I’m gonna make it up to you. Don’t get used to it, though. Just come here and take a look.”

Tim notices a bundle of what looks like fabric on the computer desk. It definitely wasn’t there before he dozed off. His confusion peaks when he notices it isn’t simply fabric… it’s leather and kevlar and a freaking cowl connected to a cape and…

“You stole Dr. Mid-Nite’s suit?” Tim asks.

“Wha- No, dumbass! It’s my suit! My old suit, anyway.”

Tim takes it and holds it in front of him. It’s a bit heavier than his old Robin suit, but it looks more resistant, if not as much malleable.

“From the time you went to a different dimension,” Tim gasps.

“How the fuck do you know that?” Jason asks, bewildered again.

Tim turns to him. “Why do you have this?”

Jason shrugs. “I grew out of it. Figured you could have it. You’re a bit taller than I was then, and skinnier too, but nothing you can’t work around. Beats making a whole new suit from scratch.”

Words fail him and he simply stares at the suit, unresponsive.

“If you don’t like it, deal with it,” Jason says, suddenly less blase. It’s almost as though he’s nervous. “Or make a new suit, I don’t care. Just don’t go out in that stupid ninja suit.”

“R.R.” Tim mutters, his voice hollow. “What does R.R. stands for?”

It’s Jason’s turn to hesitate. Silent stretches for a little before he blurts: “Red Robin.”

“Huh.” Tim says, eloquent as ever. “What’s with all the red? I thought your favorite color was green.”

“How do you-” Jason sighs. “Whatever. Grab your shit and get the hell out of here.”

Tim whips around, alarmed again. “Why?”

“Because I wanna fucking change,” he gestures at his clothes, “and it’s weird to do it with your scrawny ass down here. This ain’t the Batcave, I only got one room.”

Oh. That sort of “leaving”. That makes more sense. “Right. I’m gonna go… uh... “ Where, again?

“To bed,” Jason snaps. “You’re gonna sleep on an actual bed instead of drooling all over my keyboard. Scram.”

Nodding jerkily, Tim obeys. The suit he holds tightly against his chest feels heavy and not because of all the body armor hidden within layers of leather.

#jason todd #red hood #tim drake #red robin #batfam #poteto writing #red bros

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