#the older I get the more frustrated I get with the whole circus | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vaguelyregrettable · 1 year

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Cirque Du Humaine Nature

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Sweeping curtains lifting to reveal an empty stage, the perfect canvas for the circus of human nature. An acting group with a focus on physical expression. Having only started in the last few years, the troupe seemed to still be acquiring its footing in determining its actual appeal. Having done slapstick silent film era comedy reimaginings to full dance renditions of acclaimed musicals. A single clown would sit on the edge of the stage, notepad and pen in hand. "Oh, how futile these words to express the love I have for you." The words on the paper, read aloud, sounded strange and obtuse being recited by the clown. "Duorre, how's the new script coming along?" The woman's voice carried a mixture of arrogance and annoyance in equal parts. "It'll be ready soon enough, Dan." Duorre let out a shallow sigh with their placation. Dan, or rather Danielle, the director of the show, had been asking with ever increasing frequency. Little did she understand the creative process, atleast that's what Duorre would tell anyone willing to listen. "I need it done before the end of the week. We don't have this place forever. Besides, I want to get to practicing soon." The clown nodded and continued focusing on their work.

Three chairs are placed around the beautiful cherry wood dining table. A small candelabra is sitting at the center of the table. A single candle burning, serving as the guiding light for the first guest to find her seat. "Dinners ready." She summoned the other two guests as she sat down to an empty table. For a moment, it seemed the candle would be the only guest to join. When a young man walked out, his footsteps at once too heavy and too soft for the uncarpeted stage. "Thanks." The man whispered, obviously annoyed, as he sat down with a sigh. Finally, the last guest made his presence known. A much bigger man, older and more muscular. "Dinner looks great, babe." The man spoke with a tired rasp. The younger man growing more agitated every second sighed loudly, dramatically. The older man hadn't quite sat down yet, pulling his chair out when the younger man slammed his fists on the table. "I'm done! I won't pretend to be a part of this family as long as he's here."

The theatre was silent as Duorre sat in the front row, still writing notes. "Don't you think writing the father as some abusive piece of shit character is a little overdone?" The older man asked, having unintentionally snuck up on Duorre. "I don't know, Alex. It's still a big problem many people face." Duorre responded without looking up from their notes. "I don't know, Duo. The whole thing makes me uncomfortable, Diane knows I'd never hurt her. But does anyone else?" Alex's fear crept into his voice, causing a small shake. "For fucks sake Alex, no one will think you're an abuser, it's just a show." Duorre responded as an impatient and aggressive attempt to ease Alex's fears. "Okay, Duo." Alex responded, sounding defeated rather than calmed. "Why couldn't you put Travis or Dan in as the dad?" Alex asked after having already turned around, but before having started on leaving. "They have their own characters. It will make sense later. Besides, can you imagine if I switched you and Travis? The age difference aside, the mere size difference of you two would make it absolutely unbelievable that you'd be afraid of him." Alex nodded at Duorre and continued on his way out of the theatre, obviously unhappy with the answer he'd been given.

Stuck somewhere between three walls, a makeshift bed offered escape to a frustrated young man. The stage had finally been carpeted, more so to move the bed than to soften footsteps. The boy screamed into a pillow, a guttural full forced vocal release. Which was soon followed by a knock at the only door into the room. "Honey, can I come in?" A woman asked meekly from the other side. "Yeah, yeah, come in." The boy responded, cathartic now. The woman opened the door, taking slow steps towards him. Eventually sitting at the edge of the bed, offering the young man safety in her arms. To which he eagerly wrapped himself around her. "He's just no good for you. You need a man who can treat you right." The young man exclaimed, his voice straining from the screaming he'd done only a minute before. "I know, honey, I know." The woman cooed as she stroked his hair. "Travis, what was that?!" Duorre cried out finally. "You need a man who can treat you right? Listen, if you want to change lines, just talk to me." The actors both sat up straight, alarmed at the forcefulness with which Duorre objected. "I'm sorry, Duo. It just kind of slipped out." Travis looked down bashfully. "I kind of liked it, Duo. What say we rewrite the scene a little?" Diane spoke up, reaching one arm to rub Travis' back in an attempt comfort him. "Alright, I'll talk to Dan about it." Duorre got up swiftly, obviously annoyed. They headed to the exit, looking to get outside for fresh air. "Everyone wants to write their own fucking character, but no one wants to write the story." Duorre whispered to themself, assuming they'd gone out of earshot of the actors. "No one wants to be the villain or the damsel in distress." Dan spoke between drags on her cigarette. Offering Duorre a knowing grin. "Everyone wants to be the hero of their own story."

The bedroom looked so much larger when you sat inside it. The shadows of the theatre danced as one of the stage lights flashed, the bulb dying or perhaps not totally plugged in. The shadows kept Travis entranced, aided by Diane's comforting hand on his back. He turned to look at her. She'd been looking at him for a minute now, their eyes meeting as Travis made an attempt to form words. Diane simply shushed him, then inched closer. Travis wasn't sure what was happening at first. The whole thing took him by surprise. His mind races with thoughts of celebration and confusion. He'd never been of much interest to people his own age, not terribly long ago he was just called 'that ugly girl' but now he was making out with one of the most beautiful women he'd ever met. Her lips felt like silk on his, but the pushing of her face onto his set off in him a thousand fireworks. He kissed her back, reaching to wrap his arms around her, wanting to hold tight this moment, not sure if it was even real. "You don't have to hold so tight dear, I'm not going anywhere." Diane said playfully, having finally pulled away. Travis looked at her stunned, not sure if he was unable or simply unwilling to let go of her. "I-...I'm sorry." He pulled his hands back to his sides, looking to the floor bashfully again. "I just... I didn't expect that." Travis spoke with a near whisper. "Oh, honey. You didn't know, I've always liked you." Diane spoke with a saccharine sweetness lost on Travis in his charmed stupor. "Does this mean we're a thing now?" Travis finally mustered up the courage to ask, realizing how childish it sounded only after the last word left his mouth. "Yes, honey. If that's what you want, we're a thing now."

Burning a candle over his desk to write in his journal, the older man sat, scrawling with an increasing ferocity. "That bitch..." His muttering was slightly slurred, intending to sound drunk but coming across more as a weak nervousness. "Honey... What're you doing up so late?" His wife asked having walked in, wiping the sleep from her eyes. "Sorry dear. It's just you know... That asshole from work. Just wanted to get my thoughts down." The older man reassured his tired wife. "Okay dear. Please don't stay up too late. The... Our son has to get up early tomorrow, and I wanted you to take him to work." The wife spoke in a slightly confused manner at first, but quickly regained her steadiness. She turned to leave the room, going back to sleep. The older man, continued writing on his journal swearing under his breath. "Leave me alone, you bitch..." He'd say a few more times, until he finally finished the writing. Sitting there with his creation finally completed he was stunned. Carefully tearing the paper from the journal, reading it over one final time. "Dear... Wife. I would say I'm sorry, but you know as well as I do, this isn't my fault. Since you became pregnant with your son you've been withholding any kind of affection from me. Barely a kiss, or even a hug. That's to say nothing of the complete lack of sex we've had in the last year alone. I, as a man, have needs and you aren't fulfilling them. I can't keep doing this. The kid doesn't even look like me. Goodbye." Having read it aloud to himself he passed the paper over the candle. The letter becoming ash and floating away.

The front row of the theatre had become a kind of second home for Duorre in this time, for watching practice to throw out lines, to rewriting. This was their spot. Having sat through another miserable, confused performance, Duorre felt at a complete loss. "Duo, you didn't give the characters names. How are we supposed to address each other?" Alex asked timidly, blowing at his newly burnt fingertips. "Call each other by your names! I don't know. We'll figure it out later, Alex." Duorre cried out, frustrated and panicking internally. Diane stepped out from stage left, Duorre knew they were going to be chastised. Diane had a calm but powerful presence with the troupe. As she was the one with the longest career, and with the biggest shows under her belt. She knew how she wanted a show to be done. "Duorre, don't you think we should be helping you write this? This is your first show you've written, right? Why not let us, who have more experience, help you with it?" Diane asked, trying her best to be reasonable with the obviously passionate writer. "Well, that's why I'm helping, Diane." Dan called out from the entrance to the relatively small auditorium. "As director and head of this company, everything goes through me. So if Duo needs help, I'll come help." Dan spoke with a forcefulness not unusual for her as she walked closer to the stage. No one dared speak up against her, not wanting to have unnecessary punishment doled out upon them. "But I do like that idea. Let's just use our names. If we figure out something better later, we'll use those. But for familiarities sake, we can use our real names." Dan's words making the ruling iron clad.

Gray walls took over the stage, only three to simulate a cubicle space. The color, lack of space, and dim lighting only served to fuel the oppressive atmosphere. Alex sat at a desk, facing an empty gray wall. "Fucks sake, Alex. You look terrible!" Dan's voice rang out from off stage, entering into the scene with a devious grin and an arrogant saunter. "Yeah Dan. Just having a tough time right now." Alex heaved a sigh to cap off his statement, just before burying his face in his hands. "How about you and I get a drink after work? It'll be my treat." Dan offered with a hearty slap on Alex's back. "Are you sure?" Alex responded meekly, then caught himself before Dan could respond. "Y'know what? Yeah, let's have a drink after work." With this declaration the scene faded to black. The sound of wheels rolling across the wooden floorboards and slight grunts of invisible theatre hands. When the lights came back up the scene was a much dirtier but more comfortable atmosphere. The lighting a softer yellow, with a neon sign for a beer company that went out of business years ago hanging in front of Alex. The beer in front of him sat collecting condensation as Alex chewed at his lip, waiting on Dan who could be heard laughing and telling stories. "And then I told him he could fuck right off. Speaking of which, I gotta get back to my friend. But I'm sure you'll see me around." Dan finally acknowledging Alex's existence approached him with the swagger of a twenty year old man receiving his first dose of validation. "How's it going bud? Diane weighing you down still?" Dan looked up from his drink for the first time since the scene had changed. He simply stared at Dan for a moment. "No, I mean... Not entirely. Travis hates my guts, Diane care more about him than she loves me. I'm expecting Charles to fire me soon enough. Nothing's working out." Alex let out a sigh and took the first sip of his beer, the taste causing him to grimace. "Come with me, I'll show you something." Alex turned to Dan who had reached out his hand. Nervously Alex accepted, and took Dan's hand. Dan moved upstage, his casual clothing serving to hide his actors gender even now. As the actors stood there, basking in the spotlight for a moment before Dan could offer up his monologue. The stage was now being moved in the darkness, the wall being turned around, desk taken out, the whole scene being shifted. "Alex, out here we are men. Diane has never understood that. She wanted you to be something your not. Travis doesn't understand his masculinity, you know how it is with kids these days." Dan began his monologue, looking out to the audience. "We are men, made to conquer. Free to fight, take what we want! She doesn't give you what you want, it's time to find someone who will."

The emptiness of the stage as the set sat in the paint, waiting for a new paint job. Duorre sat staring at the set, journal in hand asking themself questions. "What will a new paint job do for me?" From stage right, Travis walked softly into view, freshly made up for practice. "I often ask myself the same question. Even if I get surgery, will people see me as a man?" Duorre stared at Travis, unsure of how to respond to the strangely vulnerable admission. "I mean, I wonder if anyone even sees me as an adult. I know I'm just eighteen, but the way everyone talks to me, about me, always feels different." Travis continued on, never looking directly at Duorre. "Is it because I'm younger? Is it because I'm inexperienced? Don't i deserve equal treatment?" Travis ended his monologue by sitting at the edge of the stage in front of Duorre, looking at the journal in their hands. "Travis, I wish I knew what to tell you. But I respect you, I care about you." Duorre responded quietly, sounding scared and defeated. Travis finally locked eyes with Duorre, taking a deep breath before asking his final question. "What do you think it means to be a man?"

Fire red lights lit up the stage, the dinner table no longer holding candles, the plates empty, the three people sitting there staring at their plates silently, at first. "Why don't you two ever go out anymore?" Travis asked with a devilish grin. "I think you'd have to ask your mother about that. Right, Diane?" Alex deflected the question with an obvious poison dripping from his every letter. "Well honey, I don't think we really have the time or money. Especially with the way your father likes to go out with his friends from work." Diane snapped back, a quiet confidence empowering her rebuttal. "Well at least someone actually gives a fuck about me when I go out! You don't even kiss me anymore, much less have sex with me. You're lucky I don't go sleep around, many guys in my shoes would've already." All pretense dropped as Alex erupted, slamming his fists onto the table to lead into a short coda before anyone could respond. "Jesus Christ Alex! If you wanted some dumb easy slut to fuck your brains out while I take care of the house and Travis you really should just fucking leave and find her. Travis and I will survive without you." Diane went straight for the jugular with her carefully crafted, yet sloppily executed response. She'd been expecting this argument for weeks, trying her best to prepare mentally for how she'd respond. But the heat of the moment, the overwhelming emotions, and the fact that Travis was there went against everything she had expected. "Um, yeah I think I'll go to my room now. Dinner was good Dia-... Mom." Travis played nervousness badly, obviously excited to have elicited this reaction from the both of them. As he left the room, he turned and grinned at his would be father figure. "You're not even his real mother." Alex finally whispered once Travis had left the room entirely. "Do you really think you're in any position to raise him? What about his 'actual' mother?" Diane responded coldly. Unhappy with the reminder. "Duorre's not coming back, she won't talk to me. You know this already. She chose fame over her family." Alex answered, nearly despondent. Diane went quiet for a moment, before finally retorting. "So a woman has to choose success in her career or success in her love life?"

A thick white door creaked open, leading into a den of depravity. The dressing room has been the set to many a sexual misadventure. Travis knew this. He'd heard about it all through school. "Uh, knock knock, anyone in there?" He announced himself before actually knocking. "You can come in, dear. Just be sure to close the door behind you." Diane stood with her back turned to Travis, perusing costumes lazily. Travis went to the other side of the room, both nervous and excited. Diane had been one of his heroes in theatre. Her performance in Chicago was what had sold him on being an actor. To be working with his hero, to be friends with her, had been overwhelmingly exciting. "You don't need to be so nervous. I can feel your shaking all the way from here." Diane spoke softly, sweetly easing the frightened man's nerves. "I'm sorry, it's just I've always admired you. You act with such dignity and power. Every character you play is like the star of the show." Travis caught himself before gushing anymore. Diane simply turned to him and smiled. "Thank you, dear. But really, you don't have to be nervous. You're already an accomplished actor yourself." Diane returned to her perusal of costumes before finally picking one out. "Ah shit, you think you could help me with this dress?" Diane looked annoyed at the dress, the zipper quite low on its back. Travis nodded, turning around to offer Diane some privacy as she undressed. "You're gonna have to get used to changing in front of people. This is just part of show business." Diane remarked, almost condescending with her teasing. Travis sighed and turned around to look at Diane, her form an image of beauty directly from his dreams. "Like what you see?" Diane smirked and raised an eyebrow as she caught the young mans newfound attentiveness. Travis, knowing what she intended, made his move. Holding her from behind, dragging his hands from her hips to her breasts to her stomach, a soft sensual exploration of a dream. "Let's get those clothes off of you too." Diane turned to face Travis, slowly pulling his shirt over his head. "Oh... Uh.... Dan's been holding my HRT, so uh... I'm sorry." Travis covered his chest binder with hands, cowering in shame. Diane undeterred wrapped her arms around the young man. "What for baby?" Diane whispered into Travis's ear as she reached to remove the binder. Travis finally understood the situation, feeling a surge of confidence filling him he kissed her. The meeting of lips, hands, bodies. This skin on skin consecration, a prayer to lust given shape. Travis whispered small prayers to himself, giving thanks for his luck.

Another bedroom scene, highlighting Travis who sat on the bed. Harsh yellow light focused directly on him, as he stared at his feet. "Fuck him anyway." Travis would exclaim before hearing a soft knock at his door. "Come in." Travis said with a soft sigh. Diane opened the door, pausing for a moment fighting a smile as she stared at the young man, before approaching him. "I know you don't care for him, but he is your father." Diane tried to be comforting but her tone conveyed more of a subtle agreement with him. "He treats you like shit, you need a real man. A man who'll treat you right." Travis spoke angrily, still staring at his feet. "A man like you, is that what you mean?" Diane asked, finally revealing that devious, knowing smile. "Well yeah! I mean you're closer to my age than you are his!" Travis stammered slightly at first, growing more confident as the sentence dragged on. "I'm still your step mom, Travis." Diane said softly, with a small sigh as she moved to hold him. "But you don't have to be."

The lights dimmed to a full blackout, and the scene change would be minor but somehow even more important. Alex sat on the bed now as the spotlight directed all attention to him. Dan would rise up behind him, grabbing onto Alex's shoulders with a smile of afterglow on his face. "That was great." Dan spoke with a comforted confidence. "We can't keep doing this. Diane will find out." Alex spoke sharply, capping off his reminder with a defeated sigh. "I thought you were leaving her. What does it matter if she knows then?" The words shot out of Dan's mouth like bullets. "Even if I do, what happens to Travis? He's old enough to be on his own. But if given the choice, he'll obviously stay with her." Alex lamented before hiding his face in his hands. "Do you love me, Alex?" Dan stood over Alex now, looking down at him. "You need to make a choice. I don't want to spend the rest of my life waiting on you." Dan crossed his arms, turning away from Alex to face the audience. "I know, you're right. I'm just scared. What do I tell her? Oh honey, sorry it turns out I'm not actually abusive. I was just gay and in denial! Do you really think that would make anything better?" Alex pleaded with Dan, hoping to find answers if not empathy. "We are men. We take what we want. Whoever stands in our way be damned." Dan responded bitterly. "Show her who the man of the house is."

Once again lounging in the front row with a journal and pencil, Duorre scribbled out notes. Line after line, the pain would only add to the beauty they kept chanting. "Knock knock!" A loud, boisterous voice rang out from the entrance. A tall figure walked in, a soft gray cardigan layered over a white v-neck, down to light gray chinos, to a fairly simple pair of loafers bearing a designer branding. "Well, hello! I am Keith Weiderlander! And you must be Dan, I believe you spoke to my assistant." Duorre stood fully straight, frozen in place with a mixture of confusion and fear. "Uh, no. I'm actually Duorre, the lead writer for the show. Dan should be here soon, though." Keith eyed up Duorre, taking stock of them with a piercing gaze. "I could've sworn the writer was queer in some way. But whatever, fake it until you make it, right?" Keith laughed heartily, to which Duorre laughed timidly, only trying to play along. "Hello, Mr. Weiderlander! Sorry I'm a little late. the traffic was awful!" Dan stood at the entrance to the auditorium, a strange look of nervousness on her face. "Well, well, two surprises! I was under the impression the director was a man." Duorre and Dan both subtly flinched at this comment. "Do you want to run me through what it's about so I can see if this is worth my time and money?" Keith proceeded to sit right next to Duorre, looking over their notes, as Dan shuffled her way over to the both of them, standing to Keith's other side, trying to talk about her vision for the play. "Well, you see, Duo came up with this great idea of connecting all of these awful people through their societal problems directly affecting them. I really came in to help focus on women's issues and give them an understanding of the real problems women face." Keith simply nodded, muttering little uh huhs to urge her explanation along. "So like Diane's character is a young woman trapped in a shitty marriage with an abusive, in the closet gay man. Travis is trying to understand what it means to be a man when he hates his role model. Alex is coming to terms with being a gay man trapped in a heterosexual marriage. Where my character is his secret lover and rival. My character, being a man, explores the more toxic mindsets of men." Keith simply looked at Duorre, waiting a moment before asking. "And what character are you playing?" Duorre looked at their notes, uncomfortable with the attention Keith was giving them. "I'm playing Travis' biological mother. A woman who left her family to seek fame in writing." Keith took a few excruciating moments to digest all of the information he was given before finally letting out a loud boisterous laugh. "I love how you're playing with all the gender roles by putting people in the opposite gendered characters!" Duorre's face turned a bright shade of red, their embarassment painfully obvious. "Yeah... Duo and I are still working out the kinks for his character." Dan said rigidly, Duorre stared at her in disbelief for a minute before standing. "Excuse me, I need to go, but it was lovely meeting you, Keith." Duorre spoke near robotically, shaking the man's hand before rushing out of the theatre. "He's a cute one. Should definitely keep that one around." Keith spoke snidely with a lustful grin. "Yeah. Um, so did you want to talk about funding now or later?" Dan asked with a mixture of nervousness and annoyance. "I'll be in touch about that. Just be sure to check your email."

Sitting in front of the mirror, Travis examined himself with growing disdain. His body feels like a prison, keeping him from being truly himself. "I'm coming in." Dan announced before opening the door to the dressing room. Upon realizing that it was only Travis in the room, Dan let out a small, tired sigh. "When are you going to let me get my HRT?" Travis asked angrily, not looking towards Dan. "After the show, kid. I can't have you getting all hormonal in the middle of the show." Dan responded with equal annoyance. Travis stood and pushed past her to leave the room, huffing and on the verge of tears. Dan went to look over the costumes, seeing what needed washing, fitting, or replacing. "You really shouldn't be withholding that from him, y'know." Duorre spoke quietly, leaning against the doorframe of the now fully opened door. "Duo, you know as well as I do he's unstable. Besides... This company needs more femme presenting folks." Duorre's eyes lit up at Dan's comment. "Oh for fucks sake Danielle, you fucking misgender me in front of that producer douchebag, you're forcing Travis to keep living with constant dysphoria so you don't have to feel like the only strong woman, and what about Alex or Diane?" Duorre exploded with an unusual anger, their voice carrying well through the building. "I'm sorry, okay? I just want to be able to get this show off the ground. We all have to make some sacrifices." Dan muttered in an ashamed response. "What are you sacrificing? I apparently have to live up to your ideal of feminine life experience to write female characters, all the while you torture Travis and me for our gender presentations. And what, you're too scared of Diane to ask her to sacrifice anything? Alex is probably just your fucking whipping boy, right? So what the fuck are you sacrificing?" Duorre's rage continued, in that moment looking like a ten foot tall monster, rather than the tiny, wispy writer. "Duo, I am simply trying to make spaces for women like me. For women who don't fit in to the exact mold that society has set up for us, powerful, successful, and strong women." Dan finally having found her footing in the fight, stood as an equal to Duorre now. "Diane has lived in such a performative manner, for the entertainment of the patriarchy that she's pretty much a lost cause. Alex is on the cusp of recognizing his own toxic masculinity and privilege. Travis is the only one I can actually save."

Days after the blowout between Duorre and Dan would be quiet. The two focus on working separately. Until the day Alex finally sat down with Duorre. "You know she just wants what's best for everyone." Alex spoke softly, meek in his demeanor. "She doesn't get to decide what's best for people." Duorre responded in between scribbling more lines into their notes. Alex sighed before continuing on nervously. "Duo, she's taught me so much. I am becoming a better person, I'm finally becoming someone I can like. Please, just hear her out." Duorre finally looked at Alex, frustration mounting in their chest, before finally dissipating. "Okay, Alex. I'll do it for you." With the begrudging acceptance of the truce, Alex left Duorre to find Dan. The two would show up only minutes later, Dan looking similarly angsty about the entire situation. "We don't have to like each other. But we do have to work together, okay?" Dan's voice felt like a boulder landing on Duorre's chest. "Give Travis his hormones, and we will." Duorre responded calmly, their voice still burning with rage. "After the show, okay?" Dan looked at Duorre, extending her hand as a means to close the deal. Duorre shook on it, still quite upset but not seeing any other options. "Let's just write my character then."

Curtains closed, spotlight on, and from between them Duorre would enter, the spotlight focused on them. "You know I wanted to go my own way. Wanted to be like Joan Jett, or even more so Joan of Arc. Go to war with the men who'd hold me back." With this introduction, the curtains began to open, Duorre ran stage left as the lighting filled the stage which now showcased a living room. Alex sat on a couch, facing the audience. "Hey Diane, what're we doing for dinner?" He asked lazily, turning to lay down. "I wasn't expecting you to be home. I figured you'd be off with Dan." Diane's words cut into Alex, but his fatigue disallowed him a physical reaction. Instead, he simply sighed and covered his face with his arm. When a knock came from off stage. "Travis, can you get that?" Alex would yell to his equally off-stage son. Upon being called, Travis would walk on stage, talking with Duorre. "It's mom! She's back."

Black out to quick transition, the cast now sat around an empty dinner table. "I didn't expect to see you again, Duo." Alex spoke with an icy tone, refusing to look at the woman. "You know I needed my own freedom, Alex. I couldn't simply be you're stay at home housewife. Besides, Travis looks like he's grown into a strong, healthy adult!" Duorre affectionately motioned to her son. "Have you met Diane before, mom?" Travis would ask excitedly, feeling a mixture of happiness and overwhelming nervousness about the whole situation. "Oh no, actually, I haven't. Diane, is it? It's lovely to meet you!" The two women would exchange pleasantries as a phone was heard ringing. "Sorry, that's me. It might be work." Alex explained before walking towards the audience, Dan coming in from the wing of the stage. "I'm tired of all waiting for you to be ready, Alex. It's now or never." Dan would say exhaustedly into the phone. "Dan, you know it's not that simple. I have a wife and child. I can't just start over with you! That takes planning and work!" Alex would plead, looking around nervously as he did. "No, this is it, Alex. I can't keep waiting on you. I'm leaving the state, I want you to come with me." Dan spoke more calmly now, firm in his stance. "You'll have to go without me, Dan. I love you, but it's just too fast." Alex would respond, sounding absolutely defeated. "You're going to regret this." Dan screamed before hanging up on Alex. With his call finished, he returned to the dining room, and his shoulders dropped in depression. "Who was that, dear?" Diane asked, half heartedly. "Work, they want me to do overtime." Alex responded, his voice quaking with pain and fatigue. "Oh, Duorre and I were just talking about going out with Travis somewhere, like a family excursion."

Brick walls painted with graffiti, highlighted by occasionally flickering street lamps. The stage had become an urban sprawl, the city the first true escape for the newly made trio. Travis walked a step or two behind the women, eagerly sharing stories with each other. "How could I have known?" Travis would ask aloud as the lights zeroed in on him. "Through such destruction comes beauty as pure as yours." Travis took this moment to take the front and center position of the stage, preparing his monologue. "These feelings, something I'd never experienced before, is this what it means to love? There's never been a beauty like hers, a voice so delicate and pure. How was I to resist temptation such as this?" Travis would end his monologue by dropping his head as the lights came up, filling the stage once more. "Hey Travis. Hurry up, I don't want you getting lost now." Diane would call out, snapping Travis out of his romantic daydreams. "Of course, sorry, Diane." Travis would finally catch up with the two, Duorre studying both of them quietly before breaking the newfound silence. "Didn't realize you two were on a first name basis. That's really nice. I guess you're closer in age than we are, though." Duorre laughed, inviting the other two to laugh along with her. "I guess we just have a mutual respect of one another." Diane finally said, avoiding Duorre's gaze. "I'm glad, I always knew Travis would grow up strong and independent." Duorre responded affectionately nodding to Travis. "I guess I had to be." Travis's harsh response took them both off guard. "I mean, dad never talked to me. Not in any meaningful way. You never kept in touch, and so I just had to learn." The trio went silent upon Travis's revelation. Diane opened her mouth to speak up when her phone rang. "Oh, excuse me, I'll catch up with both of you." Now Diane took the spotlight, answering her phone shakily as Dan stood just a step outside of the curtains, still offstage but visible. "Diane?" Dan's voice sounding surprisingly calm. "Yes, who is this?" Diane's fear grew exponentially as she responded, her hands trembling as her eyes widened. "Don't worry about who I am, I just need you to know something." Diane went silent, her eyes glossing over as she stared out over the audience. "Okay, thank you." She'd finally responded, having been fully informed, to which she calmly turned back to the group. "What was that about, Diane?" Duorre asked, looking for any kind of an easier topic to latch onto. "Alex and I are done."

The empty seats of the theatre looked like an ocean for Duorre, who was looking simply to lose themselves in something other than stress. Duorre slumped into their usual seat, front row stage left. Finally, they pull out their journal to start writing when a loud objection rang through. "Duorre!" It was Dan, holding her script, shaking it angrily as she approached them. "Are you fucking serious? You're character is some kind of villain for being a strong, independent woman? Do you even know how misogynistic that is?" Dan screamed in Duorre's face, before throwing the script at them. "I'm not villainizing her, Dan. She made her decisions, she's just as responsible for them as anyone else." Duorre responded calmly, tired of the argument already. "So the other woman is grooming a kid, yours is a deadbeat, the only good character here is mine!" Dan continued shouting, her face growing redder by the second. "Alex and Travis are innocent in your eyes?" Duorre responded quizzically. "I swear Duorre, I'll fucking ruin you. You are just another misogynistic guy in this shitty industry."

Curtains open to reveal the kitchen once more. The lighting gives a solemn atmosphere, as Duorre and Alex sit across the table from one another. Neither looked at the other, instead silently staring at the table. "We've gotta talk about Travis." Duorre would finally speak up. "He's an adult. It's not like we really have to have a custody battle." Alex retorted with a surprising viciousness. "But where's he going to stay? You can't afford this place on your own, and I'm always on tour..." Duorre responded, leaving space for a final suggestion. "You think he wants to stay with Diane?" Alex finally asked, beginning to stand up. "Do you really think that's a good choice?" With his hands shaking, he stood, still staring at the table. Unsure of what his next move would be, to lash out or walk away. "I think she's a healthier role model than you or I, Alex." Duorre would finally respond, doing her best to be diplomatic. "Because I'm gay and you're a starving artist? I hadn't realized you'd become so conservative in your old age!" Alex fired off, his rage building with every response. "It's not about us. It's about where he'd be happiest and have the most stable home life." Duorre pleaded with him, doing her best to be comforting. "Fuck you." Alex responded, taking this chance to leave the room as Diane entered in. "How'd it go?" Diane asked, a small quiver in her voice. "About as well as you'd expect. But it looks like he's not fighting us." Duorre answered with a near robotic tone. "I'm taking Travis and we're going to the hotel then. Until we can figure out something else." Diane turned to walk away, not expecting any kind of resistance from Duorre. "Just make sure he doesn't get hurt, okay?"

Mirrors covered in foundation and costumes with makeup stains, the dressing room of the theatre full of dirty laundry. Dan stood in front of the mirror, applying eyeliner. Diane's voice would find its way in through the closed door. "I'm coming in!" Dan turned for a second before continuing with her makeup routine. Diane opened the door, seeing only Dan she offered a silent greeting before setting her purse down and settling in at the other station. "Diane, I wanted to get your opinion on something." Dan asked, still casually working through her makeup, going for a naturally masculine look. "Do you think this plays a bit misogynistic?" Diane paused her own makeup routine, thinking of a response. "I don't know, I think it's just a play. You're looking too much into it." Dan would put down her lipstick, turning to Diane. "Duorre's making all of the female characters look evil, though." Diane would continue on nonchalantly with her makeup. "Dan, I really don't read any part that doesn't involve me. I don't care all that much." Dan slammed her fists against the counter, holding all of the makeup. "You're really going to just roll over and let a man write this trash about women? What kind of woman are you?" Diane stopped her routine to look at Dan now, still calm but obviously annoyed. "You're the one that told us to treat Duorre as a non-binary person, whatever that is. You were the one that promised you'd keep them in line. This is your responsibility, I'm just doing my job. Besides that Travis kid has a lot of potential."

The lights shone on the dining room scene once more. Alex and Diane are sitting at opposite ends of the table now. "I should've told you." Alex would mutter, angry and defeated. "I always knew." Diane responded coldly. "You never got hard with me, I figured for the longest time it was my body. But when you started spending all this time with Dan, I knew." Her methodic response shook Alex to his core as he started to weep. "I'm so sorry. I just... I didn't know." Alex finally managed to blubber out. "I'm just glad you won't be taking it out on Travis anymore." Diane stared daggers at him now. The accusation hung heavy in the air. "What are you talking about?" Alex responded, shocked but slowly becoming enraged. "You've always pushed him to be the man you couldn't be." Diane smirked, confident in her argument. "I wanted him to be better than me. I never meant to hurt him. He's got so much goddamn potential."

The stage set for a dining room scene, all the lights on, Duorre and Dan both looking up to the actors in stage, from the pit. "Does everyone understand how we're handling this finale?" Duorre asked with a nervous forcefulness. "Everyone dies or is miserable, right?" Dan responded, obviously annoyed. "No, it's not that simple, Dan!" Duorre cried out. "Does anyone have a happy ending?" Travis asked, stepping closer to the front of the stage. "This isn't the end. That's the point. Your life doesn't simply end because no one's watching." Duorre countered, uncharacteristically defensive. "Duorre, are you saying there's room for a sequel?" Dan asked, not even bothering to hide her contempt. "I don't know. I just think these characters have a life of their own, y'know?" Duorre responded, feeling more cornered all the time. "Either way, we've gotta impress that producer, right? So we just have to put on the best show we can." Diane chimed in apathetically. "I'm glad someone gets it." Dan cheered, finally cracking a smile. "Let's go study the script some more." Alex muttered quietly, ushering Travis to follow him. As the two men left, they could hear Dan loudly scolding Duorre. "She's a bit much, don't you think?" Travis spoke calmly, ending his question with a soft chuckle. "She's actually really caring. It's just that she wants the best for everyone." Alex responded, letting out a soft sigh. "You and Diane seem to get along well." Alex's words stopped Travis in his tracks immediately, causing him to tense up, ready to fight. "Yeah, so what?" Alex turned back to Travis before looking forward again to speak. "I used to hook up with her when I was first starting out with this group, too." Alex let out a small hurt laugh. "She was this big star, and she gave me attention and affection that no one else gave me." Alex now finally turned fully to face Travis, seeing his guarded posture didn't help him feel any better. "We're leaving together after this show. She told me so." Travis finally muttered. "I am just telling you to be careful, kid. You're a talented actor, and trans folk need more representation, I think you fit the bill perfectly." Alex would put a hand on Travis's shoulder, an act of peace. "You're not my fucking dad dude. Back off." Travis lashed out, pushing Alex's hand away before stomping away. "I just don't want you to get hurt like I did."

Curtains were rising for the premiere. Everyone was excited and nervous. Potential producers and other beneficiaries in attendance, as Dan would remind everyone. Every scene starts a little too quiet or too loud, and the set changes getting mixed up. Candles in bedrooms, graffitied brick walls in a bar. The show dragged on, and everyone involved recognizing the disaster and becoming more afraid every time they left the stage. "How are we fucking up this badly? We've been practicing for months!" Duorre cried out on the verge of a panic attack. The final scene had started, the climax of the entire show. When the lights went out with a large bang. "What was that?" Someone cried out, panicking in the darkness. "Sounds like one of the bulbs pop and blew a fuse." Another audience member answered as everyone started filing out of the theatre. Duorre looked for the cast, finding Dan first. "You have to understand, this was a freak accident!" Dan begged Keith, who was looking rightly annoyed. "Dan, did everyone get out okay? Is someone checking the fuse box?" Duorre asked, the panic setting in fully now. "Yeah yeah, Duo. Everything's fine." Dan shooed them away trying to focus on bartering a second chance with the producer. Duorre turned away, frustrated and worried, searching the small crowd for their cast mates. "Hey! Duo! Over here!" Travis called out, sounding excited but a little shaken up. "Guess the show wasn't meant to be, huh?" Travis asked, trying to lighten the mood as Diane and Alex stared at the theatre silently. "I guess not dude. I'm just glad no one got hurt." Duorre responded, letting out a long tired breath. "Alright folks, good news bad news time!" Dan announced, stepping into the small gathering. "Good news, no more drama. Y'all don't have to deal with me or Duorre anymore. Bad news, the shows not getting a second chance. I don't know what any of us are gonna do."

The day after the premiere felt abnormally quiet, solemn even. Everyone was packing up costumes, makeup, saying goodbyes. Duorre took to their normal seat in the audience one last time. "So that's it, huh?" Duorre asked no one before silently sobbing. Dan sat down next to Duorre, looking straight ahead while addressing them. "I'm sorry this didn't work out. I really am. Maybe we can work together again in the future, " Dan spoke almost robotically, still cracks in her voice revealed her anguish. "I don't think so." Duorre whispered in response, no longer crying. "I gave Travis his needles. Just like you wanted." Dan responded, her voice had become dry ice now. "You should'nt have taken them away in the first place. Travis is eighteen now! Let him make his own god damn decisions." Duorre lashed out, tears forming in their eyes once again. "I have to take care of everyone in this group. And sometimes that means doing the hard things." Dan responded with a sigh, before standing turning to leave. "Don't speak to me of responsibility. You couldn't even finish the play." With those final words, Dan walked away, passing Travis on her way out. Travis now replaced her in the seat next to Duorre. "This whole thing sucks." Travis mumbled, slumping into the chair. Before Duorre could respond, Alex had sat next to Travis. "She's gone now." Was all he could muster, his posture rigid, and his eyes full of fear and anger. "Who? Dan?" Duorre asked, not understanding what was happening. "No. Diane." Travis fell out of his seat he'd slid down too far. Upon standing, he simply turned and left, without a word. "She dumped him." Alex muttered, his voice shaking with anger. "What he's too old now that he's legal?" Duorre asked with a wry smirk. "No, she wants a real penis. At least, that's what she told him." Alex finally spoke normally before standing up. "I gotta go find him. He's not handling this well." He walked out of the theatre as Diane appeared from the shadows of the stage. "You're a real asshole Duorre." Her words came out in near hisses. "Why lead on Travis like that? What do you gain from this?" Duorre asked pointedly, to which Diane flinched, avoiding their gaze. "I loved him. I didn't mean to. I wanted to help him discover his true self. I didn't mean to let it get this far. I have to make him hate me so that he won't come back." Diane spoke with a vulnerability that sounded foreign in her voice. "He's such a beautiful person. I didn't mean to hurt him." She'd hung her head as she slowly walked past Duorre. "Why Alex then?" Duorre asked coldly as she stood in their blindspot. "I thought I could help him open up. Maybe save him from Dan." She looked up, eyeing Duorre for a brief moment before leaving the theatre. Leaving Duorre sitting alone once again.

The final day of the load out had wrapped up, vans left with equipment. The only people still at the theatre a ghastly cast of would be stars. They sat in the theatre space, one last time, Dan opening up a bottle of champagne. "I bought this to celebrate the premiere, but now I guess it's more to commisserate." Dan announced as she poured herself a glass, passing the bottle to Diane. "I'm sure we'll work together again soon. One bad show isn't the end of a career." Diane reassured everyone, including herself. "I mean, Dan and I have some plans for the future." Alex spoke softly as usual. "Yeah, I guess I'm going to try to get back in school." Travis said, grabbing the bottle and pouring himself a glass. "This is a one-time thing, kid. Don't get used to it." Dan warned Travis. "Has anyone seen Duorre?" Travis asked, looking to change the topic. "I swear I saw them around here somewhere. Maybe they're packing up some more costumes." Diane remarked, not terribly interested in finding them. "I'll go get them, this is for all of us." Alex spoke with a nurturing softness. As he began to walk away, Travis followed him. Silently, they walked through the halls. Finally, finding the writer sitting slouched over in the dressing room. "Duo, you okay?" Travis asked as he approached. The scene now fully coming into view as Travis can now see the gun laying atop the script, which was bound with a red ribbon. "I couldn't even do this. What good am I?" Duorre asked, crying softly onto the barrel of the gun. "Do what? Duorre, what's going on?" Alex asked now, his stoic facade finally giving way to obvious worry. "I wrote this for you. For all of you. And when the ending came, I didn't know what to do. I don't want to hurt you. I want you to grow, to be better. But maybe I'm the one who needs to be better." Duorre finally pulled their head up, turning to look at the two men. "How arrogant I must be to tell you that you're only human. How shameful of me to write this atrocious script. I just hate seeing you hurt yourselves like this." Alex and Travis exchanged glances, neither quite sure how to respond. "This was to be my admission of love. To all of you. This was my labor of love for you. But I fucked it up. I couldn't find a resolution. I couldn't make an end. Because I don't want this love to end." Duorre sighed, still crying, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Take it. Burn it." Duorre said, handing the script to the men. Travis took it, not entirely understanding but scared regardless. "Go. Now!" Duorre snapped, the two men jumped at the sudden yelling before slowly walking out, neither really sure what to do. "I can't change them. What kind of love is it that I'd want to control them. What right do I have to criticize their choices, their lives. Perhaps, with a bullet I'll finally find some recognition." Duorre spoke to the gun, the tears coming faster now that the men had left. "But what kind of love would hurt them like this? What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to fucking do?"

#writing #original story #my art

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vizowrites · 3 years

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My BlitzStrike Twins: Headcanons and Shenanigans~ [probably with a bit of my M&M kids thrown in just for fun]

So today I got a couple of fantastic asks about Blitz and Striker as parents, and since there seemed to be a pretty positive response to them--and because @helluva-simp is amazing and encouraged me to be brave enough to write this up--I thought I’d go ahead and make a full post of my headcanons for these two little devils. I really do love the hell out of them and hope you guys enjoy hearing about them too!! <3 <3

Twist’s and Ty’s full names are Twister and Typhoon but literally nobody calls them by their full names ever so they like to make the joke of “the ‘-er’ and the ‘-phoon’ are silent”

Ty is actually the older of the two [though not by much] but everyone thinks that Twist is because his name is always called first. It’s always “Twist and Ty” [or just collectively “Twist-Ty”] instead of “Ty and Twist”. Ty honestly doesn’t mind that much as far as following after his brother goes, just don’t make the mistake of trying to label him as the younger of the two. There are a lot of things Ty’s perfectly content to let Twist take the lead in, but having the title of “the older twin” is just going too far.

Twist and Ty are mirror twins, meaning that they’re mostly identical except for a few key things: 1. Twist is left handed and Ty is right handed, 2. they both have heterochromia but Twist’s eyes are Left: Red | Right: Green-Gold whereas Ty’s eyes are Left: Green-Gold | Right: Red, 3. Twist has a birthmark on his right hand and Ty has his birthmark on his left hand--and yes when you put the two marks together, they form a design not unlike the heart shaped one on Blitz’s forehead :)

Both of the twins are incredibly agile, but Twist is faster and Ty is more flexible

Striker affectionately calls Twist “Whirlwind” because of said fastness

Blitz affectionately calls Ty “Noodle” because of said flexibility

.....Though it should be noted that it’s not all fun and games because Twist is CONSTANTLY crashing into things or tripping over his own two feet from going too fast, and Ty is so flexible that he’s able to contort himself into positions that honestly make both of his parents throw up a little in their mouths with the split-second panic of “OH GOD OUR BABY WAS BORN WITHOUT BONES!!” DX DX They’re both usually just fine tho!! :D

As noted in an earlier post--but I want to say it here too--Twist’s first word was “Bang!” and Ty’s first word was “Fuck!” Twist was the first one to talk, though, and it made Striker and Blitz second guess the context of his first word by the time Ty said his. XD

Another thing that was noted in another post but I want to put it here too is that Twist and Ty have incredibly high self esteem and both Striker and Blitz wouldn’t have it any other way

Twist is dyslexic and so gets easily frustrated when he has to read a book, but he love love LOVES the hell out of stories.....and so Ty is almost constantly making up random stories to tell him

This actually also works out well in Ty’s favor because Ty’s attention span is about as short as Blitz’s patience and he has a lot more fun telling stories than he does sitting still long enough to read the ones that other people made up unless it’s a book about something he’s reeeeeeally interested in

It’s also made Ty hella good at bullshitting on the fly, which I think most of the older/adult members of his family wish he was a lot less convincing at

Twist knows how to lie and is a natural at acting, but his flair for the over-dramatics tends to give him a way a lot easier than his twin

They both have what I’m calling a “hierarchy of obedience” within their family which really translates into a range of “eh I can think about maybe listening to this person sometimes” to “oh SHIT I need to listen to this person 5 fucking minutes ago”. For Twist, his hierarchy of obedience is: Millie --> Blitz --> Striker --> Loona --> Moxxie. For Ty, his hierarchy of obedience is: Loona --> Millie --> Blitz --> Striker.....and Moxxie doesn’t even make the list for him because honestly I’m pretty sure Ty just naturally tunes him out most of the time and not even fully on purpose. As he puts it: “You just have one of those voices”. XD

Ty can sleep literally anywhere and on anything. I’m pretty sure there have been mornings where Blitz and Striker have to play the game of 'Where the hell is my kid??' because they THOUGHT that he went to sleep in his bed like their other child did but NOPE they go into their room in the morning to get them out of bed and are just like, “.....Twist where the hell is your brother??” and Twist just gives an innocent shrug and says, “I don’t know--probably on the roof or something.” u3u and goes out into the kitchen to make himself breakfast--and then two seconds later Blitz and Striker hear him calling out “NEVER MIND! HE’S IN THE OVEN!!” and that starts off a whole new kind of panic because they know damn well that Twist’s favorite thing to have for breakfast is cinnamon rolls XD

Twist’s laughter is infectious--this really cute witch-like cackling that just bubbles out of him in the most adorably genuine way when he’s that delighted about someting

Ty does this adorable thing where--when he sticks his tongue out at someone--he flicks it in a very snake-like fashion and even gives the tiniest of hisses in lieu of a raspberry when he does it

Ty also manages to twist himself into the most uncomfortable-looking positions when he sleeps but rest assured, he’s never been more comfy

Twist’s tail never stays still. It is constaintly flicking to and fro, back and forth, swishing and swirling like a cat’s tail, and he loves flicking it in front of people’s faces to get their attention

Twist in general doesn’t really stay still very often but the one time he did was when Ty broke his arm--and then he spent almost every moment of the day and night plastered to his side because he knew it was driving Ty crazy not being as mobile as he usually is while having to wear a cast

The twins really don’t ever go that far apart from each other. If you look and only see the one, you can rest assured that the other one is around somewhere nearby and it’s probably not a good sign for you if you can only see the one.

Ty is much more of a biter when it comes to self-defense and Twist always goes straight to using his claws

Twist is the outwardly more protective twin and is vicious with his words when defending his brother. He will force every last ounce of moisture out of your body from how hard he makes you cry.

Ty, on the other hand, will fuck you up hard physically if you try to hurt his twin--and Lucifer himself would not be able to save you if you actually do hurt his twin

As they get older, and their sexualities and gender develop and grow, Twist would discover that he’s a nonbinary he/they homosexual panromantic and Ty would discover that he’s a genderfluid he/she pansexual homoromantic

The above being said, both Twist and Ty wholeheartedly say “fuck you and your gender norms” from a very young age and well into their teenage and adult years, with Twist enjoying painting his nails and Ty carrying all of his stuff around in a purse--and they both have a preference for wearing high heeled shoes [Ty because he just likes being tall in general and Twist because he likes being specifically taller than his parents because it drives them crazy XD]

Twist and Ty’s best friend is “Missi” [Moxxie and Millie’s eldest daughter, Missile] and she’s honestly an absolute hero for putting up with as many of their shenanigans as she does

Whenever they go out on family outings, Twist is that kid who just NEVER wants to leave--and so Blitz usually, after spending ten minutes of trying to get him in the damn van and Striker even using his Dad Tone (TM) and that not working, will just be like, “Alright kiddo, I tried playing nice. You asked for this.” And he puts his fingers to his mouth and whistles with a, “Loona Sweetie? Fetch.” >3 And Loona gets the BIGGEST grin on her face and Twist gets the biggest “oh shit I’m so fucking screwed” look on his face and Ty--who’s honestly probably very awkwardly coiled up in Striker’s arms because after a long day of family fun he’s tired af and decided that he doesn’t want to use his limbs anymore--just kind of looks over at his twin and says, “I believe in you, but also maybe try to run faster than last time” u3u

I think that they would both love their Auntie Barbie a lot and she would have soooooooo much fun teaching them different circus tricks--especially how to yeet each other back and forth on the trapeze XD

I also think that their Auntie Barbie would really love just how close they are.....and probably inspire her to make up for lost time in her relationship with her own twin too

For some reason I can’t shake the thought of the twins being great at acapella and I have no idea why but I’m also ttly here for it XD

In school, I feel like Twist’s favorite class would be Art [he loves to paint and happily makes all kinds of messes with his “expressing creativity”] and Ty’s favorite class would be P.E./Gym [because he loves testing the limits of his physical body]

Family game nights are always fun in their household because usually what happens is Twist and Ty team up against Blitz and Striker, and while they’re in the middle of duking it out, Loona ends up getting a monopoly on every street and is just like, “Pay up fuckers.” u3u

Moxxie and Millie both love and hate babysitting for the twins because on the one hand, they love them to pieces and love seeing how well they get along with their three kids, but on the other hand.....the twins keep finding Millie’s strap on and putting it on their middle child [Mark]’s head and calling him a “cockicorn” XD

Ty’s favorite food is ramen noodles and Twist spent three weeks [and probably set their kitchen on fire at least twice] learning how to make them with JUST the right flavor profile that he knows his brother likes the best

While I think both of the twins know that they can talk to their dads about anything, I think that they still keep their most personal thoughts reserved only to themselves and each other

Twist’s favorite type of weaponry tends to be more of the flashy ‘sharp and pointy’ kind whereas Ty’s favorite type of weaponry tends to be more of the aggressive ‘point and shoot’ kind. However I honestly kind of think that in terms of what they’d use themselves in the field, Twist’s primary weapon of choice would be a whip [though he would definitely have some throwing knives and handheld revolvers in his back pocket too] and Ty’s primary weapon of choice is honestly poisons. Assume that everything this kid has that he throws at you--be it a knife or a bullet or even a fucking cannonball--is poisoned somehow.

They both definitely play wrestle like Blitz and Barbie did as kids.....and just like Blitz and Barbie, they also get their horns tangled together more than once and need to have someone come rescue them. There’s almost always a photo taken that gets posted to Voxtigram first tho. XD

There are plenty more headcanons where this came from but I feel like this is already waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too fucking long so I’m going to go ahead and stop here for tonight!! If you guys are interested in hearing more about these two, please please please feel free to let me know and I’d be happy to write up a Part 2 to this, or just overall write up a quick little oneshot with them in it, or if you want to send me specific questions about them that I can answer, feel free to do so!! Thanks so much again and I hope you guys have as much fun reading these as I did writing them up!! <3 <3

#vizowritesheadcanons #BlitzStrike twins #ocs: Twist and Ty #BlitzStrike #Striker x Blitzo #Blitzo x Striker #Helluva Boss AU where Blitz and Striker are parents #I.M.P. family fun #kid AU

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twstheadcanons · 3 years

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This is a lore question and a slightly specific one. Cater as a character and otherwise is super interesting to me but at the same time insanely confusing. While at first I thought he would end up having maybe slightly abusive family there's a possibility that's not the case. His sister's seem to enjoy dolling him up and his mother seems to go along with it and his father's a bit more absent. I think I would mainly like to know what his true self is truly reflecting and also if Trey seems to know about this 'true version'. Don't feel pressured to anwser this if you can't btw ❣️

Cater fans come get yall’s food.

S, iideally I’d go through events Cater’s prominent in (Beans Day, Halloween), but that would just make this whole post longer. So I’ll be using Cater’s card stories for now. What we know about Cater, on the surface level, is that he comes across as happy-go-lucky, energetic, social, trendy, superficial, flaky, and insensitive at times. But that’s Cater on a surface level.

So for Cater, his major issues from his background are:

his family frequently moving to accommodate his father’s occupation as a banker

his sisters dragging him into their own interests that he was expected to accommodate as well

Cater repeatedly states he disliked getting dragged around by his sisters and having cutesy stuff he wasn’t genuinely interested in shoved into his face. This would even happen on his birthday, where his sisters got him things they’re more likely to enjoy, which made Cater feel frustrated since he was supposed to be the focus on his own birthday. But despite that annoyance, Cater understands his sisters didn’t really mean any harm. From the sounds of it, they liked hanging out with Cater, and assumed that Cater enjoyed how they spent time together as well since Cater preferred to go with the flow, rather than rock the boat.

In his Bday SSR, Cater mentions that his sisters became more considerate of his own interests and asked him what he wanted. All three coming from a family where they move and lose close friends a lot, the sisters are probably close and want to stay close to their brother as well, since they’re the only consistent company in a similar age range. His sisters are each other’s best friends, Cater didn’t have that growing up. He also mentions his sisters and mother’s sweets-making kick, and how he eventually got over having sweets every day. But when he protested, it’d disappoint and sadden them/they’d have dejected looks on their faces, which Cater didn’t know how to handle, so he made himself go along with their whims to keep them happy.

This pours into his social media life, where he’s a peppy, cheery guy that posts upbeat content and responds with light, casual, carefree messages to people. His Lab SR literally has him state that he ‘should always be happy and excited, after all’. So, clearly, whatever dynamic the Diamond family has, while not what I’d call something as heavy as abuse, isn’t considerate of Cater’s feelings and views Cater’s ‘go with the flow’ ways as approval. If he ‘breaks character’ of the devil-may-care person he is on the surface, it raises questions, and Cater would rather just avoid all that and enjoy himself instead of getting involved in anything heavy.

Again, Cater doesn’t like to rock the boat. He also mentions in his Lab SR that this obsession with cutesy stuff became rather invasive, and he’d even be criticised or second-guessed if he didn’t go along with the idea. Cater ends up accommodating that interest to prevent any debate, even if he didn’t actually care for them. That said, with such an emphasis on aesthetics being the way he grew up, Cater has a good understanding and practical knowledge of decour and eye-catching designs, which makes him helpful and invaluable when the time calls for decour. This is something Cater knows he’s good at, and enjoys showing off since the focus is on himself and he’s acknowledged for his skills.

With their family moving all the time, Caters gained and lost friends a lot. Cater has an outgoing personality, at this point, it’s safe to assume he’s an extrovert, so making friends comes naturally to him. But when you’re moving a lot, maybe sometimes in the middle of a school term, . Cater needs engagement and social interaction, but at this point in his life, he’s tired of trying to keep up with old and new friends on deep levels, hence his interest and obsession with social media.

One thing to note about Cater: he likes cutting corners. a lot.

In his R card “Portrait of Rosalia”, it’s understood that Cater being nice to Rosalia by throwing her a party with some lively students around is a way for him to get on her good side, because Rosalia overhears the teachers’ discussions of tests and future lessons so that he wouldn’t have to study for an upcoming history test: while Cater’s idea of a party to lift Rosalia’s spirits is in good nature, he wants something out of it that benefits him. But while disappointed the plan didn’t work, he’s quick to brush it off, and Rosalia’s anger, by mentioning that she’s cuter when uptight anyway.

In his PE card “This betrayer!” Cater only have five laps left to do in PE. But he hates how sweaty he is and how tedious the overall task is. So he uses his UM to try and avoid doing all five laps himself. Riddle catches him red-handed, and Cater tries - albeit I’m sure he knows it’s a lost cause - to flatter Riddle at the last minute. Trey’s also involved, and despite leaving Cater in the dust, Trey also returns with Riddle, because Trey knows that Cater’s the type that tries to cut corners whenever possible, something against the rules in Heartslabyul. Honestly, as far as Trey goes, Trey’s someone used to the way Riddle holds himself back. Cater’s exterior personality wouldn’t be hard for Trey to recognise as Cater pushing himself or exaggerating points of his personality just to keep up an image. especially after being in the same dorm for three years.

In short, while he isn’t malicious about majority of the time, Cater will use others to get out situations and tasks he wants no part of. This is a huge thing reflected in his UM, as it allows Cater to be in more than one place, so that he personally doesn’t have to be involved. Growing up with two pushy older sisters, it makes he develops a UM that complements a need for escape when pure wit won’t work. And despite being someone with a superficial interest in trends, that experience accumulates in him understanding the basics about social media and how it affects others, himself included, since it became the only way he could stay in contact with acquaintances and ‘friends’ from previous years.

Cater has a good understanding of how people, in general, work, especially those in his agegroup, which makes him rather crafty when he wants to string others along and get out of a situation. This doesn’t make Cater a mean or conniving person, and in fact, he’s generally amicable and social. Cater lives by a pretty ‘live in the moment’ credo. He enjoys having fun and not getting overly serious about issues when he can help it. There are instances where he doesn’t care about the situation he’s in, or thinks it’s lame/boring, but he tries to make the most of it as something to post about on MagiCam later to engage in low-effort social interaction for a mental break.

Cater pretty much states this in his Halloween SSR:

“If I left there, they remained there. That’s why I’d rather have a casual and happy time with everyone instead of going steady. It’s like a circus troupe, you know, having fun hanging with people all over the world and then leaving. And that’s why MagiCam is the best. I suddenly got messages from acquaintances from the school I went to 3 years ago. Aren’t my casual and light relationships multiplying? It’s lovely! “

Social media helps him keep in contact with people on a low-effort level, so the risk of moving doesn’t damage his relationships online like it would physical friendships. As for family, Cater’s feelings towards his family are difficult, tricky ones he has problems with. He certainly doesn’t hate them, but their lifestyle, the moving and pushy personalities, don’t mesh well with Cater’s personality overall. When Lilia tries to relate to Cater’s experiences of fleeting relationships, Cater can’t help but dismiss Lilia’s empathy as surface-level, since, to CATER’S knowledge (it’s not like he knows Lilia’s old as shit), Lilia’s always lived in the VoT with his own family and friends, which hits a sore spot with Cater:

““Cater: ….Family…huh.

Flashback Lilia: I feel like I understand you. But it is just as Cater says, it might be the truth that you should not attach yourself too much to one person in particular.

Flashback ends Cater: (That was full of lies. For a guy who grew up in the same place and never had to deal with rebuilding relations over and over… He wouldn’t understand my worthless and meaningless feelings.)

/Notification

Cater: Hello, Trey. What’s up? Huh? Are we doing our rehearsal for our night show at the stamp rally now? And is Deuce from my committee lacking in hands, so Ace is helping him out? Darn, Ace is definitely going to use this to ask me for a favor later!

Cater: Argh! And is Riddle on the verge of a rampage? I’ll be back soon, Trey, please calm him! It was such a pain getting involved in the biggest crisis of this Halloween week! No, for real! I’m not lying. That’s why you don’t have to say such cold things to me, kay? URGH, TREY, YOU’RE SO CRUEL!!

Cater: Now that Diasomnia’s turmoil has settled, it’s time to change the mood. No matter how you slice it, we’ll still separate if we become 4th years… It would be different if I repeated a year though. Anyway, I should just enjoy the memories I’m making “now”! I’ll surprise everyone with this charming skeleton costume! I’ll show them my serious side!”

Cater calls his own feelings ‘worthless and meaningless’, which likely ties into how he got dragged into his mother and sisters’ own interests over his own, and sometimes even criticised if he didn’t go with their flow. He also expects the friendships he’s made in NRC (as we see with him talking to Trey about the rest of the Heartslabyul cast), to inevitably disappear after he and Trey are fourth years with their own internships and lives to live. Because to Cater, the future of his life and relationships appear disruptive and inconsistent, so instead of fretting about them, he wants to live in the moment and enjoy what he’s doing at all times, hence why he cuts corners to make things easier on himself. This is why he can come across as superficial and easy to get along with, because he doesn’t want to fret over the details.

unrelated but we’re team ‘former dorm leader cater’ here because him doing it because it sounds cool and fun fits perfectly with his personality

#cater diamond #twisted wonderland #Anonymous

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saltyyashahime · 3 years

Note

Hello, I am a CSA survivor too and am struggling to cope with the idea that so many people are okay with such an abusive ship. What do you do to feel better about this situation? It deeply saddens me to see people be so sick and gloss over such a heinous thing

Hello Hun, Firstly, I am sorry this happened to you. A trusted person should have never taken advantage of your trust. TW: CSA/ CHILD ABUSE - I won’t really be discussing much but to cover my ass. I knew SessRin was a possibility early on. Anyone who says Anti’s didn’t clearly hasn’t been listening. I knew I would never be okay with it in any context, though I thought they would have bother to make it more acceptable by “making her an adult” and “making it obvious this was Rin’s choice”. So far yashahime has done neither. I really felt when the Imagine of Rin and the twins dropped that I had been punch in the gut. That I had been lied to through out the start of this series (feminist show my ass), and that everything I had watched in my early teens was wrong. And then the interviews came out. Then the Anti’s grew. This little (or large) community. The honest translators who translate what is written regardless of if it’s favourable or not have helped me sort of come to terms with what has gone down and I still can’t watch the OG the way I used to. Those scenes of her as a child are always used to show the basis of their supposed “adult ship” and it makes me uncomfortable. With time and distance that may change. No. I’m not okay with SessRin, and shippers can come waste their dying breaths trying to make me accept canon. The director himself came out and said SessRin was not in Inuyasha/The Final Act. So while I still cannot watch the OG series at the moment without seeing Red or wanting to Vomit, I am starting to heal from the the kick in the gut that was episode 15. (Honestly though, hearing Rin say Lord Sesshomaru the way that she did made me want to throw up). How do I cope with Shippers? Honestly I don’t bother with them. They’ve always been here. There’s always been those shippers in every fandom that seem to think abusive/incestuous etc. relationships are fun to write. Some are even CSA survivors that use it to cope (though most, I would argue are not). Instead of bothering with them, I speak openly here. With my fellow Antis and with adults in Real life who are just as horrified as I am about the revelation. How do I feel better? Sometimes I walk away from tumblr (I don’t engage with Yashahime anywhere else). I roleplay with my friends. Sometimes I scream or cry if I need to. I talk to people about what I’m feeling. I talk to my therapist. I go eat a whole thing of chocolate. If this nonsense weighs me down I practice self care. Sometimes I express myself on here, when I feel okay with the idea that whatever I put on here will possibly be screen shot and used on the anti sessrin circus blog. You know- because that Simple Bitch loves to mock CSA survivors. I don’t engage with shippers or look at their tags. Anything I see or comment on is in the main tags or under anti posts or is reblogged from antis. I don’t cross tag (if shippers see me it’s a glitch on tumblr and that is not my fault). I remember when the MeToo movement was so strong. I remember repeating my story and getting so upset that people wouldn’t listen. It was very triggering. I had to walk away from the internet or certain tags. Remember not everyone is okay with SessRin. Remember that these people have been affected by years of media that had young girls being in love with much older men, especially in anime. Remember you don’t have to accept Canon. This is the only fandom that screams Canon like it means anything. Just remember it’s okay to feel frustrated, angry, disappointed, sad, hurt etc. by all of this. Don’t let shippers gaslight you into swallowing your feelings about your Trauma. I do the things I can to make space for people. I’ve emailed companies, I’ve tweeted the companies. I’ve done everything in my power to express why I think Yashahime is a pile of garbage that deserves to be forgotten. At the end of the day, that is all I can do. That and self care. So if you’re feeling something, it’s okay to feel that and to discuss that within fandom spaces. DM me, send as many asks as you need, just don’t feel you have to suffer in silence and you’re not alone. I think that’s the biggest thing that helps me. I’m not alone and I’m not in the minority and I’m not abnormal for disliking sessrin.

#anti sessrin #anti rinsess #long post #Shippers DNI #This is tagged anti and if you blocked the tag #you would not see me.#Anonymous

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bisexualdaemon · 4 years

Text

mad woman (nessian)

a/n: In which Nesta copes and Feyre interjects

hello! again, new here ☺️ this kind of just...happened? the idea came upon me late talking with @harryandmolly idk anyways hope you enjoy! if you don’t like modern AUs then this probably isn’t for you, but if you’re into that sort of thing and all the warnings that go with it then I would love to hear what you think!

tw: angst, coping with death, sex work, language

original art by the incomparable charlie bowater

Things were great until they weren’t.

Nesta Archeron had been engaged. She had a father who loved her and a sister she adored. Until the plane crash. Until a faulty navigational system sent her fiancé, her father, and her sister into the side of a mountain on the way to her destination wedding.

She had gone to Hybern early, to get settled and calm her nerves, to plan around the security that Feyre had hired so that Rhys could attend the wedding. Nesta had told her not to bother, Rhys could stay in Velaris for all she cared. She’d gone and set it all up anyway. But it had all exploded when Nesta got the call that her world had ended and all she had left was a sister she resented and a brother-in-law with too high a profile. She was a tragic headline. A fucking media circus.

High Lord Rhysand’s sister-in-law left at the altar in tragic plane crash.

The press camped outside her Velaris studio for weeks. They’d only left when she had thrown a maelstrom of empty glass bottles out of her windows at them. Empty because she’d come back to Velaris and crawled inside a whiskey bottle and stayed there. She might be more whiskey than person now. The days were passing at a rate she couldn’t gauge anymore. Had it been hours or days or months since she’d picked up the phone in the middle of placing name cards on tables in the reception hall? She didn’t particularly care. Everyone who mattered was dead and being drunk was better than counting the minutes since her future had evaporated.

A knock sounded at the door.

Nesta removed the eye mask she was wearing and squinted at her phone. 7:15 AM. She’d been up all night again, had just laid down to try and sleep. Who the fuck was at her door at this hour?

She knew but she opened the door anyway.

Feyre Archeron, High Lady of the Night Court, was in the hallway looking worried. Well, Nesta assumed she was looking worried. She could only see Feyre’s furrowed eyebrows between the oversized sunglasses and the wide-brimmed sun hat. She had wrapped her red-gold hair, twin to Nesta’s own color, into a low chignon to hide it away from prying eyes. A disguise. Nesta snorted. Feyre Archeron could be noticed in this city by a blind man a hundred yards down a busy avenue. It was the way she carried herself, the easy confidence. No one could mistake her for anyone but their High Lady.

“What do you want?” Nesta crossed her arms over her chest, blocking the view into her apartment.

“Well, to start, a little respect for the person who has been footing your liquor bill for the last eight months.” Her red lips were turned down at the corners, tight. She angled her head past Nesta’s shoulder and crinkled her nose, “God, I don’t even need to see in there to know what it must look like. I can smell it from here. And I can see you.”

Nesta kept her face a mask of annoyance but considered how she must look. Compared to Feyre’s heavy cream sweater and perfectly tailored tan pants, anyone would look slovenly but Nesta knew she'd let herself go.

A while ago, she’d taken to wearing Tomas’ shirts to bed. Then eventually she wasn’t getting out of bed so it was all the time, changing only when she found the strength to shower. Today’s shirt—more like this week’s shirt if she was being honest with herself—was an old striped dress shirt, one Tomas had maybe worn twice with a suit. It now had several stains from whiskey and whatever takeout she had ordered last night. She couldn’t quite remember. Chinese? Greek?

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Her marriage was supposed to be one of convenience. They had been friends, had both gotten older and then tossed in the towel on dating. Tomas needed a cover for a lifestyle his parents forbade and Nesta...well Nesta wanted to be comfortable. Nesta wanted her sister to stop meddling and leave her alone. At least, she thought she did.

But, no one had known. No one except Elain.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

Her hair hadn’t been washed in days, it was matted in some places, stuck to her face in others. She knew her eyes were hollow, sunken in and lacking that fire people saw when they looked at her. She’d been avoiding her own reflection for weeks, had even covered the mirror by the door. Months ago, apparently. Eight months.

Had it really been that long? Had she really been moving from bottle to bottle, takeout container to takeout container, for eight whole months? She’d barely left the apartment, had lost her job, happy to exploit Feyre’s seemingly unending pity. Pity she guessed had run out.

Today.

She didn’t care about that either.

“Come all this way to chide me, dear sister?” Nesta curled her lips as she moved aside to let Feyre through. Might as well let her see.

“Thank you.” Her sister breezed into the little sitting area and stopped dead.

Her eyes scanned the room, marking the recycling bin first, overflowing with empty glass bottles. All different labels. Whatever Nesta could find quickest. Then the kitchen counters, filled with boxes of crackers and empty ramen noodle packages, cans of tuna and an open jar of peanut butter, anything that could be quickly consumed with minimal effort. She didn’t want to die, but she hadn’t exactly been concerned with living either.

At last her eyes darted to the corner, over by the window, where a white dress hung from a hunting knife that had been punched through the wall. Straight through the center of the sweetheart neckline. Nesta had lost count of the weeks it had been there. A reminder. A memorial. Little circular burns littered the fishtail skirt, remnants of late nights with too much booze and an ashtray full of half-smoked blunts still on the windowsill.

“Oh, Nesta.” Feyre’s hand came up to cup her mouth. Nesta raised her chin, refusing to feel reprimanded. “I’m sending Alis this afternoon.”

“I can look after myself,” Nesta hissed through her teeth.

“Clearly,” Feyre threw her arms wide and turned in a circle, “you cannot. You know I came here hoping you were getting better. I gave you space, knew you blamed me for what happened. At least partially. But it’s time, Nesta. I lost them too. But I don’t have the luxury of drinking and smoking my way into oblivion on my sister’s dime.”

“Is this just about the money?” Nesta asked incredulously, “I’ll fucking pay you back if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, no,” Feyre brushed a lock of hair out of her face, frustrated, “it’s not the money. I don’t care about the money. Neither does Rhys. We just want you to come back to the land of the living.”

“Ah, yes. The royal We.” Nesta sat abruptly on her sunken couch and leaned forward, not caring that she was just wearing a pair of underwear beneath the oversized shirt, “how is dearest Rhys? High Lording as well as ever I presume. Now with better reasons than ever to hate me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” she said too quickly, wringing her fingers for a moment before she whispered, “we...we missed you at the funerals.”

Nesta’s blood ran cold. Her eyes swam with tears that wouldn’t fall.

“I know why you didn’t show,” Feyre couldn’t look at her, “I almost understand it...but we still missed you. Father was interred with full honors of the Night Court. I’m having a garden planted for Elain up at the estate. You should come see it when you’re ready.”

Nesta really needed a drink. Feyre needed to leave. She couldn’t do this. Not now. Not today. Not ever.

“Get out.”

“Nesta—”

“Get out.” Nesta’s voice was low, lethal.

“Fine,” the High Lady voice was back in full force, “I only really came to give you this.” She pulled out what looked like a business card from her freshly pressed pant pocket, “this might seem...forward. But, I think it might help you. Rhys and I use the service sometimes when we’re looking for something different. I know you won’t go see someone. This might be a different kind of therapy. Tell her I sent you, she’ll know what to do.”

“Fine, fine,” Nesta took the card from her, hoping it would get her to leave faster, “get out.”

“Nesta,” Feyre stopped and took a breath, her hand wrapped around the doorknob, “please do be discrete.”

Nesta furrowed her brow, but nodded. She had been, for the most part. Except on nights she was too blitzed to remember her own name, let alone that her sister was High Lady of this region.

“I’m still sending Alis,” Feyre wrinkled her nose again as she opened the door and strolled out. And that was that. No goodbye. They hadn’t ever been good at those.

Nesta blinked at the door, the apartment suddenly feeling small and cramped. She turned over the card in her hand. It had only a name and a number. AMREN. 202-555-0187. She flicked it onto the table. Whatever, she thought as she sauntered over to the kitchen and took a swig from the nearest whiskey bottle.

↞↠

“Ms. Archeron.”

“Yes?” The tone of the man’s voice made her drop the place card she had been holding.

“There’s been an accident. A plane crash,” he hesitated. Her eyes stopped seeing. Her body shivered with a bone-rattling chill despite the summer sun streaming into the room through the open windows. They couldn’t be—

“Say it.” Her voice was a breath on the wind.

“There were no survivors.”

She didn’t hear the rest. Someone was screaming. A crash, glass breaking, warmth sliding down her leg. A sharp, metallic smell in the air. She couldn’t hear them calling her name, couldn’t feel their fingers gripping her skin, feel the pressure of the towel collecting the blood from the gash in her leg.

A plane crash, he’d said. No survivors.

Tomas was dead.

Her father was dead.

Elain…she had just planted flowers for spring.

A fresh scream ripped from her throat.

↞↠

She woke up with it echoing in her ears, heart pounding. Wrenching the fresh sheets off her clammy skin, she felt for the scar on her thigh, catapulting her back into the present. Nesta hadn’t let them stitch it for days, had wanted to remember. It had almost festered. Feyre had held her down while they numbed and sutured. Most of those days were lost now, either to shock or sleep, she didn’t know. It hadn’t taken long for the drinking to start.

Her head was pounding. Alis had stormed the apartment hours earlier, tut-tutting about the stale stench, throwing open every window. Nesta actually appreciated the fresh air. She didn’t appreciate the old woman’s silent appraisal of her ruined wedding dress.

“Don’t touch it,” Nesta had snapped. Alis had tut-tutted some more, cleaning as she went, but she left the dress alone.

Now, with a clean apartment and nothing to keep her company but her own self-pity, she laid spread-eagle in her bed that felt too big in clothes that felt too clean. Nothing matched her insides anymore. The small, decrepit thing inside of her that shrivelled that day and rejected everything still living. Even herself. She had never been a particularly warm person, but Elain, sweet and beautiful Elain, had made her care about something outside of herself.

She got up to find something to dull her head. A bottle of ibuprofen sat on the coffee table, next to a decanter of scotch. She washed the pills down with the brown liquor and sat on the edge of the sofa, her head in her hands.

The silence pressed her on her eardrums. An oppressive lack of sound, only the barest of sounds audible on the street. Too quiet. For the first time in months it was too quiet. Her head shot up and focused, eyes darting to the card neatly placed in the corner of the table.

Amren.

What had Feyre meant, “a different kind of therapy”? Hell would have to freeze over before Nesta crawled onto a couch to talk about her feelings, Feyre had admitted as much. So what was this?

She picked up the card and flipped it over. Simple, white, just the number in embossed black. The curiosity was going to kill her if she didn’t just call the number. She reached for her phone, hauled out from between the couch cushions by Alis earlier. It had been dead for weeks. She’d given up on ignoring the condolences calls and just let the battery drain. Probably why Feyre had shown up yesterday unannounced. She swiped past all of the missed call and voicemail notifications and pulled up the keypad.

It only rang once.

“Yes?” A clipped, cold voice answered the phone.

“Uhh, is this Amren?”

“Speaking,” her voice didn’t soften, “can I help you?”

“My sister gave me your card,” Nesta didn’t like this woman. She wracked her brain to think of how this person could help her, especially when she didn’t particularly want anyone’s help.

“And who, my dear,” Nesta could hear the snide smile in Amren’s voice, “is your sister?”

“Feyre,” Nesta huffed, “Feyre Archeron.”

“Oh, Feyre darling! Why didn’t you say so?” Amren warmed immediately. Well, at least to a level above stone cold. “Yes, Feyre told me about you.”

“You must have read—”

“I don't read the news, dear girl,” Amren said, flippant. “I have someone perfect for you. I will send him. Already have your address.”

God, she really needed to have a conversation with Feyre about boundaries. Who is she sending?

“Who are you sending?” Nesta had not been sober long enough for this. Her brain wasn’t firing quick enough to deal with whoever this person was sending to her apartment.

“His name is Cassian. He’ll be at your apartment in two hours.”

Two hours?!

“I can’t have anyone in my apartment in two hours! What is this??”

“We call it therapy,” just like Feyre had, “you don’t need to do anything to prepare.”

“But I don’t even—” The line went dead.

Nesta stared at her phone. How could I prepare if I don’t know what to prepare for?

↞↠

Two hours later, Nesta was pacing. Nervous. She was rarely nervous but she was also rarely unprepared. This felt like a bad omen, like suspense in a horror film. Like this Cassian might jump out of the shadows at any moment from some secret portal.

She had washed her hair but no makeup. She had put on leggings but no real pants. There were concessions she was willing to make and others she wasn’t. It didn’t matter that they were only concessions to her own pride. Feyre got one opportunity to meddle in Nesta’s life, one opportunity to try and control how she coped with losing everything. Nesta would endure it in her own home, in her bare feet, or she wouldn’t endure it at all.

An assertive knock at the door made her jump.

Her heart thundered. She hadn’t talked to a man in months, let alone been in a small space with one. Now there was one at her door. She padded across her expensive rug, smoothing her hair as she went. Her hand gripped the doorknob, giving herself a second to stop shaking. Breathe in, breathe out. She jerked the door open only to be left utterly speechless.

The most beautiful man she’d ever seen was leaning on the door frame, forearms crossed over his massive chest.

“Nesta?” one corner of his full mouth curved upward. He inclined his head behind her left shoulder after she nodded. “Gonna let me in?”

“Why should I?” She challenged, angling her chin up at him.

“Because,” his shoulder length black hair slid into his face as his towering frame looked down at her. He came closer and held her chin between his rough fingers, “you’re at least a little curious about what I’m doing here.”

Nesta ripped her face from his hands and took a step away from him. His hazel eyes stripped her bare. How does he do that? He appraised her frankly, taking in her sloppily thrown together appearance. The baby hairs that clung to the side of her face, unable to stay in her top knot. Her soft curves that the oversized t-shirt she wore only hinted at. All the way down to her toes, the cracked polish left over from her wedding manicure, just a couple of splotches of color left.

His gaze sent a warmth through her. She tried to will it away, send it back to the hell she belonged in. Shaking her head, she stuck him with a glare.

“Fine,” she stepped aside, “come in and tell me what you’re doing here so I can tell you to get out.”

He walked in smoothly, his gray slacks gripping his toned thighs with each stride. Too casual, Nesta thought, for a therapist, especially with his white shirt open at the collar and rolled to his elbows. Not that she actually believed whatever this was even approached therapy.

He stopped in the center of Nesta’s living room and turned, giving the place as detailed a once-over as he had given her. His eyes only paused briefly on the wedding dress still hanging in the corner, but he faced her again as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

“So,” he took up so much space as he spoke, too big, too much life for this apartment that had only contained her hollow soul for so long, “everyone up to this point has referred to this appointment as therapy, correct?”

“Yes,” Nesta replied, curt. “But you’re no therapist, are you, Cassian?”

He snorted, a challenge to her fire temper. She didn’t like to be mocked and somehow he knew that. “No, I’m no therapist.”

“I’m what is referred to in the circles you run in as an escort, a friend, of sorts.” He looked her dead in the eye. No shame, no fear. Just a professional. “We call it therapy, first and foremost for discretion, but also because I’m here to make you feel better. Feel alive again. In whatever form that might take.”

Nesta stiffened. Her mouth dropped open. No. “My sister sent me a hooker? You’re telling me that, my sister, the High Lady of the Night Court, sent me a hooker?!”

She could barely keep up with the 100 mile an hour thoughts racing through her head. It wasn’t long before the pacing started again. Feyre said she uses the service sometimes...with Rhys?! She maybe could have guessed that her sister and her ass of a husband were freaky but prostitutes?! Couldn’t they just ask someone?

Nesta, please do be discrete, she’d said as she walked out the door. She guessed paying for silence was easier than risking a secret. Money is always the best form of currency.

Well, I guess I fucking know why. And she set this up for me?! What in hell’s fire did she think she was doing?

Cassian just stood there while her brain worked, while it exploded with all of this new information. So still, a statue compared to her frantic pacing. He must deal with this a lot. But wait, don’t people usually know what they’re asking for?!

“You’ve never–“ she couldn’t finish the question out loud. Sharing was something foreign to Nesta even when she wasn’t talking about sexual partners.

“No,” he shook his head, “Amren wouldn’t have sent me here if I had. She just told me the context of the visit.”

“So, you’re here,” Nesta stopped in front of him, “to have sex with me?” The words came out a whisper. They sounded so foreign, so ridiculous.

“I’m here to help you.” He took a step toward her. The walls came down fast.

“And why do you think you can help me?” The words cut through the space like a knife. Accusatory, incredulous, they almost stung passing over her vocal cords.

“Because, dear Nesta,” he took another step toward her, and another, “I’m very good at helping people.”

The warmth in her blood returned and warred with the acid coursing through her veins, the hate. It came raging back from this morning, from the past months, from ten minutes ago when this cocky prick knocked on her door. He was staring again, close enough to have to look down at her, just an inch or two from touching.

“I don’t need help from a high-dollar whore,” she spat. The only sign that she’d hit her mark was a faint twitch in his eyebrow.

“I’ve been called worse, sweetheart,” he drawled. “But let’s get one thing straight. I think you need help more than you’d ever admit. I don’t think you’ve taken a breath since then. I read the papers. A beloved dead sister. Absent from the funerals. You blame yourself for not being there, for not dying with them. The guilt warms your bed at night while you lie awake, as much a part of you as the alcohol that twinges your breath. It’s become so familiar you don’t remember what it’s like without it. Who would Nesta Archeron be without that dark stain on her conscience following her like a storm cloud? Will all those liquor bottles I saw outside answer that question for you? Will that tattered wedding dress?”

“How dare–“ she felt the door press against her back, unconsciously moving with him while he lashed at her burning soul, fire for fire.

“Oh, I dare,” he continued, planting his hands on the door behind her, trapping her with his eyes. “Because take it from someone who knows, when you decide to wake up and live with what you have left instead of existing with everything you’ve lost, there may not be anything left to live with. And trust me, guilt makes a very lonely bedfellow.”

Nesta had barely blinked this whole time, refusing to let him have that victory. Even if everything he’d said had hit home. Even if everything he’d said had flayed her open and raked her insides across the coals. She still burned with that unyielding rage.

“Is that what you say to all the girls that pay for your time?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. She was close enough to smell him, the warm spice of clove and sandalwood with a distinctly male musk. It was intoxicating. It was infuriating.

“Some. Some of the men, too. I’m an equal opportunity tough lover.”

She swallowed hard. He was close enough that if she moved an inch his hair might brush her cheek. “Is that what this is? Tough love? For someone you just met?”

“It’s the truth,” his breath tickled her face, the tension crackling like static electricity around them, “isn’t it?”

He sounded tentative for the first time, like maybe he’d overstepped. Is it really so obvious?

“Did Feyre pay you to say those things?” Or were they just written so plainly on her face?

“Nooo,” he said, lower than before, gentler, raising one of his hands like he might stroke her cheek. She cursed herself silently for hoping. He came closer then, his lips a hair’s breadth away from her ear, “Feyre paid me to fuck you senseless.”

Goddamn him. Fire shot into her veins. Not the simmering fury of her anger but something deeper, hotter, pooling in her core. Her breath caught in a little gasp and he smiled. A wide, full grin with teeth that made him look more predator than man.

Her body was a traitor, but it made no difference. She was already burning in hell.

Cassian held still, letting her make the next move. Part of her wanted to make him stand there forever, punish him for what he said, what he knew about her, daring to say what no one else would with just one look. A different part of her wanted to rip him apart.

“Come on, Nesta,” a prince of cats toying with his prey, “show me that fi–“

Her lips crashed against his. God, he was big. She reached around him, fingers tensed to claw at his back, and savored the muscles and sinews that made up the terrain. He pressed her into the door. His hands cupped her face, so gentle for a kiss that was anything but. Flames licked her skin everywhere he touched, at every point their bodies connected through clothing.

He leaned and gripped and suddenly she was taller than him, her legs wrapped around his middle, his fingers pressed into the curve of her ass. She gripped the sides of his face and guided him to the side, forcing herself deeper, her tongue brazenly exploring his mouth. He even tasted wild, like fresh mint and adrenaline. Her heart beat in her ears, deafening over the silence of the apartment. He moaned, so deep it vibrated in her chest.

Nesta broke first, pupils blown and breath ragged.

“Finally shut you up?” she asked, sagging back against the door, her head falling against the wood with a low thud.

He….well, he growled. There was no other word for the sound that rippled through his whole body and found a home between her legs. Her toes curled and she thanked every god that he couldn’t see.

“Pretty little acid tongue,” he pushed them off the door and walked her toward the bed, almost tripping twice over the plush rug. Nesta didn’t notice. She was too busy tearing at the buttons down Cassian’s chest. Each one revealed inch after inch of smooth golden skin. Licks of black ink stretched from his shoulders, mostly hidden by more shirt. She huffed, trying to shove it off, but instead caught his nipple by accident with her nails.

His nostrils flared as he hissed and dropped her unceremoniously on the mattress. She bounced, breathless. Dangerously close to a giggle. Traitor. She schooled her features back to bored disdain. The only hint of lust was the glassy haze in her vision, honed in on Cassian’s bare chest.

He had removed his shirt while she had been distracted by her traitorous body, discarded it somewhere above her. The black inked lines Nesta had seen stretched around his shoulders and down his arms in dark whorls and spirals. The tattoo was almost feminine in its pure decoration, a stark contrast to his cut biceps. It was beautiful.

He was beautiful.

“Careful, Nesta,” he chided, “someone might think you like what you see.”

She gave him a filthy gesture. A deep, rumbling laugh escaped him as he took a step closer, his fingers grazing the outer seams of her leggings. From her ankle to her knee, where he stopped to make circles. He curved around her knee and gripped her legs, tugging her to the edge of the bed. The palms of his hands burned her skin straight through her leggings. He hadn’t tried to remove her clothes. She couldn’t decide if it was a tease or an insult. Probably both.

“Are you just going to talk?” she cocked an eyebrow at him, “or are you going to do something productive with that mouth?”

His eyes narrowed, “are you sure that’s what you want?”

She wanted him. Damn her, she wanted him so bad she could barely stand to look at him. The guilt roiled in her stomach, that she should take pleasure while everyone she’d loved could no longer. He’d offered her help, but it would be her damnation. No, this was just a distraction. No amount of distraction could bring back Tomas, or her father, or Elain.

Light from the city outside shifted and spread into the corner drawing her eye. The dress. Her wedding dress. In the night shadows, the blunt burns looked like angry, gaping voids. They whispered to her as she stared. Traitor, traitor, traitor.

I’m here to help you. His words were poison. Bred from a kind of hope only Feyre, with her perfect life, could ever have again after what they had lost. Her want for Cassian’s body burned her from the inside, stoked the fires of the self-inflicted hell she’d cast herself into. Nothing more than a catalyst. She could take his body and burn for doing so, but she would not accept his help.

“Cassian,” Nesta’s voice didn’t belong to her. She pulled her t-shirt up to just below her breasts, exposing her flat stomach and drawing his eyes to her waistband. “just do what you came to do.”

The air chilled as he stiffened. Her heart raced, waiting for him, fingers teasing her bare skin. He didn’t move. She lifted a bare foot and ran it along his pant leg, coaxing him to touch her. He nodded, as if making some decision Nesta wasn’t privy to. His face, lit so beautifully by the moonlight, hardened into a mask. A smooth, smiling mask. Prince of cats no more.

“Cassian?”

“Dear Nesta, I do believe our time is up,” he leaned down and reached over her, his chest just grazing her belly, the only skin to skin contact they’d had. She swore she felt him shudder, but it was over in an instant. He quickly retrieved his shirt from behind her and pulled it on.

She gaped at him, “what do you mean our time is up?”

“I mean,” his eyes shot right through her with cool confidence, “it’s getting late and I do need my beauty sleep. I must be going.”

“But–“ she didn’t understand. Isn’t this what he wanted? Isn’t this how he gets paid? How can he leave?

He buttoned up his shirt, swift and efficient. Little feeling or warmth. Nesta wasn’t sure what to do. Confusion quickly gave way to anger, boiling in her veins, flushing her skin.

“So, you’re not just a whore,” she hissed, “you’re a bastard whore that can’t even finish the job.”

“So lovely meeting you, dear Nesta,” he turned with a sweet smile and opened the door, sending any tension between them out into the hallway. He breezed through the door, clicking it shut behind him so gently he might have been a phantom.

Nesta slammed her head against the mattress and let out a frustrated scream so loud she had no doubt the bastard whore heard it.

taglist: @sleeping-and-books @greerlunna @sjmships @cupcakey00 @queenestarcheron

Cassian’s POV is next ❤️

#acotar #acotar fic #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar au #acomaf #acowar #sarah j maas #sjm #my writing

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lchufflepuffcorn · 4 years

Text

Being the batmom

Author’s note: Okay so, Batmom here. I want to say that it was posted two days before on my patreon (you can check it out here). I’M also present on ko-fi if you prefer. You can also catch my masterlist here if you want to read more of my things. Please feel free to request or ask any question you’d like.

Words: 2404

Warning: Fluff, a little of angst (it’s the batman fandom we’re talking about). English is not my first language.

Dick is eight and orphaned when he's taken in by Bruce Wayne, millionaire and philanthrope of Gotham City. This, by the way, is very different from the circus the poor boy was taken from after his parent's death. Dick is not feeling good about being taken in by that cold and distant man, and even less with the wife he has and is giving him so many warm smiles. That woman is not on Dick's right side, it feels like she wants to take his mother's place, and his mother's corpse isn't even cold yet. He doesn't like that at all.

When Dick tries to ask why Bruce as taken him in, the man either ignores him or tells him they'll talk about that at another time. And that Wayne's wife is still smiling warmly like his mother used to. He doesn't like it.

But as weeks go by and months follows, Dick starts seeing the looks (Y/N) is giving her husband when he ignores her. Dick doesn't respond when she speaks to him if he ignores her, then she can't take his mother's place, can she? He can sometimes catch low voices talking about him when he walks in the manor's cold corridors. He'll never admit it, but he still gets lots most of the time.

''He doesn't like me.'' Your voice says, and behind the nearly closed door, Dick stops walking to listen.

''He just lost his mother, give him some time, darling.'' Respond Bruce, and Dick can see him rub your back tenderly. He never saw that type of affection between the two of you before.

''But I've tried everything; he doesn't respond to me, even less look at me anymore. I don't know what else I can do.'' The sob in your voice makes Dick feel guilty, even more so because he knows that he's not supposed to hear this conversation. So he walks away without making sound and tries his best to go back to his room.

It does take him some more months before he can talk to you without seeing his mother's face instead of yours, but at least he's not ignoring you anymore. That's around that time that he becomes Robin.

And now he can see you fret. You're nervous when they leave, and you're ecstatic when they come back, he can catch you mutter angrily under your breath at Bruce when they come back with scratches and whatnots. For the first time in months, he feels warm. After it, he feels terrible for thinking of you as a good mother, because he feels like it's insulting his.

Dick is fifteen when he first gets too close to experiencing death. ANd it's you again that makes him realize that.

''Get him killed, why don't you!'' You growl in a whisper while bandaging Bruce in your room. ''We just got a kid, don't lose him just yet! I swear your worst than a child yourself.''

Dick sit's outside of your room to listen to you. Tonight's mission was particularly hard, and Bruce took a knife in the leg, pushing him out of the fight. So he wanted to thank him properly, and excuse himself. But your voice stopped the teenager from entering.

''I won't let him get killed, (Y/N)...'' tries to say the man, but you cut him before he finishes his sentence.

''You shouldn't have let him become your sidekick. It's too dangerous.''

''I had everything under control...'' tries Bruce again.

''You had nothing -nothing- under your control, Bruce. Richard could have died.''

''Dick is a bright kid...''

''Exactly, he's a kid!''

Your voice is not a whisper anymore. You're screaming, and Dick feels the same drops in his stomach than when his birth parents were fighting while he was supposed to be sleeping.

Dick is seventeen when his heart gets broken for the first time. And it's because of Bruce nonetheless. He feels betrayed and angry, and all he can think of is to leave the manor. He can't understand why Bruce would hide such a thing from him, his parent's killer. There's a part of him that wants to find a reasonable way to see that matter, but all the rest just want to punch the millionaire. That's when you come into the portrait.

Dick comes into your room one night when Bruce is still working. It's been weeks since they both talked last. The boy feels like a child all over again when you just open your arms at him.

''I'm sorry, Mom.'' It's the first time he calls you that. Your heart races for a little while at the word. But you don't ask questions even if you see his school bag balanced on his shoulder and the suitcase near your door.

''It's okay, you have some friends with you? Do you need money?'' Is all you ask. You can't really expect him to stay. You can understand the feeling of being betrayed. You've already talked to Bruce about it, but you'll have to do it again, that man is stubborn.

''Yeah, I just need some time.''

''It's okay.'' Dick wiggles out of your embrace, but before he can leave the bedroom, you call for him again. ''If you need anything, call me at any time, okay?''

Your boy just smiles and nods before exiting.

It's one or two years later that Bruce comes home with, let's say, a surprise. You were consulted before Dick entered the family, but now, apparently, it's just a way to numb Bruce's pain from missing your son. Dick still calls you, and you go around for breakfast most of the time, but Bruce and Dick are not on talking terms just yet.

The teenager Bruce brings back during the night is the same. He told you tried to steal the Batmobile tyres the week before. Are you feeling safe, not really, but Bruce seems to think he can help the boy, so you figure 'why not.' You're thirty-six now, and the boy doesn't look much older than Dick was when he was adopted.

As it's what the boy names himself, Jason is broody and, as a harsh, looks in his eyes, but your smile doesn't falter.

He gets comfortable around you. Comfortable enough to let you play with his hair when he has nightmares, let you hug him before he leaves for school, or for a mission and comfortable enough to sleep with his head on your shoulder while Bruces drives you from a party that the Wayne Enterprise held. Jason his a mama boy, and it shows, but he doesn't take well that you try to give him rules to follow.

It's Bruce who has more difficulties with that.

You try to talk to both of them, but each time, it's about the same answers.

''But, mom, I don't understand why we just arrest hi. He gets out every time! And he ends up hurting more people than the last time.''

''Jason, I can understand why you're frustrated about that. But life doesn't work that way. Murder is murder, even if the Joker is a bad person.''

Usually, that's enough for Jason to huff and leave the room until dinner.

When you try talking to Bruce about it, that's when it gets tricky.

''Maybe you could talk to him about it? He's still a kid after all...''

Bruce only shrugged.

''You think I don't try? He's not mature enough to understand. Dick understood...''

''Dick saw his parents get killed, but he too was angry when you lied about Zucco.'' You're angry now. It's always like this when Bruce talks about Jason, he's not as good as Dick, Dick was better, Dick was this, Dick was that. ''Jason is not Dick, Bruce, they're different.'' You leave your husband to the darkness of the bat-cave, so he can reflect on your words, once again. Sometimes, it's just better that way.

Contrarily to Richard, Jason is not one to take pictures with you, but you have some that were not made by journalists. They rest with Dick's photos on the principal living room's chimney, where you're always found reading or watching TV or painting and drawing. The one that has big windows and a magnificent view of the garden.

That's typically where Jason would find himself after a hard night of vigilanting with Bruce. He's tired, the mission that the Young Justice League just achieved had been both emotionally and physically tiring, and all your boy wants is a hug. That's how Bruce finds both of you in the living room, you, currently watching a TV show and Jason, head buried in your shoulder, practically sitting on your laps while your fingers were playing with a string of his hair.

Bruce called you on his way back from Ethiopia. And you cried a lot that night and the whole week after too. You can't bring yourself to look at the coffin, he's so small.

You can't talk to Bruce for a while, the mear thought of being in the same piece as he makes you want to cry. It's not Bruce's fault that Jason died, but he could have prevented it, and as a mother, you need to deal with your child's death alone.

Bruce's too changes after Jason's death, for example, his nightly missions are becoming even more bloody. That's when Dick calls you.

''Mom, I really think Bruce needs therapy.''

''You and I both, baby bird.''

You talk for sometimes before a voice cuts into your conversation.

''Who's that, Richard?''

''That, Mother, would be the next Robin.'' Your heart sinks toward your heels as you rise from your seat.

''Bruce doesn't want another. I don't want another... accident myself.''

There's a moment of silence on the line before Dick sighs.

''Just give Tim a chance, okay.'' You mumble under your breath, agreeing.

Tim is different from the others. For one, he has living parents. But that doesn't stop him from calling you his mama. When you ask, he answers that he calls his mother, mom, but you're his mama, because you chose him. He takes Jason's place in the Young Justice League, just like Jasons did with Dick.

That's until his mother dies and his father falls into a coma. Then Tim comes live with you for some time. Dick comes and goes at the same time, he starts talking to Bruce once more again. They're not as friendly as they once were, but Dick's smile brings back Tim's, so Bruce is happy about it too. Tim is the antidepressant that Bruce needed. Your husband did not see a therapist like you asked, but Black Canary tells you that he is way better than he once was.

Tim's father comes back from his coma, and he leaves your house to go back with him. Once again, your life becomes grey. Still, Dick and Barbara come once in a while to talk with you, and Alfred is actually very good at playing chess. Then, Tim's father dies too, and he comes back to the manor. You're thirty-seven now.

''Do you think we'll have children who are not traumatized by death and want to become like you?'' You ask one night as Bruce is getting ready to join you in bed. Even in the bathroom's dim light, you can see the bruises that he seems to collects on his back and arms and legs. Also, his chest seems covered in blue discolorations.

What you're not aware of are Tim's microchips as installed all around the house and that he's listening.

''Why, you don't like the lifestyle?'' Question's Bruce back, a smirk on his lips.

Tim focuses on the sound coming from your bedroom, he's suddenly curious. From the news and the way Dick talks about you, you're a really nice woman, and Tim's experience with you proves it, but he wants to know more about what you think of this lifestyle like Bruce said.

''You know what I mean...'' you start again, but Tim can hear the smile in your voice. ''I just think that they shouldn't be heroes. They're children... it's a dangerous lifestyle.''

Bruce sighs and comes to join you on the bed, but just like you are under the covers, he's on top of them. He kisses your nose gently before rolling to his place next to you.

''I never forced any of them, you know.''

''I know.'' Your hand brushes again, his chest tenderly. '' It's just that I never thought having children would be this dangerous. I just want a normal family...''

At that, Bruce only answers by bringing your hand to his mouth and kiss it.

That night is when Red Hood appeared.

It was all crazy time between Red Hood and apparently Jason was back, and Tim was angry at Bruce, and now Bruce had a blood-related child of his own? Now that you didn't take it very well. And Bruce couldn't really explain either. But the kid seems to find you interesting.

First of all, Grayson talk only kindly about you, so of course he's curious, not that he gives much concern about what Dick thinks. Though he's not home often, Jason is always lovely with you, weakness, but at the same time, you do have a gorgeous smile that makes the child want your hugs too. Tim -now, Tim is not Damian's favourite, but he does have some interest. And Tim is head-over-heels about you.

Most of all, the three boys call you a variant of 'mother,' Barbara is always smiling when she comes home, and you're there, which is not the case when it's only his father, and Alfred had nothing but good things to say about you when he asked.

Damian's pretty sure that you're the one who made his father agree about the cow he's keeping. But there are still no shreds of evidence of this certitude yet.

Damian's still trying to see up to where he can push things with you. As of yesterday, when he called you 'Umi' and you didn't react except for answering, ''Yes?'' he still doesn't know if it's because you were the only one in the room so you answered or if it's because you know what that word means. So he'll have to experiment again.

In short, being the Batmom is being a nervous wreck who likes hugs and is full of patience for both your husband and children.

#Batman #batman imagines #Bruce wayne x reader #fem!reader #x reader imagines #batmom imagines #dick grayson x reader #damian wayne x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #robin x reader #robins x batmom #red hood x reader #red robin x reader #batman x reader #nightwing x reader #barbara gordon x reader #alfred pennyworth #justice league imagine

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remmushound · 3 years

Text

Mud Dogz Rising, Chapter 3: Mickey

@scentedcandlecryptid

“Mikaeel.”

The voice made Mickey perk up and look around eagerly, his oversized orange cap slipping down and covering his eyes. He gave a frustrated squeak as he pushed it back up so he could see the ringmaster. The little Yokai gave a questioning babble.

“Showtime.”

Showtime? Mickey loved showtime! That meant he got to see nice people make them laugh. He’d get to dress up and he’d get pictures with the nice Yokai and sometimes they’d even give him treats if he was extra good! The ringmaster picked Mickey up and the eel fit perfectly in one of the yokai’s hands, coiling around himself like a snake might. As they passed through the backstage setup, the rest of the freak show shouted their encouragement and praise.

“Good luck Mika!”

“See you in the ring!”

“Knock ‘em dead darling!”

Mickey giggled and waved to his friends while making happy faces. Ringmaster took him into his most favorite place in the whole world: The ring! The lights were on him and the stands were filled with happy yokai and happy faces! Ringmaster put him on his tiny pedestal, fixed his hat, and then put the special talking stick in his tiny nubby hands.

“Hi.” Mickey squeaked into the microphone, his voice bouncing all around the tent. “I’m Mickey.”

A series of awes surrounded him and Mickey smiled wider, spinning around several times so that he could be seen by everyone. He was a special water Yokai, ringmaster had said, because he could swim on the water in the air just as well as actual water! All the Yokai really seemed to love it when he swam. He waited for the crowd to settle down like Ringmaster had always taught him to before he spoke again.

“Tank you all for comin’ to da show. My friends are… are gonna… they gonna… come an’ make you laugh…”

The crowd ooed and cooed, making Mickey’s heart flutter with joy.

“An’... an’ now I gon’ fly for you.”

The crowd applauded as Mickey started to drift upward, swimming through the air and leaving bubbles everywhere he went. The lights all shut off, and then the ringmaster lit a torch with the touch of his fingertips. Light immediately flooded the circus tent, and the mystic flame searched for the rings and swallowed them into a burning inferno. It was Mickey’s famous trick: swimming through the narrow rings without getting burned and retrieving the hose on the other side to put pout the fire.

The eel yokai did the same thing he did every time he performed the trick. The same tucks, the same flips, the same weaves! So he was confused when, on the last and smallest ring, a searing pain singed its way across his ear flap and made him cry out. The audience gasped as Mickey fell toward the ground.

***

Later that night, Mickey was in his crib finding it incredibly hard to sleep with the new bandages around his head. His cap had been placed back over the bandages and he had gotten a kissie from Ringmaster, but that didn't make it any better like it did with other boo boos. All of the nice people had seen him get hurt and he had made the Ringmaster sad. He didn’t mean to! He didn't know why the rings hurt now when they didn't before…

“...liability…”

That voice was one of the Ringmaster’s not-so-nice friends that came around sometimes. He’d come sometimes with a whip to snap and yell at mickey’s nice grown friends. Mickey didn’t like him. The toddler knew he wasn’t supposed to spy on people, but they were talking really loudly and it was hard not to hear them.

“But he’s lived in this circus all his life, he doesn’t have any other family.”

“That little stunt of his had half our customers demanding a refund!”

“So he made one mistake, big deal!”

“And he’ll keep making more mistakes the older he gets.”

“Yokai like this are extremely rare! He has drawn in more customers than any of our other show Yokai!”

“He’s gotten too big for the act.”

“Then we can get him a new act— we’ll figure something out!”

“Yes you will.” Said the Ringmaster’s friend. “I’ve already got someone coming in to replace him, someone younger, and I need him gone before the next show.”

Mickey gave a sad whimper; he felt bad for whoever they were talking about, but at least it wasn’t him. He yawned, and then settled back into himself to get some sleep.

***

“We’re gonna go for a ride.” The Ringmaster had said, and now they were!

Mickey had never gone for a ‘ride’ before! It was a little scary at first, but it was so fun when he got used to it! It was like his performance, only on the ground and really, really bumpy! They ‘went for a ride’ for a really long time but it was okay because Mickey had gotten a cookie for being so good. But now he was really sleepy. Would Ringmaster mind if he took a little nap while they went for a ride? Probably not…

“Oh Mickey…” The Ringmaster ever so tenderly plucked the sedated yokai from the car seat and placed in a box, tucking a blanket over the Eel and fixing his hat with the most gentle of touches. Ringmaster carried the box from his cart and into a nearby alleyway, placing it under the shelter of a trash bin. “Please… be safe…”

He gave the four year old a pat on the head before standing up and leaving Mickey without looking back.

#poor circus baby #Tmnt mud dogz #mud dogz #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt

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thewayshedreamed · 4 years

Text

This Time— Epilogue

A/N: Finally— the epilogue for This Time is here! I think I struggled to finish/ post this because it meant this little au was truly over, and I enjoyed writing it so much. Thank y’all again for every reblog, kind comment, and like y’all have left as you followed the story. I’ve loved every second of it!

Also, feel free to send me prompts set in this au if the inspiration hits! I’ll always love revisiting these two dummies 💕

Fic masterlist is linked below in case you need to catch up before reading the epilogue!

This Time masterlist

acotar masterlist

——————————————————————————

Nesta awoke to the feeling of calloused hands running down her back and a heavy weight draped across her hips. She raised her head to locate the offender, her eyes trailing over a long, tan thigh, some unmentionables, a firm stomach, broad chest, and landing on a pair of bright hazel eyes.

“Would you get off of me? You’re massive,” she ground out.

He was seated across her backside, running his hands down her back in broad strokes. He paused at her lower back and repeated the motion in reverse. Once his hands made their way back to her neck, he sprawled them across her shoulders and onto the bed, as he leaned over onto his elbows to hold his weight.

“Apologies, milady,” he joked, nipping the top of her ear playfully. “I guess I’ll go.”

He started to roll away from her, but her hand reached back to grasp his cheek to stop him. She pulled his face toward her own, raising her head to graze her lips over his as she spoke.

“No. I miss you,” she breathed against his mouth.

He smiled through their kiss as his hand shifted back down her body, lifting her hips slightly. Her breath hitched as he slid into her, his mouth claiming hers as he moved. Her fingers found their way into his hair, and he grunted into her mouth as she tugged the strands. His pace increased, the only sounds in the room being the crumpling of the sheets, their bodies moving together, and the small cries Nesta emitted with each thrust. He broke the kiss to rest his forehead on the back of her own head as they finished together, whispering each others’ names as they rode out their pleasure.

He rolled onto his side next to her, and she turned to tuck her face into the center of his chest. She took a deep breath, basking in the comfort of his scent and his arms around her.

“I think I could stay right here forever,” she mused.

——————————————————————————

12 years later

——————————————————————————

Unsure of what provoked such specific thoughts of her and Cassian’s fervid affair, Nesta shook her head to snap back into the present. Her daughter’s loud squeal caught her attention, and she let out a long chuckle as she watched her run through a small flock of birds that had landed in their yard. She had her arms thrust out to her sides, trying to blend in as a member, and she flapped them in earnest as she approached.

Nesta found herself envious of her 4-year-old’s free spirit sometimes, knowing she didn’t have it in her on a molecular level. Ironically, the young girl was Nesta’s carbon copy in appearance. Her heart caught anytime Annie looked at her with eyes identical to her own, yet with an entirely different soul beneath.

“She’s such a busy body,” her son remarked, the fondness in his eyes for his sister negating his tone. He was seated in the wooden chair next to Nesta, book rested in his lap, as he watched his younger sibling run through the flock. He wore an expression far beyond his meager 10 years.

Nesta huffed a laugh at his comment, noting the amount of herself she heard in his voice. While her daughter was everything Nesta was not, her son was so much like her that it could be scary at times.

“That’s just how she’s made, love. Let her live,” she replied, with an air of mock defensiveness for her daughter.

“I am!” he insisted. “It just seems like she would be... I dunno. Tired, sometimes.”

Nesta laughed openly at that, understanding his perspective more than she could explain to him.

“I get it. She’s just different from you and me, you know? Your Uncle Azriel once told me that people like me and you need people like your sister. She keeps life interesting,” she mused, a soft smile of adoration plastered across her face for her daughter.

“Aunt Elain says Uncle Az is a know-it-all,” he snarked.

She snorted another laugh, but before she could respond, the subject of their conversation rounded the corner of the porch.

“Sounds like I need to have a talk with your Aunt Elain,” he joked, messing up his hair playfully.

“Unc,” he scowled, “stop it.” Despite his frustrations, he stood and hugged Azriel, still young enough to idolize everything about his uncle.

“Can I help with anything, Nes?” Azriel asked from over his nephew’s head.

Elain walked up behind him, both of their daughters in tow.

“ABIDUS,” their youngest, Cosette, squealed from Elain’s arms. The two-year-old was still working on “Atticus”, and Nesta had to admit it was a mouthful.

Nesta beamed proudly as her son released his uncle, turning his affections to the toddler immediately. A smile made its way to his face, and he extended his hands in invitation. She leaned forward enthusiastically, no doubt in her young mind that her older cousin would catch her every single time. She squeezed tightly around his neck as he started to walk down the steps to meet Annie in the yard.

“Coming, Cath?” he called over his shoulder to the older of his cousins.

Catherine had her arm around Elain’s lower back, her face tucked into her mother’s waist. She was tall for her tender age of 8, taking after her father. At the mention of her name, her hazel eyes peeked around Elain and brightened at the sight of her sister and cousins all greeting each other.

“Yep,” she replied shyly, as she walked down the porch steps.

“She just woke up from a nap in the backseat,” Elain explained. “She’s still waking up, I think.”

“No need to explain,” Nesta insisted as she wrapped her sister in a tight hug. “Especially to me.”

She felt comforted by her sister’s tight squeeze and held her just a few seconds longer than usual. It had been a while since they could all get together, and she’d missed her sisters greatly.

She turned her attentions to Azriel, wrapping him in a tight hug around his middle just as Atticus had done moments ago. He returned the gesture, placing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“You never answered me, you know. Can I do anything?”

“No,” she responded as she pulled away from him, “enjoy our kids, I guess. Everything is almost done inside, so we’re just waiting on everyone else to join us.”

“Oh,” Elain interjected, “I just talked to Feyre as we were pulling up. Her and Rhys are wrangling their small circus and heading this way shortly.”

The sisters shared a low, fond chuckle at the thought of the chaos their youngest sister was mediating at the moment. There was a time where Nesta and Elain had gaped at Feyre when she mentioned she and Rhys wanting four kids, but now, it was hard to imagine their family any other way.

“Seriously, go have fun with the kids,” she ordered. “I’m going to check on the food, and I’ll bring out a bottle of wine to share until the rest of the crew shows up.”

“Where is your husband, anyway?” Azriel inquired.

“He’ll be here soon— got tied up,” she assured him, even though she wasn’t entirely sure what was keeping him.

She turned toward the door to slip back inside. Truth be told, Nesta needed a minute with her thoughts. Her memories from only minutes ago were clanging through her brain, and she needed a few minutes to get her head on straight. She could hardly host a family dinner with thoughts of her and Cassian’s early days swimming around in her head; specifically, between the sheets.

Their relationship had been everything they’d expected and more. That’s not to say there weren’t struggles here and there, but they managed to work through things as a team as they had in their years as best friends. They had dated for for a little over a year until Cassian had decided he wasn’t “satisfied” by the state of their relationship anymore, the statement still causing an ache in her chest all these years later.

Her thoughts were promptly replaced by checking on the meal she was preparing for her family. Everything was looking as it should, so she turned her attention to the glassware collection to grab wine glasses for the adults. She selected a white and a red, grabbed a corkscrew, and balanced her haul in two arms as she made her way outside.

There was an intense game of “Red Rover” occurring among the group, poor Azriel getting left out every time. None of them dared to call him over, knowing he would be able to run through their grip effortlessly. He looked totally unbothered, content to watch their family play together no matter what that meant for him.

Unwilling to disrupt them so soon, Nesta rested the wine bottles on the porch railing with the glasses next to them. She sat down in the wooden chair she occupied earlier, watching them play as an SUV pulled into the driveway. Her husband climbed out, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up just below the elbows and tie abandoned entirely in favor of an open neckline.

“DADDY,” Annie yelled, breaking into a full run toward the man getting out of the vehicle. She showed no regard for his slacks or polished shoes as she barreled into him, near-climbing up his legs in an attempt to reach his upper body for a hug. He lifted her easily, pulling her into his chest and kissing her hair.

“Hey, Spitfire,” he said. “Looks like you’re having a good time out here.”

“We are!” Annie yelled. “Come play with us! Unc’s not gettin’ to play a whole lot.”

He laughed, setting her down to rejoin the others. “I’d love to. Let me check in with momma and change clothes, yeah?”

“K!” She ran off, no harm done by the delay in his joining them.

He made his way over to Nesta, taking the porch steps two at a time. She rose to meet him, and he placed a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Hey, love,” he murmured.

“Hi,” she breathed. “Dinner’s done. And there’s wine if you want some.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry I’m late. I should have called, but I got caught in mediation longer than I expected. The good thing is, we’ve settled out of court, so that lightens my load for a little while.”

“It’s okay. I understand,” she assured him.

“Something wrong? You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, Nes.” He reached out to run his hands over her shoulders.

“Just thinking is all.” His brows scrunched at her words. “No big deal; just some nostalgia really. Go get changed. Annie is counting down the seconds,” she laughed.

“As long as you promise you’re okay.”

“I am. I swear.”

It wasn’t a total lie. In the purest sense, she was fine. She had half of her family with her, the other half joining them any minute now. The only problems were the incessant day dreaming and the intense emotions accompanying them.

“Come on,” he urged her, lacing his fingers with hers. “I’ll change, and you talk.”

He didn’t believe her. She supposed years of marriage counted for something, but she fought the bristling of her defenses all the same. She wanted to be alone to work through her emotions, but it appeared she wouldn’t be blessed with that today.

They walked in silence, him guiding her hand in hand to their bedroom. He prompted her to sit at the foot of their bed while he started to undress, his body angled sideways to allow him to look toward her and place what he needed to on their dresser simultaneously. He pulled his keys and wallet from his pockets, placed them in the small dish, and patted around his pockets for his phone. He placed that face down on the corner and turned his attention to the remaining buttons of his shirt.

He kept his gaze forward as he spoke, and she knew he was trying not to seem as though he was interrogating her.

“What’s on your mind?” His voice was a near whisper.

“I mean.. I don’t know exactly. I’m just especially emotional today. I’ve been replaying memories from my past all day, and I can’t shake it. But it’s nothing you should worry about.” Her voice was quiet but sure.

“Of course I’m worried about it— worried about you. I can almost hear you thinking. I hope you know I’m here if you need anything is all.”

She could tell he was restraining himself, his annoyance peeking through in small ways like how he oriented his body fully toward the dresser now. The room was tense around them, but she knew there was nothing she could say that would relieve his worries without giving him a snapshot into her headspace. He would never demand it of her if she felt adamantly against it, but she had learned in their time together that he worried a little less when she shared a glimpse with him.

“One thing I’ve played and replayed in my head was the day you proposed,” she shared quietly.

His shoulders tensed but relaxed immediately, almost as if he had expected something terrible and been spared.

“Yeah?”

She bit her lip, weirdly shy about sharing the moment entirely from her perspective.

—

He is picking her up from her apartment for date night, telling her it’s a surprise. He helps her into his truck and drives for what seems like forever. They finally pull off the road into what looks like nothing but dense forest with a small, dirt road leading to nowhere. He keeps driving, suddenly making his way into a clearing. Nesta blinks against the dark several times and realizes it’s not only a clearing; it’s a small cliff overlooking the city. From here, they can marvel at the beauty of their city and the stars alike, and Nesta thinks it may be the most beautiful place she’s ever visited.

He gets out of his truck and urges her to stay until he has everything settled. She hears the tailgate open, followed by rummaging sounds in the bed of his truck. His feet hit the earth roughly, and she hears his footsteps kicking up gravel and foliage as he makes his way to her. Her door flies open, and he extends his hand to her.

“We’re having a picnic,” he announces proudly.

“A picnic? It’s dark!”

“I did think of that. I brought candles. Ye of little faith,” he teases.

She turns at the end of the bed of the truck, looking at what he has set up. The bed has blankets laid all over, extras thrown around for them to snuggle into if they want to. There are pillows haphazardly stacked toward the cab of the truck and a small ice chest in the center. He grips her waist, lifting her to sit on the tailgate, and turns to lift himself to sit next to her.

“All these pillows and blankets, and you want to sit here?” she jokes.

He is leaning on his palms, shoulders high and tense as she talks. He clears his throat.

“Um. Yeah. I guess I didn’t think that through. I probably should have talked to you first now that I think about it.”

—

“You realize I was there, right? Are you really going to put me through this cringe-worthy proposal all over again?” There was humor in his voice, and she felt like she could breathe again.

“You asked! If I have to think about it, you’re coming down with me!”

—

“What does that mean?” Her heart is racing now, and she feels the blood leaving her hands and feet.

He clears his throat a second time, a clear indication of his nerves. “I guess I should just come out with it. As you know, we’ve been together a while now, and it’s been great.”

“Still waiting on you to come out with it,” she mutters.

“Sorry— I’ve been thinking, and I don’t think I’m satisfied with where we are anymore.”

All of the blood is draining from Nesta’s face, and she thinks she may vomit. Was this really happening to her? This is why she doesn’t trust people, why she doesn’t let people in, why she doesn’t let people see her—

“It’s not enough for me,” he continues. She can’t bear to hear anymore, and she’s opening her mouth before she can think better of it.

“What the fuck? Did you really bring me all the way out here, to only the gods know where, to break up with me? What is wrong with you? Who does that?” she fumes. “Take me home.”

“What?” he scrambles, “Nes, I’m not breaking up with you.” He hops down from where he’s sitting to stand in front of her, his hands coming up to cup her face. “Gods, I’m fucking this up.”

“You are on borrowed time. Whatever it is you’re doing, you need to do it,” she orders, head still spinning.

“Marry me,” he states simply, as if it’s the most reasonable request in the world.

She blinks up at him, unsure of what she’s heard.

“I’ve never known love like I’ve known it with you. You have been the greatest joy of my life, and all I want is to continue trying to make you happy. To wake up next to you everyday. To have a family together. To be partners in this life. Nesta Archeron, will you marry me?” Tears are brimming on his lower eyelids, and she remembers she has to speak.

She nods vigorously, unable to say it out loud initially. “Yes,” she finally whispers, tears streaming down her face. This isn’t the way she thought this was going, but she’s so happy this is where it ended up.

“Yeah?” he asks excitedly. His smile is breathtaking.

“Yeah,” she assures him and pulls his face to hers.

—

He slid out of his button down and pulled his undershirt off, busying himself to try to hide the blush across his cheeks.

“All things considered, it wasn’t so bad. It all worked out,” she teased. Her heart was already lighter by talking to him, and all she had done was share her thoughts aloud.

“I fucked that up royally, and you know it. I don’t know why we can’t just let it go,” he said through a laugh.

“Never,” she insisted, reveling in his discomfort. “Actually, I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll never mention this proposal story again if, and only if, you retire it. You know exactly what I mean, too, so don’t play dumb.”

He whirled around, eyes huge as he assessed her. She took in his bare torso, as devastating as ever, and found herself growing warmer under his attention.

“I’m up here, wife. And no. No deal,” he said adamantly.

“Come ON,” she lamented, “Archeron isn’t even my last name anymore! It’s way past time to let it go.”

“Sorry, Archie. You know I’ll take it to the grave with me. I don’t make the rules,” he said, as he pulled a grey tee over his head, the color accentuating the very small strip of greys against an onyx backdrop.

The only time his grey hair was visible was when he had his strands pulled back, and in the unfair way of the universe, the only grey he’d started to show was that one strip at his temple. Every other strand had remained as black as ever, almost as if he’d placed it there artificially. He was aging like fine wine, indeed.

“What do you mean, you don’t make the rules? You quite literally do,” she demanded, doing her best to ignore her disrobing husband.

He pulled on a pair of athletic shorts and lowered himself to the carpet in front of her. He situated himself between her legs and wrapped his long arms tightly around her middle, resting his head on her chest.

“I missed you today,” he deflected.

She hummed her agreement as she loosed his hair and ran her fingers through. They sat in silence for a couple of seconds before he spoke again, his voice muffled.

“You are especially nostalgic today, sweetheart. The last time you got this sappy on me was when...” his voice trailed off as his entire body went rigid. He looked up at her, eyes full of questions.

“When I was pregnant with Atticus. And again with Annie,” she finished casually, fingers never stopping their ministrations.

“Are you serious?” His voice was equal parts excited and terrified, a feeling Nesta had been experiencing since taking the test that morning.

All she managed was a nod as tears started to roll down her face.

His hands were instantly on her face, similar to all those years ago on the tailgate of his truck, where he stood between her legs and cradled her face as he asked her to be his wife.

“We’re having another baby,” he stated fondly, then, “We were supposed to be done.”

She laughed through her tears, wiping away the few running freely down his face now.

“We were, but it looks like we’re not,” she replied. “Are you happy?”

He pressed his lips to hers, kissing her deeply and with something near reverence. “Couldn’t be happier. Can we tell our family now?”

“Of course, Cass. But I’m the one who announced it last time.”

She pressed another kiss to his lips as they stood together.

“This time, it’s on you.”

——————————————————————————

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Tags:

@polireader // @justgiu12 // @hizqueen4life // @sis-it-dont-add-up // @b00kworm // @bookstantrash // @gisellefigue08 // @maastrash // @superspiritfestival // @girl-who-reads-the-books // @sayosdreams // @ladywitchling // @keshavomit // @over300books // @sleeping-and-books // @welcometothespeaknowworldtour // @drielecarla // @awesomelena555 // @perseusannabeth // @my-fan-side // @lord-douglas-the-third // @notyournymphetish // @sjm-things // @strangeenemy // @iammissstark // @sjmships // @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks // @dusty-lightbulb // @texas-shaped-waffle-maker // @julemmaes // @charincharge // @rhyswhitethorn // @grace-k-sterling // @courtofjurdan // @sannelovesreading // @acourtofmarauders // @candice-dick-fit-in-your-mouth //

#nessian #nessian au #nessian fanfic #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #twsd fics #twsd writes #nessian fwb #nessian angst #nessian fluff

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pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc · 4 years

Note

I finished freakshow and now I can finally request Jimmy from my favorite blog!Can I get something a little fluffy with reader meeting Jimmy and being very into him and vice versa and one day they are just walking,doing cute date things when some idiot calls Jimmy a freak,cue reader smiling and then proceeds to insult and beat the shit out of the idiot so hard his descendants will feel it,and then going straight to Jimmy,taking his hands and kissing them as she glares at the idiot on the floor

hi my love!! i got all your requests, but i just wanted to let you know i don’t write for tate anymore, but i will answer the ones about jimmy and james!

also bear with me, i haven’t rewatched freakshow in a while so this might not be the best!

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The taxi cab came to a sudden stop, jolting you forward in your seat. You nearly smacked into the back of the driver’s seat, but you caught yourself just in time.

“This is as far as I’m taking you.” the driver said gruffly.

“But I asked to be taken into town?” you asked, confused.

“And I said this is it, missy. Now get outta my cab.” he raised his voice, turning around to face you with a scowl on his face. You didn’t want to be on the receiving end of anymore nasty words, so you quickly grabbed your bags and hopped out of the car, gazing upon your surroundings.

He had dropped you off in the middle of a grassy clearing, where the only pathway to civilization was the dirt road you came in on. A few yards away was a circus tent, complete with trailers for it’s accompanying acts. This area appeared to be miles away from any city, so you wanted a refund from the driver.

“Excuse me, where the hell am I? This isn’t where I asked to go!” you questioned the driver, who had apparently had enough of your questions and began to drive off, kicking up a cloud of dust from underneath the wheels of the car. “Screw off!” you shouted after him, frustrated with the situation.

“Can I help you?” a sudden voice said from behind you. You jolted at the sound and spun around, seeing a man standing in front of you that couldn’t be much older than you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, you just look a little lost.”

“I am lost, actually. That asshole taxi driver dropped me off here when I asked to go into town, so I don’t really know where I am.” You remarked in annoyance. He was baffled by your mouth, he never heard a lady use such language before, but he was amused.

“Well this here is Elsa’s Cabinet of Curiosities,” He gestured behind him to the tent you saw moments ago, the trailers suddenly making sense to you. “Or the freak show as it’s not-so-affectionately called.”

You laughed at his joke, noticing the thick leather gloves adorning his hands. You decided it was too soon to be prying into any personal matters, so you didn’t address it.

“I can show you around, if you’d like?” He offered kindly. He noticed your slightly apprehensive look and practically kicked himself for not introducing himself sooner. “My name’s Jimmy, Jimmy Darling.”

A broad smile grew on your lips, reaching out to shake his extended hand. The leather burned the soft flesh of your palm ever so slightly, but you didn’t want to draw any attention to it. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mr Darling. I’m Y/N L/N. And I’d love to have a look around.”

Jimmy led you around the camp, introducing you to the so-called ‘freaks’, who were really just pleasant people with unfortunate disfigurements. One of the kindest souls you met was itty-bitty Ma Petite, who couldn’t have been more than three feet tall.

By the time you’d finished exploring, the sun had set and the darkness of the night set in. Jimmy had offered to take you into town on his motorbike, but you declined, reasoning that it would be easier to spend the night here, if he’d allow it. He so graciously offered up his bunk in his trailer to you, gathering some spare blankets and sleeping on the floor beside you.

The single night you spent turned into days, and days into weeks. It was apparent you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. Each night you spent together, Jimmy had slowly made his way closer and closer to the bunk, eventually migrating up to the mattress with you.

The two of you had since started going steady, and you were much too fond of him to ever leave. He had revealed his deformity to you, a sign of trust, and you had told him, of course, that you didn’t see him any differently. In fact, you were more relieved than anything that you were able to hold his hand, instead of wrapping your fingers around his blazing hot leather mitt.

Your happiness, however, didn’t stop total strangers from imparting their opinions on you whenever they saw fit.

One night, after a sold-out show was a success, you and Jimmy headed out to the bar in town to celebrate. Making an uncharacteristically bold choice, he decided to forgo the gloves, walking into town with his bare hands. Surprisingly, he didn’t receive any sideways glances or complaints at the bar, so the two of you were in an even better mood.

But as the saying goes, there’s always one bad apple that spoils the whole bunch. Walking out of the bar, arms linked and pleasantly tipsy, a man made his way towards the two of you. He was a little more frank than any other simpleton you’d come across in your time together, physically laying his hands on Jimmy and giving him a hard push, sending him to the ground.

You saw red, stepping in front of the man and looking him right in the eye. “Hey asshole!” You swung your fist as hard as you could, knocking the man right off his feet.

You grabbed him by the collar, lifting his upper half from the ground. “If I ever, and I mean ever see that shit again I swear to God I’ll do more than just punch you, got it?” You threatened. “Got it?” You repeated as the man nodded in fear.

“Now scram.” You let go of his shirt as he scrambled up to his feet and ran back to where he came from. You dusted yourself off and turned around to help Jimmy up. “You okay?”

He looked at you in disbelief, eyes wide. “Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?” You chuckled and smiled.

“Yeah. My hand’s seen better days, but I’m fine.” You admitted, clutching your knuckles, sore from crashing into the man’s jaw.

“We’ll get some ice for that right hook of yours when we get back.” Jimmy affirmed, hopping onto his bike. You slid on behind him, wrapping your arms around his middle, a wide smile on your face as you contemplated how glad you were that the taxi driver never took you to the city.

#jimmy darling #jimmy darling x reader #jimmy darling oneshot #jimmy darling imagine #jimmy darling fic #jimmy darling fanfic #jimmy darling fanfiction #ahs #ahs freakshow #american horror story #american horror story freakshow #ask #anonymous #request #my writing

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baconsoupforthesoul · 4 years

Text

The Ink Demonth - Day 21 - Money

No Refunds, No Returns!~

A/N: This is a fic idea I have had bouncing around in my head for a long time. And luckily, the theme for the day lets me combine the prompt with celebrating the 2nd anniversary of the amazing Bioshock au! If you haven't had a chance to check out this incredible au, do yourself a favor and go see all the great fanart and fics for it, it’s well worth your time. And as always, in this au Henry belongs to @inkspottie, and Delta belongs to @trashboatprince, and Ross belongs to @doberart. And the song referenced in here is the Circus of Value Song by JT Music which you can find here. Oh, and a big thanks to Mod Dead for helping me get the humor just right for this fic. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy~

“Can’t you hack it any faster, Henry?”

The sweater-clad man shot an annoyed look up at Delta before turning back to the vending machine in front of him.

“I’m going as fast as I can, Delta,” Henry grumbled as he fiddled with the Circus of Values vendor. “This hacking business is harder than it looks, okay?”

“Alright, alright,” the big daddy held up his hands in surrender as he leaned back against the wall.

“Take your time, Henry,” Ross said gently as he sat down next to the machine with a grunt, adjusting his bad leg. “I don’t hear any splicers around so we should be safe for now.”

The older man had a point, as Henry couldn’t hear the normally never-ending chatter of the spliced up Rapture citizens. However, he could hear the growling of his stomach, and his friends’ as well. While they were actually surprisingly well-stocked on ammo, they hadn’t been able to find a vending machine that sold food for ages, and after fighting through hoards of splicers, all three of them were practically starving.

If only they weren't so low on cash, they’d be able to get some snacks from the machine no problem.

“Come back when ya get some money, buddy!” The machine chortled at Henry mockingly.

“Oh shut it,” Henry growled, whacking the machine in the side, causing Delta to chuckle.

As Henry fiddled with it some more, Ross turned to look over at him. “What kind of food does the vending machine have anyway?” He asked, his hand involuntarily going over his empty stomach.

“Hmmm,” Henry glanced at the menu. “Looks like chips, creme-filled cake, and pep bars.”

Ross made a face at that. “Damn, was kinda hoping for some real food. Getting sick of all this junk food.”

“I don’t think it’s so bad,” Delta argued. “I could do with a pep bar right about now.”

“Says you,” Henry huffed. “You’ve just never had anything different.”

“When we make it to the surface, we’ll get you some real food, Delta,” Ross said. “Trust me, anything that Linda makes is better than anything you could find down here.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Delta shot Ross a grin and a thumbs up.

“I wanna try the surface food too! Can I? Can I?” Bendy chirped from Delta’s shoulder.

“Of course you can bud,” Delta reached his hand back and rubbed the little devil between his horns. “All the food you can eat!”

“Woo hoo!” Bendy cheered, hugging his daddy around the neck.

Henry smiled at the two of them before turning back to his work. Hopefully, they could enjoy a nice big meal together up on the surface after this whole nightmare was over. Hopefully, they all survived to see the sun again. It had felt hopeless when he had been stuck down here on his own… but now that he’d found allies… it started to seem just a little more possible.

The sweater-clad man narrowed his eyes at the vending machine. He was so close now. He just had to move this bit here…

Henry’s head suddenly shot up when the lights from the vending machine brightened up, shielding his eyes for a second. Then, the ever-annoying laugh from the vending machine started playing, only it was much louder than before. All three of them covered their ears, Bendy even wincing at the loud noise as a deafening jingle started to play.

“Welcome to the Circus of Values

You’ll find no better vending service around you

We’ve got everything that you’ll ever need

Don’t be shy! Come on by! You’ve got a craving to feed~”

“AHHHH!” Henry fell backward onto his backside, hands conversing the sides of his head as the sheer volume made his ears ring.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” Delta jumped back from the machine. “What in the world did ya do, Henry?!”

“I-I-I don’t know,” he cried, seeing Ross scramble to his feet, almost losing his balance and needing the wall to steady himself. “This has never happened before!”

“You can never be too prepared

We’ve got plenty of supplies to spare~”

“Ohhhh! Music!” Bendy beamed, jumping down off Delta’s shoulder, looking over at the machine with stars in his eyes.

“Shut that damn thing off, Henry!” Delta tried to yell over the song. “Everyone in this whole city is gonna hear that thing! We’re gonna be drowning in splicers!”

“Oh shit!” Henry rushed back to the machine, trying his best to endure the loud music as he fiddled with it some more. “Oh shit, oh shit, ohshitohshit,OHSHIT!”

“Without your wallet it’s gonna cost ya

But if you’ve got the capital

We got the product!~”

“I think we’re too late for that,” Ross paled as he looked up to see a splicer screeching at them from a nearby balcony.

Henry gulped, as even with the blaring music, he could hear the sounds of voices all around them.

“What?”

"I don't like the sound of that!"

"H-hello? Is there someone in the hall?"

“You don't come to my town, kid!"

"A rat! It's a rat!"

Henry spared a single glance behind him, seeing the oncoming hoard approaching. They were in deep shit.

“Damn!” Ross readied his pistol. “They’re coming guys, get ready!”

“This ain’t no charity

Come back when you get some money, buddy~”

The splicers descended upon them. Delta rushed forward, slamming one into the wall with his drill while Ross sent out crows to slow them down.

“Where the hell did they all come from?!” Delta yelled, knocking down splicers left and right. “There was nobody around before, so what gives?!?”

“You think I know that?” Ross retorted, shooting a splicer down before they got too close to Henry.

“Grab snacks and drinks and first aid

For when you get bloody, uh oh!~”

“Dammit! That stupid song is mocking us!” Delta complained, feeling his stomach rumble at the mention of food. “Hey Henry! What’s taking you so damn-”

The big daddy stopped as he turned around to see his little devil just dancing along to the song. Bendy had the biggest grin on his feet as he tapped his feet to the beat, completely lost in the music.

“Bendy,” Delta called out to the little devil, his voice a little strained. “You’re real adorable, but now really isn’t the time, okay buddy?”

Bendy just looked up at his dad in confusion

“Huh? Why’s that?” He tilted his head up at him.

Just as Bendy asked the question, a splicer came jumping down from a balcony, screaming bloody murder as it charged at Delta. Bendy yelped as he scrambled up Delta’s back, the big daddy sending a blast of Old Man Winter to freeze the splicer in place. He then rushed forward and smashed them to bits.

“That’s why,” Delta pointed out, reaching up to rub Bendy’s head. “Just stick close to me, alright bud?”

“Ain’t life in Rapture grand?

Come on and give us a hand

We’ll build a paradise~”

“There’s no end to them!” Ross cried, sending splicers hurtling into the air with Newton’s Law.

“We just wanted some fucking food,” Henry grumbled under his breath as he worked. “We didn’t ask for this. Didn’t ask to be at the bottom of the goddamn ocean dealing with psychopaths. Didn’t ask for all this BULLSHIT! WHY WON’T YOU SHUT UP YOU DAMN MACHINE?!”

“Henry!” Ross kicked a splicer in the chest before turning to face Henry. “You have to calm down! You’re not thinking straight right now. Now isn’t the time to panic!”

“Calm down, yeah, I’ll get right to that shall I?” Henry grumbled under his breath. “I’m sorry Ross, but now seems like the PERFECT TIME TO PANIC!”

“Don’t tamper with the hardware

Unless you’re a parasite~”

“COME ON!” Delta roared, smashing splicer after splicer in the face with his drill. “I DON’T,” he whacked another one. “HAVE,” Whack! “ANY TIME,” Whack! “FOR THIS!” Whack! “HENRY SHUT THAT DAMN THING OFF ALREADY!”

“I AM T R Y I N G!” Henry screamed back, hitting the machine desperately. “This should go here, and that there, and WHY ISN’T THIS WORKING???” he cried, feeling tears of panic prick at his eyes.

“You’re not a man if you’re demanding handouts

Come back when you get some money, buddy~”

“Any time now, Henry!” Ross yelled, elbowing a splicer in the face, shooting another point blank with his pistol.

“I know! I knowwwww,” Henry whined, shocking the machine with his shock jockey again and again in the vain hope that it would help. The shocks did nothing though, other than somehow make the music louder. Henry could hardly hear himself think over the noise.

“Our prices are the best

We drive the competition nutty~”

“SHUT UP” Henry screamed at the machine, whacking it as hard as he could. "WHY CAN'T YOU SHUT UPPPPPP PLEASEEEE,” Henry cried desperately, tears streaming down his face. “I’M BEGGING YOU, CIRCUS OF VALUES CLOWN, JUST SHUT UPPPPPPP!"

The sweater-clad man let out a scream of frustration as he stood up and began repeatedly kicking the machine. “SHUT UP! SHUTUP! SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!” He screamed, kicking the machine again with each word.

“Welcome to the Circus of Values

You’ll find no better vending service around you

We’ve got everything that you’ll ever need

Don’t be shy! Come on by! You’ve got a craving to feed~”

“THAT’S IT!” Delta yelled, storming towards the machine. “I’VE HAD IT UP TO HERE WITH THIS DAMN THING!”

The big daddy pushed Henry aside, grabbed the machine by both sides and lifted the whole thing up.

“Go home if you can’t afford to buy it~”

“TAKE THIS YOU STUPID VENDING MACHINE!” He hollered, throwing the thing with all his might and managing to take out the last few splicers with it. The thing burst, raining bullets, snacks and drinks all over the place. Henry even felt a pep bar hit him on the head before tumbling to the ground.

The song stopped, the sound from the machine sputtering. The last noise it made was a feeble “No refunds, no returnssssssss-,” before it went silent. The three of them just stood there for a moment, catching their breath. A second later though, alarms started blaring, the security system alerted that the vending machine had been vandalized.

“Why did you do that, Delta?!” Henry cried, pointing an accusing finger at Delta. “Now we’re going to be swarmed by security bots!”

“If I had to listen to any more of that annoying song, I was gonna lose my mind!” Delta shot back. “There’s no time to argue, grab the food and run!”

The big daddy rushed forward, grabbing as many bags of chips and creme-filled cakes as his arms could carry. Henry and Ross quickly rushed forward too, Ross making sure to grab a coffee thermos as Henry snagged some pep bars.

“Here they come!” Ross yelled as the whirling sound of security bots got closer.

“Run for it!” Delta tried to scream through a mouthful of chips he had cramped in his mouth.

“Shit!” Henry yelped around a pep bar he had hanging out of his mouth, trying his best to run with his arms full of food.

“Save some food for me, Daddy!” Bendy whined as they all booked it out of there, security bots right on their heels. They were certainly having a grand old time in Rapture.

#the ink demonth #ink demonth #bendy and the ink machine #batim #bioshock au #henry stein #bendy #bendy batim #inkspottie #trashboatprince #doberart #spacy writes

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scripts4dreamers · 4 years

Text

Not Your Hero. Chapter 1

Prologue, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four

AN: With the Victory Tour well underway, things are changing fast.

Characters: Finnick Odair, Coriolanus Snow, Haymitch Abernathy, Chaff Mitchelle, Mags Flannagan

Pairings: Finnick x reader

Spoiler(s): None

Warning(s): Mentions of blood, death, murder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, psychological manipulation, intimidation

Prompt/Inspiration: Prom Queen - Molly Kate Kestner

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

You pulled your legs up under your chin and tried to breathe slowly, closing your eyes and and praying that the motion of the train would be able to settle your stomach. However, with your eyes closed, you could see the faces of all the tributes you’d outlived all the clearer, projected larger than life on screens, with their grieving families underneath. You shuddered thinking about the sound one of the mothers in district nine had made; a sort of wail, loud and piercing, like her heart was being ripped from her chest right before your eyes. She’d been clutching two small children by their shoulders, twin girls, probably around nine or ten years old. They’d been crying too, but one of the girls had met your eye and the depth of despair you’d seen there had chilled you to the bone. Their brother was dead and you were not, that look said, and there was nothing you could do to make up for that.

Whatever confidence you’d had going in to the tour had evaporated by the time you’d reached district twelve and now, with district four coming up, you could feel yourself slowly unraveling. It wasn’t just the speeches, and facing the families of the fallen tributes, it was everything. It was the parties and the dinners and the interviews, it was seeing the highlights of your games recapped on every television screen twenty-four hours a day, it was the fact that the capitol was edging closer and closer and, for some reason, the closer it got, the more filled with dread you became.

If it wasn’t for the others, you weren’t sure what you’d have done. Because, of course, you weren’t alone in this. At each district, there were other victors to meet, people like you who knew what it took to survive the Hunger Games, and who had done this same trip themselves once. At first you hadn’t quite known what to think about them. It was strange meeting people you’d been seeing on TV for your entire life, even stranger considering you’d seen basically all of them murder other children. But, of course, they’d seen you do the same and, when Seeder Howell, Victor of the 30th Hunger Games, had pulled you into a hug and whispered that you would be alright, you’d found a glimmer of something you’d been looking for for months now; hope. It was such a relief to be understood again, to not have to explain yourself, and your limits, to everyone all the time, that you found yourself actually trying to make friends. Many of the victors were much older than you, of course, and not all of them had decided to join you once you left their district but, luckily, enough had so that the train didn’t seem empty and haunted anymore. At any given moment you might bump into Indigo Weaver, Alto Combe or even, if you were in the bar cart, the elusive Haymitch Abernathy. Your prep team were beside themselves. They’d never seen so many famous people in once place, they often squawked, wasn’t it just so exciting?

“Land ahoy!” Chaff, another victor from district 11 called out, his loud voice echoing through the carriage.

Your heart pinched and you pressed your face into your knees harder, forcing yourself to breathe slowly again. You were not looking forward to this, not at all. The face of the blonde boy flashed behind your eyes again and you bit back a whimper. These speeches had been hard enough when the tributes you were thanking were virtual strangers but now, with district four officially in sight, things were about to get a whole lot more personal.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Chaff asked, sitting down heavily next to you, “Not excited about the party they’re throwing for you?”

“Go away, Chaff,” you replied, trying to sound firm and failing miserably.

“No, I get it,” Chaff continued, as though you hadn’t spoken at all, “this one’s gonna be tough for you. You beat out one of their tributes in the finale, didn’t you?”

You looked up and glared at the older man, a move that may have been more effective if your eyes hadn’t been red and puffy from crying, and contemplated the merits of cussing him out or just ignoring him entirely. Chaff raised an eyebrow and you sighed, feeling your fragile attempts at indignation evaporate. James said you should try opening up more, that it would help in the long run and you liked Chaff. It didn’t make sense for you to bite his head off, not when he’d only ever tried to help.

“Both, actually,” you said, staring determinedly out of the window, “I killed the girl, and two of the other careers with an electrical device I made from bits of landmine and a current generator I got from a sponsor. But that was pretty early on. It was the boy I killed in the finale.”

It felt odd, talking about this with somebody. For so long you’d shut down any and all discussion about the games, not even daring to let yourself think about them for fear of triggering a panic but now, with the other victors’ constant encouragement, you were at least trying. It felt like pulling a deep thorn out of your arm; nearly unbearable at first but then, once it was out, there was a kind of relief, like maybe now you could start bandaging that particular wound.

Chaff nodded, like he understood and you realised, again, that he probably knew all of this already. He was just trying to get you to talk, to share with him, like everyone was always saying you should.

“Do you know his name?” He asked.

You nodded, “Boyd.” you said softly and then, as an afterthought, “He was eighteen.”

You weren’t sure why that was important exactly. Were you trying to absolve yourself? Was pointing out that this boy was nearly three years older than you were at the time supposed to justify what you’d done? Were you bragging? Or was there something else to it, a desire to make the blonde boy in your memory feel more like a real person, someone who had lived and breathed and dreamed. And died, at your hands.

“Mmm,” Chaff hummed, agreeing with you on whatever point it was you were trying to make, “they won’t blame you, you know?”

“Who?”

“The mentors. Finnick and Mags are good people, they won’t blame you for anything you did in the arena.” he explained.

You pressed your lips together and nodded tersely, “And the families?”

Chaff looked down at the stump where his left hand used to be and sighed, seemingly lost for words. He patted your knee comfortingly and stood.

“You’re gonna be alright, kid,” he promised, “you’ve just gotta keep yourself alive, that’s all anyone can ask.” he continued, cryptically, “You should probably go find your prep team. We’ll be arriving soon.”

“Okay,” you whispered, worrying at the inside of your cheek with your teeth.

Outside you could see trees and hills flashing by and, in the distance, a strip of blue reflecting the sun that must have been the ocean. You’d never seen it before, only the occasional crude imitation in the Hunger Games. The sight of it filled you with something like calm. The ocean had been there for billions of years, it had seen hundreds of billions of people come and go, swallowed their joys and sorrows alike and stayed exactly the same. Surely, if it could persist, you could too?

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

Mags’ hands were rough. They pulled at Finnick’s hair hard, making him wince and reach up to see what it was she was doing.

“Stop,” Mags said, slapping his hand away, “I have to get rid of these knots before the cameras arrive.”

“Arrive?” Finnick laughed, “Mags, they’ve been here for two days already. It’s a little late for that.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately and stepped in front of Finnick, resting her hands on her hips expectantly. She was so small that, even with Finnick sitting down, Mags was just barely taller than him, but anyone who had met her knew that size was no true indication of power, and she had more than a little fight in her. Finnick looked down, thoroughly chastised by one look.

“Exactly, Mr Odair,” Mags explained, moving back to continue untangling his hair, “they’ve been here for two days and the poor girl hasn’t even arrived yet. Imagine the circus that’ll show up when they finally do get in.”

“There’s always press on a Victory Tour,” Finnick offered.

“I know, but this is a lot,” she countered, “even by your standards. It makes me nervous.” Mags faded into silence, letting the sound of the brush echo through Finnick’s empty bedroom for a while, lost in her own thoughts. “Poor thing,” she eventually muttered, mostly to herself, “turned sixteen in the arena, what a horrible way to celebrate.”

“Poor thing?” Finnick responded, with an incredulous laugh, “She killed both of our kids, you know?”

Mags waved him away, “Tsk, I know that. And they would have killed her if they could. That’s how the games work, Fin, we can’t blame her for being a better player.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest to ward off the sharp stab of guilt that thinking about Boyd and Ariel always brought on.

“I know,” he eventually relented, “I know that. I just-it’s so frustrating, sending them in every year only to watch them die, you know? I really thought we had a winner this year, and when Boyd got so far…” Finnick’s voice trailed off.

Mags nodded understandingly, though Finnick couldn’t see it, “Fifty-eight years I’ve been doing this,” she said simply, “I was a mentor for twenty before I brought home my first win,” she squeezed his shoulder comfortingly, “you’re young, it’ll happen. You’ve just got to keep trying.”

Finnick hummed noncommittally, thinking privately that there was no way he would survive losing another twenty-six tributes. Mags might be able to do it but, then again, she’d always been far, far stronger than him. Impulsively, Finnick reached back and grabbed Mags’ hand, resting his cheek against it like he was fourteen again.

“Oh, my dear boy,” Mags said, running her fingers through her hair, “we’ll be alright. It’s only a day. Soon they’ll all climb back into their dens and leave us alone for another six months.”

“But first we have to get through the tour,” Finnick pointed out.

She nodded, “First we have to get through the tour.”

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

Finnick smiled and counted to ten in his head, waiting patiently for the mayor of his district to finish the long, drawn out rambling he called a speech. Every year it was roughly the same; meaningless references to the Capitol’s generosity, the importance of the games, the valor of those who fought in them and his own, genuine joy at meeting [Insert whichever victor just won’s name here], a worthy champion. Finnick, the other victors and several important members of local government were clustered strategically near the base of the stairs in the Justice building so the crews of Capitol filmmakers could get shots of everyone individually, and as a group, waiting excitedly for the arrival of the newest victor. After skipping the ordeal that had been your public speech, and the mandatory quick trip to the beach every victor was entitled to, Finnick had been unable to wiggle his way out of this, the last event; a dinner hosted by the mayor in honor of you. It was sure to be horrendous.

While the mayor droned on and on and on (somewhere in roughly the middle of his speech Finnick predicted), Finnick leaned over to the two men standing to his left and slightly behind him, keeping his voice low.

“So, what’s she like?” he asked softly, “Is she as insufferable as they usually are.”

“She’s less insufferable than you are,” Haymitch answered, surprisingly less drunk than Finnick had expected him to be, “but, granted that’s a rather low bar.”

Finnick chuckled and shot a look at Chaff, who smiled slightly, but shrugged.

“She’s nice, I like her,” he said softly, “she’s got spirit but,” he winced, “you remember how it was just after your games. She’s got a lot to work through.”

“Group therapy with our drunk Uncle Chaff, you mean?” Finnick teased. Chaff shrugged again, which he took to be agreement, and continued, “I remember how that goes. Well then, maybe when it’s my turn to share in the Safety Circle I’ll ask her why she choked my tribute to death, that’ll be fun.”

Haymitch chuckled but Chaff shot him a dark look.

“Don’t make this harder on her, Odair” Chaff said, “lord knows this whole thing is unbearable enough as it is without you making an ass of yourself.”

Finnick gave him a look of mock outrage, “What? It’s a simple question! You’re telling me I can’t ask a simple question?”

“I mean it,” Chaff warned, “she’s been through hell and back, the last thing she needs is your bruised ego getting in the way of her recovery.”

“Ouch,” Finnick laughed, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Don’t worry, Chaff,” Haymitch interjected, “I’ve got no doubts in my mind that Finnick will like the new girl just fine.”

There must have been some sort of inside joke there, because Chaff chuckled.

“What?” Finnick asked, annoyed at being left out

“Oh, nothing. She’s an interesting girl,” Haymitch interjected, “let’s just say, it might be a little like looking in a mirror.”

“Doubtful,” Finnick retorted under his breath.

Even if the others had heard him, they didn’t have any time to respond because, right at that moment, Finnick heard the telltale phrase;

“A worthy champion.” signalling the end of the mayor’s speech, and the room burst into rapturous applause.

Finnick got his first glimpse of you at the top of the stairs and his breath hitched in his throat. Even from where he was standing, he could tell you were beautiful, the type of beautiful that doesn’t come around every day, the kind of beautiful that can’t be ignored, no matter how hard you try. A hush fell over the room as you made your descent, your beautiful black gown reflecting the light like the world’s most subtle and sophisticated disco ball. You smiled graciously at your audience, the perfect blend of confident and humble, even blowing a kiss to your mentor, Jason as you walked. Your eyes glanced, unseeing, in Finnick’s direction, and he felt his heart stutter just a little bit. Something on his face must’ve showed his surprise, because he heard Haymitch suppressing a laugh from behind his back and, flushed with embarrassment, Finnick forced his face back into its casual mask of amused indifference.

Okay, so you were attractive. That wasn’t unusual for a victor. It didn’t change anything, not really.

At least that’s what he told himself as his eyes clung to you, watching intently as you laughed at some horrendous joke the mayor made and, with every ounce of feigned surprise you could muster, consented to saying a few words to open the evening.

You stepped up to the mic and, for the first time, Finnick saw a glimmer of discomfort in your eyes. But before he could do much more than notice you had smoothed it away with another gracious smile.

“Hi,” You started with a breathy laugh, breaking the tension and endearing yourself to the audience from the start, “I promise I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to take a moment to thank Mayor Eluuicious and his government for organizing this beautiful event for me tonight. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all the effort you’ve all put in,”

“Well, we couldn’t pass up the chance to celebrate your sixteenth birthday with some proper flair,” the mayor joked, earning a rather more forced laugh from the crowd.

You acknowledged his words with a smile, but continued, “it’s been so lovely being here in district four, and I will be truly sad to say goodbye but,” you finished, “I’m not gone yet so let's party.”

You stepped off the staircase and were promptly engulfed by a crowd of people, all clambering to get pictures with you or to ask questions about your experience in the games. It was a dance Finnick knew well. Usually he would be off and finding a drink by now, scoping out the event from some corner where he knew he would be seen by everyone, including the cameras, just like he was supposed to, but something was making him feel off balance. It felt like he was fifteen again; shaky and unsure of himself, desperately hoping that no one could see how inexperienced he was.

“So, how screwed are you then?” Haymitch asked, appearing next to Finnick like a phantom, a full glass of clear liquid already clutched in his hand and a smug smile on his face.

Finnick growled, “Fuck off, Haymitch.” And stalked off, determined to regain some of his composure before someone who actually mattered noticed his awkwardness.

Before long, Finnick had downed two glasses of champagne, and was most of his way through a third, leaning casually against a pillar near the modest buffet table and watching your movements like a hawk. From what he could tell, you were good at this. Every movement you made was calculated without looking forced, every smile incandescent with happiness while still maintaining a distance and mystery to it, every phrase balanced and fair, treating all equally and showing favoritism towards none. Of course, the cameras ate it up, basically falling over themselves to talk to you, to get an exclusive clip or a photograph to take home to the Capitol, but Finnick didn’t care much about that. He was watching for the other moments, the brief flashes of reality that slipped through your carefully schooled features without you even meaning to. There weren’t many; an eye roll here, a subtle wink to Chaff or Jason there, clenching your fists whenever someone came too close, things like that. It was these that Finnick found so fascinating, and what kept him from trying his best to charm his way into an early exit.

He watched from afar as you gestured towards the food table, extracting yourself politely, but firmly from the mayor and three high ranking government officials. As you made your way towards the table, Finnick heard you exhale loudly and watched as the marks of exhaustion started to creep its way onto your face. You piled your plate high with mini meat pies and bits of deep fried fish, looking conspiratorially over your shoulder, as though to check that no one had followed you over. Finnick found the sight somewhere between endearing and frustrating, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Hey there, Y/N,” he called, stepping out of the shadows with his signature catlike grin, “bored of your adoring fans already?”

At the sound of his voice you jumped, clenching your fists and turning to face the attacker quickly, only to relax and let out a breathy sigh of relief when you saw who it was. Finnick felt a pinch of guilt at the look of shock on your face, but pushed it down and leant casually against the table.

“Finnick,” you breathed, pressing a hand to the base of your throat, “I didn’t see you there.”

“I can see that,” he replied, gesturing down at your plate of spilled food.

You glanced down at the mess and blushed, looking sheepishly over your shoulder at the crowd to see if anyone else had noticed. Up close Finnick was relieved to see that a lot of your radiance came from particularly good make up. While you were attractive, some might even say beautiful, it was in a softer, more realistic way, less harsh angles and overly white teeth and more actual sixteen year-old girl.

“Not the best introduction I guess,” you laughed nervously, fiddling with your dress, “I’m sorry we didn’t meet earlier, Mags was so complimentary about you.”

Something about you made Finnick feel unsettled, like the floor beneath him was sliding around and trying to trip him up. It was exciting, but also nerve-wracking, and totally not something he was used to. Part of him wanted to push, to see how much more thrilling and uncomfortable he could make it, the other just wanted to run and hide somewhere far away where you’d never be able to find him. The effect was disorienting but, being himself, Finnick leaned into it, letting the reckless portion of his mind take the wheel.

“Yeah, well, Mags is much braver than I am. You see,” Finnick continued sardonically, leaning in as though to tell you a secret, “I’m not quite done grieving the deaths of my two tributes. Didn’t feel up to a beach trip, I’m sure you understand.”

You pressed your lips together so they disappeared into a thin red line. Your face went blank instantly, hardening back into an expressionless mask as your bright Y/E/C eyes deadened, sending a shiver down Finnick’s spine. You didn’t seem much like a sixteen year old at that moment at all. The smiling, giggling girl had vanished, leaving a stranger in her place. This person seemed dangerous, this person seemed like the victor of the Hunger Games. There was a masochistic part of Finnick that liked seeing this more dangerous side of you. It was thrilling, and genuine and so much more interesting than the pleasantries and quibbling that usually happened on these trips.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you said, devoid of any emotion, “excuse me.”

And with that, you stormed past him, knocking his arm hard with your shoulder as you passed.

“Ouch,” Finnick laughed, rubbing the spot where your bodies had connected.

If you heard at all you ignored him and he watched, with a slight sinking feeling, as you rejoined the party, your perfect smile firmly back in place as though nothing at all had happened. It took roughly eight seconds for Finnick to realise what an ass he’d just been and he sighed, swallowing hard past the disappointment he felt in himself.

“Why did I do that?” he asked himself softly, turning back to the buffet table and noticing, with another pang of guilt, your untouched food, “Ah, shit. Um, you there,” he gestured to one of the Capitol servers that he knew had arrived with the train.

The man scurried over, obviously holding in a minor freak-out at being addressed by Finnick Odair, “Yes, Mr Odair?”

“Can you-uh-can you make sure there’s some food ready for Miss Y/L/N when she gets back on the train?” Finnick asked, “Something tells me she won’t have much time for eating tonight.”

“Yes of course, right away Mr Odair.” The attendant nodded.

“Thank you,” he said, with a semi-distracted smile.

“Well that was nice of you,” Mags noted, appearing at Finnick’s side like a ghost, “what brought that on?”

Finnick shrugged and wrapped his arm around the small woman’s shoulders, kissing the top of her head, “Call it an olive branch. Or an apology.”

Mags raised her eyebrows at him, “Making friends fast as usual. Does this mean you want to sit this tour out and just join the others at the Capitol?”

Finnick thought for a moment, the sound of your laughter catching his ear as Chaff whispered something to you under his breath. The sound was light and clear, and made something in the pit of Finnick’s chest feel fluttery and delicate.

“Uh-no,” he said, ignoring the knowing look on Mags’ face, “no, let’s go with them. Just in case.”

“Just in case of what?” Mags asked.

“In case,” Finnick shrugged, “I don’t know, in case something good happens.”

“Okay,” Mags chuckled, “I’ll go get started on the packing.”

Finnick thanked her softly and then shoved his hands into his pockets, continuing to watch you from the sidelines. Eventually you looked up and met his eye, fear turning to confusion when he smiled gently and raised a hand in greeting. Hesitantly, you smiled back, your eyes still questioning his intentions, but Finnick took it. He still wasn’t sure about you. There was something just under the surface with you, close enough for him to sense, but still too deep down for him to identify that he wanted to reach.

“Well, you’ve intrigued me,” Finnick whispered to himself, “let’s see what happens next.”

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

Tag list: @i-love-you-green, @heatherhollowayst

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absentlyabbie · 4 years

Photo

a family and (mis)fortune fic

on ao3

moments growing up in the life of tommy merlyn, part-time wayne foster child. (five)

—————

Gotham was not Starling City.

It was loud, like cities should be, but the noise was different from the background of Tommy’s first nine years and nine months of life, with steam hissing through sidewalk grates and the subways rushing and rumbling and the elevated railways clacking and roaring. Everyone talked like they were in a hurry and the fastest way to get somewhere was to take the least possible time to say anything. Even the accents were weird, clipped but broad.

The days were rainier in Gotham than Starling, and grayer, usually overcast when it wasn’t raining. Every step down the city streets splashed or scraped with that wet grit of sneaker sole on damp pavement. Starling rained plenty, but the showers usually gave way to sunshine, and wet on the streets shone with color and light like the city itself. It was colder here, too, and everyone seemed to expect it would snow before Thanksgiving.

Gotham wasn’t home.

Tommy was trying his best not to hold that against it.

Technically, he knew, he didn’t have a home anymore.

And Dad always used to say that beggars can’t be choosers.

He also used to say no son of his was weak enough to beg. That Merlyns were strong, and that you had to take what you wanted out of life.

Tommy was still a Merlyn, but he felt pretty weak these days. He couldn’t imagine taking anything from life when everything had already been taken from him. He thought he didn’t mind if this made him not his dad’s son. It had felt that way for a long time, so might as well make it official. That is, if being an orphan didn’t do that already.

All these thoughts stewed together in Tommy’s gut like too much soda and bad corndogs, grumbling and cramping. It was hard to keep the scowl off his face as he trailed behind Bruce and Dick down the sidewalk, dirty Gotham rainwater soaking his socks and making his feet squelch in his sneakers, but Tommy didn’t want to be caught looking like a problem. Bruce got that look every time he caught Tommy scowling, or frowning, or even smiling.

Tommy could usually tell who adults wanted him to be or had decided he was. Bruce was frustrating. Nothing seemed to be right. He’d said the day he brought Tommy here that Tommy only needed to be him, and as nice as that had sounded, Tommy couldn’t trust it. Because he wanted to, he knew he shouldn’t.

Nobody wanted Tommy to be himself.

Nobody wanted Tommy.

He was sure Bruce had come in out of nowhere and claimed Tommy for some reason. There was some kind of Tommy that Bruce was looking for him to be. He just hadn’t figured out what it was yet. And he needed to hurry it up, before somebody decided there’d been a mistake and it was time to send Tommy somewhere else.

(If he thought this would get him sent back to Starling to live with the Queens, Tommy would wear out his welcome with Bruce Wayne by the weekend, no doubt. But the Queens didn’t want him, or he wouldn’t be here in the first place.)

Gotham might not be home, but Alfred was nice, and Dick was really cool, and if Bruce decided to keep Tommy, Tommy would still get to spend most of the year in Starling. With Ollie.

At least Ollie wanted him.

For a second, he missed Ollie so fiercely he couldn’t hear, feel, or see anything else—

—and in that second, he tripped right up the stairs leading up to the front doors of Wayne Enterprises.

Tommy cried out in surprise and windmilled his arms, eyes squeezing shut in anticipation of falling flat on his face and losing a whole lot of skin. But instead of the harsh, scraping impact on the cement and hard angles, there was a tight grip around his upper arm and a sharp jerk against the pull of gravity.

Tommy stumbled instead of fell, and the grip on his arm didn’t let go.

“Whoa there, maybe leave the tumbling to the trained professionals, yeah?”

Tommy opened his eyes to see Dick a step and a half above him, upper body twisted around and one arm thrown back as a counterweight to the hand curved around Tommy’s thin arm. Tommy’s eyes went wide and his cheeks burst into flame, but Dick just grinned, those dark blue eyes always laughing—but not at Tommy.

“Thanks,” Tommy mumbled, rubbing his arm as Dick let him go.

“Everything alright?”

Tommy flinched at the mild question, but Dick didn’t even glance back at Bruce, turned towards them on the top step with his hand on the door. Tommy’s eyes darted across Bruce’s stupid unreadable face, heart pounding harder than when he’d been bracing to kiss the pavement.

He waited for the disappointed purse of lips he would’ve seen on Moira. Anticipated the irritable, snapping demand to pay attention Dad would have barked for Tommy’s embarrassing flailing. Even the exasperated impatience the au pair Dad had hired for a while would have huffed with.

Bruce’s brow furrowed just a little and he looked Tommy up and down. Tommy felt every inch the grubby, clumsy brat, too much work, not smart enough, too inconvenient, not quiet or easygoing enough, just too much and not enough from head to toe.

But Bruce just nodded to himself and pushed his mouth into a smile that looked like it was supposed to be reassuring. He pulled open the door and gestured to the boys to head inside with a sweep of his hand.

Tommy hurried through the door on Dick’s heels, doing his best not to hunch his shoulders or duck his head. If he looked too tense, Bruce might try to talk to him. He was even worse at talking than he was at hugs.

(Although, Tommy figured he might deserve at least a little credit for trying. Not everybody bothered.)

Tommy had been in plenty of big-deal office buildings before, but even so, his head tipped back and mouth fell open as he stepped into the lobby of Wayne Enterprises.

He’d been in the Merlyn Global Group building many times, and in Queen Consolidated often, too. They both looked kind of the same, all flashy colors and sharp lines and things his dad had called “sleek” and “modern.” The biggest difference between them that Tommy could tell was that his dad’s company liked darker colors and Mr. Queen’s company was bright and friendly colors.

Wayne Enterprises didn’t look anything like that. Everything was curves and arches and warm orange-yellow colors and bronze or brass or whichever metal that was. He was pretty sure the style was called “art deco” but not, like, sure sure. He liked art and the way things looked and he always paid more attention during history lessons when they talked about art periods and styles, but it was hard to remember what was called what for longer than it took to take a test about it.

Tommy stood in Wayne Enterprises’s lobby and stared around, and he decided he liked it. Dad’s company made him think it was trying too hard to be cool, and Mr. Queen’s like it was trying too hard to be fun. Bruce’s company made Tommy feel like they had what his mom would call class. It was impressive, like they knew what they were about and so did you and they could just do what they liked without trying too hard to seem impressive.

If he ever ran a business someday like his dad had wanted him to, Tommy thought he might want it to look kind of like this.

“Fancy, right?” Dick asked, the question only just making Tommy realize the older boy was standing beside him.

Tommy cut a quick glance towards Bruce, standing just on the other side of Dick. He shrugged his shoulders in a casual jerk. “It’s really different from Merlyn Global. I guess it’s pretty cool.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said, weirdly serious for a compliment from an almost ten year old. Bruce smiled at him. “I saw you looking at the architecture and design. Call me biased, but I’d say you’ve got a good eye.”

A quick surge of pride leapt bright and warm in Tommy’s chest. He squished it ruthlessly, like a bug. He gave Bruce another shrug, like it didn’t matter.

“My father was very proud of the choices he made in Wayne Enterprises’s aesthetic. It’s needed a little updating from time to time of course, but I’ll give him credit, it’s very classic, difficult to go out of style. And I can speak from experience that style does matter.”

Bruce looked around fondly as he spoke, and Tommy remembered that Bruce’s parents weren’t around anymore either, and hadn’t been for a long time. He wasn’t even that old. Bruce talked about his dad like he still missed him, and Tommy couldn’t help but feel a little jealous, even if it also maybe made him like Bruce a little bit more.

“Your dad had good taste,” he said awkwardly. It sounded like something nice his mom would’ve said, and grownups always talked about “taste” like it was important.

Bruce laughed softly and thanked him again, and Dick gave Tommy a subtle nod like he’d said the right thing. Tommy let out a little bit of breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Come on,” Bruce said, reaching out a hand like he’d rest it on Dick’s or Tommy’s shoulders but not actually touching either of them. “We’re here to give you a tour. It’d be a shame to stop with just the lobby.”

“You’re gonna love the R-and-D department. That’s where all the sick gadgets get made,” Dick enthused with a grin, walking backwards to talk to Tommy as they followed Bruce towards the elevators.

Bruce turned a narrow-eyed, half-amused warning look on Dick as he hit the call button, but Dick just spun on his heel to turn that grin on Bruce in sunny defiance. Bruce shook his head and heaved a sigh, but there was a smile sneaking into the corner of his mouth.

Tommy watched this with interest and wondered if maybe this was what Bruce was looking for. If playing the rascally jokester, cheeky and endearingly feisty, was the way to go to fit here. It would hardly even be an effort. The trouble was, he wouldn’t be as good at it as Dick. Tommy could do the jokes—the worse the better—and he was usually pretty good at being endearing, but Dick was funnier, livelier, and he had the circus thing going for him.

No, imitating Dick could backfire too easy. It might be fun and charming from Dick, but if Tommy piled on the same and made it annoying and obnoxious, one of them might have to go and Tommy already knew it wouldn’t be Dick.

He chewed over ideas on the ride up the elevator, but they slipped away once they started visiting different departments on different floors.

Everyone greeted Bruce. Everyone had always greeted Tommy’s dad at work, too, but this wasn’t like that. At Dad’s work, everyone always seemed nervous and like they were being on their best behavior, which Tommy understood. But Dad only ever paid attention to people in charge, and it seemed like it was mostly to remind them that he was in charge of them.

The people at Wayne Enterprises greeted Bruce like they respected him, but also like they liked him, and even more like they knew him. Bruce stopped to chat with most people, asking them questions about their families or projects or stuff they liked. Which meant he knew all of that. But what Tommy couldn’t figure out was why he knew it. And he didn’t seem fake about it either. He sounded like he cared what the answer was when he asked about them.

Even more, everyone seemed to know Dick, too. Tommy knew Dick had been living with Bruce for two or three years already, but he must have come by Wayne Enterprises a lot in that time. People talked to him. And he talked back, and Bruce didn’t seem to mind. Dad would have clenched his jaw and quietly but sternly reminded Tommy that children were to be seen and not heard. But people here treated Dick like he was just… a person.

It was almost enough to break something in Tommy’s head. Adults didn’t treat kids like they were people. It was like he’d stumbled into some kind of weird Twilight Zone episode.

All of this served to make Tommy unusually shy when Bruce introduced him, and he introduced him to everybody. He hadn’t been prepared for all these people to be looking at him, and worse, paying attention. What were they seeing? Some orphan tagalong? Somebody who didn’t belong?

He got more and more tense with each hand he shook, waiting for all the questions he hated most. Where were his parents. Was he here with family.

How long would he be staying.

The questions didn’t come.

Any time it would start to come up, or someone looked like they were going to start asking, it got deftly shut down. To Tommy’s growing awe, Bruce and Dick worked like some kind of coordinated act, with Bruce smoothly slipping in a “Tommy’s going to be staying with us from now on” and handing off to Dick to distract with a joke or a question of his own.

It was kind of amazing. It explained enough, was polite, even friendly, but was firm that this was all the information they needed about it. And nobody pushed back or pretended not to get it. Tommy hoped he’d be able to figure out how to do that himself sometime.

The other options were trying not to cry in front of strangers, or angry outbursts, and those were bad options that would get him labeled a problem faster than he could sneeze.

After a while, some three or four floors later and in a department Tommy couldn’t remember, Bruce got pulled a little away to look at something, leaving Tommy and Dick standing around by a short conference table with a bowl of peppermints on it. Dick grabbed a handful and tossed Tommy a couple as well.

Unwrapping one of his mints, Dick nudged Tommy with an elbow and asked quietly, “You doing okay? The whole tour’s kind of a lot, I know.”

“Yeah,” Tommy answered, frowning down at one of his own mints and slowly untwisting the plastic. “I’m good. It’s just. Yeah, it’s a lot. There’s so many people, I didn’t know we were gonna be talking to all these people.”

Dick popped his peppermint into his mouth and leaned against the table, nodding sagely. “It’s a big company, like, really big actually, but this is the home office and Bruce likes to know everybody, kind of acts like it’s just a small family thing.” He smiled, his mint clacking against his teeth. “Actually kinda reminds me of the circus.”

Tommy’s head pulled up sharp, the skeptical scrunch of his face making Dick laugh.

“Okay, there’s a lot less spandex and sequins, sure, but I mean the way everybody is sort of a family. Or, community, whatever. People who can be kind of annoying but care and look out for you.” Dick shrugged.

Tommy sure liked the sound of that, but it just… didn’t sound real to him. He thought maybe that was something wrong with him, not the other way around. So instead of saying anything about that, he made his skeptical face scrunchier and, when Dick raised an eyebrow back, asked, “So did you wear a lot of spandex and sequins?”

Dick’s eyes widened slowly as he realized Tommy was poking fun at him. His lips twitched. “Listen,” he said, then, mouth blooming full into a smile, he reached for Tommy. “C’mere, brat.”

Tommy giggled and ducked away, darting around to the other side of the conference table. “Betcha were super cute in tights.”

“I’m gonna get you,” Dick declared, the menace ruined by laughter. “Get back here. Don’t think I won’t come over that table, I’m an acrobat.”

Tommy cackled, shuffling left and right as Dick feinted at coming around one way then the other. “I dunno, can you do that in jeans or do you need the outfit?”

Dick squawked in outrage—and how he did that without choking on his peppermint, Tommy didn’t know—and vaulted, literally, hands smacking on the table and legs going up as he went over.

Squealing, Tommy hurried under the table, the rolling chairs clacking together as he shoved them out of his way to pop out on the other side. He bounced to his feet and turned to see Dick narrowing his eyes at him, looking mildly impressed. It made Tommy grin so hard it almost hurt his cheeks.

“Boys.” Bruce’s exasperated voice brought Tommy’s head whipping around and he went still. Bruce had crossed half the room towards them, arms folded and head shaking.

(For a moment, Tommy felt the whole world tip a little sideways, and the ghost of his father stood there next to Bruce. Instead of loosely crossed arms and a warm glittering in the eye, Malcolm Merlyn stood straight as a sword, chin up to show the height of his disappointment, arms at his sides and hands in discreet fists. For a moment, Tommy couldn’t believe what he’d done, how stupid he’d been to be so embarrassing and poorly behaved in public.)

There was laughter behind Bruce, a man a little older than Bruce sitting at a desk and smiling wide and chuckling openly. “You sure have your hands full now, Mr. Wayne.”

A woman in a suit at the whiteboard on the other side of the room grinned. “Just wait until they start ganging up on you. I’ve got twins around their age and they’ll run circles around you before you can blink.”

Bruce made a rueful, amused sound. “Please don’t give them any ideas.”

“Oh, it’s way too late for that,” Dick announced, leaning across the table and beaming. “I’ve got a partner in crime now.” Bruce made a little face at that, but Dick just looked encouraged, grinning wider. “We’re gonna drive you absolutely batty.”

All this laughter and joking, everyone teasing and having fun.

But Tommy just tried not to breathe too loudly, hands balled up and trembling at his sides.

Don’t make me go don’t make me go don’t make me go

Bruce sighed, and the sound could have been a gunshot in Tommy’s head. He didn’t blink as Bruce closed the distance between them, and it was only because he was frozen that he didn’t flinch when Bruce committed this time, his hand landing light and large between Tommy’s shoulderblades.

“To be honest,” he said softly, looking back and forth between Dick and Tommy, lips curling without force or hiding, “I’m looking forward to it.”

Laughter around them, warm and friendly, and Dick and Bruce smiling, Bruce’s hand on his back.

Slowly, so slowly, Tommy felt his body loosen again, felt his lungs expand in full.

The danger was passed. He was still here. He didn’t know what he’d done right, but he’d work hard to figure it out. Because he was still here.

For now.

—————

@memcjo @klaus-hargreeves-katz @its-a-pygmy-puffle @keabbs @princesssarcastia @obscure-sentimentalist @icannotbelieveiamhere @p0cketw0tch @andyouweremine @storiesofimagination @acheaptrickandacheesyoneline @cronusamporaofficial @batsonthebrain @adeusminhacolombina @relevanttosomeone

#tommy merlyn #bruce wayne #dick grayson #arrow #arrow fic #batfam #family and (mis)fortune au #fam au #y'all this is heavier than intended #kind of turned out to be a very bared exploration of the psyche of an abused child #there's no abuse in present tense or even directly referred to #but the effects are plain throughout #brace yourself as need be

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