#wally just being like: a normal Tuesday night | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bluegarners · 3 years

Note

dick + jaw wired shut ???

hiii anon!! sorry this took awhile to get out there, but here it is! ao3

Jaw Wired Shut

It happens quickly. A bit too quickly, really. One could say it happens in a flash, but neither Wally nor Barry are really here to appreciate that, so it just happens quickly.

He’s on his bike, a slightly older model of the same one Robin rides, just larger and more loved (well-used is another kind term, but he really means beat-up), and they’re both reaching speeds upwards of seventy miles per hour. One hundred and twelve kilometres if he’s using the correct measurements, but no one really cares. Either way, the point is that they’re going fast and only getting faster as their high-speed chase takes them down long streets filled with trash and night-walkers alike.

Robin is slightly ahead, his smaller bike a bit better at maneuvering around the sharp angles and narrowing roads, and Dick is trying his best not to think about how one pot-hole could spell the end for both of them at the speeds they are currently keeping. Of course, they’re both wearing helmets with more padding than standard (thank you, Bruce), but it does little to reassure him as he keeps one eye on the perpetrators they’re tailing and the hardly fourteen year old boy handling a motor-bike like he’s been at it for a lifelong and fulfilling career as a Nascar driver.

It’s not raining, Gotham in some sort of mid-fall drought, and Batman took the car in the opposite direction to try and cut off the gang before they reached the city limits, so there are small mercies. Very small, but Dick is used to relying on slim chances so it’s fine. Fine, really.

The thing is, though, is that they’re only getting faster. Later, Dick will wonder how in the world the gang managed to fix an engine onto the old van to make it go so fast, and later Dick will shake his fist at the sky for his inattention or his too divided attention, but for the moment, Dick is only pushing his bike to keep pace with Damian’s, and going back and forth between glancing at Robin’s wildly flapping cape and watching for civilians that got in the way.

They’re hardly forty feet from it when the van doors kick open and two men crouch at its opening, shouldering what looks to be a machine gun (holy shit, they weren’t supposed to have that kind of weaponry) and a few hand-guns. Immediately, Dick is calling into the comms with the new development.

“Fall back, they’re armed!”

Robin cooperates, lessening his speed and coming to ride along Dick’s flank.

“Weaponry?” Batman asks.

“Hard to say,” Dick shouts, wind screaming in his own ear. “Definitely a few 9mm and maybe a GPM. They’ve got more than a few rounds in there too.”

“Copy. Stay back. Do not engage and keep distance. I’m closing in on them. Keep civilians out of the way.”

“Like we weren’t just doing that,” Robin mutters, the feedback in the comms a glimmer of humor despite the intense situation.

“Got it, B,” Dick responds, a grin marring his serious tone.

He’s hardly got the words out before the first lash of bullets is hitting the rough pavement, metal clashing against stiff cement and slightly more malleable cars. They’re lucky that these thugs just seem to want to put more distance between themselves and the vigilantes because the bullets are only hitting the path in front of their bikes. Still, the ricochet is violent, metal casings bouncing up and pelting anything even remotely close, and it pushes Nightwing and Robin back further. It’s the middle of the night, somewhere close to three a.m., so there aren’t too many civilians out, but it’s still Gotham.

It’s just a normal Tuesday for most of them.

“Maneuver five?” Robin asks, swerving to the right as a slurry of bullets hits a sewer covering. “Or seven?”

“Seven,” Dick decides, grimacing a bit as his front wheel wobbles against the pavement. “Push it up to a Scenario B, and,” he adds, taking care to emphasize the stress in his voice, “minimum engagement.”

Robin doesn’t respond, a blow of air into the comms all that Dick gets in reply, before Robin is suddenly speeding up and launching his bike onto the civilian pathways and gliding by store displays and carefully made signs.

A maneuver seven typically involves three people; one to distract, one to enact, and one to take care of whatever other obstacles there are. Seeing as their only backup was about twelve streets away, the plan adjusts to a Scenario B; meaning that now there is only the distractor and enactor. Being the distraction is more dangerous in this scenario as there is no one to ensure that they aren’t instantly put into a direct line of fire, so that role is automatically deferred to either the older or the more experienced. Both of those apply to Dick, so he takes it upon himself to do his best to keep the attention of the machine gun and 9mm on himself while Damian builds up enough speed to intercept or figure out a way to crash the van itself. Thus, the enactor.

It’s a difficult maneuver but not impossible, and both of them have trained and even done the maneuver a few times. Of course, other variables like speed, location, psychology of the criminals, and the vehicle itself all play major roles in the outcome of maneuver seven, but thinking on one's feet isn’t as difficult to do when it’s either do that or die standing still.

Not as reassuring as it sounds, but it works. Most of the time.

Robin is waiting for the signal to increase his speed, riding parallel to Nightwing’s bike, and Dick fishes for a wingding out of one compartment. He snaps it open, sharp metal edges clicking into place, and with a slight head-tilt, both Robin and the wingding are flying towards the speeding van.

Dick’s accuracy hasn’t failed him in years, and the (essentially) metal boomerang collides against one of the legs supporting what he thinks is a modified GPM. He slings another one, flicking his wrist in a motion that guarantees a slight curve, and a second wingding buries itself into the lower bumper of the van. This one is different though as Dick presses down on a button and a flash-bang goes off, a miniature flare emitting smoke and blinding the gang members inside. Robin is getting closer, a little further than twenty feet from the van off to the right on a sidewalk, and Dick readies a third wingding when he sees a commotion interrupt the panicked flailing of the men.

Previously, Dick had only counted two men in the rear of the van, both armed, but now a third one appears, wielding another gun and some unknown object in the other. They’ve got a gas mask on, goggles too, and they’re staring right at Dick.

“Third assailant,” he hurries into the comms, reassessing. “Armed.”

“Got it,” Damian grunts in reply, engine revving slightly as he pushes his bike further and rapidly gains pace. “Batman, update?”

“Encountered some civilians. Five blocks away. ETA thirty seconds.”

Okay, good, good, Dick thinks to himself, throwing the wingding still in his hand. It knocks out another leg on the GPM and he hears the shout of surprise. “Robin, what’s it looking like for engagement?” he asks aloud.

He veers to the left suddenly, pops of one-two-three as one of the 9mm sounds off. He curses as a stray casing impacts against his back tire and he wobbles for the second time.

“Preparing to board.”

What? Dick thinks as he turns his attention to Damian, who is slowly inching his feet upwards onto the seat of his bike. It’s a risky choice, one that is never 100%, or even 80% guaranteed to work, and Dick feels his heart leap into his throat as Damian continues to accelerate, all the while getting closer and closer to the speeding van and bunching his legs together.

Trust him, a voice whispers in the back of his head, but Dick can’t help but divide his attention by watching his little brother, and god he looks so small, gather his feet underneath him, one hand still controlling the bike, and jump into the screaming air, aiming for the front windshield.

The impact is going to hurt, Dick knows from experience, but he can’t help but feel that sting of pride as he hears the shock of the gang members, the van swerving momentarily before regaining its momentum.

And this is where things begin happening too quickly. Where things happen in a flash.

A lot is going on at the same time. Robin is clinging to the front of a van filled with armed gang members. Robin’s bike is currently still rolling on the sidewalk, slowly, very slowly, coming to a stop and falling on its side. Batman is hardly one block away, Dick can just barely hear the rumble of the Batmobile’s engine against the wind tearing at his arms, but it’s out of reach. The two gang members are still rubbing magnesium and smoke out of their eyes and the GPM is tilting out the van, the slightest push away from it tumbling into the street. The third member is elbowing past their blinded partners, dropping the gun in their hand and fumbling with whatever was in the other.

All of this is happening at the same time, and all of these requires Dick’s attention, his direct action, but he’s still half-way between his heart seizing as he thinks about bruised ribs beneath Robin’s tunic and trying to correct the unexpected and severe quaking of his back tire. He’s always been good about juggling multiple things at once. Give him an orange, a spoon, a bowl, and a paper weight and he’ll put on a show. Give him a week to commute between the Titans, Gotham, Bludhaven, and three new case files, and he’ll get it done a day early. He’s good about handling multiple things at once, but it’s a maneuver seven, a Scenario B, and Dick is slightly more harried than he normally is with it all.

So the grenade being launched out of the back doors and the GPM crashing and splintering into the pavement, parts of it hurtling at Dick’s bike upwards of eighty miles per hour, goes unnoticed. Dick is distracted and misses it. Misses those precious few milliseconds of time and pays for it.

The sound of the GPM practically exploding on impact is what alerts him, eyes zeroing in on first the metal pieces and then the rounder object that just seems to… float, mid-air, gray-green and twirling and heading straight for him.

It’s all Dick can do but break. Hard. A jolt so severe the handles jut into his sides and he’s practically leaning over the front of his bike, before he’s swiveling around, desperate to put some space between himself and the ensuing explosion. From the distance he’s at, the grenade and shrapnel coming from the GPM, he’ll be lucky if he scrapes by with some charred flesh. Who’s he kidding? He’ll be lucky if he scrapes by with his life.

There’s nowhere to go but back because even though it’s Tuesday and most of the shops are closed, it’s still very much Gotham, and Dick just can’t take the chance of diving behind a car or swerving into a shop window without the risk of injuring innocents. His back wheel, dented and more than likely missing some rubber, squeals against the asphalt as he lurches forward, away from the van, hand coming up to hastily, hopefully, patch into the comms to alert Robin, warn Batman, about the explosive.

It happens too fast though. Too quick. He’s barely got a finger onto the side of his helmet before he feels the heat burning into his back, the shock-wave of sound following closely behind. The force of the detonation brings the rear of his bike shooting up, his body pushed out of the seat and flying, arms outstretched and ears ringing.

He thinks he screams. It certainly feels like something is being ripped from his throat, loud and fearful. It’s a distant thought though because even though his arms are spread out before him, his head slams into the ground first, the smack comparatively silent against the roar of everything and nothing in his ears.

He’s not too sure what happens immediately after. Dick thinks he might’ve passed out, lost consciousness as he (presumably) rolled and rolled and scraped his body against asphalt and hard Gotham tar before finally coming to a stop.

All he knows is that when he opens his eyes, it is an enormously difficult task.

There’s feedback going off in his ears, a static cling to it that leaves him nauseous. He can’t feel his fingers or his toes, and some part of his brain is screaming at him that that’s not a good thing, but the other part is relieved. Moving is an impossible task and Dick is glad for the shock.

The world is a tinted mess of shadows and yellow shop lights through the visor of his helmet. Half of it is shattered, the enforced glass fractured and in some areas missing altogether. It filters through to his eyes and Dick is tempted to close them, avoid the pulsing brightness that stabs into his brain. He doesn’t though, an ingrained piece of him knowing that to close his eyes would mean to possibly lose the battle and Dick’s not willing to give in just yet.

There are other noises in the background, piercing and violent, metal screeching against metal, but all Dick can really focus on is the sound his breath makes as his lungs expand and deflate. He can’t decide if he’s breathing through his nose or through his mouth, erratic and chattering throughout his helmet. He doesn’t think breathing is supposed to sound like that, echoey and clunky, but he takes what he can get.

There’s also something against his lip. A few somethings. Small and smooth, and there’s a few just sitting in his mouth. His tongue tastes like iron, like he’s been eating nothing but metal for the past few days, and the sensation of it alone makes Dick want to vomit. He tries that, throat working and muscles in his cheek convulsing, but the immediate pain, the prompt resistance, stops him. Again, he’s not sure how, but he doesn’t vomit even though he badly wants to. Instead, he just lays there, allowing his body to take over the reflex of breathing, and trying his best not to succumb to what he’s sure is a comforting darkness.

His right arm is squashed under the weight of his body, a distant part of him acknowledging that it’s probably been dislocated, but he has no energy to move himself to lay on his back. There are a thousand protocols running through his head, ones he’s known for years and could probably recite backwards if need be, so he knows instinctively that laying on his back or moving from whatever position he’s managed to crash into might mean further damaging his spine. His neck. Not that he’d notice the difference if he were to, the shock from his propulsion slowly ebbing away to the point where awareness of his own predicament is poking at his brain.

For now, though, he just lays there and breathes, maybe even bleeds as well, and tries to fight against the urge to scream and vomit. The pain is getting worse, throbbing and burning at his jaw, his cheek, his entire face. He hopes the helmet has done its job and prevented something worse than a concussion.

Suddenly, there’s movement in his peripherals and Dick spots green boots and black laces.

Robin. Damian.

He’s okay. He made it out. Alive.

Dick finds himself sagging a bit at the relief of that. It had only been a barely second thought to, ‘Oh shit, that’s a grenade,’ but the worry for his little brother’s safety had definitely been pounding away in the background. Now that he can more or less see for himself that his littlest brother is unharmed, Dick relaxes enough to the point where he forgets he’s supposed to be making an effort in staying awake. Gray tickles at the edges of his vision, drifting in and out of focus, before a sharp “Nightwing!” snaps him out of it.

Robin is crouched down to his level, elbows digging into the hard tar as his pensive little mask peers through Dick’s broken visor.

“Nightwing, are you awake?” he asks, a fine tremble lurking behind those words.

Dick tries opening his mouth to reply and instantly regrets it, a shout of agony ripped from him instead. Okay, yeah, that’s a broken jaw. A bad one. And… oh god, those are teeth in his mouth. Loose teeth. As in, teeth that are no longer fixed to his skull and are sitting like popcorn kernels on his tongue.

Panic grips him for a moment, the sudden urge to spit out the tiny pieces of not-really- bone violent and driving. His shoulders move, anticipating the reactionary need to pucker his cheeks and convulse his stomach at the same time, but a small yet firm hand pokes at his arm.

“Stay still,” Robin orders, the only sign of alarm being the slightest twitch of his lips. “You’re going to be okay, Nightwing. Batman will be here soon and we will take you back to the Cave.”

Dick wants to nod, signal he understands despite the dread that’s beginning to curl around his chest, but even that tiny movement is sending jolts of fire throughout his jaw and neck. He settles on a low grunt that comes from the depths of his sternum, and the tone vibrates in his teeth. He’s never taken such special notice to the small things before but it’s all he can think about right now. All he can focus on, the feeling of many hard objects just swirling around in his mouth, slicked in his blood and metallic in their taste.

Popcorn.

Something gnawing at the edges of a frenzy poke at Dick’s composure and it is with concerted and severe effort does he scrunch up his left hand and move it back and forth against the road. Damian can only frown at the movement but understanding creeps in as Dick repeats the motion again, visible strain shaking at his arms.

Damage?

“I don’t believe you knowing the extent will do you any good, Nightwing,” Damian answers, chin crumpling the slightest bit. It’s a new tic of his that Dick has picked up on. Damian only does that when he’s stressed. Anxious.

Dick wheezes in reply, fisting his left hand again and moving it against the rough terrain. He taps the ground for emphasis, another dimmed whine involuntarily escaping from his lips as it jerks his shoulder, traveling upwards to his neck. Knowing the extent of his injuries will at least take his mind off of the fact that there are teeth in his mouth. Teeth that aren’t where they are supposed to be. Loose little kernels that taste like flesh on his tongue. Drool sliding down and out of his mouth like he’s some starving animal with a gaping maw. The stench of his own breath and the smells of bodily fluids and blood smearing within the helmet.

He slams his fisted palm into the ground again. It’s more like a plea than it is a request at this point. He’s freaking out and the pain is starting to get to him. Black spots blur in and out of focus and Robin’s green gloves are all he can pay attention to.

“Okay,” Damian relents, one of his hands hovering just outside of the helmet’s visor, “but please. Calm down. Batman will be here soon, Nightwing, but I need you to calm down first. I… cannot touch you or offer comfort, and I am sorry, but please. Stay still.”

Dick hears him, even through the static clouding his head, and relaxes his fist, slumping further into himself. The spots are turning gray and washing over like a film in his eyes.

“Your suit managed to protect much of your backside from the brunt of the explosion,” Damian continues, settling further down into his crouch. His mask is pinched and aching. Dick does not know what to do. “You will have secondary burns, most likely, and a few lacerations from shrapnel. I don’t believe there are any extraneous pieces lodged, however.”

Something clicks, rather clinks, inside of Dick’s mouth and he feels another smooth… piece fall onto his tongue. The urge to swallow, or better yet vomit, persists. The side of his face feels tacky, like half-dried glue is clinging to his lower cheek. A million fire ants pepper his jawline and neck. It burns.

“Visibly, from my stance, there are only a few other injuries, mostly other lacerations.” Damian pauses, his chin scrunching up again. “However, I cannot see your face. I do not know-”

“Robin,” another voice interrupts, deep and controlled. Edging into a degree of certain authority in their small world of chaos.

Dick is still thinking about the clink though, can’t think of much else except the acid seeping into his bones, his entire facial structure, eating away at his skin and every cell he’s ever owned. What little adrenaline that had been keeping the worst of it to a buzz is fading, becoming a roar in his ears and a sickly, numbing ache in the concave of his right cheek. The gray is darkening, bleeding into what small consciousness he has left to interpret what’s going on around him and Dick is left with the cold sensation of undiluted fear in his chest. Icy and coiling.

There’s a long, high-pitched beep from somewhere beyond his vision and he hears the faint but gruff voice that follows it, every second or third word filtering through to his ears.

“...stable… move… secure…. Robin...”

He blinks. The gray turns darker. Knives are digging themselves deeper and deeper into his face, flaying open his skin and grating against bone.

He blinks. His eyelids are sticky. His nose itches. Something is drying on the sides of his lips.

He thinks he might be dying.

He blinks.

The world goes black.

. . .

He’s jolted from the dark to the screeching heat by his ear, and for a moment, Dick is paralyzed with unknown. Not fear of the unknown, but just an unknown.

It’s like there’s a jackhammer going off right next to him, reverberating and shaking his eardrums and brain into mush, and he’s flinching away from it when something prevents him and holds him still.

“Stop,” is what he tries to get out, a mere gurgle of syllables escaping instead as his tongue refuses to leave the dry roof of his mouth. He tastes plastic. Blood. Ash.

The buzzing stops, erratic silence plunges into his head, and he almost wishes for the noise back until he registers the fact that his jaw is no longer rattling and his teeth are no longer quaking where they lay.

Oh god.

His teeth.

His jaw.

The panic sets in immediately, a ferocious awareness that he has no idea where he is or what’s going on climbing on top of the realization that he’s in so much pain that it’s unbearable and ruthless. It hurts. It hurts so much.

“Master Richard?” a voice calls to him, far away and cavernous. “You’re alright. You are in the Cave now. I have to saw off your helmet. Your jaw has been dislocated and that makes removal difficult. Please, do your best to hold still. You’re going to be alright, my boy.”

“Do as he says, Richard,” another voice chimes in, just another noise to echo in his ever shrinking head. “Stay still.”

Dick thinks he recognizes those voices, trusts them enough to try and attempt the task at hand, but when the buzzing resumes and the thundering in his own brain doubles, it proves impossible. It’s as if the Flash himself is summoning the lightning that dances throughout his face: violent, repetitive, and so, so blinding.

There’s another jolt and his mouth yawns open in a terrible impression of a roar and the world goes black again.

. . .

When he wakes up, it's to the feeling of needing to throw up. It’s that same sick-to-his-stomach feeling he got when he was younger, down with a bad case of the flu but not quite knowing it yet and being unable to do anything except lay down with an ice-pack on his face. There’s a faded memory in the very back of his mind of laying on a leather couch, watching cartoons, and then feeling a lurch in the depths of his being that had him practically yelling for a bowl to hurl into.

He doesn’t throw up. His stomach rolls around and the back of his throat is tingling with an impulsive reflex, but there must be nothing left inside of him because nothing comes up.

Opening his eyes is a chore, sticky and weighing a thousand pounds, and when he does, it’s to the cool, dull fluorescence of an overhead light that pokes at his awareness. Its electric flicker reaches his ears, like a fly hanging around his head, and he turns his eyes away from the light to drift around. Next to him is Damian, small and huddled.

There are bandages on his face, butterfly band-aids holding together small cuts that will eventually heal on their own, and greasy patches of skin where ointment has been applied to yellowing bruises. He looks up at Dick’s gaze, stowing away his phone, and frowns carefully. Damian says nothing though and a part of Dick is grateful for it. The world is still a haze, blurry and out-of-focus, and he doesn’t think the pain medication running their course through his veins will let him hold a conversation just yet.

He keeps the silence, keeps his little brother’s gaze, and after a few minutes of staring, he drifts off again, blissfully unaware of anything else.

The throbbing in his face is what wakes him up again. A pounding ache that feels as if someone is repeatedly punching him in the jaw. He reaches up a hand to touch it, the pull of an IV or some other fluid tube in his hand restricting his already sluggish movement, and a different hand comes up to intercept his inspection. Dick turns his direction from the hand to the owner of the appendage, something like a smile tugging at his sore features.

“Glad to see you awake, Master Richard,” Alfred says softly, holding the younger man’s hand in his own. “Before you do anything else, however, there are some things you need to know so you do not… fret… later on. Do you understand?”

Already feeling the dull emotion of anxiousness, Dick nods anyway. He’s tired.

“Good,” Alfred amends warmly, releasing Dick’s hand. “Your jaw has been wired shut,” he continues. “You will have difficulty talking for the time being, but for now, you will not be able to open your mouth at all.”

Now that it’s been pointed out to him, the sudden need to yawn or say something pulls at Dick immensely, practically an instantaneous reflex as his muscles twitch to open his mouth.

“Your jaw was fractured on the right side of your mandible, as well as dislocated,” the old butler continues, not unkindly. “Unfortunately, your face had become so swollen by the time you were brought back to the Cave, your helmet couldn’t be moved without it being cut off of you. Do you remember that?”

Dick nods, somewhat shakily, as the urge to speak pesters him further. He can feel the restraints though, feel his limitations and taste the metal plates and wires in his mouth. On his teeth. Oh god. There are gaps. There are gaps.

“Yes, you woke up as I was cutting away the sides. I am sorry for that, Master Richard. We had thought you would remain unconscious long enough for us to remove your helmet, which, I am unbearably grateful you were wearing. Your injuries would have been considerably… worse had you not been wearing it.”

Dick wants to make some joke or mockery of the lessons ingrained into him about wearing a helmet since he was nine, but the staunch reminder of his limited capabilities leave him mute and horrifyingly silent. He can’t… He can’t even smile properly. It feels wrong. He feels wrong.

“Just as well, the impact that led to your jaw dislocation also popped out your right shoulder. It was put back in without any trouble, it will just feel sore for a spell. You have some minor burns on your shoulders and upper back, and a few lacerations on your arms, but otherwise nothing else.”

Dick wants to ask about his teeth. Wants to ask how many he’s missing, how many are in his mouth, how many are on the side of the road, how long it’ll take to get new ones or be fitted for some replacements, if any of them are salvageable, but he remains quiet. Too afraid to speak. Too afraid to try and find he can’t at all.

He flexes his lower jaw, desperate for the tiniest bit of leeway, but his jaw remains in place. His mouth remains welded shut.

“For the next few weeks, the wires will remain in place and you’ll be given a largely liquid diet. I, or someone else, can help you with that and the cleaning process required to maintain the wires.” Alfred sighs then, reaching up a hand to ghost over Dick’s hair. It lacks the warmth Dick is desperate for. The touch is too light. Too far away. It makes him feel like he’s not truly there. Transparent. “You were tremendously lucky, my boy. Had circumstances been different, I fear we would be having a much different conversation.”

Just as he’s only found himself capable to do, Dick merely nods, crinkling his eyes in what he hopes looks like a light acceptance. Having his jaw wired shut isn’t a first for him. He’s been knocked down enough in his life to have fractured his face more than once, has experience dealing with getting food from a syringe and trying to suck down things he knows would taste better whole rather than in a puree. This isn’t… new.

And yet, something tight is gathering inside of his chest. Something cold and choking, wrapping around his rib-cage, tighter and tighter. Squeezing.

He just nods though, watching as Alfred walks away to get Damian and Bruce, announce to them that the eldest is awake.

And he doesn’t even need to open his mouth to talk coherently. Sure, some of the enunciation might be lost, but he can move his tongue and his lips just fine. He’s fine. It’ll only be a few weeks, and then after the wires and the plates are out, he can be fitted for new teeth. Get the dental work done. Yeah, just a few weeks. No time at all. He’s fine. It’s nothing new. Nothing new.

He’s fine.

Dick hears the quick succession of small feet before he sees Damian enter. There are still butterfly bandages on his face, still sickly bruises on his cheeks, and still a slight pull on his brows. Dick does his best to smile as the boy approaches but his own face still feels like it was rammed with a semi-truck, and he’s yet to look in a mirror or take in his predicament properly, but he’s sure he isn’t a pretty sight to behold.

“Good evening, Richard,” Damian says, stilted and unsure. He hovers, just as he did when Dick was still looking through broken glass.

“H-” is all Dick can get out before he stops, feeling that constriction around his chest further tighten. He tried to open his mouth. He tried to say ‘Hello’ and attempted to open his mouth to do so. He can’t though. He can’t. He can’t do that.

His hand trembles as he raises it to his forehead, pushing outwards in a mock salute. Damian’s brow creases further.

“I see,” is all the boy says, easing into the same chair he had sat in before, leaning forward and steepling his fingers together. “No matter. I imagine you would like a report of everything that has happened since… then.”

Dick just blinks at his younger brother in response, trying his best to breathe around the weight in his lungs. He knows how he’s breathing now. It’s through his nose. How silly of him to think otherwise.

“The grenade used for the gang’s attempted escape was essentially a homemade device. Thus, the explosion resulting from it’s release was not as potent as a military grade grenade would have been. Batman was able to successfully stop the gang’s departure near the same moment the explosion went live. I was not caught in any crossfire,” Damian adds, glancing upwards before settling on his fingers again. “Once the suspects were secured, Batman and I assessed you before taking you back to the Cave. I presume Pennyworth has already briefed you on the extent of your injuries?” Damian’s chin crumples at that, one of his eyebrows twitching in a similar manner.

Dick nods. It’s all he can do. All he can do but breathe. Barely. His chest hurts. He’s not… He’s not getting enough air.

“That’s good,” Damian says, shoulders relaxing a fraction. “It’s been approximately twenty-eight hours since their arrest. There were no other severe casualties than your own. Bat- Father is attending a meeting of some sort. He will be back shortly and will expect a report now that you are coherent enough to give one. Of course, seeing as incapacitated as you are now, it will prove to be difficult for you, so I will see to it that you do not make any mistakes and will help- Richard? Are you alright? Richard?”

Dick stopped listening half-way through Damian’s brief, too focused on getting enough air to his lungs. He can’t remember the last time he had a panic attack so severe, so debilitating, and he knows how to control it, knows how to calm down again, but that involves taking deep, calming breaths, something he is incapable of doing seeing as the easiest way to do that is through the mouth and he can’t fucking open his mouth and he’s not getting enough air-

He can’t suck in oxygen fast enough, each intake of breath through his nose like breathing underwater through a straw; too slow, not enough. His hands are gripping the sides of his cot in an effort to strain himself further, lungs working overtime as he inhales and exhales in the same breath, struggling to get any of it to his brain. If only he could open his mouth, breathe through his mouth. If only he could articulate what he’s feeling, force the words out of his mouth, and even though he knows he can do that without opening up his jaw, it is a task much too difficult for him.

His face is on fire and his lungs are following, consumed in his deprivation. Somewhere off to the right he can hear the sounds of someone calling to him, begging for his attention, but he’s not getting enough air and that’s all he needs. Just a little more air. Just- just a little more air and then he’ll be okay.

There is none though. No oxygen for his starved lungs, no salvation for his leaking brain. The pain, the hurt, pulses through him like his own furious heartbeat, and he’s clenching his jaw so hard it feels like it’s breaking, fracturing, all over again.

Just a little more air. Come on. Come on.

There’s a quick succession of snaps, one-two-three-four, and suddenly his jaw is falling open, and Dick gasps.

Great, heaving breaths fall into his lungs despite the absolute anguish in his relief, the gaps in between his teeth whistling as he sucks in breath after breath- greedy, starved for air.

They stutter in his chest, lungs inflating properly and expanding so much it hurts. He trembles in his cot, overwhelmed with the ability to finally breathe, and as he continues to wheeze and gasp, he falls back, releasing his death drip on the metal bars. The sudden release of tension leaves him light-headed, and his vision spots, graying in and out as he calms down.

A figure stands in his peripherals and Dick recognizes it as Damian, tense and clutching a pair of wire-cutters in his hands. His eyes are wide, watchful, and the creases that line his face betray the stress, the fear, building inside his small body.

Dick raises a hand, still gasping as he presses it to his lips and lets his hand fall back down in a sloppy ‘Thank you’. Damian only jerks his head in response, mouth pressed tightly into a thin line.

It continues on like that for some time, Dick continuing to wheeze and Damian continuing to stand over him, wary and strained.

Dick can feel the jagged ends of the wires poking into his gums as his jaw bobs up and down with each breath. Can still taste metal and blood. This wasn’t supposed to go this way. It’s not new. He’s used to this.

But not really. Not truly. Yes, he’s had his jaw broken before. Has had wires holding his upper and lower jaw together. Has been faced with the ordeal of liquid diets one too many times. None of this was supposed to be new, he’s done it all before, but there is something new he didn’t consider. Didn’t think of immediately as being the cause. Of creating the entire experience “anew” again.

Damian.

He’s never been injured in this way, so humiliatingly, in front of the boy. Broken bones are one thing. Cracked ribs and toes, fractured arms and dislocated shoulders. Long gashes and concussions. Par for the course, Damian has been witness to all of these injuries before and Dick has faced them with the same level of casualness as any other.

But this was different. This was… debilitating. Feebling. Near disabling.

Damian was going to have to watch him get fed through a syringe. Watch his muscle mass shrivel away, even if just minutely, because a liquid diet is not the same as rich, solid food. Watch as Dick struggles and fumbles over basic, normal things like talking. Watch as simple, little things become unbearably painful, as the urge to laugh or cough overwhelms him to the point where he needs to sit down.

And even now. Even just then. Damian had to watch Dick hyperventilate, nearly strangle himself to the point of unconsciousness all because he couldn’t breathe through his mouth well enough. Couldn’t regulate his breaths the way he wanted to. Needed to.

And it was so humiliating.

To struggle so much in front of the child he’s tried so hard to be strong for.

Because he can’t talk his way out of what just happened. Can’t reassure Damian with an easy grin that doesn’t turn into a grimace. Can’t wave away the pain, the bruises, the metal contraption in his mouth. Can’t hide effort in remaining natural, just as he always has before..

He’s supposed to be Richard Grayson. Steadfast and loyal partner to Damian Wayne.

And right now, he just feels…

Wrong.

Dick can’t take his eyes off of the white-knuckled grip Damian has on the cutters. Can’t ignore the way every muscle is stiff and rigid. Can’t not realize that it’s his fault Damian is so shaken, so unnerved, even with all of his own injuries and fresh trauma to care for. And now it’s a different type of pain in his chest that makes Dick feel light-headed. The shame, the guilt, that shrouds his head at the knowledge that he’s no good like this. No good for Damian. No good for Bruce. No good for Alfred.

No good for even himself.

It all just… it happened too fast. Too fast for him to do anything about it.

He can’t even catch his breath anymore.

#tw: broken jaw and teeth #bad things happen bingo #jaw wired shut #my fic #fanfic #dick grayson #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #dick grayson whump

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callmeelle22 · 3 years

Text

Blue Dream, V

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count:7, 733

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

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way; He doesn’t fumble the chance to touch her, and so he presses a hand to the small of her back and follows her as she sways, humming the song that’s playing, is it the way you love me, baby? is it the way you love me, baby?, ignoring the obvious implication as they move. She puts her face in to the crook of his neck, inhales the clean scent of him. His sweater is soft and he’s hard against her, humming along too. They shouldn’t be like this, here, but Iris is starting to get caught up in it, their story. (Read below or on the AO3 link on the chapter title.)

Chapter VI: Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

Chapter VII: I'm in Love with You

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

The Way

Woke up this morning

With a smile on my face

Barry: I had to look for crime clues at the bottom of a snake pit today. Hope your day was better than mine.

Iris: Well, I had to go off on a freshman student for coming at me about her shitty article, so not likely.

Barry: Yeah? Did it get physical?

Iris: Don’t be a cliche.

Barry: :)

Barry: Watched an episode of this Bridgerton show you like. I don’t get the hype.

Iris: Two words: Simon Bassett

Barry: Hmm.

Barry: I’m certain I look better.

Iris: Don’t lie to yourself like that.

Barry: Damn. Burn.

Iris: How will you ever recover?

Barry: I’m sure if I get you spread out over my face, I could.

Barry: And get you to forget about Simon Bassett too.

Iris:

Barry: Iris?

Iris: Sorry; I spilled my coffee.

Iris: I’ve thought of my next question.

Barry: Yeah?

Iris: What would be an ideal date for you?

Barry: Any one that you’re on with me.

Iris: That’s a cop out answer, Bear.

Barry: Bear?

Iris: I’m trying it out.

Barry: I can get behind that. Bears are polite dicks, right?

Iris: I hate you.

Barry: I’ve got a couple of scratches on my neck that prove you don’t.

Iris:

Barry: Baby?

Iris: Be serious. Ideal date.

Barry: I am.

Barry: You make me smile, Iris. You’re pretty and kind, even if you get a little grumpy sometimes. I’ve had a great time with you, when we’re walking around or having dinner or eating sandwiches by the lake. When we’re getting high or having sex.

Barry: And I want to keep getting to know you. So I am being serious. My ideal date is any one that you’re on with me.

Iris: How am I supposed to even respond to that.

Iris: Be ready on Tuesday at 6. Can you swing it?

Barry: I can.

Iris: Dress a little dressier than casual.

Barry: Did you get them?

Iris: Yes, Barry, they’re beautiful. What are they?

Barry: They’re called camellias.

Iris: I was very surprised to see them on my porch when I got home. And I love the vase too.

Iris: Really. Thank you. I don’t think anyone has ever gotten me flowers before.

Barry: Just wanted you to know I was thinking about you. I can’t wait to see you on Tuesday, baby.

Iris: Me either, Bear.

Iris: I think I still smell you on my couch, and I cleaned it. That’s ridiculous, right?

Barry: Only if me being able to still smell you on my fingers is.

Iris: What are you doing to me, Barry?

Barry: Nothing you aren’t already doing to me.

Barry: I was grinning down at my phone earlier and Chester and Cisco started giving me shit about you.

Barry: They told me I’m whipped.

Iris: Better than your boss announcing in her office that she’s glad you’re apparently getting good sex.

Barry: You are.

Iris: 🙄

Iris: Not lately.

Barry: Soon, baby.

Barry: And Iris?

Iris: Yeah?

Barry: I am.

Barry: Whipped.

��Who’s on the phone?”

It’s another Sunday night, a week after she’s last seen Barry. Mid-term prep and a triple homicide case have kept them both busy. They’ve exchanged a few text messages throughout the week and have tried to meet up for coffee once, though their schedules didn’t align.

She’s done her usual Sunday cleaning routine since she didn’t get a chance the week before and she’s even taken the time to condition and twist out her hair instead of flat ironing it as she normally would. Now, she sits back in one corner of her sofa, Law & Order: SVU playing in the background on the television and Linda and Wally sitting on the other side of the couch and in the armchair, respectively. Her laptop is in her lap and she’s cleaning up her “Loving” post before she officially posts it. Linda is writing, likely working on her new manuscript, and Wally is doing homework, books laid out on the arm of the chair and on the floor too.

She doesn’t answer right away because she’s unsure if she’s ready to tell yet. They’ve been texting all week and Iris feels even more like a teenager with a crush. She’s been going to bed with images of him in her head, of his kiss and his touch and the fact that he really did make her come all over his face on a blanket outside by the lake. And she can’t ignore the fact that she likes him. He’s funny and the likable kind of asshole and he says these sweet things that catch her off guard every. single. time. The flowers he’d dropped off when she was still at work on Friday are sitting on the counter, a mix of red and white flowers with open petals, short stems, and big green leaves.

“Iris?”

“Hmm?” She looks up from the last messages, I am. Whipped., and it’s to stare at her brother and best friend, who are watching her back. “What?”

“Who’re you texting?”

“I’m not texting anyone.”

“For a storyteller,” Linda says, “you are a horrible liar.”

“Take the phone, Linda,” Wally says, and Iris looks over at him, appalled. Wally is a handsome kid, 20 going on 37, with skin the same dusky shade as Iris’s and dark brown eyes, his hair tapered on the sides and higher, curlier on the top.

“What do you mean take my phone?”

Linda carefully sets her laptop to the side, and before Iris can ask another question, Linda jumps over to the side of the couch, reaching for Iris’s phone.

“Get away from me, you idiot,” Iris screams, and with Wally’s encouragement, Linda climbs onto Iris’s lap and snatches the phone from her hand. Wally hops up from his own seat to hold Iris down so that Iris can’t get up. She tries to struggle against him, but it’s no use. For a limber thing, Wally is strong.

“Who is it?”

As Iris makes note of the fact that she should definitely change her phone passcode, she settles under her brother’s hold as Linda looks through her phone.

“We’re gonna have to talk about privacy,” she grumbles.

Luckily, the text messages don’t go back as far as she’s known Barry, but unfortunately, there’s no hiding their budding relationship.

“Who is Barry?” Linda says, eyebrows raised high as she slides through. “And where can I get one?”

“You already have one,” Iris replies dryly.

“I guess,” Linda says, “But Dan’s not telling me he wants me to spread out on his face in a text message.”

“Iris!” Wally shouts.

“Wally is too young to hear all of this,” Iris tries.

“Oh please,” Linda says. “Let’s not forget that I caught him and that Johnathan guy hooking up in a closet at your dad’s house. Your little brother was on his knees.” That she adds with a saucy little grin.

“Can we actually not talk about me or the apparent fact that my sister’s getting tongued down by someone named Barry?”

“I’m okay with that.”

Linda bounces back to her side of the sofa, still holding on to Iris’s phone. “Well, I’m not. I mean, Wally I am 100% fine with never seeing you deepthroat a dick again. But I do want to know why my best friend is apparently out here pussy whipping white men named Barry and I don’t know about it.”

“How do you know he’s white?”

She gets the eye from both Linda and Wally.

“Okay, fine. He’s white. But he’s really nice.”

“Alright.” Linda catches her gaze and holds it, her brown eyes curious and, if Iris isn’t mistaken, a little sad. She glances over at the still beautiful bouquet of camellia flowers. “So he’s white and nice and he’s apparently buying you flowers too. Tell me more.”

Maybe this is what she needs, some girl-talk. There’s no real reason that she hasn’t told Linda about Barry, other than they haven’t really had real time to talk since their brunch a couple of weeks back. Well, and maybe it’s more than that. Maybe it’s the reality that she doesn’t know what’s happening with her and Barry, not really, and (in her head) there’s a sort of taboo about speaking on it, about making it real when it isn’t.

“He’s…” she starts, and then she pauses. “I need wine for this.”

“Me too!” Wally says as she disappears into the kitchen. She hears Linda tell Wally that he’s still not 21, even though his birthday is only a couple of weeks away, and so he can’t drink, but Iris pours up three glasses of the red wine on her counter anyway. There’s no telling what the conversation will bring.

She carefully takes the glasses back to the living room. The other two have fully abandoned their work and are sitting on the sofa waiting for her. They both make grabby hands for the wine and she passes the glasses over before plopping down in the middle of them.

“Okay, first things first,” Wally starts. “How’d you meet him?”

“I went out dancing,” she answers. “I guess a few weeks ago at this point. And…”

“A few weeks?” Linda interrupts.

Iris sips from her glass to avoid making eye contact after the bit of ire in Linda’s tone.

“Yeah,” she continues after a pause. “I went out and we came back here. He was gone the next morning and I thought that was it. But then he showed up a week later and we hung out again. I saw him at the Fall Fest after our brunch, Linda, and we had dinner. Last Sunday, he took me on a picnic.”

“Okay,” Linda says, “but tell me about him.”

“I don’t know; he’s…” she searches for what to say, to put words to the ways she’s been seeing him in her head, to the way she’s been feeling him in her heart. “Maybe nice is too easy a word because he’s not really nice. He’s polite; like he pays for meals and he walks me to my car and he says please. But he’s also got a little oomph to him, ya know. Like he doesn’t look like it, but he’s a little bit, a little commanding, and…”

“Wait, what do you mean commanding? Like is he trying to tell you what to do? Because…”

“No, Wally. I mean like...”

“In the bedroom?” Linda guesses and Iris nods. “Nice.”

“Good for you,” Wally says.

She waits until they’re done laughing at her irritated expression.

“Sorry,” Linda says. “He’s a freak. What else?”

“I don’t know. He’s kinda funny. Like, he doesn’t tell jokes but he’ll say something to try to push my buttons and it makes me laugh. Or he’ll laugh at himself and that makes me laugh too. And even though you can tell he’s pretty confident in himself, there are still these instances where he’s a little awkward and he blushes and it’s...sweet.” And he makes me feel a little less lonely, she doesn’t add, and like he could be someone that I could come to count on.

Her brother and best friend are both quiet after this and when Iris looks from one to the other, she frowns.

“What?”

“Iris, you like him.” This from Linda.

“It’s only been a couple of dates,” she deflects.

“Yeah,” Wally agrees, “and he’s already calling you baby.”

Linda hums. “That might have a little to do with the pussy whipping.”

“Yes, that makes sense.”

“In any case,” Linda says, before Iris can respond. “If he’s all of this, why are you keeping it a secret?”

“Because I don’t know what we’re doing. I thought it was just sex. I mean he came back over after the first time for sex. But now, it’s, it’s…”

“More?” Linda tries.

“Right.”

“And you’re afraid that it’s gonna end before it even starts.”

Iris doesn’t know how Linda does it. She’s always been able to see right through Iris, in a way that would be scary if she didn’t appreciate it so much. Because that’s the truth, isn’t it? Iris is scared because it’s only been weeks and she likes this guy so much already. Even after their first night, when Iris was sure she’d never see him again, she’d felt a stirring of something in her gut, something strong and big and, and important. And it doesn’t make any sense, because all they’ve really done is have sex, albeit phenomenal sex, and talk about their hobbies a little. But she’s feeling feelings she’s never felt before and it’s all a bit...much. Feelings like this don’t last. They falter or they change, turning into things undefinable, charged, angry.

“It’s too soon, though, right?” She tries. “Like, we still don’t even really know each other and…”

“Don’t do that, Iris,” Wally interrupts, his voice a warning.

“Do what?”

“Think about ending it,” Linda says. “Ride it out. I know you have this need to try to figure out how things will end. And I can understand that. But, Iris, this man likes you. He’s telling you his feelings. And you obviously like him. So let that be okay for now. Trust that.”

Iris is not expecting the cute one-story modern farmhouse she pulls up to. It’s made of gray brick and white shiplap and there’s a flower garden on either side of the walkway that leads to the porch. A swinging chair hangs on one side of the porch and a couple of rocking chairs sit on the other and if Barry wasn’t already walking out of the house when she stopped her car in front, she might think she was at the wrong place.

The weather has gotten cooler in the evenings and so he’s dressed in a pair of dark plaid slacks that fit to the long length of him and a sift black sweater. She stifles a hysterical giggle at how it matches her own white cashmere sweater tucked into a black pleated skirt that hems just under her knees. She watches him stroll to her car and climb in.

“I was gonna come to the door and get you,” Iris says. “Like on a proper date.”

He shoots her a grin, cheeks pink. “I, uh, I was excited to see you.”

She hears Linda in her head saying, ‘you obviously like him; let that be okay for now,’ and so she smiles at Barry.

“You’re so sweet, it’s irritating.”

He gives her a wider dorky grin and she can’t help but smile back, wider than before.

“And this house is really nice.”

His smile turns softer, sadder. “Yeah. It was my parents’. Just want to keep it nice for them.”

“Well I don’t know if you’ve turned the inside into a dungeon, but you’re certainly keeping it nice outside.”

“Thanks, Iris. I’ve learned that I’ve got quite the green thumb trying to keep it up.” He wiggles his hands at her as she’s putting the car into drive and pulling off.

“Wait, so you tend to garden yourself?”

He nods. “Yeah. Both of my parents were into gardening. Well, my mom really liked flowers but she couldn’t really make anything grow. So she got my dad into it and he could, which annoyed her to no end.”

Iris shoots him a soft grin. “Is that what the tattoo is about? I’ve been wondering.”

“Yeah. I get two new flowers every year, one on my mom’s birthday and the other on the anniversary of her death.”

“That’s really sweet, Barry.”

She turns her attention back to the road. A man who, in addition to what she’s seen so far, is committed to keeping his mother’s memory alive? Yeah, she’s fucked.

Greenwood Art Gallery has only been open for a few months. A nod to the name of the neighborhood down in Tulsa that was once the home of a Black cultural and economic mecca, the art gallery features art by Black artists across the diaspora. Tonight is the opening night of a new artist showing, a young woman named Lauryn Morgan who’s a Central City native. Iris and Wally had gone together to their first showing, a curated collection of art focusing on Black American culture through the centuries. The showing tonight is called “The Way,” and is a series of art, canvas paintings and mixed-media prints, that focus on love in all of their forms.

The gallery is in a beautiful space in a reconstructed warehouse. There are a few exposed brick walls, but the place is largely filled with white walls and great lighting, art taking up every corner of the room. There is a large crowd there, when Iris walks through the front door with Barry at her side. Her black pumps have a silver ankle chain and a tall stiletto heel that puts her to his shoulder, and would make it easier to reach out and grab his hand. She doesn’t. Not yet, at least.

They stop first by a bar set up in one corner of the room. It’s a pretty wooden structure manned by two women in black dresses, both of their hair in locs and falling down their backs. The song for which the artist’s collection is named is playing from a speaker, Jill Scott’s sultry, smiling voice making the words jumped out of bed, took a shower, dressed; cleaned up my place; made me some breakfast, toast; two scrambled eggs, grits; grabbed my keys, grabbed my purse; grabbed my jacket, off to work; beaming all the way down third sound like some sort of ode to life and love. Iris insists on paying for their first glass of wine since it is her date, and they bicker good-naturedly about it as they wait for one of the bartenders to pour over full glasses of the chilled white wine.

“I’m paying for the next one,” Barry tells her, and she just shakes her head, mumbling “we’ll see” as she takes the glass from the brown-skinned woman with a smile.

“I’ve been wanting to come here,” Barry says as he presses a hand to her lower back as they move further into the room. It’s packed; the crowd seems like the normal art crowd around Central City, twenty- and thirty-somethings dressed in everything from tulle skirts to ripped jeans and boots to full on suits. The sea of faces run the line in skin color, from darker than chocolate and paler than vanilla and then all of the flavors in between. It’s one of the things she finds fascinating about Central City, an idea that is pushed every time she writes a new story about the power of people coming together, pushing stereotypes, making targeted efforts to understand.

“My brother and I came when it first opened,” she answers. “But I’ve been reading up on this artist and I’m really excited to see her work.”

Barry nods. “Thanks for wanting to share it with me.”

“Art is just another way that people tell stories,” she gives a little shrug. “And Black stories are extremely important to me.”

He gives her that look that he does, that wondering, curious sort of look, as if he’s always trying to understand what lies beyond the surface to what she isn’t actually saying. Maybe that is what he’s doing. Because then he nods again and smiles before pressing a kiss to her temple.

“I hear you,” he says seriously. “And I want to learn about that, to celebrate that.”

And well, okay then.

“What’s the story behind this one, do you think?”

It’s the first time Barry has really engaged with her. He’s been content to follow her from painting to painting, making small comments about how he likes this one or that one, but otherwise just following, watching. They started at one end of the exhibit, where it had been a little crowded and they moved along the lines of the walls, stopping at the ones placed haphazardly in the middle of the room too.

The art has been phenomenal, some platonic or familial, others romantic or erotic. She’s seen some featuring groups of Black women of various shades at a wine night or reading in a library; Black men playing pickup basketball or talking smack at the barbershop. She’s smiled at the ones that remind her of when she and Wally would sit on the couch watching movies or when her dad would try to comb her hair before he decided to just shell out money to get her hair professionally done.

The romantic canvas paintings have been her favorite: the one of a man and a woman dancing, their faces out of the frame, their bodies aligned and in shadows, the viewer understanding that this is not only a dance; another of two women lying in bed, one woman’s dark breasts bared, the other with a sheet covering the curve of her hip, the love evident in their pleased expressions; yet another of two men, standing in an embrace in the light of a window, towels tucked into their waists, the one with waist-length locs tucked into the neck of one with a high fade. It goes like this, with the mixed media prints of individuals celebrating their femininity, their masculinity, their androgyny.

The one Barry asks about is tucked away in the farther end of the exhibit. They’re alone back here for the most part, with people still largely at the front of the gallery, the occasional guest walking through to take a quick look before leaving. The painting is beautiful, another man and woman, in 20s era clothing, a sultry blue dress pushed up high on her thigh and a pair of suspenders falling off of his shoulders. He’s holding a saxophone and a microphone cord is wrapped around her bangled wrist, but there’s no mistaking that they aren’t playing for a crowd at the moment.

“It looks like the 20s era which, outside of the rampant racism, seems like a time I would have actually like to visit as a Black person. The art, the music, the literature. Everything was so, I don’t know, intimate, I think. People weren’t afraid to lay it all out in their art.” She turns to find him watching her, his expression thoughtful and a touch sensuous, like he’s think of laying it out, laying her out right now. She licks her lips, slowly, and continues, “They’re taking a break from making music; or rather, they’re making another kind. It’s why I love music, especially blues and R & B. Music is a story too, heightened senses and heated bodies and it’s feeling.”

On an impulse, she takes his hand and pulls him close, her other hand resting on his shoulders. They’d finished their wine and placed the glasses in one of the discreet bins placed around the gallery a couple of prints ago and they’re empty-handed. He doesn’t fumble the chance to touch her, and so he presses a hand to the small of her back and follows her as she sways, humming the song that’s playing, is it the way you love me, baby? is it the way you love me, baby?, ignoring the obvious implication as they move. She puts her face in to the crook of his neck, inhales the clean scent of him. His sweater is soft and he’s hard against her, humming along too. They shouldn’t be like this, here, but Iris is starting to get caught up in it, their story. It’s hard to hold on to fear, when he’s like this with her. They’re doing nothing but dancing in a crowded art gallery; they’ve done nothing but stare and laugh and fuck. But it’s been more, hasn’t it? A story she’s been writing since the moment he asked her to dance.

“You can feel it, right?” she asks, a little quietly. The sounds around them are stark, the low murmurs of the other guests, the laughs they emit. She can feel his heavy breathing and hers is no lesser, mixing with the tap of her heels on the wood floors, the thick tapping of her heart she wouldn’t be surprised he could actually hear. But they still seem to be in some sort of bubble, one where she can only focus on his humming, a baritone that hints at a nice singing voice, and the feel of him holding her.

“Yes,” he responds, just as quietly, and Iris doesn’t know the question she’s really asking the answer to. Or, maybe she does. Maybe it was written before she understood that it had been for her, and all she’s done ‘til now, and all she’s been ‘til now, has led her here. Maybe all of the stories she has written have prepared her to live in her own, to cling to this feeling, even if society would have her think it’s too soon or too much or far too scary. But she won’t voice it, not for real, not until those vestiges of fear are all gone.

They move, only for moments more, wrapped up in one another, his hand on her waist and hers on his shoulder, until they hear the sound of shoes on the floor and the muffled sound of laughter, pulling them away from each other.

They leave the gallery soon after that, and Iris is starving. She, likely against her better judgment, makes the decision to take Barry to Golden’s. She knows that Linda is tending bar tonight and the food is amazing, and she thinks that maybe it’ll go a little way in mending the bend between her and her friend. She can understand her sentiment; rarely do Iris and Linda keep secrets from each other. Iris knows that it’s been her own shit that’s kept her quiet, the feeling like she’s floating out on a piece of string and it would take only a snap for her to break away. Maybe keeping Barry quiet had been her way of holding on to him for as long as she could before he floated away too.

She parallel parks in an empty spot about a block away from the restaurant. She gives in to the urge to take his hand and they walk up the street. Central City is bustling for a Thursday night, the start of a weekend for many. She hears the music from a band playing from somewhere down the street and sees other couples walking hand in hand, smiling off to their destinations. Golden’s is just as packed when she walks in, but the host notices her immediately.

“Hey Iris,” Kamilla grins, the short perky woman waving as they walk up to the booth. She’s got skin a touch darker than tan and big brown eyes that always seem to be smiling as much as she does.

“Hey Kamilla,” Iris greets. Y’all are packed tonight.”

The other woman nods, her dark hair waving against her shoulders as she looks at the group of people waiting for tables along the side of the wall. “Yeah. I don’t know what’s up but we’ve been slammed since we opened for the dinner hour.”

“How long’s the wait?”

“Well, for you, not long. There are a couple of seats open at the bar or you two can go in the alcove. Xuan and Theo had some friends sitting back there, but they should be finishing up soon. I can put you at the bar until the table’s ready.”

Iris smiles widely. “You’re a saint. Thanks.”

“Anything for you, you know that.”

Kamilla leads them through the throng of people to the bar. Iris’s hand is still clasped in Barry’s and he squeezes once to indicate that he’s following. There are only two seats at the bar available, at the far end, away from where Linda is currently pouring drinks. It’s a long U-shaped bar, about ten seats along the longer side, two of either side of the U. The other bartender is down on their end, a slim woman named Allegra with light-honey colored skin and long dark brown hair. She sees Iris and waves, and then raises an eyebrow at Barry sitting beside her.

“Who’s this?” she asks when she walks over, noticing the way Barry is sitting sideways with his legs open, splayed out so that Iris is surrounded by him.

She and Allegra are not so much friends as they are acquaintances, stopping and chatting whenever Iris comes to hang out.

“This is Barry. Barry, this is Allegra.”

“Oh, so this is Barry.”

The sound of her best friend’s voice in sing-song comes from behind Allegra, thick hair swinging against her neck. She’s got a cryptic expression on her face, as she looks from Barry to Iris back to Barry again, also taking in his posture, their body language explaining what they haven’t said yet.

“He’s cute,” Linda says, winking at Barry, who blushes a little.

“Yes. Barry, this is my best friend Linda; Linda this is Barry.”

Barry gives up an easy smile and puts a hand out for Linda to shake. “It’s good to meet you. Iris has told me a lot.”

“Hmm, I hope more than I’ve heard about you.”

Snickering at her tone, Allegra leaves them to go handle another order.

“Don’t be rude because you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad,” Linda grumbles. She turns back to Barry. “But she’s right. I’m sorry for being rude. I really am glad to meet you.”

“This is your parents’ place, right?” he asks, looking around, obviously impressed. “Iris told me about it. I’m excited that she brought me here.”

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. You came on a good night. We just started our new menu.” She pulls a plastic-covered menu from below the bar for him to look at. “Kamilla told me she’ll get the table in the alcove ready for you. I’ll whip y’all up something to drink while you wait.”

Linda gives her a pointed look and then she’s gone, cute navy blouse billowing behind her. Iris faces Barry, who’s watching her, one hand on the back of her chair, the other sitting on the sliver of skin from where her skirt has ridden up her thigh.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“That seemed like a lot.” He gestures towards Linda.

Iris sighs heavily. “Yeah. I’m sort of in my head about some stuff and Linda is taking it a little personally that I haven’t told her about it.”

“You mean me?”

“Partly,” she answers truthfully. “I, I didn’t always know how to talk about you. But it’s not just that; I’ve been dealing with some feelings of…listlessness. And I’m just trying to figure it out.”

“Iris, I…” He licks his lips, slowly, and leans in, close enough that she can smell the mint and wine on his breath. “If I’m moving too fast, I get that and I can pull back if you want. But I’m in this, to see where we can go.” His stare is insistent. “And you can tell me, if you want, about whatever else is bothering you. I’m always willing to listen.”

Before she can respond, Linda walks back over with two long-stemmed martini glasses, pale orange liquor filled to the brim.

“Ginger martinis,” Linda announces. “Something I just put on the menu.”

“In addition to being a badass writer, Linda’s a bomb bartender too.”

“Oh, you’re a writer too?” Barry wonders.

Linda smiles at Barry. “Yeah. Mostly fiction, though I dabble in personal essays. Nothing like our girl over here who can take someone else’s thoughts and make them come to life.”

“She is good, isn’t she?” Barry punctuates the question with a hand rub up her thigh. That makes Iris look up, startled, because they’ve never talked about her work before.

“You’ve read my work?”

“Of course,” he says, as if it should be obvious. “I’m working my way through your blog. I have been since you told me about it at the Fall Fest.”

Iris exchanges glances with a satisfied Linda.

“You hear that, Iris? Barry has been reading your blog since you mentioned it weeks ago. It’s almost as if…”

“Alright!” Iris interrupts. “Thanks, Linda. Goodbye.”

Linda laughs, throwing another wink at Barry before she blows a kiss at Iris. “I love you and have fun. Call me later.”

She’s done eating when he throws his napkin on top and slides over to her side of the booth. She blinks at him in confusion, but he just shrugs and says, “I wanted to be next to you.”

She scoots over to let him in, though it’s a tight fit, as she takes a sip from her water glass. They’re waiting on dessert, a decadent ginger créeme brûlée that Xuan created. It’s her favorite thing on the menu.

Iris thinks back on the course of their dinner. It’d been about as perfect as their picnic date, how conversation just seemed to flow. He tells her a bit about working as a forensic scientist and how he likes to use his love of science and problem-solving to help catch the bad guys. That leads into a conversation about her dad, a police captain for CCPD, and Barry is delighted to find out that he actually knows her father, a man he says he can tell wants nothing more than to do the right thing.

Iris talks a little about What a Life You’ve Lived , still a bit surprised that he’s reading through it. He asks deeper questions about a couple of the stories that really caught his attention. He likes that they read like short stories instead of interviews because they make the stories more fascinating. He wants to know how she chooses stories, what’s her writing process, if she does interviews or if they just send in and she cleans it up.

“A little of both,” she answers. “They send the story and then we set up an interview and we go from there. Sometimes they’re in person or on a video call. Some people prefer just emailed conversations because it keeps some of their anonymity.”

They laugh while they eat as they talk more about some of his more interesting cases, her funnier stories. Iris never really orders any food; Linda or her parents usually just tell the chef she’s there and the cooks do their thing, bringing out courses as they see fit. So they up her portions and Barry and Iris eat from the same plates, fighting over some of the items, like the garlic bok choy Iris always falls all over herself for and the shrimp and pork shumai that Barry attempts to eat more of.

Linda brings them another martini and on top of the glass of wine, she’s in a hazy sort of place. She isn’t drunk, but she does feel a little lighter, enchanted by the food and the drink and the company. Golden’s becomes a little more seductive at night, with lowered lighting and soft music, and the smiling, muted conversations that come with a date night. And so even though they eat and they laugh and they play, they do more. They make eyes at each other over the time of their glasses, watch a little too long as the other runs the teeth of a fork across the tongue. They caress one another’s hand when one goes for a bite of food. They tangle their legs, the feel of Barry’s hard, fabric-covered calves on her softer, bare legs far too arousing for how innocuous the movement. It’s teasing and it’s provoking and Iris feels it all down to the core of her.

So when he slides into the seat beside her, she brazenly throws her legs over his thighs under the guise of giving him more room. She’s thankful it’s darker where they are, that’s it’s more hidden where they are. Barry doesn’t miss a beat, placing a hand on her thighs and rubbing lightly. Their dessert arrives shortly thereafter and the waiter takes note of their changed positions with a smirk.

“You’ve got to try this,” Iris says, picking up one of the small spoons to scoop up a bit. “It’ll literally be the best thing you’ve ever put in your mouth.”

“I don’t know,” Barry hums, sliding his hand higher up her thigh under her skirt. His palm is warm and a bit soft, an interesting contrast to the slightly calloused tips of his fingers. “I’ve had you in my mouth.”

He takes a bite like he hadn’t just said that, tongue licking around the spoon. “But it’s a nice second.”

“You’ve gotta stop,” Iris says, staring down at the spoon, momentarily wishing it was her. “You really just gotta stop.”

His answering grin is lopsided. “I don’t really think you want me to. Why else would you put your legs up on me like this?”

She gasps in mock shock. “What are you trying to say, Bear?”

His grin turns dirty. “I want you to say that name a little differently in a minute.”

He moves his hand up, taking the fabric of her skirt with him, tapping at her thighs to part them. She does it easily, dropping one of her feet back to the floor so that she’s spread for him. The skirt is pliant enough that she can spread as wide as she wants and it still covers her.

“Eat the brûlée,” he suggests. “Give your mouth something to do.”

He tips those long fingers up the middle of her thighs, up one side and down the other, up one side and down the other. It’s slow, like he always is, and for someone who’s claimed to enjoy running, he’s always taking his time.

And every time he goes up one side and down the other, he makes his way higher and higher, higher and higher, until his fingers are skimming her panties, lightly tracing the edges of the silk material. She jumps, a little gasp escaping her parted lips.

“Eat,” he orders. It’s crazy, how turned on how she gets because of him. Every time he murmurs some increasingly dirty thing, every time he uses those far too skillful fingers to touch her, she feels herself soaking her panties with no shame. She’s been just on the verge of wet since she picked him up and saw him standing there in all that all black that had made his pale skin and pretty eyes stand out in stark contrast. Now, though, she knows that were she to look, she’d see a darker green right in the middle of the crotch of her panties. It shouldn’t be so easy, not the way they are together, not the way they’ve always been together. It should sometimes be awkward and fumbling and…and...

“Fuck,” the curse startles her out of her own musings when slides his finger under the fabric of her panties.

“I told you to eat, Iris,” Barry reminds her, and she picks up the spoon with no further delay, scooping up a portion of the dessert and putting it in her mouth. At the same time, he slides a gentle finger along her slit. She’s imbued with, with awareness: the sweet taste of sugar on her tongue, the sweet feel of his digit sliding into her; the shock of the lemon-ginger filling her mouth, the shock of him pushing another finger in and to the knuckle. She lets out a silent moan against the spoon, taking his advice and eating so that she doesn’t fall back on the chair with her mouth wide open in ecstasy.

It’s a lesson in restraint, the next several minutes. He massages her as she eats, his fingers sliding in and out of her, in and out her, scissoring, and sliding, and rubbing, and then repeating the process. Her hips start to rock against his hand, undulating as she tries to get closer, as she takes his fingers and clenches around them. Her hand tightens on the spoon she’s using, and it’s a struggle to keep her eyes facing forward and not rolled in the back of her head. Because still with the two fingers fucking into her, he thumbs at her clit, rubbing in slow circles. She wishes that she could look down at them, to see what those long, pale fingers look like disappearing inside of her wet, pink flesh; but she can’t and even still, she can recall the look of it from their time on the couch. It feels like that did, when he was playing in her, but different and maybe better.

Because now he knows a little bit about what gets her off quicker, about the fact that although it’s torture when he’s fucking her at a snail’s pace, she likes the be fingered like that. She likes when he crooks his fingers, just a little, and when it feels like a gentle stroking instead of an all-out assault. She likes when he waits ‘til her clit is hard and peeking from its hood before he touches it, and then keeps at it, rubbing in small, slow circles. And “god, Bear,” does the creme brulee make this something else, make it more rousing, make it sexier, make it sound like go 'head, really get your groove on; cause tonight my man's coming through...i got another, nasty, freaky, just right way in mind; tonight, I'm gonna beat the high score. He slides in and out, he rubs slow circles, she rocks her hips like she would if she could be impaled on him right now.

And he leans closer to her, watching her face as he fingers her, mumbling as he does, “yes, baby, ride my hand, soak my hand, baby,” his voice barely above a whisper. It makes Iris jerk hard against the table. Barry attempts to slow down, but Iris all but gives up the idea of eating and grabs at his wrist. “No, don’t stop, Bear.”

He lets out an easy chuckle, twisting his wrist so that he can push deeper, his palm now rubbing against her clit, his fingers curved in her pussy.

“You’re gonna get us caught,” he whispers into her ear, and Iris whimpers at the dark timbre of his voice washing over her. “Hmm, you seem like you’d like that. Huh, Iris? Does the thought of all these people seeing you bite those sexy lips as you try not to scream get you off? Do you want them to hear how you sound right now? How you’re so wet I can almost hear you over them talking right now?”

“Bear,” she moans and it’s louder than she intends and Barry reaches out to tuck her into his neck. And she can’t answer, doesn’t know if she is getting off on them like this, but she feels her orgasm coming, hard and fast but smooth, gliding through her like it’s the easiest thing her body has ever done.

When she comes around his hand, clamping her thighs around his wrist, she stays tucked in Barry’s neck and bites down, because the creme brulee is all gone, and fuck if this doesn’t feel good. She makes a strangled sound in her throat and hopes that she bites down hard enough to muffle it, even if it marks him. She hears his own low groan, rumbling near silently in his chest, and Iris thinks that makes her come even harder, eyes shut tight as she savors it. She rides it out, clenching and unclenching like a vise over his fingers, and tasting the sweetness of his skin, feeling his hardness under her thigh.

“They’re never gonna let me back in here, Barry,” Iris whispers in a labored breath, after.

“It’s fine,” he says as he pulls his hand out of her. He looks at it for a moment, at her slick glistening on his skin, and then he puts the two middle fingers in his mouth, groaning at the taste of her. Iris thinks she almost comes again.

“They don’t even know what’s going on,” he continues, oblivious to Iris who’s watching him with blown eyes. At least she thinks he’s oblivious until he wipes the rest of her off on a cloth napkin and then shoots her a salacious wink.

She shakes her head, partly in amusement, and she smoothes her hands down her thighs above her skirt. Her one leg is still thrown across him. “How do you even get me to do shit like this? I’m so embarrassed. I was such a good girl before I met you.”

His chuckle is a rumble against her. “You are good, baby. So fucking good.”

She lifts her head, because something about that last part seems like more than just teasing. He curls a hand around the back of her neck, making her hold his gaze.

“You smell good,” he says. “You taste good. But more than that,” he pauses as places a hand on her chest, just above her heart. “You are good.”

“You don’t even…”

“Don’t,” he stops her. “Don’t say I don’t know you. I mean sure, I still haven’t figured out all the things that anger you or what you’re like when you’re stressed. But I’ve watched you talk about your family and I’ve seen the compassion you have for the people you write about and… and when I tell you you’re good, I mean that.”

She tucks herself back into his neck after that, wrapping her arms around him to acknowledge his comment, to try to tell him what she doesn’t know how to say yet. It would make sense that she move away from him, that she set herself back to rights. It would make sense that she step back, to clear the haze he’s got her in, to make sure she’s reading this story correctly. But something else tells her that she might be, that she might even be reading it a tad too slowly, so she stays right where she is, his hand rubbing up and down her back. And she closes her eyes, hoping that the story doesn’t end too soon.

Is it the way you love me, baby?

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

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 4 years

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The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 23

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle. It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes. With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays. Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3 | Masterlist

—

Monday, cont’d

Peeking over the top of her book, Rose took advantage of the opportunity to watch Malcolm. They were in the library after dinner, as they had been essentially every night since she moved into the townhouse, though this was the first time they were positioned as they were. While Malcolm was seated normally, leaning forward with his elbow on his knee as he read over paperwork, Rose was stretched out, her back against the arm of the couch and her feet in Malcolm’s lap. His left hand was idly rubbing at the arch of one foot, doing little but fanning the flames of desire inside her.

His hair rumpled, jacket long abandoned, glasses perched firmly on his nose, he looked… delectable. It was nearly impossible to concentrate on her book when he was so close, looking as he did, and she entertained the idea of seducing him then and there, of climbing into his lap and having her wicked way with him with only the books as witness.

“You’re staring,” he noted absently, and she flushed.

“What’cha doing?”

Momentarily abandoning his half-hearted foot massage, he pulled his glasses off with one hand, rubbing his eyes and face with the other before replacing the specs. “Going over the books, making sure we’re in as good a standing as Jack says. Not that I don’t trust him, but… as I like to say, trust but verify. I want to make sure he’s not hiding problems.”

“Found any?”

“No.” Leaning back into the welcoming embrace of the comfortable sofa, he smiled at her. “Well, other than he lets his boyfriend buy expensive ingredients for feeding the household. It’s not the end of the world, but it does need to be cut back. I don’t eat this well.”

She nodded, bracing her head on her hand, elbow on the back of the couch. “You can’t fault him for wanting to spoil a loved one.”

“Yeah, but not sure I should be paying the bill,” he said dryly. “Then again, he’s taking less of a salary than I expected; I’m fairly sure he was approved for more, not that Wally would really say no to a reasonable request. Honestly, that’s what concerns me- that there’s a hidden money pit, and he’s docking his pay to hide it.”

Rose rubbed his thigh with the ball of her foot to offer comfort, making him look down at his lap for the first time. “Sorry, do you want me to-”

“You’re fine,” he cut her off, one hand settling on top of both feet, long fingers spreading out to cover them. “Really.”

“Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.” She wriggled her toes, admiring how the crimson paint on the nails flashed in the lighting.

He watched the movement as if hypnotized, and after a long moment, he looked up and cleared his throat. “It’s getting late. Do you… do you want to go to bed?”

The question was more tentative than she expected, but then the proverbial other shoe dropped, and heat flashed through her. “Yes,” she said quite a bit more enthusiastically than she’d intended, but decided not to be embarrassed. “Shall we?”

Malcolm all but leapt to his feet, haphazardly gathering up his paperwork. “Let’s go.”

Once in the bedroom she let him use the loo first, which meant he had plenty of time to sit in bed and agonize over what might be about to happen while she went through her nightly routine. Did she understand what I meant? Did I even mean that? Do I initiate? Will she? Does she expect me to make the first move, since she did on Saturday? Would she rather get things started, maintain a sense of control? How fucking long does it take to change?

The door finally opened then, after a wait that seemed to take several lifetimes though the clock said it was less than ten minutes, and she stepped out- in a dressing gown.

“Today was a good day, wasn’t it?” she asked brightly, turning lights out as she made her way across the room to him. By the time she reached the bed only his bedside light was still on, and he watched in tense anticipation as she removed the dressing gown to reveal- a cotton nightgown.

He had no idea what that meant.

It fit her like a glove, hugging mouth-watering curves and hiding nothing, but… it was still a cotton nightgown in a soft shade of blue, sexy because of the woman who wore it was, not for any inherent reason of its own.

“Malcolm?”

“Huh?” His head jerked up to meet her eye, tearing his gaze away from how the fabric clung to her breasts. “Yeah, today was good. Sorry about… the horse thing. Are you okay?” Good job, remind her of her fear. Moron.

She settled beneath the covers with a sigh, rolling onto her side and smiling at him. “Thank you. It’s fine, I didn’t know I would react like that. I’m sorry I made a scene, but thank you for being so… kind about it.”

“And the ride back was okay?” He matched her position, close enough only scant inches separated their noses, breathing the same air. With the bed curtains drawn they were truly in their own world, safe from outside threats or interruptions. It gave the moment a sense of intimacy and possibility, and he desperately hoped it ended well, if not the way he truly wanted.

A slow smile spread across her face, one that sent heat racing through him- he’d only seen it once before, and it was right after she invited him into her bedroom. That smile had led to what was, with no exaggeration, the best night of his life. “Mhmm, it was wonderful,” she murmured, one hand reaching out to settle on his chest, warmth radiating from her palm through his thin tee-shirt. “I felt so safe and lo- comfortable with you. Being held in your arms. It was…” Her eyes flickered down, breaking their connection, cheeks flushing. “It was wonderful.”

“Well, maybe we can try it again,” he whispered back, “go out riding together. Just us.”

Rose bit her lip, and he ached to free it, to hold it safe between his own lips, to shower her in kisses and love. Her gaze met his again, searching, and she must have found what she was looking for, because her eyes brightened. “Well, actually, I had a thought,” she offered, and when his gaze ran over her, he noted with interest that the flush had started to work its way down her neck and chest.

“I’m all ears. Anything I can do to help make you more comfortable.” He tentatively set his open palm on her hip before sliding it to her back, tugging her slightly closer, hoping it was alright.

“I’m glad you said that,” she breathed, moving forward eagerly. “Because I was thinking about one thing that you said…”

“Yes?” Her face was right there, and unable to resist temptation, he began to rain kisses over her forehead, nose, and cheeks, thrilled when she didn’t resist, instead leaned into his lips.

“You told me to sit up straight and stay centered.”

Malcolm paused his ministrations, fighting back a disappointed sigh at having thoroughly misread the situation. For all the times you thought she was going to make a move, she only did once, he lectured himself. Stop assuming it would become the new rule, instead of remaining an exception. “I did.”

“Well, I think it would help if I… if I practiced.” Her face was now fully red, burning with heat, and he couldn’t for the life of him understand why she might be embarrassed at such an idea.

“They say practice makes perfect.”

She nodded eagerly, fingers curling into his shirt. “Exactly. That, erm, you could maybe give me tips on… on posture. And motion. Make sure I was… riding properly.”

“Of course.” His brow furrowed. Does she really think I’d say no? “When?”

“How’s now?”

He was surely missing something, but didn’t have the slightest idea what. “Oh… kay?”

That coy smile was back, and she unceremoniously shoved at his chest. Surprised, he fell onto his back, only to be utterly flabbergasted when she scrambled over him, straddling his hips. “Now, be sure to tell me if I’m doing anything wrong,” she instructed.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. She’s gonna kill me. “Right, well-” None too pleased with being used as a horse, he scowled up at her, opening his mouth to give her a piece of his mind when without any warning she crossed her arms, gripped her nightgown, and pulled the fabric over her head, leaving her astride him fully naked.

“Oh. Oh.” He felt like a fool, as though he’d been clobbered on the head, and her smile fell for a moment.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, I thought-” She scrambled behind her for the nightgown, one arm folding across her breasts, but he was faster, sitting up carefully without dislodging her.

“No, no, no,” he eased the fabric from her fingers, tossing it away before pulling his own tee off one-handed, the other wrapping around her waist. “I assure you, I am happy to help. I must warn you though, you can’t learn everything in one- session. It might require several.”

Lips curling up, her tongue peeked out between her teeth. “Oh, I can take as many lessons as necessary. At least, as many as you can give.”

“Oh, challenge accepted,” he murmured, hands sliding up her waist to infinitely more delightful areas. “I’ll give as many as you can take.”

In the end, he impressed them both.

Tuesday

It was late the next morning before they could drag themselves out of bed, and even then he couldn’t bear to be far from her, leaning in the doorway of the bathroom and watching as she put on her makeup- in her knickers and bra. If I’ve died and this is heaven, please, no one tell me.

“Malcolm?” Her laughing tone said it wasn’t the first time she’d called him, and he tore his eyes away from her bum to meet her eye in the mirror.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“What are we doing today?” She leaned forward slightly, which pushed her bum out, and he itched to run his hands over it, fantasized about- “Babe!”

Straightening and clearing his throat, he entered to sit on the toilet seat lid, tucking his hands under his thighs to prevent them from wandering. “Right. Today. I thought we could go into town, walk the high street, have lunch. Give you a taste of Scotland that’s not just from the Estate.” His intention in moving closer had been to change his view, lessen the distraction of her pert posterior, but hadn’t realized that just gave him a new, more tantalizing view of her breasts filling out the lace bra she wore. “Or we could just stay in bed.”

“Not a chance.” She applied lipstick, rubbing her lips together and pouting for the mirror. “Not after all this time spent putting on makeup. Besides, we should make an appearance- not sure I want everyone in the house to know what we’ve been up to in here.”

He shifted on his perch, positively aching to hold her. “Who cares what they think? We are on our honeymoon. In fact, it would look odd if we never did.”

Turning her head she smiled at him, though she still looked amused. “Maybe tomorrow. Today, a day out exploring sounds wonderful. What’s the name of the town?”

“Village.”

“What?”

“It’s a village,” he repeated. “Bonar bridge.”

She grinned wider. “That sounds adorable. Can’t wait.” Pausing to lean down and kiss him, she padded out of the bathroom, hips swinging. “Let me just get dressed, and we can go.”

He followed her out, a moth to her bright flame, and cornered her by the open armoire, wrapping his arms around her waist and molding himself to her back. “Sure I can’t tempt you back to bed?” he murmured, laying kisses on her neck in a spot he now knew was sensitive. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

She arched into him, grinding her bum against him and tilting her head to the side to give him better access. “I believe it, but no. Let’s get some fresh air, walk around a bit, have something to eat. You can ravish me after we get back.”

“Promise?” He sucked at the soft skin, laving the spot with his tongue.

“Promise,” she gasped, clutching at his arms. “Anywhere you like. Any way you like.”

With one last kiss to her neck he backed away, making her whimper. “Deal. Now hurry the fuck up, so we can go and come back already.”

He already had a few ideas of how to make good on her promise, each more tantalizing than the next.

We’ve got the rest of our lives to fulfill them all. The only question is- where do we start?

#bbatcfic #ficandchips #Doctor Who #doctorroseprompts #Human!12xRose #Human!Twelfth Doctor #Rose Tyler #Human AU #AU #The Nuptial Necessity

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daringyounggrayson · 5 years

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Family Dinners

Ok so @flashhwing has this really cute headcanon that Dick and Wally have dinner together every night. They were also kind enough to let me take that sweet headcanon and angst it up a little bit

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, character injuries and intubation

(AO3)

Wally always loved the idea of family dinners. He remembers being very little—maybe six or seven—and going over to his friend Jeremy’s house one day after school. He had stayed for dinner and Jeremy’s whole family was there. Both of his parents and his younger brother. It wasn’t this magical moment straight out of a movie, but it was . . . nice. And so, so different from the few family dinners he’s had. He doesn’t remember what they ate, but he remembers the atmosphere of the room. They were relaxed and the parents asked all of them about their day and they listened. There was no yelling or tenseness, just a family eating dinner together.

Jeremy didn’t see the novelty and kept asking to be excused so they could play outside before Wally had to go home. Wally remembers feeling nervous as he waited for the inevitable yelling, but it never came. Instead, Jeremy’s dad was smiling and shaking his head in what seemed like amusement, assuring Jeremy that there would still be time to play after dinner. After the second or third time, Jeremy’s mom pursed her lips and took a look at his plate, then told him to take three more bites.

Jeremy shoveled the forkfuls into his mouth and then they ran outside to play, Wally offering a quick thank you to Mr. and Mrs. Whoever as he went. Later, he saw the couple talking quietly as they did the dishes and put away the leftovers together. They both had soft smiles as they caught up and listened to music—and Wally knew right then that he wanted that. He wanted the family dinners, wanted the shared clean up as soft music played in the background. He wanted the normalcy of happy, comfortable family dinners.

He didn’t really think about how he didn’t have family dinners until that night. A lot changed that year, though. He started to realize that his family wasn’t normal. He realized that other dads didn’t hit their kids and threaten their moms. He realized that family dinners that ended in broken glass and tears weren’t normal, and fuck, he just wanted a little piece of normal.

When Aunt Iris started dating the guy who would soon become Uncle Barry, he got to see that little piece of normal more often. He spent a lot of time over there. They had happy family dinners and routine clean up with soft music playing in the background just like Jeremy’s family. Wally knew that those dinners didn’t happen every night, but they always happened when Wally was around, and he got the feeling that they happened a few nights a week even when he wasn’t there.

Dick had family dinners, too. Alfred made them dinner every night, and Bruce was there almost always. Dick used to joke that Alfred forced him into it and that if Dick hadn’t been there waiting, Bruce wouldn’t leave his study. Wally would laugh, never once bringing up how much he wanted that. Wanted family dinners, wanted a dad who would force himself to do things just because his kid would be there.

He never got them, and he’s still working on accepting the fact that he never will.

He’ll never forget that first family dinner he was invited to. He and Dick had just been kids back then, far too young for dating. It had been intimidating, eating chicken across the table from the Batman, but Dick brought that feeling of comfort and normalcy Wally’s come to associate with other people’s family dinners. He talked about his day and traded dumb jokes with Wally that made Bruce’s lips twitch, but mostly they ate and sat in each other’s company.

He had a lot of family dinners at Dick’s after that. The first time after they started dating had been weirdly anxiety-inducing, but Dick had later assured Wally that it was just him and that Bruce didn’t hate him. Though, looking back, it had still had those key components of family dinners. Maybe even more so with Bruce acting as a protective father. (Another thing Wally would never get.)

Now that he’s older, he thinks about family dinners a little differently. He still looks at them with this sense of longing, but he’s also able to step back and analyze why he feels the way he does about them. Where it’s all coming from. And yeah, he knows those dinners won’t make every night magical or ensure that he’ll have a happy (healthy, safe) relationship, but getting to spend every evening catching up with and just being with someone he loves sounds amazing.

When he and Dick decide to move in together, it dawns on him that he’s now in a position where he can have that if he wants. And he does.

The two of them just finished dinner and are currently doing the dishes—that soft music playing in the background and those small smiles pinned on their faces—when he lets it slip. “I really like getting to spend time with you like this. We should do dinners together every night.”

“Aww, babe that’s really sweet,” Dick says, drying off a pan with a towel. “We should definitely do it as often as we can.”

“No.” Wally shakes his head firmly. “Every night. I mean it.”

“Look, I just don’t think it will work realistically. I mean, we’re vigilantes. We both have day jobs, you have school. It just won’t happen every night. Maybe we move our goal to twice a week?” Dick tries to comprise.

Wally wraps his arms around him, pulling Dick close against his chest with still damp hands. “You eat dinner every night, right?”

Dick huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, usually.”

“Then I’ll just eat whenever you eat dinner. I don’t care if it’s six p.m. or three a.m., I want to make time for this.”

“Wally,” Dick starts with a sigh.

“Look, relationships take time and work, and I know how both of us can get; if we don’t make it a priority, we’ll push it off until we solve all of the world’s problems. Dinners are just one way to prioritize us, and we are so worth the effort.” Wally turns Dick around and leans his forehead against his. He ends his speech in a quieter voice, saying, “Plus, I really like knowing I’m going to get to be with you at the end of the day.”

Dick tilts his head up and catches Wally’s lips in a kiss. When he breaks, he nods and says, “Okay. We’ll make time for it.”

And they do. They don’t even miss when Dick is in space for three days (thank you video chat). It’s hard, and sometimes they eat dinner from hospital beds or rooftops. Dinner schedules are weird, and what food counts as dinner really cut it close some nights, but they do it anyway. They catch up, talk about whatever’s on their minds. Some nights they’re too tired to talk, but even just sitting with each other is enough to give Wally that now-familiar sense of warmth and calm.

Wally also learns a lot about Dick during those dinners. The third week into it, Dick had actually thanked him for talking him into it. Apparently, it reminds Dick of his parents; they had always made sure they ate dinner together, too. Even with their crazy performance schedules, they would find time to eat together, even if it was cold spaghetti on the porch at two in the morning with Dick fed and tucked into bed hours earlier.

Dick still has his family dinners at Wayne manor, too. A few times a month they go over and have dinner with everyone. It’s usually fine, but every so often, Dick and Bruce get into a fight. The first time it happens, it makes Wally unreasonably angry, like they were ruining something sacred. It isn’t until a few weeks after the second one that he realizes it’s because it reminds him of his own family dinners, the ones with his dad.

Dick found him crying in the living room that night. He tells him about the secret “family” dinners he never told anyone about. Dick holds him tight and listens and whispers loving promises to him that Wally clings to. Wally never said anything back when they were kids, but he’s sure Dick had suspected; that night on the floor was just confirmation. And it feels good to finally acknowledge it out loud. It’s out there and real now, and Dick is still here. Things are going to be okay, and now Wally is getting those family dinners that Dick tells him he always deserved.

One night, Wally is at the library with a few classmates, trying to finish up a group project. It’s mostly finished, but it’s due in two hours—so cutting it close. He and Dick haven’t eaten yet, and it’s looking like it will end up being a too-tired-to-talk kind of dinner.

Wally’s phone buzzes. He drags his eyes away from the laptop and slides his phone off the table to check it. He knows it’s going to be a message from Dick, and really, Wally is just expecting a picture of something funny he found on patrol. He usually does that when Wally is stressed with school and stuck in the library. Sometimes he’ll also send pictures of a finished dinner that will be waiting to be reheated when Wally gets back, but it’s still a little early for that.

He doesn’t get a picture tonight, though. Instead, what he gets two words: Home early

Those two words alone are code for “Something bad happened and you need to get to the cave now.” It’s so that, if something happens on patrol, they can get ahold of each other’s civilian identities without drawing attention to themselves. But Wally still knows what it means. He knows it means Dick is hurt. Badly.

Wally feels dizzy. “I need to go.” His voice sounds weird and his mouth is dry. He swallows and starts packing up his stuff.

“What do you mean? We still have like an hour left on this.”

“It’s fine.” Where are his keys? He knows he put them in the front pocket—where did they go?

“Is everything okay?”

“Don’t go, you’re the only one who knows what we’re doing.”

Screw the keys, he’ll leave his car here. Not that he was actually planning on driving all the way to Gotham anyway. “See you Tuesday.”

“Shit, he is actually leaving right now.”

He’s gone.

oOo

He calls Dick’s cell, but, unsurprisingly, no one answers. He tries one of his comms, but no one is on. Calling the cave is no good either. When he comes racing into the Cave, he finds Tim sitting on some sparring mats, hands gripping his hair like that alone is keeping him together. His Robin uniform is torn and covered in blood.

He should ask if Tim’s okay, he should make sure the kid’s okay. “Dick?” is all Wally can manage to croak.

Tim’s lip quivers. “I don’t—it happened so fast, I—” he shakes his head and his eyes are staring at a memory Wally can’t see. He sits on the mats next to Tim and they wait in silence.

oOo

He doesn’t know how long he and Tim sit there like that. Long enough for the adrenaline to start tapering off and make Wally yawn.

When Alfred comes out of the makeshift OR, Tim immediately tries to run past him and toward Dick, but Alfred grabs him by the shoulders and says something to make Tim head toward the showers instead. Then Alfred is walking toward Wally, but Wally can’t bring himself to stand and meet him halfway.

“Has Master Tim told you anything?” Alfred asks.

“No.” He couldn’t bring himself to ask. He didn’t even know Dick was going to be in Gotham tonight, and after getting a look at Alfred, he’s wondering what Dick’s chances of ever leaving Gotham again are.

“Alright then.” Alfred sits down next to him on the mats and fills him in.

Apparently, they had been breaking up an underground auction, but comms went down. Dick had gone to find Tim, but when he did, Tim was caught in a losing fight. Dick got him out, but not before a bigger group had gotten Dick down. Tim left to get Bruce’s help, and by the time they got back and found Dick, he was beaten unconscious and being auctioned off. He hadn’t been breathing when they got him back to the cave.

As far as injuries went, recovery would be long. One kidney had been hit so badly they had almost needed to remove it. On top of that, he had a bruised liver, a broken femur, a linear skull fracture, blood loss, a crushed left hand that might require more surgery later on, and then too many bruises and cuts to count. His chest got the worst of it, though: significant bruising, multiple rib fractures, flail chest, one punctured lung, and pulmonary contusions. He has a chest tube in and is intubated, and probably would be for the next few days.

And now Wally has to go in and see it.

Alfred had made sandwiches at some point, and somehow one has been pushed onto his lap. He has one of Dick’s hands trapped within his own, rubbing it with his thumb like that back and forth motion will remind Dick’s heart to keep beating.

He hasn’t eaten for hours and his stomach is starting to feel like it’s collapsing in on him. He rips off a piece of the sandwich and pops it into his mouth. He eats his dinner next to his boyfriend, but they don’t catch up and the silence is far from comfortable. He doesn’t really taste the food, just rips, chews, and swallows. Then repeats that mechanical process until it’s gone and his stomach is temporally silenced.

This is the worst family dinner he’s ever had. And he’s had a lot of bad ones.

oOo

“How’s your IV?” Wally asks the body lying in front of him. “Does it taste nutritious?”

It’s just him right now. Him and Dick. Bruce and Tim are on patrol, and Alfred is manning the comms. It’s day three of this, and Wally just misses him.

“Oh, mine is okay. Some kind of vegetable soup and bread with what you would think is too much butter. But really, is there such a thing?”

The monitors beep and Dick doesn’t smile around the tube.

Wally sets the empty bowl down on the table, then leans forward onto the bed, right next to Dick’s head. “You know, you promised me family dinners. You’re really going to quit, what, four months in? That’s not like you.”

The monitors beep and Dick stays still.

“I know you’ll be okay and you’ll get through this, ‘cause you’re you and I personally think you have some kind of contract with Gotham where in exchange for protecting her she protects you, but that’s not the point. The point is that I’m going to be here no longer how long it takes. We’re a team now.”

He looks over his shoulder, not quite sure why. Whatever he finds or doesn’t, he decides it’s safe to climb up onto the cot. He pushes himself close to Dick sets his hand on top of Dick’s hair. He reaches for his phone with his other hand and pulls up some music. He turns the volume down low, then settles the phone between their ears. He relaxes against Dick again, stares at him until a small albeit pained smile comes to his face.

“You’ll never guess what I found in the library earlier.”

oOo

Dick is on the ventilator for five days. Wally doesn’t leave the manor during that time, and Wally eats all of his dinners down there right next to Dick for every single one. He spends most of his time there with Dick, dinner or not, but he always makes sure to be there for dinner. He knows it must be ridiculous, but it’s habit. He finds he can’t eat dinner without Dick anymore. And maybe the routine will help Dick heal. Talking is supposed to help, right?

This has been the first time that talking to Dick hasn’t been easy. Part of that is that most of the time someone else is down there with them, the exception being dinner; everyone has caught on that that’s Wally’s time. Wally doesn’t know why it surprised him—house of detectives and all that. Everyone has carved out their own alone time with Dick, and everyone respects it. But being apart from Dick is hard, being with Dick is hard. It all comes down to the fact that while Dick’s body is there, Dick isn’t. And that’s what’s putting everyone on edge.

Needless to say, he doesn’t even have the energy to think or worry about the lectures he’s missing. He’s sure he received an angry email from his classmates about their project, but that’s for later-Wally to deal with. Right-now-Wally is watching his unconscious and unbreathing boyfriend.

That last part should change soon, though. Alfred started weaning Dick off the ventilator yesterday afternoon, just a few hours after he removed the chest tube. Dick’s lungs have been doing really well, too, so Alfred has decided it’s safe for him to come off of it.

“All right,” Alfred says as he puts on a pair of gloves. “Will you be staying for this, Master Wally?”

Wally nods and squeezes Dick’s hand a little harder. “Uh-huh.”

“Very well.” He turns to Bruce, tells him, “You can suction now.”

The procedure doesn’t take long, and Wally can’t help but grimace when they finally pull the tube from Dick’s throat. They put an oxygen mask on him and adjust the medication (again) so that it will be easier for him to wake up. The fingers on his right hand start twitching not even an hour later, but he’s still nowhere near consciousness. Wally sits and waits in a tense silence, Bruce and Alfred right across from him. They have no idea what to expect when Dick wakes up. He could be fine, there could be serious deficits, he could be vegetative.

These facts swirl around Wally’s head, but they don’t seem to have an effect on him. None of it will be real until it’s happened, and right now, Dick is just sleeping. (Just sleeping.)

Wally has switched to petting Dick’s hair when Dick’s arm suddenly jerks and his head turns to the side. Wally straightens and takes his hand away while Bruce leans forward, his chair squeaking against the floor in his haste.

“Dick?” Bruce asks, and he’s rubbing his thumb into the side of Dick’s wrist. “Dick, if you can hear me, open your eyes.”

“Nngh,” Dick mumbles through half-closed lips.

“Dick,” Bruce says, louder and firmer than before. “C’mon, chum, you need to wake up now.”

Dick’s eyes peek open, then fall again before rising again and focusing on the face in front of him. “Hhh.”

“Shh.” Bruce pushes Dick’s hair back. Tells him, “You’re alright. Does your throat hurt?”

Dick nods.

“You had a tube in for a few days. But you’re okay now.”

“Breathing hurts,” Dick insists, closing his eyes again and bringing his hands to hover shakily over his chest. And his voice, fuck, his voice is so quiet and barely there. Like it hurts too much to breathe deep enough to talk.

“Your chest took most of the damage. Broken ribs, flail chest, pneumothorax, bruised liver,” Bruce lists off. His eyes flick to his watch, then he stands. “I’ll get you something to help the pain.” He rests his hand in his hair for a moment, then Bruce looks over at Wally, saying, “Wally’s here.”

Dick follows his gaze and finds Wally. He reaches out his hand. “Waa.”

Wally just buries his face in Dick’s offered hand, kissing it gently and never letting go. “Thank god.”

Alfred checks Dick over, eases their worries by confirming that there are no signs of brain damage. The biggest problem will be preventing pneumonia, but with everything Dick’s chest has been through, there’s not much else they can do but wait and see. (And by see, Wally thinks they mean start treatment as soon as something looks suspicious.)

Just coming out of sedatives, Dick isn’t really with it. He’s in a lot of pain, though, and he falls asleep again pretty quickly. After his vitals remain stable for three hours, he gets switched over to a nasal cannula and Alfred says it’s okay to move him up to his bedroom. Wally couldn’t anticipate how relieving that little change in scenery would be.

oOo

Late that afternoon, Wally is just starting to doze off when he hears the sheets rustling.

He pushes himself off of the arm of his chair and sees Dick’s blue eyes scanning the room. “Babe, hey.”

“Hey,” Dick says with a smile, eyes focusing on Wally. His voice is still quiet and soft, both from exhaustion and the pain Dick must be in whenever he inhales.

Something makes Dick frown. “Did I miss dinner?”

“You’ve been out for almost a week, babe.” Wally frowns and blinks at him, thrown and concerned by the question. He woke up during Bruce’s designated time, and while he had still been in a lot of pain, Bruce had said he was coherent. Had things changed? Is something wrong? Where’s Alfred?

“I meant tonight,” Dick clarifies, nodding over at a tray where Wally’s dirty dishes are still sitting. Wally lets out a relieved breath as discreetly as he can. “But, yeah, I guess I missed a lot of dinners. Sorry about that.” He brings his hand up to rub at his throat.

“Don’t worry about it.” Wally pushes a strand of Dick’s hair back. “But—and this is just for the record—I ate dinner next to you every night, so, technically, our streak is still going. And you didn’t miss tonight’s dinner; that was just from lunch. Well, second lunch.”

Dick breathes a laugh through his nose, but it still makes him wince.

“Do you need anything?” Wally asks. “I can go find Alfred if you need more meds.”

“No,” Dick is quick to assure.

“Are you hungry?” Wally asks.

“I don’t know. I guess I should be.” Dick rubs his forehead with his non-broken hand. “Definitely nauseous, though. Morphine?”

“Think so,” Wally answers, peering over at the bags. “Alfred gave you some anti-nausea stuff. I take it it’s not doing anything?”

Dick is biting his lip and staring into space; Wally knows he’s not really listening anymore. “It was bad this time, yeah?”

“Yeah. Recovery is going to be a few months, and I don’t think Alfred is going to let you out of the manor anytime soon.”

Dick closes his eyes, shakes his head slowly instead of speaking.

“Do you want to rest some more?”

Dick shakes his head again.

“We could watch something, or—”

A knock on the door and Alfred steps in.

“Good afternoon, Master Dick. How are we feeling?” Alfred asks, a tray in his hand.

Dick looks over at him, shakes his head and mumbles something too quiet to make out.

“I know it hurts, sir, but you must try to take deep breaths.” Alfred inclines the bed a little more and then hands Dick a pillow. “Try placing this over your chest while you take some deep breaths; it will help with the pain.”

Dick does as he’s told, and while it doesn’t make him wince, it doesn’t look comfortable.

“Has the pain been tolerable?” Alfred asks. “It’s about time for your next dose, so now would be a good time to adjust it.”

“What you gave me last time was fine,” Dick says. Wally was told he asked for more when he woke up with Bruce, and that in itself says something. “Talking just hurts.”

“Yes, between your chest and the intubation, it likely will for a while longer. Is it in your throat or your chest?”

“Both, but more here.” Dick points to his chest, which the pillow is still covering.

“I brought up some ice chips and a throat spray. Would you like those now, too?” Alfred asks.

“Uh,” Dick looks over at the tray. “Just the ice, thanks.”

Alfred nods and starts checking Dick over while Dick soothes his throat with the cool ice. When Alfred finishes, he starts stacking Wally’s dishes onto the other tray and hands Dick his lunch. “Anything else?”

“Is Tim back yet?” Dick asks. He stayed home for school on Thursday and Friday, but Bruce has been forcing him to go since Monday. Dick hasn’t seen him yet, and the last time he did see him, he was pulling him out of a mob. So, understandably, he’s been a little anxious.

“Master Bruce should be back with him in less than twenty minutes.”

Dick nods, checks the clock.

“I’ll be back in an hour. Do call if you need anything.” And then the man is gone.

They end up putting on some nature documentary, and Dick does his best to eat a sufficient amount of food while breaking for the occasional deep breath. When Tim comes home, Bruce pops in to check on Dick and then he and Wally excuse themselves to give them some space. After that, it’s Alfred’s turn, and by the time everyone else comes back in, Dick’s sleeping again. He sleeps through the regular dinner time, so Wally snacks on an apple to tide himself over.

The others are having a pre-patrol nap and Wally is finishing up some reading for tomorrow’s class when Dick finally wakes up.

“Hungry?” Wally asks, snapping his book shut with a grin on his face.

Dick smiles back. “Starving.”

Alfred made some kind of noodle casserole for dinner. Easy to swallow and absolutely delicious. Seeing as Dick can’t really focus on breathing, eating, and a conversation right now, it’s one of those quiet dinners where they mostly just enjoy the other’s company. But it doesn’t matter, the shared dinner still makes Wally feel all warm and like Dick’s finally home.

When they’re done, Dick asks him to put on some music. Wally does, then he puts their dishes on the side table and lies down next to Dick. Wally tells him about all the weird things his family did while he was out, and Dick makes a comment every now and then, but mostly just listens to Wally talk. When he runs out of things to say, he pulls Dick a little closer and they just listen to the music and take each other in.

They have full bellies, small smiles, and soft music. For the first time in days, Dick is truly here and Wally is truly happy. Everything is as it should be.

#wally west #dick grayson #birdflash #dickwally #kid flash #robin #nightwing #young justice #elizabeth writes

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freyjaiam · 6 years

Note

C8e

Avalance—Crossover[Wildcard]—”I followed the instructions on the box!”

note: so this is super late. thanks for your understanding @iamthecaptainofmanyships! as i told them I suffered from a pinched nerve in my neck and had to limit my time on desktop while recovering. it’s gotten better. still a bitch when I sneeze or have to lift something. I decided today was an OK day to sit down here and type this out before going back to mobile… hope you like!

Sara couldn’t believe it. She was fighting the undead. Constantine had warned her and her team that they’d opened up a door to something larger. Something more sinister. Demons, vampires… They were all real. And it was taking everything within her team to hold them back and fight. Basic hand-to-hand combat was essential. Sara didn’t have to worry about Ava or Mick when it came to that. Ray and Zari were getting better, with practice. Nate still struggled, but at least he was made of steel and could use his strength to get out of most situations. Wally used his speed to dust twenty vampires to Sara’s one. Which she was more than fine with.

“Watch your six!” shouted a female behind her. Sara whirled around and staked the vampire who had thought she’d be to distracted too notice. Sara met the eyes of a woman with long, curly brown hair and even darker eyes. “You good?”

“I’m good.”

“Awesome,” said the girl, giving her stake a twirl before moving to help Ray out.

They had traveled to Earth-31 where Constantine had said was the host of the most demonic activity. Of all the worlds it was the only one to have something called a hellmouth. Multiple ones even. That was, until, the summoning of Mallus reverberated through time and and space to create one on Earth-1. It was threatening to open and kill them all. Constantine had used his magic to find the Slayers, badass women who fought against things like this as if it were no big deal. A group had come over to help them, led by one of the originally called: Faith. Sara had been given the breakdown of the history of the Slayers by a man named Giles who had nearly put her to sleep. Instead, Faith and Buffy had taken over to give them the details. Buffy had worked out a group to come and fight with them. Not all, because apparently they had an apocalypse to deal with every Tuesday.

“Spirits of life, I invoke thee. Let the gloom of darkness part before you. Let the moonlight be made pale by your presence. Spirits of light, grant my wishes!”

Sara shielded her eyes as a witch named Willow cast a spell that looked to produce a light as bright as the sun. Many vampires screamed and disintegrated. The demons weren’t affected and instead did their best to target her. With no luck since she was protected by Slayers and Zari, who had taken a liking to the petite witch.

Sara was certain the feeling was mutual.

“Close ranks!” shouted Faith, blood now smattering the front of her shirt. Not her blood, no. This blood was blue and from one of the many demons that lay dead. “Don’t let any of them pass! They can’t expand to this Earth!”

“How are you doing?” asked Ava, who had chosen that time to step back-to-back with Sara. Despite the battle, the woman still had everything in place from her pressed suit to her pinned up hair.

“Just warming up,” said Sara with a grin, looking over her shoulder to her girlfriend. “You?”

“It’s going to take a lot more than this to get me winded,” said Ava with a grin.

“I seem to remember you getting pretty winded last night,” said Sara smugly.

“That’s different!”

Sara laughed before launching forward toward the next wave. It took some time, but soon everything that was evil was dead and dusted. The team of Slayers and Time Travelers shouted their glee for their victory. While the Slayers looked ready to fight some more, the others were doing their best to get their breath back. Willow didn’t waste time in starting the spell that would close the one and only hellmouth on Earth-1 for good. Of course, Constantine was keeping watch of her, making sure no mistakes were being made.

“You’re sure this will work, Love?”

“Of course. I followed the directions on the box!”

At his baffled look Faith busted out laughing and patted the man on his shoulder. “Relax, Bro, she’s just kidding. Don’t worry, she’s got this. Slayers! Fall back. We all know what happens when you close a hellmouth.”

“Wait, what happens?” asked Ray, making Faith look at him.

“Watch and find out,” she said with a wink.

The two different groups went back to the Waverider. Willow stayed behind to finish her spell. Faith didn’t seem too worried about it. Said it was normal. When Gideon announced at an earthquake was happening the Legends grew worried despite Faith assuring them that everything was five-by-five. When the white flash of light hit the area Willow had been at last, Sara almost ordered Gideon to rescue her. That was, until, as a large crater was formed a small ball of white light rose. It was Willow. Actually flying. Looking tired but victorious through the viewing window of the bridge.

“See?” said Faith, hand on her hip and a shit-eating grin on her face. “Told you she had it.”

“Well, that was different,” said Ava, hours later. The Slayers were back on their world. John had offered his card to call upon them all if they ever needed help. Faith had taken it, tucking it into the back pocket of her jeans with a wink. Sara knew trouble when she saw it, and Faith was a whole lot of trouble. Had she been single, though, she might have liked a little bit of trouble. However, Sara was quite happy where she was now, with her girlfriend Ava.

“But fun.”

“Pretty sure Zari was tempted to go with them,” said Ava.

“Oh, yeah, for sure.” Sara peeled off her ruined clothes and tossed them in the bin to be incinerated later. “Pretty sure Mick would’ve licked Faith’s boots if she’d asked him to. Or Ray…”

“Or you?” asked Ava with a raised brow. She then gave a soft laugh. “It’s okay, Sara, she was quite attractive.”

“Hmm… She was, wasn’t she…”

“Anyway,” said Ava, pulling off her own ruined clothes. “I think we should keep monitoring the situation. Hope that another hellmouth doesn’t open here. Willow said that since one was opened, that could lead a pathway to more. Especially since we’re still fighting things here. They could just as easily summon another one up.”

Sara did her best not to worry, especially since she now had her girlfriend naked in her room, but she couldn’t help it. First Mallus and now this. What other mystical and supernatural creatures could be lurking in the shadows waiting to come out and bite them in the ass?

“Hey,” said Ava, reaching up to press her finger between her furrowed brows. “Stop worrying.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Yeah, I know.” Ava sighed. “Me, too.”

“How about we go shower then work out a plan for next time? Maybe research a little on those defensive spells Willow left us?”

“But, Constantine warned us all about amateurs like us using those spells…”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t peek at them,” said Sara with a mischievous look on her face. She then stepped forward, pressing up against Ava, warm skin against warm skin as she wrapped her arms around her. “What do you say?”

“I say…” Ava make a disgusted look and stepped back when feeling something sticky on Sara’s back. “We go shower first and then discuss this when we don’t have bodily fluids and ashes on us.”

“Good plan.”

END

#iamthecaptainofmanyships #avalance #sara lance #ava sharpe #faith lehane #willow rosenburg #constantine #you all are about to witness my love of faith #just saying #btvs #legends of tomorrow #lotff #lot ff #alff #btvs x lot

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valeriemperez · 6 years

Note

Hi pretty lady I’m always confused on TF shooting schedule. So I know Kevin Smith is in VC to direct epi 17, but aren’t they still filming epi 16? I thought they only started filming epi 16 on Monday? Anyway you always know what’s up can you help a girl out? Thank you

Behind on asks again, but directors show up a week before their episode starts in order to prep. They have to help find locations, figure out what they want their shots to look like, etc. So they’re filming 4.16 right now, and Kevin is prepping 4.17 which will start next Thursday.

So are they still shooting episode 16 of the flash right now? I know Kevin Smith is in town for 17 but that doesn’t start until next week? Is that right, can you help confirm? Thank you

Correct. They are filming 4.16 until Wednesday, and then Kevin will begin directing 4.17 on Thursday.

I still don’t understand how people are calling TF the IW show. I love IW but does she really have her own storyline that isn’t connected to BA, in my opinion no. Right now her storyline is truly WA & being there for BA. Maybe I’m wrong, do you think that IW has had so much focus this season?

You know how studies show that once women make up 30% of a group, men think they’re outnumbered? It’s like that. As soon as Iris gets anything for herself, they think she’s taking over. She’s the leader of the team, which is a position just like any other team member, and she’s got her relationship with Barry. She hasn’t ‘taken over’ any episode except maybe 4.05, and Caitlin had more screentime than her in that one. These people just hate that she’s important.

@eboniangelvibez said

Um, ratings are slipping across the board on CW, but ⚡️ is still # 1 for all Berlanti-verse shows. The h8rs blaming lower ratings on IW, WA and CP isn’t new. The fanboys complaining isn’t either. However, Piedowitz, Berlanti+Helbing were privy to (b4 the rest of us) what GG+CP’s chemistry potential is. Anyone who is a true ⚡️ fan (like Berlanti, Helbing, Johns) recognize that IW is the center of BA’s universe. They’re not listening to the smack. WA is 🍞+butter, and will be until GG+CP are tired

For Berlanti-verse and for the network. And yeah, people have been blaming Candice for ratings since 1.15, literally. Everything else you’ve said is the absolute truth.

How can haters blame Iris and WA for the drop in ratings when 4x10 ended the way it did and Iris and WA were missing from all the promo material? Even if you were just a part of the general audience, you’d think there would be no WA with one half of it in prison right? I certainly wasn’t expecting anything from this episode. Despite the demo it’s also interesting that 4x10 was the most viewed episode since 4x03 (excluding the crossover).

Exactly, the ratings drop has more to do with how the trial turned out than it did with anything Iris did or didn’t do.

@rrow hit a 0.3 😱 I agree with that Anon in general ratings are down. I’ve read a few articles that said ABC, CBS, NBC etc etc are all down significantly compared to last year. It’s a trend that most don’t see stopping anytime soon. Fl@sh losing ratings seems bigger cause it was in top for so long. What people need to understand that the age where live ratings represent the only source of income for shows is gone. Especially for a network like CW.

Yes, everything is down. There’s no denying that Flash has lost a little more comparatively, but that’s not due to one character who has always been as important she she currently is. More likely, it’s the whiplash in tone and now the terrible handling of the trial (people don’t wanna see their hero in prison, thus they lost 400K viewers from 4.10 to 4.11).

The character Ralph is to blame for the ratings on Flash. Ever since he started, his brand of humor and sexist comments turned so many people off. That and the way Wally was treated have been factors in the ratings slipping. Next week’s episode looks worse with the shrinking and stuff. They need to get back to figuring out how to stop the Devoes.

That’s another possibility, and it’s partly to do with tone. His humor is both sexist and childish, which contributes to the feeling that Flash is more juvenile this season.

Yeaaaah black lighting dropping to a 0.6 is not great for it’s second night. To be fair this past Tuesday wasn’t great for any show on any network. I think this is just the new normal and it’s not really a reason to panic imo.

Shows always drop significantly after a series premiere, but I agree. Flash is still #1 and Black Lightning is currently tying for #2 with Supernatural.

TF’s ratings deteriorating faster than the other Arrowverse shows has me kinda worried tho. If this trend continues it may sink to SG/LOT demo #s by the end of the season. I honestly think some ppl aren’t really feelin this storyline. We’ve been getting some great WA angst lately, but the trial was a disappointment, Barry in prison is kinda meh, & I’m not diggin the focus on Ralph. They’re gonna drag out The Thinker plotline and it’ll end up losing traction just like last season with Savitar.

I get why you would worry, but right now it’s just a one-off. The ratings dropped to 0.7 in the fourth episode of the season and then bounced back up. Perhaps they will do so again this time.

Was keiynan really fired from the flash?

No. He and the producers found a spot for him on Legends because: 1) he wanted more time off due to his anxiety, 2) Flash was overcrowded with team members not getting their chances to shine, and 3) Legends was losing two original team members.

What is C@nadag bitching about exactly? CP still signs stuff for him from time to time. He says it on his Twitter page “Got autographs from CP”. He’s been awful for years and CP hasn’t given him the metaphorical finger yet. And even if she wasn’t signing for him anymore he’s convinced people don’t care about her and don’t buy her autographs so what does he want? He must be lying about something. Or he is just that pathetic. There are people who have met CP outside of sets/cons and say she’s nice

He both exaggerates and is pathetic. He talks shit about almost every actress in the Berlanti-verse, and he’s talked shit about others too (like Lauren from Lucifer).

#the flash #eboniangelvibez #anonymous #tatiana's thoughts #more asks under the cut #long post for ts

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zombiesbecrazy · 6 years

Text

Five Times With Feeling - Part 2/5

Summary: Barbara had been insistent that she didn't want any visitors but Dick doesn't really take orders well.

Written for @batfamcontentwar‘s #halloweencontentwar. All 5 parts will be posted during the event.

ao3 Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Part 2: November 1998

"I thought I was pretty damn clear when I said I didn't want any visitors."

"You were."

"Yet here you are."

Dick shrugged a little and couldn’t help but think that this had been a huge mistake. "It's Tuesday. On Tuesday's we watch Buffy." The answer seemed obvious and stupid, all rolled into a big pile of embarrassment. Why did he think this was going to be a good idea?

“And if I don’t want to?” She continued to stare at the ceiling, refusing to look him in the eye. Her tone was icily definitive and made him feel like he was scum and that he definitely shouldn’t have decided to come because he clearly wasn’t wanted. The problem was that he needed to be here, if not for her, but for himself. He needed to see her, alive and not-well. He could deal with her fury, because at least that meant that her fury even existed at all.

Because she almost had left him.

But he was here, and now that he was in the room, Dick felt committed, no matter how big of a mistake it may be. “Then I’ll sit here quietly and watch by myself. If I leave now, I’ll miss the beginning and that would be all your fault.” She made an irritated noise and he swallowed a little nervously, because he hated arguing with her when it was real; when it wasn’t just banter. When she was genuinely upset with him. He normally couldn’t stand it when she was mad at him, but he couldn’t leave her here. Not now. Not when nothing about the situation was normal. “I’m not visiting. I just happen to be watching TV here.”

Barbara turned her head towards the screen but said nothing and Dick settled himself down into the chair beside her bed, picked up the remote on the table and changed the channel.

Six days. It had been six days since the Joker had shown up at the Gordon’s door and shot Barbara through the spine and tortured her; not because she had been Batgirl but because he was a chaotic monster. Six days since her life had been turned upside down. Batman had been in to see her after he had freed the Commissioner, but since that night she hadn’t allowed anyone besides her father and hospital staff to see her.

Dick still didn’t know all the details but from what he did he was confident that he really didn’t want to know more.

Gordon had called Dick earlier in the day and had told him explicitly that he wasn’t allowed to visit his daughter. That Barbara wanted to be left alone. That she would absolutely be by herself in her room on the 8th floor of Gotham General between seven and eleven. That she was brave and strong and didn’t need any company at all, especially from a friend like him. And the nurse in charge of her ward would be definitely not be expecting him to be there outside of non-family visiting hours.

He had always liked Jim Gordon.

A few minutes into the start of the show, when the intro started, Dick looked over and could see a few tears silently running down her cheeks. "Barbara." Nothing. He grabbed her hand but she didn't look at him. "Babs." No reaction. She was just lying in her bed, staring at the screen and looking absolutely crushed, and he had no idea how to help. He could beat up bad guys until the sun came up and talk a big game with the best, but seeing Barbara quietly fall apart in a hospital bed made him feel useless and unsure.

He didn't know what else to do, so he went around to the other side of the bed, where there weren't any wires or monitors attached, kicked off his shoes and climbed up. Dick knew that he probably shouldn’t be in the bed; that any wrong move could put Barbara into more pain, but he couldn’t just sit there any longer without doing something. He laid down on his side and curled up next to her, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around her because he didn’t want to accidentally touch her in a way that would hurt, but he reached down and grabbed her hand and gave a small squeeze. Her breathing hitched and he felt her upper body lean towards him slightly, while not able to ignore the fact that her lower body didn't respond at all.

They laid there on her bed for the rest of the episode, watching in silence, but Dick wasn’t really following the plot and had no idea what was happening. As the end credits rolled, he hit the mute button on the remote, but didn’t say anything. The quiet was sort of nice, which surprised him. He had been expecting it to be awkward, but it just felt like it always did when they hung out. He was even laying on top of the quilt that was usually on her bed and he guessed that the Commissioner had brought it from home for some sense of familiar normalcy.

He didn’t know how long they had been lying there in silence, and it could almost feel himself dozing off when he heard Barbara whisper, "I don't know if I can do this." He tightened his fingers around hers a little bit more. "I can't walk, Dick. Not again. Not ever."

"I know."

She turned her head a little to look at him for the first time, really, since he came to her room. "Thank you." Dick must have given her a strange expression because she shook her head a bit and stared back up at that white, cracked ceiling. "For being honest. Everyone else keeps telling me maybe. That there is a chance. Someday. I've read the medical reports. My spinal cord is destroyed. There's no maybe about it." If it were anyone else he would have expected her voice to tremble, for her to fall apart, but all he could hear was frustration and anger.

"You can do this. You are the strongest person I know. And definitely the smartest. If anyone can keep moving forward after this, it's you."

"What am I supposed do now?"

"What did your doctors say?" He didn’t know what to tell her. He didn’t know anything about rehab or wheelchairs or…

"Not about daily life. I mean, about the… night life. I can't just walk away again." She winced at her own words, and he ever so slightly nudged her shoulder with his. Too soon. "Not now. What I mean is, I can't ignore it. I know what happens out there in the shadows." Barbara gave an angry sort of laugh and Dick didn’t quite know how to react because he knew she didn’t think it was funny. "And now I know what it's like to be a victim." Again her voice cracked, but the tears didn’t come this time. "I know too much." "First, you are not a victim. Not if you don't let yourself be." "I feel pretty victimized right now."

"Yes, you are a victim of Joker’s attack, but you don't have to stay that way. You can keep fighting." This was the girl who took it upon herself to be Batgirl. To throw herself into this underworld life with or without a mentor to start with and succeed, and Dick believed that she could literally do anything. She just needed to be reminded of that. "Just because you can't do what you used to do in the field, doesn't mean you have to turn your back on everything completely if you don't want to. You can still do it, just a little differently. Look at Alfred or Dr. Thompkins.” Dick waved his hand back towards the blank screen of the TV, “Look at Willow."

"She's uses magic sometimes now."

"We know real people who use magic. And without the magic, she's still crazy smart and resourceful. She can save the world with her brain alone. Like another redhead I know."

"Kori?"

Dick shook his head. His girlfriend was smart, but it was a different smart. Not Barbara smart. "Not her. My best friend."

"Right. Wally." The corners of her mouth turned up in the smallest of smiles and seeing that was the best thing that had happened to him all week. Dick groaned a bit and the smile grew on her face, almost to a genuine Barbara Gordon smile. It was amazing to see and Dick found himself wanting to celebrate that little win. "I know too many red heads." He leaned in and gave her a soft kiss on her temple, wishing that he could wrap her a big hug to go along with it. He wanted to feel her in his arms, to try and show her that he believed everything thing that he was trying to tell her in a way he knew that she would understand. "You understand what I'm saying though, right? You don't have to stop because of this. You have to pivot, but not stop. Not if you don't want to. You'll think of something. Something amazing.” She nodded, and he continued, “And if in the end you do decide that you are done? If you want out for good? None of us would fault you for that. You’ll still be my Babs.”

Barbara gave him another smile, but said nothing about it. "Don't you have somewhere to be tonight?"

"I can take an evening off."

"Does Bruce know that?"

"He has Jason. I don’t think he knows I’m in town tonight. If he needs me though, he should be able to find me. He is a detective." Dick shrugged, trying to not think about the fight that he had with Bruce last night when he had stopped by the Cave. Usually he thought that their arguments were Bruce’s fault, but this one was all Dick. He knew that he was projecting his helplessness about Barbara; the punch he landed to Bruce’s jaw had made him feel temporarily better at the sound of the large crack though. Bruce hadn’t even fought back, seeming to know that Dick needed the release. Dick had also let the Titans know that he was out of commission for the night in case something came up, but Wally had already been making sure that they were giving him some space since Barbara had been shot so he wasn’t really expecting anything anyway. "I'm exactly where I was needed tonight."

For another twenty minutes they laid on the bed and talked about nothing until a nurse came into the room, and looked unsurprised to see Dick lying in the bed with Barbara. She went to the machines and made some notes on the chart for a few minutes before she spoke. “Mr. Grayson, I’m afraid it’s time for you leave for the night. We need to do a few things and then Barbara needs her rest.” Dick nodded, knowing that he was lucky to get the time that he had had with her in the first place. He brushed strand of hair off Barbara’s face, placed another kiss on her head and squeezed her hand once more before he climbed out of the bed.

“See you next time?” and she nodded in affirmative. Dick gave a small wave and walked to the door

“Hey, Dick?” Dick turned back to look at her and for the first time that night saw a glimpse of the girl he knew and his heart soared at the sight. A spark in her eyes that was pure Barbara. She was still in there. She’d be back. He just knew it. “Thank you. For tonight.”

“Love you, Babs.” And in that moment, as soon as the words came out of his mouth, they were true. He had known that he loved her for years, she was one of his best friends, but now he realized that he was in love with Barbara Gordon and that was a very different thing. Unyielding, terrifying, stupid love. Maybe he had always known deep down, but now it was a certainty in his heart and his brain and he sort of felt that he was hit by a truck with this information. How had he not known this before? Why now? Did everyone else know this but him? Did she know?

“I love you too.”

Dick could feel the goofy smile creep onto his face and his cheeks felt strangely hot. He turned quickly before Barbara could see him blushing, but he was pretty sure that it was too late. He felt like he was broadcasting to the world. It was amazing to hear those words said back to him, even if he knew that she probably didn’t really feel the same way. At least not now. Not the same way he meant them, but maybe…

Now is not the time. Get a grip, Grayson.

In order to stop himself from rushing back across the room and passionately kissing her in front of the nurse, he forced himself to step quickly into the hall and shut the door behind him, leaning against it with his eyes closed. You’re dating Kori. Stop it. Dick took a few deep breaths and then opened his eyes, immediately spotting the Commissioner in a chair, drinking coffee out of a styrofoam cup. Staring at him. Dick didn’t know what to do or how to explain his odd state in the hall, so he did the only thing he could do, and sat down beside him. He knew it wasn’t normal to sit down with a girl’s father immediately after discovering that you are secretly in love with her but nothing about their situation could be described as normal, and if he was being honest with himself his legs were shaking and he felt off balance. Sitting was a good choice compared to falling over.

The man looked completely exhausted, but nodded at Dick, almost giving him what could be described as a grin. Dick didn’t know what to say, and found himself struggling to behave like a normal human. What did he do with his hands? Do people normally sweat this much while sitting down? He blurted out the first thing that he could think of that wasn’t something along the line of I’m in love with your daughter who got paralyzed by a psycho clown last week when you were kidnapped and tortured. “Are you alright, Commissioner?”

“No, but it is what it is.” Gordon took a long drink from his coffee and then held the warm cup between his palms. “Thank you for coming tonight, son. She needed to see someone who wasn’t me or medical people even if she didn’t say so. My girl is strong, but she’s stubborn as all hell.”

“That she is, sir. She’ll be ok. Maybe not soon, but she will be.”

Gordon grunted in a probably unintentional way that sounded very close a Batman sound and suddenly Dick just couldn’t deal with that sound. Not tonight. Not now. Dick needed to get outside and do something, anything, to clear his head and sort out his thoughts. He needed to move. Now. Even though his legs felt like jello and his heart was racing. He stood up again rather abruptly, grabbed the Gordon’s hand to shake it and very quickly said, “Goodnight, sir.”

Gordon appeared startled by Dick’s surprising departure, so soon after he sat down, but just nodded his head. “Have a good night, Dick.”

“Thank you, sir.” Gordon gave him another strange look. He had told the Dick on several occasions to call him Jim, but Dick never had (probably because of living with Alfred for so long) however calling him ‘sir’ three times in such little time was a little overkill, even for formality reasons. A few beats passed until Gordon gave a small shrug and Dick hoped that he had passed everything he had seen off as hospital awkwardness, and not his new secret love for his daughter.

He rode the elevator to the roof, stripped down to his Nightwing uniform, and grappled off into the night, leaving his regular clothes strewn across the rooftop. He’d get them later, he just needed to fly.

At least this was a part of his life that he still understood.

#halloweencontentwar #barbara gordon #dick grayson #jim gordon #nightwing #buffy the vampire slayer #fanfiction #batfic #I toe the line with genfic

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ariseadaptascertain · 6 years

Note

1-92 muhaha

Okay, but only cuz I’m in class not paying attention anyways 😅

1. Would you have sex with the last person you text messaged?

Yes. definitely. 

2. You talked to an ex today, correct?

Nope 

3. Have you taken someones virginity?

Uhhhhhhhhh

4. Is trust a big issue for you?

I’ll trust you 110% no questions asked until you give me a reason not to  

5. Did you hang out with the person you like recently?

No, I don’t like anyone right now  

6. What are you excited for?

All of my family from California to get here tomorrow, thanksgiving dinner, football and beer 🏈🍻 

7. What happened tonight?

It’s 2:30PM so ask me later 

8. Do you think it’s disgusting when girls get really wasted?

Depends… some people are cute and funny wasted, so some I don’t mind.. others just really shouldn’t get drunk lol 🥃 

9. Is confidence cute

To an extent, yes  

10. What is the last beverage you had?

Water💧 

11. How many people of the opposite sex do you fully trust?

I have 2 brothers and a dad  

12. Do you own a pair of skinny jeans?

I own way too many pairs of skinny jeans  

13. What are you gonna do Saturday night?

Saturday is my brothers birthday so dinner and celebrate with the family 🎈 

14. What are you going to spend money on next?

Um probably food or gas… oh actually I bought my dog a sweater on amazon earlier so maybe that? 🐾 

15. Are you going out with the last person you kissed?

No I am not  

16. Do you think you’ll change in the next 3 months?

People are always changing and finding themselves so definitely  

17. Who do you feel most comfortable talking to about anything?

My older brother  

18. The last time you felt broken?

A few weeks ago  

19. Have you had sex today?

no action happening here  

20. Are you starting to realize anything?

What I deserve  

21. Are you in a good mood?

Currently, yes😁 

22. Would you ever want to swim with sharks?

Am I trying to die? 🦈 

23. Are your eyes the same color as your dad’s?

Yes, mine are darker though 👀 

24. What do you want right this second?

To get out of class  

25. What would you say if the person you love/like kissed another girl/boy?

Wtf bye? lol at least that’s what I think I’d say idk strangely I’ve been here before and idk we stayed together but we were never really together and it was confusing but that was 4 years ago and I was stupid so now, i’d probably just say bye👋🏽 

26. Is your current hair color your natural hair color?

Um the top half is😅  

27. Would you be able to date someone who doesn’t make you laugh?

NO I need someone just as strange as myself  

28. What was the last thing that made you laugh?

Someone’s speech in my public speaking class at noon

29. Do you really, truly miss someone right now? Yes 

30. Does everyone deserve a second chance?

That’s a tricky one, depends  

31. Honestly, do you hate the last boy you were talking to?

Um sorry I think you have the wrong person👭 

32. Does the person you have feelings for right now, know you do?

I don’t have feelings for anyone now, the last person I had feelings for knew though 

33. Are you one of those people who never drinks soda?

No, I’ll have one every once in awhile

34. Listening to?

Right now an OChem lecture🙄 music wise, everything. Currently I’m listening to some throw back usher. But Marc e. Bassy, j cole, chance, been into Kelsea ballerini’s new album, Lauv, Lany, CVBZ, Devin Dawson, Parson James, maren Morris, post Malone, Noah kahan, Khalid, Chelsea cutler, Ben Howard…. list goes on I listen to everything all the time

35. Do you ever write in pencil anymore?

Yes exam days  

36. Do you know where the last person you kissed is?

Yes, not sure who they are now or what they are doing but I know where geographically  

37. Do you believe in love at first sight?

I’d like to, but I don’t think so.. at least for me, I don’t know a person until I meet them, I can’t develop feelings for them until I spend time with them  

38. Who did you last call?

The Ford dealership  

39. Who was the last person you danced with?

@iriseagain lolol 

40. Why did you kiss the last person you kissed?

Because I loved them  

41. When was the last time you ate a cupcake?

Omg um I made cupcakes on a Tuesday in October I think, so cute they were on my snap chat, go follow me lol 🍰 

42. Did you hug/kiss one of your parents today?

No I did not  

43. Ever embarrass yourself in front of a crush?

I embarrass myself every day haha but I love it that’s just me it’s cool  

44. Do you tan in the nude?

I would if I didn’t have neighbors but hey tan lines are attractive  

45. If you could, would you take back your last kiss?

No, I probably would have made it more memorable though because I honestly don’t remember where we were or what we were doing  

46. Did you talk to someone until you fell asleep last night?

Nope 

47. Who was the last person to call you?

Haha my mom  

48. Do you sing in the shower?

Yes, loud and proud 🎤 

49. Do you dance in the car?

As much as I can without crashing or being a hazard to others, but yes always 

50. Ever used a bow and arrow?

No🤔 I’d like to  

51. Last time you got a portrait taken by a photographer?

Senior year of high school 

52. Do you think musicals are cheesy?

Of course, but that’s why people love them right?  

53. Is Christmas stressful?

No it’s wonderful and full of love, pine, and everything warm🎅🏽🎄 

54. Ever eat a pierogi?

Yes they are good with sour cream  

55. Favorite type of fruit pie?

Apple🍎🍏 

56. Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid?

Veterinarian or Teacher or Surgeon of some sort 

57. Do you believe in ghosts?

Sometimes hah especially after a scary movie👻 

58. Ever have a Deja-vu feeling?

ALL THE DAMN TIME 

59. Take a vitamin daily?

No…💊 

60. Wear slippers?

I have one pair from like 6th grade I’ll throw on every once in awhile for fun cuz I’m weird 

61. Wear a bath robe?

No I do not 

62. What do you wear to bed?

Sports bra and Calvins usually unless it’s cold then a hoodie  

63. First concert?

It was a Jason Aldean, Florida Georgia Line, Dierks Bentley concert  

64. Wal-Mart, Target or Kmart?

I love target but I normally just shop at Wally World  

65. Nike or Adidas?

Um I can’t. If I had to I guess Nike cuz I own more Nike ✔️ 

66. Cheetos Or Fritos?

Cheetos… but if y'all like cottage cheese (which I know most of you will be like EW.) dip your Fritos in cottage cheese. That’s some good shit  

67. Peanuts or Sunflower seeds?

Retired softball player so Seeds all the way  

68. Favorite Taylor Swift song?

All the old stuff from like jr high love story, you belong with me, picture to burn, mine 

69. Ever take dance lessons?

No I probably should though💃🏻 

70. Is there a profession you picture your future spouse doing?

No… maybe something medical wise 

71. Can you curl your tongue?

No, I can make a stupid face while attempting to do so though that you’d probably like  

72. Ever won a spelling bee?

lol Yes 😂😂🤓 

73. Have you ever cried because you were so happy?

Yes I have, I think whenever I get a puppy I go cry to myself about it, but many times… when I see beautiful things or beautiful people in my life I cry sometimes at how beautiful everything is, songs make me happy and cry… don’t judge me I’m appreciative and emotional 😅 

74. What is your favorite book?

The giving tree 🌳 

75. Do you study better with or without music?

with, quietly though in the background just to keep my mind going  

76. Regularly burn incense?

Regularly burn candles? YES 

77. Ever been in love?

once, 5-6 years ago 

78. Who would you like to see in concert?

Sooooo many people… before I die, chance, marc. e. bassy, usher needs to do a tb concert, pink, Carrie underwood, beyonce, I’ve been to so many concerts, the list goes on and on for people I want to see  

79. What was the last concert you saw?

I think it was Halsey 

80. Hot tea or cold tea?

On cold days, hot. On hot days, cold.  

81. Tea or coffee?

Coffee ☕️ but both  

82. Favorite type of cookie?

My moms chocolate chip 🍪 

83. Can you swim well?

Very 🌊 

84. Can you hold your breath without holding your nose?

Yes…. can’t everyone?  

85. Are you patient?

I work with children and sick angry people who need their meds all day, so VERY  

86. DJ or band, at a wedding?

Aw a band could be cute, but if it was my wedding DJ all the way  

87. Ever won a contest?

Yes… a few 88. Ever have plastic surgery? My cheeks are naturally this way I promise 

89. Which are better black or green olives?

Um I eat more black just cuz they are more common, but green taste like butter and are more expensive so I have those only when I’m treating myself or trying to be fancy  

90. Opinions on sex before marriage?

Shit happens🤷🏽‍♀️ just be someone you are proud of

91. Best room for a fireplace?

Mines in the family room which is nice… but honestly best place for a fire is outside surrounded by good people with some s'mores and a drink in your hand 🔥

92. Do you want to get married?

I do 💍

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mikeyd1986 · 6 years

Text

MIKEY’S PERSONAL BLOG 75, October 2017

The past few days have been really difficult for me to say the least. I can already feel that I’m in a state of transition right now after walking away from my current personal trainer Luke Davey last Friday. It was an extremely tough decision for me as I was hoping that things would get better and that we could turn a corner somehow. But the reality is that I just wasn’t happy training there anymore. No amount of self-help books, positive affirmations and friendly exchanges could cover up how I was truly feeling inside...uncertain, depressed, frustrated, misunderstood, conflicted, upset and hurt. I needed to move on.

Does it make me a bad person to want to change personal trainers? Hell no! I don’t think so. My biggest problem has always been worrying what other people will think and how they will react to my decisions. Am I making the right choice? Am I being too sensitive? Am I giving up too easily? Nope. I’m simply doing what’s best for me. From my perspective, there’s no bad blood between myself and Luke at all and I really appreciate everything he has done for me. He has helped me achieve many of my fitness goals. He has challenged me physically, mentally and emotionally. I’ve learned lots of new skills, movements and techniques.

So no, I don’t regret any of it at all. I just hope that Luke can accept and respect my decision as well. I’m really proud of myself for being open and honest with Luke as well as ending this PT-client relationship on respectful and peaceful terms.

Here is a list of achievements I’ve made with Luke Davey at Breakaway Fitness:

Losing 20kg of body weight (from 105 to 85kg)

Building up lean muscle in my arms, legs, glutes, hamstrings, back, buttocks etc.

Learning the correct techniques, forms and movements for doing deadlifts, back squats, front squats, bench press and dumbbell bench press

Completing many AMRAPs (As Many Reps As Possible), EMOTM (Every Minute on the Minute), 3-4 rounds and time based workouts

Learning how to do stretches, box jumps, push ups, ring rows, using the balance board, kettle bell swings, single arm kettle bell lifts, squats, walking lunges and burpees

Improved my squat depth and weight lifting ability

Learning how to deal with anxiety, depression, fear, stress, overthinking, self-doubt, self confidence issues and believing in myself

On Monday morning, I went to my Yin yoga class with Kelly Wallis at Now, Yoga. in Narre Warren South. I kinda embarrassed myself this morning as I expected to see Kelly the moment I walked into the studio but instead saw another lady at the desk and instantly assumed that she was filling in. Whoops! But I let that moment go pretty quickly. It was moderately full class with about 10 students or so. I haven’t been to one of Kelly’s classes in a long time and I’ve missed her style of teaching.

Today there was a lot of focus on doing long holds and supported variations of poses including Standing Forward Bend, Yogic Squat, Sphinx pose, Puppy pose, Cow Face pose, Reclining Single Leg Spinal Twist and Child’s pose. And for the first time in the eight years I’ve been doing yoga, everyone had a literally chuck a temper tantrum. Normally, I hardly ever give myself permission to act silly or make lots of loud noises but today was the exception. And it felt great...releasing negative emotions like anger, frustration, guilt, shame, regret is so important and trust Kelly to come up with the idea. It was brilliant! http://nowyoga.net.au/

On Monday night, I revisited The Yard Strength & Fitness in Pakenham for the first time since August. It felt good being back here. In some ways, it was the ace up my sleeve if things went pear shaped at UFT. You can call it jumping ship but I have honourable intentions behind it. I truly believe that I deserve to train in a place where I feel supported and encouraged by everyone there. Part of me will miss being at UFT PLAYgrounds but I know in myself that I’ve made the right decision in leaving. I have to keep moving forward. https://www.facebook.com/TheYardStr...

Tonight I did a Bootcamp class with two other girls, Eliza and Ebony, and it was run by Stacey Kett. We warmed up by doing some kettle bell swings and runs up and down the carpark. It honestly felt like I was doing the beep test back in high school PE class. Next we did a series of movements at 25 seconds each including KB squats, bar knee tucks, KB swings, squat bar jumps, KB high lifts, plank holds with KB touch and push ups.

The final part involved an eight round TABATA doing plank holds. I was pretty much shaking and pouring with sweat at this point. My foam yoga mat was covered in it. But that meant that I really worked hard tonight. None of the tough emotional issues from last week were going to bring me down. I also feel like I’m improving heaps with my push ups, squats, running and plank holds.

After the Bootcamp class, I had a brief chat with Abhishek Ashokkumar from Silverback Training Co. about the possibility of him becoming my next personal trainer. Honestly, I was a little nervous and weary as I normally am meeting new people but I felt comfortable enough to tell him about my goals, my mental health issues, what happened between me and Luke and why I want him to train me. I’m looking for someone who is compassionate, supportive, encouraging, patient and kind. Hopefully Abhi can deliver on those fronts. One step at a time. https://www.facebook.com/silverback...

On Tuesday morning, I had my feedback session with Dr. Yasmin Baliz at CNS: Comprehensive Neuropsychological Services in Narre Warren. I was feeling a bit nervous waiting for Yasmin to arrive the reception area with my mum sitting across from me. Today was the day that I’ll find out either way whether I sit on the Autism Spectrum or not. We sat in the same room that we were in during the first appointment, with the same white plush leather sofas, black glass coffee table, fake palms and artificial cricket/tadpole noises from the Rainforest Room next door.

So the moment of truth...I’ve been officially diagnosed with High Functioning Autism, which is essentially a mild form of Autism. Characteristics for diagnosis include difficulties with social interaction in groups, poor social skills, difficulties with verbal and non-verbal communication, prefers routine and predictable environments, prefers independent activities and finds sensory environments to be overwhelming. It was a lot of information to process in that session but thankfully there is lots of support and resources out there to understand it better. http://www.cnspsych.com.au/process....

Yasmin left me with the “The Autism Spectrum Information Booklet” and will be posting me out the report on my results from the assessment. I feel better knowing that there is an underlying cause for my thoughts, feelings, emotions and behaviour particularly in social situations that were often difficult to explain to others. There is a strong genetic component with a cousin on my Mother’s side also having Autism and there have been signs since childhood that I may be predisposed to it. But at least I know now so it’s like a veil’s been lifted. http://www.autism-help.org/autism-h...

On Tuesday night, I attended the Mental Health & Wellbeing seminar at YMCA Casey ARC in Narre Warren. Sadly there wasn’t a big attendance at tonight’s event with most staff members taking up the semi-circle of folded chairs but I still felt like I got a lot out of the presentation. https://www.caseyarc.ymca.org.au/wh...

The first presenter was a guy named James who is a personal trainer and an ambassador for Beyond Blue. He has suffered with depression and suicidal thoughts since the age of 13, going through periods of low self-esteem, self harm, substance abuse and denial. It took him many attempts to overcome his depression with several relapses and various psychologists but eventually he pulled through it. His strategies include finding a psychologist with similar values, being open about how you’re thinking and feeling and doing productive activities such as reading, going to the gym, hanging out with mates. https://www.beyondblue.org.au/conne...

The second presenter was Dr. James Collard who is a clinical psychologist and representative from CBT Australia. His talk on mental health was more in depth and academic, exploring where emotions come from, the biological, social and psychological aspects, the effects of depression and anxiety, dealing with anger and problem behaviours and using self-care strategies to help cope with mental health issues. He provided quite a few examples from young clients and parents who he has worked with over the years which I found to be quite relatable. https://www.cbtaustralia.com.au/

On Thursday morning, I attended my Body Balance class with Wendy Lynne Perrow at YMCA Casey ARC in Narre Warren. It was a really great feeling to walk into that group fitness studio and be welcomed by Wendy as soon as I stepped onto the mat...”It’s lovely to see you again Michael. Welcome back.” Sometimes that’s all you need, that acknowledgement, to know that somebody else cares about you and it’s what I needed in that moment. Truthfully, I’ve missed Wendy’s classes as well.

Today we did release number 69 which featured the following exercises: Tai-Chi Warmup (Overhead circles, Wide legged arm sweeps, Soft blocks), Sun Salutations (Forward fold, Downward Facing Dog, Plank, Baby Cobra), Standing Strength (Warrior 2, Sun Warrior), Balance (Aeroplane pose, Dancer’s pose), Pilates (Double arm and leg extensions, Double D, Threading the Needle), Twists (Seated open and closed twist, Butterfly pose) and Hamstring Stretches (Staff pose with legs crossed, Wide Legged Forward Fold) and Relaxation. https://grandnat.co.uk/what-already...

The thing I really appreciate about Wendy’s classes is her patience and guidance, allowing us all to take different options if we need to and not worry if the poses or movements aren’t “perfect”. She always has a way of making the class enjoyable for everyone and when it comes to the Relaxation, she is the undisputed queen of Guided Meditations. Her voice is so gentle and calming. I could easily drift off to sleep if I wanted to! https://www.lesmills.com/workouts/f... On Friday morning, I had my Body Combat class with Cinamon Guerin at YMCA Casey ARC in Narre Warren. So today’s class was a little different than usual. Firstly, it’s a longer class at 55 minutes and there was many more people participating, probably around 30 or so. There was also a small group of women down the front who were loud, extroverted and singing along with the tracks. I made the choice to not let them bother me nor do I necessarily have to be like them or copy what they’re doing. Just focus on being myself and doing my own workout.

There were quite a few challenging sections in this morning’s class especially doing dynamic lunges and front kicks. It always messes with my balance and I find it difficult to keep up the pace. But otherwise I was doing fine. I put a lot of effort in and could feel a huge emotional release during the jab boxes. You just get to the point where you’ve had enough of dealing with negativity and people who bring you down. So it felt good getting all of that out of my system today. https://www.lesmills.com/workouts/f...

“I can't fake it, it's never enough. It's got a hold on me. Left behind here, I can't keep up. Come get a hold of me. I was thinking if I could be tough. You'd wanna hold onto me. I will be your home, keep you warm when it's cold. I will try to be what you need when you're low. I can only promise the girl that I am. I'll do anything that I can.” Broods - Recovery (2016)

“Something tipped me over. Someone knocked me down. Emptied out my inside. Poured it on the ground. A cavern for a body, The deeper darker kind. For all I hear are echoes, Repeat inside my mind. I thought the shade around me, was making me feel blind. I thought I was a hero, but I was just a child.” Broods - Worth The Fight (2016)

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itsworn · 7 years

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20 Great Things About the Big Go at Indy

Tradition and power blend perfectly at the 63rd Annual Chevrolet Performance U.S. Nationals

Mello Yello announced a continued sponsorship of NHRA’s drag racing program, as well as a new sponsorship of Antron Brown’s DSR Top Fuel dragster, which went to the quarter-final round on Monday before falling to eventual winner Steve Torrence.

The Nationals. Back when Wally Parks, then an employee of Petersen Publishing, put together the idea of a national racing meet in the center of the nation, the sport was completely organic. Back then, people built cars from spare OEM chassis, used engines, and treasured speed components. It all came together for the first time in Grand Bend, Kansas in 1955. As the years ensured, other ‘Nationals’ became part of the mix, with over 20 now listed on the Mello Yello schedule each year. Times have changed and the money is lot bigger, but for the loyal, Indy remains the highlight on the yearly schedule.

Part of it is that the teams always push harder here. Thanks to a cold weather front courtesy the fading strength of Hurricane Harvey’s devastation, racers knew that they would have no choice but to throw all they could at the track. Prepped by the NHRA Safety Safari, the surface held it, too.

Record fields in Top Fuel and Pro Mod, track records in Funny Car, and big money for winners of two special races backed by Traxxas. Then there was the Mopar HEMI Challenge, the 16-car Factory Stock Showdown, and a Stock Eliminator program that ended up requiring a run better than about .90 below the class index to qualify…for 128 spots!

This was the 63rd running of the race, now known as the Chevrolet Performance U.S. Nationals. The brand had a large manufacturers’ presence, celebrating the 50th anniversary of the Camaro. Of course, there were other businesses and personalities on hand as well. Mello Yello chose this event to announce a continued sponsorship of the professional classes, as well as vehicle sponsorship of Antron Brown. Long time attendee Geoff Stunkard got in Tuesday to run the Big Go marathon, took about 8,000 photos, and gave us an overview of what made it BIG in 2017…

1. 50th Anniversary for the Camaro Regardless of your brand loyalty, nobody can deny how important the Camaro is to the history of the musclecar, to American motorsports, and to Chevrolet as the brand. With a huge number of the original pre-1990 models still racing in the sportsman classes, a lot of late models in the Factory Showdown and FS classes, a majority of the Pro Stockers now being Camaros, and John and Courtney Force among those using the body in Funny Car, it is actually the perfect place for the Chevrolet Performance sponsorship. With a new 2018 model seen on the corner, this was at dawn on Monday morning in the Chevrolet Performance manufacturer’s display, when there was finally enough open room without people to get a photo.

2. The Mopar HEMI Challenge The largest sportsman event for Chrysler fans still happens on Fridays at Indy, when the remaining 426 Hemi-powered Dodge Dart and Plymouth Barracuda package cars from 1968 going heads-up for $15,000 and notoriety in the SS/AH class. 21-year-old Jimmy Daniels did the deed for the second consecutive time this year, keeping the faith for the new generation.

3. 7-Second Super Stockers It really wasn’t that long ago that seven second times were pretty hard to come by in any car with doors. The idea that Super Stockers would end up there happened because another Detroit horsepower war began with the word ‘super,’ as in supercharger. The Cobra Jet Mustangs have led the pack in this group, with GT-level modified machines punching down into the seven-second zone with regularity when the conditions allow it. Here is Paul Candies, son of the legendary car owner of Candies & Hughes fame, who went 7.95 in FGT/B for the number 4 spot. Slowest Super Stock in 2017 honors goes to Matt Forbes, whose SS/NA ’66 Bel Air wagon took the stripe in 11.55 seconds. Kevin Helms won Monday’s eliminator title in a 9-second Drag Pak Challenger Monday afternoon.

4. Ben Wenzel In 1967, the hot new Camaro was a big deal, and two were victorious at the ’67 Nationals. One was a 396-ci package in Super Stock owned by some guy from Pennsylvania nicknamed Grumpy, and the other was this 1967 Z28, which Ben Wenzel drove to a solid win that Monday in what was then considered Junior Stock. Still racing (and normally competitive) five decades later, Wenzel just missed the program this year despite being -0.870 under the C/S index. It is at Indy only where NHRA does not penalize performances that far exceed the class indexes, and everybody here was pushing the limit with the great weather. He did get a chance to match-race Erica Enders-Stevens’ new 2017 COPO before the crowded stands on Saturday afternoon, and even has a copy of the original 1967 window sticker pasted in the rear window.

5. Steve Torrence, Bobby Lagana and $100,000 The TRAXXAS Top Fuel Shootout is held on the Saturday of Indy, and matches eight of the best teams in an eliminator that is run adjacent to the day’s qualifying. TRAXXAS uses two special races over this weekend to promote their extreme remote control cars. As seen here, Steve Torrence and his CAPCO Contractors dragster beat Tony Schumacher to grab the money that evening, and his crew chief Bobby Lagana has become one of the most entertaining interviews in NHRA, joking with commentators and even serving as the ‘professor’ at an introductory Nitro School for fans. After that all had happened, Torrence then doubled-down and won the whole eliminator on Monday!

6. Jack Beckman, Robert Hight and $100,000 On Sunday’s TRAXXAS Funny Car Shootout, it was the intense rivalry between the John Force and Don Schumacher camps that ended up in the final, as Jack Beckman faced Robert Hight in a Dodge versus Chevy final. Beckman had beaten an exploding Ron Capps in the semis, while Hight had pushed past his father-in-law and boss John Force in the same round. Beckman won his third Shootout title in the Infinite Warrior Dodge Charger with a 3.95 time when Hight smoked the tires at the start. That’ll be 100 Gs, pal…

7. 3.663 – Millican clips the top spot again Multi-time IHRA World Champion Clay Millican has continued to move forward since his commitment to NHRA’s Mello Yello Series, and Aussie tuner Dave Grubnic found the combination on Saturday evening when the team’s Pro Parts/Great Clips fuel dragster thundered to a track record 3.663, eclipsing a 3.667 time that Leah Pritchett had run the previous evening. It was Millican’s second consecutive #1 spot at the U.S. Nationals, a record which not even Don Garlits attained, but he would lose on a holeshot in round one Monday to eventual runner-up Kebin Kinsley in his Road Rage Fuel Additive dragster. Only 7 times has the Top Fuel pole-winner also been in the winner’s circle on Monday at Indy.

8. 3.799 – Hagan’s highs Matt Hagan also went in to the Lucas Raceway at Indianapolis record books, when the Mopar-sponsored Dodge Charger crossed the 1000-foot stripe in only 3.799 seconds at a blistering 338.77 MPH during Friday evening’s incredible conditions. This run set both ends of the track’s record and gave him the top spot going into the Big Go on Monday.

9. -.001 – Hagan’s lows In the opening round of Sunday’s TRAXXAS Funny Car Showdown against Force, Hagan was a little late off the starting line, not a lot. Reaction times were .034 for Force and .066 for Hagan, respectable for the nitro classes. Right at the finish line, Force’s PEAK Coolant/Motor Oil Camaro SS went silent, crossing the line at 3.949 at just 309 MPH. Hagan streaked to 3.918 at 331.45 in the other lane but was still behind. Margin of victory: 0.0017 seconds, less than two feet. Monday was not much fun, either, when he smoked the tires at the launch to send #16 qualifier Jim Campbell to round two. Hey, that’s Indy. J.R. Todd took the DHL Camry to victory over Capps on Monday to win his first-ever U.S. Nationals funny car crown.

10. 5.846 – Fastest ever Pro Mod field Pro Modified is always brutal, and Indy especially so. This is still considered one of the most interesting classes in the sport, as combinations can be nitrous, supercharged or turbocharged, all on the jagged edge of traction. After four rounds, Mike Castellana was tops in the field at 5.70, and Danny Rowe secured the final spot in the fastest-ever field in history with a 5.846. On Sunday night during the first round, Rowe pulled one the weekend’s biggest upsets when Castellana’s Camaro pushed toward the centerline and he had to lift. Sidnei Frigo captured the Pro Mod title on Monday, his first-ever NHRA final round, beating Troy Coughlin.

11. Deric Kramer Wins Pro Stock…Burnout Contest There is grumbling about what can make Pro Stock a better, more entertaining class. NHRA announced a special incentive just before this event: a set of Goodyear tires in each qualifying round for the best burnout based on fan approval, and a $5,000 prize at the end of the weekend for the driver scoring the most ‘points’ awarded after each session for the effort. After Vincent Nobile won it on Friday, it was Derik Kramer in the American Ethanol Dodge Dart who showed ‘em how it was done, looking like Mount Vesuvius to the cheers of the crowd. On Monday, Drew Skillman won the race title over veteran Greg Anderson, and with four wins, Skillman is the obvious shoe-in for 2017 Rookie of the Year honors.

12. Wheelstand Contestant #1: West Coast – Tibor Kadar, 1964 Ford Thunderbolt For diehard fans of Detroit’s classic iron, Stock Eliminator is now one of the most exciting categories thanks to some of the more modern changes to suspensions and engine RPM. Several of these guys pushed into the atmosphere. Tibor Kadar’s 427 T-Bolt from Phoenix, Arizona was the high-flyer from the west coast with this almost-on-the-bumper pass on Wednesday afternoon, eventually qualifying in the 61st spot with a 9.948 on the A/SA 11.00 index. Remember, this is Stock, not Phil Bonner on ‘cherry mash’ (nitro and gasoline)…

13. Wheelstand Contestent #2: East Coast – Todd Hoven, 1965 Dodge Coronet A990 From back east, Todd Hoven looked like Dick Landy as he pushed Roger Carp’s big Dodge up into the air and past the 100-foot mark the same day. These cars were once the cream of the crop in Super Stock, but time has allowed them to move into Stock and we are all glad. With the way the class structure is run, however, you need to be on hand on Wednesday to enjoy this, as the cars will usually get settled down for eliminations Thursday morning.

14. Doug Thorley Header builder Doug Thorley had won here back in 1967 in an evolutionary Corvair funny car with doors. He replaced it with a new fliptop car in 1968, which was sold soon after, since the ‘hot pipe’ business at Doug’s Headers was taking off. Both cars met unfortunate and destructive ends on the racetrack, but Jet Townsend located a never-mounted Corvair body by Fiberglass Trends in a Texas barn, a real Stage II Logghe chassis in a Minnesota attic, and built a tribute. The car made its debut here and Doug, now 88, flew in from California just for that, wearing a full face mask to cackle its straight weed-burner headers in the pits on 90%. The effort brought a tear to everyone’s eyes, no one more so than Thorley, who had not sat in a nitro car since the 1960s.

15. The Scott Rod Gassers One of the added attractions at Indy was the Scott Rods group of A/GS exhibition cars. There were 12 of them on hand, setup with rear gearing optimized for the 1/8-mile, resulting in high-speed burnouts and wheelstands. These are built with the functionality and ideas of the past – straight front axles, no big roof line chops, and no wings, fins or add-ons. They ran an 8-car eliminator as well, which Brian Spotts won on Monday.

16. AJ Retires Citing the realities of 22 years as a professional racer and changes in sponsorship, Allen Johnson and his family held an emotional press conference on Friday in which the Greenville, Tenn.-based driver announced his retirement at the end of the season. Johnson, who won the championship title in 2012, has been a diehard Dodge driver for all of those years, and his presence will be missed. During the question-and-answer session, he noted wistfully that winning an Indy title would be a great conclusion to his work. On Monday in the second round against Tanner Gray, Johnson lost what may have been the closest run in Nationals history, 2017 or otherwise, by a margin of .0002, less than one inch…

17. Factory Stock Showdown The SAM Tech Factory Stock Showdown featured a 16-car field here. They qualified on Wednesday, ran an FS/XX class eliminator on Thursday, and did not race again until Sunday afternoon. This category requires a normal Stock-class slick to somehow hold back upwards of 800 horsepower on these blueprinted supercharged late-models. David Barton lead the pack in a 2017 COPO with an 8.109 on this pass. The other guys stepped up their game, resulting in a record 8.491 bump held by John Calvert and many best-ever performances. However, after losing to Chris Holbook’s Mustang in 2016, Barton was not to be denied. He won this popular class on both skill and luck, clocking an 8.18 to number two qualifier Steven Bell’s 8.21 in a battle of new COPOs in a picture-book finale at the Chevrolet Performance U.S. Nationals.

18. The Apartment Building of Jim Hale At 77, Jim Hale has been a racer since the Hemi first arrived. He showed up with a 1966 Satellite station wagon packing a 383 wedge. Called out by announcer Brian Lohnes as ‘an apartment building laid on its side,’ Hale was our pick as we tried to figure out which wagon should go into our story, since he was one of several using this body style to fit the rules book. After winning K/SA class, Hale went two rounds. Stock was interesting this year as the final was run heads-up between two E/SA Mopars: Larry Gilley’s 1969 Dart 340 versus Darrell Steiger’s 1970 Chlallenger T/A Six Pack 340, with Gilley winning by 17 inches on a holeshot.

19. The Fires Yes, we know that there are a lot of fans who come for the racing, and others who get their thrills when things are less than perfect, resulting in metal-shattering mayhem. This is Kyle Wurtzel as his engine begins to come apart, and that cloud of wet nitro ignited into a fire ball. 2017 Big Boom honors go to Tony Schumacher, who broke a camshaft on Sunday afternoon in the ARMY dragster with the resultant mushroom-cloud explosion severe enough to blast one of the valvecovers completely off…

20. The Thrash Of course, everybody knows how much maintenance the big show cars require, and Indy is the longest race weekend of the year, not to mention the most stressful for everybody. The way the pits are laid out, if you are into watching wrenches spin, there is no end to the activity. It is 6:45AM Monday morning, and as seen in the Force pits, cars are already out of the trailers and getting ready for the thrill victory or agony of defeat.

…And as a bonus 21. That Demon Simulator Yes, Chevrolet Performance sponsors the event now. They gave away tons of swag, had Linda Vaughn signing autographs, won Factory Stock, and had a great car display, but the line at the Dodge booth to ‘drive’ a new Dodge Demon in a race simulation was always busy except when the fuel cars were running. Complete with hydraulics that allow you to feel the effects of a full wheelstand (which requires a mid-air 1-2 shift) and a video simulation of a 125-plus MPH run at 9.80 or better, everybody gets three shots at it. So we skipped round one of Top Fuel on Monday and made, oh, maybe 20 passes with former HOT ROD staffer Steve Magnate in the ‘other lane.’

The post 20 Great Things About the Big Go at Indy appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 4 years

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The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 4

A 12xRose Human AU

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays. Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3 | Masterlist

—

Malcolm sighed, levering himself up and around to face her, setting his scotch on the table next to her and smiling wryly. “Thanks.”

He glanced up at her, and found her staring at him with an intense expression. She didn’t look away, and his smile faded as he took her in. God she’s beautiful. It had taken him years to really see her, beyond the filter of his daughter’s friend. Once he’d seen it, though, he’d been sunk, unable to return to how things had been.

Body and soul, she radiated, shining with a goodness and kindness unparalleled – and he’d met many people with those qualities through the Foundation.

It had been the most ordinary moment in the world, they’d been joking about pizza toppings of all things, and his heart had just… expanded.

Like the bloody Grinch at the end of the movie.

Five years later the feeling had yet to go away; if anything it had continued to strengthen, mostly in the quiet moments. The ring of her laughter, the glint in her eye, the shine of her lip gloss. The casual touch as they would tease each other.

Is she getting closer?

Rose’s eyes flicked down to his lips, tongue darting out to wet her own, and his stomach bottomed out as heat raced through him. He leaned in slowly, watching with bated breath as her eyes closed, thinking yes, yes, almost- his own eyes slipped shut as he paused a hair’s breadth away, so, so close to what he’d been aching for, what he’d been waiting for, hoping, daring, dreaming-

“Dad?”

His daughter’s voice from the hallway was the equivalent of a bucket of ice water in his lap, shocking his senses and snapping his eyes open. By the time she entered his office he was around the back of the couch, leaning on it and doing his damnedest to act casual - an act severely hampered by Rose’s slow blink as her brow furrowed and her eyes opened, staring at him with a maelstrom of emotion in her eye.

“Whaaat’s going on?”

Rose stood, watching him watch her, and after a moment, her face shuttered. “I have a call to make, excuse me,” she mumbled, pushing past Clara without acknowledging her.

Entering further Clara made a face at Rose’s back, before looking at him. “What did I miss?”

“No, no, it’s- what’re you doing here?” Malcolm shifted the focus to her, coming around the sofa to hug her and kiss her forehead, simultaneously annoyed with her presence and horrified at that fact. In all her life he’d never allowed a romantic partner – especially not a potential one – to come between them, and yet right now all he wanted was for Clara to go away, to not have shown up.

So you could… what? What do you honestly think was about to happen? The thought of actually kissing Rose made his blood pressure soar, high enough he didn’t hear a word of Clara’s chatter. “Right, that’s great,” he cut her off mid-word, with no idea of what she was talking about or if it was, in fact, great. “You just missed your Mum if that’s why you’re here, and if not, I’m sorry, but I’m… on my way to a meeting,” he invented wildly, “across town, and I’m about to be late.”

“But, Dad-” Clara trailed after him as he grabbed his jacket and booked it to the door.

“Sorry, my love, we’ll have to talk later.” With another fleeting forehead kiss he all but ran, skipping the lift in favor of the stairs for no other reason than to keep moving, entirely uncertain of where he was going until he exited the door and found Graham waiting in the loading dock by the town car.

“Where to, boss?” his chauffeur asked, nonplussed as he folded his newspaper and opened the door, and Malcolm slid in thinking If I lose the Estate I’ve got to drive myself. Or take the Tube.

He shook his head, meeting Graham’s eye in the rearview mirror.

“Any-fucking-where but here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rose fled Malcolm’s office without even bothering to greet her friend, horrified and humiliated at what had just almost transpired.

I’m such a moron. He doesn’t want me. How could I be so stupid?

She found herself in the bathroom with no clear memory of getting there, washing her hands as she tried to think. What do I do? What do I do what do I do what do I do?

The woman staring back at her from the mirror had no answer, nothing to offer. Tears leaked out of her eyes, not quite crying but not nearly as calm as she’d like to be.

The door creaking open made her turn to the hand dryer, offering her back to whoever was coming in and using the sound of the blower to cover her sniffles.

“Rose?”

Tears welled again at her best friend’s soft, soothing voice, but it was also the realization that for the first time in their friendship, she couldn't discuss her boy troubles with Clara. Malcolm was her father, and it just wouldn’t be right. I’m on my own.

“Sweetheart.”

Clara’s hand on her shoulder released the floodgates, and Rose spun, throwing herself into her friend’s arms sobbing, relaxing into the welcome embrace.

Whatever happens, I can’t lose Clara.

Once she pulled herself together they adjourned to Malcolm’s office, Rose hesitating in the doorway. “Clara-”

“He ran out, a meeting across town he claimed, like I can’t tell when he’s full of shit. C’mon.”

They settled together on the couch, kicking off their shoes and curling up as they had done so often, though never on this particular couch. This isn’t the Tucker I’d like to be with like this, Rose thought morosely, feeling guilty at the idea. Clara was her very best friend in all the world, the one who knew all her secrets. It felt paramount to betrayal to think that.

“Wait!” Barefoot, Clara leapt off the couch, returning a moment later with the whisky decanter and two matching glasses. “Here.”

“It’s the middle of the day,” Rose gave a token protest, nonetheless taking a mouthful of the liquid, enjoying the burn as it went down. Working for Malcolm had introduced her to the world of scotch, and he’d been a willing and enthusiastic teacher, telling her with an arrogant but teasing smile, Rose Tyler, who better to teach you about scotch than a Scot?

That had been the first, but hardly the last time she’d wanted to fist his stupid tee shirt, pull him closer, and snog the living daylights out of him. She’d once even had a dream that was essentially them doing body shots of whisky off each other across his desk. It had taken the better part of a week to look him in the eye without blushing afterwards.

Glancing up from the glass she found Clara watching her, head propped on her hand, elbow on the back of the couch for support. “What?”

“So, what exactly did I almost walk in on?”

“What d’you mean? Nothing. What?”

“Rose.” Clara shook her head, sighing. “C’mon. What was that? You’re both being far too weird for it to be nothing.”

She bit her lip, swirling the scotch just to watch the motion, uncertain of what to do. Normally she would confide, they had no secrets, but… this was just too strange.

Okay, one secret.

“Nothing.”

“Rose.”

“What do you think of this whole… Wallace’s will thing?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at her friend in the universal change the subject time-honored glare. “Did you know anything about it?”

“Of course not!” Clara gasped, outraged. “You think I’d know about something like that and not tell you? More importantly, you think I could keep a secret that big? Come on!”

Rose had to smile at that, burrowing down slightly into the sofa. It was incredibly comfortable, and she knew Malcolm had spent more than a few nights on it during busy weeks. If she strained, she could almost catch a hint of his cologne. You are so far gone. And an idiot. “True,” she conceded, “but I had to ask.”

“Well, I didn’t. And I can guarantee that Dad didn’t either; no way he’d let Wally pull a stunt like that. You know he respects you too much.”

“Thanks.” It hadn’t even occurred to her that Malcolm might have known, but in thinking about it, she knew he couldn’t have; he wouldn’t let that happen. He had, somehow, become one of her biggest supporters. Her faith in him was absolute. “So, what do you think I should do?”

Clara smirked, not hiding her face behind her glass quickly enough. “I dunno. Be my new mummy?” She shrieked with laughter when Rose swatted her, before yelping, “No, my whisky!” as it almost spilled.

They giggled together, and Rose shook her head, smiling softly. “Wouldn’t that be something. I suppose one could argue I’ve already had plenty of practice,” she teased, thinking about uni. They’d been alike in many ways, but while Clara liked to go out and party, Rose was more of a homebody, one who reluctantly accepted the designation of mom-friend – which said more about her friends than it did about her, given that she wasn’t the particularly well-organized or neat-freak type. Everyone else had just been worse.

“You’ll be a good mum,” her friend said confidently, nudging Rose’s knee with her own. “No question.”

“That seems optimistic,” Rose snorted, trying to hide the twinge in her heart as she realized, “If I went through with this- for the Foundation, obviously- then I’ll be thirty-five and divorced. Bit late to start a family of my own.”

“What? That’s not true!” Clara protested, sitting upright. “We’re still plenty young! Lots of women have babies in their late thirties. Don’t give up!”

Smiling sardonically, Rose shook her head. “Oh, come on. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but definitely impractical. If a bloke is in his mid-thirties and never been married, or worse divorced, there’s a reason. No.”

Clara pursed her lips in thought for a moment before brightening. “I know! Go it alone. Adopt, or use a sperm bank. Do it on your own terms. Hell, it’s the twenty-first century – there’s plenty of ways to get material from someone without going near their trousers. You could get some from my dad, for crying out loud – I always wanted a sibling.”

That had Rose laughing, trying to picture not only the conversation, but also the outcome. “You’d be, at a minimum, thirty-one years older than your sibling. That’s just absurd – you’d always be mistaken for their mum!”

“You’re twenty-five years older than Tony,” Clara argued. “It’s not that different.”

Rose’s laughter trailed off as she pictured it; not Clara with a decades-younger sibling, but rather, Malcolm with a baby. He’d worship another kid. Once, after a scotch-too-many, he’d confessed one of his greatest life disappointments had been not having more children. She could see it, clear as day, the gruff and severe Scot losing his shit over a tiny person, being absolutely fascinated by watching his child grow and learn, discovering the world. No child could have a prouder father, that’s for sure. She’d heard enough stories about Clara’s childhood to know that, not so much from the story itself but the pride and joy evident in the retelling.

Her heart ached at the thought, of sharing a home, a child, a life with Malcolm. For the first time, she admitted to herself that she was in love with him, truly, madly, deeply in love, the kind where other men held almost no interest for her. She wasn’t dead, could certainly appreciate a fine specimen of man when she saw it, but… she didn’t find herself wanting more. She winced, realizing it had been more than a year since her last shag, longer since her last actual relationship.

He’s my standard.

It hurt to think, but it was true; she was constantly comparing other men to him, if subconsciously, and he came out on top every time. His jokes were funnier, his hair was better, his smile more charming, his eyes deeper. Whenever they would touch, mostly in passing with how often she handed things to him or vice versa, a spark would shock her wherever his skin touched hers.

“Clara-”

“Shit!” her friend cut her off, eyes widening as she reached for her buzzing mobile. “Shit, shit, shit. I’ve got a meeting with some parents, I cannot be late.” Shaking her head, she bounced up off the couch. “Sorry, sorry, I’ll still see you tomorrow night, yeah? Hold that thought. I gotta run, but I love you. Later, babe!”

And with a peck to the cheek she was gone, leaving Rose alone with her whisky and worries.

“Now what?”

#bbatcfic #ficandchips #Doctor Who #doctorroseprompts #Human!12xRose #Human!Twelfth Doctor #Rose Tyler #Human AU #AU #The Nuptial Necessity

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