#rogues bashing

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 4)

—

Tw: descriptions of body horror, Dr. Crane has PTSD and Does Not Realize, Crane has an actual panic attack and just doesn’t care, the Riddler makes one (1) sex joke about Batman

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) (Prev here) - (Pt. 5 here)

(Masterlist here)

—

Dr. Jonathan Crane is in his lab, the acrid scent of chemicals filling the air, and his hands are shaking.

Danny’s health, for the first week that he had him, had been steadily improving at an extremely quick rate. However, his healing had begun to stagnate. Danny said that it was because his body had run out of ectoplasm, and that while there was a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham, he needed a stronger type in order to heal.

And so, that led Dr. Crane here.

He had stolen the research notes from the Penguin years ago regarding his experimentation on him.

(He quite vividly remembers the sound of bone creaking and groaning as it twisted, lengthened. The squelching of shifting tendons and muscles, the strange fabric-like tightening of skin. The feeling of going from man to monster, of losing all claim to his humanity.)

Danny had called him Liminal, part ghost. He had said that he was transformed by, among other things, a kind of synthetic ectoplasm.

Danny needed ectoplasm.

Crane had the research notes. He had every ingredient necessary. And yet, attempt after attempt failed.

The chemical smell burns his nose. His hands tremble.

Dr. Crane is not afraid.

He doesn’t feel fear anymore. He’s tried to, many, many times, but nothing has worked. And yet, his hands are shaking still.

(The horrifying sensation of vertebrae pop-pop-popping along his spine, growing and lengthening. The unbearable itching beneath his skin as toxin glands begin to form. The feeling of his teeth sharpening and elongating, of his skull growing, of his vision changing and brightening. The awful stench of chemicals. The awful stench of ectoplasm.)

Jonathan takes careful note of his shaking hands, his blurring vision, his accelerated heart-rate and shallow breathing.

(Human hands. Human vision. Human heart and lungs and organs.)

He takes note of them, but he does not let that distract him from the task at hand. Danny is not a chemist, but Jonathan is.

The boy knows enough about chemistry in theory, but he won’t go anywhere near Crane’s equipment. He seems to have some sort of intense fear of laboratory settings, probably developed during his stay with the GiW, and Crane is willing to respect that, if only because he cannot afford to lose him.

As such, Crane is the only one qualified to do this. And, unfortunately, if he isn’t successful the boy may very well die.

He heats the chemicals to precisely the right temperatures, adding each one to its correct container.

Dr. Crane thinks of the Scarebeast, that creature born of cruelty and greed and a sense of superiority. That creature which he tries to ignore is a part of him, that can never be removed. A damage which cannot be undone.

He pours the contents of a small beaker into a larger flask, watching the liquids swirl together. The stench in the air is becoming closer and closer to the one burned into his memory.

Crane’s whole body is wracked with unpleasant sensations. It’s truly unfortunate, he thinks, that despite his mind’s lack of fear, his body still reacts so harshly.

Jonathan’s eyes wander, eventually settling on a purple and green card sitting innocently on the corner of the table.

Right.

Even if they wiped out the GiW tomorrow, and even if Danny could survive without ectoplasm, he would still be in danger.

Crane has to get him back to good health. It’s the only way he can be sure that the boy can defend himself properly.

The solution in the flask begins to foam, and Jonathan does not hesitate as he adds the final ingredient. He pours the mixture into a new container, capping it and placing it into a freezer set to -40 degrees.

Hopefully this time he got the timing right.

Jonathan tries to relax, the ventilation in the room slowly but surely clearing the familiar smell from the air.

He thinks of the letter.

Surely, he thinks, that man can come up with some better material for his jokes. Or, at least something new.

Same old threats, same old attempted poisoning.

Aiming his threats at Danny, though, that was new. New and utterly unacceptable.

Scarecrow did what he had to.

He doubted that his solution would last forever, of course, as with that man it never did. As such, he would prepare both himself and Danny for the inevitable moment that his choices came back to bite them.

However, for the moment, they were safe. Danny could rest and recover, and Jonathan could figure out a plan to minimize possible damages.

Jonathan is no longer shaking.

He’s exhausted. This is his fifth attempt today, and each one leaves an unfortunate strain on his mind and body.

With a sigh, he settles himself into his seat at a nearby desk, opening up his computer and logging his most recent attempt. He still has to wait for it to chill to know if it was successful, but he can always update the logs later.

Once he’s done, he stretches, joints popping loudly as he walks to the freezer.

When he sees the results of his tireless work, the ghost of a smile flits across his face.

Success.

Jonathan picks up the jug of ectoplasm and leaves the lab, which is in all actuality the basement of the new apartment that he moved himself and Danny into after receiving the note. The scrappy old woman who was his landlord had told him that as long as he paid her five hundred dollars up front, she would let him set up in the basement without any questions or cop calls.

And so, the most expensive apartment in the Narrows was his.

At least, he thought, the distance between the basement and the apartment was short enough that Danny didn’t have to sit in while he was doing his labwork.

Jonathan knew that he didn’t exactly have a strong grasp on the concept of ‘lab safety,’ proven by his built-up immunity to almost every toxic chemical he’d ever encountered, and he doubted that Danny should be around such an environment.

He was back to the apartment quickly, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied smile on his face. Danny is sitting in his armchair, trying to read one of his books. Danny looks up, ready to greet him, when he sees the jug in his hands and pauses.

“Is that..?”

“Synthetic ectoplasm,” Jonathan says proudly, “I found the Penguin’s research notes and decided to recreate it, since you said that you needed it to heal properly. I’m not sure if it’ll work the same as what you usually have, but I hope it’s helpful all the same.”

Danny is standing, now, and looking at Jonathan with a strange look in his eyes. He looks, Jon thinks, like he’s about to cry.

Then Danny is rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Jonathan, his scrawny form shaking.

Jonathan is, for a moment, horrified. Did he do something wrong somehow? Why is this child, who’s so afraid of touch, hugging him?

And then he hears Danny’s voice, and he knows that it was all worth it.

“Thank you,” he’s mumbling, over and over, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says softly, because what else can he say?

The boy cries in his arms for a while, and Jonathan briefly wonders what his life must have been like before, if a person like him can be seen as a comforting figure.

Then, Danny pours himself a small glass of the synthetic ectoplasm, putting the rest into the small fridge which had come with the apartment, and he settles back down, sitting in the armchair once again.

Jonathan sits opposite of him, and they chat with one another as Danny drinks.

Danny talks to him about the stars and tells him about different spaceships, and Jonathan makes sure to pay attention and ask the boy questions.

He doesn’t miss the way that Danny lights up every time he asks him something about his interests. He’s so passionate, so smart, a trait that he seldom sees outside of his fellow rogues, and Jonathan wants to encourage that.

It’s…nice. Peaceful, almost.

And then the front door flies open, because Jonathan isn’t allowed to have nice things.

“Jon,” a familiar voice rings out, “what the hell?!”

Danny is frozen in place, clearly terrified.

Jonathan heaves a sigh, turning to face the nuisance who’s entered his apartment.

“Eddie,” he drawls, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Edward’s face is red with anger as he invades Jonathan’s apartment.

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that you sent a bunch of rogues a cryptic message and then dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks! I was worried, Jon!”

Jonathan hums in acknowledgement.

“I didn’t think it was that cryptic,” he says, picking up a book in order to pointedly ignore the Riddler.

“Oh, of course you didn’t, you straw-stuffed hickory dickory dickhead. I swear, you’re always—” he pauses, finally having noticed Danny sitting opposite of Jonathan, “—who is this?”

“My apprentice,” Jonathan replies, dreading the upcoming headache he was no doubt going to develop from Edward’s company, “he’s helping me hunt down the GiW. His name is Danny.”

Edward gasps dramatically.

“You—an apprentice?! And you’re letting him sit in the old man chair?! You don’t even let me sit in the old man chair,” he wails, draping himself over the headrest of the couch with a flourish, “Jonathan, I thought I knew you!”

“Edward,” Jonathan says, “get out of my apartment.”

“Oh my goodness, this is incredible. You’re becoming the bat!”

“I am not becoming the bat, Eddie, now get out.”

Edward has a shit-eating grin on his face as he waltzes over to Danny. Danny, who seemed terrified when he first appeared, is now looking at him with obvious amusement written all over his face.

“I mean, look at him! The hair, the eyes, the scrappy build. If you put him in one of those traffic light vigilante costumes, he could easily pass as a Robin!”

“I’m not doing this with you today, Eddie.”

“Riddle me this, Jon: I am a treasure hidden inside of a chest. You can break me, or steal me, or give me a rest. I can flutter, or pound, or attack, or drop, but if you don’t have me, you’re certainly fucked. What am I?”

Jonathan pauses for a moment before he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Eddie.”

Danny sits still, a confused look on his face as he repeats the riddle silently. Then, his face lights up in delight.

“A heart!”

“Jon, I like this one,” Edward says with a smile, ruffling Danny’s hair, “you are correct! A heart, something that I wasn’t aware that our dear Jonathan had!”

“Eddie, stop.”

“No, no,” Edward says, “I was worried about you, you deserve this. I mean, you even missed girls night! You never miss girls night!”

“Girls night?” Danny asks, absolutely delighted.

“Oh, of course,” Edward says, sprawling over on the couch, dangerously close to just laying in Jonathan’s lap, “we have it once a week. I’m invited because of Selina and Jon’s invited because Harley likes him.”

“And what does girls night entail, exactly?”

“Eddie,” Jonathan groans, “please.”

“Well,” Edward hums, “we usually paint our nails, or watch a movie, or gossip about the other rogues, and occasionally, we tell each other about any ‘encounters’ we have with Batman,” he says, raising his eyebrows up and down.

Danny’s jaw drops.

“Edward, shut up,” Jonathan says, an irritated tone in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No way,” Danny says, “I thought that Batman, like, hated you guys or something. You mean he actually..?”

“Oh, the Bat is much like a bottle of liquor or a cheap cigarette, in that he was made to be passed around.”

Danny chokes on air.

“Edward Nygma,” Jonathan hisses, getting out of his seat and looming over the man, “get the hell out.”

Edward pales.

“Leaving, leaving!” Edward says, dashing away from Jonathan. He pauses, turning to flash Danny a quick smile.

“Remember Danny, I’m your favorite uncle! Not any of the other rogues, me!”

With that, he leaves, the room falling completely silent.

And, as per usual, that silence does not last.

“You full-named him?” Danny asks gleefully, “and it worked?”

Jonathan just sighs, sitting down on the couch and rubbing at his temples.

“Please, don’t take anything Eddie says seriously. He’s a moron.”

“Dr. Crane, please let me come to girls night with you,” Danny pleads, his eyes sparkling, “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Jonathan groans.

“Of course you won’t, Eddie will do it for you.”

“Come on, please?”

“I think we’re a bit busy with the GiW at the moment,” Jonathan snaps. He pauses as he notices the crestfallen expression on Danny’s face.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

“Perhaps, though, when all that is taken care of…”

Danny cheers, grinning wildly, and Jonathan is not at all relieved to see him happy again. Certainly not.

The rest of the day is relatively normal.

Danny works on trying to get information from the GiW database while Crane refines his his fear toxin, both preparing for a raid on the GiW base they located in Gotham.

It was only a temporary base, nothing of note, but there was a chance of discovering more bases through it, and that wasn’t something either of them were willing to give up.

Still, something like this would take time. Rushing would only lead to failure.

…

Late in the night, long after Danny is fast asleep in his room, Jonathan pauses.

The GiW are not the only threat out there. They aren’t the only threat to him or to Danny. Perhaps it could be helpful to reach out to someone with greater resources than himself.

He sends a quick message to Red Hood.

Hopefully, he thinks, everything will go smoothly.

—

[jedi-enthusiasm-blog]

POV: You're reading a Star Wars fic, you love it, it hits you in all the right ways, the main characters are funny lame and relatable and the themes are just perfect.

Then comes a misunderstanding of Jedi philosophy, negative views on the Jedi seen as in the right or Luke Skywalker as a gray Jedi (bonus points if he follows Jedi philosophy to a T but the author missed the point).

And then you get frustrated and can't enjoy the fic.

[huntmavs]

#ETHANHUNT, the guy who refuses to make sacrifices that would harm others, yet he willingly makes sacrifices that would harm him.

[kirkwallguy]

it's funny though because despite technically being really powerful in battle the inquisitor must look so incompetent to the warden and hawke. imagine being a mage that doesn't know any healing spells working with two people who are used to having a spirit healer on their team.

[ecoustsaintmein]

covet, part iv of ???

part i here | part ii here | part iii here | part v here

pairing: paddy x eoin; rating T (so far), slow burn. hurt/comfort. angst. unreliable narrator (paddy i'm looking at you)

based on this tumblr post by @cloudyfacewithjam:

"Canon Divergence AU: Paddy gave the Claddagh ring to Eoin as a friendship gift back in Ireland, and Eoin kept it during and after the war despite their falling out (because they were both stupid and emotionally compromised). They eventually reconcile, but after a while, Paddy notices that the ring has changed its placement - and he promptly loses his mind, while Eoin is stoically silent about it."

--

“Breathe,” Eoin says, when Paddy wakes up in the middle of the night. Eoin could hear him from his bedroom next door, grouching and looking for his rifle – a knee-jerk reaction to the threats he's facing in his nightmares.

“Paddy, it’s me. It's me, Eoin,” he says steadily, holding his hands up in a placating gesture – and Paddy’s wide, fierce eyes soften when he recognizes the man standing in front of him; Eoin's soothing voice calming him down. “Breathe, Paddy. It’s me. And we’re in my flat. We’re in friendly territory, Paddy. There’s no enemy here.”

The realization hits Paddy hard; his ready-for-battle countenance wavering, before turning to something more grim and sinister. “Except myself,” he mutters under his breath, before falling backwards against the mattress, covering his face with his hands. “I’m so tired of this. I’m so tired of not knowing what’s real and what’s not,” he says, choking into sobs.

Eoin glances at the clock on the wall. 0450.

The ticking seconds filling in the silence, punishing them with every beat.

Paddy lifts up one hand and squints to look at Eoin. His breathing has begun to normalize, before he hiccups accidentally. Eoin purses his lips before moving towards the bed. Crawls on the mattress before kneeling next to Paddy's head, and leans down to press a kiss on Paddy’s forehead.

As if it's the most natural thing in the world to do.

Paddy doesn't flinch. He just stares, openly, at Eoin.

“Breathe, Paddy,” Eoin whispers against Paddy's damp skin, clasping Paddy’s hand in his. Paddy holds on to his hand as if it’s his lifeline, and tries to sit up, with a groan. "My back," he says, and Eoin replies, "I know."

"I dreamt of you dying, lying in a grave in the middle of the desert. And I held your hand, like this."

"I'm here, and I'm alive, Paddy," Eoin says, before manoeuvring Paddy’s head to be pillowed by Eoin’s lap. Paddy continues to stare up at Eoin, upside-down, expressionless. He still hasn’t let go of Eoin's right hand – while Paddy’s left hand rests on Eoin's chest; the hammering beats of Paddy’s heart against his palm. Willing it to slow down. He watches the rise and fall of Paddy’s chest, plays with the tendrils of hair that has fallen upon Paddy's brow.

Paddy rests his back against the pillows, watches Eoin’s eyelids flutter shut as slumber takes him. Eoin wishes that he could enter Paddy's dreams, so that he would feel less alone. So that he could prove that he's alive. So that he knows that Eoin wouldn’t let anyone or anything fuck him up, even if it’s in the figment of Paddy’s own imagination.

From this angle, Paddy looks peaceful.

A tear trails down from one corner of Paddy’s closed eye, and gently Eoin wipes it away.

--

Eoin’s legs feel like dead weight when he tries to walk, after he wakes up. Paddy has woken up much, much earlier, has thrown a blanket over him while he goes for a shower. Eoin’s neck aches, and his gait still feel wobbly from sleeping in the wrong position.

“Good morning, Paddy,” he says, when Paddy appears in the kitchen, hair damp, freshly showered. Smelling of Eoin's soap bar. A blush creeps up Eoin's neck, as he tries to suppress a smile at the sight of Paddy leaning against his kitchen wall with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Morning, Eoin,” Paddy replies, sheepish.

Their routine hasn’t changed – and old habits die hard, even from the times of Ballymena or Heliopolis or Kabrit. Paddy still wakes up earlier than Eoin, and Eoin still greets Paddy a 'Good Morning' first.

Eoin wishes he could wake up every day and see Paddy like this.

“So, what's our plan on this glorious Sunday?” Paddy asks, before sipping at his coffee. "It's a bit too late to go to church, is it not?"

Eoin snickers. It's nearly noon and they've overslept. "Well, if God forgives me for not attending Mass, I was hoping that we could go out and restock on food supplies. Especially if you're staying. And then, I was hoping that you could help me study."

"I'm staying," Paddy says steadily, shoulders squared. "For how long I don't know yet. But I'll probably need to use the telephone and let Francie know. And let work know." Eoin nods, catching Paddy's gaze. It’s as if last night never happened.

--

Between breakfast and the trip out to the market, Eoin is sure that Paddy's seen the way he's worn his Claddagh ring, now. Paddy's not exactly subtle, the way he stares at it too long and looks up at Eoin as if he wants to ask.

But Paddy doesn't ask.

He stares, and he stares.

--

Eoin thinks:

The main objective of Operation Blair consists of getting Paddy out and about, facing social anxieties, without drink — before Eoin quickly retracts his thoughts. It isn’t people that Paddy is scared of. He isn’t afraid of people talking behind his back, afraid of people thinking he’s crazy. They got it all wrong. He’s scared that he’s not able to protect these people on the streets, like the civilians and the other soldiers he couldn’t save when the war was still on. He’s scared that some random mortar fire will land in the middle of the street, and hundreds of people will perish. The way that innocent Italian family had perished.

Paddy's not paranoid – Eoin knows this, even in peacetime. Because the threat was – and is still real.

Ireland is at peace, but there is still Russia and the threat that the Soviets pose. Peace with Germany doesn’t promise that World War Three won’t happen. They could plunge back into war and Paddy is scared that he won’t be able to save these innocent souls.

Ireland is at peace, but Eoin's neither blind nor deaf. Insurrection could happen at any moment, the way it once did many decades ago. The political air is charged, simmering, and Eoin recognizes this, within the halls of his university (he shouldn't have been able to enrol in Trinity anyway, because of his religion, and he hears what those Protestants have been saying about the Catholics). He senses it within the chambers of the court, within the atmosphere between Dublin all the way up to Belfast.

But for now, Eoin walks behind Paddy and watches the his gaze flicker right, watching, guarding. They make a right turn, down to the marketplace, where already they could hear the hustle and bustle of people haggling for cheaper beef prices, arguing why the prices of the vegetables are still so high when they aren’t fresh.

“I can’t—,” Paddy pauses in his steps abruptly, causing Eoin to bump into his back. Their hands briefly touch, before Eoin pulls away. “I've done this with Francie and Barbara. I hate it. I hate the humdrum and the social niceties and the need to choose between so many options. In the SAS we make do," Paddy hisses. "Besides," he adds, "--it’s too open and crowded. We wouldn’t be able to pull back in time—,” he says, if we get attacked, Eoin finishes the thought in his mind.

“I’ve got you, Paddy,” Eoin reassures him. "And I've got a list of things I need, anyway. I'm a simple man. I go in, I go out. Bish bash bosh. Yeah?" Trust me are the words Eoin didn’t say, but Paddy's eyes seem to be telling him, “I trust you,” anyway.

They walk slowly into the market, buying groceries and food stocks for the next week. Eoin studies Paddy intently, watching for any signs of breakdown – apart from the beads of sweat that have begun to emerge on his forehead, and his increased breathing, Paddy is holding on.

“We’ve got to buy some potatoes. That's the last thing we need, and then we'll leave,” Eoin reminds Paddy, whispering in his ears, a slight touch on the his wrist. His pulse is strong, regular, and running rapidly as if he’s just finished a Lewes march.

Eoin's soothing voice seems to calm Paddy down.

It’s all going so well. They've bought the fish and the potatoes. Paddy even haggled with the fishmonger, as if he hadn't been reluctant to come to the market in the first place. It's only after they've left the market that they hear a sudden, sharp shrill noise—

-- and Eoin doesn’t know what's happened, except for one moment he was standing and chatting with Paddy, and the next minute he was pushed roughly against a large tyre of a lorry. Paddy crouched in front of him. Faces inches apart, his hand in Eoin's collar. Paddy's eyes are raving, wide, panicked; then -- “We’re safe here, Eoin,” Paddy whispers harshly, his breath tickling Eoin’s skin.

They’re crouched behind a lorry by the street, and Paddy is having one of his war flashbacks. Paddy's other hand is gripping Eoin’s shoulder tight; so tight that it hurts, but Eoin doesn’t mind. “Behind this tyre, they can’t shoot at us,” Paddy reiterates. “I’ve got you,” he tells Eoin.

It must have been a car that sped and skidded down the road, causing that horrible, high-pitched shrill that brought Paddy back to wartime. The car is long out of their sight. No other vehicles are passing down the road, now. Paddy's breathing slows down, before he realizes his mistake. His expression turns grotesque when reality sinks in, his hands still gripping at Eoin's clothes for purchase, his eyes welling up into tears. “Please help me,” he says breathlessly, lips quivering.

“I’ve got you, Paddy,” Eoin echoes gently, bringing Paddy back up on his feet.

--

They don’t talk about what happened on the way back from the market. Instead, the question hovers in the air, heavy in its implicated misery.

--

After lunch they retire to the sitting room, where Eoin sits and goes through his papers, his books, his studies. Paddy calls Francie and his ma, before shooting Eoin quickfire questions and expects him to answer them the way he would defend himself in court. They go through different topics - the criminal codes and the civil, conveyancing, family, tort.

They still don't talk about the market, or the ring, although they're always at the back of Eoin's mind. But he could also see that Paddy enjoys this, he enjoys practicing and helping out Eoin, the way he's practiced jumping and marching and shooting. It's a different kind of battle.

By the evening Eoin could already see the torment in Paddy's eyes, the way he limps, the way he grimaces every time he moves.

"Are you alright?" Eoin asks, when Paddy spends a bit too long in the bathroom and emerges fifteen minutes later with a tub of heat ointment in his hand.

"My back hurts," Paddy says. "I can't ask me mam or Francie to put this on me. And it's hard to do it myself, so."

Eoin blinks, then: "Let me help you."

--

This is how Eoin finds himself, kneeling on the mattress -- with Paddy lying on his front, shirt off, pillows underneath his chin.

The scar tissue catches Eoin's eyes first, the way it branches like a tree, from the first operation, and the second. Eoin rubs his fingers together, ensures that they're warm, before he could even think of touching Paddy.

He dips his fingertips into the ointment, lathers it all over his palm. Then: "I'm going to touch you now, Paddy. Let me know if it's too sore, and I'll stop."

The moan that Paddy lets out as Eoin presses his fingertips into his back is utterly sinful. Eoin's brain could have short-circuited there and then, thinking, I'm making him let out all those noises. Paddy tenses when Eoin presses his thumb harder into Paddy's muscles, moving up and down, on both sides, then to the middle. Then he relaxes again, going, "Ah, yes. there."

This goes on for some time, when Eoin's found a rhythm and Paddy's breathing begins to even out. Eoin could see how Paddy's fingers squeeze the bedsheets from time to time, how his toes curl when Eoin gets it just right.

There is only silence, and Paddy's quiet moans, and Eoin's heavy breathing.

With his back turned away, Paddy eventually finds the courage to ask: "So, you're still wearing that ring I gave you."

"Aye," Eoin says. But he doesn't elaborate.

"So what's the craic?" Paddy asks, voice muffled by the pillows.

Eoin raises an eyebrow, even if Paddy can't see. "What craic?"

A pause, then: "With you and Siobhan?"

"Nothing's going on between me and Siobhan," Eoin says. "Just air."

"So what's with the ring, then? I noticed you've changed how you wear it."

Eoin scrunches his eyes closed. Mouths a silent, 'fuck', before shaking his head. He knows that Paddy's not looking at him. He knows Paddy couldn't see how the heat's affected him, made him turn bright red, from one silly question. Eoin blames the heat ointment.

"Oh, it's just to stop people asking me to meet their daughters," he says. "I got sick of people haranguing me all the time and introducing me to them."

Paddy falls silent. As if he's analysing this information in his mind, weighing it for truth or mendacity. "Oh," he says, nonchalantly. "So you don't have anyone you're seeing right now?"

"No, Paddy." Eoin says. I'm seeing you, though, he thinks. I see you. All the time.

"Hmmmmmm," comes Paddy's only response.

Eoin doesn't say anything else, and so does Paddy. He hums, instead, under Eoin's touch, his skilful ministrations.

--

It's a routine that they do every day, studying, with Paddy helping him.

It's a routine that they do every night, Eoin helping him with his back, with the heat ointment.

Sometimes Paddy spends even longer in the bathroom, after their sessions. Eoin doesn't ask what he's doing. What men do behind closed doors.

But Eoin thinks, he doesn't hear Paddy grouch so much, now.

It still happens, though. And when it does, Eoin will come to him and soothe his fears.

He will say, "I'm here, Paddy. I'm alive."

--

A few nights later, Paddy surprises him with a proposition, instead of their usual routine of going to Paddy's bedroom for the nightly massage.

“You know, let’s go night-swimming,” Paddy says, with a twinkle in his eyes.

Eoin coughs. “Now?”

“Aye.”

Which is how they find themselves past midnight, at a secluded cove in Killiney, a few miles off Dublin. With salt in the air and sand between their feet.

Alone.

It’s not the first time he’s seen Paddy topless. Naked, even. He’s a beautiful man, even if he's too self-conscious about it at times, and moans that no one will ever love him. Eoin's established this a while back, but the thought has always been amorphous, floating freely in his brain, indefinite. Tonight, that view has definitely been consolidated. He should go to hell for even thinking this.

Eoin's dabbled with men before, but always with strangers. Never someone he knows well enough to make a deeper connection – let alone someone he's close with, because it can get complicated.

With Paddy, it has become complicated.

“You’re staring,” Paddy calls him out.

“I’ve never seen you --,” Eoin says, and that’s exactly the problem.  He’s looked, many times. He's seen. But never allows himself to truly feel.

“Naked?”

“Smile,” Eoin shoots back. "Like, really, really, really smile a happy smile. Since you came back to Ireland."

Paddy tilts his head, brows raised.

Eoin's seen Paddy happy before – of course -- in the bars of Egypt, on the piano, when they sing along to tunes while Eoin's on the piano. Eoin's seen Paddy happy before, when they're on the truck and they're doing jumping exercises and the adrenaline rush is high. Eoin's seen Paddy happy before, when Paddy thought that Eoin's gone missing after their first jump and he'd thought Eoin was dead, but Eoin turned up unscathed save a few bruises on his face. But he’s never seen Paddy genuinely this happy because he’s spending time with Eoin, back home.

In Ireland.

Alone.

The clouds are darker than anything he’s ever seen since he’s got here, the water rougher and higher, the waves lifting and slamming against the shore. The water froths and bubbles before rushing back in a rippling roar. Eoin is drawn to the sight, as he walks closer and closer to the shoreline, watching as the waves ready themselves to be flung forward again. The raindrops fall harder and faster and Eoin relishes this moment of being showered clean from his sins.

In this darkness, Eoin doesn’t know if the water spraying onto his face comes from the sky or from the oceans, although he doesn’t really care. He feels free, he wants to be part of this tour-de-force, the waves and the rain, the kinetic power that ripples underneath all that current. He wants to float away, he wants to disappear, he wants the oceans to claim him and make him whole again.

Return him to whence he came from.

Eoin leans forward, putting his head high up in the sky as he tastes the rainwater on his lips, mixed with the saltiness of seawater. The waves come close, but not close enough, until one massive wave crashes over Eoin and Paddy, both. They fall right into the water, as they make splashes at each other like teenagers, trying to dunk each other’s heads and grapple in the dark, laughing so hard that Eoin’s chest begins to hurt.

They are both out in the open sea now, vast and dark. Fighting together against the surging power of the tides, briny water spilling into their mouths. Adrenaline rushing through their veins, but of a different kind from when they’re up in the air.

Paddy's laughter is ringing in his ears.  

He’s never heard Paddy laugh like this before. Not since he returned. And God, it was beautiful.

Later, when the shock of the waves and the coldness of the sea have been shaken out of them, Eoin wipes his face— clearing the sting of the saltwater in his eyes, before climbing back to shore. He’s soaked to the bones, brine and seaweed dripping off his limbs.

Paddy’s lying there on the sand, watching as Eoin dry himself, in calm silence. The look Paddy gives him is more chilling than the air hitting his damp skin.

He's still suspicious about the ring, about Siobhan. Eoin finds it easier not to talk about it too much, and deflects Paddy's questioning. He's probably seen the way girls make eyes at Eoin, and occasionally at Paddy, when they're in town. But for the most part, they are ignored.

Eoin says, "Siobhan's a very good friend of mine, but she's in love with someone else," to placate Paddy. He talks about Siobhan, but he has to talk about her carefully, lest he breaks her confidentiality about who she loves. The conundrum she is facing. He is not sure if Paddy will take it well, if he knows.

"If I have someone, Paddy, you will be the first person I tell," Eoin says.

Even if it's hard for Eoin to admit it to himself.

--

The pain gets too much, and Eoin worries that he's made it worse.

So they drive all the way to the general practitioner at the end of the town – for an urgent checkup of Paddy's spine.

The morning clinic is filled with mothers and their children in the waiting area, and Eoin and Paddy are the only men there. Paddy checks in – “Robert Mayne, to see Dr O'Grady,” he tells the receptionist, and she asks him to take a seat. Paddy excuses himself to go to the loos. Eoin picks up a ladies’ fashion magazine from three months ago, but drops it when an elderly lady seated opposite him gives him a disapproving look.

Eoin breaks out a tired smile just as Paddy returns. When the doctor calls them in, Eoin could feel the eyes of the ladies in the waiting room – including the receptionist’s – burning the skin at the back of his neck.

Dr O'Grady doesn’t even bat an eyelash when Paddy tells him about the pain and the morphine and the alcohol. There’s no good pretending that all is well – it’s better to be frank, and Eoin lets out a breath he’s held since he entered the consultation room when Dr O'Grady says, “Come take a seat, Mr Mayne. What’s important is that you are seeking help."

Eoin and Paddy share a knowing glance at each other behind the doctor’s back, but they keep mum for the time being. If Paddy wants to talk to the good doctor beyond his physical pains, it’s his prerogative – not Eoin’s.

“And you are…?” Dr O'Grady looks at Eoin expectantly for an answer, but his kind smile reassures Eoin that he is not being non-judgmental.

“Eoin McGonigal,” Paddy answers for him. “He was under my command during the war, and I came to visit him in Dublin. He helped— a lot,” Paddy continues, “—with my issues. I don’t know what I would’ve done without him, to be honest.”

“It's good that you have support, given the circumstances. But how has it been for you, after demobilisation? Are you adjusting well?”

Eoin takes in a sharp, deep breath.

Paddy exhales. The muscles in his body tighten; faint beads of sweat begin to form on his forehead. “Not really,” he confesses, his fingers balling up into fists in his lap.

Eoin looks up, surprised. He doesn't expect this from Paddy today. He doesn't expect Paddy to say, “Everything became harder after the war and I had these mood swings and nightmares and—,” Paddy pauses, before rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palm-- “I’m so glad that Eoin’s here, y’know? Because he was in the war too and he understands and he doesn’t leave me hanging. Or hasn’t left— yet.”

Eoin tries not to overthink what Paddy means by that.

“The point is, I’m not crazy and I don’t want to be. But at the same time I know there’s something wrong and I don’t know how to fix it.”

The doctor turns his attention to Eoin. “What do you say, Mr McGonigal? Is this accurate?”

Eoin snaps to. “Yes,” he says, although he doesn't know what he's just said 'yes' to. Then he looks at Paddy, who's looking at him. "I'm proud of you," he wants to say to Paddy. "I'm so proud of you, Paddy," he mouths silently, instead.

“I was in the war too, Lieutenant Colonel Mayne,” Dr O'Grady says. “Pathfinders. It's not the same as the SAS," he says, indicating that he knows who Paddy is all along, from the moment he stepped into the consultation room. "And you’re not the first person I’ve seen with similar symptoms. It takes a lot of coaxing for them to come forward with their problems, because they think there’s no way out.”

“I’m not a madman,” Paddy reiterates stubbornly. “I don’t want to be institutionalized.”

Dr O'Grady rummages in his drawer, before he pulls out a pamphlet and hands it over to Paddy. “We’re working with war veterans to try a new form of therapy that will not involve institutionalization,” he explains. “You’ll need medications, yes. And you'll need to cut down on the alcohol and the morphine, too. But the main backbone of the therapy is support. From family, from friends.”

Paddy's eyes flicker uncomfortably at the mention of family.

He thinks of his ailing mum.

He thinks of his sisters.

He doesn't want them to worry about him. He doesn't want to be a burden.

“I sincerely don’t think support is something that you’re lacking, Colonel Mayne,” the doctor says kindly, while he steadies his gaze at Eoin. “We’re also trying to have regular meetings with other war vets to share their experiences. To bond. To connect. The Americans tried this out with some of their vets, and they’ve only started to pass this therapy method over to us.”

“Does it work?” Eoin asks concernedly.

Dr O'Grady smiles wryly. “It takes time, Mr McGonigal. It takes a lot of effort, a lot of patience. Like I said, family and friends’ support are important. Engaging with therapy is important. But it’s certainly more humane than locking people up against their will and subjecting them to treatments that don’t necessarily work.”

Paddy skims over the information on the pamphlet; his gaze skitters across the printed words. “How do I get involved in this?”

“I can make a few phone calls to get you registered in the program, the one they're setting up in Belfast. And I’ll book you an appointment with the psychiatrist at the head of this. He worked with some of the American GIs after the war too, and I assure you he’s not a quack.”

“I need time to think about it.”

“Take all the time you need,” Dr O'Grady says.

Eoin doesn’t even realize that Paddy has been tightly clasping their hands together throughout the entire conversation, until Paddy lets his hand go to shake hands with the doctor.

--

Dr O'Grady tells them that the psychiatrist has an appointment for Paddy, in Belfast, on Wednesday next week. Which means that Paddy would have to leave Dublin, away from Eoin, to return to his old life. Away from this idyll domesticity. Eoin will be sitting for his exams then, too.

This is what Paddy's always said to him all along, and tells Eoin not to worry. “You have your own life to live, Eoin. I’ve come this far. I’ll make it.”

“I could come up with you if you want,” Eoin bargains.

"Eoin, you've got to study for your exams," Paddy chides. "If you don't graduate on the account of looking after an invalid like me," he says, "--I'll never forgive myself."

Eoin's wanted to say: “It’s alright— I’m here to put you together, so even if you crash and fall and burn I’ll pick up the pieces and I’ll help you.”

Instead, he whispers, “Paddy,” – or at least tries to, because Paddy has placed a cold finger upon his lips, effectively shushing him. Eoin pulls Paddy’s hand away, but doesn’t dare do anything else beyond that.

No.

“Why did you really ask me to stay with you, Eoin?” Paddy asks, with heavy-lidded eyes, a calloused hand on Eoin’s cheek. “Why did you bail me out of jail and let me stay with you?”

He tries to pull his hand away, but Eoin refuses to let it go. He could see the way Paddy's gaze flicker from his face, to the Claddagh ring on his finger, the way it's positioned.

What it means.

But Eoin can't say the words. "I want to care for you," he says, instead. "You're not an invalid, Paddy. Never lower yourself to that. You're my friend, and I love you," he says instead.

Something in Paddy shifts, then, when Eoin mentions 'love'. “You shouldn’t say things like that," he says.

“But it’s the truth.”

“I shouldn't have come up here, Eoin,” Paddy says, before trying to wrench away from Eoin’s grip, but Eoin only holds him tighter. “I should have stayed at Mount Pleasant and you shouldn't have kept writing me letters. You should have just let me be,” Paddy groans, closing his eyes. When he opens them a second later, they are brimming with tears. He isn’t able to look at Eoin in the eyes, and for a brief moment Eoin has no idea why.

Until he eventually realizes the root of the problem.

You’re such an eejit, Eoin.

Paddy has been in love with him even before Eoin ever comes to realize that he’s been half-in-love with Paddy in the first place.

Eoin would have never guessed, but then again maybe he’s afraid to look beyond what he’s supposed to. If there had been time, he would court Paddy properly. If Paddy isn’t a man. If Paddy was Siobhan. If Paddy isn’t his commanding officer.

And Eoin remembers, a conversation they had, on VE day, when all's said and done and war's finally over.

“I’m glad you’re with me, Eoin.” A genuine, amused smirk had appeared on Paddy's face, then. He would be allowed happiness even for this one second, even if he knew that war was over and the chaos that they lived in will end, that the future will be unknown for them, at that time. Before Paddy decided to go to Antarctica and Eoin's wanted to go, but he can't. Because of his own responsibilities to his family, back home.

Before their rift.

“Why? So you could sweet talk me?” Eoin had winked, brushing it off as a little less than flirting and definitely not fraternizing.

Paddy had shrugged– and if not for the darkness and grime covering his face, Eoin would have sworn that Paddy was blushing.

In another time, in another place – Eoin would have kissed Paddy. He would have taken his time; he would have done this properly. He would have bought flowers and rode a bike to Paddy’s front door, maybe sing silly love songs to put a smile on Paddy’s face – and make it stay.

But he was born too early.

--

Three months later, Eoin's passed his exams and Paddy's managed to attend the sessions with the psychiatrist, which -- is a win, truly. He's still sceptical about the entire thing, but it's better than hypnosis and he's drinking less than he's used to. He categorically said no to medications that will make him woozy, because he needs to concentrate on work and he's actually finding the pace bearable.

Maybe the weeks spent with Eoin has really helped, then.

Eoin writes: "I'm so happy for you. I'm moving back up to Belfast."

Then, he adds: "So, Mr Secretary of the Incorporated Law Society of Northern Ireland, will you be keeping your eye on me, then? To make sure that I don't go rogue?"

Paddy replies: "Congratulations, Eoin, for passing your exams. I know you could do it. I'm coming down to Dublin for your graduation, because Ambrose has asked me to come, together with the rest of the SAS boys. I don't know if they'll all be able to come, but I'll be there."

"But also, sincerely? From the Secretary of the Incorporated Law Society of Northern Ireland, with regards to keeping an eye on you, and making sure you don't go rogue?"

"Fuck. You."

Eoin laughs like a madman when he reads the letter; the other students in the library give him cold hard stares.

Eoin doesn't care.

--

The big day of Eoin's graduation comes and Paddy drives down all the way to Dublin, in his brand new Roadster Riley. Eoin's chuffed that Paddy's coming along, and asked if he would stay with him at his flat. Ambrose and Paddy, his wife, has even organised a dinner reception to celebrate Eoin's graduation that night. Both Stirlings had to decline the invitation, and so did Fraser and Riley and Almonds, though they had written to say that there should be a proper SAS reunion soon.

Paddy's become more serious in his overall manner, despite his endless string of humour, as he’s promised Eoin that he would behave and make Eoin proud.

As a war hero and a respectable solicitor should.

He's even bought a new shirt and suit and tie, and shined his brogues. He’s gone for a haircut and lathered it with Brylcreem, explaining to Eoin that he wants to look his best at the reception. “I don’t want to look like a fish out of water at the reception, what with your friends there. The worst thing that could happen is to have a grizzly old man dressed in a crumpled shirt and when everyone else looks smart and important,” Paddy says.

“Is that what you’re worried about, Paddy? That you’re not going to fit in with my friends in Dublin and everyone’s going to look down on you?”

“This is strange—,” Paddy says breathlessly, as he prowls from one end of the room to the other, looking restless. He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up, before pushing them back down again, his tie hanging loose around his neck, opening and closing his fists as he licks his lips anxiously. “I’m actually sweating. And I’m feeling nauseous. And I don’t know why.”

Eoin stands up immediately and shakes his head. “Paddy—,” he begins, shushing him. Eoin places his hands on Paddy’s freckled cheeks and smoothing the hair that has fallen on Paddy’s forehead. “Paddy, if anyone is supposed to be nervous, it’s me. I’m the one at the centre of attention, yeah? Do you what you’ve always done, with Ambrose, with his wife, with my family. You’ve always been so confident, countless times before,” Eoin says, calming Paddy as he brushes the pads of this thumbs over Paddy’s cheekbones.

“A’right,” Paddy nods, shuddering. “A’right.”

Eoin runs his hands downwards and lets them rest on Paddy’s chest, tugging slightly at the tie that hangs on Paddy’s neck. “Do you need a hand with this?”

“I’m fine” Paddy says, as he attempts to knot the bowtie, but his hands shake so much that Eoin has to pull them away gently— “Here, let me do this for you,” he says, aware that Paddy’s attention is now solely focused on him. He could feel Paddy’s breath against his skin as he helps Paddy with the bowtie—and it’s awkward, because although he does know how to tie a bowtie, Eoin realizes that he’s never done it from the front, and definitely not for someone else.

“Turn around,” Eoin orders— and Paddy does so, docilely, as Eoin stands behind him -- at least a head taller than Paddy, watching their reflections on the mirror.

“I’m going to help you this way,” Eoin says, as his arms move around Paddy’s neck from behind, his nimble fingers work deftly with twisting and knotting the tie. “Mirrors are for those who don't know themselves,” Paddy says grimly, as Eoin tightens the knot up to Paddy's shirt collar. Eoin rests his hands on Paddy's shoulders and gives them a gentle squeeze. They lock gazes in the mirror, but Eoin stays silent.

“I feel better now,” Paddy whispers.

Eoin sighs, before bending slightly and wraps his arms around Paddy, his chest firmly pressed against Paddy’s back, resting his chin on Paddy’s shoulder. “Thank you for coming with me,” he says into the back-hug, softly against Paddy’s ear, before smiling at Paddy’s reflection in the mirror.

Paddy turns around gently, gazing up at Eoin from underneath his eyelashes. “I’d do anything if you’d ask,” Paddy says.

Eoin wants to say, Kiss me, but he’s too much of a coward and no less a fool.

So he doesn’t.

“I think we should head downstairs,” Paddy says, looking at his wristwatch. The grave moment is over as soon as it has begun. 

“Yes,” Eoin agrees all too readily. “We should.”

--

mirrors are for those who don't know themselves, paddy thinks. and when he catches his reflection in the mirror, when he catches eoin's gaze, he wonders -- is it because i don't want to see? is it because i don't want to know who i truly am? because i may fear what the answer may hold?

--

an interlude:

there are mums and daughters that continue to come up to paddy to be introduced. this must be what eoin feels like, he thinks, to be bombarded by questions about his wartime experiences and also the underlying sinister reason of trying to matchmake him with their girls.

he understands now, what eoin's doing with the claddagh ring. a subtle sign to get people to back off.

genius.

he sees siobhan, and he says hello to her, courteously. she is here with one of her girlfriends, mary, and paddy looks at them strangely. a bit too close, he thinks, the way eoin and him are a bit too close.

there's nothing between us, eoin's said. just air.

paddy does wonder.

eoin's busy on the other side of the hall and paddy plies himself with more drink to cope, even if he's promised not to drink too much. but this is a celebration, isn't it?

he tries to ration himself. he could hear eoin's voice going, pace yourself. pace yourself, paddy. but eoin's over there and paddy's over here and he's feeling suffocated.

he needs to get out of here.

excuse me, he says, trying to be as polite and less gruff than he usually would be. but every few steps towards the door, and another person will want to be introduced to him.

aren't you paddy mayne? didn't you get a vc?

paddy could have punched them in the face, because he doesn't want to talk to them, nor did he win a vc.

he's got his fists clenched into balls and he's ready to start a fight, heart pounding, ears ringing, the light is too bright and the noise is too loud.

then someone calls his name -- paddy, paddy. paddy? it's eoin, who shows up and says, i need his help with something and scrunches his nose. winks a little at the crowd and does a little wave, before turning on the balls of his feet and redirects paddy to somewhere quieter.

how charming.

eoin drags him into a toilet in the hall and loosens his bow tie for him. undos the top button of his collar. paddy just lets himself be manhandled, gaze transfixed on the swiftness at which eoin's fingers move, the ring on his finger. then when he thinks that eoin's caught his gaze, he lowers them to the floor. at the spot he missed when he shined his shoes.

feel better? eoin asks.

paddy takes a deep breath. eoin takes paddy's cold, cold hands in his and massages it with the pads of his warm fingers, easing the ache in his joints. paddy watches the blood circulation starts flowing to his fingertips again.

you're here. with me. yeah?

paddy nods. yeah.

do you want to get out of here?

paddy nods again.

car keys, eoin says. he lets his hand go and puts his palm up, while paddy rummages in his pockets.

he finds it and hands it to eoin. the way he would hand over his heart.

willingly.

--

eoin drives paddy around, they drive to nowhere, they drive in circles. it's paddy's roadster but eoin drives like he's driven this car for years, confident, calm, while paddy looks at him from the passenger seat and looks away outside the window when eoin turns to look at him briefly.

if i sit up barking and howling at night as i sometimes do, paddy thinks, he takes me for a walk and throws a stick for me.

this is what eoin's doing now, for paddy.

i could see them swarming around you, eoin says, voice floating. like bees, he adds. like vampires. there's meant to be humour in his words, but there's also a new sense of resentment that he's never heard in eoin's inflection before. but paddy remains silent.

maybe you should consider getting a claddagh ring too, eoin says, when paddy doesn't respond. just to shut them up?

ha ha. paddy laughs nervously.

at a junction, they stop. eoin says, I've got something to give you. i've been thinking about it for a while but i think you really need it too.

what is it? paddy furrows his brows. tonight's your graduation reception, i'm the one who's meant to give you a present.

aye, eoin blinks, but i never got you a gift for getting the job at the law society, with everything that was going on at that time. here, he pulls out a ring from his pocket. it's the least romantic gesture ever, with the clumsiness and directness of it. this is for you. hold out your fingers, eoin orders.

which hand? paddy asks.

which one would you prefer?

like you, paddy says, when he wanted to say, you. always you.

eoin smiles. right hand?

paddy nods, and holds out his right hand.

which way? eoin asks.

like you, paddy says again, when he's wanted to say, you, eoin. always you.

eoin looks at him, strangely, then. he puts the ring on paddy's finger, heart pointed inwards. 'till death do us part' eoin says. shakily.

there. it's done. and no one will ever hound you again.

--

Briskly and thoughtlessly, Eoin reaches out for Paddy's right hand, and grips it firmly. Traces the callouses on Paddy’s palms with the pads of his fingers, as if he’s trying to sooth Paddy's fears, his uncertainties. Lets his fingers run over the ring he's just put on Paddy's finger. “Thank you, Eoin,” Paddy's whispered.

He would have kissed each knuckle, if not for his last-minute resolve and the sudden blaring alarm that this is unbecoming of him; the covetousness of it. He lets Paddy's hand go, his heart skipping a beat when he notices that Paddy's breath slightly hitches at the loss of contact.

Ambrose and his wife, Eoin's friends -- let them wonder where he's been. What he's been up to. With Paddy.

Before the sun starts to rise, they start down the road— all the way to Eoin's flat, to all those people --

-- back to their normal lives.

But nothing will be normal again, not after that.

--

months later, paddy tells eoin that he's been friends with the masons at the lodge, down near bangor. eoin joins him then, just for a chat, just to see what the craic is with paddy's new friends that he's made.

life's gone on the same, otherwise. eoin working at a firm next to ambrose's, while paddy keeps an eye on him, making sure that he doesn't go rogue.

eoin wears his claddagh ring and paddy wears his own. they don't talk about what they mean, really, though they keep saying that it's useful to drive all those gossiping mothers away, and their daughters. their daughters deserve better, paddy thinks. they should stay away from him, and from eoin.

eoin's so stoic about it all, so effortlessly enigmatic. paddy can't help thinking that he's lying, there is someone, and paddy wants to know who that is. if eoin would just tell him. but eoin keeps telling him, yes, it's worked again today. someone's introduced another daughter and i said, my heart's taken.

but by whom?

and paddy thinks, what's unspoken is what's between them, the real reason for why they wear the rings the way they do. stirling and almonds have narrowed their eyes nervously, then, at the last reunion. riley and fraser are oblivious, as were tonkin and jock.

eoin's here now, having a jolly and a discussion about politics and religion with the folk at the pub, courteous and intellectual, polite and diplomatic -- an art that paddy's never managed to fully master. paddy's had a bit more than a tipple to drink, and it's late.

eoin offers to drive him home.

all the way from bangor to newtownards.

eoin's a careful driver, and paddy's a terrible passenger. the unlit truck's just there, and eoin notices it just seconds enough to swerve -- and misses it. paddy's roadster skids off the road but eoin manages to steer the car back, like a formula one racer, and he laughs like a complete maniac when the car's straight and there's no more bends and the lights are back on the streets.

that was close!!! he screams, a wide, manic grin on his face.

aye, can you imagine??? paddy replies, in disbelief. they could have died right there, and maybe in another life, they could have. if it wasn't eoin who was driving. the road's really bad 'round here, paddy says. and which fucker parks his truck there at the bend of the road with no signage?

fuck! eoin shouts. then he laughs some more.

fuck indeed, paddy concurs.

close call, eh paddy?

paddy sighs, aye. i'm glad you're the one driving, i'm telling you that now.

when the laughter's died and eoin's calmed down, he says, well, i'm always glad to be your chauffeur, mr mayne.

and they drive on to live another day.

--

There have been many points at which history converges into different branches; different trouser-legs of time. But none of them, in Paddy and Eoin's lifetimes, really mattered. Except three:

The first was when Eoin jumped, and survived. It took him three days to find the rest of the regiment, but he'd survived.

The second was when Eoin offered to drive Paddy on that road between Bangor and Newtownards, at 1 am in the morning.

The third, well -- that'll come later.

--

tbc

part v here

[thereadingchallengechallenge]

so i'm listening to the Murderbot books again and I'm getting further than my previous attempts and in Rogue Protocol, MB keeps talking about how they delete their memories of events from permanent storage. so they're an unreliable narrator. which is making me wonder what they've deleted that they're not telling us about and how that's going to impact events moving forward

thoughts ✨

[neonhellscape]

new rt everyone shes a freak whos pretty sure shes been been given the role of rogue trader as an act of divine intervention to eventually replace the godemperor and bring new glory to the imperium which she thinks is dull and stagnant. dont worry about why she keeps marazhai caged in her trophy room like he's bait its not important and completely irrelevant to the fact ive joke nicknamed her simon thresh. has anyone noticed a lot of slaaneshi demons during warp jumps lately

[fandomlife-confessions]

[sophinspace]

A Steadfast Rogue

Chapter 2: So Little Time

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64614001/chapters/167232337

Iris West/Leonard Snart/Barry Allen

Chapter Summary: Barry and Iris try not to go on a date. Len tries not to crash it.

Then things get weird, in that 'superhero story' way they do.

Chapter Snippet:

Len doesn't turn around. “Come see the show. There’s fire.”

Mick makes a disappointed noise at the next lightning strike. “That’s not fire. That’s just what your little buddy does every day.”

"Suit yourself."

But for all Mick’s protests, he’s still here, half-smiling at the purple sky, the way he does at a good flame. “It ain’t fire, but it’s power.” He tilts his head at Len. “Does he give you electric shocks in bed?”

“Shut the fuck up, Mick.” 

Mick’s low rumble of a laugh is better than thunder. “So where is he? Or your girl, for that matter.”

On the other side of the sink, Lisa hops onto the counter. “Oh, they’re probably both off doing hero shit and day jobs.” 

Great, they’re tag-teaming him. That means they have a point to make. ��Get off there before the countertop breaks, Lisa.” 

She sticks her tongue out at him.

Len shrugs. “Your funeral. A funeral I’m not paying for, by the way. Mick barely glued that thing together. He thought we’d be moving out in a month.”

“Yet here you still are, brother dear. Why is that? Because if it’s anything to do with the second prettiest girl in Central City and the annoying little hero she drags around with her, I’m disappointed in you.”

Len goes back to watching the storm shatter the sky. 

Sharp eyes are narrowing at him. “And why are you staring out of the window in the middle of the afternoon, when there’s a heist to plan? Don’t you get enough lightning fun with that hero of yours?”

"He gives him electric shocks in bed,” Mick says cheerily.

[sun-stricken]

More protective dragon slayers please? 🙏

Gray watching the slayers hang out and go on jobs together: :(

Gray after being ‘adopted’: :| (secretly loving it)

Sting considering putting a gps chip on Gray only to find Juvia’s one already there and getting mad.

Sting: How dare she!

Gray: how dare you!

Wendy being the most protective.

Slayers getting jealous of Gray hanging out with Lyon. (Just wait until Natsu tells them about Galuna island).

Rogue uses Frosch to trick Gray into therapy

Someone comments on Gray’s nudity/makes suggestive comments and Wendy gets mad. Wendy: He’s too young!

My personal headcannon is that memento mori made Gray more demon so he’s got a bit of a taste for blood. He was going to keep it secret but after defeating Avatar one of the members were like ‘they’ll never accept you. You’re a monster!’.

Also that Avatar messed Gray up. He just casually mentions his initiation (ie torture) or Briar and Jerome being a bit too friendly, or not being able to get out a blood stain. And everyone is just wtf?

Sorry for the ramble! It’s just nice to get these ideas out

don’t apologize! i love seeing other peoples hcs!

i refer to the dragon slayers dragon as it or they bc i classify it as kind of a separate entity? same with grays demon

More dragon slayers beinng protective of gray for the soul! (these are more just them and gray hcs i have, but the protectiveness is implied)

TW IMPLIED SEXUAL HARRASSMENT

its a lot so vv

Gray gets sick a lot, and its never just a simple cold or small fever, its always smth vaguely serious

and the dragons absolutely despise it, they also despise that its not something they can just destroy

Every time Gray gets sick all their inner dragons are immediately running in circles with the need to make him feel better

He sniffles once or gets a tiny scrape and theres a multitude of crashes and yelling to find blankets, med kits, and trying to find the best spot for him to sit down at

Wendy is extra feral and protective during these times

(which is saying a lot bc her dragon is definitely the most protective normally, whether bc its young or bc theyre a healer so thats their job to protect doesnt matter, it just is)

she has bitten people for getting too close (ie. within 40 ft) to them, even if theyre in a public place

Shes also forgotten shes a healer multiple times bc her dragon was so hellbent on the good old fashioned hands on approach

During one of the times he was bedridden at home, they found an book with Isvan style recipes in it, then proceeded to try and make something from it

they failed, they are complicated recipes and they probably wouldve failed home ec

but its the thought that counts and count it did bc Gray practically threw himself at them in a hug when they told him what they tried to do

GOING OFF THE HC OF DEVIL SLAYERS SLEEPING A LOT THING LIKE CATS (ty @bluneko91 for the idea) i think Gray in general has always been the type to sleep anywhere and everywhere

but now he can actually easily get to those hard to reach places and nap, and hes a menace with it

a weekly occurrence at the Fairy Tail guild is half the dragon slayers frantically searching for their demon slayer, looking in his past usual haunts (at the bar, on a table, under a table, makarovs office, on the stairs somewhere, the more random the more likely)

only for him to be found on the rafters 100 ft off the ground

when they find him they have about a good 7 seconds of peace before they verge yet another cardiac event bc holy shit oh god hes gonna fall!!

another common scene is Gray sleeping (in less dangerous places) and having various token dragon slayer clothes covering him

The dragons asking Gray if he wants to go on a job with them, only for him to (reluctantly) decline bc Lyon is in town and they have plans

then proceeding to sulk the whole job

Natsu was sulking the most, and spilt what happened on Galuna

and suddenly Lyon and Gray had 5 fuming dragons following them

(and if Lyon got graphic threats if he ever fucked up again he never said anything)

Gray is a hit of a wanderer, not in a ‘getting lost/bad at directions’ way, but in a ‘likes to see the scenery/has a feeling and doesnt voice it, just goes with it’ kinda way

Hes done this enough times and is quiet enough about it the others dont realize till hes gone

On one of the jobs he took with Rogue & Sting they half jokingly and half seriously threaten him with a tracker

and Gray says that Juvia probably already has one of him

Rogue and Sting not having a whole lot of context on that asks what he means, and then gets a disturbing account of some of the things shes done

Lets just say the feelings they harbor for her and for the people who let it continue are neither kind nor pretty

they probably ripped the other slayers a new one when they got back

Contrary to popular belief, ice mages can get cold, it takes a hell of a lot more than an average person but it does happen.

Gray probs mentioned this once and now when it rains or snows-

Laxus throws his coat at Gray, Natsu offers to share his scarf and using his fire to warm him up, Rogue drapes his cloak around him

its a very soft image and i needed to share it

Gray starting to push the other slayers away bc hes struggling with his demon instincts and because hes scared hes going to become a monster and hurt them

them not taking any of that shit

reassuring him that he would never become something cruel and evil

hes becoming a demon, hes not a monster, not a murderer

Ppl are frequently gross about Grays stripping habit

its one of the only things that made him genuinely try to stop

People tend to think since hes so obviously confident in his body that its okay to touch him whenever and however they want

the dragon slayers are inclined to disagree

Gajeel breaking some guys arm after he wouldnt keep his hands to himself

Laxus spilling water on someone whose personal dictionary didnt include ‘No’ then repeatedly shocked them until they werent in reach

Wendy having to be (reluctantly, they just dont want her to get in trouble tbh) held back when someone keeps making comments on his body after he told them to fuck off

that did not stop her from giving them the worst insults and threats anybody has ever heard

[if she went back to find them again nobody would know, i mean, and they were perfectly intact! not a scratch on them! and who was gonna believe that a sweet girl like her would harm anybody?:)]

Gray has been threatened with being wrapped in bubble wrap after being injured so many times, which is crazy considering its Natsu of all people who says it

They have gotten really comfortable with eachother

and i mentioned once smth abt the slayers having little private hang outs (jobs or normal get together or ‘meeting’ type things at guilds)

during one of these he casually mentioned what he had to endure to be accepted into Avatar

“yeah, they locked me in a kiln like room for hours every couple days”

jaw drops galore

“i beg your fucking pardon.”

“oh yeah, dw tho, it usually overlapped with the deprivations days so i wasnt fully aware of what was going on, didnt even hurt”

“THE FUCKING WHAT”

*increasing volume of worried and angry sounds*

I think Natsu is also a total cat magnet, so when Gray is having an off day he’ll go in search for a cat

when they approach him, he picks them up and drops them in Grays lap and waits

it always helps him feel better

im trying to imagine Gray getting a date and them all trying to discreetly spy on it

“Gaj, the pole doesnt exactly hide y—“

“SSHH THEYLL HEAR YOU—!”

OH MY GOD IMAGINE THE SHOVEL TALKS

sorry this took a minute!! i have a lot to say but not enough words

[lorem-ipsum-xvi]

man, they really did Heinrix so dirty with his character model.

how is it that his portrait looks like Mr. Darcy while his model gives Handsome Squidward??

[jedi-enthusiasm-blog]

BASIC INFO

I use mostly she/her, but I'm alright with any pronouns.

This is a fandom space only. I'm here to have fun, not to discuss current issues or politics (I do that enough in real life already).

Bigotry is not tolerated. It doesn't have a place in my blog. Being a bigot can and will get you blocked.

No reblogging posts to throw negativity. I'm not here for debate, I'm here to have fun with my silly posts and whoever interacts without being a dick.

I reserve the right to block you and kick you out of my space if you're behaving like an asshole.

I love asks. You can ask me whatever you want. The only thing I request is that you do this off-anon. This is only to prevent more assholes sneaking into my space.

I don't start arguments, fights and debates. I've always found it counterproductive, needlessly-infuriating and a waste of my time. However, I finish them. The block button is my friend and I'm not afraid to use it.

STAR WARS FANDOM

Pro Jedi, if the name of my blog didn't clue you in. Jedi hate will get you blocked faster than you can say "Star Wars".

Anti Sith, like any reasonable person with media literacy. They're space nazis, social darwinists, genocidal maniacs who in all their thousands of years of existance have done nothing but try to run tyrannical empires and fail miserably and obsess over the Jedi. The nicest thing I can say about them is that some of them are really fun to watch and have a decent fashion sense. Therefore I am also anti Galactic Empire and anti First Order, the governments they (try to) run.

I may as well say this, although I'm sure most of the fandom will have me crucified: Mandalorian/Mando critical. Unlike the Sith, I don't think all of them (or even most of them) are evil and I'm willing to be charitatable to them. I want to LIKE them, but the fandom glorifying them has soured them a lot to me.

Adding to the above point: Anti Mandoclone. The Clones aren't Mandalorian, they are their own people with their own history and experiences. They might have Mandalorian influence (and it's an idea that has merit and potential if executed well), but they are not Mandalorian and I doubt they'd want to be.

Anakin Skywalker critical. I don't hate him, I like him, he's fun to watch/read about and his character is very dear to me. But he's a villain and an asshole and I'm not ashamed to point out that part of his character.

My canon is the PT, the OT, TCW, Rebels and Rogue One. Any other source material is up in the air, and I pick and choose what I like and leave the rest. So if you see me ignoring a part of a book/comic but posting about another, you know why.

Masterposts

My Rambles' Masterpost (pro Jedi, anti Sith, Mandalorian critical…)

The Many Names of Peace Masterpost

Fic recommendation list

[merrigold]

some portraits i drew for a beginner's dnd game! 🌼

[vampgf]

actually i hate rebelcaptain now bc the fans are fucking annoying when it comes to bix. leave my girl alone you don't get her like i do.

[phoomwhoosh]

Lazlo Surana: perseverance

Idris Lavellan: compassion

Aulem Aldwir: curiosity or disruption (he could be either one tbh)

Tollen Tabris: justice

Nisha Lavellan: valor

(๑•ᴗ•๑) if your Dragon Age elf OCs were elves that had manifested from being spirits rather than elves that had been born, what kind of spirit would they each have been?

[could-they-be-a-pro-wrestler]

Event poll series: Fictional Bash in Berlin

Match 7 / main event: Korra (c) vs. Suki vs. Inej Ghafa for the ABW Ultimate Women’s Championship

1) Reason why Ruby Rose screwed over Korra

2) Reason why Captain Carter and Tifa Lockhart screwed over Korra

3) Reason why Asami Sato screwed over Korra

4) Reason why Rogue screwed over Korra

5) Reason why Edna Mode is a factor in this match