#// when you're supposed to be writing

[solarpunkani]

Psst, hey.

Hey you.

Come closer.

Listen to what I'm about to say good and well, alright?

[avizou]

sleep well 🤍

[danmeichael]

"shen qingqiu is a liar who is lying about his feelings so we can't ACTUALLY tell how he feels about anything"

so you admit that you can tell he is lying and by extension you can actually discern what his true feelings on the matter are and that he's just unwilling to admit to them.

[introspectivememories]

what's wrong with data analyst bernard?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tamara and Abhishek smile as they get introduced.

"They run this building?" he asks confusedly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You want me for longer?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, Fuck.

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

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

Golden ties for golden boys, he thinks absentmindedly.

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

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

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

He blinks slowly, "...What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is going on here?" Tim asks.

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

Abhishek, no!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bernard says nothing instead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His body sags.

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

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

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

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

BANG!

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

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

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

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

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

Plink, plink, plink.

Bernard hates the scent of iron.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bear?” the other side says groggily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I’m still dead,” she says.

“But I’m still dead,” he repeats.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, of course.” 

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

Darls nods; he tells them as such.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ty, not helping.”

“Move over, let me talk to him."

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

"I can't, I can't," he gasps out. 

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

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

"Good, good. Anything else?" 

"The tiles need to be re-grouted."

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

"Keep going."

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

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

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

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

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

"At my new job at Wayne Ent."

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

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

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

"No!” he says vehemently.

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

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

“Ma!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bernard exhales shakily.

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

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

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

“Okay,” he says simply, “okay.”

“Okay?” Ty asks hopefully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No s-, Young-joon. You’re fine.”

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

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

Bernard nods.

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

“Yes.”

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

“...Yes. Junior year.”

“You know our CEO.”

“Yes,” he breathes out.

“How?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bernard mock salutes, “Yes, sir.”

“Goodbye, Bernard.”

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

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

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

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

“You just got Young-joon-ed, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We’ll make it through, she says.

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

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

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

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

thank you for reading!

[taz-writes]

here's a hot take for today

the narrative function of sex is the same as the narrative function of fight scenes is the same as the narrative function of songs in a musical

no i will not explain

[chirpsythismorning]

This is a continuation in exploring why I think Mike's character regression over the seasons can be explained in part by guilt, which he has yet to confront

Original post

Now we're onto s2, which jumps us ahead in the timeline a bit.

Mike has been calling out to El on the walkie for approx. 252 days now, under what he views as the false hope she might actually be alive. This is mostly based on the fact that Mike thought he saw El outside of his house a few hours after she 'died' (he did see her, bc she was there...) and so a part of him does think there's a chance. And yet this is also isn't something Mike seems to be comfortable talking about the others with.

Which brings us to the crazy together scene. Although this scene has a lot going on, there's one aspect of it in particular that I want to focus on, as it's the driving force for what is going to be discussed, which is that Halloween night was also the last night Mike called El, aka day 353.

I just want to preface what follows, with the fact that I do not personally think Mike giving up calling El, as a concept on its own, means that he couldn't possibly love El romantically or something. It's not even about that idea from an audience perspective. And this is because any average person, in reality, mourning someones' death, should not be calling out to that person for almost a year. Letting go doesn't make you a bad person, whether it was romantic, platonic or even familial. It's called healing and accepting what is and trying to move on and live your life.

Neither does Mike giving up after that night make him heartless or a bad character in my opinion. It literally just makes him human. But that also doesn't mean that's how Mike feels about it, nor does it mean that the manifestation of this guilt isn't going to affect his behavior over the course of the series, causing some very unfortunate choices on Mike's part to then lead to some very unfortunate events for everyone...

Where it starts to get sort of complex is that I think the whole point of the crazy together scene and where it ended up was to for it to showcase how Mike and Will were both willing to accept each other, despite these secrets they've been keeping to themselves.

Will revealed the truth to Mike about how he could still see into the UD, with the addition of seeing this big 'shadow in the sky', followed by asking Mike to not tell the others because they wouldn't understand. Mike then responds by saying El would understand, followed by confiding his own secret to Will that he's been keeping from the others, which is that he thinks he's seen signs that El could still be alive.

The scene then ends with them in agreement that if they're both going crazy, they'll go crazy together, with it arguably being their most incriminatingly romantic moment to date, as it juxtaposes other uncannily similar romantic mentions on the show involving that same word.

But no matter what happens, they're promising to support each other, specifically the weird shit they have going on and could presumably continue to explore that weirdness, without telling anyone else who might judge them for it or misunderstand their feelings entirely...

This is why Mike had no problem with Will going crazy in s2 because as promised, he was going to be right there with him. Also meaning, Mike COULD have had no problem continuing to test out his theory that El was alive, because Will would have supported him.

Obviously, Will sort of had his hands tied in s2 (literally?), but the point still stands. It's not like this was something Mike HAD to give up, because that conversation between him and Will instilled that they would support each other and what makes them feel crazy.

I think the issue though, is that what's causing Mike so much grief daily for almost a year now, is the guilt that came with El's death and him feeling responsible. And so, in contrast to Will's slightly more justified assumptions that what he's seeing could actually be real based on what's happened to him, it's like Mike is asking himself whether he's actually seeing El because she's still alive OR is he just imagining she's still alive because he wants to forgive himself?

A kid deducing that in their head would make them feel pretty awful, don't you think? Maybe even lead them to calling out to that person for almost a year in hopes that they might still be alive?

Meaning Mike choosing that night to walk away, to give up, is likely a result of his conversation with Will making him feel more comfortable with finally letting go of some of that guilt in order to actually start the process of moving on. Because a big part of why he didn't want to move on was because of guilt in the first place.

Also confiding in Will and only Will, not the others, who were hell bent on interpreting all of Mike's feelings for El as romantic, was maybe Mike's way of avoiding the pressure to associate his whole relationship with El as strictly romantic. With Will, maybe Mike knew he wasn't going to spin it into something like that. And he would’ve been right, because Will didn't.

October 30th, Halloween Night (Day 353 - Last call)

You cannot tell me that day 353 isn't framed as the last call. Like Mike is literally walking away dramatically, leaving El alone, with her now just a tiny dot surrounded by darkness. The way it's framed leaves the viewer genuinely feeling heartbroken because there's some very evident finality to what is being presented. And we even see that El feels it too, hence the episode cutting off dramatically with her tear filled eyes.

And so why did Mike choose THIS moment to give up? Why did he choose now to put his 353 day streak to rest? Like, that was impressive as hell. He could have easily kept that going, but instead he decided that this was going to be the last time he was going to try calling out to her...

November 1st (Day 354)

El is still pretty bummed that Hopper came home late last night, but I'm guessing she's even more bummed still processing what might have very well been Mike finally giving up that night too.

Although I don't think El would blame Mike for giving up, still, she too throughout all of this had been building up hope herself. El's been clinging onto the bond she made with Mike, specifically the romantic moments, to the point where she has been watching shows with romantic themes, putting herself in the position of the love interest.

So him not giving up, to El, has been a signal that what they are feeling between each other is very deep and... romantic. Him keeping this going this long is a sign to her that these feelings are pretty much guaranteed. And if he doesn't continue, that hope would obviously dwindle.

At breakfast that morning, Hopper acknowledges the TV cord peaking out of El's room, which is the device she uses to visit Mike from the void, all the way from the cabin. Without it, she is not able to 'communicate' with him, let alone see if he actually didn't give up after that night she feared he did...

Unfortunately her and Hopper have an argument after this, leading to her storming off to her room. And after Hopper is gone, El finds herself being so impatient to see Mike after almost a year of waiting, that she decides to take fate into her own hands. She isn't willing to wait until the evening, which is roughly speaking the usual time Mike uses the walkie to call her every night. She needs to see him now.

And lucky(?) for her, she does!

Finally! A SIGN! After almost a year of no signs that El is alive, since the night she went missing, Mike is getting a sign El is alive!

And he runs after it! He goes to check to confirm his (valid) suspicions, only for her to not be there, with Mike looking disappointed, but also kind of like he's accepted it's a lost cause at this point.

Mike's hope that El is alive and okay and the relief that would come with finally letting go of this massive weight of guilt, is not within reach. He just needs to accept it and let it go. He needs to forgive himself and move on.

On top of all of this, Will is experiencing his own version of crazy. And Mike seems more concerned with focusing on this and supporting Will, than holding onto this hope that El is alive.

So even though Mike just got a sign that El is alive (which parallels to the initial evidence of her being alive outside his house, what literally initiated him to call out to her for almost a year), he doesn't revert back to his approach of not giving up. He sticks by his decision.

The irony of what happens with El the same night that Mike doesn't call, for the first time, is not lost on me...

Tragically, El doesn't know Mike actually gave up (just like she feared he did) because she lost her ability to communicate with him that night.

I wonder how differently things would have played out if she new the truth. Would she have held onto this really romanticized idea of her and Mike's relationship because he never gave up? Or would she have maybe reassured Mike that it was okay that he gave up and moved past it and still hoped and tried to make it work? Honestly, I think the later.

Because again, it's not Mike giving up that makes him a bad person or something that refutes his ability to love her romantically, it just means that it's not true that he never gave up.

And Mike being the only person to know this fact... Um... Cannot be good for him.

October 2nd (Day 355)

As El is trying to revive a modicum of hope that she can see Mike again through the void, to confirm her hopes that he didn't give up, by using the TV like she usually does, she discovers that the cord is broken. It's a lost cause.

On the other side of town, Mike is entirely focused on Will. The previous night, he did not reach out to El. He gave up. And El is none the wiser.

The writers made the choice to have one more night that Mike could have called El because he was at home that night on day 354, a day that actually involved an incident that you'd think would have reignited his hope that she was alive, before he inevitably jumped head first into focusing on Will, with him not being home for the rest of the season. They could have shown us Mike calling out to El from the other side of town, and then cut to her in her room not knowing... And yet, they didn't...

This is where I jump to the end, because the focus primarily when it comes to El and Mike's arcs for the rest of the season are with El trying to find her mom and discover more about herself, while Mike is trying to be there for Will in any way he can.

The sad part is that despite Mike giving up and trying to move on from El's death, that guilt is never really going to go away. He gave El expectations that she had to risk her life to find Will, and all of that built up and inadvertently led to her death.

But maybe Mike can right the wrongs he had El endure by following through on his focus of not letting Will die too? Maybe if Mike can save Will, El wouldn't have died for nothing?

But with this guilt and Mike trying to overcorrect it all, he's also experiencing very real and emotional moments with Will. Will is his best friend, and just a year ago Mike risked everything to get him back. A lot of those moments he experienced with El in s1, moments mixed with romantic expectations, are now also lingering here with him and his friend in s2. Except these aren't forced expectations. Everything Mike’s feeling and doing the entire time comes naturally to him, with none of it requiring pushing or advice from those around him. It's just pure instinct.

In the end, Mike's beside Joyce and Jonathan, who are sharing memories they have with Will to him in hopes it will prove to them he's still in there and able to be saved.

This emotional sequence builds up to Mike using his own memory of Will to try to reach him, one that comes off as platonic in every sense of the word, but visually, and when looked at in the grand scheme of things, especially with what is about to follow and those romantic expectations with El soon being thrust back on him... Well... Shit is about to get real messy.

Upon reuniting with El, Mike was quick to want to tell her that he never gave up, only for her to interrupt him with the exact number of days he called (before he gave up).

This is news to Mike for an abundance of reasons. It means he's not crazy and that El actually was alive those two times he saw her. All this (survivors) guilt that's been building up over the last year could have been avoided if he'd known that she didn't die, that she was okay.

It also means that for some reason, El heard him, and yet she doesn't know that he gave up...

And here Hopper is, revealing that he's been hiding her the whole time aka the perfect person for Mike to take all of this pent-up emotion out on.

Hopper then tells Mike that they will discuss this privately, which I find to be very interesting because it offers a chance for the viewer to see just a glimpse into Mike's emotional state at this moment, without everyone around to affect his ability to truly open up about how he's feeling. And not alone just anywhere in the house, but in Will's room...

Mike is understandably upset because El is alive and Hopper knew this whole time and didn't tell him.

While Hopper didn't technically lie to Mike, at least not in canon because we never got an outright scene on-screen of Mike asking Hopper if El was alive with him denying it (all while knowing she was), it's at the very least a lie of omission...

But the thing is, if Hopper not clueing Mike in on El being alive qualifies as a lie of omission (off-screen), so does Mike not telling El he gave up (on-screen).

If anything Mike's lie of omission also qualifies as a plain old lie, because he outright told El he didn't give up (lied) and didn't correct her when she informed him she knew he didn't. She fully believed it, despite him knowing deep down that it wasn't the full truth.

So while Mike is taking all of his anger out on Hopper as this fighting match comes to a head, it takes a turn.

Hopper is fine with Mike blaming him, he says it's 'okay'. But it's not. Nothing about this is okay to Mike, seeing as this isn't even the whole problem. It's not the problem Mike's actually hiding within his outburst in the first place.

Suddenly Mike starts screaming to Hopper that he's a 'disgusting, lying, piece of shit', chanting LIAR over and over and over again, shoving him repeatedly, only for him to fall into Hopper's arms and start crying, with Hopper reassuring him that he's okay.

Something tells me Mike's emotions here aren't all about Hopper...

Something tells me that Mike's fixation with the word liar doesn't apply to Hopper here as much as it applies to Mike himself (in his eyes)...

The main reason why I think this is what's actually going on here, is because there was no reason to put so much emphasize on this concept of Mike literally walking away that last time he called her.

Why go through the trouble of creating this misunderstanding, by having the TV not work, with El not being able to go into the void to see Mike, THE very night he gave up, if to not plant the seed that this misunderstanding was going to bear some significance? That this misunderstanding (lie? lie of omission?) was going to lead to El assuming Mike didn't give up, all while Mike knows he gave up, but going along with the story that he didn't, for both El's sake and his own?

BECAUSE it's a surprise tool that will help us later!

I also think it's interesting that they decided to have Will go off and dance with a girl at the snowball BEFORE Mike decided to devote himself to El here on out. Like... that is quite the choice after a season of highlighting this bond between Will and Mike where they promise to go crazy together, which is a moment we know Will took romantically.... So, is it possible Mike also took it romantically? We know Will also took Mike's speech to him in the shed romantically, so is it possible Mike did too, with that experience only heightening his emotions and confusion over his feelings for El when he found out she was alive shortly after, leading to his outburst? But then Will is going and dancing with the girl, and here we have Mike's own version of falling behind (the Time After Time lyrics were more literal than you think).

What if they didn't do all of that? Would things have maybe panned out slightly differently if Mike wasn't under the (incorrect) assumption that Will didn't take those moments romantically?

While Mike's guilt might have started in s1, when he played the biggest role in pushing expectations onto El to help them find Will, only for her to 'die', it doesn't end there. Mike's guilt only builds when he holds the knowledge that he did give up hoping she could be alive, all while allowing El to believe the opposite based on what she saw, which was a guiding force for not only her love and dedication to him flourishing, but also for him to then shift his own version of expectations onto himself going forward to make it up to El by trying to be who she wants him to be.

We see how romanticized 353 days is interpreted exclusively as meaning Mike has to be in love with El. But he did give up. So what does that mean for all of this? For their picture perfect love story?

What does it mean for Mike to hold onto this truth, a truth that makes him feel immense guilt, only for him to spend the next year or so making it up to her...?

It means either Mike has to come clean, or he has to deflect and double down.

What option do you think a guilt-ridden, repressed homosexual kid in the 80's is going to choose?

Answer? Deflect and double down.

In s3, Mike is so focused on worrying about El (giving her what he thinks she wants) so he can right all the building up of wrongs he has done at her expense since he met her, and as a result loses Will in the process (where have we heard this before...?)

Instead of Mike having a moment in s3 where he acknowledges that he himself was the first to ever refer to El as a weapon in the first place, to try to save Will in s1, he's now turning around and blaming the others for using El as a weapon 'for no reason'...

No reason? Really Mike? Is it for no reason, or is it just not a good enough reason to you this time?

Or maybe has Mike just actually spent enough time with El now to truly feel a bond with her in order to see her as a full person, slightly outside of this imaginary superhero he's cooked her up to be when he met her that day in the woods, the day his life started because she was his first and only hope of finding Will? (I say slightly bc... I mean we all saw what happened in s4?)

I honestly think it's a mix of both...

I also think it's not a coincidence that Mike doubling down instead of facing the truth about this manifestation of guilt only makes things worse for him. And El. And Will.

Because suddenly he's choosing this moment to blurt out that he loves and can't lose her again, in front of everyone, even to his own dismay and shock. And when El walks in and gives him a chance to say it to her himself, like any person whose in love with someone would want to do, to make them feel loved, he looks terrified.

And when the season ends and Mike is given another chance to say it finally, to El directly, in roughly the exact same spot he had his emotional outburst in the previous season over finding out she was alive at the same time he was still grappling with losing Will again, IN WILL'S ROOM, he freezes. He just lets what happens, happen.

Because after everything, with El right now in front of him, telling him she loves him while being fully convinced he loves her too after everything they've went through, how could he possibly take it back, or try to make her understand his complicated feelings about all of this?

Answer? He can't.

As hard as it is to believe (not that hard honestly based on his track record), Mike's deflection and stalling era is just beginning...

[eddiestommy]

i will not participate in the discourse but once again, i think some people would really enjoy watching interview with the vampire or lost or hannibal if what they want is to over analyse facial expressions and make theories about body language and what that look from three seasons ago means instead of weewoo procedural #384772 on air this week that is as straightforward as shows come where you're supposed to take most everything happening onscreen at face value

[romance-rambles]

[modern] cael | red dress, white dress

After Cael picks up a new hobby relating to your latest work, the two of you discuss weddings and wedding dresses. It ends with a proposal, from you to him.

1.8k, set after qixi [+ some spoilers for his whisper], romantic fluff + super self-indulgent, reader is mc, sequel to this cael fic [but you don't have to read it in order], series: none

IN THE TIME SINCE THE night of the QIxi festival, Cael has discovered an amusing new hobby with which to occupy himself with, when he's with you.

The words that the painter and the spirit speak—particularly towards end of your oneshot—are, evidently, not unrelated to your relationship with him. That much is obvious. And it'd be rather difficult to claim otherwise, given the faces they wear.

You haven't tried to, either.

Between the two of you, there is an acknowledgment, implicit, that they are a reflection of your innermost thoughts and desires. That they are the kind of daydreams that even someone eloquent as him would find difficult to describe, domestic and loving—just tumultuous enough to describe their standing, with the sort of fairytale ending most would wish for. That they are memories, transformed only in setting and time—only this time, they are not newly acquainted or on a time limit.

He thinks of the quaint little moment where the painter promises to make sure that no one will bother his lover. Had he not done the same for you, once, long ago?

He remembers the casual affection the spirit showers upon her love too, the way she finds herself with her head on his lap underneath the wisterias, and if that ever stops feeling familiar, it must be because he's lost his mind.

After all, you've always been an affectionate person. How can he miss it when the evidence remains in the lingering heat left by your touch? Through the way you so easily take his hand, or throw your arms around him—

When your lovesick gaze isn't boring holes into his body, that is.

He's no better in that regard. In some ways, he thinks he might be worse, with the way his loving gaze seems incapable of following anyone but you. But you might turn it into a competition if he brings it up, so Cael—well aware it won't end well for him—keeps his mouth shut.

Still, it's clear that you never expected him to start quoting your dialogue back at you.

It reminds him of one of the first times he'd properly let his mask down. The way the gears turned in your head, your deer-in-headlights expression betraying your panic before he'd clarified his joke. You'd stared at him—half-relieved, half-surprised, sitting in the silence a bit longer before you laughed.

Today, when you stare at him, there is a hint of defiance peeking through from underneath your flustered mien.

You're dressed casually, in a yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt with one of your favorite cartoon characters. Jagged lines run across the drawing, signaling its age. Some parts of the design have entirely vanished, but it remains one of your most faithful companions still.

With your head on his lap and legs thrown over the armrest, you're sprawled across the couch. In your hand is your phone, and before he dropped his line of the day on you, you'd been showing him a red dress that you really liked—one you intended to buy with your next paycheck.

"Thank you." The effect of your haughty tone is greatly lessened by the scarlet hue painting your cheeks. You clear your throat. "Does that mean you'd like to see me in a red dress?"

Cael chuckles, brushing your hair gently. "To me, it seems like you're the one who wants to be seen in a red dress."

"Of course, I do," you reply, your hand reaching out to play with his hair. "But red or white, it's not the dress that matters. As long as there's a certain someone waiting for me at the end."

For a moment, his quick-thinking mind betrays him, offering him nothing but static. He puts down the book in his hand down and carefully adjust the bookmark until it looks neat. His attention had left its crisp pages when you'd sat down beside him, but it remained in his hand still.

Occasionally, he would flip to the next page, then remember that he had absorbed none of the words on the previous page. So, he would go back, a fact that had not escaped your keen gaze—you'd teased him plenty for it, and who was he to stop you?

"I wonder who that certain someone is," he murmurs.

"I think he knows who he is," you answer, holding onto the end of his now braided strands. After a moment of digging around in your pockets, and the sofa as well, you managed to find a hair tie. "Or, he should, by this point."

"Indeed," Cael says, earning himself a wry smile from you. "It would be difficult to miss."

Enamored by your smile, he sifts through his memories, searching for the line that had left every single reader in desperate search of their own painter.

You'd been rather pleased when you went scrolling through the comments, with a smile so big it bordered on evil. So pleased, in fact, that you made sure to show him every such comment. The underlying meaning to your words was clear—you'd already found your painter, after all.

You'd have a big ego if you were dating someone so pretty too, you'd said, when he'd commented offhandedly on it.

He remembers responding with:

Then I'm certain I have the biggest ego out of anyone.

Though, his words ended up only disarming you for a brief second. It wasn't long before you were throwing your arms around him and calling him a liar ". But for the time being, the comment section was forgotten, and it was just you and him—and Beanie, watching you both from his favorite spot underneath the round table in the corner, seemingly miffed at being excluded.

He had snuck in a few extra treats for him.

Then, all was well in their relationship once more.

"'If that day ever comes, no matter what you want—'" Cael smiles helplessly, remembering the way you'd so easily captured his expression on the painter's face. "'I'll do everything in my power to bring you the most elegant wedding in the entire world.' Though you said the dress itself doesn't matter..."

You inhale sharply, seemingly forgetting—for a moment—that you're in the middle of braiding another section of his hair. When you look back at him, having looked away, your eyes are shining with poorly-disguised affection and your voice is painfully soft.

"When," you correct. "When that day comes. That's what I should've written down."

Letting go of his hair, you pull yourself off his lap and draw your knees closer to your chest. You rest your head on his shoulder. And as loose dark hair begins to tickle his cheek, his hand seeks out yours, pinky finger brushing against the back of your hand.

"When that day comes, we'll get married."

His gaze softens when he looks at you, in the midst of murmuring his agreement. Your wedding is something he's thought about often—his own is not. But now, the groom at the altar is no longer a blurry figure, devoid of any recognizable qualities and having only an aura of happiness that befits a day so celebrated.

It is something he'll ponder over until the day comes, all so that you're the happiest bride to ever live, whether on Earth or any other world.

"Good." You squeeze his hand gently. "Consider it a proposal then."

"It's the first time I've ever been proposed to," he comments offhandedly.

"Really?" For some reason, you sound surprised. And though your words sound like they could pass for a joke, the thoughtful note to them makes it clear that they are not. "Alright, I'm taking it back. I'll make sure to come back with a ring next time."

Cael smiles helplessly at you. "I'm not sure if you can take something like that back so easily."

His breath catches in his throat when you lift your head slightly to meet his gaze. Because in that moment, you're smiling at him brightly, It is blinding. While he's distracted, you lean in close and steal a quick kiss from his lips.

"Temporary measure," you respond, squinting at him in faux annoyance. "You're not getting rid of me so easily."

In a voice so soft that he's half certain you'll miss it, he says, sincerely, "I would never dream of it."

Judging by the way your smile widens into a grin, you don't miss it at all.

+extra

"YOU KNOW, YOU MISSED IT BEFORE," you point out unexpectedly, long after they've moved on from the topic of weddings and wedding dresses.

Cael catches onto the context immediately.

It's past dinner time now. The dirty dishes in the sink wait for you and your yellow rubber gloves patiently for their turn. He'd been the one to make dinner, something quick and easy, per your request. Your wish for the day had been "a lazy day together", so your initial intention was to order to takeout.

But halfway through the day, you began to crave his cooking.

Once he'd made sure the ingredients were there, getting them both out of a trip to the supermarket, you had no reason to refuse his offer. So you'd scrapped your plans and followed him into the kitchen to help.

"I'm not sure it would've been very appropriate to point out," he says, from where he sits at the dining table.

He'd expected nothing to come out of it, so he simply never brought it up. There were more important things to worry about at the time—your presence in Godheim, and all that came after that. His heart aches at the memory of your tears, particularly because he'd been the one to cause them.

They'd never properly spoken of it—of the day Peter Pan understood, but could not bring himself to make peace with, the fact that Wendy would have to leave him one day.

"After all, you were a teenager," Cael adds, remembering what he'd told your friend Natalie. "It would be no different than taking advantage of you."

His words, however, go in one ear and go out the other. You're rather specific about what you choose to pick out from his words, your next words discarding all but the subtext.

"So, you did know about my crush on you."

Though your words are undeniably a conclusion, a statement and not a question, they carry with them an expectation of a response. You crane your neck to fix him with an equally expectant stare, as if the weight behind your words isn't enough.

"Yes, I knew about your crush on me," Cael admits wryly. A helpless sigh accompanies his words. "What brought this on?"

You hum strainedly, returning to your dishes. "Nothing."

For the time being, he leaves it at that.

It is only when the two of you happen to encounter Lars while on a date that he discovers the truth, after some coaxing on his part. That you'd been under the impression that your crush on him was a secret kept carefully under wraps. That it'd been Lars who'd guessed otherwise—after some advice on how to handle Cael's new hobby—and subsequently been proven correct, leaving you to sulk on your own.

Unsurprisingly, Cael does not manage to stifle his laughter before you notice.

[shadowshrike]

I promised myself I wouldn't get mired in the weird moral chaos that is bg3's fandom, but I have a legitimate question: for a lot of fans, is this the first time playing with Choose Your Own Adventure stories?

The writing seems to be classic CYOA in the epilogues, at least with the evil post-game companions I've experienced. If you roleplay someone happy with your choices, the game generally reflects that those choices were satisfying in the exact way you'd expect. If you roleplay someone who regrets your choices or has doubts, it usually reflects that you should regret those choices. Either way, the "reader" is given a predictable response in order to fulfill their desired narrative.

Don't believe me? Go through the epilogue and try to play a character who both likes and hates every companion or where they ended up. Some changes are subtle while others are more dramatic. A few quick examples, all from a single save: Playing a character who hates Halsin, though you romanced him, your conversation is short, civil only because Halsin is too mature to rise to your insults, and stilted. He's a distant companion that you've pushed away successfully.

Playing a character who loves Halsin and romanced him, the conversation between you is extraordinarily long and sweet, and you are written as dear to each other. It includes, potentially: sharing stories and teasing him about his more salacious ones, talking about his love of children (and them loving the bear), learning how he's settled into his new life, hearing about him finally finding happiness, being welcomed into his community, welcoming him to share in drinks, and even joyfully adopting an owlbear. This image is just the very beginning of it.

Playing a character who disapproves of Shar but encourages Shadowheart to follow Shar anyway, you get a zealot's lecture about how you're being naive, thinking that Shar's exploiting people, likely confirming your feeling that she's a lost-cause cultist now. The happiness in the conversation is one-sided (from Shadowheart).

Playing a character who is fine with Shar and encourages Shadowheart to follow Shar, you get a short, sincere thank you, and she immediately starts trying to bond with you. The tone of the conversation remains upbeat as she expresses how pleased she is with the church despite its difficulties and how she'd do everything again in a heartbeat.

Playing a character who doesn't like being an immortal consort, but ascended Astarion and agreed to it anyway, gives you an Anne Rice-like fight between bitter eternal lovers. You also get some petulant dragging of your friends.

Playing a character who loves being an immortal consort and ascended Astarion gets you the dark fantasy of all-powerful monsters in love, gleefully ruling and exploiting the world (along with your friends and probably each other) together.

These are all valid endings to the exact same story with very different implications for the future. It's easy to muddy the potential narratives if you try to hold all the unique, mutually exclusive dialog options together.

Remember, at the end of the day, this is written as a linear experience. Everyone's epilogue choices are self-contained in their own story, even if it's possible to reload and choose a different final page. Have fun fishing for unhappy endings if the drama gives the flavor you enjoy, or seek out happy endings if you want to feel fulfilled by your choices. Just know that not everyone will experience or want to experience the same ending for an otherwise identical set of choices in game. That's the cool part of getting to choose your own adventure.

[lighthouseas]

whenever will has a bad day at work (or just a bad day in general), and he's just sitting on the couch and sulking, mike will put on will's current favorite song and ask him to dance really stupidly formally like they do at weddings. will always rolls his eyes and pouts and refuses at first - until he sees mike, his wonderful amazing beautiful boyfriend, busting out his absolute cringiest dance moves to their favorite the cure song or whatever else and singing along to said song horrifically off key in the middle of their living room. and then mike extends his hands to will and forcefully pulls him up off the couch and twirls him around and dips him down to kiss him like he's the most special boy in the world (because he is. Obviously) and will can't pout anymore because mike's hands are so big and warm in his own and it's just them, being stupid and silly and crazy together in their tiny little one bedroom apartment and dancing along to all of their favorites. before the first song even finishes, though, will finds himself singing and dancing along too and twirling mike back because mike's dopey little grin is so damn infectious that he just. can't help it.

and this is how mike develops the Tried And True Method To Turn Will's Frown Upside Down (pun not intended) that he still continues even when they're older and married, because they're still stupid kids at heart and love each other so much that it needs to be shared in every way possible ❤️

[thychesters]

Luffy is like staring into the sun.

At least, that is what Zoro thinks the first time he sees him. But then, his first coherent thought had been it’s too bright upon their initial meeting, looking up from glowering down at the ground to raising his head and squinting at a too big, self-congratulatory smile and do you want to join my crew?

Then it had been simple enough to blame the harsh sunlight blinding him, framing Luffy’s profile and that bright grin, and he’d bitten back the hell I will one minute and had a sword and an oath clenched between his teeth in the next.

And so Zoro follows the sun.

He follows and his skin reddens and blisters and peels; it splits at the seams and bleeds as he burns, and still he follows. It aches and cracks, and still he reaches out, twining his fingers through promises and a loyalty that will not bend.

Luffy curls a hand around his jaw and it’s a different sort of burning, flaring up into his eyes and down to his very marrow. And Luffy asks, where will you go? Nowhere, Zoro says as the words gather in his throat, raw and parched, and he chokes on them, anywhere.

His touch is a balm as fingertips skitter across his skin, soothing and pressing and digging and prying, and Zoro thinks he would burn again and again, blinded by the sheer brilliance of it all.

And then it’s dark out on the open sea, some nights, and then others too many stars dot the horizon, gathering up above them like they’re spilling out of the slit open belly of a giant, and Luffy tilts his head, blistering heat where he rests against his shoulder and looks at Zoro and says, I think I know where, and would you come with me?

And Zoro is a drowning man with a lungful of sea water, salt gathering with blood at the corners of his mouth and asks, of course, and where?

Luffy smiles and it’s a gathering of starlight and the sun, and it makes Zoro want to shove his fist into his mouth and shatter every one of his teeth, and Luffy would just laugh and bite down on his wrist and lay claim to his pulse point, like he doesn’t already live inside its every thrum.

No telling, he says. Will you still come with me?

And Zoro burns and it rages in the pit of his belly right into the raw skin of each scar, into his fingertips as they dig into Luffy’s scalp. How dare he have to ask, grin with the knowledge that he already knows the answer, and Zoro turns to follow the sun and says, yes, says I wouldn’t be anywhere else.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Embrace

Zelda woke to am embrace.

It was... lukewarm. Cold initially, and soaking wet, but with hot breath on her shoulder, with shivering muscles and a foggy mind and desperate strength holding her close.

What was...? The last thing she remembered was...

Blinking to get water out of her eyes (water? Why was there water?), Zelda turned her head to see dirty blonde hair plastered to wet skin and clothes, she recognized the light blue immediately, the sword on his back.

"Link...?" she breathed.

When--how did she get home? She'd swallowed the secret stone, and--

Link held her tightly, and Zelda's eyes stung with tears as she laughed.

I'm home.

[turtlecleric]

I have dnd in 15 minutes but I can't stop thinking about laying on the couch, exhausted but shimmering with happiness, with your head in Raph's lap and your legs in Leo's while a movie plays. Raph absent-mindedly brushing a hand through your hair while Leo massages your calves, smoothes his hands up and down your legs, traces patterns into your skin. Safe and warm and so, so loved. Raph looking down at you and smiling. That smile twisting into a smirk, and the (familiar, at this point) jab that slips out of him. "I went easy on you. Next time, I'm gonna break you, doll." And Leo's smug expression before he responds. "We'll see."

[httpiastri]

Hi🤭👋

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGed83E5g/

You see It?! YOU HEAR IT?

He said he likes to be in control

Can you feed us a smut w dom Lando x younger sis of one of the drivers

Dom Lando🫠

i usually save requests in my inbox until i write them but i just had to share this

making me go feral honestly 🫠🫠🫠 what the frick? lando?? phrasing it like that???? oh my godddddd

[tathrin]

An Elvish Lure

Somebody said “using yourself as bait” and my brain spat this disconnected snippet out, so: enjoy a scene in which the Three Hunters try an alternate plan by which to catch-up with the orcs and free Merry and Pippin.

"No," Gimli said.

"Gimli—"

"No," he said again, shaking his head hard enough to make the braids of his beard slap against his shoulders. "No, absolutely not."

"Gimli," Aragorn tried again, "this plan is our best chance to—"

"I said no!" Gimli roared. "I will not have it! Aragorn, I will not!"

It was not Aragorn who answered him. "Gimli, be calm." 

Gimli squeezed his eyes shut at that voice, as though he could shut-out the words as easily as he did the sight of the narrow, beardless lips from which they had issues; that golden head; those mithril-bright eyes. Fingers as long and spindly as bare twigs closed on his shoulder, their grip tight enough that he could feel it even through his shirt of mail.

"This is our best chance to save Merry and Pippin," Legolas said. "Perhaps our only chance. Gimli, I am not afraid—"

"Can I not be afraid for you, then?" Gimli asked wildly, grabbing those long fingers and holding them tight. He looked up at Legolas, then very quickly closed his eyes again. He pressed the archer's captured hand to his cheek and held it there, as though he might hold the elf back from this reckless plan as easily. "Orcs hate elves so much, Legolas…"

"That is why it has a chance of working," Legolas said. He sounded so unbearably calm, his woodland accent giving his speech the lilting cant of birdsong. He had sounded so strange to Gimli's ears, once. When had that fair voice stopped sounding strange?

"And if it does?" Gimli retorted. His grip on Legolas's hand tightened. "When it does? What then, Legolas?"

Legolas's narrow shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Then we will fight them."

"Then you will fight them, all alone, until we can come to your aid," Gimli corrected him. "Legolas…" His voice failed him and he had to clear his throat twice before he could force the words out. "Legolas, what if we come too late?"

"It is a risk I am prepared to face," Legolas said simply. "And at any rate, Gimli, I do not believe you will. I have more faith in you and Aragorn both than to let myself fear that I will have to face all the orcs alone. And besides!" he continued with a sudden, fey laugh. "Should it not be the orcs who should fear to face my blade and bow? I slew many of their fellows at Amon Hen, and I will slay many more in these sweet green fields if they will but do me the favor of coming within range of my arrows!"

Gimli looked up at the laughing elf in sad, silent horror.

"We will not have to hide ourselves so far away from Legolas that he will be alone for long," Aragorn said, stepping forward to lay his hand on Gimli's other shoulder, the one that did not burn yet with the memory of Legolas's touch upon his mail. "Orcs are keen of smell, but their eyes are not so sharp in daylight, and their ears will have a hard time hearing anything over the thunder of their own feet upon these plains. Besides, Gimli, we have the cloaks given us by the Lady of Lórien; was it not said that they would help to hide us from unfriendly eyes?"

"It was," Gimli agreed heavily. "But these orcs are fast. And what if they have archers among them?"

"What of it?" Legolas shrugged again, scoffing. "I do not fear crude orcish arrows."

"A crude arrow can kill as readily as a finely-wrought one," Gimli reminded him.

Legolas tossed his head, his golden braids rippling in the dawn. "Only if they strike their target."

Gimli gaped at him in exasperation. "Legolas—"

"No, Gimli, I do not ask you to like this plan, but please. Are we not friends now?" Legolas dropped abruptly to his knees in the soft grass, a position which put his eyes nearly on the same level as the dwarf's. It was Legolas who looked up at him now, his pale eyes glittering as sharply as a sword. "Then please, my friend, cast aside your doubts. Trust me to do this."

"I do trust you, Legolas," Gimli responded automatically. "I do not doubt you. But—"

"Then it is settled." Legolas made to stand, to turn away, but Gimli caught him by the arm and held him still.

"But," Gimli said, his voice a stony growl, "I do not like the idea of you making yourself bait for orcs."

Legolas swiveled on his heels, elvish grace keeping him upright despite the sharp tug of a strong dwarven arm yanking him off balance, and stared up at Gimli. The smile he gave the dwarf was small and fleeting, and there was a heavy sadness in the curve of it that reminded Gimli, suddenly and painfully, of the grey woods of Lothlórien.

"I do not say that I like it either, Gimli," Legolas said softly. "But we cannot outrun the orcs. If they cannot be made to pause their march, they will vanish into Isengard with Merry and Pippin and all chance of saving our friends will be lost." He pressed his free hand to Gimli's cheek and gently stroked the downy hairs there. "I would risk a thousand such dangers for the chance to stop that foul fate from befalling those dear young Hobbits—and I know you would, too, Gimli."

Gimli swallowed, but the aching lump in his throat did not dissipate. "Legolas…"

"The fact that the orcs left the field of battle while the three of us yet lived worries my heart greatly," Aragorn said. His voice, too, was quiet, but a dark tension thrummed through his words like the warning rumble of stone on the brink of a cave-in. "That they put their need to carry away their captives over their desire for slaughter and torment…that worries me, Gimli. Worries me greatly."

Aragorn did not have the keen eyes of the elves, but his sharp grey gaze rose over the plains nonetheless and he stared off into the distance as though staring at the shadows of that terrible band of orcs nonetheless. "I do not know if even this will cause them to turn aside from their path…but if anything will entice them to delay their task, it will be the chance to make sport of a lone and injured elf."

"And so I shall play the bait," Legolas said, before he sprang to his feet, the movement too fast this time for Gimli to stop. He looked down and offered Gimli a fleeting, knifblade smile and declared, "And we Three Hunters will see if we can draw the hunt to us!"

Gimli should have cheered; the words were spoken in the sort of tone that rallied hearts and lifted spirits blazing into battle. But all Gimli could see in his mind was the terrible sight of Legolas left standing all alone, waiting for the orcs to come and find him while his friends hid and watched from safety.

"Legolas…"

"Peace." Elvish fingers pressed against Gimli's lips, stopping his words but not his fears. "Give me this chance, Gimli, and I will turn your doubts aside."

"I do not doubt you—" Gimli started to say again, his voice thick and strangled with the heavy feelings of his heart, but Legolas was already springing away, up the short and stony hillock. Gimli watched him go, his steps as light and swift as the flutter of butterfly wings.

"I do not doubt you, Legolas," he said, the words spoken now in a whisper so low that even elvish ears might struggle to hear them now. "But I fear for you."

Aragorn's hand closed on his shoulder again, warm and steady and lacking the silver-fire touch of Legolas's smooth brown skin. "Come," he said softly. "Let us get under cover, Gimli."

Gimli allowed himself to be drawn away, but his feet scuffed heavily on the uneven grass as he turned to stare behind him at the silhouette of Legolas standing tall and thin against the dawn, pale cloak and golden hair streaming out behind him. He made a fine target for arches up there, Gimli thought sourly; a fine target indeed.

Legolas drew his white knife, and Gimli turned away. He knew that the scent of elvish blood would be needed to draw the orcs' attention; knew further that only with the wind blowing strong and swift towards their quarry did this mad plan have any chance of success, and so he cursed the breeze. Had it only died or shifted, Aragorn and Legolas would have been forced to give up this chance; would have had no choice but to simply run instead, run until they dropped perhaps and even yet fail—but run together, rather than risking Legolas's life alone.

Gimli could not bear to watch Legolas take his blade to his own arm, spill his own blood, to lend verisimilitude to his role as bait; yet he fancied he could hear the sharp glide of knife over skin nonetheless, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight and let Aragorn lead him, stumbling, to the hollow in which they would hide together while Legolas stood out there, tempting danger, alone.

They huddled in their grey cloaks, hands on weapons and breath in their throats, and waited.

And then—and then Legolas screamed.

Gimli started upright, his own breath drawing in for an answering cry of rage and vengeance, but Aragorn grabbed his arms and held him fast. "No, Gimli!" he hissed, hauling the dwarf down bodily back into the small depression in the earth. "No, he is not hurt. This is the lure, Gimli! This is the plan. Be still!"

Gimli let himself be drawn back despite the thundering of his heart against his ribs. He pressed one bare palm against the earth, trying to draw strength from the touch of stone against his skin; trying to find the endurance for which the dwarves were so renowned. But he could not stop trembling; could not stop hearing the echoes of that terrible shrill scream inside his ears.

"I have never heard such a cry, Aragorn," he whispered.

Aragorn's grip on his arm tightened. "I have," he said. His voice was low, almost haunted in the shadows of their hiding-hole. "I am sure Legolas has as well, for his people have long fought the Shadow in Mirkwood—and," Aragorn added, swallowing hard as though against some terrible memory, "he could not have sounded so convincing, if he did not know the sound of an elf in torment."

Gimli's gut twisted and he bit his lip hard enough that he tasted a coppery spill of blood across his tongue. "I would that he did not know it," Gimli said hoarsely. He glared up at Aragorn and added in a sharp voice, "I would even more that he should never experience it himself."

"We are not far," Aragorn insisted. "If the orcs take the bait, we will know it; we are near enough to help. He will not stand alone."

"Not for long," Gimli muttered, "but perhaps for long enough." He held his axe very tightly and wished for a whole host of doughty dwarven warriors at his side—or better, at Legolas's side.

Another cry rose, more warbling than the first piercing shriek; more plaintive, like the screamer was weakening.

Gimli's grip on the haft of his axe tightened until his hand ached. "Aragorn…"

"He is not hurt, Gimli."

"Not yet."

Aragorn had no answer for that.

They sat in silence, straining their ears for the pounding thunder of orcish feet upon the earth; waiting to discover if the enemy would take the bait.

Waiting to learn if the three of them would live through it, if they did.

{read more gimleaf stories here}

[aerithisms]

i think the weirdest 2013 discourse brained doctor who take i've seen is people who came back to watch capaldi era, realised it's good and that they really like the twelveclara dynamic, identify all the things that are compelling about it but then say "moffat doesn't know he did this though." bc they can't budge from the position that he's a hack so they have to convince themselves it's, like, only accidentally good