#Big echoey sound for just a few seconds | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

brawltogethernow · 3 years

Text

I've finally cleaned up an old draft where I just gnaw on Dick Grayson like a stale toffee for seven thousand words. In chapters on AO3, but if you want to read it here you can just have it in...a huge chunk.

When Dick was nine years old and had been living with Bruce Wayne for two weeks, he found the door in the grandfather clock.

The wall behind the clock opened straight onto a painfully steep set of stairs, chopped straight out of the bedrock and too organically smooth not to be old. Darkness swallowed them completely not very far down.

There was a steel handrail bolted to the stone, which in contrast looked brand new. A barely detectable but persistent draft of cool air drifted up the stairs and played across his face.

Dick, having grown up around people who poured hard work and time and tricks into making things look like magic from the outside, was already considering the logistics of the passage. He held his breath for a moment, feeling like if he moved too carelessly he might startle away the possibility of this being a real secret passage hidden behind the furniture in a big ancestral mansion. It could still turn out to be a misleadingly cool-looking way to get into the wine cellar.

He ran his finger down the hinge where the entrance had swung open. Even if it did turn out to be something boring, it was a very nifty trick clock.

He though, Mama would get such a kick out of this, and then had the barest fraction of a moment to brace himself before being slammed by grief. It was like a wave that knocked him over and dragged him under, flooding his brain and filling his lungs.

Thinking about his parents in any way had been like this nonstop since they died, a hair trigger bombardment of pain, incredulity, and selections from a grab bag of memories.

It had been six weeks.

Mr. Wayne had told him that it would get "manageable" (instead of "better" like everyone else had), and Dick kind of got that, because it was becoming almost rote.

It seemed like it would be easy to let this train him out of thinking about them. But Dick was horrified by the idea of forgetting more than he had to out of neglect. So periodically he would throw himself into the memories and ride out the agony.

But not right now. He was doing something.

That felt like an awful, traitor thought, prompting him to devote a minute to remembering so he didn't betraythem, but he pushed that idea back firmly with the surety that he was putting off poring over their deaths to do something they would have approved of in life. Who knew how long he had to himself before Mr. Wayne got home.

He stepped behind the clock.

After he opted to skip trying to step surely into the dark in favor of riding the shiny new banister down, the passage ended in what was unmistakably a cave. The air was cool in a dampish way on his skin and to inhale. The space was echoey so that any sound he made moving around had an extra ring to it.

And it was dark.

Meaningless patterns swirled across his vision as his eyes, unable to adjust fast enough, threw up junk output to keep him occupied. It was like the sudden loss of input when stage lights cut to black, except that came with muscles burning, a pose to hold, sweat on his face, hot air, comfortable height, and a murmuring crowd with a mood to stoke. But watching his own pulse in the darkness--that was the same.

Something dove at his head, and he ducked into a crouch, heart hammering. But then he heard flapping, and agitated squeaks like an auntie's kissy noises that started close and got further away.

A bat. The thing was just a bat.

They'd parked the tent in Rome, once, for a summer, and bats had swept around overhead every night, making pucker up noises. You could only see them for a few seconds at a time when they flit through somewhere well-lit, but you could always hear them.

It was a good memory. Dick liked bats.

He closed his eyes and focused on listening. Sure enough, there was a steady, kind of background susurration. There must have been a lot of bats here. More than he'd ever seen in his life, probably.

He thought he'd read somewhere you weren't supposed to disturb bats, but he couldn't remember any of the specifics. Maybe he should leave, and next time Bruce checked in on him he could ask about the cave and whether Bruce knew about it and if it was okay for the cave ecosystem to be here. Maybe Mr. Wayne didn't know about the cave, and they could read up on bats together and then grab flashlights and explore.

Dick still didn't know Mr. Wayne very well at all, and hadn't had a lot of luck breaking the ice with him. But he hoped that if they could just hit on something to talk about they could break the ice, and hopefully get along.

Dick was pretty sure Bruce wanted them to be friendly, but neither of them had quite managed it yet. Dick really wasn't at his best: Any other time he'd have had the man wrapped around his little finger by now. Dick was a champion adult-charmer.

Just, whenever he thought about really getting to work on charming Mr. Wayne, he'd remember that the man was working, legally, to be his guardian, and he'd wonder if courting a connection with the man would seem like he was in a rush to replace his parents, and then words would stick in his throat because it felt like a betrayal to say anything.

When Dick started to clam up Bruce would always frown and leave him alone. Which wasn't really what Dick wanted. It was what he wanted least, sometimes, to be left alone in a strange, empty house where he had his own room but felt like a guest.

But he knew Bruce was just trying to be nice and do the right thing. The least impersonal conversation Dick had had with him had been when Mr. Wayne explained that he was an orphan, too, and he understood, and that was why he was so fervent about Dick having someone there for him.

The talk had been pretty short and not in the least flowery, and it had seemed like Bruce Wayne was ripping each phrase out of somewhere deep in his chest by brute force.

He'd looked exhausted after, and a little sick, but Dick was glad he'd put in the effort. It made everything that had happened with Mr. Wayne make a lot more sense. Dick figured that when Bruce was just a little younger than Dick was now and already rich, he'd wanted people to leave him alone.

Dick could imagine that. Press had started to swarm just before Dick was carted away from Haley's, and seeing them there had made him so angry.

Bruce must have been angry too. Even if it was hard to picture, with how even-tempered he always seemed.

The only time Dick had seen him act any other way was when he'd learned that Dick had been stuffed into the foster system and had come to pick him up. His mouth had pressed thin and his nostrils had flared, and his eyes were like ice floes. His stare had seemed like it was going to cut into the caseworker who'd been in charge of Dick's life for the month between Haley's Circus and then when she called Dick a 'problem case'. (Dick had only ever met her once in all that time, and her folder of cases she was in charge of had been as thick as a dictionary.)

She had flinched, already fixed smile growing more rigid, and Bruce had put his hand on Dick's back.

Dick remembered that moment, and his imagined idea of younger Bruce, when he started to feel fed up with Brucie Wayne the well-meaning rich airhead.

Yeah. Maybe they could be exploring buddies. If Bruce did know about this place, he'd probably looked around as a kid, and maybe he could show Dick around. Maybe, in this dark cave, where Bruce might have come when his own parents were alive, they could talk about that again, and it would be friendly and clear nobody was replacing anybody. Maybe Dick could give Bruce some of the words the man couldn't make himself say, but probably wanted to. Or if he really didn't want to, probably still needed to hear.

The bats rustled. Thoroughly familiar with the impression of them on the walls now, Dick opened his eyes.

His vision had adjusted.

The blocky, manmade shapes ahead of him were as clear as day. An overcast day indoors somewhere that might have been experiencing an eclipse, but day. There was a computer, with a huge screen, and a table, and a kind of weird-looking but unmistakable swivel chair. There was a long modern art-style structure with drawers in it, and a tall bank of cabinets. It was all arranged free-standing in a little open square in the middle of this part of the cave, like a set of doll furniture.

At the computer station--it looked too much like something out of old sci-fi to call a desk--there was a mug holding down a stack of printer paper. Someone came down here. Bruce? Did Bruce Wayne have some sort of...eccentric second office down here?

"Well, if someone's gonna be disturbing the bats, it's not me," Dick said very softly, and flitted forward to go poke around. He did a roll that ended with him upright at the center of the nest of technology, just because he could.

When he'd gotten up today Dick's self-assigned mission had been snooping. That was why he'd been poking the weird clock in the first place. Not knowing where anything was in the house where he lived, and being afraid to rollick around too much out of fear of not seeming polite, were both really starting to grate on him. So he'd decided to spend the whole day poking around familiarizing himself with as much of Wayne Manor as possible.

Mr. Wayne had warned Dick the day before that he'd be getting an early start and not be back until late enough that Dick would probably be in bed, so he wasn't a variable. There was the chance Dick would run into the butler, Alfred, who seemed grandfatherly but distant, and get to see how he'd jump if he found Dick doing handstands in a narrow hallway or something.

If this wasn't really real, and Wayne was going to get fed up with having a kid around and toss him out on his ear, he wanted to find out now. There was no way Dick was going to keep himself buttoned down until he was eighteen. He'd go crazy.

So even if he weren't, alright, a liiiiiittle bit nosy, it was as good as on his itinerary to look around.

Dick padded up to the desk and pressed a hand against the side of the mug. Stone cold, but the tea in it was still recognizable, so it couldn't be more than a few days old. Not quite rude enough to try turning on the computer and lacking a goal that would drive him to the drawers, he swept his eyes over the workspace, zeroing in on the weirdest thing on the table.

He picked it up gingerly. It was a black...metal sculpture? Some sort of art piece knife? It didn't have a handle, but one of the curving sides looked sharpened. It was lighter than it looked, and was a swoopy, jagged shape.

The bats fluttered and rustled behind him, kissing their little songs.

Oh, he got it. It was a highly abstract bat shape. Because of the bats. Commemorative?

With intense strength of will, he resisted the urge to flip it around in his hand and toss it, like the girl who threw knives at Haley's had taught him. It was a weird shape, so he might cut himself, and weird in general, so it might break. Also there were no targets. What if he hit a bat?That would be terrible. He put it back down, carefully, as close to exactly how he'd found it as he could manage. The computer table's surface was spotlessly clean, so there wasn't a dust pattern to fit it back into. Did Alfred come down here and dust? In this cave? Which Dick was only mostly certain belonged to Bruce Wayne?

Dick turned back to the mug and slid it off the stack of papers. He stared at the one on top.

Then he stared some more, tilting his head.

The paper might very well have contained the least audience-friendly arrangement of letters and numbers he had ever looked at. It looked like complete nonsense, in handy spreadsheet form.

Tilt of the head in the other direction. Okay. The letters had to be abbreviations. The numbers rose and lowered in neat columns by small amounts counted out three digits past the decimal point. Measurements. Levels.

He peeled up the first page a little to skim the top of the second one. This one had actual English sentences on it.

Toxin doesn't respond -- introduction of base -- side effects.

Was this...a medical analysis? A drug analysis?

What did Wayne do down here?

His curiosity stoked, Dick felt emboldened to see if the drawers were locked. He dropped into a crouch in front of them and tugged one at random. It slid right open, neat and quiet. Dick hadn't encountered a single jammed or sticky drawer since moving in with Wayne. It was a peculiar detail of a lifestyle of extreme wealth.

It was looking possible that the possessor of said extreme wealth was up to something shady. Dick wondered idly if he was about to find evidence that his adoption was only a thin cover so Bruce Wayne could experiment on him in his secret cave basement. He leaned forward and peered down into the open drawer with interest.

The inside did not look like part of a mad scientist's lair. It looked like a guerilla military base's junk drawer.

Loose caltrops. Unmarked canisters of different shapes. Itty bitty spray bottles. Objects he didn't have names for that had protrusions that looked like buttons or fuses.

Carefully, he picked up a bottle that looked unlikely to take his fingers off, and turned it to read the label on the side. He squinted against the darkness until the bigger words resolved.

"What the heck is 'shark repellant'?" he asked the cave.

The bats chittered.

Maybe the papers were from Wayne's work, and the bottle was from a joke shop. Maybe the rest was because Wayne was a weird collector, or some sort of artist.

Dick realized that the survivalist junk drawer was getting easier to see before he heard the car. -

The car had a quiet, thrumming engine. Expensive. So before he heard it, its headlights cut through a tall, narrow cleave in the cave wall opposite from the passage up to the grandfather clock. This was where light had been filtering through all along, but now there was much more of it, lighting up the space like sunlight. In the end it was the headlights' rotating motion as they passed over him before the sound of the engine that made him think: Car.

After this the engine's muted growl quickly rose to prevalence. The papers under the mug flapped where they weren't pinned down in a rush of disturbed air. Then the headlights stilled, stopping at an angle where they struck the crack in the wall from the side instead of cutting through it, so that it was lit up like a candle flame. It was hard to look at after so long in the dark.

Dick slid the drawer closed, feeling his pulse in his hands, without taking his eyes off the lit up entrance for more than the split second it took to check that the drawer was shut all the way.

The sound of the engine cut off. Dick frantically tried to decide whether to hide of not.

The headlights went off, leaving his eyes burnt full of yellow-green stars. There was the sound of a car door clunking open and then slamming shut. There was a possibility this wasn't Bruce Wayne, but was some sort of mad chemist squatter who lived under his house.

Dick leapt straight up, grabbed the top of the cabinets, flipped himself up onto them, and then pressed himself down flat on his stomach, head up just enough to keep eyes on the entrance. He blinked hard to clear the light marks in his eyes away.

A shadowy figure approached the once again dimly lit entrance. As it drew closer, its outline sharpened into a heavily abstracted humanoid shape: A large upright rectangle for the body, a small one for the head. On each side of the head-box, a line stabbed up, like a horn. It grew until it seemed like it was about to fill the opening, then for an instant was framed at at least the height of a human.

Then it continued forward, detaching itself from the light--and stayed a black silhouette.

Dick rescaled the possibilities he'd been considering so Wayne's weird but boring office was less probably and shadow monster rose slightly in prevalence.

He thought of Alegra the animal tamer, who loved to talk about cryptids, and wondered what she'd have to say about this.

"Lights," said the black figure in a completely normal-male-sounding voice.

Very dim gray-white lights faded on, flickering. The cave ceiling immediately above the workspace, and nowhere else, apparently had ceiling panes, set with eight round recessed bulbs.

Dick tried to shrink down flatter. His hiding place had been based on the idea that no one ever looked up, but had not accounted for more lights. Now he felt like an idiot. How could anybody get any work done down here if there wasn't a light switch somewhere?

The lights cast the silhouette in dim relief, which raised more questions than it answered.

It was a human. They looked like a big rectangle because they were wearing a cape--a mantle, really, that wrapped all the way around and touched the floor. Some sort of helmet that looked attached to the mantle covered their face from the nose up. It was all inkwell black. The concave pentagon of skin below the nose and above the high collar looked fairly pale, which didn't narrow it down very much in Gotham. The helmet had sharp-looking points on it. There was no explanation for the points.

The person sat down in the chair at the computer station with a sigh, reached up, and tugged at the helmet, swinging it back like a hood.

This unobscured short black hair and a strong, square jawline. Both of which belonged to Dick's guardian.

Bruce scrubbed at his eyes. His hands were in black gloves, but Dick also caught a flash of gray sleeve. Now was that good, because it provided contrast, or bad, because it could break up the effect that had half-convinced him he was having a supernatural encounter a minute ago? Maybe the outfit being able to go either way meant versatility. Dick wasn't a costume designer--he was just a boy who had been friendly acquaintances with some and now, knowing he may never see any of them again, missed those interactions fiercely. And who had no idea how to react to this.

He inhaled slowly. Exhaled. He rose, at a torturously slow pace, into a crouch. Bruce had hunched over the stack of papers Dick had examined earlier, shoving the cold mug off them more carelessly than Dick had, so his back was to the cabinets. In breathless silence, Dick arranged himself into an insouciantly casual sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the cabinet structure. He shifted his weight, adjusting his posture. If he knew his own build, he should be achieving a pretty good Peter Pan-ish effect. Puckish.

He inhaled slowly again. I am the Devil's own Elf on the Shelf, he thought, and then said, "Eh-hem."

In the span of an eye blink Bruce spun out of the chair and into a ready crouch, brandishing the not-knife from the table. Not an art piece.

Then Bruce saw the throat-clearer was Dick, and he let out a hissing breath through his teeth, lowering the arm holding the weapon. It disappeared under the black mantle. He straightened up, and fabric fell to obscure the rest of him.

Dick cocked his head at him, birdlike.

"Neat digs," he said.

"What," said Bruce. Then he visibly struggled with how to end the sentence. Maybe he'd never had guests in here before!

Dick decided to assume the eventual question would be, What are you doing here? "I decided to familiarize myself with the house," he said cheerfully. "And then I poked your clock, and now I'm down here."

Bruce stared at him for a minute, then inhaled and released the breath as a sigh, a vocalized rise and fall of the shoulders, actually closing his eyes on the exhale. "Of course you did." He looked, just the tiniest bit, amused.

And that--having to make a slight leap to guess what Bruce was feeling--was what made Dick realize that ever since Bruce had tugged off that face mask, the pleasant half-smile that Bruce Wayne nearly always wore had been gone. And he didn't seem inclined to slap it back on now that he'd realized he had company.

Dick liked that, he decided. It seemed way more honest. And this slightly sullen, exasperated man was miles easier to connect to that picture of grieving eight-year-old Bruce Wayne, small and angry. You could draw a pretty direct line between those two people without feeling like you'd missed a step along the way.

And then...one step further down the line was Brucie Wayne? Was that how it worked? But why?

"You know, for a minute there I thought this might be the lair of a burgling squatter," he said conversationally, kicking his feet.

He was aware that he was talking through a big, cheek-stretching grin. Felt like ages since that hadn't taken conscious effort.

Putting effort into your grins... Was Bruce Wayne still just performing for people that he was okay, after all this time?

That was terrifying, but also...viciously affirming.

Bruce huffed air through his nose. A laugh, from the hard to amuse. Tasted like accomplishment. "I didn't think the trick to use the clock entrance was that easy," he said. A barely inflected observation, but his eyes on Dick were bright and sharp. They got like that sometimes, but now it didn't look like being watched through holes cut out in the eyes of a painting, mismatched and incongruous.

"'Poked' might be an understatement," Dick admitted. "More I saw it had some weird parts, and I kept moving things around until something happened?"

What could he say? Dick was used to being a part-time performer and keeping up with homeschooling with time left over to socialize, and now he was rattling around with nothing to do and school wasn't even on yet because it was summer and he was booooored. It had "been decided" (Dick couldn't tell you by whom) that it was too late in the school year for it to be worth the bother to enroll him now, and the end of May was creeping on like procrastinating molasses.

Grieving, now, it took up time and energy, for sure. But he wanted to run forward, and learn how to live with it. He just needed a direction.

"Huh," said Bruce. "Show me what you saw, and I'll cover it.

Maybe Brucie Wayne meant "I'm okay" meant "leave me alone". Well, that was just too bad. Bruce had invited Dick to stay.

"That's it?" said Dick. "What about all this?" He flicked one arm out, like, behold! Held it for a few seconds to indicate the whole cave, which a better look into his guardian's psyche had not elucidated.

Bruce could still be a mad scientist. He had yet to do anything that ruled that out. Though it wouldn't explain the...cyberpunk knight templar aesthetic.

"No, of course that's not it," said Bruce, like the very idea was absurd. Which was a relief-- An explanation was at this point not just reasonable but required, but that didn't mean Bruce would think so. "I should have... " He pinched the bridge of his nose, gloves on skin. "I should have known better than to think I could keep this from you if you were going to be living here. ...Though you found out quicker than I was expecting you to."

Dick preened.

Bruce dropped the nose-pinching hand and straightened up, throwing back his shoulders. He rumbled, "As you can see...I'm the Batman."

Dick said, "Oh? I thought Alfred was the batman."

Bruce blinked twice, hard. "What," he said. "Then, "Why. ...Why would you think that."

Dick cocked his head at him. "That means assistant, sort of, right? Like a page."

Bruce made an alarming snorty-honking sound and sort of convulsed about the chest. After a moment Dick realized that the man was forcing down a bout of laughter that had slammed him in the gut and was trying to take him down, linebacker-style.

"Do you take care of somebody's horse?" Dick continued, a little amused secondhand despite not seeing what was so funny yet. "Is that why you're wearing a cape?"

Bruce smacked a hand over his own mouth, then visibly forced himself to calm down. The willpower Dick could see him shoulder into place to do this was downright impressive. "Not," he began, voice shaky, then cleared his throat and continued back to a gravely deadpan: "Not the common noun."

"Oh."

"I'm Batman."

Dick nodded intently. "I see!" he said. "Who is that?"

Bruce stared at Dick.

Dick stared at Bruce.

"...You're not a Gothamite," said Bruce.

"I am not," Dick agreed, kicking his heels again. The world was his hometown.

"You have no idea what I'm talking about."

"I do not!" Dick admitted, grinning.

Bruce ran his hand over his face, like he was trying to give himself a good ironing. The glove really did look like a knight's gauntlet, reimagined in a different material. "Right," he said. "Of course." He left his hand hooding his eyes, edge of his index finger and the pad of his thumb pressing up into his eyebrows. "It's only in Gotham that people are debating whether I'm an urban legend or not. Why would you have heard of me?"

He took his hand off his face so he could wave it. "I'm a-- I'm a vigilante," he continued. "Known as the Batman. That's what this base is for." He hesitated, looking awkward. "Dick, I have to ask you not to tell anyone--"

Dick was gaping at him, eyes surely round as silver dollars. "You're a superhero?" Batman, but not like Mothman, like-- "Like Superman?"

This earned Dick an irritated glare, which was very funny. "Oh, so you've heard of him."

Dick, undaunted, said, "Everyone's heard of him!" and leapt down from the top of the cabinet.

Bruce looked terrified and started to throw his arms out to catch him, but before he could complete the motion Dick had landed in a crouch, which he turned into a roll to eat the impact. (Mama always said, "Your knees will have to last you your entire life, so take care of them!" Brace for wave of grief; shove it down harder than one of Bruce Wayne's laughs. You're fine.) At the end of the roll he bounced to his feet right in front of Bruce. "Why Batman? he asked, bouncing on his toes, before Bruce could transition properly from thinking his ward was about to crack his skull open in the cave under his house to whatever emotion was in the pipeline after that. "Do you turn into a bat? Can you talk to bats?" The cave was full of them, after all. He gasped. "Are you a vampire."

"...I'm not a vampire."

"That sounds like something a vampire would say."

"That's probably true."

Dick raised his eyebrows at him expectantly.

"...Criminals," Bruce explained stiltedly, "are superstitious and cowardly. I needed something frightening. ...Something that would belong in the dark."

"...Bats?"

"Bats."

"So now you're the Batman."

"Hm."

Dick pointed to the side, arm out straight. "And that's your Batcomputer?"

"Uh--"

Dick swung his arm to point at the gap in the wall. "And that's the Batcar."

"It isn't... It's not a bat car."

Dick nodded. "Yeah, you're right. Batmobile sounds better."

Bruce made another mustn't laugh sound, which sounded like a rubber duck being run over by a truck.

Dick grinned, a quick flicker before he let it drop into a thoughtful frown. "So you're a superhero--"

"You said that, not me."

"--But you don't--"

"I think of myself as a very stubborn meddler."

"--You don't have powers or anything?"

"Most of the work I do involves outthinking people, not overpowering them. It does more good to defuse a situation before it escalates to the point where you nee to punch someone."

Dick squinted at him dubiously, until he added "...But I can. Punch someone. If I need to. I'm very well-trained."

Dick nodded to himself, happy to have the militant junk drawer explained. So Bruce was like a goth, busybody boy scout. "I have one more burning question," he said. "Gee, I've never had an opportunity to ask a superhero this before."

"I'm not a--"

"Yes you are."

"...Fine. Shoot."

"Why?"

Bruce Wayne had never had to explain Batman before. Except in pieces, to Alfred, who'd helped invent the idea. (They were still inventing it.) He usually endeavored to offer no explanations at all. And lately everyone had already heard of him.

But he tried.

He knelt, careful of the deep bruise on his left calf. It wasn't even from a fight, but from fumbling his own grappling hook and clipping the edge of a synagogue roof. Kneeling put them roughly of a height: Dick Grayson was a very small child.

Dick's eyes danced with barely suppressed delight as Bruce fixed a square stare into them. They bloomed a cornflower that, while superficially similar to Bruce's own, was one of many such details that he suspected would keep anyone from ever mistaking them for blood relatives.

Bruce...still wasn't sure what to do with Dick, really. The only part of the child Bruce felt he understood innately was his grief. They'd both been wounded, in the same way. But otherwise, their personalities contrasted sharply, and Bruce was a little afraid he wouldn't be able to do right by a cheerful extrovert. Or by a child, in general. Alfred had informed him that such insecurity was to be expected. This had not made it go away.

But when Bruce-- When he saw the grief, it was so familiar. He--hoped he had done the right thing by insisting Dick ride it out with him instead of fobbing the child off on someone who might be better at child-rearing, but wouldn't understand.

That said, he was aware that grief was not a healthy thing to hold as the sole point of commonality in a relationship. He was banking desperately on them being able to connect over something else within the year. Baseball. Geology. Amateur forensic science. Anything.

Expressing this to Alfred had netted him a dry observation that it couldn't be that difficult to find something to talk about with an elementary schooler. Bruce had asked him if he'd had an easy time of things with Bruce was nine. Alfred had thought about it, shuddered, and left the room.

Bruce put his hands on the outside of Dick's shoulders. These, also, seemed very small, even though Bruce knew intellectually Dick Grayson had to have muscles like a snake.

"I told you," Bruce said, "about my parents." Bruce could talk about this without a waver in his voice or a twitch in his face, now. Sometimes he even wielded it as a weapon to hurt other people.

It always hurt him first and worst, though. One's own pain could only be a blade without a handle, and Bruce was meticulous about keeping his grief honed sharp, the better to cut into him. He was aware that this, also, was not healthy.

The mirth in Dick's eyes vanished like Bruce had snuffed out a candle, his gaze turning deadly serious.

Some might have found this incongruous in a young child, but Bruce had learned--not from his own childhood, where he'd suffered from both a lack of distance from the subject and an excess of distance from his peers, but more recently from encounters with Crime Alley kids--that while youths had unfinished cognition, you should never underestimate the depth and complexity of their feelings. Dick was a case in point, with his personable manner scraping uneasily against the new grief, and an intelligence that was continually startling. The same that had led him down here.

"I don't want that to happen to anyone else," Bruce said. Resisted the nervous urge to clear his throat again. "I know I can't achieve that singlehandedly, but the law and its keepers alone are not enough, and--"

"--But you can do something," Dick finished for him, breathless. He looked absolutely fervent, suddenly, part of his focus turned inward away from Bruce. There were red patches high on his cheeks. "You can help somepeople. You can be there when there would be nothing otherwise, and change someone's entire world."

Bruce blinked. That was the sentiment, but he hadn't been about to say that, even actively trying to lay out the bare bones of his crusade. The kid was good with words.

And maybe it felt too foolhardy to acknowledge the raw optimism of his mission aloud. So he hadn't. He'd let Alfred infer. No one else was in on it.

Dick's complete focus turned back on Bruce with a suddenness and intensity that almost made him flinch. Whatever thought the boy had been working through had reached its conclusion with a vengeance. His attention felt almost acidic. Bruce froze, statue-like, in the face of it.

"I'm going to help," Dick declared.

...Should Bruce have expected that. He had thought their strongest point of commonality would make it easy for Dick to understand. He'd been thinking since before even taking Dick in about ways it would make them react similarly. He should have expected that.

No, Bruce tried out experimentally in his head. No, he'd say, turning on the heat underneath a pressure cooker for Bruce Wayne 2.0. Bruce had stewed in his sentiments with no outlet for over a decade, and only now was he finally building something that worked. When another decade and change had passed Bruce planned to still be doing this unless he'd found something that worked better, and Dick would be his age.

Dick, Bruce was confident, would have processed things healthily by then. He seemed resilient. (Bruce had been resilient.) Cheerful. (Bruce had not been cheerful, but he had been happy.) Emotionally intelligent, which should grant him an edge. (He was a child.)

Bruce could give Dick an outlet.

"Okay," he said.

Dick whooped and slammed into him. Bruce's arms were still out where Dick's shoulders had been a second ago, raised in a rough approximation of reciprocating the hug, but Dick had danced back out of reach by the time Bruce realized that was what was happening and before he could have an actual go at hugging back.

Dick looked Bruce up and down appraisingly, and asked, "How did you settle on 'Batman'?"

A slight digression, which made Bruce suspicious instantly. "I let the press name me."

Dick snorted. "Well I'm not doing that."

Ah. "I think it would be better if you worked in a non-public capaci--"

"No, I want to help-help," interrupted Dick. "For real help."

"Working the data is real help."

Dick shrugged and smirked, both large flashy motions for his audience of one. "Eh, I'm no good at that sort of thing."

"Richard. This is not some sort of--lark."

"No, of course not. I have a completely different bird in mind."

"I'm going to talk you around eventually," Dick said as Bruce led them back out of the clock and toward the kitchen.

Bruce grunted, because he was already half-convinced and didn't want to admit it.

"I don't even need to get all kitted out like you are for us to test it out, see? I can just wear a carnival mask. I'm not a public figure like you--no one's going to recognize me."

"The Gazette ran that article on you. It had a photo."

"One photo. I'll throw on a cape. That way we'll match, and it'll confuse people."

That sounded stupid, but it would probably work. And Dick knew that, so if Bruce said anything he would lower himself in the estimations of an elementary schooler.

"You can train me a little first," Dick offered, tone magnanimous. "Though we should do most of it on the go. Teach me some tricks, lend me some stuff. Hey, I betcha I can teach you some tricks."

"...You probably could," Bruce allowed. The way Dick Grayson moved was...unreal. If the boy had any talent whatsoever for teaching, Bruce would love to learn to employ even a fraction of the grace Dick moved with. The young aerialist was like a bird. Bruce got around alright, but he often felt like a slung brick.

"Yeah, I know all about costuming," said Dick as they hit the room with the breakfast bar. "You're in good hands."

"What," said Bruce.

"It's great, honest," said Dick, sweeping a hand at him. "It could just be even better."

"I don't know if I can take outfit critique from someone who just said 'I'll wear a carnival mask' with a straight face."

"Well I don't think a helmet thing like yours is very me."

"A soft helmet that rests snug around the head and neck is called a cowl."

"I'm serious, B. B-man. Brucester." (Bruce mouthed some of these to himself, slowly.) "You need an emblem--so when people get a good look at you they don't think you got lost leaving a Renaissance Faire."

Was the implication that that was what Dick had thought.

"--Anyway, a little more drama can never hurt you."

Bruce spread his arms. "I am wearing an all black cape and little ears."

"Which is a great start!"

"It's not a costume. It's a uniform."

"It is literally a costume," said Dick.

Bruce ran his hand down his face. "Okay," he said. "It is a costume."

"It's a good costume," Dick soothed. "It's just that combining dramatic effect and ease of movement is an art. Fortunately, you have me now. I'm show people. I think your cape could be like three inches shorter. Don't you trip?"

Bruce did trip. But the last time he'd prioritized ergonomics he had ended up looking like a bank robber who had escape from a yoga studio. He couldn't go out on the streets looking like an attack puppeteer-slash-slam poet now that people were starting to recognize Batman. Probably. He debated the pros and cons, sometimes.

Bruce grunted again instead of saying any of this. For some reason this made Dick stare at him and frown thoughtfully.

"Another question," he said. Bruce hoped this one wasn't as open-ended as Why? Dick drew up all of his less than five feet of height in a sort of chiding, grandfatherly manner, frowned, and then with very little transition was standing on one of the bar stools. This put his eye level slightly above Bruce's. He crossed his arms severely and looked down at Bruce. "Bruce Middle Name Wayne," he said.

"It's Thomas."

"Bruce Thomas Wayne, are you faking your entire personality? That cannot be healthy."

"I tell him that simply all the time," said Alfred.

Dick startled so hard that the acrobat and his perch both went flying in opposite directions. Bruce did not rush to catch him this time, instead staying back to watch. Dick landed unharmed on the counter. The stool landed, as far as Bruce could tell, on every single one of its sides one after another as loudly as possible before ending its journey halfway into the attached kitchen.

Alfred, who had stepped up right behind Dick without either of them noticing, ignored all this. Bruce wished he could cite being distracted by Dick's antics, but Alfred got the jump on his nominal employer every single time he fancied to.

He swanned past them and stepped behind the counter like their journey to the kitchen had been his idea all along. "Hello, Master Dick. I see you've finally seen our basement."

"Our basement," Dick parroted under his breath more than a bit incredulously.

"Master Bruce. I'm glad you've finally read the young man in. It was about time." He raised an eyebrow at Bruce, who flinched. He hadn't realized he had fucked up badly enough to earn the eyebrow. "Perhaps now you'll have an easier time finding things to talk about."

"How does he already know," hissed Dick.

Bruce clapped him companionably on the back. "Alfred always knows everything," he imparted in an undertone. "You'll get used to it."

"I do," Alfred confirmed. "You two sit down. I'll just make cocoa while you talk, shall I? Master Dick, please remove your feet from the counter." He leaned down and righted the escaped stool. "Do continue."

Dick stepped down onto another stool, motions sure even though he didn't take his eyes off Alfred, where he hunkered down on his heels instead of sitting. When the butler didn't do anything he hadn't announced he was going to after several moments of Dick's head-tilted scrutiny, the boy obligingly turned his attention back to Bruce. He imitated Alfred's eyebrow maneuver.

"It's a cover," said Bruce.

"I'm not doing that either."

"Please don't," said Bruce. "That would be...awful."

"Does that mean you're going to stop doing it?"

"No."

"It sounds like you're aware lying like you're fine is unhealthy."

Bruce felt suddenly, deeply tired. "Pretending to be more cheerful than you are is normal," he said. "This is not up for discussion."

Alfred paused what he was doing to roll his eyes.

Wait, no. Child. "But you shouldn't--" began Bruce.

Dick shifted forward on his heels and patted Bruce's hand reassuringly. "We'll work on it," he said.

"That's--" said Bruce.

"This is gonna be great," continued Dick, a smile twisting his mouth. "I can tell. You and me, Brucie Baby, we're gonna be absolutely legendary."

#pg-13 swearing convention #DCU #w #fic #putting this filthy and gratuitous kidfic behind a cut

57 notes · View notes

doomstypewriter · 3 years

Text

Silence in the classroom

I'm losing my mind over the new episode, so there you go. Drop a comment if you like it.

Word count: 967. | AO3

Summary: Local teacher finally snaps and Remus thinks that's very sexy of him. Roman comes to the realisation they're all royally fucked. Or Logan being the Orange Side self-indulgence.

CW: Sexual innuendo, mild violence, Logan drags Roman quite bad here, kind of psychological torture in a part I guess, it's more like painful telepathy (if there's anything else tell me).

“Where is he?!”

Roman appeared inside Remus’ domains, scrunching up his nose at the smell.

“Is this about the sex doll? I thought you didn’t like that birthday present”.

“You know perfectly well who I’m referring to, so stop playing dumb”.

“Oh, if you wanted to play you could have just said so!”

Remus stood up from the sofa, throwing his nail file onto the pile of trash on the floor. He drove his hand into some slimy monstrosity and pulled a bunch of papers that stuck to his hand.

“How about I crucify you with flytrap paper and gut you out? Mommy said it’s my turn to watch you hang from the ceiling now!”

“That’s it, you’re done”, Roman said, pulling his sword.

The prince whacked Remus with the hilt of the katana, a not-as-violent-as-expected disappointment, the usual. Then he kicked him in the stomach, making him take a step back and chuckle.

“Leave him alone” a voice came from the side.

Roman saw a menacing figure enter his field of vision.

What?

The guy wore a pair of plain black jeans with Logan’s belt. A feeling of dread crawled through Roman. He looked like a twisted parody of the side Roman had been sent to look for while the rest explored the corners outside Remus’ control. He wore a black dress shirt with the first few buttons undone and an orange tie hanging undone between the lapels of a black leather jacket. His hair was a complete mess as if someone had been pulling at it.

It felt so uncanny, seeing a weird copycat of Logan, but edgy and without glasses.

“What the hell Remus?! Is this another one of your friends? Did you send Logan to this disturbing…”

“I said LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

Roman turned around, quivering with recognition. It sounded just like when Logan screamed falsehood but filled with venom.

He squinted at the unfamiliar side.

His heart dropped.

“Logan?”

“Get. out”.

“But… everyone’s looking for you! What is this disguise? Are you trying to cosplay Deceit or something? I guess that doesn’t make sense, the outfits are completely--”

“Shut up!” Logan screamed again.

Roman felt the sound of the room vanish as if he had entered a vacuum, he could only hear Logan’s voice, big and echoey. His vision began to blur and tint orange. He felt tears slipping down his face.

What was happening?

His feet shook worse than when Thomas had chosen Ja-Deceit over him.

Logan approached him as he gripped the backrest of the sofa in an effort to maintain his balance.

“What a pity everyone is looking for me right now. If we’re striving for accuracy, it’s even convenient. But you wouldn’t care about that, right, Prince? You only care about yourself. You take and you take. And what for? Only to lose”.

The blurry figure finally reached him. Logan gripped his sash and pulled him towards his face forcefully. The orange glow of his eyes made Roman tear up even more. He felt an overflow of information rush through his head like a wave of nausea taking over. It was as if, for a second, all of his offences and mistakes were laid in front of him to see.

Just like that, it was gone.

He couldn’t process all of the things he now felt like he knew, the same way someone can’t remember a dream after waking up.

The entire room began to shake and produce a terrifying cracking noise.

“Look at you, vague, unobservant and self-hating. How come you always get the upper hand? No. Wrong verbal tense. You got the upper hand”.

“I don’t… Logan… I don’t understand”.

“Oh, allow me to illustrate” he began to say, sounding almost pleased.

“Logan, please…”

“Is that what you’d like me to say? Provide the pertinent explanation, now that you want it, let me be walked over and treated like a dusty encyclopedia. How would you express it? I guess the appropriate metaphor would be as it follows: I’m done being a book used as a paperweight and checked whenever you happen to remember”.

“Logan, I’m sorry, but we need you to--”

A monotone laugh cut him.

“You’re incorrect, as per usual. Address me as Anger from now on”.

“But you’re logic! Stop being dramatic, Lo, we need you!”

“Falsehood! What Thomas needs now is assertive action to fix our failures. And if I need to take this form to overcome your lot being a constant source of inconvenience and frustration to ensure Thomas achieves his goals, then so be it”.

“Come on”, Roman said weakly and horrified, “you know that’s not true!”

“QUIET! It’s not your turn anymore! You know nothing!”

He pushed Roman backwards, making him sink out. Then he turned towards Remus, who regarded him with a wicked smile.

Anger approached him, still frowning.

With his head dripping with blood, hands shaking in anticipation, Remus’ flinch at him couldn’t seem more right.

“There has always been merit to your words, Remus, it was very hypocritical of me not to listen. It’s true--”

“Well, finally!”

Anger rushed forward, pushing Remus against the wall and raising him from his collar. It only made that cruel smile widen.

“Let me finish”.

“Only if I get to after this”, Remus joked.

“Agreed”.

“Wait, really?”

Anger got even closer, glancing slightly upwards to meet the stare.

“You were right, I can’t do this by myself”.

Hearing that, Remus almost couldn’t breathe. Or was it the pressure and the shaking of the room?

Well, mark him horny and terrified. Anger would be one hell of a terrifying eye candy to witness.

“You won’t have to” Remus whispered.

Fucking finally, Anger smashed his lips and teeth against him.

Remus felt like he might have fallen right then and there.

Taglist: @willowaudreykeyes , @queerly-a-hisssstory-momster , @theyluna-womoon

If you want to be added to my main intrulogical taglist, tell me

#ts spoilers #intrulogical #dark side logan #orange side logan #sanders sides #intrulogical fanfiction #wtit #wtit spoilers #ts wtit #post wtit #ts logan #ts remus #logan angst #orange side #doomywrites #doomstypewriter #ts roman #orange!logan

125 notes · View notes

concerningwolves · 3 years

Note

Hi! I'm a hearing person so I have a few questions about how to write d/Deaf characters. 1) How do I describe the difference in what someone can hear with and without their HAs? 2) Is someone who was born d/Deaf less likely to get HAs compared to someone who lost their hearing later in life? 3) Would a person who uses HAs be more likely to sign or speak when communicating with family members? I hope none of these questions are insensitive as that is in no way my intention. Thanks for the help!

Differences between sound with and without HAs

(Here’s another ask on the topic of describing from a deaf POV)

How someone hears with and without their hearing aids will vary depending on their base levels of hearing to start with. I can certainly tell you about my experiences, but you should do some further research on your own to get a richer and more nuanced understanding. YouTube is a great place to start. I always recommend Jessica Kellgren-Fozard’s videos, and there's also this short film:

youtube

Some key highlights:

0:25 - In this sequence, she orders a coffee. Note how the cashier's voice is entirely indistinct mumbling. That's exactly what it's like for me at times.

4:07 - sitting around a table when everyone is talking. The voices overlap indistinguishably into a muddy sound-soup, and reading the lips is about as helpful as a chocolate teapot.

► SOUND WITHOUT HEARING AIDS

Basic rule of thumb for describing sound without HAs is that things are much quieter. Certain sounds may seem muffled, distant, or plain old too soft to hear. I describe HA-less sound as being flat: I can sort of pick up on the sound, but it lacks depth and volume.

Some noises, such as car alarms, go in and out of my hearing range. You know when a noise is very far away, and you think you can hear it but you're not sure what, exactly, you're hearing? That's what it's like for me without HAs, except it's all sound, no matter how distant the source (and my distance range is much, much shorter).

My ability to differentiate sounds and voices is severely impaired without hearing aids, so I’m genuinely be unable to tell whether that's my mum calling from the next room, or Jeremy Vine on the radio in this room. (And I wouldn't be able to tell what either is saying). It's also much harder to tell where a sound is coming from, although this is impacted by the uneven levels of residual hearing in each ear, so mileage may vary depending on type of hearing loss.

► WITH HEARING AIDS

The baseline is: HAs make things louder. It's like glasses except for ears, meaning sound is clearer (louder) and better defined. Be sure to research the type your character might use. It’s also a good idea to understand what hearing aids actually do. Here's an article about how hearing aids work.

No two HA-users will hear things in exactly the same way, and there are compounding factors, i.e., how often someone uses the HA(s) (how accustomed they are to them), HA strength and features, and levels of hearing. Different HA models have different specifications, so things will sound slightly different through them. Some of the most powerful and high-spec HAs have a multitude of settings for everything from music, to nature, to crowded spaces, and the sound through each is different because the receiver inside the HA is focusing on different things.

The transition from "everything is quiet, muffled and uneven" to "noise is loud noise is everywhere so much noise" is a big one! When someone first gets a new HA, the audiologist usually recommends wearing it in short stints and building up endurance. I barely use my HAs since I left college, so I'm poorly adjusted to them and get overwhelmed. A character who uses HAs regularly (i.e., daily, for hours at a time, or near-constantly), would obviously notice the difference, but wouldn't focus heavily on it.

You should also consider HA feedback. When HAs work well and the wearer is adjusted to them, it's a smooth ride – until something causes feedback. When that happens, it's like having two little demons screeching in your ears. Loud noises and extreme pitch ranges can cause feedback, which may be a slight buzz or a full-on loud screech. A dog barking or a car backfiring can make my HAs buzz for a solid few seconds, and too much input (i.e., speech and music in a crowded, echoey place) will make them crackle so the sound gets distorted.

How likely is your character to use hearing aids and/or sign language?

Whether someone uses HAs and/or sign language is entirely down to personal preference. Deaf culture is about celebrating deafness without trying to live up to the standards of a hearing world. This doesn't mean nobody in Deaf culture wears HAs or implants, or that every single Deaf person uses sign language instead of verbal. It just means Deaf culture puts emphasis on the Deaf person's autonomy and right to choose without being pressed by hearing society. Therefore, many Deaf people who have been deaf since birth or an early age choose to speak sign language and forgo HAs because they find that route liberating. This isn’t the same for everyone, though.

There’s also the concept of "mainstreaming" to consider. Essentially, it's when a Deaf child is trained to fit into the Hearing world. This can include speech therapy to encourage verbal speech instead of sign language, hearing aids, cochlear implants, and attendance of a mainstream school instead of one for d/Deaf students. Many children who are Deaf from birth or a very young age get mainstreamed, usually because it is presented as a more "desirable" option. Here’s an ask answer about mainstreaming (in the context of cohclear implants).

That's not to say all parents do this, though! It's also true that many Deaf children are allowed to make their own choices. Consider your character's backstory and circumstances, and decide for yourself if they would use HAs and sign language. There's no right or wrong choice! Someone who uses HAs is still Deaf, they just choose to use an aid.

Different circumstances will colour a person's decisions about sign language use and hearing aids, however. Although there are many overlaps in the struggles faced by all HoH and deaf people, going deaf later in life is a very different experience. Those of us who are born deaf are... well, we're deaf. Plain and simple. It's a fact of our existence. But losing hearing is, as the phrase suggests, a loss. Generally speaking, most people want to rectify that loss, (and I think it's very cool modern medical technology allows that).

Basically, there's no "wrong" way to write a Deaf character when it comes to them using HAs and sign language. The Deaf community isn't a monolith, and we all make our own choices about signing and aid usage.

Hope this helps! (^人^)

[KO-FI | ASK GUIDELINES/F.A.Q]

#Anonymous #hearing aids #deaf characters #writing advice

98 notes · View notes

hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis · 3 years

Text

The Distance Between Us: 02. Welcome to Dauntless

Summary: Alexandria Eaton is the youngest child of Marcus Eaton. What will happen when she defects from Abnegation and decides to follow in her older brother’s footsteps. Can she make it through Dauntless initiation with her secret or will she find herself in the factionless? And what will happen when the most cold-hearted leader takes an interest in her?

Post Date: 05.13.21

Word count: 2.3k

Pairing: Eric Coulter x OC

Masterlist

DBU Masterlist

Once the choosing ceremony was over, I was relieved knowing that I don’t have to see my father ever again. We started to leave the auditorium, I tried to avoid eye contact with my father knowing that he was disappointed in me, but somehow we made eye contact and I could see the menacing look on his face. Finally, we were back outside and the next thing I know the Dauntless-born start running. Beatrice and I followed closely behind trying to keep up. The next thing we noticed was them climbing up the supports of the train tracks. Beatrice and I stop below the train tracks to catch our breaths, we smile and look at each other before we start to climb along with the others.

When we made it up I felt like I was on top of the world. I was taking in the newfound freedom I had when a felt a rush of wind pass by me in the form of a train. I notice the transfers and Dauntless-born running and jumping on the train. I tap on Beatrice's shoulder to get her attention and we start to run towards the train. It takes a bit before we were able to make it on. I was the first and then I stuck my hand out to help Beatrice. I accidentally pull her into someone sitting on the floor of the train. I notice that we just barely make it into the last compartment as I see the platform we were running on, disappear.

“You guys made it, I’m Christina,” a girl in white clothing said to us out of breath. She must have been Candor before she switched.

“I’m Beatrice and this is Alexandria,” Beatrice says out of breath as well, pointing towards me.

“Is it just me or are they trying to kill us?” I say to both of them.

While we wait until we get to our destination, Beatrice, Christina, and I spend some time getting to know each other. “Beatrice and I used to climb onto the roofs of our houses back in Abnegation. I guess it only made sense for us to transfer here. You?” I say in response to Christina’s question about why we transferred.

“I just didn’t really want to stay in Candor. Plus the Dauntless lifestyle really spoke to me” she responds.

“Get ready” we hear a woman say from the other side of the train.

I moved from my spot to the opening of the train to see what was going on, Beatrice following me close behind. “They’re jumping,” she says, turning to Christina.

“What?!” Christina exclaims coming over to see. We watch as everyone else jumps from the compartments in front of us. Some barely make the gap between the building and the train while others have no problem.

“Together?” I say looking at Beatrice and Christina. They both respond simultaneously. I move to the opening next to the one Beatrice and Christina are in and we all move to the other side of the train to allow us enough running space.

“One, two, three,” we say together running on three. The next thing I know I’m rolling on top of the rocks of the roof, causing my body to tense up from the pain, but it doesn’t even bother me knowing that we all made it. I look at Beatrice and Christina as we all get up, laughing together at the insanity that Dauntless has put us through in less than an hour.

“Alright, listen up. I’m Eric. I’m one of your leaders. If you want to enter Dauntless, this is the way in. And if you don’t have the guts to jump, then you don’t belong in Dauntless,” I see a tall yet attractive blonde man say, standing on the edge of the rooftop next to three other people facing us. I assume they’re leaders as well.

“Is there water at the bottom or something?” A boy from Erudite says to the right of us.

“I guess you’ll find out. Or not” Eric says nonchalantly.

Christina turns to us, “We just jumped and they want us to jump again?” I just look at her and shrug.

“Well someone’s gotta go first, who’s it gonna be?” Eric says scanning over the crowd. His icy blue eyes land my dark blue eyes for a moment before he continues to scan the crowd.

Out of nowhere, I hear Beatrice say “Me,” Eric looks at me before looking at her with a cold look on his face as he hops down from the ledge.

Beatrice walks forward as the crowd of kids makes way for her. She looks at the drop and then takes off her sweater. “Yeah stiff take it off” I hear a boy in Candor clothing say, as other people throughout the crowd laugh. “ Put it back on,” he says quieter, I just roll my eyes at his comment. I always hated the name stiff, it always made me feel lesser than the other factions.

Beatrice climbs onto the ledge, she looks down. “Today, initiate,” Eric says, sounding impatient. A few moments later she steps off the ledge and disappears.

“Next!” Eric says, gesturing to the ledge. No one says anything. I notice that no one is gonna speak up so I decide to.

“I’ll go,” I say from the back as the people make another path to me.

“Two stiffs in a row, what a surprise,” Eric says as I furrow my face at his comment.

Before I walk all the way up to the front, I take my own sweater off and throw it at the boy in Candor clothing. It slaps him in the face surprising him before he just throws it to the ground. I walk up to the front, I look into Eric’s eyes as I pass him. When I got up onto the ledge I could feel him staring at me, like he was trying to burn a hole in my back.

I take a deep breath and then take a step off the ledge. I felt like I was just hovering in the air even though I was falling into a dark pit that I had no clue where it was leading. The next thing I know I’m bouncing on my back into a big net. I inhaled sharply as the impact didn’t do too much good for my back.

Soon enough I felt a tug from one side of the net and I rolled my body towards the slope. I feel two hands grip me under my armpits as they pull me off the net. I take a minute to stabilize myself on the ground before I look up to be greeted by my brother, Tobias. He looked at me with a stone-cold face but I could see in his eyes that he was relieved and happy to see me safe. I knew he had transferred here, but I wasn’t even sure if I would ever see him again, yet here he is, right in front of me.

I opened my mouth to say something, when he interrupted me, “What’s your name?” He asks me, with a deeper voice than I remember. Taken back by the shock that my brother was in front of me, I didn’t respond.

“You can pick a new one if you want, but make it good. You don’t get to pick again.” He says breaking the silence between us.

“Ummmm…” I say thinking for a second. “Lexi,” I say, choosing the nickname he had given me when we were younger

“Second jumper! Lexi!” My brother says to everyone else around us. His voice booms throughout the echoey room.

“Welcome to Dauntless,” Tobias says quieter and gives me a slight smile.

I walk over and stand next to Beatrice, “you pick a new name?” I whisper to her as we hear the next initiate screaming as they jump from the roof.

“Tris.” She says back

“That fits you,” I say smiling and looking over at her.

“And Lexi fits you,” she says and chuckles.

It takes longer than I expected for all the initiates to make it down here. After the last one named Molly, the leaders made their way down. The three other leaders make it down first and the last one being Eric. My brother tries to help him off the net but Eric refuses the help. I couldn’t help but notice the tension between them.

“Dauntless-born, you go with Lauren, transfers stay with me. Go.” My brother says and the group of Dauntless-born follow the girl, Lauren.

“Most of the time I work in intelligence, but during your training, I’ll be your instructor. My name's Four,” He explains as I’m taken aback by his new name. I think to myself how hard it’s going to be to not call him Tobias.

“Four like the number?” Christina questions from the other side of Tris.

“Exactly like the number,” My brother says coldly staring at Christina.

“What happened? One through three were already taken?” She says back as I hear others laughing throughout the crowd. I scowled turning to her as she made fun of my brother, luckily no one noticed.

“What’s your name?”

“Christina”

“Well, Christina, the first lesson you learn from me if you wanna survive here, is keep your mouth shut. Do you understand me?” Four says stepping closer to Christina. I notice the confidence in his voice that I had never heard before.

“Yes,” Christina responds with a tint of fear in her voice.

“Good. Follow me” He says as he walks behind the crowd.

My brother leads us throughout the Dauntless compound showing us the off-limits places, the chasm, and the training room. “I can already tell I’m gonna get lost in these halls,” I say to Tris, commenting on the indistinguishable white walls throughout the compound. We arrive at a massive open space where music is playing and people are conversing I look up and down examining the height of the space, I never imagined being in a place this big, I look at Tris and Christina smiling.

“This is the Pit, the center of life here in Dauntless.” My brother says making me nervous that he was standing so close to the edge. I look over the edge watching all the members dancing and fighting.

My brother then led us to a big room with multiple beds. “You’re gonna be sleeping here for the next ten weeks.” He says turning towards us

“Girls or boys?” I ask looking at my brother.

“Both.” He says, looking sternly at me.

“That works” I hear a boy say from behind me

“If you like this you’re gonna love the bathroom” My brother fake exclaims walking towards another open space. I look around at the open toilet and shower areas. I look over at Tris and Christina with “oh great” looks as other initiates complain.

“You should feel right at home, Candor. Everything out in the open. Get changed.” My brother says coldly as he bumps Tris and me in the shoulder while walking out. I just roll my eyes questioning why he’s being so distant.

We pick out our beds and start to get dressed. Tris, Christina and I, pick three beds along the wall and find our chests filled with our new Dauntless clothes. As Tris and I get undressed the boy from Candor, whose name I learned is Peter, commented on our bodies. I just sent a glare his way but he just returned it with a smirk.

“I swear when I get the chance, I’m gonna beat the shit out of him,” I say turning to Tris, she gives me a small smile. I finished getting dressed before anyone else and felt uncomfortable just waiting before were called again, so I walked out into the hall.

As I made it into the hall, I notice a tall figure towards the end, I realize it’s my brother. He walks a bit further down and turns the corner, I follow him. I turn the corner a few moments after him but bump right into his chest not expecting him to be so close. I look up and gaze into his eyes, the next thing I know he pulls me into a tight hug, making me tighten up and wince.

“Thank god you’re ok, but you shouldn’t have come here.” He says still hugging me.

“I’m 18 now, I can make my own choices. And the day you left, I had already made my choice.” I say pulling away from his warm chest.

“I shouldn’t have left you. I should have stayed and protected you” He says looking at me with a sorry face.

“It’s ok, you made the right choice for yourself. Plus I was able to handle myself well enough” I say looking down.

“He got worse, didn’t he? After I left?” Tobias asks me, moving the jacket slightly off my arms, wanting to see the pain inflicted on me.

“I’m fine” I respond quietly while pulling up my jacket sleeve back up and crossing my arms, but he had already noticed the cuts and bruises.

We stand in silence for a bit before Tobias says, “Look as much as I would like to spend quality time and catch up with my little sister. It’s best that we don’t tell anyone that we know each other, let alone brother and sister. I just don’t want people thinking you’re getting an advantage or hurt you because of it.” He says pulling my face up to look at him.

“You don’t need to protect me anymore, Tobias. I understand that I need to go through this process by myself. Do you promise that we’ll get to spend time together after though?” I responded, giving him a slight smile.

“Promise,” He says pulling me into another hug. “And it’s Four. Now get back into the dorms before people get suspicious of where you’ve gone off to. Someone will be back to get you guys soon.” I squeeze him a little harder before pulling away and walking back to the dorms.

A/N: Welcome to Dauntless, everyone! Hope you’re enjoying the series so far. Thanks for reading!

🏷: @awkwardspontaneity

#divergent imagine #divergent #eric coulter #tobias eaton #tris prior #eric coulter imagine #divergentDBU #dauntless

67 notes · View notes

eunoiaflow3r · 4 years

Text

when worlds collide - h.p. x gn!avenger!reader

a/n: bahahahahaha no one reads harry x reader lmaoo you don’t have to tell me - i know. but still, i thought this was a cute idea and i went with it. hope you enjoy :)

not edited.

also: timelines don’t match up bc i don’t want to do the math so harry is like 20 - 21 and your like 19 - 20 in 2020. Civil War and everything on didn’t happen. Fred didn’t die.

gn = gender neutral

warning(s): “language!” - captain america.

word count: 3.1k

request(ed): no.

summary: stephen sends y/n to a strange new place with...wizards?

————————————-&—————————————

Never doubt Stephen Strange. That's something that pretty much everyone has accepted. Never second guess the wizard man. Usually you'd agree. Usually you'd just let the man babble about whatever he needed to and then go about your day.

Not now.

The fuckery.

Now you were here (wherever here was) after some flashes of orange and a "be careful." Did he even do the spell right? Is this really where you were supposed to be?

It was dark, and dirty and you just wanted to go home and not talk to anyone so you turned yourself invisible.

You were born with your powers - you think. You were adopted so you wouldn't know where your powers came from. All you know is that one day your parents couldn't find you, even though you were right there. Instead of thinking you were some kind of alien and throwing you out to labs, they helped you control it the best you could.

It was difficult at first, all things considered, but you got through. You discovered you had another power as well. Force fields. Those came in handy during the battles. (You helped where you could), and Tony Stark took you in afterwards as his own. He helped you create your suit, and your name, and discover more about your powers, he was basically a dad to you.

Your parents were a little hesitant letting you join the Avengers, but once they realized this is what you were meant to do, and you had people just like you protecting you, they couldn't keep you from that. They just couldn't.

So here you were, invisible, in some dark and creepy alley. There were doors either side of you, so you got out of the way considering they could open and smack you in the face at any given moment. You heard loud voices and laughing and cheering from both ends of the alley so you walked towards the one in front of you.

The voices were so loud and echoey that you really couldn't focus on anything else. Maybe that's why you didn't hear a boy behind you trip and fall into you from behind.

"I'm so sorry." he said helping you up.

You turned around to help him, he got awfully dirty, and searched for his glasses that fell off his face.

Once standing, he took out a stick, waved it over him, and all of a sudden the dirt and gravel was gone.

"How did you do that?" You were no stranger to magic, but this was something you've never seen before. And why would he do it in front of you? For all he knew, you were an unknowing human.

"What?" He asked eyebrows furrowed together, accent strong.

"With the stick."

He chuckled shoving the stick back in his cloak.

"The stick." He smiled and looked you up and down. "It's a wand. You must not be from around here."

"Yeah, what tipped you off?" You noticed the lightning bolt scar on his head. You wondered how he got it.

"The accent, the clothes, the inability to recognize a simple wand, the ability to be here, not recognizing me, and wait - where is your cloak?"

"Cloak?"

"You were just invisible a moment earlier but I don't see your cloak anywhere."

"I don't have one. I can make myself invisible without a piece of fabric or your fancy stick." You say sarcastically. Were you flirting?

"Handy." He grins. "The name's Harry Potter."

He holds his hand out for you to shake. "Y/N L/N."

He asks you if you want to talk somewhere besides a dark dirty alley. You agreed. It took some convincing though to let him use his stick to clean the clothes you had on, but to change your outfit to something less, standout-ish.

When you felt the witch hat on your head you immediately snatched it off your head and glared at him.

He just laughed.

Once out of the alley, you breathed in the now clean air, and was mesmerized. People were bustling in and out of small shops, animals were flying and chirping around their owners, children were running around with their friends and siblings, and people were waving sticks, or wands, just like Harry used.

"C'mon, this way." He smiled at your awestruck face. It reminded him of when he first arrived with Hagrid all those years ago.

He brought you inside a coffee shop, and sat you at a booth near the window knowing you'd probably want to still look outside at the new scenes.

After ordering, and a few moments of silence as you looked around, you decided to ask some questions.

"Where am I?"

"We're in Diagon Alley. It's like an outside mall."

"I mean like, planet? I guess?"

"Earth."

"Earth?"

"Well, more specifically London. Diagon Alley."

"London?! I'm in London?!"

"You've never been? To Earth? Or London?"

You rolled your eyes silently cursing Strange. "I'm from Earth. The United States, actually. I just wish he'd put me on a fucking plane or something instead of making it seem like I was going to Mars."

"He?" Harry was very curious.

You looked into his green eyes, your mind wandering. The guy in front of you was very attractive. His dark hair complimented his eyes, and his glasses made him even more attractive.

"You guys are wizards right?"

"Really? What gave you that impression?" He asks sarcastically. "The sticks, the pointy hats, or the big bowl with green liquid sitting outside?”

You rolled your eyes. "Very funny. It's not my fault you live into the stereotype of brewing potions in your cauldrons -"

"Oh well I can only assume you're one of those Avengers from the States, yeah?" He grins. "You guys are all over the news."

"Yes, sure -"

"And don't one of you wear capes and another shoot lasers or lightning or whatnot? Sounds very stereotypical to me."

You laugh as the waitress brings over your drinks and muffins. You thank her. "No, well yes, that's Strange and Thor, but that's besides the point -"

"Well of course it's strange." He grins and winks and you over his mug. He was purposely annoying you and found great joy in it.

"Anyway," you sigh getting back to the point. "Do you guys have a Wizard here, like a powerful, trusting, all-knowing kind of guy?"

His eyes dropped slowly and his smile dimmed for a moment before slowly widening once again.

"Had. His name was Dumbledore."

"Our guy is Stephen Strange. Or Dr. Strange. He sent me here, and I'm not sure why."

"Hmmm." He hums setting down his mug. "Are the states in danger? Were you sent here on a secret quest that would put you through tough trials that would risk your life but would ultimately save everyone you've ever loved so you just have to do it?"

You were in a silent shock. "Uhm. No, not that I'm aware of, no."

"Well then perhaps your Wizard Strange is playing matchmaker."

"Matchmaker?"

"Well you were sent here weren't you?" You nod. "Arrived outside the exact place where I was and I just happened to bump into you? Sounds like a set-up to me."

"Or a coincidence."

"I'd like to think it was fate that I bump into the most attractive person I've ever seen and they don't know who I am and won't judge me 'cause of my past." He took a bite of his muffin.

"Should I be worried?"

"I guess you'll have to figure that out yourself." He winks.

You decide to eat your muffin as well. It was a comfortable silence until you looked out of the window and noticed a guy crouching down behind a cauldron...with a camera.

"Harry?"

"Hm?"

"Why is there a man outside taking pictures of you?"

His eyes widened. "Oh shit." He whispered. "Here." He took out a baseball cap and put it over your head, hiding your face from the camera.

He gets out of his seat quickly pulling you along with him to the back of the shop but before you could say anything he had his wand pulled out.

Next thing you saw was a couch and living room.

"Wow." You panted. "What a way to bring a girl home."

"I apologise Y/N, I block them out so much I forget they're even there and now they've seen you, and have a story and -"

"Wait, wait, wait, are you wanted for murder or something?"

Harry walks over to his bookshelf and pulls out a rather large book. After opening up on the table, he waved his wand over it and beckons you over to read it.

'Boy who lived.'

'Golden boy defeats Voldemort'

'winner of Triwizard tournament'

And there was so much more… 'Harry Potter' in bold just strewn across the pages. His whole life story.

Your eyes widen at everything. "So both and neither. War hero. How come I've never heard of you? Or any of this?"

He smiles at the pages fondly, running his fingers across the letters and reminiscing on his times at Hogwarts.

"Unlike you Avengers, we like to keep our business private and quiet. We don't like prying eyes."

You scoff. "Not our fault we have alien invasions every year."

Harry agreed and for the rest of the night you sat on his couch talking and sometimes arguing, over every little thing. It felt like you two had known each other forever.

You're not sure when, but you fell asleep there and woke with your head on his chest and his arm wrapped around your waist. You're not sure how the two of you ended up this way, and you realized you were practically strangers, but you didn't want to move. You just wanted to tangle your fingers through his dark hair.

But you didn't. Instead you stared at his closed eyes, and focused on his long, dark, eyelashes that fluttered a little from time to time. You thought about how you could get used to this. Waking up with his arm wrapped around you.

You told him last night that if he was actually a serial killer, and wanted to kill you that you had a whole team of people who would rip him limb from limb. He had no doubts and looked actually scared of your threat.

You thought about what it'd be like to live here among people like you.

Stomach grumbling, you decided to get up and see if he had anything you could make for him. It's the least you could do. His face turned when you left his arms, but you quickly pulled the blanket over him so he would be able to sleep a little longer.

You found his bathroom, and washed your face. In your backpack was a toothbrush and some toothpaste so you brushed your teeth, fixed your hair, and got dressed.

By the time you got out of the bathroom, you noticed Harry was still sleeping so you went into the kitchen and tried to find anything remotely close to breakfast foods. By the look of his inventory, you could tell he was very good at cooking but hadn’t been to the store in a while. He did have some eggs and toast though so you decided to make that.

In the middle of it, you got a phone call from Strange.

“Strange?”

“Harry Potter.” he says.

“What?” you were so confused as to how Stephen knew ANYTHING.

“You’re in his place, we've been tracking you.”

“So I guess we should probably have a talk about privacy? I don’t know, it just seems like something we should discuss you know? Cause usually people can respect that - especially people who just DUMP you here in the first place -“

“Calm down that’s what the mission was. While you were sleeping, we searched the place with a camera we put on you and he’s not who we thought he was. You completed the mission L/N. Great job.”

“Is he a danger?”

“Not necessarily. Just making sure your fine is all.”

“What -?”

He hung up.

Why wouldn’t Strange tell you his intentions? Why would he let you stay here if he thought Harry might have been a bad guy? Why would he risk that?

Right as you hung up Harry Potter walked into the kitchen with his lenses in between his shirt - he was cleaning his glasses.

His dark hair hung over his eyes but his eyebrows were raised.

“You made breakfast?”

“It was the least I could do. I didn’t mean to fall asleep but thank you for letting me stay.”

He smiled and put his glasses back on. In doing so his gray shirt lifted and you could see his abs. You turned away a blushed.

“It was no big deal. Thank you for making breakfast, love. You didn’t have to.”

You didn’t say anything and instead placed both of your finished plates on the dining room table. He followed you and sat down immediately digging in.

“These are the best eggs i’ve ever eaten Y/N thank you.”

You smiled in response but then frowned remembering your conversation with Strange. You should probably tell Harry.

“So,” you cleared your throat. “You were wrong.”

He gave you a look that meant “about?”

“Dr. Strange - the wizard I work with - he likes to check out potential threats and make sure that ya’know - the earth stays safe and everything. Je can kind of see the future and its propabilities. He did the same thing with Thor and his brother Loki.”

“Okay, go on.”

You cringed. “And so he called me and told me that he sent me here so he could see you? I don’t know I guess he saw you as a threat and wanted to make sure you weren’t.”

You looked at Harry but his face was clear of any and every emotion. He just continued to eat his eggs. It was silent.

You ate a bit at your eggs too until he spoke up which made you look up.

“I can’t say I’m very surprised honestly. With everything you guys manage to fuck up there I’d wanna know if someone else was about to create shit problems too.”

You sighed with relief. He wasn’t mad.

“I’m sorry really Harry, I didn’t even know.”

“No yeah it’s fine. I get it. I still think he sent you specifically for a reason though. There’s just no way we aren’t soul mates or something.”

“Oh shut up Potter.”

He smiled. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Gee your head must hurt.”

He squints at you jokingly. “You should let me take you out. I can show you around today. Y’know, so you can see what wizards are like.”

“Is this a date?”

His face flushes red and he looks down at his plate. “Yeah, yeah it’s a date.”

And a date it was.

“What the fuck is wrong with you Harry! Again?!” You practically screamed. Harry called it aparation but you call it hell. You let it go the first time but damn. He barely even warned you, just took your hand, held it tight, pulled you close, and waved his wand.

It was teleportation. Something you’ve never ever done before.

“Fucking hell Potter I’m going to murder you.”

“And Strange was worried about your safety? This is like your 4th time threatening to end my life and besides, it wasn’t even that bad.”

You rolled your eyes.

Throughout the day Harry showed you all sorts of things you’d never ever seen before. This consisted of every flavor jelly beans (and by every flavor they really meant every flavor), a chocolate frog, and never ending bubble gum. And that was just on the candy side.

He took you inside this joke shop ran by two of his friends from his old school he called hogwarts. They were twins that went by the names of Fred and George. The only twins you had ever met was Wanda and Pietro but telling the story of Pietro’s death seemed to sour Harry’s mood but excite the twins. The fact that he sacrificed himself for a little boy made him a hero in their eyes. They begged you to tell them more stories.

By the end of the day you went back to Harry’s place and you were exhausted. You can’t believe all that you’ve seen and eaten. How was this stuff even possible? How was it all hidden? You were amazed.

Harry was glad to see you had a good day and glad that he had met you. When you got back, he told you that you could stay another night...and perhaps in the bed instead of the couch. He hadn’t meant it in a dirty way but that didn’t stop you from laughing until tears came out of your eyes. He was so awkward at times. Once he had to ask if it was okay to take your hand while you were in the street and it was so cute how he couldn’t really find the words even for something as simple as hand holding.

“Harry?”

“Hm?”

You both were laying in his bed facing the other.

“I had a lot of fun today. I feel like i’ve known you forever.”

He grinned from ear to ear and was glad that you couldn’t see him. He would have been beyond embarrassed if you’d seen how unmistakably happy that made him.

“I had fun with you Y/N. You’re great company.”

You were silent for a moment.

And another.

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?”

You were scared of his response and your heart was practically beating out of your chest. What if he was just being friendly? What if he just wanted to be friends? You would have made a huge fool of yourself. You were going to turn away embarrassed until his hand came up to your face and slipped onto your cheek. He was so warm. His lips pressed against yours for a moment and then he pulled away.

After a moment he reconnected and moved his lips against yours slowly. Your hand went to the back of his neck and toyed with his hair. He groaned into your mouth. You smiled and scooted even closer to him. All you could hear was the sound of your breathing and kissing. You didn’t want to pull away but you had to.

“Harry.” you said practically breathless.

“Yeah.” he was breathless too.

“I want to show you my world. You should come see New York.”

“Yeah? You wanna show me those alien invasions and robot attacks?”

You laughed and snuggled into Harry. He wrapped his arm around you and kissed your neck.

“Mhmm.”

“I’d love to see it.”

Tags:

@romance-geek @gooseyhouse

194 notes · View notes

aureolusfirewrites · 3 years

Text

Glitch X

Rook watched the doomsday device clatter to the ground. He stood in fear as the lid opened and he braced himself for the inevitable, but it never came.

A dud? How could the most feared device in the multiverse be a dud? Not that he was complaining about the universe not being destroyed but it was odd.

The Annihilargh broke easily under the larger Vreedle's foot and it was around then that Rook noticed something off.

"Hey um big guy? What's the matter with Benny over here?" Argit asked pointing to Rook's terran partner.

So that was what had been off... During the whole ordeal Ben hadn't said anything, hadn't moved, hadn't spoken, hadn't even blinked unsettlingly.

Sensing something bad was about to happen he quickly ran to his partner.

"Ben? Ben?" He asked calling out to the boy who was remaining dazed.

"Benjamin Kirby Tennyson! Can you hear me?" Rook began again with building urgency. At that Ben turned his head, and oh how Rook wished he hadn't.

It was horrifying. His head turned slowly and jerkily like in those horror films Ben had let him borrow until he was facing Rook. As soon as he stopped moving there was an awful suction like noise that seemed to come from everywhere an no where as Ben seemingly glitched from reality. One second Ben had turned to face him and within a fraction of that second he seemed to break into chunks and discolor momentarily once again like how something from a horror film would.

Rook stumbled back and fell in shock. Ben looked at his hands tensely with a blank expression then things got worse. The skin on Ben's left arm seemed to chip away like flakes to reveal a shimmering black star spotted surface underneath.

The Vreedles Incursions and Argit were all doing the same as him, staring in shock at what was happening to Ben. Rook couldn't blame them, after all he was no better, but looking back at the event... In hindsight they really should've run.

The teenager's arms were shaking as he watched all of his natural skin leave one arm before looking up. He was quiet and it sounded so scared that it didn't fit his partner but it was there, a faint whispered cry for help.

"Rook?"

And then chaos erupted.

Ben suddenly threw his head back in pain and began screaming bloody murder. They all covered their ears as shockwaves rolled out of the cries of agony breaking windows from down the streets sending glass everywhere. It wasn't even Ben's voice that was screaming it was something else something... altered. Like it was Ben's voice but overlapped with other voices making the shrieks echoey.

When Rook finally mustered up enough strength to open his eyes the scene was worse than he had imagined. Glass filled streets, splitting ground shaking and throwing him off balance with tremors, and the gravity had seemed to turn on itself.

Ben was jerking himself around, whipping in different directions glitching while doing so in whatever pain he was experiencing from nowhere. And with every whip of his head and screech that came with it black shockwaves shot out in that direction erasing the gravity that was in the area as debris began floating.

Rook didn't understand what was happening, one second he was standing there and the next Ben was screaming as if he were being tortured and bending the reality of anything that came to his path. All he knew was Ben should not sound like this, no human should ever sound as if they were in this much pain.

"BEN STOP! LISTEN TO ME!" he tried to reach out to the boy and it worked... In a sense.

Ben's out of control state whipped around to him and the other lowlifes he was with as they were engulfed in one of the gravity warping blasts. He saw Argit floating near him and the others all of them looking a mix of surprised and terrified. The colors in this pocket area were odd as if everything was outlined in white and anything within those outlines were black.

He could see Ben through here but the boy kept flashing out with flares of white as if something, some force, was building around him. Panic shot in worse than before, he only had Ben for a few days he couldn't lose his partner already.

He found a large floating piece of asphalt that had been dislodged from the road and bending his knees against it pushed off flying towards what he hoped was out of this little warp area. He got closer and closer to reaching Ben as that power surged around him still. But as soon as he broke free of the odd pocket rift that flare he had seen around the hero became to much and the force exploded outward.

White.

That's all there was.

Just a blinding white that left ringing in Rook's ears.

It seemed like an eternity before his vision cleared and he became aware of the world around him. The first thing he felt was the ruffling going through his fur, like strong winds blowing against him. Rook clenched his sore fingers and forced himself up, propping his upper body up with his elbows. When he became aware of the glowing in front of him he set his gaze up with much effort to see one not-so-human Ben Tennyson hovering there. Behind him was a dark swirling portal that looked as if someone had torn a hole in the fabric of space and time leaving a rip.

Both of Ben's arms were now that galaxy star pattern but it was like it had spread, corrupting him. Cracks of that voident black leaked across his face coming from his eyes. And there were three prongs coming out from his forehead in a star like shape and Ben's normally bright green eyes were replaced with a blank burning set of white pupiless ones. He looked almost like how those files and Ben himself had described...

"Alien X?" Rook managed to choke out his throat dry and aching. That didn't make sense though Alien X was a transformation and Rook was positively certain that this wasn't what Ben meant. He had heard of alien X being Ben's most powerful form only to be used in tense situations, this wasn't a form though. This was like a hybrid of Ben mixed with it and put on a rampage. Rook had been waiting for the boy to speak but Ben just turned to the portal already beginning to go inside.

"Wait stop!" He tried to stand and run to his partner but hissed and fell back to the ground panting at the pain that shot up from his leg.

"Please!" Rook practically screamed reaching a hand out but his friend stepped, or more floated, through and let the rift close behind him.

Rook stared numbly at the spot for a while, smoke and carnage and the sound of sirens were in the distance but everything was just blurry now.

"Please" he whispered again brokenly feeling the ash caked fur beneath his eyes become damp knowing he would not be receiving an answer. And with that final spell of realization and wave of tiredness Rook let that slowly creeping black exhaustion sink in and allowed himself to pass out.

#ben 10 #ben 10 au #ben 10 fanfiction #ben tennyson #ben 10 omniverse #rook blonko #alien x

39 notes · View notes

jonesinghardy · 4 years

Text

No More Spitting Feathers 02/?

PAIRINGS: Warren Worthington III x Reader WARNINGS: injury, blood, implied drug use RATING: T+, will be raised later. WORD COUNT: 2.2k INSTALLATIONS: Part 01 AUTHOR’S NOTE: Dedication and thanks to Andi @venombxby for discussion and honorary mentions to Monica @rosesvioletshardy and Wella for inspo. This is written in second person bc I have never been able to get on board with Y/N trends, and the reader is a mutant with a limited mix of healing, telekinesis and some empathic inclinations.

The night is never as dark as you’d like in a city, and no matter the hour, night owls are bound to be turning their gaze onto anything that moves above the shadows.

He casts quite a shadow.

Dove.

You don’t speak much after he agrees to go with you. There is a stalemate between the two of you for many minutes before he offers an arm and helps you up, getting you to a more comfortable place in the warehouse to rest until you could stand on your own.

You didn’t think he’d be able to fold his wings enough to hide them, you thought it would hurt too much, but he manages to do it anyway and tucks them away into a long coat that he found in the disused warehouse staffroom, along with a large umbrella that helps conceal him better.

Once you could stand you found a dusty bathroom with running water and managed to clean your arms and face of blood and wrangle your hair into something less dishevelled. You also took off all your absurd jewelry, cleaning it all with hot water and chucking it into the same locker you find a pair of shoes that are too big but are better than trying to walk barefoot.

You get the privilege of draping his leather jacket over your shoulders, which doesn’t exactly keep you warm given the modifications he made to the back to accommodate his wings, but you suppose you’d be colder without it.

You walk in silence side by side for most of the journey, and calling it such is no exaggeration. It only takes half an hour for the pain to creep into his wing again, especially with how he has them folded against his back— you feel it, and have to breathe through the discomfort, the one aspect of your powers that you can’t turn off, but that thankfully doesn’t wipe you out the same way healing or telekinesis does.

It takes three hours, and neither of you seeks a break, somehow knowing that stopping would benefit neither of you. He gets more tired though, but you can tell he relaxes a bit when the city falls away and the trees thicken, and the people and cars become few and far between.

The safe house looks abandoned from the outside, and to your benefit, it has thick overgrowth around its perimeter that provides plenty of privacy. All of the windows are either frosted or boarded up save for the stained glass windows on the old domed church that will be your shelter.

You find the key where you expect it, and as soon as you enter you’re working on autopilot. You throw off the shoes that have given you blisters, walk across the confused space to a large set of shelves and pick out a change of clothes that don’t quite fit but are better than the tiny cocktail dress you’ve had to trek your way here in.

Dove throws off the coat and drops onto the nearest cot, groaning as he stretches out his wings. You shudder from the incomparable empathic impression it leaves in your back. You change without caring if he looks (he doesn’t), putting on the pants and a too-large shirt, collecting a blanket from a crate in the corner and yourself dropping onto a cot not too far from where he’d lain down. You pass out after you heal your blistered feet.

You sleep for eighteen hours.

He sleeps for twelve, and when he awakens he’s hungry and hungover, aching in unpleasant but not unfamiliar ways. You can feel the malaise even though it doesn’t wake you, creeping into your body and your dreams and then fading once he freely navigates the space and finds the food and water kept in the makeshift pantry.

You feel better when you wake, but you’re ravenous, and dig into whatever shelf-stable item seems most appealing— you’re still chewing when you go and find him, having made himself a more private corner to relax in with cushions, two cot mattresses and a few blankets.

Swallowing doesn’t quite soothe the scratch in your throat, and you notice some subtly floating feather particles in the air, leaving you to idly wonder how much he sheds.

“Are you well enough to heal me now?” he asks, filling the silence. You’re not sure if he believes you are, he seems tired and resigned.

“No,” you reply. “Not significantly anyway.”

He levels you with an incredulous look.

You sigh. “I could give myself an aneurysm if I try to heal you too fast.”

“What can you do, then?”

“I could have you flying again in ten days,” you say, “that won’t put too much strain on me.”

His wing, the undamaged one, flutters slightly. “Fourteen.”

“What?”

“Take fourteen days. You were like a rag doll at the warehouse, Häschen, you’re no use to me like that. You think you can do ten days— I don’t have anywhere to be— we’ll do fourteen.”

You look at him for a moment, trying to spot some ulterior motive and figure he must be doing the same.

“Okay, alright. Two weeks.” That’s probably how long you’ll need to arrange extraction anyway.

You swallow again against the scratch in your throat and take a deep breath.

“You need a tour?” you ask, feeling awkward.

He shakes his head. “I looked around while you were sleeping.”

“The church is free-reign,” you say, explaining anyway, “the rest of the building is not really safe, but isn’t off-limits.” You shrug. “The shower room is over there.” You point. “Towels and soap are in the baskets… they’re all labelled.”

“You planning to leave me alone here, Häschen?” he asks, sitting forward slightly and canting his head to the side.

You both react when he strains his wing, and you try to hide your whimper with a cough. His wings shudder and the feathers tighten up, drooping slightly as he sits back against the wall with a slight grunt of pain.

“I want to get some supplies from the store… like better food,” you explain with a shrug. You also want to get him some medicine to tide him over between your attempts to heal him.

“Are you going to walk?”

You shake your head. “There’s a car stored on the property, I have what I need. I shouldn’t be more than forty minutes.”

He doesn’t say anything further, and it feels too invasive to watch him struggle through his pain.

“You want anything?” you ask, already planning to get him some clothes.

“No.”

“Okay. What clothing sizes do you wear?”

The look he gives you is almost a smirk, a raised brow and a quirk of his lip that makes you flush. You look away in embarrassment and clear your throat again.

He tells you the sizes. “You don’t like my clothes?” he asks.

“That’s— that’s not the point,” you say, and motion at him, his pants and boots, the lack of a shirt, the modified leather jacket he’d taken back while you slept. “That’s all you have.”

He shrugs with his hands. “Do what you want.”

“I will.”

“See you in an hour, then.” He seems inclined to give you more time than you think you’ll need.

—

The subtle hiss and splash of water greet your ears from across the echoey safe house when you return. You took less than the hour, but more than the forty minutes to get everything done. You put the bags down on the tables that make up the kitchen (which isn’t much of a kitchen at all. There is an old fridge, two hot plates, a toaster oven and some cookware and dishes next to a deep industrial sink).

There is steam coming from the shower room, and when you get closer with the bag of clothes you got for him, you feel a malaise creep into your body.

“Dove?” you call, but he doesn’t answer.

You put down the bag and go to the door, not sure what you’ll find, but hardly wanting to violate his privacy nor open yourself up to any teasing if you’ve misinterpreted the empathic impression.

A small gasp leaves your lips. His wings are almost totally clean now, free of the dirt and char and blood that had been caked on them— some of which sits over the drain grate to his right. Feathers are missing from his left wing, and it continues to droop, but what concerns you is how he’s kneeling on the floor with his head against the wall, taking in shuddering breaths. The wings hide his nakedness almost completely, but that hardly crosses your mind as you step into the room.

“Dove?” you say again, more urgently now, your new shoes splashing on the wet floor as you cross over to him.

It’s a rather bare room, stripped of all curtains and half-stalls, with only a dozen showerheads set a few feet apart around the space. He has two showers running to cover all of him, and you gasp when you feel how hot the water is, yanking the tap to the left to make it cold and then reaching over him to do the same to the other.

“What are you doing!” your voice is louder than you intend, and he tenses, groaning when cold water penetrates whatever daze he was in. You get down on one knee and grab his face between your hands. He’s hot hot hot, and not just from the water, flushed. He startles, wings jerking and feathers fluffing, and he gives a slight grunt of alarm.

“Hey, hey, it’s me— it’s just me.”

He doesn’t quite relax but he seems to calm, bowing his head slightly and shivering. You carefully reach up to turn off both showers and bring your hand to his neck. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus through the haze and urgency.

“What are you doing…” he says dully, lifting a hand to grasp your forearm. He groans when he feels the initial relief of your healing. “Don’t, you’re not— I’ll be fine—”

“I can handle it, you’re not well,” you reply, almost scolding. He makes a sound of acknowledgement but speaks no further, he keeps his hand on your arm.

You don’t find what you’re looking for, you assumed it would be an infection from the fracture, but his whole nervous system is rioting. You quickly readjust, your fingers pressing against his neck, by the nape. It’s not the healing you expected him to need, but you hadn’t exactly gotten the chance to examine him and come up with a plan. Your healing balances his autonomic nervous system, calming the sympathetic and re-engaging the parasympathetic. He’d need more help than that, you can tell, but easing his distress is your primary goal.

A drop of blood hits the floor, and his hand squeezes your arm. Your nose is bleeding.

“That’s enough,” he says, his voice much more controlled now.

“I’m alright,” you assure him, “I know my limits, I can do a bit more…” You aren’t lying but you know how far you can push yourself before you get as bad as you were last night. You can do more now that you’re touching him too, that always makes you more precise.

His breathing even outs and his heart rate calm, and his head bows in relief after another long moment. Your bloody nose gets worse, but you set him up better this time, stimulating his immune system and provoking a healing response throughout his body, natural pain relief. It would help his body help itself until you could resume your efforts tomorrow.

You move your hand away from his neck and move it to under your nose. The leg of your pants is wet when you stand, and you turn away but he gives your arm a little tug, making you look back down at him. His face isn’t as flushed now, and there’s a different kind of pain in his eyes, something non-physical. Something like guilt.

“I didn’t deserve that,” he says gravely. You slowly pull your hand away.

“You were in distress, I wasn’t going to leave you like that.”

His wings twitch, ruffling carefully. “Some pain deserves to be felt,” he argues weakly. “Especially for something of my own doing.”

“Withdrawal isn’t a penance, Dove.” When he meets your gaze, you think he might be searching for judgement, but he won’t find any. He looks away.

“It’s an unfair strain on you.”

You turn away, still holding your bloody nose. “I can’t just pick and choose what I heal. If you’re sick I can’t fix your wing effectively.” You huff, turning away. “And I’m fine. It’s not as draining when I can touch you… I left you some clothes by the door. If you really don’t want to waste my efforts, you’d better get some rest. Your body can do the work itself until tomorrow.”

You start out of the room deliberately, shoesfalls splashing wetly. As you pass the threshold, the echoey walls of the shower room amplify his quiet words just enough for you to hear.

“Thank you.”

You keep going without acknowledging it.

#warren worthington x reader #warren worthington x you #warren worthington iii #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy fanfic #warren fic.#warren x reader.#my fic.

65 notes · View notes

thirstybtsthoughts · 3 years

Note

Bunny I really need big sister advice here.

So, I'm in the bathroom and the door is locked, I went in to make some pleasure in this Tae professor fic I just read... and so I'm enjoying, as one would say, and then I search on twitter for bulges in suits coz thats a kink of mine and it kinda went with the taehyung professor theme... and so I'm scrolling and sprawled out with my hand in use, then my THIRTEEN year old sister says my name as she UNLOCKS THE DOOR WITH HER NAIL, AND straight up just strolls in and stares at me like a foot away. And in the panic, I closed my bare legs, sat there like I was peeing, and tried to not act suspicious.

I yell at her to stay out if the door is locked, and she gets mad at me and leaves. NO PRIVACY IN THIS HOUSE, SMH!!! But then I look down at my phone and realize I forgot something. I left my screen on. MY SCREEN ON. AS THERE'S SOME DUDE ON THE TIMELINE STROKING HIS BULGE,,, my eyes were scanning to make sure I hid everything that could look suspicious in under a second, so i couldn't see if she got a glimpse of it.

My sister is in this weird phase where she's hyper freaked out at anything that makes her think innapropriate thoughts. Idk, maybe its because she's going through puberty and it scares her because she doesn't like this new unknown thing (I was the same way when I was younger for some reason), and it also could be that we're in a very religious and conservative household, so she could be under some self-inflicted impression that its "dirty" or "wrong" to have innapropriate thoughts. But like... its the kid version of dirty. They don't even know what to think yet. For example, we don't watch aquaman anymore because she said to my mom that the shape of his pants makes her look there and it bothers her. This girl... *sigh*

So now I'm sitting here lowkey freaking out. I can't ask my mom to tell her to knock off just ENTERING THE LOCKED BATHROOMS whenever she wants, because then my mom would be like ??? Why is it bothering you extra??? And then she'd know thats usually where I'll go to have privacy so I can do things. I'm twenty years old.

So I tried to continue and refocus on the fantasy of professor Tae again when I was back alone, because I was literally just gonna climax when that scary interruption barged in. I was shaky and akward and felt exposed and so uncomfortable from it. And then my mom walks past, pounding on the door and giving me a heart attack. "Who's in the bathroom rn??" She shouts. Again, yanked my hand away, turned off my phone, and closed my legs JUST IN CASE. I weakly respond "me", and then I freaked out a little again, because my voice was kinda whimpery since I got close to climaxing again and had to panic and stop immediately.

My whole family is really comfortable and casual about just getting things when they need them from cubbords and stuff, but my sister doesn't even knock to ask if its alright. I swear, she does it just to bug me.

Gosh i'm getting off track.

Anyway, I'm scared that I scarred my sister, or if she's gonna hyperfixate and obsess about it in secret now. I don't want her to freak out more than she does. And I really don't want my mom to know that I'll occasionally watch things on my phone. She'll take it to "help me stop" probably, even if I'm a grown woman.

So like... any advice on how to adress this situation? I'm so sorry, I'm just so sick of this. There's NOWHERE I can have the full guarentee of privacy, not even my room. No locks on doors, everyone waltzes in because no one would think anyone is hiding something. but so far I've never been walked in on or caught until now. It felt exposing, even if she thought I was just using the bathroom, and I really didn't like it. I feel embarrased now, that could have gone so bad.

~ 🌸

Wow... I know privacy is hard when living with family but opening locked doors and walking into a bathroom when someone is inside?!... maybe it's a norm in some households, I don't know, but I do feel for you that you really do have no privacy at all.

About your sis - I'm sorry to say it but I kind of feel like she had it coming for walking in on you like that. She shouldn't have done it. Hopefully she didn't see your phone or anything, at 13 though, she's old enough to get a gist of what might have been happening. She will get past this phase of being uncomfortable with things like it, you went through it too, so you would know. I assume it's something she (and you) got from your upbringing around your family's conservative views. Try not to worry about her too much, she'll figure things out as she grows and learns more. If you really want to, you could talk to her about not walking in when people are using the bathroom, but that would involve the risk of her bringing up what she may have seen and thinking about it more. I don't know what else to say about it, it's how your family is, and I feel that if you were to bring up the topic of privacy in a conversation with them it would backfire on you as they would want to know why it's an issue and why you want more privacy.

Do you drive? Have a car? Maybe that's somewhere you could do it. I used to wait until there was no one home and then use those few rare times to play with myself. Otherwise I just restrained from doing so. I never really properly explored myself until I was 27 and moved out though. I also never had privacy, I shared a room when I was at home, have a big family, and our bathroom is too echoey for anything and there's always someone walking by 😭. So I get the no privacy thing. Another thing is to wait until the dead of night when you know they're all asleep, but I know thats risky as every sound at night feels loud af 😩. Your only other option may be to move out...but that's a big step to take just for the sake of being able to masturbate in peace. It's your choice how to handle things, you know your family best. 💜💜💜

#asks #anon #cherry blossom anon #🌸 anon #🌸#advice

6 notes · View notes

fungalnebula · 4 years

Photo

Prologue

Chapter One (will be linked when published)

Please leave critiques and suggestions in replies and/or reblogs!!! Click the cover image for a surprise!

There was a large tube inside the basement of the Fenton building. It was closed off by a large, military grade door, securing the emptiness of the tube. This machine had been sitting in the basement of the Fenton building, unused, since its conception two long years ago.

“Danny, why didn’t you tell us about this?” One of Danny’s best friends, Sam, asked as Danny punched in a code to release the contents of the empty tube. “This is so cool!”

Sam loved the Ghost Aesthetic. Danny felt a little bad for not telling her about the broken portal because of that.

“It didn’t work so I thought you guys wouldn’t care,” Danny said. “It was broken anyway…”

“Dude, it’s still a ghost portal!” Danny’s other best friend, Tucker, exclaimed. “Even if it doesn’t work, all the bones are still there.”

“I’m sorry, guys. I didn’t know it would be that interesting.”

“Are you insane!?” Sam exclaimed, “this is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. Let me take a picture of you!”

“No way, Samantha.” Danny groused, “there is no way I’m getting in that thing. What if the reason it didn’t work is because of loose wires or something? I don’t want to die.”

“You won’t die and you know I hate it when you call me Samantha,” she chastised. “You said it’s been broken for years! There’s no way it’ll work if it hasn’t already. It’s like a dead bear, it can’t hurt you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Danny laughed at her analogy. “You can still fall on a dead bear and get maimed by its teeth AND SLASH OR claws, Samantha.” Danny mocked Sam, waving his hands with each syllable of her name.

“Yeah, bad metaphor, just get in there. You won’t get electrocuted or anything. Your parents probably disconnected it from the power when they gave up on it.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Danny finally conceded, “let me at least wear one of the suits my parents made for me. You know, just in case.”

“Is it insulated?” Tucker chuckled.

“Yes, Tucker,” Danny retorted. “It is insulated, as a matter of fact.”

Danny walked to a cabinet labeled “Ecto Suits” and pulled out a white jumpsuit with a black collar. He adorned it as well as some black gloves and black boots. He noticed Tucker smirk as Sam attempted to suppress a snort. Danny stuck his tongue out at his two best friends in the world. He’d do anything for those jokers. Danny zipped up his new outfit and took a hesitant step towards the defunct portal.

“You guys really want to do this?” Danny had to force this last word out of his throat. He had been assured that he was safe, but was he really?

“Yeah,” Sam was gentle now. “You’ll be fine. All I want is a little picture of you in that neat thingy.”

Tucker put his hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Don’t worry man, it’s unplugged.” Tucker pointed to a plug on the ground nearby, assuming it was the power source for the portal.

“That makes me feel a bit better.” Danny sighed, relieved. He took another few steps and was in front of the portal. It was eerie and echoey. “Oooo” Danny made a noise and heard it bounce off the metal walls inside.

“Go on,” Sam pushed Danny lightly.

“Hey! Okay, I’m going!” Danny took a step inside the portal. It felt … empty and big. Much bigger than it was. Longer too. The tube felt more like a tunnel at this point, Danny could see the end of the tunnel, but it felt like it was miles away. Danny felt heavy just taking one step inside. He took another and felt his body weigh him down even more. It was just the anxiety, Danny thought to himself. Your body gets heavy when it’s dreading something, right? But there was nothing to worry about, Danny assured himself.

Danny took a few more steps inside the portal and turned around to face the outside. He tasted ozone and he felt like his blood was made of lead. There was the quietest of ringings bouncing around in his head making him somewhat dizzy and his eyes felt like they were vibrating.

“Danny?” Sam asked.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” Sam looked concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s a bit spooky in here, though,” Danny let out a slight chuckle. “I’ll just suck it up for the picture.”

“Yeah, alright…” Sam trailed off. “Can you do a cool pose? Maybe put your hand against the side and lean or something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Danny began to place his hand on the side of the portal. As his hand neared the wall, the taste of ozone intensified and his nose started running. His hand was almost to the wall when Sam snapped a picture with her polaroid camera.

“Oops,” she looked nervous as she took out the not-yet-developed picture and handed it to Tucker.

Danny knew she wanted a better shot so he finally put his hand on the wall. Millimeters before his hand made contact, Danny’s fingers felt like cold metal replaced all of his bones. He let his hand rest on the wall to his left as he felt a button depress. Immediately, his heart started racing as he felt panic run up his chest. Daniel Fenton suddenly felt the most excruciating pain he had ever and will ever feel in his life. He felt hundreds of knives stab him at once in every single nerve in his body. An army of knives marched through his nervous system, stabbing down hard with every step. This march of pain within his body moved incredibly fast but at the same time that it moved agonizingly slow.

Danny didn’t feel his throat open up to release a blood curdling scream of pure, horrific pain. He didn’t feel himself drop to his knees, but he did feel that militia of marching, stabbing pain start again at his knees. All he saw was green, neon green, everywhere. He tasted blood and ozone, the lower half of his face, beneath his nose, was wet and sticky. His lips felt like they were drenched in lip gloss that tightened at every breath he took. His left wrist felt like he had laid on it for hours and suddenly moved. Danny knew he was dying.

When his face smacked the metal floor of the now functioning portal, he didn’t feel his nose break, just the pain get more intense and the struggle to breathe increased with his mouth submerged in a shallow pool of blood escaping his nose like a dam had been opened. Danny didn’t feel himself being dragged by his friends out of the portal and he didn’t see the horrified looks on their faces when they saw all the blood and smoke coming from his body. He didn’t feel Tucker grab a broom and poke him with it, he didn’t hear Sam smack Tucker and throw the broom to the wall. Danny didn’t hear his sister pound down the stair and scream at the sight, he didn’t hear Sam wailing and sobbing and pleading with Danny to please wake up, he didn’t hear her whisper, “I’m so sorry Danny, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault, why am I so stupid,” to his head. He didn’t hear his sister, Jazz screaming through her tears at Tucker, “What happened to him? Why is his hair white? Where did all this blood come from?” He didn’t hear Tucker crying, “I’m sorry, I thought it was unplugged, I’m so sorry Jazz, I’m so sorry.”

Danny did hear a ringing, though. He heard waves too. Or was that wind? Danny heard someone whisper but they were so far away.

Then, Danny saw black. Danny saw black and a very dark red. “What did you say?” Danny tried to say, but it was so much less than a whisper. Danny heard a thump, like someone dropping down to sit on a tile floor and the red he saw got brighter.

God, his eyes were so heavy. His lips felt like he had just eaten Elmer’s glue, like he used to do in Kindergarten. When Danny smiled a slight smile, as much as he had the strength to, his lips cracked and he relaxed his face to appease the pain.

Daniel Fenton cracked his eyes. Slowly, sound came back. A ringing gave way to someone screaming, “How could you let this happen? I thought you cared about him.” Someone else bawled, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t want this to happen. Please, I’m so sorry, I love him so much.”

Danny was confused. Did he just walk in on someone's death? He couldn’t have, his back was cold and against the tile floor in… his basement? Who died in his basement?

“Oh, god.” Danny felt his stomach drop to his toes. “Did Tuck get hurt by some of Mom or Dad’s ghost shit?”

The room went silent. Danny pulled his eyes open, worried by what he might see.

“What the fuck was that Samantha,” Jazz had murder in her eyes. “Tell me what that was right now.”

“What was what?” Danny asked. He saw Jazz huddled over something in the middle of the room with Sam and Tucker near her. The body wasn’t Tucker’s.

Danny walked over to Jazz and his friends when Tucker looked his way and screamed as loud and as hard as he was capable of screaming. This spooked Danny who took a step to the side and looked at what was on the ground.

It was him.

Danny was looking at his own body on the floor. His now white hair was singed, his left arm was black, contrasting against his pale skin which had been exposed by a large rip in his not-so-insulated suit. It looked like the hand and half of the arm on the left side of the suit had burned off.

Suddenly the body moved and Danny saw the ceiling and his Sister looking over him. He turned his head and saw two scenes. He was looking at Sam while also looking at the now functional ghost portal with a different set of eyes. Danny moved his head back and was now only looking at his sister again.

Danny attempted to move to a sitting position, coughing droplets of blood when he tensed his muscles.

“Oh, my god.” Jazz breathed a sigh of relief, “Danny! Don’t sit up, here. I’ll help you.”

Jazz sort of dragged, sort of pushed Danny’s body closer to the wall, glaring at Tucker and Sam when they moved to help her. Jazz picked up Danny’s head and sat him against the wall of the Fenton Laboratory basement and inspected his face.

“God, Danny.” Jazz’s voice was soaked with concern. “There’s blood all over this place. Your nose is broken.”

Danny realized he couldn’t feel the ground beneath him the second he felt himself fall an inch and hit the ground. He saw a flash as he noticed a ring of light circling around his waist.

“Sam,” Jazz screamed, “what the fuck? My brother almost dies and you think this is the best fucking photo op to snag?”

“I’m sorry Jazz, I-I,” Sam stuttered, “I saw something.”

Jazz turned her head back to her brother, and gasped. “Danny! Your hair is back to normal!”

Barely audible, Danny mumbled; “myhairwasn’tnormal?”

“It was white,” Sam whisperspoke.

“And your suit went all reverse,” Tucker added at full volume from halfway across the room.

“I taste metal,” Danny stuck his tongue out, it looked like he had just been licking blood off of something.

“Probably from all that blood in your mouth.” Jazz’s forehead was the rocky mountains of concern. “And on your chin, down your shirt, all over the floor. God, Danny. We need to take you to the hospital.”

“No!” Danny and Tucker yelled at the same time.

“I’m fine, I feel fine, watch this!” Danny stood up and quickly fell back down demonstrating how not fine he was.

“Sorry, I just hate hospitals,” Tucker murmured. “I didn’t mean to say that…”

Sam waved a polaroid in the air, then gave it to Jazz.

The picture showed a bloodied Danny on the ground wearing a reverse colored “insulated” suit. It’s just a fucking picture of my almost-dead brother, Jazz thought. Then she saw it. There were two rings of light around his waist that looked like they were revealing the outfit Danny was wearing when he went downstairs. A NASA T-Shirt and blue jeans were peaking through the two circles of light. Jazz looked at Danny again and realized he wasn’t wearing the black version of his ecto suit anymore. It went away with the white of his hair.

“Danny, you’re still going to the hospital with me.” Jazz insisted. “Your nose is broken.”

Danny touched his nose and was immediately met with searing, red hot pain.

“Don’t touch it, idiot!” Jazz smacked Danny’s hand away from his nose. “When a part of your body is broken, that’s not an invitation to touch it!”

Danny looked at Sam and Tucker, scared.

Sam smiled at Danny. “We can talk about it after you go to the hospital. Do you want to have a fucked up nose for the rest of your life?”

Tucker walked closer to Danny and put his hand on Danny’s head. “I’m so fucking happy you’re okay, dude.”

“Can you walk?” Jazz asked as she stood up and reached for Danny’s hand.

Danny grabbed her hand and tried to get up for the second time. He watched his hand disappear from his sister's hand as her grip tightened around nothing. Danny fell back to the floor and screamed at his missing hand before it came back.

“Danny,” Jazz hissed, “we are going to the hospital now.”

Danny stood up on his own and followed his sister up the stairs to her car, parked outside. They drove to the hospital.

#losers lament #Danny Phantom #Danny Fenton #Jazz Fenton #Same Manson #Tucker Foley #Danny Phantom Fanfiction #help i worked so hard on this

87 notes · View notes

ayellowcurtain · 4 years

Text

What about an ice skating au? Like due to some angsty reason, they're forced to enter a competition as a skating pair and it's rocky and prickly at first, but slowly they soften and learn to trust and support one another as they face different setbacks (ankle injury, jeers from opponents, self esteem issues, pesky exes)...over time, love blooms and melts the ice away 😍😍😍

Eliott never felt so scared in his life. The ring feels like a real arena while he walks around empty and echoey hallways, holding his skates tighter, looking around like he doesn’t come here every weekday for the past five or six years. He knows there’s just another person here at this hour and that’s what scares him the most. They haven’t seen each other in a while, since their big fight. Eliott never thought they would be put in a competition together.

He’s not sure if Lucas will ever trust him enough again to let Eliott throw him in the air and catch him when he falls. Even Eliott is not sure if he’ll be able to get over his shaky hands and insecure knees when he’s around Lucas again. He wanted to talk, to explain himself but Lucas never gave him the chance, and almost two years passed where they never fixed what they broke that night. Lucas’ hand is more than fine now but Eliott knows him or thinks he does, and he’s not sure if Lucas will ever be completely confident in himself again.

Eliott tries to push the heavy door open carefully to not make a sound, let himself have a moment of just watching Lucas from afar. But the door is too loud and the stadium is too empty this late at night, so the door makes a sound anyway when it closes and Lucas stops skating right away, spinning a little until he finds the door that closed and Eliott there, standing at the top of the stands, still holding his skates, not ready to start practicing yet.

He tries to walk down the step carefully like he’s not about to meet the love of his life after two years apart. He tries to think it’s just a guy, his partner for the next competition, not Lucas but it’s useless. His heart doesn’t know how to beat normally when they’re together.

He sits on the last step and puts his skates next to him, quietly looking up through his lashes, watching Lucas skate in circles around the ice rink limits, never looking up to not risk meeting Eliott’s eyes.

Eliott tries to stretch himself as best as he can after a few weeks inside his tiny flat, the heater now able to warm him or his place enough to trick his brain that it wasn’t the worst part of winter outside, making all his muscle and joints as tight as possible. He couldn’t go many places to relax his constantly on overdrive brain, the thick layer of snow only growing on his windows and the front door.

It’ll be a pain in the ass to skate with these many layers of thick clothes but they need to start practicing. Their coaches couldn’t come tonight so they just texted both of them on the group chat they created to tell them to practice some basic moves so they could slowly build trust, bond, and relax with each other enough so when they can all finally come and practice, it won’t be as hard to get whatever choreography they come up with.

“Hey…” Eliott decides to start, more than aware Lucas wishes he could do this alone, he finally stops slowly next to Eliott, his movements are so natural it feels like he was born to move like this, like he’s slowly slipping on thin ice forever, without a hint of fear in him or at least without showing it.

“Hi…” Lucas answers shyly and still a little bit hurt and cold, walking his fingers on the edge of the half-wall that’s separating them. Eliott opens the door and gets inside, almost slipping right away. Anyone else wouldn’t notice but this is their profession, Lucas would see his insecure steps from a mile away. Eliott holds his legs still and starts walking his fear off.

They move around for a while, do some of their old solo choreographies to get used to their skates again, try some basic movements with each other but they barely exchange words, not even complaints or noises. Eliott hates it but he’s here to do as Lucas tells him to do for now. He knows this must be so much harder after his broken hand, and so he’s just trying to help Lucas in whatever way Lucas lets him. If it was up to him they would still be living together, dating, and Eliott would take so much care of Lucas. Make him whatever food he wants, go with him to physiotherapy, practice with him what they could on their wood floor, play with his hair, and tell Lucas how ridiculously good he is at what he loves when Lucas breaks down because Eliott is sure he broke down so many times while recovering, his brain playing tricks on him, telling how he would never be able to ice skate as good as he did before, always afraid of injuring himself.

Eliott would take everything back if he could, all the fights, all the lack of communication because they were both tired of constantly disagreeing and never able to find a middle ground to stand together. Eliott would take everything back and he would never have accepted the resolution that breaking up was the only good way out of that spiral that was only hurting them.

They get tired a lot quicker and Lucas still pushes himself for a little longer. Eliott should keep going too but he mostly watches as Lucas practices more difficult movements, always landing every one sharply.

Eliott smiles without meaning too, pushing himself until he can slip to the wall, leaning against it, giving his legs and knees a little break.

“You’re still the best.” He says as Lucas finally stops, still walking in circles for a while to get all his energy out. Eliott remembers Lucas saying how somedays he just needed to put everything out so he could go home and pass out the whole night, able to rest for eight hours if he’s lucky. Lucas has a real hard time disconnecting to fall asleep, always worrying. Before Eliott, he had all his issues with his parents, and Eliott assumes he became part of the problem when their relationship started falling apart. He hopes he isn’t but by the way Lucas wears himself out, he thinks he might be.

“I’ll always love you,” Eliott says when Lucas stops next to him. He holds the edge of the wall tighter, knowing he shouldn’t be doing this but it’s hard not to say when he finally has a chance to see Lucas, and talk to him after so many tries of calling or texting or reaching out through their social media.

“Stop.” Lucas makes him stop abruptly when Eliott tries to come closer, his hand holding Eliott’s puffy jacket very tightly and Eliott knows it’s his insecurities getting the best of him, overthinking that somehow he would fall out of nowhere here, afraid to get physically hurt again, “We’re not going to do this. Not now. I can’t-” He doesn’t finish the sentence for a second, letting go of Eliott when he’s confident again he can stand on his own, “I’m not getting hurt again.”

“I won’t let you fall, Lucas. You know this. No matter what happened before, I’ll never let you fall.”

Lucas pushes himself to skate a step away, circling back to face Eliott.

“You never did. I just punched a wall with a little too much anger and for too many times. It wasn’t your fault.” Lucas skates away from Eliott for good, pressing his legs against the ice like he’s testing if they’re still working fine.

Eliott sighs, looking down at his skates, stepping out of the ring, sitting back on the same step he did when he got here hours ago, feeling the first few layers of clothing sticking to his skin after so much practice, pulling the gloves out by his fingers, one by one. It takes a few minutes and Lucas finally stops walking around the ring. Eliott enjoys just sharing the same space with Lucas, sitting a few meters from him, taking his skates off too, and his beanie and Eliott can’t help but look. His hair is a lot longer now, probably just as soft as Eliott remembers, it keeps falling forward when Lucas bends down to grab his skates from the floor, putting his boots back on instead.

“So we’ll never talk again?”

Lucas takes his time to answer, bending his legs to put his feet on the step, tying his boots.

“I have to focus on this competition.”

Eliott nods his head and accepts it for now. Lucas can so very easily get himself way too deep inside his head, finding a sickening comfort or dependency in his insecurities and fear of hurting himself after the hands incident. Eliott wants to pull him closer and hug him tightly, say how he won’t get hurt, tell him how good he is at this but he can’t.

“I’m going to therapy.” Lucas says all of a sudden and Eliott looks at him, surprised that Lucas wants to share any part of information about his present life that Eliott is not a part of anymore, “To help me with this...fear.”

“That’s good, choupisson,” Eliott says without thinking because that’s still how he calls Lucas when he daydreams about them, back together, madly in love like they were before. He doesn’t say sorry because he isn’t and Lucas should know this if he remembers even a little bit of how Eliott is.

He relaxes against the top step, looking forward. His cheeks are burning red from the cold winter air, even inside a closed space and he keeps pushing his hair back, a few of them sticking together but not staying in place for long.

“I told her about you.”

Eliott smiles, letting himself look at Lucas without acting like he isn’t.

“Good or bad?” He asks a little too excited about this. It doesn’t really matter if it’s good or bad, Eliott tries to keep those doubts very deep inside his brain so it won’t affect him too much. It’s exciting that he’s still important enough to be mentioned. Everything should be mentioned, Eliott guesses, as keeping secrets from each other was what slowly broke them apart.

Lucas shrugs a little and shakes his head, still looking forward, his fingers pinching the soft skin of his fingers on the other hand, “I don’t know. My truth about you, I guess.”

“And you don’t know if your truth about me is good or bad?” Eliott sighs, aware that he could sit here and listen to Lucas talk for hours, days, probably.

“I would guess is still mainly good but she would have to be the one to tell you. Maybe I’m too...involved.”

Eliott sighs, looking forward too, thinking how he can fix this, how he can help Lucas feel like himself again because it’s clear he’s still struggling. With the injury but maybe also with their break up, never giving himself time to heal from anything, always thinking he needs to swim or he’ll drown.

“I’ll help you win this competition. You’ll be first and your hands and legs will all still be one whole thing, and if we do, you’ll have to go out with me. Just one dinner to celebrate and properly talk.”

Lucas laughs, not honestly and wholeheartedly but it’s still a Lucas’ laugh, nodding his head. They both know that’s not how things work but if Lucas is up for it, Eliott will keep his promise to get that dinner.

#skam france #elu fic #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #lucas x eliott #elu

29 notes · View notes

shhhhyoursister · 4 years

Note

I miss your writing so much. Could you maybe spare a short fic? Or hc's? Or something haha I really miss it

hello hello hello yes ive been wanting to write this lil comforty thing for a bit so here we go heres some sleepy boyfriends being cute also this got way longer than i meant it to (and also might become the first in a set of little domesticy things that i post on ao3 where they live together and itll literally just be a way for me to get all my gross mushy domestic feelings out)

***

Matteo felt like someone had turned up the gravity with how heavy his body felt as he dragged himself home, backpack almost empty but feeling like it was full of bricks. He had had a full day, starting with a therapy appointment and then lunch with his mom and a ton of tiny little errands that he couldn’t even remember doing, but knew that they piled up until he could barely even see straight.

And he hadn’t even talked to David all day. They were both busy, so besides seeing him in the morning after waking up first, barely kissing him goodbye before he rushed out the door, they had had no contact. He had checked his phone what felt like every five minutes, frowning every time his screen was blank. So as tired as he was going home, as much as he felt like it would be much nicer to curl up on the concrete in front of his building than to force himself up the stairs, David was motivation enough to make it all the way to their front door.

He shoved it open, letting his bag drop to the ground the second he was inside, and he kicked his shoes off and took his jacket off and thunked his back against the door, just to rest for a minute. He was hoping David would swoop out of nowhere and carry him off to bed, cuddle him up in the all the blankets and soft sheets and warm skin that he could possibly want, but he didn’t. He didn’t even come out to greet Matteo, which was a little strange.

Matteo made his way through the flat, checking in the few rooms they had, but didn’t find his boyfriend until he walked into the room they used for schoolwork or regular work or art or whatever they needed to do that wasn’t sleeping, eating, or watching movies. He leaned against the doorframe and smiled, realizing that David hadn’t heard him come in because he had headphones pulled over his ears, and he was hunched over, staring at the computer screen. Matteo could tell from his slow movements as he clicked and dragged things around that he was just as tired as Matteo was.

David must have seen his reflection in a part of the screen, because he suddenly slid his headphones off, turning in the chair as he did so. and he gave Matteo a big (albeit sleepy) smile and said, “Hey, you.”

Matteo said a quiet, “Hey, you,” back, and walked over, feeling more and more like honey being poured slow out of a bottle as he went, and the relief he felt when he finally dropped into David’s lap, legs curled up and head dropping onto his shoulder as David’s arms circled around him and held him tight, was worth the long day. Was worth all the long days in the world. David bent his head and pressed a soft kiss to Matteo’s cheek, and he cuddled in closer.

“I don’t think this chair is meant for two people.” David said quietly into his hair, the smile on his face obvious in the tone of his voice.

Matteo let out a deep breath, shoving himself somehow closer and getting an arm around David too, and said back, “It seems to be handling us just fine.”

Not quite true with the way it was creaking anytime either of them moved, but David didn’t seem to care with the quiet chuckle he let out at Matteo’s response, and squeezed him tighter. Matteo could’ve have fallen asleep like that, even if he was a little uncomfortable with the way the arm of the chair was digging into his back, but David hands and lips on him were making it easier to ignore.

“You know, I was thinking,” David said, running his hand down Matteo’s arm.

“That’s not good,” Matteo interrupted before he could continue.

David pinched him but then squeezed him tighter when he pouted, “I was thinking about that fact that we haven’t used the bathtub since we moved in.”

Matteo nodded, too tired and brain too foggy to piece together where David was going with that.

“And we’ve both had long days, and I know that Laura snuck some bubble bath stuff under the sink when she helped us set the place up.” David said, his voice quiet and soothing to Matteo’s head, which is probably why his first reaction wasn’t to laugh.

“You want us to take a bubble bath?” Matteo asked, incredulously, lifting his head when he was able to so he could see David’s amused face.

“Yeah, I mean,” David said, slipping his hands under Matteo’s shirt to rub slow up his sides, grinning when Matteo shivered at the feeling, “it’s supposed to be relaxing, and it seems like we might both need that. And it’ll be nice, and warm, and we can even grab a bottle of wine if we want,”

Suddenly the thought of getting into a warm, bubbly, sweet-smelling bathtub with his naked boyfriend and a bottle of wine sounded like the most appealing thing Matteo could have have possibly imagined doing that night.

“If you run the bath I’ll pour the wine and roll us a joint,” Matteo said, leaning forward to nose into David’s cheek. He pressed a kiss there when David squeezed his hands around his ribs, letting out a pleased sound at Matte’s offer.

“Okay, deal,” he said, and started sliding his hands off of Matteo’s body, which wasn’t what he wanted at all, but knew it was necessary to carry out the plans they had just made. He sat up more, stretching his back a bit from the position he had been, but felt a hand on the back of his neck and he looked up just in time to see David’s face getting closer, and he closed his eyes as their lips met.

He raised his hand to David’s cheek and stroked a thumb across his cheekbone as their lips pressed together again and again, trading soft kisses that they were both too tired to deepen. Matteo felt the last bit of tension that had been sitting in his chest, a little ball of something still isn’t quite right, dissipate immediately. Once they finally pulled away from each other Matteo wrapped his arms around David’s neck and squeezed him tight, before standing up to find where they had put the wine glasses.

By the time Matteo had ground the weed and rolled it into a neat joint stuck behind his ear, and located the wine glasses and a bottle of wine (that he needed to ask David to open because his arms were just too sore to even try), the bath was ready. David had gone into their room to grab them clean clothes for once they got out, and Matteo opened the bathroom door a crack and stepped into the the room, his shoulder drooping as soon as he entered.

The room was filled with a foggy steam that smelled like lavender, and it felt thick in a way that made Matteo’s eyes droop too, like a heavy blanket being pulled over his all of his senses. He set everything down, carefully poured two glasses of wine that he set on the little (very convenient) ledge in the tub, and then leaned back against the wall to wait for David, his eyes closing as he did so.

He smiled when he heard the door open, and let out a content sigh when he felt arms slide up his sides again, pushing his shirt up in an obvious attempt to undress him. Matteo raised his arms and let David take the shirt off, opening his eyes when it was pulled over his head. He grinned, seeing that David had already removed his shirt.

He put his hands on David’s shoulder and pulled him in for a hug, his eyes closing again when he felt David’s skin against his, warm especially with the temperature in the room, and again Matteo was sure that he could’ve fallen asleep like that, standing there with David’s arms holding him up. David slid his hands down Matteo’s sides, making him shiver again, and brought them to the button on Matteo’s pants. He smiled into David’s shoulder as he unbuttoned them, shoving them down Matteo’s legs along with his boxers, and then did the same for himself.

He stayed against the wall as David got into the tub first, content to stare at his naked back with half-lidded eyes as David got used to the temperature of the water before sinking into it with a sigh, his arms resting on the edges of the tub on either side of him, his head leaned back against the tiled wall. Matteo would have been happy to just stand there staring at him, but he was feeling chilled with that much skin exposed. He stepped into the bath, settled into it faster than David had, tired of being a little cold with no boyfriend pressed up against him.

And fuck, Matteo felt like his brain was melting out of his ears. He leaned back against David’s chest, sighing the same way David had, his head tipping back against his shoulder. He could already feel the soreness in his muscles lessening, the water and whatever David had put in it calming his body and mind so much that he started wondering why he had never tried it before. It helped that David’s hands, wet and warm from the water, started dragging up his chest down his stomach, reaching his belly button before sliding back up.

“I think this is the best idea you’ve ever had.” Matteo murmured, his voice quiet but echoey in the enclosed space.

“I think so too,” David said back, leaning in to kiss at Matteo’s neck, and he tilted his head to the side to offer up more skin if David wanted to kiss him there, too. He did, trailing gentle kisses up to the spot behind his ear and then down his jaw, down his neck to the junction of where his neck met his shoulder, and then back up. Matteo shivered again, melting more into David’s chest, still relaxed, but the feeling was lighting something up inside him.

David lifted a hand out of the water, and pulled away from Matteo’s neck so he could grab one of the wine glasses, offering it to Matteo, who reluctantly released the grip he had had on David’s thigh to take it from him. He tipped his head back again, and took a sip, pouting and pulling the glass away when half of the sip spilled down his cheek and chin, dripping a dark red onto his chest. David’s other hand came out of the water and wiped the spot away, and he leaned down again and kissed his way up the pink streak the wine had left on Matteo’s skin.

They both sipped their wine, comfortably quiet in the way that only two people who knew each other inside and out could be, letting the alcohol and the steam and the smells swirl around their heads, calming them both from the days they had. Matteo could feel David sinking further into the water, and he did so as well, the warmth flowing up into his shoulders as they adjusted themselves. Matteo set his wine glass down, and reached for the joint that was somehow still set behind his ear. He could feel David smile into his neck when he placed it between his lips, and he reached out to grab the lighter before Matteo could.

He flicked it on, carefully holding it up to the end of the joint until Matteo puffed on it and got it going, and he set it back down, his hand resuming the path from Matteo’s chest down his stomach. Matteo tilted his head back against David’s shoulder again as the weed warmed him in a different way, the smoke burning his throat pleasantly. He grabbed the joint between two fingers and was going to offer it to David when he felt a hand on his cheek, and he opened his eyes to see David looking at him, his own eyes dark and staring into Matteo’s with a smile in them as he leaned forward and pressed their mouths together.

Matteo exhaled slowly, breathing the smoke into David’s mouth, putting a hand on David’s chest to steady himself and feel it rise as he breathed in, holding Matteo close so their lips wouldn’t slip. They pulled apart, Matteo taking in a deep, shaky breath as he watched David’s head fall back against the wall, smoke flowing slowly out of his nose. He pressed a kiss to the base of David’s neck, and raised the joint in front of his mouth, waiting for David’s lips to close around it before dropping his hand back into the water.

They finished the joint, sometimes shotgunning the smoke between them when the desire to kiss became to much to handle, and sipped at their wine until there was nothing but pink droplets at the bottom of the glasses. The weed, the wine, the water, everything was making Matteo feel like he was made of honey again, thoughts dripping through his head like the water dripping down the sides of the tub, and he let out a content sigh, turning his head so he could nuzzle into David’s neck.

“Can we stay in here forever?” he asked before really thinking about it, blushing as soon as the question left his lips. He hadn’t meant to ask it out loud, expecting it to stay in his head with the other fuzzy thoughts running through it. Not that he wouldn’t, if given the opportunity, spend the rest of his life in a bathtub, high, a little drunk, warm from the water and David’s skin and presence behind him.

David’s arms wrapped around him, squeezing tight enough to make Matteo feel a bit more awake. He opened an eye to look up just as David grinned, and he smiled back as David pressed that grin into his cheek, pressed a kiss there right after, and hummed for a second like he was thinking. His hands started rubbing up Matteo’s chest again, and kissed his cheek again.

“We can sure as hell try.”

#davenzi fic #davenzi fanfic #davenzi #david schreibner #matteo florenzi #druck fic #ive been taking lots of baths lately and they really just melt my brain #imagine having a boyfriend to take baths with though????? thats just too much man #matteo and david are lucky boys #nogguns

113 notes · View notes