#anyway this is one of my favorite fics ever

[delulluart]

Fic authors Artists self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics pieces that you've written, then pass on to at least five other people. Let’s spread the self-love 💜

Caaaake! Thank you! This was DIFFICULT. I didn't expect to like so many of my silly little thingies... I'll limit it to Ghost things and SFW only, to make it a little bit easier, hehe.

Copia singing in profile

The second Ghost piece I've ever published and both of them were surprisingly well received! I never had such a response in a fandom before and it kind of...triggered the creative explosion over the last year. Really happy with how this turned out, the hair, face etc. But having a great photo reference makes things easy :) unfortunately I don't know who the photographer was - if anyone knows, please let me know!

The Terzo and Copia as Genie and Ange du Mal Paintings

Such a fun commission! It wasn't easy, but having such a nice reference in the original statues by the Geefs helped a lot - just had to papa-fy the bodies a bit.

This Copia Cirice Portrait

I'd do the arm differently, but all in all I'm very happy. It was very difficult doing the out of focus effect traditionally and black background...If you know, you know. The eyes turned out really well, as did the hair!

The Papal Family Portrait

Probably my most successful piece, I think, so far? It sparked some controversy with people upset over Terzos height...which was obviously a joke (because I'm the type of person who puts way too much effort into jokes and ends up doing a whole watercolour painting with 4 people).

The 30(ish) Minute Sketch Series

It was surprisingly difficult to chose the fifth one! I thought about the Nothing Lasts forever Copia, because I'm proud of that one for trying new things, or Guitar Playing Copia, which i really like, too, or Ass and Thigh Fabric Study Copia and if I hadn't restricted the list to SFW only, you'd find the Desk fun one that turned out so well, or suggestive Terzo here... But ultimately decided to be a filthy cheater and chose this series, because it helped me grow a lot as a (portrait) artist, with certain facial features, angles and poses, developing a sketch style I like and focusing on important parts, instead of trying to do ALL the details, as I usually do - and I do like the results (the ones I publish, anyway, the others discreetly end up in the trash, ahem), actually. (Cheated even more and added three of them as examples, sorry, sue me)

[monthofsick]

The longest Night

Nov(emeto)ber 2022, Day 30: 5 + 1

OCs: Jamal, Nikita

The title fits quite well because this actually is my longest story so far and I just spent the entire night finishing it. It's already early morning of December 1st where I live, but I hope it still counts as an entry. There are a lot of themes and tropes I love in this one and the relationship between Jamal and Nikita evolves even more. It's late/early, I'm tired and time was ticking, so proof reading had to be done a bit quicker. Hopefully, there aren't too many mistakes and you can still enjoy it!

TW: Vomit, illness, mild scat

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

A hesitant knock on the door disrupted Jamal's sleep. He woke up with a jolt and was instantly hit by a jab in the neck. Had he fallen asleep at his desk again? Jamal grimaced and rubbed his stiff muscles. The shorter days and cloudy skies drained his energy. Sooner or later, Jamal would get used to the changes in sunlight exposure and weather and the autumn fatigue would wear off. Until then, he had a hard time getting things done.

 "Hello?" An insecure voice, followed by some more tapping. Jamal had only been half aware of the sound that had ripped him out of a rather bizarre dream. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and cleared his throat to sound more awake.

 "I'm here!" Rotating his head to get a little crack out of his nape, Jamal got up and rushed to the door. A stocky young man with brown curls and dark eyes was waiting outside, staring at Jamal like he was surprised by him stepping out of his own dorm room. Jamal knew that his name was Karl and that he lived on the same floor. They didn't share any courses, but they sometimes chatted while brushing their teeth in the morning. It wasn't that Jamal could write a psychological evaluation of his fellow student, but he definitely hadn't seen that concerned and insecure expression on his face before.

 "Hey, I hope I'm not bothering you, but I'm a bit worried right now and I didn't really know who to turn to."

 "Yeah, sure." Jamal was confused. Karl had two of his closest friends in the rooms right next to him. He and Jamal got along well, but they weren't confidants. "Wanna come in?"

 "Ah, no, you should come along." Karl pointed his thumb in the direction of the community bathroom. "You're close with Nikita, aren't you? I mean, the guy doesn't have a lot of friends and he made it pretty clear that he wanted me to, uhm, leave, so…"

 "Wait, what's wrong with Nikita?" Jamal was suddenly wide awake. "Is he sick?"

 "I don't know exactly, he didn't want to tell me." Karl rubbed his palms nervously. "He locked himself in a toilet for at least two hours."

 "Fuck. I'm coming with you."

 It actually was the other way around – Jamal storming down the corridor with huge steps, Karl tagging along. The bathroom was empty, as usual at this time of day. It was a bright and nicely renovated area with small toilet rooms instead of cubicles with a gap at the bottom. At least a bit more privacy in a place they had to share with everyone else on the floor.

 Jamal took a deep breath and knocked on the only door that was shut tight.

 "Hey, it's me", he announced himself. "Can you let me in, Nik?"

 There was a moment of silence. A weird, strained noise. And then, to Jamal's relief, the door was opened slowly and Nikita peeked out. He looked like death warmed over. Nikita was always pale, but right now his complexion resembled a sickly green. Quickly, before Karl could see the blonde in this miserable state, Jamal slipped in and locked the door behind him again.

 "How do you know?" Nikita's voice was cold as ice, but his lips trembled slightly.

 "Karl told me." Undeterred by his friend's standoffish demeanor, Jamal put both hands on Nikita's shoulders. His entire body shivered so hard that Jamal was surprised he could stand at all. "I'm glad he did. You look like absolute shit. Now stop giving me the evil eye and tell me what's wrong."

 It was obvious that Nikita struggled with himself. He was all about control and he still had a hard time showing any kind of vulnerability, even towards Jamal. In the end, Nikita's body made the choice for him as his knees gave in. Gladly, Jamal had trained his fast responses well and he caught Nikita with both arms before he collapsed. Holding him close, Jamal got down on the floor and brushed some sweaty strands of light hair out of Nikita's forehead.

 "Don't worry, I got you." Jamal felt the heat radiating from Nikita's body, his unsteady breath and damp skin. There was no question wether he was sick, only what exactly he suffered from. "Come on, Nick, just let me know what's bothering you. I'll do what I can to help you."

 "I… I suddenly felt so sick." Nikita exhaled and it seemed like all of his strength and defiance left his body with his breath. He sank against Jamal's chest and held on to his shirt with one hand. "I was fine after lunch, but then it got so bad I had to leave during class."

 "Did you have to throw up? Or lost it from the other end?"

 "Nope, not at all." A humorless laugh escaped Nikita's lips. "I thought I would, guess why I made a run for the restroom. Been waiting for it ever since. It feels like it's coming up every second, but it doesn't. Fuck me."

 "God, Nik. I wish I had known earlier." Jamal hugged Nikita for a moment. He had often joked about Nikita's claims that he never puked. It was the reason they had bonded in the first place. That night in the locker room when Jamal had found Nikita, dead drunk and sick to his stomach, but unable to purge the poison. Even in this highly intoxicated state, Nikita had needed Jamal's assistance to vomit. Maybe it was a process his body struggled with for whatever reason. Or Nikita had conditioned himself to hold it in at all costs.

 With a husky moan, Nikita squirmed in Jamal's arms. The blonde clutched his stomach like he wanted to rip out the pain with bare hands. His face contorted with a silent retch. It looked absolutely excrutiating.

 "We gotta get that stuff out of you." Jamal grabbed Nikita's shoulders again and straightened him up just enough to look him in the eyes. "Do you want me to help you?"

 Nikita hesitated. Then he flinched and moaned, probably because of another cramp. He let out a defeated sigh and nodded weakly.

 "Guess I don't have much of a choice. It can't be worse than this."

 "Trust me, it will be a huge relief." Putting on his most encouraging smile, Jamal moved Nikita closer to the toilet. "Come on, let's get it over with."

 Visibly reluctant, Nikita got on his knees and bent over the bowl. Jamal leaned over Nikita's arched back, putting one hand on his rumbling stomach, the other one on his chin. Nikita tensed in his grip.

 "Try to relax, Nik." Jamal touched Nikita's lips with two fingers, asking to be let in. For a second, it seemed like Nikita would back out, but then he opened his mouth. Jamal rubbed Nikita's belly in gentle circle, feeling it bubble like overboiling water. When Nikita eased up a bit, Jamal let his fingers slide in. As soon as he touched the slick surface of the tongue, it tried to push him out again. Undaunted by the counterattack, Jamal moved along Nikita's palate until he reached the back of his tongue, then held it down. It was enough to trigger a first gag.

 Nikita's head bobbed back to escape the nauseating procedure, but Jamal had a firm grip on his chin. A drip of viscous saliva ran down Jamal's hand. That was a good sign. Nikita's body took protective measures against the impending storm tide of gastric acid.

 "I know this is bad, but I promise it won't take long", Jamal reassured Nikita as he went in deeper. A violent retch shook Nikita's body as Jamal's fingers slipped down his throat. Jamal felt the muscles tightening around his fingers. He gently moved back and forth, ignoring the teeth that dug into the back of his hand and the drool that kept on flowing over his skin. Nikita retched helplessly, his stomach contracting harshly with every heave. Jamal pushed against his abdomen in sync with the convulsions, firmly pressing in and upwards. "You're almost there, Nik, just let it happen."

 Nikita choked wetly. His back tensed and curved even more, pushing against Jamal who mimicked his posture, hugging him from behind. It was a weirdly intimate moment, being so close to each other in this deeply private and vulnerable situation. Jamal kept on stroking the back of Nikita's throat, his slight moves inducing frantic spasms. Nikita's face was flushed and tears ran from his eyes with each gag Jamal forced out of him. He was close.

 Speeding up his tiny movements, Jamal rubbed against Nikita's uvula. The blonde jerked forward with another throaty heave, causing Jamal's fingers to thrust in even deeper. Every single muscle in Nikita's body seemed to tighten up and cramp all at once until suddenly, a surge of hot liquid gushed over Jamal's hand.

 "There you go, get it all out." Jamal let his fingertips stroke down Nikita's tongue as he pulled back, eliciting another retch from him. Before Jamal had a chance to get his hand out of the way, Nikita puked up a much bigger surge of orange mush. Jamal felt the thick, warm fluid and a few chunks slide over his skin and he had to swallow a gag himself. Yes, it was gross, but he couldn't let it show when Nikita had finally let down his guard.

 Lurching dangerously close to the vomit-spattered bowl, Nikita gurgled up more of his meal. The color and texture looked disturbingly close to pumpkin soup, probably what had been on the cafeteria's menu today. It splashed back and coated the white ceramic walls in pureed Hokkaido. Jamal pulled Nikita even closer to prevent him from dunking into the rising lake of barf. With only one clean hand at his disposal, Jamal stroked Nikita's hitching chest with his thumb while he held him up.

 Bigger orange lumps fell out of Nikita's mouth and plopped heavily into the puke below. He coughed and spat several times before he slackened in Jamal's grip.

 "You did great", Jamal smiled and sat up, pulling Nikita with him. The blonde looked even worse than before, eyes half closed, his face reddish and covered in sweat, tears and vomit. Jamal wiped off the mess, then cautiously leaned Nikita into a corner to keep him stable and upright. He flushed and cleaned the toilet, then thoroughly washed the sticky throw-up from his hand. Finally, he returned to Nikita. "Feeling better?"

 Nikita nodded faintly. It was enough for Jamal to decide upon a change of location. It was about time his friend could snuggle into his own bed instead of lying on the cold restroom floor.

 -

 Shivering and exhausted, Nikita was sitting on his bed, blanket pullet up to his chin. He had his own electric kettle in his room, so Jamal poured him a cup of ginger tea. Curled up in himself, Nikita took small sips while staring into the void. Jamal sat down next to him.

 "How y're holding up?", he asked, stroking Nikita's head.

 "I don't know. Still nauseous." Nikita bit his lip. "It's okay, you can go now. I'm going to sleep anyways, I'm done with this day."

 "No way, I'm not gonna leave you alone."

 "…and that's how you're gonna get yourself sick." With a grim expression, Nikita carefully drank from the steaming hot beverage, then put it away on the nightstand. "I'm not a kid. I can take care of myself."

 "So what. Maybe it's just food poisoning." Jamal shrugged and leaned back. "I'm going nowhere. Bed's big enough for both of us. By the way, I pretty much pulled the puke out of your stomach with my bare hands. If this is contagious, I've probably caught it already."

 "Whatever. Don't complain if I say I told you so." Nikita tried to act unmoved, but only a moment later, he froze, eyes slightly widened. "Hand me a bucket."

 "Damn it." Jamal jolted up. He wasn't sure if Nikita would actually throw up on his own this time, but he didn't want to find out the hard – or rather, soft and mushy way. The fact that Nikita cupped his mouth with one hand definitely wasn't a good sign. "Try to hold it in!"

With a big leap, Jamal plunged towards the desk and grabbed the trash can. Immediately back on his feet, he spun around and got back to Nikita with two strides. He placed the bin under Nikita's lap, just in time before a spurt of amber liquid burst from the blonde's lips. Jamal held Nikita's head in place while he gagged up mouthful after mouthful of runny vomit. It hit the scrunched up paper and wrappers with a crinkling sound.

 "Tea didn't want to stay down, mh?" Every last bit of color drained from Nikita's face as he burped up a slimy mixture of ginger brew and bile. For a while, Nikita kept on hanging over the trash bin, eyes closed, mouth open, long strands of drool clinging to his lip. Jamal watched him closely. "Think you're done?"

 After a few more seconds, Nikita spat out and replied with a nod. Jamal got a paper tissue from a box on the desk, then wiped off Nikita's mouth. Fortunately, there was a trash bag in the bin that he could take out easily and knot up on top to seal away the sour odor. Good thing Nikita was such a tidy person. Jamal put in another bag and placed the bucket next to the bed.

 "Gonna get rid of this, try to rest."

 Nikita growled something unintelligable before he sank back into his pillow and pulled the covers all the way up. When Jamal returned, Nikita already slept deeply and soundly. Jamal slowly lay down behind him. It was a tight fit on the matress, but at least Jamal was sure he would notice if Nikita got sick again. He cuddled up to his friend and it wasn't long before he dozed off.

 -

 When Jamal opened his eyes again, it was almost dark in the room. He wasn't sure what had woken him up – a movement? A noise? Nikita was still huddled against him, breathing calmly, but something wasn't right. It was the unmistakable stench of partly digested and fermented food, mixed with bile and stomach acid. Jamal pushed himself up to assess the situation. Nikita had vomited in his sleep. A heap of brownish-orange chunks piled up right next to his mouth, part if it smeared on his cheek.

 With a quiet sigh, Jamal rolled out of bed. Armed with the entire box of tissues, he picked up the soggy mass. At least it was mostly solids – it actually looked a lot like thick baby food with some bigger lumps. As gently as possible, Jamal cleaned the sick from Nikita's skin. It hadn't been long since Nikita had thrown up, the puke hadn't dried yet and could easily be wiped away. Jamal was conflicted. Nikita's barf mountain had left a stain on the pillowcase, but it seemed rather superficial. Leaving Nikita on a dirty cushion obviously wasn't an ideal solution. If it meant that he didn't need to be disturbed and could sleep through the night, it still seemed like the better option.

 Jamal took off his shirt and placed it in front of Nikita's face. It covered the wet spot and offered extra layers of protection if Nikita expelled more of his stomach contents. Weird how Jamal's hands-on assistance seemed to have pulled a plug. Now the vomit had literally spilled out of Nikita on its own. It was probably better for him.

 Nikita looked so different while he was asleep, almost peaceful. Jamal wondered if it was cold were Nikita came from. It would have fit him. Everything about him was so light – his hair, his skin, even his eyelashes. He belonged in the snow. Absentmindedly, Jamal watched Nikita for a little while until a yawn reminded him that a good night's rest wouldn't hurt him either. He made himself comfortable again and hoped that both of them would be awakened by the sun in the morning.

 -

 Actually, it was a thud that ended Jamal's slumber this time. The dull noise was startling enough to drown any sleepiness in adrenaline. Jamal looked up and found the bed next to him empty. Nikita was nowhere to be seen. Anxiously, Jamal raised himself – and discovered Nikita lying behind the bed. So the source of the mysterious sound had been Nikita's body hitting the floor.

 Jamal jumped out of bed and helped Nikita into a sitting position.

 "What the fuck are you doing?" The words sounded way more accusatory than Jamal had intended. Nikita looked up with a frown.

"How does it look like to you?" As Jamal didn't answer, Nikita pursed his lips. "I wanted to go the bathroom because what else would I do right now?"

"Have you noticed the bucket right next to your bed? You should have, you've used it before."

"Oh come on, do I really have to explain?" Nikita attempted to get up on his own, but he lacked the strength in his legs. There was a feverish gleam in his eyes.

"You should have still woken me up", Jamal sighed, put both arms around Nikita and lifted him up.

"I don't need you to wipe my ass", Nikita grumbled and tried not to lean on Jamal too heavily.

"Trust me, you need a whole lot more than that if you don't even make it to the toilet." Just to be safe, Jamal grabbed the trash bin with his free hand. "Why are you so stubborn?"

"I'm not." Nikita turned his head to the side, but Jamal still noticed a tinge of red on his cheeks. It stood out against his pallid face. Maybe he was actually way more embarrassed than sulky. Didn't change the fact that he was an idiot.

Jamal put his arm around Nikita's upper body to support him if he should stumble again. After a few steps, Nikita gave up his futile resistance and sank against Jamal. By the time they entered the bathroom, he was bent double, holding his stomach and moving along with a weird shuffle. He probably had to clutch his butt cheeks tightly to prevent an accident. Still, he tried to push Jamal away as they entered the toilet room.

"You wait outside. No discussion." As urgent as matters were, Nikita didn't move a single inch further.

"Hey, I'm not gonna judge you." Jamal's voice was much softer than before. "And I really don't want you to go through this alone."

"No way", Nikita groaned and snatched the bucket from Jamal's hand.

"Fine. But don't lock the door, I need to get to you if you pass out or something." With a deep sigh, Jamal closed the door behind Nikita and leaned against one of the sinks. Of course, Nikita had a right to privacy. Maybe he had pushed him too much. He just wished Nikita would understand that there was no need to be ashamed. He was sick, he couldn't help it. If he felt better once he had relieved himself, it was all that mattered.

Through the closed door, Jamal heard Nikita moan, followed by a splatter. A retch, then even more splatter. Jamal winced in sympathy. Good thing Nikita had a receptacle on both ends. Judging from the sounds, he emptied himself quite forcefully in either direction. The groans and gags and sighs he produced left no doubt that he was in pain. Jamal wanted to hug him and hold up the bin for him and rub his back or his stomach, but he knew his presence would only make things worse for Nikita. He had to loosen up and let everything flow out of him freely, which he wouldn't do while someone was watching him.

After what seemed like forever, Jamal heard the toilet flush. There was the patter of liquid hitting liquid, then a second flush. Unsteady steps approached the door and finally, it was pushed open. Nikita's face had turned green, lips slightly parted, legs trembling. He didn't seem to notice that there was still viscid vomit dripping from his chin.

"Come here, Nik." Jamal pulled the shivering blonde into a close embrace, even if it meant to get some puke on his chest. Jamal had cursed Nikita's thick skull not too long ago, but he couldn't be mad at him. The poor guy felt horribly sick and it hurt to see him suffer like this. Jamal stroked back Nikita's hair and placed a kiss on his forehead. He didn't even think twice about it. "You're doing great. Now let's get you cleaned up and back to bed."

With the smallest of steps, Jamal guided Nikita to one of the basins and washed his face. Then he made sure to wipe off the stains from his own skin. Even though Nikita had apparently emptied the bucket into the toilet, the trash bag was still blotted with sick, so Jamal discarded it. He pulled Nikita closer to hold him upright before they slowly made their way back to Nikita's room. It worried Jamal how quiet his friend had become. Suddenly, he almost wished for some snarky remark.

It was the same procedure as before – Jamal tucked Nikita in and put a new bag in the bin. Then he crawled under the covers and hugged Nikita from behind.

"Is it a little better?", he asked, hoping for at least some kind of answer. "Think you can sleep?"

Nikita nodded and moved even closer. A faint smile flitted across Jamal's face. He waited for Nikita's breath to slow down until he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off as well.

-

Pale morning light seeped in through the fogged up window as Jamal was alarmed by a sudden motion. He blinked in confusion, still drowsy, and saw Nikita bending over his side of the bed. A silent curse left Jamal's lips, then he scrambled to his knees. He put a hand on Nikita's forehead to get his hair out of the way and keep him over the bucket. With the other hand, he began to rub his heaving back.

The spasmodic convulsions of his muscles forces long, agonized retches out of Nikita. They sounded harsh enough to chafe his throat sore. Eventually, the empty gagging turned wet, then productive. Beige vomit burbled from Nikita's mouth and landed in the trash bin with a wet, thick plop.

"Yeah, that's it, you're a pro by now." Jamal continued with the back rubs, feeling Nikita's muscles tense and jerk under his fingers. It was a good thing he was holding up the blonde's head, considering how heavy it rested on his hand. Nikita had puked up his guts and he still couldn't stop, no wonder he was at the end of his rope. "It's okay, Nik, get it all out. I won't let you fall, you can let yourself go and just vomit it up."

Nikita sank into Jamal's grip. To make sure he stayed in place and got his cramping abdomen away from the mattress, Jamal put his other arm around Nikita and supported him at the chest. Nikita's eyes were barely open as he spewed murky liquid and soggy globs. It wasn't much that came up, but it was honestly astounding that he had left anything inside of him he could eat backwards. The gags turned into coughs until Nikita choked up some finely shredded pieces of what might have been carrots. The next retches squeezed nothing but measly spatters of bile out of Nikita's wrung out stomach. Finally, the heaves turned into pants.

Careful not to put pressure on his belly, Jamal pulled Nikita back on the mattress. The blonde looked so drained that Jamal expected him to instantly fall asleep again, but Nikita rolled over and buried his face against Jamal's shoulder. Jamal held him tight and let his fingers run through the fine blond hair.

"Shhh, I'm here, I won't leave you alone", he soothed Nikita. "You'll be better soon, you'll be okay, this will be over before you know it."

Nikita didn't say a word, he just clung to Jamal like he was his lifeline. His back hitched with convulsive gasps, but he didn't make a sound, so Jamal wasn't sure if he was crying. Jamal cradled Nikita ever so softly, stroking his back and his head until his friend relaxed in his arms. This time, Jamal didn't turn him around. So what if Nikita threw up on his neck, there was no way he would let him go right now. Cuddled up snuggly, they finally slept without a rude awakening.

-

It was almost noon when Jamal woke up again. He lay still and kept Nikita in an embrace until the blonde began to move. Bleary eyed, Nikita looked up and broke into a yawn. He still had an ashen complexion and cracked lips, but the expression of constant nausea had turned into exhaustion.

"Is it just me or are you looking a little more alive?", Jamal smiled and brushed Nikita's cheek.

"It's been worse." Nikita shrugged, then wrinkled his nose. "The bucket's still filled, isn't it?"

"Yup, filled and fermented for a couple of hours. I'll get rid of it."

With a slight reluctance, Jamal left the bed and disposed of the congealed mass of puke. He put in a new trashbag and made fresh tea. Nikita actually managed to drink half of the cup and keep it down, which was definitely an improvement. Jamal sat down next to him, leaning back against the wall behind the headrest.

"You better stay in bed today", he said with a glance at Nikita. "It's been a lot for you."

"Yeah… I guess." The blonde looked tired enough to fall asleep again in an instant.

"No objections? That's unusua-aaaahhhhhhhhhrrrrrlllll." Interrupted mid-sentence, Jamal projectile vomited all over the blanket and his bare chest. Nikita stared at him, wide-eyed. Jamal was completely flabbergasted himself. There had been no warning – no nausea, no buildup, no drooling or retching. The sludgy brown flood had just shot out of him with a sudden explosion. Quick-witted in spite of his shock, Nikita grabbed the bucket and pushed it under Jamal's face. Utterly confused, Jamal didn't understand why Nikita would do such a thing until another massive gush of puke spurted out of his mouth, filling up a quarter of the bin in one fell swoop.

A hand stroked up and down Jamal's back as he gurgled up a chunky stew that barely resembled the beef stir fry he had eaten for lunch the day before. As his retches became harder, shaking Jamal's body with abrupt jolts, he worked up a thicker mash of rice, meat shreds and bits of broccoli that slipped over his tongue and plunged into the vomit lake below him. Some of them drowned instantly, some stayed on the surface, covered in a glistening sheen. Just seconds later, Jamal's stomach churned again and pushed up more of the lumpy gloop. Several more gags followed, but they remained unproductive.

"I didn't think it would happen so quickly", Nikita sighed and wiped Jamal's face with one of the paper tissues from the box that was still placed on the nightstand. Groaning, Jamal lifted his head.

"Don't say it", he croaked, throat sore from the forceful expulsion of his stomach contents.

"I…"

"Nik, no."

"…told you so." Nikita put the dangerously full bucket away and went on to clean the puke from Jamal's chest. "And I'm glad you didn't listen."

"I might change my mind in the next few hours, but so am I." Jamal forced a strained smile. "By the way, sorry for barfing all over your bed."

"I guess that's fair when you caught it from me. And you got most of it on the covers, so it's easier to clean up."

"But you're still sick!"

"Yeah, but I'm much better already, so stop worrying." Nikita stroked over Jamal's head. "You know what? I'll get rid of the mess and then we switch to your room and get cozy. Agreed?"

"Mhm", Jamal muttered and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure how much time he head until the next wave, not even on which end it would come out. It would be a long day after a long night and Jamal dreaded what lay ahead. But for some reason, he was still happy. Maybe he had been the bigger idiot all along.

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

Archive of our own: Up all night to get Bucky

tumblr: birdnamedenza

[iaminatree]

michael mell gets bullied by an evil supercomputer.png this is not a michael gets squipped au btw lol i just wanted to draw smth silly. anyways i love this guy forreel <3

cropped ver.

[teleport-warning]

Day 2: Rebirth

[introspectivememories]

what's wrong with data analyst bernard?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tamara and Abhishek smile as they get introduced.

"They run this building?" he asks confusedly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You want me for longer?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, Fuck.

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

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

Golden ties for golden boys, he thinks absentmindedly.

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

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

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

He blinks slowly, "...What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is going on here?" Tim asks.

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

Abhishek, no!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bernard says nothing instead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His body sags.

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

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

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

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

BANG!

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

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

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

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

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

Plink, plink, plink.

Bernard hates the scent of iron.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bear?” the other side says groggily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I’m still dead,” she says.

“But I’m still dead,” he repeats.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, of course.” 

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

Darls nods; he tells them as such.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ty, not helping.”

“Move over, let me talk to him."

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

"I can't, I can't," he gasps out. 

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

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

"Good, good. Anything else?" 

"The tiles need to be re-grouted."

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

"Keep going."

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

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

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

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

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

"At my new job at Wayne Ent."

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

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

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

"No!” he says vehemently.

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

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

“Ma!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bernard exhales shakily.

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

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

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

“Okay,” he says simply, “okay.”

“Okay?” Ty asks hopefully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No s-, Young-joon. You’re fine.”

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

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

Bernard nods.

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

“Yes.”

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

“...Yes. Junior year.”

“You know our CEO.”

“Yes,” he breathes out.

“How?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bernard mock salutes, “Yes, sir.”

“Goodbye, Bernard.”

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

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

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

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

“You just got Young-joon-ed, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We’ll make it through, she says.

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

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

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

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

thank you for reading!

[astrobei]

take a little moment (find the right words)

“Wow,” Will breathes out, just on this edge of teasing. “You sound very confident about this.” “Well,” Mike shrugs, swallowing hard in a desperate attempt to soothe his very, very dry mouth, “I don’t know why someone wouldn’t be interested in you.” “Oh?” Will says, and it’s definitely teasing now, enough for Mike to feel himself turning warm, all down his neck and to the tips of his own – sadly unpatterned – socks. “Someone?” “Yeah.” Mike nods. Oh, god. This is fine. “In a very arbitrary sense of the word. Just– people. Someone.”

Mike is approximately ninety-eight percent sure that his feelings are requited. That last two percent, however, has really been throwing him for a loop.

for @wiseatom <3

[revenantghost]

Pros of reading a good fic: Excellent food, delicious, thank you for this blessed men

Cons of reading a good fic: How am I supposed to go on with my life now???

[marimbles]

at the risk of sounding like really entitled….

does anyone else have a fic that is their most popular, but you don’t want it to be, because you don’t think it deserves it, and you have better stuff, and while ofc you are grateful that people like something you wrote, it’s almost annoying that for some reason That one is the most popular. lmao

[reddamselette]

tw: depersonalization, feelings of lost identity (just in case bc. yeah), child soldiers

please for the love of the gods, proceed with caution. like genuinely

Jason pursed his lips, his gaze falling to his hands as he threaded his fingers together unsure of what to say, how to say it, if he should he say it. Years of restraint and forging and discipline weigh on his shoulders, clawing at his back, all the while chaining him to the ground he found himself suffocating under.

Even as he glanced at Reyna who stared at him expectantly, her eyebrow raised as her hand rested limply, lazily on the handle of her sword, the words were lodged in his throat and unable to push past his teeth.

Uncertainty is a weakness, Jason Grace. Lupa’s voice rang through his head. Remove it, shatter it then burn it until there is nothing left. Uncertainty will kill you. She reminded him firmly, strictly with authority and no concern for the fragility that was taken the day he was abandoned.

Jason had never been defiant, he has never found the courage to break the barrier of orders programmed into his mind, his body, his soul. As the system of his brain threatened to shut down, errors covering every corner of his vision, he swallowed thickly. His breath hitched as if his lungs ceased to function, his oxygen stolen. “Do— do you ever…feel like you’re not— not real?”

Reyna furrowed her brows, tilting her head slightly to the left and Jason could see her mind working at a rapid pace. Her eyes almost glazed over, a look so distant and so far as she thought and thought and thought.

Years forced to hold his tongue, play the role with obedience, he learned to observe. It wasn’t the observation of a predator that was drilled into the core of his being, chipping away anything but a killing machine. It was also the observation of simply just existing on the sidelines.

How certain people moved, their habits and their tells, the rubbing of one’s fingers against the palm of their hand, how tones never match their gazes. Eyes are windows to the soul and Jason knew then, not many soldiers of the Legion were human. Their eyes dulled over time, losing the shine and although most would smile and laugh and joke, it never reached their eyes. Guilt and remorse written over their expressions but never reflected in the empty wells void of water.

Jason watched silently as Reyna followed through the same struggle of wanting to speak but unable to say it unless she forced herself to. It was eerie, almost impossible, for his throat to feel scratchy and hoarse like he screamed and shouted for hours. He swallowed again, resisting the urge to rub his throat and grimace as he tasted the faintest hint of metallic iron on his tongue. As if he ripped the stitches that held his vocal chords speaking out of line.

“I—“ Reyna began, turning her head to the side to cough with the back of her hand pressed to her mouth. A flicker of emotion fell through and her face faltered from the usual blankness they each held. “I don’t— I don’t. I don’t feel—“

Jason nodded and they fell silent. He watched as Reyna lowered her head, her eyes wide as short breaths escaped her lips like she ran for miles and she couldn’t stop. She had. They both had.

Reality suddenly warped around them and zeroed in like cameras, they were aware and everything felt wrong.

Each inhale felt foreign, everything thought wasn’t their own and their bodies weren’t theirs to begin with. They remained standing, frozen and locked in place as they spiraled. Jason couldn’t see from his eyes the way he used to. His arms and his hands felt far away, fisheye lens placed over his vision to disorientate him and throw him off balance. He broke off from the act he was in, refused to read from the script given to him like he became a sentient robot.

But that’s what he was. It was what he and Reyna both were. Puppets on string, never deciding their own choices as they walked the plank over an endless drop. He was aware that each person there had free will, what they do or say or act determined their future.

Yet at this moment, like a deer in headlights, never breathing and stuck encased in glass, Jason didn’t know what to do with himself. Because in truth, fate determined his free will. And relief settled in his chest hours later knowing Reyna felt the same.

They were human but they weren’t human enough. They each lacked identity, basing their lives around the legacy they built for the world until Jason’s question acted like a wake up call. He was sure, though.

He was sure that he would never be more than a soldier but less than a human. Trapped in a loop of obedience and order, never to change or destroy, always to walk forward and refrain from jumping off the plank.

[veveisveryuncool]

adeleine <33 she invades my brain with her stupid artist whims and human angst so. her <3

[m00ngbin]

Hey :] I finished it :D (EXPLODES)

It's October 14th, 2004 and Shou is watching his first solar eclipse with his mother (the title is really direct and literal skjkajska)

[jxmey]

read labyrinthine you won't regret it

more below

they're so fucking funny

[wander-wren]

presumed death literally the trope of all time. you’re telling me i can have the grief and horror of character death AND have the happy ending too??

not to mention the possibilities after “dead” character turns up again.

maybe they have no idea their loved one thinks they died, and they show up all nonchalant only to realize things have gone horribly wrong. maybe their loved one thinks they’re a ghost/hallucination/trick and won’t accept them.

maybe they do know their loved one thinks they’re dead and they’re choosing to keep up the facade for their safety. watching from afar, unable to comfort them.

maybe they faked their death and believe their loved one is in on the scheme when actually that message was never received.

maybe, in the process of whatever almost killed them, they forgot about their loved one/old life/etc, and aren’t aware they have anything to return to.

maybe they “died” thinking no one would notice their absence, leaving their loved one full of regret for things unsaid. perhaps their loved one heals and moves on, only for “dead” character to return.

and just, augh, the aftermath. waking up to find “dead” character gone and assuming it was all a dream/they really did die. the codependency. the anger, even, that they didn’t come back/let themself get hurt/lied. maybe guilt if their body was abandoned by their comrades, only to learn that they were alive all along.

name me a trope that does more i’ll WAIT.

[karnaca78]

Words: Daniel Mason, The Piano Tuner (2002)

[yuleshootureye]

I don't think it's fair to say that people only like WFA if they prefer the fanon, idealized versions of Batfam characters.

More rambling about comics and fandom under the cut, but the tldr version is that a) sometimes people want slice-of-life stuff for their favorite characters and b) if I have to put up with Dark and Gritty, unnaturally-prepared, child-slapping Batman, fans of that guy can put up with some light and fluffy manor hijinks like WFA.

Yes, there is an active and vocal portion of DC fandom that wants things from canon that will never happen. Partially that's because fandoms typically always want things from canon that would never happen. Teen Wolf and SPN fans want a coherent narrative that actually addresses the themes and character choices portrayed on the show. CA:TWS fans want to dig their claws into Steve and Bucky's relationship AND the US Military Industrial Complex in a way that the MCU never will. Stranger Things fans want some honest-to-God character development. And part of what I see in DC fandom is similar: what do fans of works where the characters are constantly emotionally and physically stressed want from their fanworks? Hurt/COMFORT and/or curtain!fic, in my experience.

And yes, partially that's because there seems to be a large portion of DC fandom that have not read a significant portion of the comics.* And/or watched the tv show(s). And/or watched the movie(s). And fanon builds on fanon until suddenly Tim Drake is crying because no one has ever hugged him, Cas/Steph/Duke are Sir Not Appearing in this Film, Jason is Gotham's #1 feminist, Dick is a golden retriever in human form, Damain is baby™, and Bruce would NEVER endanger his children by letting them go out and fight crime. But that happens in every fandom, to some extent.

I think it's perhaps more pronounced in DC because it's a comics fandom without any one unifying canon that most people are drawing from. For good or for ill, the Marvel fandom is typically able to circle the wagons around the MCU, with people incorporating various aspects of the 616 or Fraction's Hawkeye or whatever Spider-Man movie's come out most recently. DC doesn't have that. There's 80+ years of comics, including reboots that are supposed to make things less confusing (but YMMV on the effectiveness of that), and characterizations that change with the times; CW live-action TV shows; the Snyder-verse live-action movies; the NON-Snyder-verse live-action movies; the DCAU or Dini-verse/Timm-verse; the DC animated movies that are generally adaptations of comic storylines; the 2005 Teen Titans animated show; the 2010 Young Justice animated show; TITANS; The Batman (the animated show!); The Batman (R. Battinson!); Gotham; Smallville; Lois and Clark; etc, etc, etc.

I came to comics from the DCAU. I watched Smallville far past the point where any reasonable person would have quit. When I first watched 1978's Superman, I was confused that John Kent was dead, because he wasn't in the canons I was most familiar with. It's obviously not a 1:1 comparison, but I do think the question of "what do you want from canon" depends on what canon you're talking about.

And I don't mean to sound like I'm coming down on the side of people who are only familiar with fanon trying to argue they know the characters better than people who've actually consumed canon. But I do think DC being such a broad canon with no unifying property makes it a difficult discussion to have unless you start off by identifying the parameters.

ANYWAY, the point I've been dancing around is that there's enough canon that when someone says "MY Batman would never do that", they might be talking about their fanon or they might be talking about animated show #903 or the Tim Burton movies or whatever. Also, I had to put up with Nolan!Batman being the Batman du jour for like 10 years. It's WAFF WFA Batman's turn to be in the spotlight for a hot minute.

(Also, as greater minds than mine have pointed out, comics are, in general, a collective mythology of the modern era. And if you've ever tried to look up the One True Version of a myth, you'll know it's a frustrating exercise in futility)

*Of course, there's also a question of "what counts as a significant portion of the comics". Someone semi-recently ran a poll of "would you say you've read a lot of comics" and I was torn because I've read a lot, but in fits and spurts over the last 20 years, based on what was available at my local library or bookstore, and with nowhere near the focused attention that others have managed.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

Transporting into jujutsu world ask made me think about reader getting isekai-ed into the manga 🤯

OHHHHH ANON YOU’VE COME TO THE RIGHT PLACE <33333 i was a quotev kid and grew up feeding on isekai fics they’re my favorite Ever actually. unironically one of my favorite tropes i think it’s soooo fun to read when it comes to fics :3

and !!! you’re in luck <333 it just so happens that my favorite jjk fic of all time is an isekai fic!!! (technically it’s composed of two companion fics and only one of them is isekai but they’re both absolutely wonderful)….. like i genuinely can’t explain how much i adore this fic. i don’t have it in me. it’s written so beautifully and thoughtfully in every single way + it has one of my favorite depictions of gojo ever + it’s made me cry at least ten times and that’s …. like . the minimum amount. i’ve cried a LOT over this fic and consider it one of my favorite books in general <333 it’s like 300 pages so. yk.

anyway i won’t leave you in suspense!! the fic is limitless by aria on quotev :33 plssss do yourself a favour and read it!!! it changed me fundamentally as a person i’m so serious. professor my most beloved reader-insert ever <333 her dynamic with gojo will live inside my heart always