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insidemyrottenbrain · 4 months

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Years later - TSH

Henry Marchbanks Winter x GN!Reader

Word count: 1666

TW: religious imagery

Out of guilt and dread you end up leaving Vermont and building a new life. Just as you thought you escaped your past, you once again find yourself in its grasp.

The past haunts me. It has been years—so many I cannot begin to count, and if I’m being completely honest, I was not counting to begin with. Everything I have done was to escape that wretched part of my life in which my naivety and perhaps self-consuming passion, managed to control me. I wanted—want—to forget it all.

The first time I stepped foot into what would soon come to be one of the few select places in my nightmares was very awe-inducing. The university was large, larger than I’d imagined. The stone walls had arched indents that made it look as if it belonged in one of the novels I read as a teenager and that my family wholeheartedly despised. The hallways were a contorted maze of watchful ancient statues following every movement with their eyes, priceless antiques donated by rich parents and students with more money in their pockets than I could ever dream of having. A multitude of departments found their home in that twisted place, such as theater, arts, modern literature, architecture, history, music, philosophy, and more. I believe you can imagine my excitement when faced with the exact kind of university I dreamed of studying at, especially when I had little to no hope of ever getting anywhere close to it, much less belonging.

One thing, as you know, led to another, and I ended up as one of the infamous Greek pupils. I’m quite sure everyone thought we were some kind of cult, which, if you think about it, isn’t entirely wrong.

The first few years were everything I had ever hoped for. I felt that I had found my place and, most certainly, my kind. We used to do everything together. Being with them was the only time I truly felt alive. It doesn’t matter whether we went to the comforting country house engulfed in trees safely from the outside world, had delicious dinners debating the most obscure topics, or simply studied in the library, sleep-deprived and on immense amounts of caffeine, I always felt as if I was doing something more than just existing.

Where did it all go wrong? I wouldn’t be able to tell you. I do not want to categorize Richard’s arrival as the initiator factor, for it was not his fault. Nor is it correct to say that the Bacchanal was the beginning of it all. It wouldn’t be Henry’s doing either, at least not the start of it. I have speculated on this over the years, and I have come to only one conclusion that seems right. My theory as to what the answer is and my attempt to pinpoint the exact place on the timeline are not as precise as I hoped they would be. It was not a single event that gave birth to our ruin, but rather multiple little moments, that are rather large in the big scheme. I also like to believe that Julian had as much of a role in all of this as the rest of us. Perhaps, even a considerably more sizeable one.

Everything that happened—I wish to leave behind. However, I recently came to realise, that, to my misery, it incorporated and formed my very being. My views, my ideas, my tastes, and my activities are all, to a certain extent, if not fully influenced and ruled over by it. I am my past.

My great, futile attempts to escape the life I once had, led me to London, a perfect setting for someone who wished to hide. A bustling place, where I had the chance to not be me, but a mere shadow lurking throughout the crowded streets, observing every passerby, while trying to guess their life stories, deepest desires, and strongest fears. I was no one, and I adored it. However, my presence became known among museum guides and librarians for its consistency. I have also earned a reputation among university students for being one of the few odd professors. This is probably due to the fact that I am very selective with my pupils, and I teach a couple that are quite brilliant in my office. I often have open discussions with them, for I consider it helps them engage with the topic better and understand the meaning and philosophy behind it in such a way that encourages them to analyze, observe, and critique. One such day, we were talking about the loss of self, Plato’s four divine madnesses:

‘Death is the mother of beauty,’ said Felix, one of my students.

I nodded in approval as I propped myself up on the desk.

‘And what is beauty?’

‘Terror,’ a voice answered from my office’s door.

My life up until this moment, along with all my darkest memories and the series of events that led me to where I am today, flash before my eyes, and it feels as if the universe has stopped specifically to play along with his sadistic trick. My jaw clenches involuntarily, my eyes threaten to betray my emotions, and I have to remind myself I’m not the same brainless kid chasing empty promises and impossible dreams, fully convinced that every existing land, no matter how vast it may be, is my playground and that fate will bend according to my petulant will. I have to get out of my head, the silence is stretching. My students, probably confused, are expecting some kind of sign from my disordered self. He is waiting for a reaction. The past has finally caught up to me. After all my futile attempts, it still managed to intrude on my present’s doorway.

I take a deep breath. I look at my students, curiosity mixed with confusion clear in their expressions. I don’t need to look at him to know who he is.

‘I apologize,’ I start hoping that they cannot hear the tremble in my voice as accentuated as I seem to do, ‘class is dismissed.’

I need not say more before my students start gathering their belongings in complete silence so as to not further disturb the room completely filled with palpable animosity and perhaps something more vivid, cursed to lurk in the depths of our minds. I reach blindly toward my pack of cigarettes, lying somewhere on my desk between books and coffee-stained papers. Lucky Strikes, yet another sign of his hold on me. I light my cigarette, breathing in the curls of smoke spiraling down my throat. The sound of his leather shoes clicking against the wooden floorboards reverberates through my beating heart. I am well aware that even now, after years of attempting to escape from the rosary He entangled around my neck, I am still His most loyal devotee, respecting vigilantly every silent command. Deep and numbing smoke inside my lungs, like a relaxant, washes me with warm Indian summer waves of calmness.

He is fixating me with his cold blue eyes, watching for any sign of defiance. Over the years I’ve spent in his presence, I’ve learned to recognize his transitive facial expressions, his secretive ways, and his small habits, whether it is the way he holds a page between his fingers before turning it or his tendency to dive into long monologues about whatever interests him at that moment. It is a distinct ability that has grown its roots along my blood vessels, twisted and intertwined beyond differentiation. Understanding each other used to be our way of showing our affection. It is something so sacred that I cannot bring myself to weaponize against him and betray the bond we once had. You’d think that after so much time I’d be able to break free from the shackles His divinity holds me in and convert to a different faith. But He is nestled so deeply in me, that I cannot help but like the burns and the imprints upon my skin.

Henry Marchbanks Winter looks the same. But he now has a new pair of glasses and slight crow’s feet, along with faint smile lines framing his lips. He’s wearing one of his dark English suits, which have always fit him incredibly well. And if the wrinkles weren’t enough, the few grey hairs peeking from underneath the familiar dark colour of his hair are a brutal reminder of how much of him I missed. A cruel admonitum of the years that have passed and of all the times I wasn’t next to him, not by chance but by choice. It takes all I have in me to not fall to my knees, confess my sin, and beg for forgiveness. As if all the years I’ve been away from him turned into mere days I find myself falling back to my old habits and once again bowing down to his silent command.

Amor dominus terribilis est.

The cigarette burns, forgotten between my fingers, as I get wasted on his scent, for once, unbothered by the consequences.

‘I’ve finally found you, dilectus.’ Beloved.

‘I suppose you have.’ I cannot help but stare at him, hypnotized by the storm in his eyes.

‘I have been searching for you since the day you left.’ He reaches a gentle, steady hand to brush my cheek ‘London of all places-’

As much as I wish to let him hold me again I find myself interrupting him. ‘You have no business here.’ I walk to the open window and take my second drag from the almost fully burned cigarette.

He sighs, frustration slipping through the cracks of his perfection.

‘Like it or not,’ he emanates divine turmoil as he emphasizes every word ‘you are my business.’

‘After so long we can’t be anything but strangers.’

‘You are wrong.’ He states immediately as I finish the sentence. ‘You cannot act as if you have forgotten everything we’ve been through.’ His hand once again finds its way to my face and caresses it with smooth, slow motions. This time I let him. ‘One more chance is all I ask for.’ He whispered.

‘One more chance.’ I agree, defeated.

#donna tartt #tsh #the secret history #academia aesthetic #henry marchbanks winter #henry winter #henry winter x reader #reader insert #reader x henry winter #tsh fanfic #the secret history fanfic #the secret history fanfiction #fanfiction #henry winter fanfic #writing

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carlos-in-glasses · 5 months

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Fic Pride Friday - on a Saturday!

Thank you for the tag @freneticfloetry @lemonlyman-dotcom @bonheur-cafe

@literateowl @ladytessa74 @liminalmemories21 🧡 And for giving me a reason to create a banner for non-WIP tag games.

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

I've opted to share from three fics- Suddenly in the Silence, Where All This Love Comes From, and Wrestling Angels:

Suddenly, in the Silence:

"I think the closet is haunted," TK says, fumbling the buttons of his lapelled pajama shirt. Carlos faces the opposite side of the room. "But it's from Ikea." "Not that one." TK throws an arm towards the white pre-fab nothingy unit that had housed their pajamas. "I mean the old Reyes relic." "My dad's tatarabuelo built that," Carlos says defensively. And occupies it now, TK thinks but does not say. Instead, he opts for, "It might be fun to sleep in your old bedroom like we did that time before. Snuggled up in that creaky twin with your adorable horse comforter over us." "My old room," Carlos breathes a laugh, "Is the most haunted in this house." "With memories, though, not ghosts."

Where All This Love Comes From

A single tear slips from Carlos' eye. Years ago, there was a young man in New York City called TK Strand and he had no idea that in Austin, Texas, a stranger called Carlos Reyes was aching, yearning, pining for exactly him. He had no idea how loved he was going to be by someone he had yet to meet. He had no idea how wonderful he was as a person with or without a partner – but he was about to find out. That's why you have to keep living, Carlos thinks, so you can find out.

Wrestling Angels

But love is going to come into his life, and it won’t be what he’ll expect, because it’s going to be TK Strand, a firefighter who shows up in Austin from Manhattan following a relapse. He’s a little fierce and rough and moody and funny. He’ll bring disorder to the orderly life he’s about to work so hard to create for himself and himself alone. TK will cause him pain, and he’ll push TK’s buttons, and then it’s going to work out, and he’s going to marry him. And TK is going to be the one to ask. Love is going to be powerful, runaway, gutting, enormous – yet weirdly and utterly defined by the small moments as much as the major events. It’s going to feel physical and invisible, like storm winds that take his breath and knock him off his feet. He’s going to have sex. He’ll have it with a few guys before TK, and every time with each of those guys, it will be somewhere on a sliding scale of outright bad, awkward, embarrassing, mediocre, good, better, great, fantastic. With TK it will be different. Supercharged, mind-blowing, right from the start, and it will also be gentle, romantic, connective in a new way. It will always be a deeper experience than with anyone else. It’s going to mean something real every time, even from the beginning when TK insists that it’s not going to, and Carlos will pretend as much as he can that he doesn’t mind.

I know I'm late so might have missed things but open tag and tags below:

@reyesstrand @paperstorm @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @heartstringsduet

@vineofroses @theghostofashton @lightningboltreader @chaotictarlos

@goodways @welcometololaland @orchidscript @rmd-writes

@strandnreyes @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @chicgeekgirl89

@sznofthesticks @nancygillianmvp @safeaswrites @my-little-tilly

@sugdenlovesdingle @carlos-tk @honeybee-taskforce @sanjuwrites

@alrightbuckaroo @never-blooms

@fallout-mars - If you want to share/haven't already! No pressure ever! ❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜

#Fic Pride Friday #cig tagged #cig fic #my fic #Wrestling Angels #Where All This Love Comes From #Suddenly in the Silence #Tarlos fic #tarlos fanfic

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elliebyrrdwrites · 1 month

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The potion is thick, almost sticky as it slides down my throat. It’s supposed to be the last dose I will ever take, according to Healer Dodd. He told my father that my liver will start to fail if he keeps administering these potions to me. He says that the incident occurred so long ago, there is virtually no chance of a relapse.

Whatever that means.

He advises my father to stick with the liver replenishing potions. Reminds him not to let me drink alcohol.

He stares down at me as I sit, stone like, against the wall, my feet pulled up onto the lumpy mattress. My arms wrap around my knees and I let my heavy lidded eyes follow him as he watches my pupils change size as they contract.

I’ve been in and out of this place for years. It feels like every other visit, except that the doses have increased to twice a day and this time, Dodd looks at me with something like pity.

It drips from his eyes as he examines me, as he asks me questions about my life. Always the same round of questioning.

Where did I got to school? Was there anyone particularly close to me during those years? Tell me about the war, were there any particularly traumatic events that I can recall?

Nothing, I tell him. Nobody.

Sometimes, I think about telling him about Ginny Weasley and the strange memories of her smiling at me, laughing and shaking her head.

Instead, I tell him that at school, I was alone. Memories of Zacharias Smith’s big dumb eyes or the smell of Lavender and damp grass stay tucked away, hidden from the world.

Dodd asked me if I remembered why I came in this time, why my father insisted that I seek professional care.

I told Dodd the truth, for once.

I’m a god and this shell cannot always contain all of my power.

“You are a man, Draco. A wizard, just like the other patients in this facility.”

No, I told him. I’m building an army of followers. I’m destined to take over the world.

Dodd frowned at me then told my father that he recommended that I get off the potion and stay in this prison until I can be mended properly.

My father sneered at him and spat onto the floor. “Don’t forget who you work for, Dodd.”

Me, Dodd works for me, just like the rest of the soldiers. My father rolls his eyes at me and shakes his head. “I will not keep him here. He has duties to get back to.”

Work at the ministry, marrying Astoria. He reminds me and Dodd of these things, the importance of my family name and the power we hold in the world.

My chapped lips press together as the urge to close my eyes takes over, my muscles liquify and threaten to pull me into the mattress as my mind begins to detach itself from my body.

I’m fighting it, this time, trying hard to hold onto my sanity before it slips away. I pull my gaze away from Dodd and instead look out the window. It’s tiny and covered in bars. There’s streaks of sunlight still burning against the edges of the sky. It’s not like the sunsets in Wiltshire. All orange and pink. These are different, somehow, more beautiful with all the brown and gold.

I keep my eyes trained on the window and can feel my mind drifting. Only, it doesn’t drift off into the stars above. Not yet.

Instead, it drifts into a little known space that I’ve been keeping all to myself, in the back of my skull. Just tucked in there, hidden away from my fathers prying eyes, from Dodd and his mind work.

Eyes like the sunset outside, staring at me. Hermione Granger haunts my life. It’s a single moment of a younger version of ourselves staring at me, as a soft smile curves her lips upwards.

I don’t know why I have this secret all to myself.

What I do know, is that it keeps me from slipping into that deep pit of despair that threatens to suck me in every fucking day. I think it reminds me of a time when I had some semblance of choices to make. When I still had some free will.

Her eyes are all I have, like a collection of marbles a child creates when he feels he has no control in the world around him.

The healer leaves and I can hear the door click, the scoff of his shoes against the floor. And then I’m floating. My mind is drifting, weaving through the universe and the never ending loop of energy that we misconstrue as time.

Because, time doesn’t actually exist. It’s just a construct humans have created to explain away growing old, or the the ebb and flow of pain and joy.

Except for me.

I’m no longer mortal. Because I don’t experience those ebbs and flows.

There is no chronological order anymore. It doesn’t exist here, so don’t look for it. It’s all just energy being recycled, over and over.

I’m just this thing that floats through the universe, watching as if in slow motion, the world passing by. And right now, I’m just biding my time while I wait to be released back into the wild.

#dramione drabbles #dramione angst #dramione fanfic #dramione #fanfic #hermione granger #draco malfoy #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #dramione fanfiction #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfiction

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angelpink610 · 3 months

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Shadow Work is NOT meant to be easy or comforting;

Guess it’s about time that we talk about this!

This is a reminder to myself and to anyone that might need it—the ones who feel like it’s only bringing them down, that it’s making them feel miserable or bad. Let’s clear up some things.

Feeling down in the moment is the best sign you can receive that IT IS WORKING! Shadow Work is the courage to look at the parts of yourself you despise the most, you fear the most, you are embarrassed of the most. It’s not simply acknowledging that bad things happened to you, it’s experiencing them all over again but now straightening up your back and looking right to its face.

I, myself, also am someone that's still learning about it and have been experiencing hard times throughout it. Sometimes I feel unmotivated and down, also lately I had noticed my sleep was a bit more inconsistent and I have big dark circles. Well, I know that saying this is probably going to scare some people even more away—and I understand the unsettling feelings! But the way that I see it, it’s like anything great in life: takes time, heavy work and some sacrifices.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not sacrificing my entire life because of it. I workout every single day, keep my mind active, go to university, all normal. But some minor sacrifices are the price we pay for lifelong healing. My personal experience’s greatest example of sacrifice is how much emotional energy it actually takes from you. I swear on my word that sometimes when I look at the notebook I use as my Shadow Work journal, I instantly feel kind of “off vibes”, like the energy that it has is unsettling—but, here’s the thing: it is!

The energy that it requires to heal your deepest traumas, pains, griefs, obviously wouldn’t be super light and nice. Your words carry the pain you felt, some that you still feel, the heaviness of its result on your life (maybe years, decades of constant suffering, even); it’s pretty obvious that the notebook that carries them wasn’t gonna be all warm and fuzzy.

It’s not easy, guys. And I know that, at this point, you might’ve already realized that, but I want to remember us all of something: it’s in adversity that we are able to grow. You are capable of living through this healing process, you are capable of surviving the dark before the light, you are capable of facing your monsters and returning with their heads on a stick. But you HAVE TO BELIEVE IT.

Live through the suffering stage of the process like the champion you already know you are. Don’t give up when you suddenly burst into tears during a meditation session where you talked to your younger self. Persist when you have to stop and take deep breaths at every few sentences you write when you are journaling about a traumatic event because it feels like it’s too much. Hold onto it tighter when you live all over again the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.

One last time: I’m not saying it’s easy or simple (in reality, those may be some of the hardest things you’ll ever have to do through your entire life, perhaps). But I do mean it when I say you’ll understand why you had to go through all that once you reach the light on the other side, and your scars will be the forever reminder THAT YOU ARE A SURVIVOR.

The same way a lot of kids are not scared of/don’t see evil in certain horror imageries until they are told that it is scary and choose to follow that thought—we should learn from them as adults and finally understand: monsters are only monsters when we give them the power to haunt us.

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jasntodds · 2 years

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Caving In [4]

Pairing: Gar Logan x Fem!Powered!Reader, Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader

Words: 7,625

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, a nightmare, fluff, hurt/comfort, some paranoia, mention of torture, mention of abuse, Dick tries to kind of have “the talk”, Jason and reader argue (we all know sometimes Jason is an asshole, this is the only time this kind of argument happens btw), mentions of bruising and swelling, a mention of drug addiction, mentions of death

Summary: ❝Tell me Atlas: What is heavier, The world or its people’s hearts?❞ You never expected your life to end up this way, turned upside down by an infamous Gotham villain. It’s been a living hell, every single day, until Dick Grayson brings you to Titans tower where you meet Gar Logan and Jason Todd.

A/N: I’m really excited to post chapter 7 just so you guys know lol This feels kind of like a filler but this is the only one that feels like it I think?? I might try to post chapter 5 this weekend because of that lol I am easily motivated to post more often when I get feedback 😂 The first few chapters take place between season 2 episode 1 and season 2 episode 2. You can add yourself the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary and turn on notifications if you prefer that!!

series masterlist | masterlist | tag list

Nightmares are a funny thing. They’re rarely anything realistic once you’re able to be calm enough to think about them. But they always contain some type of fear or traumatic event someone has experienced. Sometimes, it’s not rational or there is some deep hidden meaning behind the nightmare but other times, it’s just from trauma left unhandled. Those nightmares are the worst.

They make you revise the worst times of your life over and over and over like a broken record. No matter what you do, you lose in the nightmare. Years later, you might be happy and healthy but the nightmare comes back and you feel like you’re right back where you were. Trapped in the never-ending agony. Trapped inside a tilt-a-whirl made of panic attacks and broken hearts. And every single night, it’s a living hell.

And that’s where you are now, living your own personal hell with screaming so loud your throat is raw and ragged breaths beg your chest to finally cave in. The flashes of your “foster dad” scar the back of your eyes with every blink, like Freddy Krueger clawing his way to the surface. You might have escaped him physically, but mentally you’re trapped like a bear at a circus. Your hands shake as tears well behind your eyes and as the panic rages through your veins, the anger sets in. And you’re so mad that you’re allowing this piece of shit to haunt you even in your sleep, somewhere you might just feel safe. How are you ever supposed to be safe from him if you can’t even sleep? What if he finds you? What if, somehow, your nightmares are just a sign he’s coming after you? What are you supposed to do then? What if he has powers and that’s why he’s coming to finish you off?

A million what-ifs scramble through your brain as you sit in your bed, the bedside lamp still on. You get out of bed and it’s not even like you’re walking. With every worst-case scenario running through your head at once, you’re just moving through motions to exit your room. You need to make sure he isn’t here, need to make sure everyone here is safe from him, that you’re safe from him.

Your hands go up, right in front of you, slightly outstretched as if waiting for you to run into him. The palms of your hands glow green, ready for any type of attack you might come across in the secure tower while you tiptoe your way out of your room.

“Y/n?” A groggy voice from the right pulls your attention as you were just about to walk down the hallways. You jump and spin quickly, the glow of your hands intensifying in the dim light of the hallway. “It’s me.” Gar defends quickly, putting his hands up. “Gar?” His voice is still groggy but full of fear as he glances between your hands and your face.

You could see him with the dim lights of the hallway and the green glow of your hands but it still didn’t click, not until he said his name. You aren’t sure where your head was but a part of you is scared because of it. You were so lost in a state of fear and urgency to make sure everything was safe, you were blinded. It’s a bit terrifying.

You lets out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, dropping your hands as the green fades. “Fuck, what’re you doing?” You whisper-yell at him.

Gar takes a few steps towards you. “You were screaming.” He whispers back to you. “I heard you so I came to see if you were okay.”

The walls aren’t thin but Gar is pretty sure your scream could have woken up anyone. It was loud and pained, etched in terror. But, that’s a thing that happens here from time-to-time. Everyone has a habit of occasionally waking up screaming. It’s either childhood trauma haunting them or new trauma from Trigon. Gar figures that’s why no one else got up. They’re conditioned to be used to it.

You watch him carefully as the panic starts to cloud with feelings of regret and guilt. You didn’t realize you had screamed loud enough to wake anyone up. That’s not fair to anyone, to be woken by someone who can’t handle their own shit. And then to be standing out in the middle of a hallway at the crack of dawn with sleep still in their eyes talking about it. You look to the floor, shifting your weight on your feet and chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Are you….okay?” Gar asks, coming a little closer.

When you fell asleep on him earlier, you looked peaceful. Normally, you kind of always have this look of fear. Your eyes always seem a little distant and you look behind whoever you’re talking to a lot. You don’t make eye contact for longer than a few seconds. But while you slept, you looked at ease and peaceful and calm, like you didn’t need to look over your shoulder anymore but then you shot up out of nowhere. Gar knew it had to have been a nightmare. He reacts the same way when he has one, maybe everyone does but he knows the signs. Wide eyes, ragged breathing, distant but sleep-filled eyes. And now, you’re awake again from a nightmare and it doesn’t sit right with the kind boy with green hair.

You nod. “Y-yeah.” You offer a fake smile. “You, uh, you can go back to bed.”

“Are you going to go back to bed?” Gar asks with a pointed look and he doesn’t want you to be alone. The shadows are a bit more haunting when you’re alone.

“Uh….I mean….eventually.” You answer softly, dropping your head slightly.

“I can stay with you until you fall asleep if you want.” Gar shrugs his shoulders, putting his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants.

You raise a brow at him, not looking pleased with the idea. You don’t want to inconvenience him or seem weak. You’re in a tower full of heroes and you can’t even sleep through the night. The last thing you want is for any of them to see you as the weak link. What happens if you can’t pull it together? Will they just drop you because you’re not strong enough?

“It-it’s okay.” You don’t smile this time, you just keep chewing your lip, pulling your sleeves over your hands, something Gar has been noticing you do.

“What were you doing out here?” Gar asks, his voice kind and not accusing but you shake your head, knowing it sounds ridiculous. “I won’t tell anyone.” He offers and there’s this sweet but subtle smile pulling at his lips.

Jason, a few hours ago, told you to talk to him. He said maybe it would help and the only way he’d know that, is if Gar knows Jason’s baggage, too. Jason doesn’t seem the type to wave the white flag and spill all of his secrets. Maybe Gar just cares about everyone and maybe it will help.

You sigh and cave. “I-I-I was….was just making sure….uh….he wasn’t….here.” You stutter but eventually get everything out and a part of Gar’s heart breaks at hearing it.

You aren’t looking at him, a sense of shame consuming you and Gar is not about to have you feeling bad for worrying that the person who tortured you is seeking you out in the one place you feel safe. It’s not fair and it’s not right. Gar knows whatever you went through was horrible but the fact you’re so worried that the person is in the tower? It’s unfathomable.

Gar starts walking past you, stopping a few steps ahead of you and offering you his hand. “We’ll look together.”

You look at his hand and then up at him with his words and you can feel your nose getting warm while your eyes burn. Your entire face softens and there’s something about the offer that makes you feel like everything in you is being warmed by a fireplace, warmed by a place one can only describe as home. He didn��t think you were crazy or that it was ridiculous or stupid. He just…offered to help.

So, you put your hand in his, following him through the tower.

As you walk, you hold his hand tightly noticing the soft callouses. His grip is tight but in a comforting type of way and he glances at you every few seconds as if making sure you’re okay. You walk from room to room, turning on the lights and verifying there isn’t anyone around before you end up in the comms room with the supercomputer. Gar takes a seat and shows you that everything is still secure and there hasn’t been a break-in. Everyone still needs their fingerprints to get in and the front door is done by facial recognition. According to the logs, no one has been in or out of the tower since nine the night before.

“I’m sorry.” You say quietly, standing to the side of Gar with arms crossed and eyes on the large screen in front of you. “I know this was stupid.”

Gar spins in the chair to face you but your eyes don’t move. “It’s okay, ya know? You’re scared and this is a new place. It’s not stupid.”

“It feels like it though, I-i-i….I see him anytime I close my eyes.” Your voice is so small.

You think maybe you should take Jason’s advice fully. Gar is awake with you anyway and you woke him up. He could have gone back to bed but he walked with you instead, knowing full well there wasn’t an intruder in the tower. It’s like you owe him some type of explanation.

“Foster dad.” You clarify. “He’s originally from Gotham, too, ya know? So him being a complete psychopath kind of tracks.” There’s a sharp bitterness in your voice but you keep your stare off of Gar, afraid that if you can see the look on his face you know he’s giving you, you’ll just shut down and go to bed.

“He just…did that to you?” Gar asks with furrowed brows and pain in his voice.

“Yep, he wanted powers. Some weird thing against Batman and Robin so he used me because ya know, the system doesn’t actually give a fuck about most foster kids.” You grit your teeth, your fists balling in your arms. “Then thought I was concealing my powers from him because he was certain his experiments were working so he’d try to literally beat them out of me.” You shrug a shoulder. “Guess he was right.”

Gar pauses, piecing it together. He was sure you would have tried to use your powers, but you didn’t? “Wait so….you never used your powers around him and—“

“Let him beat me until he thought I was dead?” You ask, just glancing at Gar long enough to see him nod. “Yep. If he knew it worked, he’d have killed me anyway. Letting him think he failed was…” You tilt your head side to side slightly. “Vindicating in a way. I, uh, I know it sounds so stupid but I was desperate to try and get out. Desperate people do stupid things."

“I’m so sorry that happened.” Gar’s eyes are glued to you, hating the idea of living through that.

He was tortured before and it haunts him every single day. He wasn’t even tortured for very long and it’s still hell. You were tortured for a lot longer. He gets your hesitance and your paranoia. He’d be paranoid, too if he were you.

“Yeah….” You sigh. “So, I might have escaped physically but the piece of shit really isn’t leaving my dreams alone, I guess.”

Gar sits on it for a few seconds. While he was kind of this weird experiment in a way, Dr. Caulder knew it would work and it would save him. He never had to fear for his life around him. He feared speaking up and being himself because sometimes the doctor wasn’t very nice. He didn’t really like other people being their own people, not if it contradicted what he believed or wanted. So, he can’t even fathom want horrors haunt your mind even in safety.

“I can check the tower for you every night if you want.” Gar offers. You jerk your head in his direction, surprise etched across every crease of your face. “And uh, if you have a nightmare, you can wake me up. I leave my door unlocked anyway…if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Y-y-you’d do that?”

Gar gains a sheepish smile as he shrugs. “Yeah, of course.”

You will never tell Jason, but maybe he was right about telling Gar. You feel a little better about it and he’s so nice. He’s offering to lose sleep when you have a nightmare which could be every night. You wonder how he’s chosen to be so kind despite whatever he’s been through.

“Thank you.” You look to the ground and then finally look at Gar. “Can you not tell anyone? Please?”

He chuckles softly. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thanks, it means a lot.” You suck in a breath. “Well, now that I know my delusions are just delusions, I’m gonna try and get some more sleep.” You give him a genuine smile this time.

“I’ll be up if you need anything.” Gar says, turning back to the computer to exit out of the security system.

“I’m so sorry.” You apologize again. “I didn’t mean to keep you from sleeping or anything.”

“It’s okay.” Gar assures you. “I should be getting up early anyway.”

“Okay.” You nod, offering him a closed and small smile.

It’s six now so Gar’s alarm would be going off in an hour anyway. But, you’re still going to go to bed. He didn’t hear you go to bed the night before and it was pretty late when you woke up from the first nightmare.

“What, uh what time did you go to bed anyway?”

“Uh….” You squint an eye, trying to remember the last time you looked at your phone. “Four? I think?”

“Wow, okay.” Gar’s brows raise quickly as he chuckles softly.

“I-I got talking with Jason last night so…” Your words fall off. “Couldn’t sleep and I ran into him.”

Gar nods slowly, ignoring the tint of a burn in his chest. You talked to Jason but not him? He’s been so nice to you and he feels like you trust him. All you do with Jason is this weird banter thing that Gar is slowly realizing maybe it’s flirting. Not that he’s actively trying to pursue anything because that doesn’t feel right either. But something about you talking to Jason, hurts. He’s always deemed himself a trustworthy person who’s a pretty good listener but you went to probably the worst listener on the face of the planet. He doesn’t really get it and he knows he has not right to assume you would tell him anything. Above everything else, he’s just surprised you got talking to Jason.

“What’d ya talk about?” Gar plays it cool, not digging but just asking.

“Uh….nothing really, I guess.” You lie and it’s at that moment you realize you lie a lot. Not that you intend to, it just feels like an instinct now either to protect yourself or other people. “I mean…not nothing.” You correct yourself. “Some of what happened in a very unserious manner.”

Gar nods his head again and you might be a little dense but you’re not so dense that you missed the way he stiffed in his chair. “Did it help?” He asked.

“Well, I, uh, I felt better after but then I had a nightmare so….not sure how much talking about it really helped.” You scoff as you roll your shoulders.

“Is it because it was unserious?” Gar asks, quoting your direct word.

You shake your head. “Nah, always been better with unserious ways of talking about trauma. When it gets too….emotional I don’t….” You look to the floor, tugging your sleeves over your hands. “I don’t like it very much, like it less than I usually do, I suppose.”

“You can talk to me.” Gar offers, looking back over to you.

“I know.” You smile at him softly, it’s almost a smirk that forms. “Can you get a little snarky and nasty about it?”

“Would it help?” Gar chuckles, his position loosening with the question and the burning sensation in his chest starting to dissipate.

“Yeah, you can’t give that look you do. With the big eyes and sad expression, makes me feel weird.” You scrunch the left side of your mouth upwards.

Gar laughs softly, putting his hands up. “Okay, I’ll try my best.”

“Thanks.” You look around the room and then back to him. “I do like talking to you and hanging around you. You make me feel comfortable here.” You admit and then realize you’re saying way too much. “Okay well, that’s enough for today. I’m actually going to bed.” You smile at him and it almost feels like you should hug him or something but that also feels like it might just get awkward so you opt for a small wave as if that wasn’t just as awkward.

“Sleep well.” Gar laughs softly, matching the wave with burning cheeks.

You finally get some much-needed rest, without a nightmare. It wasn't a lot of sleep by any means but it was a lot more than you’ve gotten in a long time and for the first time, you actually feel well-rested. You aren't sure if it's because you talked with Gar about what happened a little bit or if it's because you knew he was awake and wouldn't let anyone in your room if they tried. Or that he helped you look around the tower for Jerry like two crazy people. Maybe it's a combination of everything but you feel a lot better.

You find yourself walking into the kitchen once you’re fully awake, still dressed in pajamas. Your thing has always been you shouldn't need to get properly dressed if you aren't actively doing something or going somewhere. Why bother dirtying clothes?

When you walk into the kitchen, Gar and Jason are sat on the barstools while Dick is making some type of shake, Rachel is just coming in from the opposite hall. The boys look a little sweaty, devouring their food like they haven’t eaten in days. You assume they’d just gotten done with a training session and, apparently, were too hungry to shower first.

"Good morning." Dick chimes, bits of sarcasm in his words given it just being past noon.

You pause, glaring at him. "You're one of those aren't you?"

"What?" Dick chuckles, confusion in his face.

"Thinking the early bird gets the worm or whatever." Your voice is flat and you might be well-rested and it might be the afternoon, but you’re not a morning person.

Dick shrugs. "It's true."

"But the mouse gets the cheese, my guy." You give him a thumbs up, moving to the seat between Jason and Gar and sitting down. Gar gives you this gentle smile while Jason has this proud smirk pulling at his lips. "What?" You look at Dick who looks somewhere between amused and contentment.

Dick is looking at you with a sense of ease and accomplishment. He thought you’d be more...closed off longer. This is a new place, you’re traumatized and hurt. But, you seem comfortable, using sarcasm with him that isn’t hurtful and plopping down right between the boys whose expressions did not go unnoticed by Dick. Dick feels like he might be doing something really good here.

"Nothing." Dick's face settles with amusement. "Settling okay?"

"Mhm." You hum.

"Since she doesn't shut the fuck up, I'm sure she's fine." Jason states, his voice trying to sound menacing.

Gar and you look to Jason with annoyance. "You have not shut up for a single second I have been here and this is day three. You had no complaints last night." You look away, Dick looking between the two of you with his cup held to his mouth. He doesn’t even wanna know.

"You were whining, I wanted you to shut up and it worked." Jason mumbles and you let out a laugh. What is his issue?

"I don't whine, I complain. There's a difference." You hold your pointer finger up to correct him and Jason cracks a smile, Gar chuckles into his water bottle.

"Same shit." Jason fires back. "You could stop."

You roll your eyes and that's when the idea sparks. Jason isn’t winning this, this is your game to win. "Hey, Dick, question: What's your rule on dating? Ya know in the tower?"

Jason and Gar both stiffen in their seats, you catching it out of the corner of your eyes and it takes everything in you not to burst out laughing or break the stare you have with Dick. Gar is choking on his water and Jason's cheeks are turning red while Dick is stuck looking at all three of you wondering how the hell he got here. The last thing Dick wants to do is discuss this. Of course, he knew there was a chance of something going on, but he kind of assumed it would just happen. He didn’t think he’d get dragged into it, not like this at least.

"She's screwing with you." Rachel says from the other side of Gar. You give Dick a wide smirk, Gar and Jason looking a little displeased, Jason more than Gar who almost looks disappointed.

"Of course she is." Dick lets out a breath, his expression unamused.

"Sorry, you were a necessary casualty in getting Jason to shut up for a few seconds." You hold an apologetic smile.

Jason flirts a lot and in your experience, if you bring up dating out of the blue, it’ll shut someone like Jason up faster than anything because it’s out of left field. He’s caught off guard and it gets his brain going on if there’s something going on. You think it’s funny, you’ve won this bit.

"Well, since you wanted to bring it up..." Dick starts and all four of you suddenly look like you need seatbelts.

"No, not the talk, please." Gar begs with a groan.

Dick grimaces. "No, of course not. I trust you all know about that." Even if you didn’t, Dick isn’t sure he’d be able to give the talk. He’d call Donna and Dawn. They’re the responsible ones.

"Some of us more than others." Jason quips with a smirk.

"Gross." Rachel mutters.

"Dude." Gar looks past you and at Jason, shaking his head at Jason.

"Anyway, uh..." Dick fumbles for words, realizing he never had any intention of this conversation which was his fault given the Titans past of relationship in the tower. "Just make sure everyone is consenting and be safe?"

"You sound so uncertain about that." You raise a brow as your words are slow.

"I don't know how to have this conversation." Dick defends.

"We don't have to." Gar is grimacing in his seat. "We know, safety and consent, got it." It’s not that Gar is a prude, it’s just awkward and he’s not much of a fan of awkward conversations. If it were just him and Dick, it wouldn’t be awkward, but it's everyone.

"Don't bring drama into the training room or while we're out."

"Obviously." Rachel says, already tired of the conversation.

"That won't be a problem." Jason mutters.

You rolls your eyes at him before looking back to Dick. "You're doing great, bud." You give Dick a thumbs up.

"That's it. I don't care, don't do anything.....graphic..."

"God." Gar groans, making you laugh. But, everyone has gathered this look of disgust on their faces with Dick’s choice of words. "Please, stop talking." Gar pleads.

"In a public area of the tower." Dick continues.

All of your faces contort into a grimace, even Jason’s. That is such an odd and specific request. You did not think this is where that joke would go. You didn’t think it’d go anywhere, let alone here.

"I feel like there's a very specific reason you said that and I don't wanna know." You laugh. "I'm sorry, I didn't think he'd decide to have this conversation." You apologize to the room.

"And what did you learn today?" Dick asks, not too happy about feeling like he had to have the talk with the new Titans.

"You want me today something like pick my words more carefully next time but...I think I just learned not bring up interpersonal relations with you in front of other people." You scrunch your nose.

Dick lets out a sigh. "Well, are we clear then?"

"YES." Gar yells, dramatically. "Can we stop now? This is awkward."

"Come on, Gar. Surely this isn't new territory for you." You kick Jason under the counter. "Ow! What the fuck?"

"Shut the fuck up." You snip at him.

"Yeah? And What are you gonna do about it?" Jason looks you up and down.

You narrow your eyes and for a second you think about what you could do. You could give him a burn, something equivalent to a rug burn. But, that’s not right and you’d never actually try to hurt him, not like this. And you can’t punch him because that also seems a bit extreme. He’d probably see it coming anyway, block you, then hit you back.

"That's what I thought." Jason scoffs with a look of pride as he’s won.

You shove him with your hand, Jason falling off of his chair. He hits the floor with a thud, looking at up at you with a twisted face filled of anger and shock. For someone who can't fight and who's injured, you’re ballsy. Jason could fight you right now and you'd basically be defenseless but Jason wouldn't do that. He knows where the lines are when it comes to physical contact and he doesn't cross them. He crosses a lot of lines, but fighting people who can't fight back isn't one of those. So, he's even more pissed about it.

Jason gets back to his feet, closing the distance between him and you. "What the fuck is your problem, huh?" Jason yells in your face, Gar adjusting in his seat, ready to get up at any point and Dick is ready to step in if he needs to.

"You are, apparently. Why do you have to be such a fucking asshole? For no reason? Aren't you friends?"

"He doesn't need you to come to his fucking defense. I was fucking joking." Jason snarls, looking just past you at Gar before looking back at you.

"Right." You mutter. "Except it's obvious the whole conversation has made him uncomfortable so why don't you go cool the fuck off. You obviously need to." You sit straight in your seat, your face close to Jason's and you’re not backing down.

"You shoved me!" Jason flings his arm out in frustration.

"You asked me what I was gonna do about it! So I showed you!" You bark at him. "What are you gonna do about it?"

A dry laugh escapes Jason's throat and he doesn't want to actually fight you, but you’re making it a little tempting right about now. "Is that all you fucking have?" He taunts you instead.

"Wanna test me?" You open your palms, holding them just in front of your shoulders as they glow. Jason looks at the green and he doesn't get how people with powers are so willing to use them. He doesn't need powers. He's got his fists and those are plenty.

"Because you're just another freak, right?"

Gar gets off his seat at that comment, pushing Jason slightly and standing in between you and Jason. "Dude, go calm down. It's not that serious." Gar keeps his voice level, trying to diffuse the situation.

"You a team now, huh?" Jason looks in between you.

"Jason, come on. Cool off for a few minutes." Dick keeps his stance, choosing not to crowd the already heated area.

"Fuck you guys!" Jason yells, pushing past Gar and heading down the right hallway.

Gar sits down again and Dick's position relaxes with Jason out of the room. Gar's just surprised it went as far as it did but it's also Jason. He has buttons and pushing them sometimes leads to blow-ups. Jason is still his friend but sometimes, he really does not make it easy and this is one of those times. He doesn't understand why Rachel and now you are freaks but somehow Gar is never a freak. He has powers, too and as far as he's concerned, turning into a tiger is far more freakish than whatever you have going on. And he always acts like it's your fault, somehow. Rachel was just born like that, no one gets to pick their biological parents. And Gar and you were injected. How is that right? It hurts a little because Gar knows that if they weren't friends, he'd be the target one of Jason's freak rants.

"Is that what everyone meant by I'd get used to Jason?" You ask the room.

"Yeah." Gar answers and Dick nods. "He does that sometimes."

"Interesting." You hum quietly, your hands shaking slightly, Gar taking notice.

"Are you okay?" He asks, looking between your hands and your eyes.

"Oh..." You quickly move your hands under the countertop and tug your sleeves down. "I'm, uh I'm fine." You fake a smile at him.

It's not that you really thought Jason might hit you, him hitting you over a shove didn’t even cross your mind. You don't really know if he's the type that gets mad and hits people, you don't really know him at all. But, you'd think that would have been a warning from someone if that were the case. It was more that you don't like getting yelled at apparently. It wasn’t an issue before Jerry but, now it seems to be another trigger.

"He wouldn't have hurt you." Dick assures you, as if reading your mind.

"Jason doesn't hit people here when he gets mad, just yells a lot." Gar assures you, following Dick's lead.

"I didn't think he'd hit me." You tell them with ease. "Got that throbbing thing in the back of my head when someone's going to." You remind them. "And I just...I'm not scared of him. Guess I just don't like being yelled at when someone is in my face." You look to the counter. "I'm fine, honest."

"Are you sure?" Gar asks.

"Yeah." You give him a soft smile. "Thanks though. I'm gonna eat." You get down and find a bowl in a cabinet, moving around Dick.

"Okay, I'm gonna go check on Jason then, make sure he's cooling down." Dick gives Gar a look and a nod toward you. Gar nods in response while Dick leaves to find Jason.

You make your cereal while Gar watches you. Your hands are still shaking and he feels bad. It's not his fault that Jason blew up because it's Jason. He blows up at everything but Gar could have defended himself. It's nice that you did. He's never had someone defend him like that but it got you yelled at by Jason and after you had, what Gar assumed to be, a pretty nice conversation the night before. He just worries about you.

"Hey," Gar starts as you take your seat back next to him. "Wanna do something today?" Gar asks.

You furrow your brows at him, before taking a bite of your cereal. "Like what?"

"What'd you wanna do?" Gar shrugs, figuring maybe you should be the one to decide. He just wants to hang out with you.

"Mmmm." You hum and think for a second. "Dye my hair." You chuckle softly.

"That's what you wanna do?" Gar asks.

"Mhm." You hums. "Always wanted to and you have green hair, Rachel's hair is purple." You shrug.

You just want a change. This is a big change, being at the tower but that doesn’t have anything to do with your appearance. You like how you look but you want something different. Your mom never let you dye your hair even though you really wanted to. This place, this place allows you to do that and to change something about yourself. It’s a way to take control of something. The way you see it, with all the bruising and swelling, you don’t look much like yourself anyway. Might as well change the hair, too.

"Okay." Gar beams at you. "We can go get whatever dye you want today and I can help. I'm not sure how much help I'll be but maybe we can get Rachel to help if you want." Gar rambles off and he seems so energetic and happy about it.

"Uh..." You stutter. "Okay, yeah that'd be fun. Thank you." The smile you give him is wide and filled of joy.

"What color?"

You tell him your favorite color, beaming at him. "Always thought that hair was cool." You smirk at him.

"We'll go when you're done eating." Gar gets up from his chair. "I'm gonna shower first."

"Have a blast." You grin to yourself, going back to your cereal. "Meet me in my room after?" You look back to him and he nods with a cheery smile before turning on his feet, and quickly heading down the hallway. "He's so cute." You say to yourself, going back to your cereal.

After Gar's shower, he met with you in your room. You were already dressed and ready to go, you even asked Rachel for help when you got back which Rachel was more than happy to help. Once Gar was ready, he was the one that asked Dick for some money before you left and off you went with Rachel, you feeling more comfortable having both Gar and Rachel with you. You realize how great it is that Rachel was willing to help because you never would have gotten something everything you needed.

When you got back, Gar and you met with Rachel in a bathroom. Rachel got everything together and get to work with your hair. You explained to Rachel that you still wanted some of your natural hair color but the majority of it to be dyed. Rachel understood what you were explaining while Gar seemed a little confused.

As Rachel helped with your hair, the three of you got talking about past lives. You all avoided all talk about trauma and tragic backstories and instead talked about your favorite movies and shows, music. If you'd ever been to a concert, the best places you've ever eaten, random stories about family and friends you had before everything. And while these conversations are going on, there's warmth and comfort that consumes you.

This is the longest you’ve gone without thinking about how your face looks or how your body is sore or Jerry. It's just the three of you and you feel so at home because Gar and Rachel make it so easy. And you wonder if this is what real friendship feels like.

Sure, you had friends before your mom died. But that was then and this is now. You had a small circle of friends but only one that you really relied on and could tell anything to. But then your mom died and it all got so messy and heavy. You couldn't inconvenience even your best friend with your problems over it. Your best friend never really understood the person you started to become after. Vengeful and spiteful and angry. And desperate and cold and detached. It struck like a hurricane right through your friendship.

You couldn't handle anything and you were always running from CPS. What kind of friend would you be if you endangered your best friend's mom by getting in trouble with CPS? You knew it was only a matter of time before they threatened to take your best friend away if they didn't give you up. At least, that's how you always saw it. It was always such a big fear and you couldn't put them through that, on the chance it did happen so you just left one day and never came back. But you weren't a very good friend then either.

You had all these plans of hunting down the Joker and even though you'd probably die, too, hunting him down would have made it worth it to you. To look him in the eyes and just try to hit him or shoot him, if you had a gun anyway. You knew you would never make it out alive and that was something you deemed to be okay because you didn't have anything worth living for anymore. Your dad went off to choose drugs over you, your mom died, your best friend not knowing how to handle anything. A suicide mission seemed like a pretty sweet deal at the time. But, now you’re here with Gar and Rachel, in this bathroom getting the hair you’ve wanted to try and maybe you have more worth living for.

"Okay, what do you think?" Rachel asks, shutting the blow-dryer off, proud of the dye job she's done.

You look in the mirror and your face lights up. Stripes of the color consume the majority of your head and you could not be happier in this moment. "I love it!" You squeal before turning around. "Thank you!" You hug Rachel quickly before turning back around and there's a sweet and amused smile on Gar's face.

"It looks really good on you." Gar's smile turns shy as you look to him.

"Y-you think so?" You asks, your stomach swirling with his words.

Gar nods. "Yeah, I like the color." Gar’s smile is the softest thing in the world.

"How cute." Rachel giggles before cutting it short as Gar looks at her with wide eyes. "It looks good, yeah." Rachel agrees.

"Thank you." You look at yourself again and you’ve never had this hair before, but it makes you feel more like yourself. It's probably the self-expression it's allowing you to have but you really like it. "And hey, now people will have something else to look at that's not my face." You laugh softly.

"You're face looks good, too." Gar says so quickly, you and Rachel barely catch it, but you do and you both look at him with raised brows. Rachel looks in between you and Gar, waiting for something to happen. This is the most entertainment she's had since they got to San Francisco. "I mean..." Gar stutters. "The, uh, the bruises and stuff, they're healing."

"Mhm." You hum with burning cheeks. "Thank you, Gar."

Gar feels the embarrassment wanting to eat him alive. He can't believe he said that out loud. Now Rachel is looking at him with knowing eyes and he can't help it. Sometimes, things just come out and then he feels like he has to backtrack and now he's embarrassed even though you didn't seem bothered by it. Which then makes him think he didn't need to add in the last comment about the bruises. Surely, you know he didn't mean just the bruises are looking fine now and the meant your whole face but now he doesn't know and he has got to get his brain to shut up for five seconds.

"There you are." Dick says, looking into the bathroom, the door wide open.

"Yes?" Rachel asks.

"Training room." Dick says.

Gar checks the time on his phone, seeing they were in fact late for their last training session. Shopping with you took a little longer than expected since you stopped for food and were having fun together. Then dying your hair took a while but Dick doesn't seem mad about it.

The three of you follow Dick to the training room where Jason is already waiting, as if he hadn't left the room since this morning. You sit on a bench and watch as you’re not allowed to train yet. Dick mostly supervises after giving them some instructions on what to do and then gives pointers. You mostly watch Gar and Jason.

It's interesting watching them. Jason is clearly the aggressor. You can't tell if it's all his pent-up aggression or if it's just his experience as Robin that makes him the aggressor but you find it interesting nonetheless. Gar and Rachel seem to work together to go against Jason even though they're all supposed to be working against each other. Gar works more on a defensive tactic, going for Jason after Jason comes for him or while Rachel has him distracted and that's when Gar gets a hit it. They're being trained by the same person but they fight differently and it seems to match their personalities.

Dick walks over to you as the other three continue to spar. "Like the new hair." Dick compliments you.

"Thanks, Rachel did it for me." You beam up at him.

"Feeling more comfortable?"

"Yeah..." You sigh. "I give you shit 'cause it's fun but I think I'm gonna like it here. Thank you again for taking me in." You say candidly. You make a mental note to thank him regularly for it.

It warms Dick's heart to know his efforts mean something. He just wants to be the mentor he wishes Bruce was and he just wants to help. It seems to be working, with you and Rachel and Gar, jury is still out on Jason. But Dick knows Jason will not be an overnight success.

"Good, I'm glad." Dick offers you a smile before walking back to where he previously was.

The rest of the training session goes by, Gar and Rachel going to you when they had a water break and talking. Jason opted to be by himself, Gar noticing the concern on your face and assuring you that he'll be calm and be over it the next day. But it doesn't quite sit right for you. You don't want him mad at you, you do like to mess with him in a fun banter way, not him being pissed at you.

You like to push people's buttons but you’re not too fond of people being actively mad at you. If there's a line you aren't supposed to cross, all someone has to do is tell you and you'll respect the line. You aren't about making people unnecessarily uncomfortable or mad. But you nod along with Gar anyway and eventually training ends. You stay behind with Jason, Gar hovers a little more than he would given the events of the afternoon but he does eventually leave the two of you alone.

"So, you gonna stay mad at me forever?" You ask as you walk over to Jason who's seated on a bench, getting a drink and ignoring you. "Come on," You groan. "Can you not handle a shove from me?"

Jason glares up at you. "Just shut up." He groans.

"Nope." You sit next to him, your leg touching his. "I'm sorry I shoved you." Jason's brows furrow at you and he doesn't think anyone has apologized to him since he's been here, for anything. "Honest, I should have left it alone but I provoked you further than I should have." You are sorry for it. Sure, Jason owes you an apology, too but you can apologize first.

"Sorry for what I said." Jason mumbles, swallowing his pride.

He never wants to hurt someone's feelings, not really. In the moment, absolutely but then after he feels horrible about it. He hates when other people make him feel weak. You shoving him from his seat, it made him feel weak and he hates it. It’s how he’s felt his entire life. Weak. So, when he feels weak or when someone pushes the wrong bottom, he just starts talking and going off. It just flows out of his mouth before he can even think about it. It's not an excuse, he just can't help it and he is sorry.

"To you and Gar." Jason lets out a sigh.

The corner of your smile pulls up. "I forgive you."

Jason glances at you and he can’t stay mad at you. Normally, he’s very good at holding grudges. He still has a grudge against a kid who pushed him down a slide when he was seven. He’s very good at holding grudges but you’ve got this smirk that says you’re up to no good and this look in your eyes that sends this electricity through his blood. He can’t explain it but he can’t stay mad at you.

"Did you still wanna train tonight when everyone goes to bed?" Jason turns his head towards you, twitching his brows up and the grin starts pull at his lips.

"If you're still willing."

"Someone's gotta show you how to do more than fucking shove someone." Jason scoffs but a smile pulls at his lips as he chuckles softly.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, got powers now and never had issues on the streets, okay? People happen to like my quick wit and quips.” You lightly nudge him with your shoulder.

"Yeah," Jason chortles. "That's why no one fucked with you.” Jason nods his head and lightly nudges you back, not believing you.

"I'd like to think so, yes.” You hold your head up with pride and Jason has this genuinely kind smile on his face. “What time, boss?”

Jason shakes his head. “Midnight. Everyone is usually in their rooms or asleep.”

“Okay, I'll meet you here then." You smirk at him as you get up and lick your lips. He knows deep down he doesn't have a shot with you but his stomach burns with the thought of you. You get under his skin like no one else and he hates to admit it but he really likes it.

"Don't be late." Jason quips, his voice taunting.

You shake your head, turning around to face him again. “Shut the fuck up.” You laugh softly. “I’ll meet you here at midnight, on the dot.” You widen your eyes, mocking him before exiting the room.

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series masterlist | masterlist | tag list

Tag list: @fairyofshampoo // @italiana-20 // @jasontoddsmentaldisorders // @purplerose291 // @lovelessamai // @makaelaseresin // @lenidaslenchen // @thatfangirl42

#gar logan #jason todd #gar logan x reader #garfield logan x reader #jason todd x reader #gar logan fanfic #gar logan fanfiction #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #titans #titans fanfic #titans fanfiction #caving in

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randonauticrap · 1 year

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Cozytober 2023 (aka, my 250 Followers Celebration!)

I'm celebrating 250 followers!! I'm so thankful to all of you who have followed me and interacted with my posts and fics, and to thank you all, I'm combining my annual Cozytober Writing Challenge with my Follower Celebration!

All info and Rules are listed below! This writing challenge is open to everyone, and there's a little something to scratch every itch.

Info:

Dates: October 1st - October 31st Masterlist Posting: November 3rd

I decided to do something a little different this year, so all of the prompts for this event are songs! I handpicked this list from my favorites; some are upbeat and fun, others are a little more somber, and many of them evoke that hazy, haunting mood of the autumn season. I encourage you to listen to them, but it's not a requirement! I will have a link to the lyrics of each song that you are free to use at your leasure.

This challenge is open to Fluff, Slice of Life, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, and Smut for all Ikemen Games, including Ikemen Prince, Ikemen Sengoku, Ikemen Vampire, Ikemen Villains, Ikemen Revolution, and Ikemen Genjiden!

Rules:

NO minors or ageless blogs are allowed to post smut for this challenge.

If you are an ageless blog and you post Smut for this challenge, you will get a single DM warning and the 48 hours following to post your age on your blog, or you will be blocked from my blog. If you are a minor and you post smut for this challenge, you will be blocked on sight. I welcome ageless blogs or minors to write Fluff, Slice of Life, Angst, or Hurt/Comfort!

Please label your fic with the suitor(s) you are using and which ikemen game they come from!

Please also label which genre your fic falls under (ie., Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort/slice of life, smut) and any appropriate content warnings

You can use as many or as few lyrics as you want from a song to use as inspiration! You can also combine songs if you're feeling fancy. Just make sure to list the titles of the song(s), as well as the lyric(s) you're using in your fic in the description.

Example:

Prompt - No. 11: "Love Like Ghosts" Lyric - "Yes I know that love is like ghosts, only few have seen it but everybody talks"

Please use the tag #Cozytober Follower Celebration on your fics so that I can find and reblog them! Please also tag my blog @randonauticrap to make it even easier for me to locate them and add them to the Masterlist! If I haven't reblogged your fic by the end date of the challenge, on October 31st 2023, it probably means I have missed it, so please DM me with a link to your fic and I will reblog. Similarly, if you do not see your fic on the Masterlist when it is posted on November 3rd, please DM me with a link to your fic and I will update the masterlist accordingly.

The last date I will add new fics to the Masterlist is November 15th, so please let me know ASAP if your fic isn't there!

Song & Lyric Links:

She Lit a Fire - Lord Huron (Video/Lyrics)

Welcome Home - Radical Face (Video/Lyrics)

The Yawning Grave - Lord Huron (Video/Lyrics)

The Dead Waltz - Radical Face (Video/Lyrics)

The World Ender - Lord Huron (Video/Lyrics)

Ghost Towns - Radical Face (Video/Lyrics)

Way Out There - Lord Huron (Video/Lyrics)

Always Gold - Radical Face (Video/Lyrics)

Fool For Love - Lord Huron (Video/Lyrics)

Lonesome Dreams - Lord Huron (Video/Lyrics)

Love Like Ghosts - Lord Huron (Video/Lyrics)

Cursed - Lord Huron (Video/Lyrics)

In the Wind - Lord Huron (Video/Lyrics)

The Night We Met - Lord Huron (Video/Lyrics)

Meet Me in the Woods - Lord Huron (Video/Lyrics)

Thank you all again for getting me to 250 followers here on tumblr in the Ikemen Fandom!! I hope you have fun with this challenge, and I CANNOT wait to see your wonderful works! If you have any questions, feel free to pop in my DMs and ask.

Much love and coziness to you!

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indolamine · 4 months

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hey y'all 🤍 here's a link for INFO on jiyeon, but i'll include some bullet points here with all you need to know. in case anything here sparks ideas for your muse and you'd like to work on a plot, hmu. i do prefer dscrd, so don't hesitate to ask. oh and i'd appreciate it if you could shoot me a dm first so my account doesn't get banned trying to touch base with the likes (say literally anything, hit me with a send it to me rachel if you'd be so kind). still, if you'd rather just hit like it's fine, i'll reach out once tumblr allows me!

jiyeon is what you'd call an Interesting Girl. someone you don't call or arrange schedules with, just happen upon. someone who never calls you but can be your best friend between 11pm and 3am. a fun girl, you just don't look too long.

both her parents are dead for all intents and purposes, which's proven to be a very character defining event in her life. one of her fathers passed away before she was even code, and the other chose to virtually die to work as a doctor for terrascape when she turned 18.

as single beneficiary to both her fathers, jiyeon found herself young, alone and newly rich. she's not particularly self destructive, but choices were made. luckily? for the most part, she was too stunned by grief and anger to blow away her fortune, which now affords her a cushy life she doesn't dwell too hard on.

she's emotionally stunted, still reliving the loss of her parents somewhere in her mind at every moment. she knows a lot of people, calls them friends but struggles to connect with them, blinking in and out of their lives. death is a constant thought, not quite a morbid fascination but more of a haunting. she knows, poor little rich girl.

she writes -- tries to, anyway. she's got some essays published, wrote for a column for a hot minute, it's her definitive trade of choice. but, and not to get too meta, the thing about writing is that you do have to write. that's the tricky part. merits were a good incentive, though once they're no longer an issue, she finds herself ignoring deadlines and putting off work on the novel she's been writing for the past 4 years. she instead "gathers experiences". she has many talents that she has no interest in seriously exploring, so she entertains herself while the high lasts.

between her writing and her party girl fame, at some point along the way she amassed a following on social media that she hesitates to cut loose. they make her more interesting than she, merely human, could ever hope to be, and she doesn't know how to kill the part of her that answers to their call. it's a lie when she says she doesn't look at what they say.

adult life for her breezes by in parties with half-friends and long bouts of reclusion. she wants to be a little of everything. she enjoys reading, skiing, playing silly little meta indie games about living in hyper realities. she doesn't commit to romantic relationships, yet enjoys the hunt anyway. she takes her time, and it never seems to align with anyone else's.

& here's a rolling list of canons that could also serve as potential connections for anyone interested, will add more as they come to me:

she once got involved with a couple for some brief months and it didn't end well

one of the few things she gets competitive about is skiing

she's fucked someone's significant other purely out of spite

she has a writing group whose meetings she misses often but she isn't the only one so she feels like it's a safe space

the person she plays a random weird rpg with incognito is maybe the most consistent relationship in her life, their chats can get very personal and strange and they can go weeks on no contact but go right back to where they left off

the events surrounding gyuok pique her interest because it's the first time terra residents could potentially be hearing from a virtually deceased and because he's essentially a virtual ghost which she thinks is neat

one of her published essays focuses on a celebrity she knows personally and doesn't portray them in the best light, which soured their relationship

#ts:intro

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brodinsons · 2 years

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"Instead of highlighting the character's Jewish origins, 'Man of Steel' features a Randian Christ-figure who commits genocide against his entire race, then causes multiple mass casualty events."

I apologize in advance for the incoming rant but I am sick and tired of sitting quietly for this relentless bullshit and at some point, enough is enough. I'm not naming the individual I'm quoting because I'm not interested in starting fights. This is my space and I'm venting a collective decade of frustration and anger.

Noun. Randian (plural Randians) A follower of Ayn Rand.

God damn, y'all just can't help yourselves, can you? You just slurp up every bit of nonsense from all those puffed up "YouTube Essayists" with god complexes from 2015 and take it as fucking fact.

Not to mention, y'all cannot seem to let a random baseless accusation from a disgraced sexual predator go. That's him! He's the one who started it! The very one to fling the first scrap of "Zack Snyder is a Randian Objectivist who hates Superman and is poisoning the DCEU!" bait out into the twittersphere for the rest of the ravenous bloggers to jump on. I refuse to take anyone's treatise on the modern superhero myth seriously if this is the depth they'll stoop to in the middle of their piece.

Snyder made one single offhand comment about maybe adapting 'The Fountainhead' (for its aesthetics, mostly) years ago and now he's a sexist racist fascist objectivist and the root of all evil.

Objectivism: "The exceptional people among us have a divine right to decide our fate and we should not oppose them."

Does that sound like the message of any of his DC films? Movies that end with speeches about heroes wanting to be on the ground to do good in crises and how good humanity can be despite its faults? What about MoS specifically, where the ultimate immigrant allegory struggles to find his place in a world that does not accept him yet still fights for and protects humanity because this world is his chosen home?

Not to mention, where the fuck is this genocide-committing Jesus Superman? Clark t-poses out of the Black Zero one goddamn time while looking sadly back at his dad because Snyder is a visual filmmaker with a penchant for dramatic shots and everyone loses their fucking minds. He goes to the Lutheran church he presumably attended with Martha & Jonathan as a child to seek the counsel of Father Leone because Clark Kent is not canonically Jewish (may the memory of his Jewish creators be a blessing). There's stained glass iconography of Christ in the background at one point because it's a Christian church in middle America. Clark himself never once espouses any religious lines or strict beliefs. Nor does he position himself as a "Christ-figure", either through himself or via the story??????? He doesn't want the responsibility that comes with putting that suit and cape on. But he does it anyway because he understands the stakes when shit gets real and he refuses to let his adoptive world pay for unwittingly bringing the worst remnants of his old world here.

Also, Clark only kills one person: Zod. The U.S. military "bombs" the Black Zero with the starcraft that brought Clark to earth in order to re-open the Phantom Zone and send Zod's forces (the pack of militaristic extremists known as the Sword of Rao) into it. Given what we know of the Phantom Zone in various canons, that's a fate almost worse than death. Then, after being given an ultimatum that either he dies or Zod will, he makes the impossible choice that will haunt him the rest of his life to save a human family moments from being obliterated by Zod's heat vision and kills the general. Nowhere in this catastrophic battle did he "commit genocide against his entire race" (did everyone forget that he himself is the Codex's host and therefore the living possibility of Krypton's rebirth?) or "cause multiple mass casualty events".

I understand that the scale of fictional damage was perhaps a touch more realistic than the near identical scale featured in all of the Avengers movies. It's fine if it's not your thing. Move along. That discomfort still doesn't give you enough leeway to point the finger at a rookie Superman on his first day on the job and say "all that destruction and death was his fault". He tried to take it out of the city! Zod—a vastly more experienced military leader with blind genetic fanaticism on his side, by contrast—refused to allow it. His goal was the annihilation of earth and as much collateral damage as possible (preferably the entire human race). Clark had to stand between humanity and that with zero combat experience and no clue he'd be forced into a no-win scenario to stop the carnage.

I'm tired. It has been ten years. I'm so fucking tired. Can you people give it a rest? None of you are the ultimate authority on superheroes and positioning yourselves as something dangerously close to that with these twitter threads and blog treatises and reviews full of big words in nerd outlets only poisons the fandom well further.

You are allowed to dislike things. You aren't even required to justify that dislike. What you aren't allowed to do is declare something objectively bad based on nothing but your own subjective reaction to it, then invent criticisms that aren't even applicable to the thing in question.

The day we lost the ability to differentiate between "I did not enjoy this media so I guess it wasn't for me" and "I did not enjoy this media and therefore NO ONE SHOULD BECAUSE REASONS I WILL INVENT FROM SECONDHAND HEARSAY" is the day media literacy ceased to exist in pop culture.

#snyderverse meta #extremely long and ''toxic'' rant #this literally does not matter because superheroes are fictional and do not matter #but this director and the world he created matters to me and i am sick and tired of being attacked from every angle for defending it #stop drinking the kool aid #zack snyder is not the boogeyman under your bed or waiting to jump out of your school locker #he is a fucking nerd who made some capeshit movies and everyone collectively lost their fucking minds about it #can we move on now?

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mintchoccy · 2 years

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UNTITLED P.7

it's been a while since I wrote in my series. let's continue the fun, shall we?

pale.

a pale woman, walking in the dark hallway illuminates the surroundings. the light you once kept to yourself is now haunting for your dear life. she doesn't care if who will die, or who will be killed, but one thing is for sure, the last person she wanted to see before she turned herself in the authorities is you.

Dahyun was once your ex-girlfriend for almost 3 years. once a star in the night, one dreadful mistake destroys all of the dreams you both planned for the future.

right after the game, after you make an outstanding performance against top teaam in the conference, you spot her with someone being a lovey dovey on your back. however, Dahyun didn't realize this action of hers until she returned home.

"weird, this is the first time he doesn't come home," said Dahyun who has no clue that you left her already. she then scanned the the entire bedroom and the apartment for your signs, but no to avail.

Dahyun kept finding someone existent of you until she finally gave up, until she realized that the cabinets are open, which those are yours. she scanned every single cabinets, finding it clean with no traces or clothes left behind by you.

"What the fuck? He called me that he'll be late home, but not taking all his clothes out with him!" Dahyun shouted. in a turn of events, she tried to follow your scent but that smell was long gone, no longer in possession of the tofu.

Leaving with no choice, she went to a familiar place you might go to comfort yourself- the gym. After a couple of minutes, she saw that the signage was closed, she didn't realized it's a middle of midnight tonight. She then leave the place and another place popped into her mind- your own apartment.

Opening the door, she sneakily rest herself into the couch for a few minutes, blanketing herself with the comfort of your own home.

"Ahhhhhhhhh, there is no real place like home, and that home is your beloved-" Dahyun stopped as the place was lit up.

"Who the- DAHYUN? WHAT THE FUCK??" is all you can say.

"Oh hello baby, mind me why you left in our apartment?", she replied. You can't answer back as the it would be a salt in the wound, but Dahyun realized her mistake of bringing someone instead of him.

No hesitation, she grabbed you, pinning to the wall. Dahyun is now clouded with jealousy and possessiveness.

"I don't care sweetie, but this ends now. You are mine and mine only!"

#twice imagines #twice smut #kim dahyun

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insidemyrottenbrain · 5 months

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Years - TSH

The first time I stepped foot into what would soon come to be one of the few select places in my nightmares was very awe-inducing. The university was large, larger than I’d imagined. The stone walls had arched indents that made it look as if it belonged in one of the novels I read as a teenager and that my family wholeheartedly despised. The hallways were a contorted maze of watchful ancient statues following every movement with their eyes, priceless antiques donated by rich parents and students with more money in their pockets than I could ever dream of having. A multitude of departments found their home in that twisted place, such as theater, arts, modern literature, architecture, history, music, philosophy, and many more. I believe you can imagine my excitement when faced with the exact kind of university I dreamed of studying at, especially when I had little to no hope of ever getting anywhere close to it, much less belonging.

The first few years were everything I had ever hoped for. I felt that I had found my place and, most certainly, my kind. We used to do everything together. Being with them was the only time I truly felt alive. Doesn’t matter whether we went to the comforting country house engulfed in trees safely from the outside world, had delicious dinners debating the most obscure topics, or simply studied in the library, sleep-deprived and on immense amounts of caffeine and nicotine, I always felt as if I was doing something more than just existing.

Everything that happened—I wish to leave behind. However, I recently came to realise, that, to my misery, it incorporated and formed my very being. My views, my ideas, my taste, and my activities are all, to a certain extent, if not fully influenced and ruled over by it. I am my past.

I am very selective with my pupils, and I teach a couple that are quite brilliant in my office. I often have open discussions with them, for I consider it helps them engage with the topic better and understand the meaning and philosophy behind it in such a way that encourages them to analyze, observe, and critique. One such day, we were talking about the loss of self, Plato’s four divine madnesses:

‘Death is the mother of beauty,’ said Felix, one of my students.

I nodded in approval as I propped myself up on the desk.

‘And what is beauty?’

‘Terror,’ a voice answered from my office’s door.

#the secret history #henry winter #henry marchbanks winter #fanfic #fanfiction #tsh donna tartt #donna tartt #tsh #tsh fanfic #the secret history fanfiction #the secret history fanfic #dark academia

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jefarawol · 10 months

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The tale of thy kind is one of avarice, treachery, and death─and thou wouldst speak to me of peace? Hark thee, mortal, to the naked truth...then tell me thou deservest forgiveness!Hraesvelgr: Twelve hundred years ago, my beloved Shiva's sacrifice served to bring an end to the war 'twixt man and dragon, paving the way for an age of peace and cooperation.

Two centuries of harmony were to follow, during which time the Elezen learned much about us, not least that the eyes of a great wyrm are the wellspring of his strength. 'Twas out of the selfish desire to possess this strength that King Thordan then conspired to undo all that our peoples had achieved together.

With the aid of his leal knights, that most noble of Elezen lured my brood-sister Ratatoskr into an ambush, and took from her that which he craved. Fain would I strike the image from my mind, yet still the scene doth linger─of my brood-sister's tattered corpse, defiled by her Elezen allies. They had torn out her eyes, and feasted upon them in the manner of wild beasts.

Yet that was not all, for from their bloody banquet, the fiends had gained strength beyond that of mortal men... Even now, I labor to comprehend the enormity of their betrayal. Nidhogg was the first to learn of the atrocity, and he took to the skies, hungry for vengeance.

But though he slew Thordan and some few of his knights, their fellow butchers knew only too well where to aim their spears, and with now-practiced savagery, they set about my brood-brother, sending him flailing from the field... Such is the truth the Holy See would keep hidden. Such was the beginning of the Dragonsong War. 'Tis a song my kind shall ne'er forget, e'en should ten thousand years pass and Ishgard crumble into dust.

Your tale bears scant resemblance to the one I was taught. How convenient that it should absolve your kind of all responsibility. But tell me, dragon: why should I believe your version of events?

What thou choosest to believe is immaterial. The betrayal that yet haunts mine every waking moment is no less than the truth to my kind. And Nidhogg meaneth for Thordan's people to suffer for this sin till the end of days.

That which thou imaginest a war of extinction is but a punishment─a siege of the spirit. Hast thou not seen those who tire of the torment? Those who abandon their own and side with dragonkind?

Ishgard's so-called heretics...

Know that all the traitors' progeny bear a trace of Ratatoskr's essence. But a single sip of our blood is enough to awaken it...

Then...the seed lies within us...?

'Tis for this reason that those who abandon their loyalties are rewarded with a drink. And thus are they transformed, to join the ranks of Nidhogg's ever-growing army as newborn dragons. One by one, through death or defection, my brood-brother shall account for all of the betrayers' children...

#FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV #ffxiv hw #ffxiv hw retelling #hw #warrior of light #ffxiv aura #ffxiv gpose #final fantasy gpose #ffxiv screenies #FFXIV Screenshots

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thesinglesjukebox · 1 month

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'WEIRD AL' YANKOVIC - "POLKAMANIA!"

youtube

"Weird Al"'s first Jukebox appearance... today, we have finally truly become the Singles Jokebox.

[4.38]

TA Inskeep: Oh look, vaguely recent pop hits set to polkas. <Miranda Priestly voice> Groundbreaking. </Miranda Priestly voice> [2]

Kat Stevens: There are a certain subset of songs which I've only ever encountered in "Weird Al" polka medley form: I have no idea what the original "Cradle of Love" sounds like, nor have I any real interest in finding out. So it spoils the fun a little when it turns out I know all the tunes already. [4]

Julian Axelrod: "Weird Al" Yankovic was one of my first favorite artists, which means I was exposed to some of the biggest pop hits in history via parodies and polka medleys. So while "Polkamania!" might disgust and confound the average listener, I find it charming that he's still committing to this incredibly specific bit forty years into his career. It's been a decade since "NOW That's What I Call Polka!", which means Al has a wide array of hits to cover, from the obvious ("Shake It Off") to the inspired ("Vampire") to the baffling. (My biggest laugh came not from his polkafied version of "WAP," but the censored rendition of "Thank U, Next" that immediately follows.) It's hard to judge this through a contemporary critical lens when it exists mainly as a funhouse inversion of pop's immediate past. Listening to a "Weird Al" polka medley in the year 2024 feels like returning to your hometown and finding out your favorite old haunt is still standing and still run by the same curly-haired weirdo, untouched by the evolution of taste and the passage of time. [7]

Katherine St. Asaph: A foil to Eminem: Em is crass where Al is gosh-darn unoffensive, dying to offend where Al is dying to please, but the two artists share a drive to present themselves as more chaotic than they actually are. (I interviewed "Weird Al" once, and he was so unwaveringly on-message that it felt like interviewing a career politician.) Their pop-culture medleys are as routine and unsurprising as holiday concerts, though Al's are more event managed: doing the press circuit, he was happy to break down all the logistics of the "Polkamania" assembly and approval process. In doing so, he critiqued the song better than I ever could: SZA ghosted him, but Lin-Manuel Miranda returned his call in like 30 seconds. [4]

Tim de Reuse: I'm sorry, Al. This kind of thing was your bread and butter, but we've pulled the rug out from under you. The genre-cloud of "recognizable song awkwardly re-rendered in different style" is the basis for a million clickbait YouTube thumbnails, ten percent of all videos on TikTok, and probably a quarter of all audio-based generative AI prompts. I've already heard all of these songs as Gregorian chant, as Norwegian black metal, Midwest emo, using the soundfonts from Super Mario 64, performed by a bad Kate Bush impersonator, in fucking "Negative Harmony" -- never of my own volition. This stuff is just in the air now, competing for my attention, and it all sounds the same as every cell phone ad. Wat's left here? Polka? Is polka still funny on its own merits? Was it ever? It's not you, Al. It's us. I'm sorry for what we did. [1]

Joshua Lu: "NOW That's What I Call Polka!" was a guilty pleasure of mine, operating as a genuinely catchy and humorous summation of then-recent hits made by a man with a palatable appreciation for pop music and a knack for taking on unserious tasks with the utmost seriousness. "Polkamania!" is mostly the same, and in being his first mashup since then (aside from some Hamilton thing I can't bring myself to listen to), he's had to distill over a decade of hits down instead of just a few years' worth. All of these songs included make sense, but every other song just instills a sense of "Oh yeah, that was a thing once," culminating in a Taylor Swift remake that surely would've amused me in 2013 but now just feels a dozen lifetimes old. It doesn't help that some of these songs are just kind of boring and don't offer much by way of humor, forcing pretty straightforward polkafications and awkward transitions. [5]

Ian Mathers: Look, none of these will ever equal "Polka Your Eyes Out" to me, both because of the song selection there and because I was 10 when it came out. But I'm happy Al's out there doing his thing, and I hope he never changes. [6]

Mark Sinker: OK, back in April some clown called on him to become our beloved worm-man god-emperor, and now look what happened: “Brat Al” Yankovic! There’s a whole slab of cultural and music theory to be explored one day, about what happens when you convert modern pop into sheet music and then convert it back out again into your favoured local sound-style: what gets elided, but also what’s gained (not nothing)! And maybe some day someone will write it up — but that day is not today and that someone is not me. [5]

Hannah Jocelyn: The polka medleys were never my favorites; it's almost always the same shtick and there's none of the cleverness of his usual material or his (underappreciated!) style parodies. There's inspiration here to be sure, "Weird Al" doing "Bad Guy" as klezmer gets this a positive score on those grounds alone. Maybe if he released this five years ago or in five years it would work and not fall victim to the Anxious Interval. But this is "Weird Al", long-reigning king of kitsch. Who wants him to be in touch? [6]

Nortey Dowuona: Both 10 years out of date and 10 years into the future. Welcome back, polka. (And "Weird Al," too.) [10]

Taylor Alatorre: I appreciate that there's a person out there who can get me to say with a straight face a sentence like "I miss when the polkas were more thematically consistent." [5]

Jonathan Bradley: "Weird Al" sucks. I feel so mean to say that: people love this guy who, let’s face it, is completely harmless and has been delighting (mostly) children for decades, and here I am telling you how appalled I feel that we celebrate such a pristinely executed vision of pure crappiness. And yet, here we are blurbing him, so: I hate the querulous insipidity of Al’s interpretation of pop music. His schtick demands familiarity with pop — otherwise the parodies make no sense — but shies away from the music’s flair and vision and emotion, as if the pleasure these things offer is too terrifying and too adult, and must be remediated through the lens of banality so as to be controlled. His jokes rarely riff on details of the texts themselves, the way a Lonely Island video might, but replace any intensity of feeling with artefacts of suburban triviality: crappy television, crappy minor medical ailments, and so much crappy, crappy food. Even the verisimilitude of his productions — his greatest actual talent — runs headlong into the crappiness of his adenoidal voice, reassuring us that he’s not so proficient at his craft as to be mistaken for a star. And then there’s his sideshow of playing covers with an accordion, which we understand to be a joke instrument, in the style of polka, which we understand to be a joke genre. Is his polka any good? None of his listeners care. Do they go on to explore more polka? Why would they? Do people who enjoy polka think Al is contributing anything to the music they love? Who cares; the incredible notion that someone somewhere might enjoy polka is part of the joke. Because the most desiccated and shriveled aspect of Al’s relationship with pop is that he can’t imagine it has its own jokes. Cardi B is funnier in “WAP” than he is here. Lil Nas X was a better troll on “Old Town Road.” Billie Eilish had better comic timing with her interjected “duh” on “Bad Guy.” And I understand how churlish I sound saying all this. I am Seymour Skinner; I am Ed Rooney. But I like jokes! (I’m not mad. Please don’t put in the newspaper that I got mad.) The problem is that there is nothing fun happening here! [0]

Alfred Soto: I'm happy Al exists. This song sucks. [2]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

#weird al #weird al yankovic #music #music writing #music reviews #music criticism #the singles jukebox #Youtube

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donteattheappleshook · 1 year

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Not Broken At All Chapter 14/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

Sorry for how long this chapter took - It was literally just writer’s block this time. Strap in friends we’re getting into the dark(er) parts of Neverland.

Thank you thank you thank you thank you always @the-darkdragonfly and @elizabeethan for your help with this feral fic 😘

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Part 14

It’s silent as they make their way back through the jungle, none of them finding words to fill the quiet, not in the wake of devastation of the day’s events. She’d forgotten her son. Killian had forgotten… something. Something he’d never even know to miss now - because of her. He’d done it for her. And for Henry.

Emma looks back at where he trails behind them, the flowing robes of the fairy court replaced with his usual leather, his hook silver once more, a faint glimmer in the darkness. He’s lost to his thoughts, not looking ahead as he follows the unmarked path back to the Jolly by memory.

Hardly any light makes it through the canopy of trees, the darkness playing tricks on her mind, time losing meaning. How long had they been in the fairy court? How many hours - days even? With the way time works here, Emma thinks she might never truly know the answer.

She watches as he casts a glance over his shoulder, staring at where they came from, the faint glow of the Solstice lights long faded now, then turns back, brow pinched tight in confusion, frustration tugging at his jaw - like he’s forgotten something, left something behind in that forest and aches to go back for it. Her eyes burn. Wendy sees it too, watching Killian with a sorrowful expression, grieving in his place - because he can’t and someone should mourn what he’s lost.

Tinkerbell stumbles, sweat beading her brow, pale with exhaustion and Emma winces, nodding when Wendy insists they need to stop - just for a minute - she promises when the fairy tries to protest. But the sigh of relief she lets out when the young woman - now once again in her disguise of matted hair and shadowed features - helps lower her down into the grass and leaves.

It takes Wendy a moment to coax Hook into sitting on a fallen log, flinching when she first touches a gentle hand to his arm, resisting a light tug as she guides him away from the path - still looking back. “It’s okay,” she promises. “I kept them safe for you- every single one.”

He looks at her then and something passes between them, something private and intimate that Emma doesn’t think she’ll ever understand, born of centuries of friendship and trust. Wendy’s voice is low when it weaves through the grove to her ears, so soft she wouldn’t have heard it were it not for the deafening silence still wrapped around them.

“They can’t be forgotten so long as someone remembers, right?”

“I don’t know which parts of her are missing,” he confesses. He sounds scared, like she’d been when she’d felt Henry fading away and she wants to help him, even if she doesn’t know how. But he has Wendy. It’s not Emma’s place to comfort him.

“It was a year after you met her in the tavern - almost exactly.” Emma looks away, feeling she’s intruding, hovering awkwardly in the middle of the field. “You promised yourself you wouldn’t ask her again, that you’d stop after the last time she said no - not when she’d be leaving Bae behind. You wanted to be selfless for her.”

She shouldn’t hear this, it’s not meant for her. But the words find their way to her regardless and she’s lost for a moment to the faint memory of a heart inked onto skin, a dagger run through it, a portrait of dark hair and laughing eyes. The name he’d given up in that cave. Milah.

Killian gives a single huff of self-deprecating laughter. “I suppose I failed.”

She considers sitting with Tink, but the glare the fairy gives her when she takes a hesitant step towards her, makes her think better of it.

“No. You were going to let her go and make the decision for her - like an idiot. You didn’t even go to the tavern.”

“But she did come. We had ten years, didn't we?” The fear creeps into his voice again.

She finds Will, sitting a few dozen feet away, watching the two of them, longing in every line of his face, and plops down beside him, wrapping her arms around her leather-clad knees, missing the flowy skirts more than she expected.

“Oh yeah. She found you. Barged onto your ship and cussed you out for being a coward.”

“That sounds about right.” The gentle grief and the longing in such a simple sentence aches deep in her heart. Whoever she was to him, he loved her completely.

“You’re pining again,” Emma teases, trying to block out their voices.

His eyes are fixed on the captains whispering softly across from them, heads bent low and close, voices still finding them in the quiet.

“You fought. Or at least she yelled at you until you finally told her why you didn’t come, why you were leaving. Then she yelled at you more.” Emma chances a glance at them, catches the small smile tugging at his mouth.

She nudges Will’s shoulder with her own when he doesn’t answer.

“He abandoned her.” William’s hissed words catch her off guard, his eyes still glazed, but they’re clearer than they’d been in the Fae realm, and she thinks that maybe his high has taken a downward turn. “He just left her here. Alone.”

“... She asked you to take her with you.”

Emma glances at Wendy and Killian again. She doesn’t think they can hear, or at least they aren’t listening, too wrapped up in their own conversation. “I know.”

“She hears the Lost Boys now.”

“I know.”

“...She asked me?”

“Do you remember why?”

“No…”

“She hears them because of him. And still he gets to be… I’ve never abandoned her. I’ve been here. I’ve -” he doesn’t finish, but it’s not hard to guess. “She’s never let me in. I’ll never know her like he does. No matter how long I’m by her side, how many times I try to prove it to her…”

“... Because he’d never have let her go. But you would.”

“I’ll never be him.” He looks down at his hands, pulling apart a stray leaf with intense concentration. “So it’ll never be enough.” It takes her a moment to realize what exactly she’s seeing in his expression.

“If it made her happy, if it was what she wanted.”

“You’re jealous?”

“You’re not?”

She’s about to argue - that it’s absolutely ridiculous that she could be jealous of Killian’s relationship with anyone. She’s only known him a matter of days, and he and Wendy’s relationship is completely platonic anyway. But Will knows that. It’s the depth of their relationship he longs for, the complete trust and openness they share.

“You’d choose her. Even if it meant losing her.”

She’s never trusted someone so completely, never let someone know her so intimately. She nearly did, once. But Neal’s betrayal had only reminded her how dangerous trust could be, shown her how vulnerable being vulnerable could make her.

“You loved her. More than he’d ever even tried to.”

“I…” Emma doesn’t even know what she’s feeling.

Will freezes, alert for the first time since this morning. “Where’s Tink?”

Emma turns to look at where the fairy had just been, the patch of grass empty, Wendy and Killian suddenly on their feet, hands at their swords, tension rolling through the jungle. A hand comes over her mouth, an arm wrapped around her waist as she’s dragged back into the trees, fighting only for a moment before she hears Will’s voice low in her ear. “Quiet.”

Kneeling in the dirt, he keeps his hold on her, doesn’t move his hand from her mouth, hiding them behind dense trees and tall grass, his body stiff against her back, his heart pounding so hard she can feel it. It’s not until she hears the rustle of leaves, of twigs snapping under footsteps that she realizes what’s made him so terrified.

“Pan. To what do we owe the displeasure?”

Pan. She can’t fully see him - straining against Will’s death-grip to try to get a better view - but there’s a laugh, young and cruel, that floats through the darkness.

“I heard you were back and I had to see it for myself.”

“Aye, well, now you have, so you can take your leave.”

“Is that all the time you have for your old friend?”

“We were never friends,” Killian reminds him grimly.

Pan tuts, like they are old friends, like it’s an old, inside joke. “Captain Darling,” he greets Wendy. “Or is it lieutenant now? I must say I’m almost disappointed by your demotion. I’d grown quite fond of having you as an adversary.”

“That makes one of us.”

Another laugh. Emma twists against Will’s arm, tugging at the hand over her mouth, but he’s unyielding, and she glares into the darkness because she can’t glare at him, debating licking his palm like a five year old.

“What do you want, boy? I’m in no mood for games.”

“So defensive. And after I helped you find your revenge you’d been after for so long.”

Killian scoffs, biting out his answer. “You didn’t do anything but send me to a swift death.”

“I sent you with everything you needed.”

“You lied.”

Emma does lick Will’s hand this time. It only tightens against her.

Pan sounds almost offended, but his amusement is thinly veiled. “I didn’t lie. I told you your villain was in a realm without magic and gave you the poison you wanted.”

“He was supposed to be powerless.”

“I never actually said he’d be powerless. You assumed he would be. And I take it you assumed wrong.”

Killian doesn’t answer for a long moment. “You cheated.”

“You didn’t pay attention to the rules. I’d think you’d be better at making deals, what with all that time spent in the Fae lands.”

“Have you just come to brag? Because I believe that could have waited until morning.”

“I merely came to thank you for delivering the boy to me. You fulfilled your duty admirably - Though I’d have preferred not to wait a decade.”

Henry. He has Henry. Emma squirms, trying to break free, to stand and demand Pan bring her to her son - or just wring his stupid, sadistic neck. She jabs an elbow into Will’s ribs and he lets out a shallow grunt before pulling her against him, squishing her arm between them.

“The time passed was Neverland’s doing, not mine. Though I must say I’ve found it much changed. The jungle seems to have taken on a life of its own.”

Shut up, Killian, she wants to warn him. But she can’t. She can barely even move. How the hell is Will this strong? He’s like a hundred pounds soaking wet. Is there some Neverland gym she isn’t aware of? She’d be impressed if she wasn’t so pissed off. Pan hears the mocking in Killian’s words too, his answer less friendly than before.

“Things in Neverland don’t change - but the minds of grownups easily are. You must be misremembering after so much time away.” He’s lying. If they didn’t know it for certain before, they do now - he’s losing control.

“Aye, that must be it.” There’s pause, the three of them staring each other down, Wendy’s hand still braced on the hilt of her sword. “Was there another reason for your visit? Or were you just here to corroborate my return and deliver your thanks?”

Pan lets out a tisk. “I came to let you know that you should expect some new additions to your crew soon.” She feels Will’s harsh breath against her ear, his hand slackening over her mouth and despite her earlier struggles, the absolute terror she can feel in the stillness of his body makes her keep her mouth shut, keeps her rooted to the spot. “There’ll be a hunt tomorrow. I trust you’ll make the necessary preparations to receive the survivors.”

Killian doesn’t speak, and for a moment silence hangs between them. Emma doesn’t dare to even breathe. Wendy finally answers, the word heavy. “Aye.”

“Excellent,” Pan says, all that false friendliness back. “I’ll leave you to it then. I’ve preparations to make myself with it being the new boy’s first hunt and all. Always so much more exciting to see how they do the first time, isn’t it?” Will’s hand is immediately firm on her mouth again. What hunt? What survivors? What the hell is he having Henry do tomorrow?

“I wouldn't know,” Killian answers darkly.

“Ah, but lieutenant Darling does - And so does young Scarlet,” he adds, casting a glance in their direction and Emma tenses, finally able to see him properly.

He’s so much younger than she expected, small and thin with wide eyes and a tanned, rosy-cheeked face. He looks like a child, soft blonde curls falling over his eyes, just a little boy, not much older than Henry, incapable of the cruelty she’s been told about.

“... Wherever he is,” Pan finishes with a wry, boyish smirk. “Not like him to miss a Solstice.” He turns back to Killian and Wendy. “Until tomorrow then,” he promises, before disappearing into the trees.

No one moves for several minutes after he leaves, watching the forest and the sky, waiting. It’s not until Tink returns that Will lets out a breath, finally dropping his hand, looking at it and then her in disgust before wiping his palm over his shirt, muttering something about ‘disgusting’.

“What’s the hunt?” she asks him. “Will,” she presses when he doesn’t answer. “What was he talking about?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he says, standing and making his way over to the others. She follows - not letting him ignore her.

“He mentioned Henry.”

“Are you alright?” Killian asks her, looking panicked and relieved at the same time.

“No. What’s happening tomorrow?” she demands. “What’s it got to do with Henry?”

“Your boy’s not in danger, Swan,” he promises. “Pan won’t harm him.”

She knows he’s not lying. But he’s hiding something. “Killian…” He scratches his nails through the scruff at his jaw, avoiding her gaze. “What’s the hunt?”

Tinkerbell answers her at last, blunt and to the point as she’s come to expect. “Every few months, whenever some of the Lost Boys have gotten too old, or there are too many of them, Pan thins them out.”

“Thins them out?”

“It’s vile and barbaric,” Killian hisses.

“Tell me.”

“The older boys are forced to find their way from the camp to the beach while the younger ones try to prevent them from reaching it. Those that make it, become members of the crew, like the men you saw yesterday.”

“And the others…”

“Are killed,” Tink says flatly. “It’s called a hunt for a reason.”

She’s not sure she’s breathing - images of a cruel massacre painted as a game flashing in her mind, growing worse with every one.

“Swan,” Killian tries carefully, standing and shortening the distance between them. “Henry is only ten - and Pan chose him for a reason. He won’t be hunted.”

“No - but Pan said - he’ll want him to… he’ll be expected to hunt won’t he?” Panic sets in, unable to steady her shaking hands and racing heart, unable to fill her lungs, constricting in her chest. Pan’s going to make Henry hunt other children - he’s going to make him kill other children. She thinks of her son, so young and kind and happy, imagining all the ways Pan could twist that thirst for life and adventure into something dark and sinister. She turns towards the jungle. “We can’t let - we have to stop him - I -”

Will grabs her again, stopping her from running she doesn’t even know where - wherever Pan’s camp is, if she could even find it. “Let me go,” she orders. But Will’s hold on her tightens.

“I swear to god, if you lick me again…”

“Let me go.”

“You can’t go after him, Emma,” Wendy says, having the decency to make it sound like an apology. “Not yet. If you try to stop Pan now it’ll be the last thing you do - and everything we’ve done will be for nothing.” Wendy levels her with a look. “Henry needs you alive.”

“I can’t just let him kill someone!” she shouts, refusing to accept his reasoning, fighting Will with everything she’s got, but he’s a goddamn marble statue, her nails digging into his arms not seeming to bother him at all. She can’t stop seeing it: Henry with a blade in his hand, blood - his or someone else's - staining his clothes, his skin, children being chased and cut down, her son being the one to do it. If Henry does this, if Pan makes him do this - even if he thinks it’s a game… it’ll destroy him. “I have to stop him,” she sobs. “I can’t let him -”

It’s only when Will finally lessens his hold enough to let her sink to her knees, her legs no longer able to support her, that she realizes she’s crying. She can’t stop, her emotions not her own anymore, body shaking and stomach burning. Killian kneels down with her in the grass and the mud and the dirt, arms coming around her, pulling her heaving and shaking against his chest.

She pushes against him, words barely coherent. “Please. You said you would get him back.” His hold on her tightens, both a comfort and a restraint, holding her together as best as he can and she finds herself leaning into it even as she wants to run. Henry’s in danger. Henry needs her. And she’s helpless. “You said you’d protect him.”

“I am,” he says softly. “Henry has a good heart, love, and a strong will. He knows right from wrong.”

She wishes she could believe them, knows that her son is a good kid, hopes that what they’re saying is true, that he won’t participate, that he’ll stay out of it. But Will hasn’t said a word, his silence unsettling as he stands stoically looking at the ground, jaw tensed and knuckles white against the handle of his cutlass.

“Will?” she asks, pulling herself from Killian’s embrace, the cold on her skin matching that in her veins.

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye but doesn’t answer. How long did he say he was on the ship? Seven years? Eight? And Pan had nearly killed him when he decided to leave. The hunt can’t even be a distant memory for him yet, and his refusal to comment makes her think it might trouble him even now. Wendy puts a hand on his arm, comforting and instinctual and he drags his gaze up to look at Emma properly.

He sighs. “Pan won’t force him. He’s got this thing about free will - or the illusion of it.” She can tell this is the good before the bad and she braces herself, waiting. “He likes the boys to follow him because they want to. But he can be convincing. And Henry might not know what he’s doing until it’s too late. He might not know that it’s real.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a game. Some of the boys don’t understand that their arrows are real, that their spears are sharp until they’ve killed one of the other kids. And even then…” He hesitates, a pained frown pulling at his brow and Emma reaches for something to hold on to, finding the brace of Killian’s hook that stays steadfast in her grip. “We didn’t know. Or maybe we did but we chose not to believe it, to believe that it was just a game, that they weren’t really hurt, that they weren’t really dead - that it was all pretend.” He winces and her heart breaks for the memories he must be reliving. “Neverland is a place of belief, and Pan can make someone believe nearly anything if they trust him enough.”

He grows more loyal to the boy with each passing day. I fear soon he will give Pan what he wants if he is not stopped. Tiger Lily’s words echo in the silence as a fear she wasn’t prepared for creeps in. What if Henry becomes a Lost Boy not because he thinks she’s abandoned him, but because he chooses Pan? She looks at Wendy and at Will, both kind and brave like her son, both of whom had been under Pan’s spell at some point in their childhoods.

“We have to stop it.”

“We can’t,” Killian shakes his head hopelessly. “We’ve tried before and all he did was decide not to give any of them the chance to run for the ship.”

“Then we have to stop Henry - make sure he doesn’t play this fucked up game.”

“How?” Wendy asks, but it’s not really a question, she knows there isn’t an answer.

“I’m going out there. I’ll stop him myself.”

“That’s suicide, Swan,” Killian tells her harshly. “If he saw you, if he found out what you are - who you are - he wouldn’t risk you coming between him and whatever he has planned for Henry.”

“Well we have to do something!” she snaps. “If Henry does this then we’ll have lost him already.”

“I’ll go.”

The three of them turn, staring at Will in shock.

“No you won’t,” Wendy argues.

“Did you not hear the part about it being a suicide mission?” Killian snaps, annoyed.

“For her it is. I know the jungle. I lived there for decades. You forget I was Pan’s right hand for a long time before joining your crew,” he reminds Wendy. “I know how Pan thinks, how he plays his games.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Killian glares.

Will returns it. “Look, I’ve got the best chance out of all of us of getting to the camp. I can warn Henry not to listen to Pan, no matter what he tries to make him believe. I’ll make sure he doesn’t take part in the hunt tomorrow.”

“You’re not going,” Wendy insists again.

“Wen,” he starts, and Emma sees Killian notice the ease with which the nickname falls from his lips, the familiarity in it.

“It’s too dangerous. If there’s anyone on this island Pan wants dead, it’s you. The fact that you’ve survived this long -”

“Probably means he’s got a plan for the day I won’t. And this isn’t it."

“You’re not doing it,” she snaps, the authority in her voice slipping. There’s fear in her eyes now, a desperation turning her order to a plea. “If he finds you - if he kills you I -”

“Wait until morning,” Killian says and Wendy turns to him, betrayal plain on her face. “He’ll be on his guard tonight, perhaps expecting a retaliation for his visit. Go tomorrow when they’ll be busy preparing for the hunt. He’ll be distracted.”

Will gives a solemn nod tinged with surprise. “Aye.”

Wendy’s eyes dart between the two of them - hurt, fear, anger - before she storms off, disappearing into the woods towards the shoreline.

“Great job,” Tink sneers, glaring at Hook before following after her. “I’m going back to my treehouse. Send a message when it’s time.” Emma feels guilt twist her gut. It should be her. Henry’s her responsibility. But she knows Killian would never let her go. He’d probably lock her in the damn brig if she tried. And she doesn’t think she’d survive crossing the island on her own - no matter how much she insists she could. But it can’t be no one. Someone needs to warn Henry, to protect him.

The two men stare off after Wendy, wearing matching expressions of shame and determination. Will, while still resolute, hangs his head before turning to head back to the beach, but Killian calls his name and he pauses, looking back at the captain.

“Are you sure about this, Scarlet?”

Will glances at the path Wendy disappeared down before meeting Killian’s gaze. “I know what you think of me, Hook. And you’re right,” he tells him. Fifty years, wasn’t it, that they’d said he’d been with Pan? “I can’t change the past or what I did, but I can bloody well try stop it from repeating itself.” He looks at Emma then, a promise unspoken between them and she mouths a silent ‘thank you,’ a small, self-deprecating smile offered in return.

“You’re right,” Killian tells him. “You do know what I think of you.” Emma’s about to turn on him, to tell him off, when he adds. “But the boy I knew wouldn’t have risked his life for anyone, let alone a stranger.”

The look that passes between them, the small nod exchanged before Will follows Wendy to the ship is almost one of understanding. She wouldn’t go so far as to suggest they like each other, but the animosity that they’d both stubbornly clung to until now gives a little, teeters carefully towards a begrudging respect.

And then there’s only her and Killian left, the forest quiet once more.

“I need you to promise that you won’t try and find Henry on your own, that you’ll stay away from Pan’s camp.” Emma doesn’t have a chance to voice her protest before Killian continues. “They’re risking their lives for you, Swan, all of us are - for you and for your son. Don’t let it be for nothing by getting yourself killed and taking away their chance at restitution.”

Her frustration at being told what to do leaves her in a breath, deciding not to argue with him. But she doesn’t promise anything - she can’t, no matter how much she might want to. Henry is a blind spot for her, she can’t always explain her actions or the decisions she makes when it comes to him, the instinct to keep him safe, to put him first and protect him at all costs overwhelming.

Killian only nods at her silence, jaw tensing like he knows the lack of a ‘no’ is the best he’ll get from her, the most she can offer. “Alright,” he sighs, accepting, heavy. “The beach is about a half-mile that way,” he tells her, gesturing towards the direction the others disappeared into. “Don’t stray from east and you should reach the ship shortly. You can probably catch up to Will if you hurry.”

“Where are you going?” Emma frowns, he’s barely let her out of his sight since they arrived.

“To keep your boy from the hunt. I know where to find Pan’s camp.”

“But, I thought Will -”

“Will is… noble, more noble than I thought. But he’s wrong to think Pan won’t kill him if he’s angry enough, regardless of his plans for him.”

“What about you?”

Killian gives a small, confident smirk, one that doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “I’ve had more practice evading death than young Scarlet.” Not quite a lie, but not the truth either. He sighs again, like he knows she sees through him. “Wendy cares for him. I won’t let her lose another person she loves - not if I can prevent it.”

Emma doesn’t answer, a knot tightening in her throat, making it impossible. His display of devotion to the girl he took in when he didn’t have to, risking himself not to protect her, but to protect someone she couldn’t bear to lose - someone he doesn’t even like… Will’s jealousy rings even truer now that it had before. No one’s ever put her first. What must it be like to be loved by Killian Jones? She banishes the thought, Killian nodding at her once, smile weaker now, before turning back to the woods.

“Wait!” I can come with you. The words don’t make it out, stuck in her chest while he watches her in question, halfway between staying and going. She knows he won’t let her, that she’d just slow him down, put him in danger just by being there - someone who doesn’t know the jungle, someone he feels the need to protect. She can’t do that to him, not when he’s going out there for her, for Henry.

She crosses the space between them, the few steps he’d made towards the darker part of the island. Fingers sliding over his cheek, turning his face to hers before either of them can think too long about it, she presses her lips to his, catching the bottom one between her own, sighing softly when he returns her kiss. Mouth warm against hers, his tongue teases gently at the seam of her lips, but he doesn’t reach for her, doesn’t press himself against her like he had in that fairy glen - letting her set the pace.

His eyes are still closed when she pulls back, fingers sliding to his neck, his breath warm on her cheek, “What was…”

“Just don’t die, okay?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth - a real one this time. “You don’t have to worry about me, Swan. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s surviving.” Emma rolls her eyes and his grin widens in amusement. He better be.

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