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psychewithwings · 4 years

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Love Bakugo: Pt. 3 Missing Person

Sorry for the WAITTTT, I love you guys so much xxx

It was easier to get your boyfriend to forgive you. You’d looked back through your old facebook photos and found a similar picture from when you were back at UA. “We were just recreating the photo for the announcement of our alliance,” you’d said. Your boyfriend was still grumpy but he had offered to take you to work tomorrow. You had agreed, begrudgingly, not wanting to spend much time with him in close quarters. That night you had gone to sleep, as close to the edge of the bed as possible. You tried to imagine nice things but you wanted to be in your own space. Your heart felt heavy laying in bed with the man you no longer loved. Part of you wanted to wake him up now, throw him out of bed, and yell at him that you knew everything. But you thought about how many guys just get a talking to and nothing else, they learn nothing and continue to hurt people. This was the last time your boyfriend would hurt someone. It was ending with you. It was lucky that Bakugo had surprised you at your house this morning with a “surveillance job”. You apologized to your boyfriend flippantly saying, “duty calls,” and then jumped into Bakugo’s car with your hero costume on. “So, what’s the job?” you asked once inside. Bakugo smirked, “there’s some bagel’s that really need us to keep their eye on them…” he said and then, like he did once in a blue moon, he laughed. “You really just picked me up to get breakfast with you?” His eyes softened but his focus was still on the road. “You shouldn’t spend time with him,” he said gruffly. “Thanks…” and even though it was said softly and simply, you’d meant it. You and Bakugo had been practically estranged since your days at UA but if you hadn’t had him right now, you’d still be oblivious to your boyfriends mistreatment. “Yeah, always,” he said. Your breath caught in your throat as you remembered the last time Katsuki had said those words to you. You pushed the thought from your mind as you got out of the car and followed Katsuki into the bagel place.

He had paid for everything insisting he had to because he hadn’t issued you your first paycheck yet. “You can laugh, Y/n. It was a joke.” You had laughed then, but it was a nervous laughter. Even in all the years you’d known him, he had never been so gentle with you. At UA, you were often partnered together. You weren’t a good match against each other because your quirk was mental warfare and his was incredibly physical. Amokenisis, the manipulation of love. It had it’s limits of course but as long as your opponent could hear your voice or if you could touch them, they were putty in your hands. That’s why Bakugo was such a tough match. His explosions made it difficult for you to get close, and they were loud, drowning out your siren song. “I HATE YOU Y?N,” he’d would yell in your face after losing a match to you. But this turned into you two training together most days upon Aizawa’s advice. Because when you two worked together, you were unstoppable.

Durring breakfast you’d kept your mouth shut about the memories that were passing, like cars. You weren’t ready to talk to him about the letter again, or his “always.” Bakugo opened up his car door for you but he said nothing and did not look your way. Katsuki wasn’t stupid and you were sure he was watching the same film in his mind. The drive was silent, save the few bits of interjected banter to keep the awkwardness at bay. Always. The memory was so strong, you could still feel his hand against your cheek. Always.

“You ready?” he asked as you both swiped your ID cards upon entrance. “Never been more ready for anything in my life,” you said smirking. He lead you to the top floor and into an empty room with large bay windows and a single desk. “If you don’t like this one, there’s others downstairs,” he said plainly. “No no, I like it, very much… and it’s close to you,” you said more flirtatious than you had meant. Bakugo did not respond to your advance, however unintentional, and instead turned to walk out. “Lemme give ya the tour or whatever.” You followed him out of the door and began taking the tour. In the first few steps, viewing the lobby, he took your arm and looped it through his. He tried his best to walk beside you. You could see it was difficult for him to move at this slow of a pace. He always walked as if he was burning his path with his feet, where as you preferred to saunter, stopping to smell the roses. He eyed you from the side, “can you hurry up just a little, we have staff meeting in an hour and theres a lot of my agency to show off to ya.” He gave you that cocky grin you’d grown to love.

He showed you the underground training centre, which had a pool and an obstacle course for heroes to practice on. He showed you support, where all the hero equipment was made and distributed. You could see your boyfriend watching you from the glass walls of his office, which oversaw all the work tables, where his subordinates tinkered with finding solutions to the constant hero problems. He glared at Bakugo, but changed his tone, when Bakugos gaze shifted to follow yours. You waved at your boyfriend, your arm still linked with Katsuki’s.

The meeting was held in the training centre. There were about 500 members of staff there already chatting and smiling. You stood next to Bakugo on a large raised structure, in front of a microphone. A large projection blinked numbers and stats on the blank wall behind you. He had wanted to introduce you to the team and you felt incredibly nervous. You’d always been humble and never given your popularity much thought. You understood the value of your quirk, but you became a hero because you knew you were powerful enough to keep people safe, you didn’t do it for attention. “Cant I just go with the others and listen?” you asked Bakugo. He scoffed at you, “no, you’re too good to just listen, Y/n.” You knew that was the end of the conversation so you starred into the sea of eyes and tried not to feel too self conscious. You watched as a woman walked into the training centre, she was pretty, her hair was long and her smile was blinding. You watched as she began talking with a few other heroes. Her laugh rang out like a song and your heart dropped, something told you that was her. Of course it was… Bakugo must have caught on because he squeezed your hand tighter, and just like the night at the train station, he didn’t let go.

Your boyfriend was one of the last to enter and he looked like a mess. His arms were crossed and his lip was pulled up slightly, in contempt. “Guys, lets pipe the fuck down,” he said into the mic. Was this how Bakugo started all his meetings? “Okay, so finances are good, our agents are the best in the city, who cares, that’s not what’s important today. Everyone, please welcome my good friend Y/n, or as you all know her Amor Rose. We’re really lucky to have her.” The crowed cheered… for you. You laughed nervously then smiled and accepted the applause. “You wanna say anything?” Katsuki asked you. You felt like you should so you nodded. “Shut it! She’s talkin’” he said. The room fell silent, save for the microphone’s feedback and all eyes were on you. “Oh, well, I just wanted to say that I’m really excited to be here, and I hope to make you all, and especially Katsuki proud.” The crowed cheered again and you felt ready to walk back to the quiet of your office.

The meeting seemed to be breaking up when a woman ran onto the platform carrying a small file. She whispered something to Katsuki and then scuttled off. Katsuki opened the file and looked it over carefully. “Before everyone goes, we just received a pretty severe missing person’s case.” The projection changed from stats to… oh dear god! It was your boyfriends high school year book picture. “This is the message from the concerned party, ‘I’ve tried connecting with my old friend from high school for years and I haven’t found anything related to them. I am worried something bad has happened and no one knows… he was kind of a loner and wasn’t super close with his family. Bakugo Agency… please help.’ Files will be distributed accordingly. Let’s get to work and get this guy some answers.” You turned to see your boyfriend red faced and fuming. Did he know it was you? Did he suspect? Bakugo was dragging you off the platform before you could get a good enough read off of your boyfriend.

Bakugo was pulling you back to the locker rooms of the training centre. Once you were out of earshot you both burst out laughing. “Did you see his face?!” you exclaimed. “I sure fucking did,” he said and you laughed more. “I can’t believe it! When did you set that up?” Bakugo looked down at you, eyebrow raised. “The moment you told me there was a bad picture, you dummy,” he said playfully. You hit his shoulder softly, “don’t call me that!” You both laughed again and then you looked up at him. “You’re the best,” you said. He wrapped his arms around your back and pulled you into him, his eyes still trained on yours. “I know,” he said. “No, I mean it,” you pushed. A thick stillness hung above where you both stood in the deserted hallway. Looking at his face, you saw the letter in your minds eye. You pulled away slowly, feeling more confused than ever. Revenge was becoming less important by the second.

Tag List: @rebel---black @random-fandom-girl-24 @unawi13-blog

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugō #mha #bnha #bakugo x reader #bakugo fan fic #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x you

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 4 years

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shit (me again and again and again) i saw somebody else’s request on another fandom and i thought it was really cute so i’m going to copy them, you buy a pregnancy test but chris finds it before you can take it?💕

A/N- This one was super sweet (got me feeling all fluffy) and I hope that you like it Babes.

Chris had his head ducked under the bathroom sink, looking for the dog shampoo, Dodger had gotten himself muddy in the fresh spring grass and tracked through the house. Chris’s first goal, get the mud off him before tackling the floors.

“April showers bring May flowers... and muddy prints all over Y/N rug Bubba.” Chris glared a bit at Dodger who was now sitting in the bathtub, wagging his bushy tail to thump thump thump against the tubs side. Chris sighed with amusement and reached over to give the dog a rub on the ears.

“Just be patient boy, we will get you situated before you know it.”

A bark was given in agreement, and Chris ducked his head back under the sink, and then started looking in some drawers, wondering if it got stuck somewhere else when a box tumbled out at Chris’s feet. He bent down to collect it and put it back when he happened to notice what it was.

A pregnancy test?!

Chris sat on the edge of the tub suddenly, and just stared at his hand a moment. It wouldnt be unusual for you to keep a test right? Just in case. Nothing was ever a hundred percent sure proof as far as birth control, and it was best to be safe then sorry. Dodger rested his head on the edge of the tub and his big eyes looked up at his human, giving a slight whine at the difference in Chris. Absently his hand went to pet Dodger, who nosed him back to the present.

“Hey boy... what do you think I should do?” Chris eased the box up on the bathroom counter and stared at it a moment. “Should I ask Y/N about it? Or just... assume its nothing?” Dodger tilted his head and gave another whine, getting impatient at being stuck in the tub. “Okay, Okay Bubba, hang tight.” Chris grinned and move to his knees on the outside of the tub, turning on the water. “I know, youve been so patient Bubba, lets get you cleaned up and go find Y/N” No he didnt have the dog shampoo, but he could get the mud off and put it on the list of supplies needed.

You were just coming inside from picking up the yard, and listened to hear Chris talking to Dodger upstairs in the bathroom, You had to smile to yourself, brushing your hand across your sweaty dirty forehead to wipe away the stray hairs plastered, and went for a glass of water. Fretting a bit as you glanced at the calendar, you thought back on your purchase yesterday. You had told yourself purchasing it if Aunt Flo hadnt turned up today, well... You were gonna have to tell Chris and take the test. This was honestly a first for you, having had to recently go off your regular birth control and hadnt yet gotten a new one started.

It scared you, rationally you knew better, Chris had always said that kids were something he wanted in the future and he couldnt wait to be a daddy. It was his term In the future. What if he wasnt ready for this? What if you werent? His career was at its peak, daily there was offers for him to sort through, show interest in or pass along, you were busy with your shop, and it needed all your time right now. Your hand grasped the counter, going white knuckled at the idea of it all suddenly overwhelming, the glass you held shook slightly, but you didnt notice. You were lost in a moment, your thoughts taking over, and Chris’s voice broke through. “Baby? Y/N?”

A slight jump sloshed the water. “Oh shit... “ You hurriedly say and set the glass down, grabbing a rag to wipe it up. Chris came up behind you and wrapped his arms around you to calm you down, kissing your shoulder. “Sorry, I didnt mean to startle you Babygirl.”

“Ugh, Im just jumpy” Your still wiping up the counter, when he set the box down in front of you, and you zip right up, staring at it.

“I happened to find this looking for Dodgers soap.” He eased you around to face him, his hands rubbing along your sides gently to ease you. Your eyes lift and his, well his blue ones looked hopeful at you, seeming to want you to confirm what he was suspecting.

“I- I bought it yesterday, it occurred to me that Im late. And well going off birth control, it takes a while to get back into the swing of things, but its been a while since ive stopped and.... You just, never know.”

“you never know... “ Chris’s voice echoed back and you bit your lip, pulling in a bit closer so his arms slid around your hips and you looked up at him.

“I should take it, I have been holding off, wanting to tell you, but now that you know, well theres no more reason to wait.” You reach behind you and take the box, peeling it open and taking out one of the sticks. “Uuuhh, how will you feel if its positive?” You fret with the wrapper, a bit scared of the answer.

Chris’s fingers slip under your chin and tilt your face up to meet his, warm lips press against yours and his tongue slips past the seam of your lips to glide around yours. It was a passionate, loving kiss, your hand dropping the stick to slide your hand around the back of his neck, sighing softly against his lips when you two part.

“If were pregnant Y/N, nothing would make me happier. I love you, and cant wait to see you radiant with that baby bump.”

“You mean you cant wait to see me fat and all bloated?” You teased him, so relieved to hear how absolute he was in his answer.

“Oh babygirl, I will have such a hard time keeping my hands off you, all the back rubs and belly kisses, watching you ride on top of me to get pleasure.” He grinned, at all he was describing and you rolled your eyes playfully, about to reach down for the stick, but he swept down first and handed you the still wrapped test.

“Well dont get to excited Chris, cause it might just be me after all.” You warned him, and took his hand, leading him up the stairs towards the master bath. When you two enter, you look at him nervously. He cupped your face and kissed your forehead. “Are you ready to have a baby?” Chris simply asked, and you nodded. “Lets find out then if thats in the cards for us today then.”

You went inside and looked over your shoulder to see him go to sit on the edge of the bed, his hands folded between his knees, ready to wait as long as you needed. You close the door a bit for a bit of privacy and do your business. Sitting it on the edge, you pace around and walk back out, Chris’s head whips up, a questioning look. “Now we wait.” You say as you go to sit next to him, but he isnt having it and he draws you into his lap, rubbing the small of your back.

“Can you imagine... our lives with a couple kids?” You ask him and he cant help but grin, thinking about it.

“I can and have.” He states, falling into what hes imagined, your head tilted watching as his face lit up, eyes growing wide and gleaming with the idea. “The pitter patter of feet running down the hallway with Dodger right behind to jump in bed with us, cuddling right up to there momma.” He brushed his lips against your neck, breathing your soft scent in. “Getting up middle of the night to check for monsters in the closet, plan out birthday parties, family vacations, getting to cuddle with all of you watching cartoons for the night.” He continued on, and you couldnt help but ache for all that to.

“Family dress up for Halloween. Can you imagine how many times they would want to be avengers? Since there dad is captain america after all.” You giggle a bit, and he embraces you against his chest, chuckling softly.

“I might even still fit into it at that point. Maybe. Okay baby, times up. Want me to come with you?”

You slip up and pause him. “No, be right back Handsome.” Slipping into the bathroom, you pick up the stick, and your heart sinks slightly. It was a negative. You couldnt help but feel overwhelming disappointment at it. Going back out, you shake your head softly.

“Im sorry Chris...” You start but he interrupts you and pulls you closer to him.

“Hey, theres no need to be upset.” He assured you, and when you look him in the eyes, theres a determined glint in those blue orbs, and he wiggled his brows, sweeping you to lay on the bed, and he moved over you, kissing down your neck, growling softly through his kisses and his hands slid under your shirt.

“Just means we get to work on making a baby more often.”

You had to admit, you rather liked the sounds of that.

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littlebitoffanfic · 4 years

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Be Safe

Fandom: The Hobbit Characters: Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Bilbo Relationship: Bifur/reader Request: Hiya! I love your writings. By any chance could you write some Bifur (the hobbit) x reader? Honestly I think he doesn’t get enough love. My idea is maybe Bifur has a crush on the reader, who’s in the company, possibly because she listens attentively to him, even though she doesn’t understand kuzdul. (Is that how you spell it?) all the dwarves in the company notice especially Bofur. And can bofur be like a bff of the reader? Thank AN: with this author, everyone lives.

The company had stopped for the night, settling in a large cave on the front of a mountain. It had been a long day, with a rain that soaked you all right through. but the evening was filled with a warm fire and pleasant conversation. Most of your time was spent with Bifur, Bofur and Bombur. Ever since they rolled into the front door and Bilbo’s, you had been close with them. They didn’t intimidate you like the others did. Well, Bifur had at the start, but Bofur had quickly shown you there was nothing to fear even if the dwarf did have an axe lodged in his head. Bofur had taken you under his wing. Your brother, Bilbo, was useless when it came to anything outdoors, so Bofur had acted like a mentor for you both. Which worked out well considering Bilbos fondness for Bofur and his friendship with Bombur – shared over a love for food. Bifur scared Bilbo slightly, but he couldn’t deny that he felt a little safer knowing that Bifur would protect you if needed. He proved it countless times already on the journey. Bombur and Bilbo was cooking dinner for the company, but they spoke of other meals beside the meat in the pot. Bofur was sitting with Nori, smoking a pipe that had not long dried out. Which left you with Bifur. you sat in a comfortable silence as you mended a shirt of his that had been torn. “Hows this?” You ask, holding up your handiwork for him to inspect. He mumbled words in Khuzdul, nodding and smiling as he took the item from your hand, apparently happy with it. Bofur appeared, dumping himself inelegantly at your feet. “When are you going to fix my gloves. I have more holes than fingers.” He held up his hands with the gloves on, wiggling his fingers at you. “You don’t ask nicely.” You shoot back with a raise eyebrow. “Neither does Bifur!” Bofur acted shocked and hurt by your comment. “And how would you understand him even if he had?” “Well, he seems like he asked nicely.” You reason, smiling a Bifur who shot one back, mumbling something under his breathe. “Hey! We’re family.” Bofur points a finger at him, his face pulled into one of mock shock. Apparently, whatever Bifur said, it was an insult. You giggled, pulling the gloves off Bofurs hands before setting to work. Bofur chatted to Bifur, the conversation seeming to flow despite it being in two languages. You watched them speak, wishing that you could fully join in. You wished you could understand what he was saying. He was very animated when he spoke, and you loved it. His eyes danced as he recanted tales in his native tongue, but you just couldn’t understand. You tried a few times to speak Khuzdul, and butchered it every time, much to the amusement of most of the company. In fairness, they tried to help, and you had started to pick up a little here and there. But Bifur spoke as quick as lightning, and your brain just couldn’t keep up with translating him. In truth, you could spent the whole night listening to him speak, even though you didn’t have the foggiest clue what he was saying. When Bilbo asked why you would sit by Bifur every night, you lied and said ti was because you were fascinated with the language. Well, it wasn’t a complete lie. You were fascinated with the dwarf who spoke it.

---------------time skip --------------

Sitting beside Bifur, you felt the dread building in your stomach. This time tomorrow, you might still be fighting. This time tomorrow, you might be dead. There was no joyous meal tonight. There hadn’t been since you got to the mountain. You were all set to work, trying to find this stone. And Thorin never let any of you spend more than a passing moment with any of them. Bofur and Bombur tried their bests. Bombur snuck you extra food, in an attempt to show he was still there for you. And Bofur would smile at you no matter what. Bifur was never far away from you. He was always just around a corner or in the next room from you. You didn’t know that when Bilbo had escaped, he had asked Bifur to keep you safe no matter what. But how safe could Bifur keep you on the battle field? Sitting on a bench in one of the many corridors, you tried to concentrate on mending the small hole in your sleeve. But your hands were shaking too bad. Cursing, you were about to throw down the needed when someone took your hand. Looking up, you saw Bifur. Immediately, you smiled. Despite the tears in your eyes, or your shaking hands, you smiled at him. Bifur returned the smile, but you could see there was worry in his eyes as he sat next to you. He took your arm to see where the needle was connected too, which was a hole in your forearm. It wasn’t too big. He grumbled something before picking up the needle and, much to your surprise, started to sew the hole closed. “I didn’t think you could sow.” You speak aloud, more out of curiosity. Bifur chuckled, shaking his head before looking up at you. He spoke in Khuzdul, which you didn’t understand. But he gestured to you, then to his eyes then the hole. “You learned from me?” You smile, your cheeks burning as he nodded and continued. He must have spent a lot of time watching you considering what a good job he was doing on the stitching. When he finished, you smiled at his word as you inspected it. “Not bad at all. Im very impressed.” You grinned, stretching out your arm and admiring his work. Noise drew both your attentions to the end of the corridor, and you saw Dwalin walk past. In full armour. even after he past, the weight of what that meant stayed on you both. But, for the briefest of moment, you had forgotten about everything. Bifur had a way of doing that with you. He could distract you, making you smile and laugh even when you didn’t think you could. And if something happened to you tomorrow, you wanted him to know that. You wanted him to know everything. Glancing to Bifur, you knew it was now or never. “I love you.” You whispered it as though it were a secret and your cheeks burned. You didn’t dare look at Bifur as his head snapped to you, instead finding interest in the floor. “I just needed you to know that. In case anything happens tomorrow.” you rose to your feet, ready to leave, when a hand grabbed your wrist and you were stopped. Bifur stood in a hurry, words in Khuzdul falling from his lips like he was spitting fire. You smiled, looking at him sadly. “I cant understand you.” You giggled, despite the pain in your chest. You desperately wanted to think he was confessing and undying love for you, but you were a realist. It was far more likely that he was trying to explain how things could never happened, or how he cared for you in other ways. Bifur fell silent, the frustration in his eyes apparent as he seemed to grind his teeth. then, the frustration faded from his face, as if a realization had dawned on him. You were curious and despite the part of you that wanted to run away, you wanted to know what he was thinking. Like you always did. “Bifur?” You asked, drawing his attention back to you. He suddenly leaned down, pressing his lips to your own. You froze, out of sheer panic and surprise. Never, in a thousand years, would you think he would kiss you. You felt him pause, about to pull back when you realised you had been still as a statue. You allowed yourself to dive into the fantasy you had dreamt about for so long, and kissed him back. His bread made your skin itch a little, but you didn’t care as you reached up, your hands finding his chest. A large hand covered your left one while his other hand touched your hip, slipping around to your lower back and pulling you closer. You mewled into the kiss, enjoying the affection and attention, the war that was on the doorstep long forgotten. A voice called through the large hallways. Thorin. It made you jump and step back, panting slightly. Thorin scared you now because he was unpredictable now. The dwarf you had followed seemed long gone, and the stranger who now lead was a far cry from the original. You had hoped that you were wrong and the others who had known him longer would deny your fears. But they didn’t. Thorin called for Bifur to go to the armoury. He didn’t bother coming to search for the dwarf, instead just calling his orders and expecting the echoes to carry them. Bifur looked to you, his eyes silently asking if you were okay. You smiled, giving a small nod. Reaching out, you took his hand for a moment. “Be safe tomorrow.” You said, not posing it as a question but as a statement. He smiled, giving a small nod before mumbling something in his own words. You suspected it was similar to your own statement. and then the two of you parted, and the dread returned to your stomach.

--------------------- time skip – after battle --------------

Racing through the battle field, you couldn’t hear anything as you searched for the dwarfs you had grown so close to. The moment you spotted the floppy hat, you barrelled across the land, throwing yourself at the unexpecting dwarf before he laughed and hugged you back. “Good to see you’re alive too, lass.” Bofur chuckled as you pulled back, his eyes twinkling with relief, happiness and a bit of mischief. “You too. And the others?” You held your breathe for a moment, but Bofur smiled. “Yeah, they made it too. This way.” Bofur grabbed your forearm and pulled you towards the mountain. You saw Bombur resting on a large boulder, a little bit away from all the commotion at the entrance to Erebon. Bifur was standing not far, looking around anxiously with his back to you. But you’d recognised that mass of black hair anywhere. Bombur was the first to spot you, pushing himself off the boulder and engulfing you in a hug. “Thorins sending for family soon. You’ll meet my wife soon.” Bombur pulled back with a smile, and you could see the excitement in his eyes at reuniting with his dear wife. “I cant wait.” You grinned. Movement behind Bombur caught your eyes as you saw Bifur. You ducked under Bomburs arm, you raced to Bifur, throwing your arms around him before you could get a good look at him to make sure he wasn’t hurt. Before you could apologies, his arms locked around you, not allowing you even think about pulling away. “Come, brothers. Lets see if Bilbo is around.” Bofurs voice wasn’t enough to pull you away from the embrace but you saw him and Bombur leaving towards the entrance. Something seemed a little odd about it, and you thought back to the twinkle of mischief in Bofurs eyes, but didn’t want to ruin the moment. “I was so worried about you.” You spoke just above a whisper, blinking back tears of relief. “You cant get rid of me that easily, lass.” The words that met your ears were strange when paired with the voice you were so use to hearing speak Khuzdul. You pulled back, wide- eyed, earning a chuckle from Bifur. “You- you…” you trailed off, but something looked off. Dropping your arms, you frown as you stare at him, trying to figure out what was different. Bifur waited, a smirk on his lips as he held back laughter at your reaction. Then you noticed the dent in his head. “The axe!” You raised your hands over your mouth to cover your surprise. Bifur nearly keeled over as he laughed at your reaction. Proper laughter. Infectious laugher. You smiled fondly, then giggled, then started to laugh with him. In dirty clothes, covered in blood and dirt, with small cuts and nicks and a hell of a lot of bruising, you laughed wholeheartedly for the first time in what felt like a long time. The world fell still around you as you lived in the moment. As the laugher died, you found your feet closing the distant to hug him again. He pulled you tightly against himself, tighter than before. “I love you too.” He breathed in your ear, speaking with adoration and fondness. As if he had said them a million times to you. “really?” You smiled hopefully as you pulled back. “Aye. I tried to tell you before, and again last night, but-“ He pulled one hand off your waist to gesture to the indent that use to have the axe. You ducked your head slightly, smiling like an idiot as your cheeks burned red. He had tried to confess before now? You thought of all the times he had mumbled something to you, looked to you expectantly but always seemed disappointed. Bifur leaned forward, drawing your attention back to him before kissing you again. Neither of you noticed his cousins cheering from the distance.

#bifur x reader #bifur #the hobbit

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yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy · 5 years

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Title: Masked Ball Fandom: Dragon Age Pairing: Solavellan Words: 3195 Series: [Talking To Yourself] Also read here: AO3

Tallin Lavellan x Solas | Post-Crestwood (memory of before) | romance | angst In one of the many instances of Tallin ruminating on her now-defunct relationship with Solas, she recalls the Winter Palace: The initial unkindness suffered at the hands of the nobility, an unnervingly out-of-character Solas, and a failed dance.

Remember the Winter Palace? Of course you do. That was a stupid question, sorry.

I was out-of-place. I knew. They knew. It was the first time that I could feel my vallaslin burning on my skin since the initial scabbing had sloughed off. Burning from..what?

The human nobles’ eyes on me, just like back at Haven, just like in the courtyard of Skyhold. Waiting for me to do something. Do what? What did they want? I couldn't hide from them.

Cullen told me you slipped in ahead of us, and you remained out of sight until it was time for me to be presented to the court and greet the Empress. Like Cole, you materialized without a word and remarked upon the task before us. I could only nod and try my best to not allow the glaring lights from the chandeliers and candles blind me, not fiddle nervously with my gloved hands, not forget to breathe as I descended the red carpeted stairs and crossed the ballroom floor.

Josephine told me to watch what I said, so I said nothing unless I had to, and I was so nervous that I just said what I thought. They wore masks. How could I possibly tell what they wanted to hear if I couldn't see their faces? You can fake so much with the mouth and voice. I was glad I brought Cole along. Not that I wouldn't have wanted to go with just you! Ah, n-not that I had forgotten why we were there! Not that I'd forgotten that this was the place that my people--

Ah, I'm sorry. You don't like it when I talk about Dalish history. I'm sorry.

They called me a savage under their breaths. The clan elders had talked about what the humans called us and how we should not allow those words to wound us like arrows as they were intended to, but it was the first time that I had heard someone use such speech to describe me. I told you I had never met a human before the Conclave. Or rather, I hid behind the aravels or ducked behind the halla whenever they approached the elders for trade and disagreements. I listened but didn't speak to them then, and those men were usually civil.

Ahh-haah, I suppose I should consider myself lucky that Cassandra never resorted to such words, even when she suspected me of causing the explosion at the Conclave. Roderick didn’t, either. He hated me, you know--of course you know, you were there--but he never insulted me like that...

So no, I truly had never been called such things before that night. I always fear that people speak badly of me when they think I am not listening, but it was only there, surrounded by those people weighed down by ostentatious amounts of silk and cotton and gilded metals that I realized that my nightmares had finally come true.

The words did end up hurting. I wasn't used to it, not like you were, not like you always were.

Very quickly I fell back to my old ways in order to paste together my quickly-crumbling composure. Rocking nervously on my heeled boots. Fixing my hair. Pretending yet again to look out one of the many windows so I could just practice breathing and collect myself. I could not blow this. I could not. I absolutely could not. I could not disappoint anyone, you most of all.

But I knew people were watching. They were watching every single second of it. That was what these gatherings were for, weren’t they, an excuse to pick people apart. Why are these noble humans so cruel, why do they find cruelty to be fun? And why is cruelty rewarded with more cake and tea?

I resolved to find you. I needed you. Again, you had disappeared from the ballroom as soon as I concluded my self-introduction to Empress Celene. Ironically, it took a momentous amount of courage to leave the ballroom. If I was flagging so miserably here, surely other areas for the mingling of guests would prove just as difficult?

But I gingerly walked through the only open wing, past guards who did not so much as glance at me, and there I saw you.

When I saw you leaning against that statue in the guest wing, my heart flooded with a warm ache that was both suffocating and comforting. I thought we would be able to bond over how frivolous everything was. Being elves. Being outsiders. You were not Dalish, and I was, and though you knew so much of the world better than I, you dressed so simply, always, you spoke plainly, truthfully, you chose your words carefully to mean what they meant. I love you for it. Plain and simple and honest, like home. Like home.

I walked towards you, a beacon situated at the end of a long, polished floor. The sight of you, red and gold and blue, gave me strength to smile politely at the whispering guests as I passed them. I pictured what we would do together: We would laugh at them the same way they laughed at me, private jokes they would never get. You would agree it was all pointless but it must be done and how much better would the world be if this glittering one never existed?

But when I got closer, my hopeful smile had been wiped away: Tucked away in that corner, you were watching everyone, smirking. At first I thought you had started without me--what jokes would you have for me about what you had seen so far? Cullen told me you slipped in before us. How did you do that? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. It was a stupid question.

When you saw me, the edges in your face--cruel, I thought. For only a moment, I swear!--softened. Somewhat. You were still shining with so much happiness, and a small fearful thought in the back of my head, a wordless one that speaking with you gradually began to give sound, whispered that you were happy because of them, not despite them. I saw it in your eyes, and you told me that you felt at home here.

Here, among these humans that would scheme to keep lands from ou--my people? That would levy heavy taxes on their serfs, or kill each other over a perceived slight without a moment's hesitation?

And as you spoke, that glimmer in your eyes had only confirmed my fears. How much you reveled in the trysts and the gossip and the games the humans played with each other! There were lives at stake, and they cared about such silly things. Even Leliana! You were deriving amusement from this entirely different world than the one I knew.

You were always so reserved even when we were together, and it was rare when I managed to even make your teeth show in your smile. And yet these people, these cruel people who sneered at our race--they made you smirk, they pleased you in a way I hadn't yet been able to.

It was the first time I remember...doubting. Doubting you. You and myself. I don't know for what, but..

But I pushed those thoughts away. Because they suggested you were not honest, because they would lead me to question you, and I couldn't let that happen. Not now.

You asked what was wrong. I could not quite form the words, and instead chose to watch as you lifted a silver cup that had been perched on the base of the sculpture, held it out to the empty space to your left, have it be promptly filled by an elf servant standing idle, and then proceeded to take in a half-mouthful of the drink. All with the air of someone who had been born into gentility. Your eyes never left my face.

My nervous stutter resurfaced in full force as I recalled all the things these people said with the sole intention to hurt, and how it hurt more because I was not brave enough to protest like you were, was not clever like Vivienne or Dorian and able to navigate their maze-like conversations.

Another sip and a thin smile that had no teeth, not at all like the one you gave them. As you casually swirled your cup, you remarked that these people were quite inconsequential; I should not allow their words to poison my self-worth because I was far more honorable and accomplished. It is in the nature of humans to prey upon what they do not possess.

My throat clenched and I tried to swallow. Failed, but I tried. You did not offer me a sip of your wine, which I appreciated: My distrust of alcohol was established very early on in my childhood: the erratic ways it made people behave and speak was frightening.

I wanted to stay near you despite this concerning change in your personality. We were there with an intent to save the Empress, but with people I didn't know whispering of my mistakes, my slip-ups behind their hands ... I needed you to ground me, protect me. I couldn't do it myself. I didn't want to be here, and now I was terrified that this would be yet another world that I could lose you in.

When you kindly suggested I eavesdrop on the servants, my mouth went dry. Your tone was amicable, but the words were dead nails in my ears. I stuttered, bowed my head because it was a scolding from an elder even when it wasn't. It was to me, so it was. No matter that I dared to think that we were together, I still hadn't allowed myself to think that, not yet, not yet. You were just being considerate to me, acting as a mentor, a guide, patient, patient, patient, patient with me when I never deserved it.

I remember thinking what a foolish thing I was doing, clinging to you like a child to her mother's dress. Foolish, foolish, childish.

Before I turned to return to my investigation..I don't know how, but I asked you if you would dance with me when everything was all done. Your voice held a tinge of surprise -- when I was forward with you, you were always taken aback. I still don't know where I got my courage in those moments. No, not courage. Desperation that bubbled over until I couldn't stop myself. I don't know, I don't know...

A small cant of your head and a softening of the creases at the corners of your eyes as the Solas I knew momentarily descended from his lofty libertine pedestal. “I would be honored.”

It gave me courage. I bowed my head and left you to weave between crinolined dresses and puffy shoulders to find Dorian, my other beacon of refuge, concentrating on keeping the tiny flame of a future reward burning in my gut.

After acquiring the key to the kitchens, you, me, Cole, and Dorian came together to further investigate the interior of Halamshiral. I did not expect how much more horrific the world of the nobility would reveal itself to be.

I tried not to cry when I saw all those dead servants. I did not scream when Leliana suggested we allow Empress Celene to die in order to draw out Florianne. I knew you would not approve of such an outburst that could jeopardize this mission, but also the calculated slaughter of a potentially strong ally. I did not want to do it in the first place, but I saw you in my mind's eye and I knew you wouldn't approve, so it's why I put my foot down. When Florianne was caught before the court, when I convinced Gaspard, Empress Celene, and Briala to work together for the betterment of the kingdom.. I was numb by the end. How I managed to rally the nobles to support these three powerful figures who were revealed to be just as untrustworthy and ambitious as the flocks they commanded, I don’t know. I don’t know.

Morrigan found me looking at the stars and trying to count each one so as to distract myself from the urge to cry. She was invaluable to the success of this mission, but I remained wary of her sudden presence even when she informed me of her new assignment to the Inquisition. I was grateful she did not pry into the reason for the misery painted on my face, nor my lack of enthusiasm for the celebration inside. She was gone as swiftly as she had come.

I waited for you with a quiet, pitiful desperation. My shoulders ached, my eyes hurt, my chest was hollow from the speech I gave as I addressed the people I had saved, the people that had scoffed and labelled me "savage" only two hours prior. They hadn't known me, and they still didn't, but now they were jubilant for something that did not involve the mockery or abject humiliation of another living being.

And I just wanted to get away. I wanted to leave with you right then and there. But all I could do was stand on the balcony and try not to throw up while my face prickled and buzzed from the afterglow of all of those lying eyes staring up at me from the dance floor.

I cried again for a bit as I waited for you, I think some of those tears were out of fear that you had forgotten about what you promised earlier. Time stood still and circled around itself as I realized that my vision was blurring and the stars were turning into smeared firefly lights instead of concise pinpricks.

And then again, like a ghost, you alighted by my side and settled against the bannister as I had.

“I am not surprised to find you here.” Simple warm conversation with you, what I quietly wished for as my heart was buffeted unceasingly by the sordid words and threads of schemes interwoven by these unbelievably amoral people.

And now that the opportunity presented itself?

Silence as I stared out beyond the wide expanse of dark forest stretching into oblivion far beyond the grounds of the Winter Palace. Again, you offered a prompt for chatter by remarking upon the fickle nature of human nobility with that same wry tone. The purpose was for irony and consolation, yet it did not help as much as I wanted it to. My mouth didn’t even twitch with mirth.

Your fill of drink and sweets had not dulled you to the severity of my gloom. After a further few more minutes of me wiping my eyes and sniffling, you placed a hand on my shoulder. “Come.”

The night had worn heavily on me, but there still remained the desire to make you proud, to not disappoint you or look any more juvenile than I already had. I wanted to dance, I really did, so when you offered me the chance...

As we stepped back to allow ourselves more room, I mentally screamed at myself to drum up the enthusiasm required. Where had it gone? How could it all be snuffed away?

You pulled me close and I smelled the wine you had earlier this evening on your breath. Tendrils of dull distress creeped beneath my skin. This was not you, this was not the hahren I knew. It was you but it wasn’t. It was not the right person.

I closed my eyes to shut out the world and my self. Doing so, however, helped bring attention that beyond the drink still remained the faint scent of forest moss that clung to you like a second skin. A faint flicker of hope cautiously kindled itself. After reassuring if I was okay, you began to guide me across the balcony.

I tried my best to keep up with you, I did, I wanted to show you all the steps Josephine had taught me, everything I practiced for this night, everything I practiced hoping to impress you.

But I faltered. I tripped, like an idiot, like a fool. A stupid, stupid Dalish elf girl out-of-place among the silks and fake smiles and sweet cakes and this treacherous world that entertained you more than I ever could.

You caught me before I could collapse on the ground, as my body was by now overflowing with despair. Give up, give up, give up.

There was no means of stopping the tears from falling down my burning cheeks. “I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I apologized to the shiny brass buttons of your coat. “I--I--I can d-do this.” And yet I wasn’t, not tonight, not with the person for whom it mattered the most.“I’ve b-been practicing,” I added weakly, shaking visibly in place. “I h-have--”

Your hand left my waist, and I hung my head in defeat as an entirely new wave of misery washed over me. I was beyond help, you realized in that moment.

The tiniest surprised huff of air left me when your fingers gently tucked my chin up. I sniffed, wet eyes wide with curiosity. “I know you have.”

You closed your eyes and turned your head to bring the back of my being-led hand to your lips. It was warm and soft. I sniffed. My ears picked up on the tiny sounds your kisses made as they were planted at random across my skin. This lasted for a minute, perhaps fifteen, I couldn’t be sure.

“You do not need to impress me.” Hand back on my waist. A soft smile that reminded me of Mother. “Enjoy yourself, help me celebrate your diplomatic success.”

I tried to smile, to accept your optimism, but it hurt my mouth. You didn't shake me off when I stumbled again after only four more steps and gripped you tightly and once again whispered my stuttered apologies for ruining this moment we had together. I was done, I was done for the night. I couldn’t do this. No more. No more.

When it's you I can't think straight. Everything was already fuzzy and knotted that night and you made it--you didn't make it worse, don't think that, no, no I needed you then, I need you now--I made it--

I'm still sorry for ruining your evening, even though it seems so long ago. You told me you understood, you gave me the same look I remember Mother always gave me when I was small and didn't know why I was crying, only that I needed to for some reason, needed someone to tell me I could.

And you did. “Exhausted” as I was, “considering everything that had happened”...

You then took to meeting my numerous sorry’s with hushes. I said "sorry" a lot that night, but you eventually let me explain why I was sorry, and I managed to get in another sorry in for being so difficult. You gave me such an exasperated look then, but before I could start crying again your brows lifted and you said that I was too hard on myself and that you loved me, it was fine, you loved me, it was fine, hush, hush, hush.

I think I even napped for a minute on your shoulder as you held me close while we swayed in place as the violins began to slow. What was it like, to dance with a child?

That was the first and last time we ever did something like that.

#my fanfiction #tallin #solavellan #da oc x companion #DA:I #dragon age: inquisition #my ocs #my writing #tallin lavellan

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greyias · 6 years

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FIC: By the Guidance of Stars - Chapter 8

Title: By the Guidance of Stars Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T (this chapter) Genre: Angst, H/C, Romance, Humor Synopsis: The Coalition tries to heal in the aftermath of the Battle of Yavin 4, but not every wound is physical. A series of missing scenes set during the end of Shadow of Revan. Warnings: See Chapter 1. Author’s Note: Last of the previously posted chapters, although this version has been revised to adjust for canon and some other things that bugged me.

As twilight gave way to night, the oppressive humidity eased into a slightly uncomfortable mugginess, but the breeze atop the crumbling platform chased through the open crevices in Theron’s jacket, making him almost cold. It was absolutely wonderful, and he didn’t know why anyone ever came down from this place if this was the alternative to drowning in their own sweat in the main camp. Of course, his reasons for extending his stay up on the high vantage point might have been more than just escaping the uncomfortable jungle swelter. Everyone would be departing Yavin tomorrow and going their separate ways. The moment his head hit the pillow, tomorrow would come, and with it, farewells.

Until then, he had the night.

Theron had no idea what was going on with him. His chest felt light, like it might float away and take the rest of his body with it at any moment. It was almost like being drunk, without having to take shots from any of the flasks traveling around camp. He would have suspected someone had snuck something in the evening meal, except none of it had started until he had gotten up onto the platform. Part of him wanted to run far, far away until this temporary madness passed, and the other part of him just wanted to sweep his companion off her feet and just disappear into her embrace until the stars went cold, any onlookers be damned. Neither of those options made any logical sense, so instead he flopped down at the edge of the platform and let his legs dangle over the precipice. The feeling of nothingness meeting his feet and staring at the several hundred foot drop into the jungle below set his heart pumping and he leaned forward to try and find the bottom.

Apparently that was one step too far, because the action gained a startled shout. “What are you doing?”

He tossed a look back at the fretting Jedi. “Sitting. It’s fun.”

“What if you fall?”

He shot her a boyish grin. “Then you’ll catch me.”

She huffed and crossed her arms. “With what? The Force?”

“I’ll let you figure out the details if it comes to that.”

“You have an awful lot of faith in my abilities to prevent you from doing something stupid.”

“You haven’t let me down yet.”

The sigh she let out was exasperated, but even in the darkness he could make out the corners of her lips twitching as she tried to repress a smile. “Why do you make a habit of being so reckless?”

“Because it’s fun.” He pat the open space next to him in invitation. “It’s a nice view. Why don’t you come over here and see?”

She crossed her arms, canting her hip at an angle. “And what if I fall?”

He met her stubborn irritation with a warm smile. “Then I’ll catch you.”

Grey shuffled forward a few steps, possibly without thinking about it, because she stopped with a sudden jerk and stared at him suspiciously. “And what if we both fall?”

“Well, then,” he leaned back on one palm, craning his neck so he could watch her every reaction in the starlight, “at least we’d be falling together. I’m sure between the two of us we’d figure something out.”

“You are impossible,” she muttered, but slid in next to him.

Gingerly she extended one leg off the edge, fist curled into what was probably a white knuckled grip under those gloves. He took pity on her, and extended his hand. She eyed it for a moment, before grasping it firmly and flinging the other leg off the edge dramatically. Her nod to him was defiant, even as her fingers formed a vice around his hand.

“See? Isn’t this nice?” he asked.

“It would be nicer with a railing.”

“That’d take out half the fun.” He lightly kicked her foot with his, earning a glare. “You don’t get an adrenaline rush if you know you can’t fall.”

“You don’t get enough of those while on the clock?”

“Do you?” he challenged.

In his mind’s eye, Theron could still see her blades twirling in a blur on on Tython. Could still feel the adrenaline pumping through his own veins as she risked her own life again and again with no hesitation. On Manaan. Rakata. Rishi. As innocent and proper an exterior she liked to present to the world, there was something wild and dangerous and irresistible lurking underneath that sweet facade. Someone a lot like himself. Just waiting for the right moment to burst forth.

“A Jedi doesn’t seek—“

He put a finger to her lips to stop the expected tirade, and leaned in a little closer. “I didn’t ask about a Jedi—I asked about you.”

She frowned, leaning back just enough so his finger slipped down from her lips to rest against her chin. “Do you really think there’s a difference?”

Theron didn’t break her gaze, and just nodded ever so slightly with a soft hum of agreement. There was much more to her than the perfect little Jedi she kept trying to pretend to be. Too many layers and mysteries underneath the surface, and he wanted to peel back each one until she was laid bare before him. In every sense and meaning of the phrase.

Her fingers were still wrapped around his one hand like an anchor, and she let out a small huff as she glanced away. “We were talking about you, not me.”

“If you say so,” he said softly, and slowly leaned back into his own space.

The uncertain expression that flashed across her face was just as confusing as the strange fever that had overtaken him since he’d climbed up onto this platform. If he looked too deeply into any of this he’d probably descend into madness, or whatever the next step was after his current stage of mania. Her fingers loosened their death grip, and he let his hand drop back to the ground. She stared at it, lips pursed together as if she was trying to puzzle something out.

“I don’t always understand you,” she said after a moment. “You say one thing, but do another. Yet I don’t ever get the sense that you’re being dishonest with either.”

“Are you talking about anything in particular, or just in general?”

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I’m not making sense.”

“I haven’t really felt like I’ve been making much sense either,” he admitted quietly.

“Like dangling off the edge of a two-hundred foot drop for no reason?”

“I told you the reason,” he said lightly, “that it’s fun.”

“You probably find explosions fun too,” she said sourly.

“It depends on how close I am to the explosion.”

“What frightens me is I don’t think you’re joking.”

“As I said,” he sat up, leaning ever so slightly to peek over the edge, pretending to teeter a little just because he was kind of an ass, “a little danger never hurt anyone.”

“And a little caution doesn’t hurt anything either.” Her hand immediately grabbed onto his arm, pulling him back. A thrill shot through him both at the renewed contact and the protective gesture.

“I suppose we could meet somewhere in the middle.” He inched back from the edge a few inches and some of the tension relaxed out of her frame. “If you’d like.”

“Perhaps.” She edged closer to him and the precipice, hand anchored around his arm as she pressed against him. “But I draw the line at explosions.”

“Oh, come on,” his breath puffed across her skin as he leaned in closer, “you love explosions, and you know it.”

He couldn’t see her roll her eyes, but he heard the exasperated breath she let out before her lips brushed chastely against his for the first time since Rishi. Her hand was still clamped down tight on his arm, as if holding on for dear life. He felt her tongue flick between his lips, a delicate tease that he obliged as he deepened the kiss. A wave of heat crashed over him, and if he wasn’t careful he could easily drown.

It was just a small taste, but enough to light a deep, yearning hunger inside of Theron. Just like on Rishi, it reminded him of the exhilarating jolt coursing through his veins when space diving on Ruuria. Volcano boarding on Mima II. Base jumping off the Bubble Cliffs on Qiaxx. It was just as or even more intoxicating than every thrill he’d ever chased, and he wondered if every inch of her was just as much of a rush as this.

He eventually had to come up for air and broke away, her tiny moan of disappointment doing wonders for his ego. He leaned his forehead against hers, relishing in both the warmth of her skin and the soft tickle of her bangs. A soft tendril of breeze wrapped around them both, and he let his eyes drift shut as he tried to lean into this moment just as he had when they’d been watching the stars above. Wanting to make it last as long as humanly possible.

“I wanted to do that since you first stepped foot on Yavin,” he admitted quietly after several long moments.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Well, we were a little busy,” he said. “And we weren’t exactly alone.”

“This isn’t exactly a private space,” she pointed out.

“I know,” he breathed. “I just… wanted to do that one more time.”

“Only once?”

He opened his eyes to see hers meeting his. They sparkled with a mischievous glint that he was pretty sure would have earned her quite the lecture back in her Padawan days.

“More than once.” And more than just that, but the five million warnings from all of her nosy crewmates were echoing in his ears, and despite his better judgement, he heeded them. No one could ever accuse him of not listening after this, because damn if he didn’t want to pursue whatever this thing was to the very end. “Way more.”

“How many?” Her eyes crinkled as a bright smile lit up her face.

More than the number of stars in the sky, was the truth, but aloud he said, “I don’t know if you can count that high.”

“I’ll have you know, I’ve learned a lot of numbers.” She caught his laugh in another kiss, and when she broke away, her eyes were still glittering. “See, that’s two.”

“And here I just thought you were just a pretty face that knew a thing or two about swinging around a lightsaber.”

“Nope. I’m very talented.”

“At just about everything that I can see.” And because he could, Theron brushed his lips against hers once more.

“And that’s three,” she murmured, “although I’m tempted to not count it.”

“I have to switch things up every now and then, otherwise you’ll get bored.”

“If there’s one thing I haven’t been since I met you, it’s bored.”

“I must be doing something right then.”

“You are.”

She grabbed the collar of his jacket and yanked him to her, pulling him in for another kiss. She sucked in his bottom lip and ran her tongue over the indentation of his recently healed skin. It had been swollen, split, and sore their first kiss, and her enthusiasm then had been dampened by his injured state. Now she was like an explorer slowly mapping out a new star system, almost as if she was trying to commit everything to memory.

That prompted a too deep thought about the next day’s impending departure, so he surged forward and deepened the kiss—turning it into something so Theron surged forward, deepening the kiss into something so breathless and wild he didn’t have time to think about anything else.

“Has anyone ever told you,” her words were quiet as she broke away, hardly a whisper on the air, “that you can be very distracting?”

“A time or two,” he said quietly. “What am I distracting you from?”

“Everything.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

She shook her head ever so slightly, possibly without even realizing it. “I know what I’m supposed to say…”

“I’ve never been big on rules.” He brushed away the bangs that fell into her face, obscuring the stormy emotion beginning to brew in her eyes. “I find them too constricting.”

“I used to find the rules comforting. Everything in its place, and if you just followed them well enough, everything would turn out okay.”

“Used to?”

Her eyes dropped down to the ground then, expression falling as she shook her head. “I don’t believe that anymore.”

A hard lump settled in Theron’s throat as he looked at the dim expression, making it hard to swallow. All the sparkle and mischief had faded from her eyes, leaving a cold empty expanse as she stared unseeing down at the ground. Something in his chest tightened and he found himself picking up her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze, unsure of what else to do. She blinked, as if summoned back to the here and now from wherever she had gone.

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head lightly, as if trying to chase something away. “I think I broke the mood.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said gently, giving her hand another squeeze. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“We were having a good time, I… I let my mind wander.”

“No, I wasn’t thinking about what I was saying.”

“How are you supposed to know?” She laughed, but it was the choked desperate laughter of someone trying to hold on to their control.

“I feel like I should, or at least, not keep doing this to you.”

“It’s not just you. This just keeps happening. With everyone,” she whispered. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I should be better than this.”

“Do you want me to go?”

She shook her head quickly, giving the hand holding hers a tight, almost bone-breaking squeeze.

“I thought I was done with this. After Rishi… Master Orgus said he healed these scars left by… that should have fixed it. Shouldn’t it?”

From the quiet desperation in Grey’s voice, he had a feeling the question was more rhetorical than something he could really answer. Not that the jumble of words made a lot of sense to him. Wasn’t… Orgus Din her final master before her knighting? Hadn’t he been killed near the beginning of her career as a Jedi? To Theron’s knowledge she had never even visited Rishi before being lured there by him and Lana. And he hadn’t a clue what scars her former Master was supposed to have healed.

“I thought,” he said carefully, “that he had passed away a long time ago.”

“He… visited me while we were on Rishi.”

Theron almost asked about how exactly a dead man could just drop in for a chat and quick spiritual healing session, but if their encounters with Revan had taught him anything, it was that the Force was… weird. And complicated. And probably something he really didn’t want to think on too deeply because things like this just hurt his brain. Apparently even the boundaries of life and death were just mere technicalities to the Jedi like the one sitting next to him. Except Grey didn’t exactly look like the strong confident Jedi at the moment, more like a lost child looking for her parents. He could tolerate a few minutes of bizarre Force talk, if it helped ease that somehow.

“I’m sorry, I know this is strange.”

“No stranger than a half-zombie, half-ghost ancestor.”

The breath she exhaled was almost a wry laugh, but not quite. “That was a new one for me too.”

“At least we’re forging new territory together, eh?” He gave her hand a brief squeeze.

The corner of her mouth twitched up, nearly into a sad smile. “I suppose so.”

“So, was that the personal business you went to take care of before you headed to Torch’s Island?”

She nodded, giving him a sad smile. “He came to visit me one last time. I think he knew we weren’t going to succeed here on Yavin, and he wanted to try and help me one last time.”

“Masters are like that,” he agreed, his own thoughts briefly centering on Ngani Zho. “They just want what’s best for their Padawans.”

“He still called me that,” her eyes glittered with tears, “even as a ghost I was still his Padawan.”

“So is this whole Force ghost thing… common?” he asked uncertainly.

She shook her head. “When a Jedi passes, they’re supposed to become one with the Force. Usually they don’t stick around for long conversations.”

“I guess Master Orgus felt the need to make an exception,” Theron said carefully.

“You could say that,” she smiled shakily. “He always did have to do things his own way. Even death.”

He nodded mutely, unsure of what he could say exactly. The only thing that came to mind were questions that he had promised not to ask, and even if it was a stupid promise, he still wanted to keep it. It was so easy to break things, but he wanted to try and keep his word to her intact. The reason why that was important was still vague and distant, but his gut said it was, and Theron always listened to his gut.

“You surprise me,” she said quietly, “you ask questions, but never the big one.”

“I promised you I wasn’t going to pry,” he reminded her. “I don’t want to be someone who breaks promises to you.”

“I don’t know what I’ve done to earn that.” He felt her other hand fold over his, enveloping it in a cocoon of gloved warmth. It was at that moment, he realized that he had never actually touched her with his bare fingers, that there had always been some sort of barrier between them. “It’s more than I deserve, but I’m grateful for it nonetheless.”

He didn’t have the proper elocution to properly unpack that statement and address it fully, but he felt the need to try, as inadequate as his own words were. “On Rishi. You came for me.”

Her lost expression softened as she met his eyes, but he was crap at decoding his own emotions, much less those of others. “Of course I did.”

“You didn’t have to.” His chest felt like someone was cleaving it in two, but he didn’t break his gaze, determined to try and at least attempt to finish his poor explanation. “I’m not used to that.”

“I will never leave you behind.”

The statement was uttered quietly, but so fiercely determined there was no doubt that she meant it. He swallowed, that lump still firmly lodged in his throat. The whole faith in others thing wasn’t usually in his repertoire, as it was a lot easier to glide on the default mode of skepticism. Everyone eventually moved on their own way, and logic said that nothing would be different this time. The determined look in her eye said exactly where logic could go, and Theron decided to side with the clear winner in this fight.

“I think I believe you,” he finally said, “which is kind of a first for me.”

“It won’t be the last,” she promised, wrapping her fingers around his tightly. “So get used to it.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said quietly, prompting a tiny sad smile.

“I wish I could be a brighter, stronger person for you. For everyone really, but you… make me want to be more.”

“I’m good with the person sitting with me right now,” he said. “You don’t need to be anything more than that.”

“You don’t need a fearless monster slayer? Someone who can look into the void and laugh?”

He shook his head. “That person doesn’t sound very fun.”

“She could be, if I tried.” Grey glanced down. “Maybe if I tried harder, I’d get there. And then hearing his voice again last night after all these years… it would have been fine.”

Theron pursed his lips together, feeling that hole in his chest starting to open up again. Here was the person in the rain last night, trying desperately to hide under armored plating and lightsabers. Not wanting to scare her off back under the thin Jedi veneer, he just ran his thumb along one of the elaborate pieces of metalwork on her glove, wishing that he could feel every groove in it directly instead of through the leather of his own gloves.

“You can ask,” she said brokenly, “if you want.”

Of course he wanted to — but this wasn’t about him. Not really. He just wanted to do the right thing here. Whatever that was.

When he finally looked up, he saw the unshed tears in her eyes, and felt that small, infinitesimal hole in his chest begin to widen into a gaping wound. “Do you want me to ask?”

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I just don’t want to feel this way any more.”

“How do you feel?” he asked instead.

“Lost.” She bit her lip, looking away. “Like I’m back there again, even though I’m here. Like if I sleep too deeply, I won’t wake up as me.”

The nausea Theron had felt earlier after overhearing Scourge and Kira bubbled back up, filling the gaping hole with bile and a white, hot bubbling rage.

“I can’t wake up like that again,” she said so quietly he almost couldn’t hear. “Watching myself from afar, my body not my own. Screaming so loud but still unable to stop my hand. Have you ever been trapped in your own mind?”

“No,” he said hoarsely, trying to push the urge to vomit far back down. “I can’t even imagine… it sounds terrible.”

“I was so naive. I believed that anyone could be redeemed. Even him.”

There was such venom spat out in that single word, it only could have been reserved for something as unnatural as the ancient being that had been awakened the night before.

“I thought that there was always some small speck of light that could be brought out from even the darkest corner. I just had to trust in the Force, and it would guide me as it always does. It guided me… into darkness.” She swallowed, throat bobbing with the motion as she stared out at the shadowed landscape beyond. Almost as if she was expecting Vitiate to materialize from the darkness. “Just following the rules doesn’t work when someone ignores that they ever existed. It can’t protect anyone from that kind of evil.”

Theron thought of the fallen Jedi that she had chased after the six month gap in her file, and the dark ops leading up to that gap. Had they… stormed the Emperor’s Fortress, determined to capture him and bring him back to the light? How the hell did the Council think that would ever work? Capturing a supposedly immortal dark being and just force him to accept everything good and pure? That hot bubbling rage threatened to take him over.

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-two.”

He barely suppressed a curse. Sending a Knight, just barely two years into her career, to face down the almost literal embodiment of the Dark Side was just too much. Even with an entire team of dark ops Jedi. Even if they had sent her with the entire damn Republic army at her back it was too much. It would have been too much to ask even a wise and experienced Jedi Master like Ngani Zho and Orgus Din had been.

“They should never have asked you to do that.”

She blinked at him, surprised. “I volunteered.”

Of course she did. The moment he had brought his suspicions up with her regarding Darok, she had jumped on the chance to help him out. It was like she was incapable of just standing by if something bad was happening and had to try and fix it herself. That wasn’t the trait of a dedicated Jedi — it was the trait of someone with way too much to prove. He would know.

“I was never supposed to have innocent blood on my hands,” she whispered, “my lightsabers were never meant to be used for murder. No matter how much I wanted to stop, my hands wouldn’t listen to me. All I could hear was his laughter, his voice, telling me to give in. That he would make it all go away if I just gave over that last piece to him. Do you know what I did?”

Theron shook his head mutely.

“I hid. In the deepest corner of my mind, I hid. From him. From what he was making me do. I hid from everything. I was a coward.”

Theron wanted to pull her to him, tell her that she wasn’t, but he felt rooted to the spot. Somehow in defeating the demon from his past, they’d awakened hers. Pulling her back into what sounded like a living, waking nightmare. All he could do was squeeze his fingers around hers.

“In the end, I couldn’t even save myself.” Her voice was quiet, defeated. “Master Orgus’s spirit came from the Force and he found me, he was the one who broke the Emperor’s control over me. Everyone acts like I did something heroic and should be celebrated for breaking his control, when it was never even me to begin with.”

Here was the real truth, the real person he’d been seeking out that hid under that mask of the prefect Jedi. In her own way, the brave hero that everyone kept pinning their hopes on was just as broken as him. Struggling to live up to impossible standards and expectations. And just as lost and flawed and alone.

It took Theron a little while to find his voice, and when he spoke, it was rougher than he would have liked. “You still faced him down later, after all that?”

“Someone had to,” she said quietly, “and they all believed that I could. He was going to consume everything, all life. He was going to consume the Force. It was crying out. And even if it had abandoned me, I… couldn’t abandon it. Or everyone else. I couldn’t wait for the end to come without doing something. And no one else thought they could do it.”

“You didn’t either,” he pointed out softly.

She shook her head, like the fact that charging in to the demon’s lair was nothing noteworthy. Not too mention that she had done so after the kind of violation she’d been subjected to, and risked it happening again without any assurance. That would have been nearly impossible for anyone, and Theron had his doubts he would have been able to do it, even with literally the lives of every living thing in the galaxy on the line.

“When I was a child,” she said quietly, “I would pick up sticks in the forest and pretend they were my lightsabers. I only ever dreamed of being a Jedi, ever since my mother told me about her days as a Knight. I just wanted to be like her.”

That hadn’t been in her file. Actually, there hadn’t been much in it other than basic liner notes prior to her arrival on Tython. But she’d had a family once it seemed—and apparently a mother that she loved very much. There was a distant twang of jealousy, but it was swiftly carried away as he saw the wet tracks streaking down her face.

“I think she would be proud,” he said.

“She’s never visited me,” the confession came out broken, “not like Master Orgus. I wonder if… she wished I could have been stronger. More like her. She never had to throw away a bloodstained lightsaber. After Vitiate made me…” Her voice cracked and she had to swallow back the emotion that nearly dragged her under. “After I escaped, all I could see on mine was the blood, no matter how much I cleaned them.”

He knew absolutely nothing about Force ghosts or the woman in question, but from the reverent way Grey spoke of her, she had left quite an impression on her daughter. He wondered if that heavy, duty-filled legacy was one that had ever been truly intended to be passed on. He was far from an expert when it came to maternal figures and their intentions, but something in his gut told him that was probably not the case.

“Master Satele, I think she knew,” Grey continued, filling in the silence, “when she gave me the new hilts. She told me that a Jedi needed to have faith in the weapons she wielded, faith in the Force. She helped me construct the new blades before I left Tython.”

Theron let his gaze drop, eyes tracing the path he was making as he marked each divot and design in the gauntlets on her gloves. For everything he still held against his mother, apparently he still had a few things to learn about her. Satele had reached out to a scared, vulnerable Knight, and helped her find confidence again instead of delivering any sort of platitude or lecture. He thought back to their argument earlier that day, trying to fit this new piece of the puzzle into his previous assumptions. It didn’t quite match up, like the sharp edges of his preconceptions needed to be shaved down.

“I made a vow that I would never let these be turned to serve darkness. I couldn’t let something of Master Satele’s become tainted like I had let mine.” Grey’s free hand traced some of the patterns in the hilts clipped to her belt. “I let her keep my old ones. She promised she’d make sure they were never used like that again.”

“I didn’t know about that, earlier,” he said, struggling to swallow past that ever present lump. “I would never have even mentioned it…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” She finally looked up from her lightsabers, pulling his gaze up from the patterns he was tracing as well. “You’ve done me no harm.”

Seeing her trying to console him, with the wet tracks still glistening on her cheeks was too much for him to take. Heedless of whoever might be able to see, he reached out and grabbed her, crushing her against his chest as if that could somehow fix anything. Her arms stilled for a moment as if this was something that hadn’t ever occurred before and she had no idea what to do, before suddenly curling around him, fingers digging deep trenches into the leather of his jacket like drowning victim clutching to a lifeline.

“Master Orgus said he couldn’t come back anymore.” Her face was buried in his jacket, voice muffled by the leather. “He was the only thing that brought me back last time. I… I can’t be trapped like that again. I can’t.”

“It’s okay,” Theron murmured, tightening his arms around her small shivering frame. “He’s left. He’s not here.”

“No one’s saying anything, but they’re all terrified. Even Scourge. I didn’t finish the job last time, and now he’s back.” The shivering intensified to an actual tremble, and it felt like someone was shoving a vibroblade right through Theron’s chest. “I have to kill him, but he’s already dead. But he’s not alive either.”

The enormity of the task that had been assigned to her, by fate, or the Force, or whatever seemed to loom just off into the shadows of the night. The blame for Vitiate’s return at this moment in time, if not the assault and chaos on the Republic all the way three hundred years ago, lay squarely at Revan’s feet. It was the baggage of Theron’s own family, not hers. In a way, the responsibility for all of this should have laid at his feet. Perhaps if fate had twisted differently—if their places had been switched and he’d been born with all the powers of the Force that she wielded—it would have. Would he have been able to break away like her, or would he have wound up as twisted and broken as the rest of the members of her strike team?

Because Revan, for all his power and gifts in the Force, had cracked under the constant torture he’d been subjected to over the course of three hundred years. His psyche torn in two; one half twisted into something dark, monstrous, and almost unrecognizable from the Jedi he’d once been. Someone willing to commit mass genocide. Willing to upend everything if it meant he could get revenge against the one who had taken everything from him. Even Revan’s attempts to connect with what remained of his family had been tainted into something sick and twisted.

Theron couldn’t help but wonder if those same weaknesses ran through his blood in the way that the Force never had. It probably would never not sting, not grate on him a little when the Force peeked its head around to meddle in his life after the way it had abandoned him when he was young — but as he looked at the connections he shared with Grey, it was hard to completely deny that maybe it had somehow set something in motion.

Maybe they were both just meant to finish what Revan had started nearly three hundred years ago. Or maybe it was even more than that.

He had no idea how he was supposed to deal with any of this, Force-blind Jedi washout that he was. The task that lay before her was beyond his capabilities, but if they failed at stopping Vitiate, nothing would ultimately matter anyway. Even if Theron hadn’t been assigned as the task force’s liaison for the SIS, he would have busted down Marcus Trant’s door and camped out in his office until he’d gotten it. Whatever had happened prior to now was out of his hands, he couldn’t change any of their yesterdays, no matter how much he wanted to at the moment. But tomorrow wasn’t set yet, and he could still do something about that.

She had answered every one of his calls, even when he made her go through ridiculous lengths to find out it was him. The woman had stormed an entire fortress just for him. She was more than just his partner on this one job, she was his friend. Possibly the best one he had ever had. Maybe if he was really careful, did enough research, and did his job well enough, she’d never have to hear the voice of her tormentor ever again.

“What if I fall?” she asked brokenly, clinging to him tightly as they teetered on the edge of the platform with nothing but the inky night below.

“You won’t.” He tightened his grip around her quaking shoulders, as if he could shield her from the night. “You’re not going to fall.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’m going to catch you.” He pressed a kiss onto the top of her head, before glaring off into the night as if in challenge to the darkness just beyond them.

#swtor fanfiction #theron shan x jedi knight #Theron Shan #Female Jedi Knight/Hero of Tython #oc: greyias highwind #otp: adorkable #SoR Fic O Doom #sorry #it's loooooong #not much of the teaser text has changed #just... lots of stuff below the cut #i have poked and prodded at this chapter so much over the past almost two years #i think i may have finally gotten it to the point where i can prod it no longer #swtor #fanfic #and on the off chance tumblr mobile is still being a jerk #long post #greyfic

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royallyanxious · 7 years

Note

Concept from your friendly resident roman loving anon: roman breaks his arm and is sad bc he cant perform with a broken arm so the other sides write loads of reassuring and happy comments on his cast to make him feel better (and u bet ur ass he keeps either the cast or a picture of it somewhere in his room to look back on) (you can also bet patton puts a pun like 'its break a leg not break an arm silly' on the cast)

Platonic LAMP

Word count: 1400ish

TW: broken bones

"I had no ideathat Sides can break bones..." hummed Virgil examining Roman's cast. Smallsmile was tugged on his lips."I have a very weird feeling that my pain bring you alot of satisfaction.” Grunted Roman, leaning his head against the wall in hisroom. Virgil raised his gaze and sent an evil smirk hiding half ofhis face in the shadow of his bangs."That feeling evolves into certitude." Roman sighed.Virgil stuck out his tongue and took a step away, lettingPatton come closer."Oh, kiddo." sighed Patton letting his fingerstravel across the white cast "Why can't you be more careful..." hegently patted the injured hand. Roman growled quietly.

"Hey, Pat be careful, that bone is broken afterall." huffed out Virgil quietly."Would you mind telling me how did it happen?"asked Logan squatting next to the bed. His eyes were scanning the cast as if hewas trying to somehow look through it."Well..." Roman cleared his throat "That waslong and tiring battle. Both of us were blind with sweat which was covering ourforeheads an eyelids. I was barely standing on my legs and-""I was there. He fell off the ladder." cut himVirgil casually earning a death-glare from Roman. Logan snored.Patton's lips curled up but the politely tried to hide it byplaying with the paw of his onesie."I was decorating the stage when it started tremblingout of nowhere!" excused himself Roman "I thought I had this undercontrol-""He was singing When Will My Life Begin from Tangled andtrying to dance..." muttered Virgil."You could have caught me My Imbalanced Romance!""The only imbalanced thing there was the ladder and mayI remind you that I told you to calm down!" groaned Virgil."You could have caught me..." mumbled Roman."I was on the opposite side of the stage!" Virgilslammed his hand again the wall "Do you seriously think I wouldn't caughtyou if I could?" Virgil clenched his teeth and only then the othersunderstood how much he blames himself for this situation. His hand slipped downthe wall. "I’m sorry okay? I really am!” He looked truly heart-broken.

Roman smiled softly.

“Don’t sweat itVirgil, I should have been more careful. It’s my fault.” He re-assured theanxious side and sighed “Too bad the play will have to be postponed… I reallywas looking forward to show it to you guys…” Roman fixed his gaze at thepattern covering his pillow. His painted red nails were a little bit nervouslystroking little golden strings which were decorating each corner of the pillow.

“Hey, Ro…” Patton satthe right side of the bed, gently hugging Roman. “It’s fine kiddo. We can wait.At least you will have more time to learn the script. You got perscripted more time.”

“Yeah… I guess you’re right Padre…” Romansmiled faintly, fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt. The other sides werewatching him cautiously. They knew how important this play was to Roman. He putall the effort into it, planning every step and every detail. “If you don’tmind guys I would prefer to stay alone for a while.” Said Roman finally chewingon his lips.

“You sure kiddo?”Patton tilted his head. He would prefer to keep an eye on the creative side.Logan delicately nudged Patton’s shoulder.

“Let’s give him somespace Patton. Roman needs to rest now.” The logical side said quietly and Romansmiled with gratitude.

“O-okay… If you needanything just let us know…” nodded Patton a little bit hesitantly.

“He can walk Patton. His arm is broken, not leg.” Reminded Virgil,holding the door open for the others to leave.

~~~

“We should dosomething to cheer him up!” pouted Patton, folding arms on the chest, makinghim look like a toddler.

“Agreed. He lookedincredibly upset with this unfortunate event.” Nodded Logan, tapping hisfingers against the table.

“I want to at least try to fix this…” mumbledVirgil.

“You say it’s yourfault one more time and I’m going to physically fight you.” Patton raised hisfinger and pointed it at Virgil, frowning.

“What do people usuallydo when their friends get sick?” asked Logan completely ignoring Patton. Thesilence fell in the common room.

“… Make them get-well-sooncards?” suggested Patton finally.

Virgil pulled up thesleeves of his hoodie, making a hoodie-paws.

“I mean… it is anidea but this is Roman we’re talking about. We can do better than that.”

Logan rubbed hischin.

“How about a chart?”

“A chart?” snortedVirgil.

“Yes, a chart showinghim how many famous actors suffered from having a broken arm.” Nodded Logancompletely serious.

“This one is a littlebit… too original.” Said Virgil carefully.

“We could spell onhis cast!” lightened up Patton suddenly.

“I think you meant “casta spell” Patton and although it would be very satisfactory to heal Roman thisway, I’m not sure any of us is able to achieve that.” pointed Logan politely,adjusting his necktie.

“No! I meant spell onhis cast! I saw it on some movie! A kid had a cast on their legs and theirfriends left cute, little notes on it! Like a magical spells!” Patton clappedwith delight.

“That could...actually work out.” Nodded Virgil.

“Even though from thelogical point of view this action is quite pointless, I suspect this is something that could makeRoman feel better.” Said Logan finally after few moments of considering prosand cons of this proposition.

“Great! Since we all agree I’m gonna bring some crayons!”

~~~

“Now, Virgil you getthe purple one…” whispered Patton handing the anxious trait one of the colorfulcrayons “I will take the orange one and Logan-“

“I will take blue.”

“But the blue one isbroken.” Whined Patton quietly.

“That’s not of agreat importance if it’s broken or not. I still can write with it.” Loganwithout asking for permission reached for the blue crayon.

“So what’s the plan?”asked Virgil for the third time since they decided to do this.

“It’s easy. Basicallywe wait until Roman falls asleep, slip into his room and write small notes onhis cast. He will wake up to see a lot of nice things and that will put him inbetter mood!” explained Patton cheerfully. He was clearly excited with thewhole idea of sneaking in and out.

Virgil shushed him,peeking through the keyhole.

“I think he’s asleep.”He whispered to the others and gestured them to come closer to the doors. Logantook off his shoes to make less noise.

They crack opened thedoor. Indeed it seemed that Roman fell asleep. His chest was rhythmically raisingup and down and his face expression was much more relaxed now.

The first one who wrotesomething was Patton. His tongue was sticking out as he was spreading more andmore of orange color across the white cast. Finally he looked at his work andnodded with content. He was done.

The next one was Logan.He took much more time than Patton, thinking twice before writing down eachletter.

The last one who approached sleeping Roman was Virgil. He hesitantly squattednext to the sleeping man and with a little bit shaking hand, scribbled fewwords on the edge of the cast. Taking one small glimpse at Roman he quicklybacked off.

Roman yawned and lookedat the clock, hanging on the wall. Hehad been sleeping for two hours. The empty feeling was still aching him fromthe inside but at least he wasn’t so tired now. He wanted to get up, find therest of the sides and maybe eat something when his gaze fell at the white masscovering his arm. Only that now it wasn’t completely white.

Roman moved his armcloser to his eyes which almost immediately started filling up with hot tears.

“These guys…” hemumbled to himself “These guys are something else…” he said to himself readingthe small noted once again.

“It’s break a leg, not break an arm silly!” with a small drawing of a puppy next to it.

“I would love to remind you that I improve that saying. Fracture a femurRoman. But not literally this time.” Written with blue.

“…I hate both of these equally. Get well soon Princy.” Written in purple.

“These guys aresomething else…” smiled Roman, the feeling of emptiness in his heart was gone.

UPDATED TAGLIST: @depressed-alone @changeling-ash @dear-lover-dearest @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms @calmingthoughtsinyourhead @zo-geeky @fandomfreak-19 @thegnatnat @inha-led @tree4life25 @panic-at-theeverywhere @reallyanextrovertipromise @shit-happens-bitchachos @pastel-patton123 @pinkeasteregg @greymane902 @princeyssash @ilovemygaydad @musicphanpie-b @all-these-trees-stealing-mah-o2@birosezz @winged-outlaw @anxious-fander-talian-bean @lizaelsparrow @moonstonefox12 @pastelnerd101 somecrappyclone

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pyre-prism · 6 years

Text

Fanfic - First Impressions at 4AM, Pt. 2

A mystery near the Dixon Docks attracts one of Gotham’s most curious minds...

Fandom - Batman, including headcanons Characters - Edward Nygma; Jonathan Crane... and Scarecrow Timeframe - Shortly into both of their costumed careers...

Part One

The streets in this part of Gotham were almost always dark, as if the layers of oppressive dimness that blanketed most of the city had never fully-lifted from the district, even on the brightest of days. But then, as it wasn’t daytime, the effect might have been heightened… His clean and crisp green suit made him stand out among the swamp of generic browns and greys, but no-one spoke up or blocked his way –everyone in the district knew who he was by now.

Everyone.

Purposeful strides carried him briskly towards one of the waterside warehouses, at the edge of the premises known as Dixon Docks. At one point, he’d owned it –constructed a maze of brilliant puzzle rooms throughout the building– but after the city’s resident vigilante had located it and destroyed most of the mechanisms that allowed the whole thing to function, the property had found its way back into the possession of a man known as ‘the Broker’… who, perhaps unsurprisingly, he’d bought it from in the first place…

Why was he returning to a building that he’d let go, sometime previous?

The answer was simple…

Because of who the Broker had very much not sold it to, since then.

The Riddler had caught wind of the unauthorised acquisition the last time he’d gone to do business with the Broker, and while it usually wouldn’t have struck his interest… this time was different. The Broker’s underlings had all suffered heart attacks… and then washed up on one of the many other banks of Gotham’s several islands…

It reminded him of a slew of attacks that had taken place throughout last autumn, with each and every victim suffering from inexplicable terror. However, to his knowledge, that whole thing hadn’t turned up a single clear suspect to put to the whims of either gavel or gun.

Thus, with his curiosity thoroughly piqued, Edward Nygma simply had to investigate.

The exterior of the warehouse had remained unchanged, but he could see evidence of the place being occupied –currently, at that– thanks to the dim yellow light visible through the windows high up on the walls. He paused, trying for a moment to recall just where the security cameras were when he’d owned it… but then he smirked, shrugged, and made a beeline for the main personnel door on the near side of the building.

Sneaking in wasn’t his forte, so, instead…

He rapped the curved head of his cane loudly against the metal door –once, twice– then he waited for a minute before repeating the action. And again. Just as he was about to knock one more time, he heard the tell-tale noises of latches and locks being undone –they sounded to be in quite a hurry, whoever they were– and he lowered the cane to lean his weight onto it, his smirk still firmly in place.

The door was yanked open almost immediately after the sounds of unlocking had finished, revealing nothing more than a tall and thin backlit silhouette… who said nothing.

“Good evening. I was in the neighbourhood, and decided to drop by. Lucky you.” Edward lied smoothly. The silhouette’s head tilted to one side, sighed, and shifted to create space in the doorway for him to enter if he so chose. “Nothing to say? Please don’t tell me that you’re mute; that would make this terribly difficult.”

“No… I’m not mute, Mister Nygma.”

He paused, the voice ringing a symphony of bells in his brain. Quiet, measured, and… “Jonathan Crane?”

A quiet chuckle was his reward. “You coming in, or not?”

Edward wasted no more time, sauntering past the other man into the warehouse’s interior. He heard the door being closed and locked behind him, frowning slightly at the latter note before leading the way through to where the light he’d noticed was coming from. Jonathan had seemingly put a makeshift laboratory together in the main space of the warehouse floor, with an eclectic array of various apparatuses and bubbling chemicals spanning multiple tables.

“I thought you said you’re a psychiatrist?” he asked over his shoulder.

“I got a doctorate in chemistry, as well… Is there a reason you’re here, Edward?” Jonathan hovered at the edges of the light cast by a camping lantern in the centre of the ‘lab’, his voice sounding tired and strained.

A trickle of unease slid down the Riddler’s spine, although it disappeared shortly afterward. “Well, other than what I already said, you mean? If nothing else, shouldn’t we catch up, sometime? You never came back to the coffee shop, after all.” He waggled a gloved finger at the taller redhead, clicking his tongue playfully. “However, I can tell you’re… a bit worse for the wear. Now that I have an address, perhaps I should come back later, instead?”

“…No. No need…” the ex-teacher sighed again. “Guess I’m not quite sure what to make of this visit of yours. We only met the once.”

“Ah, but wasn’t that meeting a pleasant one?” he pressed, stepping closer to one of the laden tables. An odd sound came out of Jonathan as he moved, prompting Edward to look back at his unwilling host, still half-hidden in shadow. “Don’t worry, I know better than to touch anything, especially in environments such as this. I’m just a little curious –what sort of concoction are you cooking up, here?”

The taller man didn’t reply immediately, pacing to and fro in a strange jerking stride while he apparently debated his answer. “It’s… something new. I was going to introduce it into treating my patients, but… there were ‘unfortunate side-effects’. Been tryin’a work out the kinks, since.” A yawn punctuated the last sentence, pulling Jonathan’s hidden drawl out into the open. Not for the first time, Edward found himself idly trying to place the accent, but before he settled on any singular answer he pushed that train of thought to the side for the time being, deciding to focus on what was actually said rather than on how it came out.

“Kinks, hm? Why, what does it do?” As the words left him, the green-eyed man realised that –in such a clearly off-kilter state– there was a small possibility that Jonathan might take the question as an invitation to procure his aid in that endeavour, potentially forcefully… Especially if the growing suspicions niggling at the back of his mind were accurate.

Jonathan moved again, still skirting the radius of light, stopping at what appeared to be a waist-high pile of boxes. Soft clinks reached Edward’s attentive ears –cans hitting each other, perhaps? “‘T’s designed to elicit a specific response, both physically and psychologically, only trouble is it’s both too strong and not strong enough… There’s just so many variables to take into account, not least of which being any pre-existing conditions…”

“Might I ask you a rather particular –or even peculiar– question?”

A scoff. “Yain’t been doin’ much of anything other than that, Ed.”

He rose an eyebrow at that –hadn’t Jonathan been much less informal during their previous conversation? Did his obvious tiredness influence what he called someone as well?– before returning his face to a perfect mask of attentive smugness. “What do you know about the people who suffered heart-attacks after paying this place a visit?”

“Paid a visit, you say?” The shuffling and clinking stopped, and the blue-eyed man finally moved into the light. He looked haggard; his shirt and jeans seeming to hang even looser on his frame than the man’s suit had when they first met, his eyes surrounded in deep shadows, and a dark bruise spanned the majority of one cheek… complete with a still-healing cut on the ridge of his cheekbone. Despite all of that, Jonathan smiled slowly and deliberately. “Oh… now, I remember… They wanted me to ‘move out’. Don’t know about any cardiac arrests, though. How unfortunate.”

“Well, this building does technically belong to someone else… Why ‘set up shop’ in a warehouse, though?” Edward waved one hand to gesture at as much of their surroundings as possible. “Surely there are much better locations to set up a laboratory, even one as… frankly pedestrian… as this one.”

“If they want it back, they’re going to have to come, themselves.” The thin man let out a low hum. “I have to say, though… Becoming someone’s errand boy is a far cry from leading the Cybercrime Division at the GCPD.”

“Hiding out in a warehouse you don’t own and cooking who-knows-what is a far cry from being a respected psychiatrist at first Blackgate Prison, then Arkham Asylum.”

Now it was a smirk, crooked and more like a gash in the man’s face than anything a human should produce. “Touché.” Jonathan’s expression darkened, the smirk transforming into a small frown. “Look, you’re getting to a point –that much is clear– and I don’t have all night.”

Edward made a show of glancing at his watch. “It’s morning, Jonathan. Half past two, to be precise.” He tried not to smile at the groan that earned him. “However, you’re correct. I want to know what you’ve been up to in here… specifically. That’s why I came, although the fact that it’s you rather than someone I didn’t already know means that I also felt like chatting.”

Again, there was a lengthy pause before the Riddler got any response, and Jonathan canted his head to stare at a spot somewhere to Edward’s right. The thin man closed his eyes, took a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled slowly. “You shouldn’t have come here, Edward…” he muttered, waiting for another moment before locking eyes with him. “But, since you are…” Jonathan moved closer as he spoke, his strides smoother than before. “Maybe, you can help me.”

If anyone ever asked, Edward would say that Jonathan had hit him with some kind of blunt weapon… it was far less embarrassing than admitting that he hadn’t been paying as much attention as he should have and was taken by surprise… and experienced first-hand that chloroform really did smell fairly sweet…

“—seventy beats per minute… Blood pressure is… huh, one-ten over seventy. Not bad. Ah, now we’re getting there.”

Edward groaned, then cursed inwardly. Now it would be impossible to pretend he was still unconscious. Before opening his eyes, however, he took stock of his current situation –or rather, as much as he could of it. It seemed like Jonathan had put him in a chair while he was out, complete with restraining all four limbs to the piece of furniture. His head was pounding, and his mind was still annoyingly-foggy.

“Oh, come on, now. I know you’re awake, Edward.” All traces of tiredness had disappeared from Jonathan’s voice, leaving an oddly-detached sort of eagerness that Edward wanted to pull away from. “Open up those eyes, would you?”

“I hope you’re going to explain yourself, Jonathan…” he groused, even as he obliged with the taller man’s request. They were in the old staffroom of the warehouse, and Edward scanned the room for any potential obstacles in his eventual escape –plenty of discarded chairs in varying states of disrepair, a waste-basket laying on its side, several piles of books on almost every surface including the floor– before looking up at his captor expectantly.

“I suppose you should know that it’s now around four –same morning– so you weren’t out for that long,” was the initial reply, coupled with a quiet chuckle. Jonathan’s back was to him, although Edward could tell that his hands were busy with something on the large conference table that occupied most of the room. To one side, muted rhythmic beeping counted out his heartbeats –the heart monitor had no doubt been stolen from a nearby back-alley clinic– and they were beginning to speed up. The increased rate seemed to make the thin man pause. “…Still, you’re not kicking up too much of a stink at the moment… I guess I could let you in on it…” he mused quietly.

The Riddler frowned. “In on what?”

Now, Jonathan turned around to face him, another crooked smirk already firmly in place. “All those men who paid a visit went for a swim, ‘bout three or so hours after they arrived… Well, unless more than one came at once, then they… took turns.”

“You killed them.” Edward wasn’t quite sure if it was a question, a statement, or an accusation. He was, however, certain that he was not surprised in the slightest when the other redhead merely shrugged and didn’t deny it. “How?”

“Ah-ah, now, that’s askin’ for a bit too much, Ed… Can’t tell ya that just yet.” Now, it was Jonathan’s turn to shake a finger at him. Another chuckle burbled out of the psychiatrist’s throat. “So, did the Riddler do any research on me, between now and the last time we met?”

At least Jonathan wasn’t an outlier in Edward’s range of infamy… the knowledge actually soothed his nerves slightly, even though he knew it was a foolish reaction. Then again, he had hijacked almost all of the city’s electronic billboards just last month. “Of course I did. Doctor Jonathan Ulysses Crane, graduated Gotham University in ‘record time’ according to some sources, with a double-doctorate under your belt, taught at that same institution until an ‘accident’ involving a gun in the classroom which ultimately resulted in your dismissal, renowned psychiatrist at both institutions within Gotham’s boundaries that deal with those who fit one or both categories of ‘criminal’ and ‘insane’ until –again– you were dismissed… although I haven’t quite gotten through the process of digging up the reason behind that. You disappeared from most radars for a while, but I suspect you were behind the slew of incidents in September and October, last year—…”

“Well, well, well… I’m not sure whether to check my ass or scratch my watch. I guess you’d have t’be good at digging to get the job, though…” He let out a sharp bark of laughter, tilting his head to one side with such a sudden movement that it almost appeared that the man had snapped his own neck. “Still, you’re not the only one to do some research. Edward Nashton, with an engineering doctorate under your hat from Metropolis.”

Edward tried not to scowl at the use of his old surname –he’d worked really hard to escape the sickening shadow cast upon him by his pustule of a father’s surname– and forced a loud ‘ha!’ to help disguise his reaction. “Not the slightest bit as thorough as my own, but passable enough, I suppose…”

“Enough chit-chat, Edward…”

He frowned. Something about Jonathan’s words just struck him as… wrong. It wasn’t the exact phraseology –aside from the spattering of colloquialisms from an entirely different part of the country– and it wasn’t the volume, which had remained surprisingly even throughout the conversation. Realisation struck. It was definitely the accent, sliding in and out as if it were a vehicle running on greased wheels; the auburn-haired man’s face and posture had shifted alongside these changes, taking on two different ‘modes’ that –now he actually thought about it– were as plain as the man’s hooked nose.

Unknowing of the epiphany taking place, or perhaps simply uncaring of it, Jonathan continued, “There’s something I should ask first, to potentially avoid a repeat of all those others. Do you have any form of cardiovascular or respiratory condition?”

“I, wait, what?” the Riddler blinked owlishly. Jonathan shrugged, offering ‘I need to know’ in a deadpan as the only explanation… That just wouldn’t do. “Why?”

“Because I’d prefer it if you didn’t die. I’m not doing this to kill people, not outright,” he snapped, taking half a step forward.

“Well, that’s a relief!” Edward knew his sarcasm was practically palpable, and when it elicited a low growl from his captor, he also knew that he might just come to regret it… not that the knowledge did anything to curb his tongue. “I suppose I’ll just give you my entire medical history, then, shall I? I was born on the—…”

“Oh, for the love of—…! Keep it up an’ I’ll be cancelling your birth certificate.” Jonathan snarled, slamming his hands down on Edward’s bound wrists. “Maybe I’ll just pump ya full of it and see how loud y’scream ‘fore your heart gives out.” There was a pause, then one of his hands went for something behind the Riddler’s head. “I’ll take your lack of an actual answer as ‘no’, and commence the experiment… Do be sure to tell me what you experience… After all, it’s for the betterment of humanity.”

He opened his mouth to snap back when a cold sensation started to force its way into his right arm. The edges of his vision started to blur, but not in the manner that he’d come to associate with a loss of consciousness… rather, it was as if a sort of film had descended over his eyes. Edward’s heart started to race, and his breathing quickened –panic… that’s what it was, he was starting to panic. Twisting, he tried to get a look at what was being fed into his bloodstream, but the motion made the world around him swim dangerously, and he closed his eyes to fight against the sudden nausea that had hit him.

The pressure of Jonathan’s grip on his wrists had disappeared, and he opened his eyes once more to try to keep track of where the psychiatrist –former psychiatrist– had gone, only to be met with an entirely unexpected sight…

Everything had been transmogrified from its previous state. The walls dripped with thick and viscous liquid, the ceiling sagged disconcertingly, the table had become a quivering living mass whose breath Edward could almost feel go up his sleeves, the chairs were now incomplete skeletons with lingering scraps of rotting flesh draped over the bones… As for Jonathan, he’d disappeared, and so had the heart monitor; there was a different sound that had taken its place… a hauntingly-familiar slap-slap-slap that made a shiver run down Edward’s back before he’d quite registered what he was doing.

He tried to rationalise what was going on –drug, this was definitely a drug, what was it and how could it be dealt with– but the noise and the sights around him led his thoughts in all of the wrong directions, scattering his best efforts to every corner of the room, making his voice freeze in his throat at the same time. Whispered words brushed at the furthest edges of his hearing, coming from all directions at once yet never quite clear enough for Edward to pinpoint. Wildly, he looked around the room… something was coming for him, something dangerous… His brain… whatever it was, it wanted his brain!

Edward struggled against the restraints binding his limbs, managing to topple the chair and himself to the floor –oh, god, it’s covered in something thick and gooey and smelling faintly of rot and metal and offal, and now he was drenched in the stuff– before a looming figure reached for his arms and hauled him upright.

Getting away was highest on his list of priorities, and his throat –at last– decided to start working again. “Jo-Jonathan… this… this is not funny.”

He didn’t expect an answer, but one whisper suddenly became clearer than all the rest. “Funny? Naw… well, maybe a little…” The words were breathed almost directly into his ear, and –out of desperation– Edward snapped his head in that direction; he managed to render himself more dazed than before, with pain now occupying a sizable portion of his awareness. “You shouldn’a done that, Eddie… Now, things’re gonna get worse for ya than they already are…” the voice –Jonathan? Was it really Jonathan?– hissed.

Edward barely heard it, however, as a much more familiar face stepped out of the distorted gloom. It was a face that he’d spent so long trying –failing– to forget, to not see when he looked in a mirror…

“What’s this I heard about you gettin’ smart with your betters, again, boy?” his father’s voice growled out, and the apparition’s face morphed to become completely identical to Edward’s own.

That was when space, time, terror, and pain all melted into each other.

When Edward’s consciousness returned this time, his entire body was cold and aching, with tremors dancing along every nerve. He didn’t bother to keep his waking a secret this time and let out a loud moan; nearby, he could hear a soft scoff or snort. Forcing his eyes open, the Riddler peered into the gloom that surrounded him, searching for that damnable Crane…

It didn’t take very long, either… Jonathan had perched himself on a crate about three feet away, and –from what he could see– was watching him with a blank stare that seemed out of synch with the tension deeply embedded in every visible line of the man’s body.

With that knowledge in mind, Edward returned to taking stock of his new position. Instead of being tied to a chair –like a civilised captor would have done, had done, and had then apparently decided was not ‘done’– he now found himself sitting on the concrete floor, trussed up against one of the warehouse walls, arms spread wide to either side of him and legs left unrestrained. Another, more powerful, shudder tore through him. At least his mind seemed to be working at a level closer to ‘properly’, this time… “So, what happens now?” Edward made certain to load his voice with as much caustic irritation as he could muster.

“Try’na decide somethin’…” was the low reply. Jonathan sounded as tense as he looked, and his accent seemed to have thickened –unless that was a lingering effect of the drug still muddling Edward’s brain, which he really hoped it wasn’t.

“Oh, well, don’t rush on my account!” he snapped. “It’s not like I had any plans for the day, after all.”

That triggered a couple of quick shifts in Jonathan’s demeanour… First, his shoulders sagged and his head dipped slightly before shaking twice, then he suddenly sprang to his feet in a movement that honestly reminded Edward of a marionette. The tall redhead stalked towards his captive, a snarl growing on his face as the distance between them was eaten away by long strides; only the lower half of his face changed, though, which made the whole expression look all the more disconcerting. “Oh, no, ya don’! Don’t even think for a second that you’re gonna talk y’way outta this mess.”

“What mess is that, exactly? The fact that I’m being held against my will, or the fact that you can’t seem to decide, from one moment to the next, whether you’re going to be friendly or downright psychotic?”

“Now, now, don’t be rude, ‘less you actually want me t’jerk a knot in your tail…” Jonathan hissed as he squatted next to him, a little too close for Edward’s comfort –he would, of course, adamantly deny any flinching or recoiling his body performed if anyone ever asked him about it. The ex-teacher studied his face silently for a full minute, micro-expressions flashing across his features so rapidly that it was tricky to nail any significant meaning to a single muscle twitch. “Here comes the real test… Y’see, I’ve been paying ‘ttention to your… ‘fun’, ever since you started prancin’ ‘round the city like a peacock. I wanna know… wha’chu gonna do, now that ya tasted what’s cookin’ here?”

Edward scowled. “You mean that hallucinogenic horror you subjected me to?” He paused long enough for Jonathan to give him a mild smile and nod. “I’m honestly wondering that, myself. After all, I had hoped that amicability, at the very least, would be possible between two ‘rogues’ of the city who both share a more cerebral approach to our chosen paths… but now, I find myself wondering if we should consider ourselves to be explicitly at-odds with each other.”

Jonathan’s face blanked once again, and he leaned closer for a few seconds. “You… were hopin’ for something more… ‘pleasant’?”

There was so very little in the way of inflection or even emotion in what came out of the mad psychiatrist’s mouth that the Riddler had to don a puzzled frown. “I did say that earlier, didn’t I? You even—…” Edward cut himself off; something about Jonathan’s behaviour was starting to practically scream at him… Why was there such a swing from one sort of extreme to another, and why was he –when it was clear that he tried so hard to smother it– speaking like that…?

A quiet raspy chuckle came out of his captor’s throat, accompanied with a crooked smirk and a sharp tilt of Jonathan’s head. “What’s th’matter, Eddie—… Edward?”

It was time to run a test of his own. “Riddle me this, Jonathan Crane… What I wear upon my face can be touched but never felt, and you will rarely see without me. Yet, with me, you can see the intangible and speak to the inaudible…”

“You really think now is the time for that?” For the first time since Edward had even entered the warehouse, Jonathan’s voice sounded practically the same as that quick chat they’d had in the coffee shop –it felt like so long ago, now. His voice was clear and pure-Gothamite. The thin man’s expression smoothed out into one of mild exasperation, and his head even righted itself.

“Yes, I do. Don’t forget, I am the Riddler,” he replied evenly, pulling a muted smirk of his own into place.

Then, Jonathan’s face twisted and transformed back into that crooked cat-ate-the-canary smirk. “Aw, so now you’re try’na play by your rules? You so sure that you wanna do that?” Returning thick accent, check. Another sudden head-tilt, check… “Th’answer’s a mirror, ain’t it?”

Now, it was time to poke the bear just a little bit more… One of these days, Edward’s impulses would possibly be the death of him; that didn’t mean he’d be changing his tune anytime soon, however. “Hm. Figure that out on your own, did you?”

“Well, who else d’ya think there is?” A playful note had crept into Jonathan’s voice, now, making the already-lilting inflections start to dance.

Edward’s body chose that moment to give another quake, and –almost as if in direct response– Jonathan inched even closer. He tried to ignore it. Despite how much his mind was screaming at him to put more distance between them, the ex-cop did everything he could to force himself not to move. “I suppose you could consider it a hunch… although the fact that you’ve been speaking almost exclusively in what I can only assume to be your ‘native dialect’ for close to the entirety of my visit, as opposed to attempting to hide it as you did in the coffee shop… that may have something to do with it. Not to mention your—…”

He was cut off by one of Jonathan’s hands curling loosely around his throat. “Shh-shhh… Y’talk far too much for someone I ain’t even decided whether t’kill or not…” he murmured, his blue eyes narrowing in a surprisingly-lazy expression. “See, the thing is… Jus’ like you’re not sure what t’make of me… I’m not sure what t’make of you. That’s why I just had to see…” A wistful note entered Jonathan’s voice, and his thumb wedged itself against Edward’s chin –holding his head in place. “You’re… your fear’s just so glorious, so beautiful…”

“…That’s almost funny, I suppose. You, who wrote a thesis on the topic of fear, have an inordinate amount of fascination for it.” Edward stated, swallowing thickly when he felt the long fingers at his throat twitch. “Although, ‘beautiful’ may be going a tad too far –not even mine would be ‘beautiful’, at least not by my standards.”

Jonathan let out a low hum. “Ain’t you a textbook narcissist?” he asked with a crooked grin.

“According to some, yes.” Waiting a moment to allow his captor to respond, Edward’s expression hardened. “I’m not an expert in the field of psychology, but I can tell something is more than slightly ‘off’ about you. What—…”

Again, the Riddler was cut off from finishing what he wanted to say, although this time it was by way of a chuckle… The sound started quietly, but grew in both volume and shoulder-shaking force as the seconds ticked by. “Well! Ya sure are a sharp one, if ya picked up on somethin’ bein’ a bit different! Then again, ain’chu a ‘bit different’, too, Eddie?”

“What is actually going on, here, Doctor Crane?” Still, the laughter continued, although Jonathan’s hand vacated its spot under Edward’s jaw. He decided to try a different approach, even though he’d probably regret it immensely, especially if it fell through… “If you tell me, I’ll allow you to administer another dose of that compound of yours.”

The laughter stopped abruptly as Jonathan’s entire body froze; it was as if he’d been suddenly replaced with a wax replica, with the only movement –after at least two full minutes– being to widen his eyes and then lock them on the shorter redhead’s face. After another minute, Jonathan took a deep breath. “That’s a dangerous thing to bargain with, Edward…” Then, it was a pause, broken by a murmured, “…He’s offerin’… Can’t tell if he’s tellin’ th’truth, though…”

Edward bristled. “Why would I lie about something like that? I’m the Riddler, the one who seeks the answers to each and every question that passes through my brain, and you –my phobophilic friend– are a walking mystery to me, at this point!”

Jonathan’s shoulders curled forward and his spine bent in an unabashedly-predatory manner. “Are ya afraid of dyin’ without all the answers? ‘Cause maybe I should make sure that happens… make sure there’s so many questions buzzin’ around in that skull o’yours when you take your last breath that ya curse an’ haunt me ‘til my own dyin’ days?”

“I hate to burst your little ‘happy bubble’, Crane, but I’m afraid of no such thing. I merely dislike an unanswered question –I don’t fear one.”

“Aw, such a pity…” Now, it was a sing-song; Edward was starting to get a headache, just from how often it seemed like the moods of this ‘side’ of Jonathan Crane changed. He must have grimaced or let out some sound of displeasure, as his captor shuffled back awkwardly on the balls of his feet, a mildly-confused expression on his face. “Let me get this straight; you’re… offerin’… to taste that sweet terror again, just t’know what ‘the truth’ is? Which comes first?” The doctor leaned forward when he asked the second question, nearly to the point of balancing his weight on all four limbs instead.

“I doubt I could think clearly enough to process your answers if you get yours first,” he replied dryly, trying to keep any and all signs of trepidation far, far away from his voice. Edward was actually glad that he was no longer hooked up to the heart monitor –it would have called his bluff immediately– even if he wasn’t entirely sure whether or not Jonathan could pick up on such things without mechanical aid… then he threw that idea out, scoffing internally at the sheer ludicrousness of the concept. Jonathan Crane was a human being, not some strange sort of psychic bloodhound.

A soft thud drew the Riddler back to the topic in front of him. Jonathan now sat, cross-legged like a humanoid spider, with one arm propping up his head while the other was simply allowed to sprawl across his lap. Once again, a slew of micro-expressions flitted over the man’s face… almost as if he was having a more-or-less literal ‘internal debate’ –maybe his theory really was accurate. “Always so secretive…” Jonathan sighed, then shook his head with another of those rasping chuckles that Edward was quickly coming to associate with this particular version of Doctor Crane. “Right-o, then! Guess y’make a good point… But, you’re gonna have to ask your question again. I didn’ really pay much ‘ttention to it, b’fore.”

He huffed. “Are you actually Jonathan Crane?”

“Hmn, more’n you are, that’s for sure,” was the immediate reply. “Then again… almost anyone’d be less ‘Jonathan Crane’ than me…” The thin man snickered, adding in a stage-whisper, “Well, ‘cept for my Jonny, that is; that un’s th’real deal.”

Edward somehow managed to refrain from crowing in elation; he was right! The reportedly-brilliant psychiatrist was most likely in need of some therapy, himself, how ironic. “So, the answer is ‘no’, then.”

“Yessir, no sir.” He let out another snicker. “Been here long ‘nough to be counted.”

The admission made so many of the earlier oddities suddenly make perfect sense, at least when compared to themselves. Most of his discussions in the warehouse had not been with Jonathan, but rather with this… other Jonathan. That actually made him think of something else. “I can’t keep calling you –who are clearly something other than Doctor Crane– ‘Jonathan’…” he trailed off, arching an eyebrow in a silent invitation.

Evidently, it was a question that had been eagerly awaited. “Tha’s true. Jonny is ‘Jonathan’… I’m…” he paused, cocking his head to one side and letting the arm that had been holding it up fall to meet its twin. “…Yeah, yeah, that’ll do for ya, too. While back, I told Jonny-boy t’call me ‘Scarecrow’… You can too; ev’ryone will, eventually.”

“Scarecrow…?” the Riddler asked. “Why that?”

In contrast, it seemed he hadn’t been expecting that one; he jerked his head sharply to one side, blinking owlishly. “…It fits. When li’l Jonny’s a-sleepin’, and the sun’s gone to bed—…”

“I think I’m going to have to stop you there,” Edward interjected loudly. The last thing he really wanted was to have this… ‘Scarecrow’ going on tangents involving nonsense, let alone nonsense songs –his shoulders were starting to cramp up, after all. His captor scowled, one hand lashing out to grasp the ex-cop’s jaw, eyes narrowing.

“Don’ interrupt me when I’m talkin’, Eddie…” he crooned, tapping one long finger against the edge of Edward’s jaw. “You wanted t’know ‘bout me, so shut the fuck up an’ listen…” Scarecrow paused, blinking languidly and waiting for any further comment –Edward deemed it wiser to keep his mouth closed for the time being– before letting out another snicker. “Betcha wanna know what I’m doin’ here, hmn? Well, that one’s more of a secret… that’d take more’n just one dose –it’d need a dose of its own, just f’that.”

“I… I think I’ll have to decline, for now.”

“Pity…”

Frowning as much as the other man’s tight grip allowed him to, Edward allowed a small lull to occur in the conversation, taking the opportunity to try gathering his thoughts once more. One thing was for sure… while Jonathan may have made a mildly-permissible occasional companion, his ‘other side’ was about as erratic as a livewire… and at least three times as dangerous. This led him to the next most pressing question he had about the morning’s events –or at least, he assumed it was still the same day– and he cleared his throat in an attempt to force out any lingering tremors or uncertainty. “Why has Jonathan been… taking a back seat?”

“Mmn?” Scarecrow’s attention refocused on the Riddler’s face, having wandered to the side during the silence. When Edward repeated his question, the taller redhead hummed part of a tune that might have had something to do with mockingbirds –he really wasn’t quite certain. “Oh… See saw, marjory daw… Jonny’s been workin’ harder, he’s been sleepin’ an hour a day, ‘cause things can’t go any faster…”

How wonderful… using nursery rhymes as a stand-in for actually saying something. Edward squirmed, trying to lessen the growing discomfort nagging at his body. An odd hissing noise came out of Scarecrow’s mouth, only stopping when his movements did. “My arms are starting to die,” he stated in a deadpan.

Scarecrow blinked, leaning closer and tilting his head once again. “…Die?” That single-syllable word came out in such a puzzled tone that Edward found himself blinking owlishly in response –for once unable to formulate any verbal reply. “…Oh. Huh… Didn’ think o’that…”

“Could you untie me, then?” Edward finally managed to say, after several seconds of awkward silence. He didn’t expect Scarecrow to burst out into a fit of laughter, however. “What?”

“Oh, Eddie, bless your li’l heart…! I ain’t gonna untie you… not ‘til I know whether or not you’re gonna be a problem.” A wide grin spread across his face. “Jonny wants me t’let ya go, o’course, but… he don’ always do what’s best for him.”

“And… holding an infamous individual hostage is…?” Whether he had much of an ego or not, no-one could truthfully deny that the Riddler had succeeded in making a name for himself. That, and there was an issue with the man’s logic which desperately needed addressing… it was actually slightly painful for him to even contemplate leaving the subject alone.

“Infamy? Well, butter my butt an’ call me a biscuit…! We’re gonna have a lot more o’that than you, once we get started… Huh, not that it’s a race or nothin’, o’course.”

“…I am having great difficulty refraining from correcting the way you speak…” Edward muttered through gritted teeth. The grip on his jaw tightened for a moment before loosening entirely as Scarecrow pulled his hand away. Before he could dwell too much on his captor’s declaration, he continued with, “However, we are getting somewhat side-tracked. I don’t have any inclination to pose a threat to Jonathan –he seemed intelligent enough to pass the majority of tests that I may have decided to put him through, regardless. As you are… a ‘package deal’ alongside the good doctor, you may rest assured that my lack of interest is naturally extended to you, as well. Does that suffice?”

Scarecrow sat back, humming another nonsense tune under his breath. “An’… I can trust ya on that?”

“You’re far too frustrating to bother lying to.” He’d allow the other Jonathan to decide whether that was a lie or not.

It seemed as if Scarecrow was willing to believe him, as he reached up to begin untying the rope securing his wrists to the wall. “There any other questions ya want me t’answer?” he asked in a surprisingly-conversational tone –Edward actually had to stop and think about whether Jonathan had regained control of his body, for a moment. “If ya do, then ask ‘em.”

He wanted to, but… perhaps it would be better to err on the side of caution. Edward’s arms fell limply once released, and he pulled a carefully-constructed ‘thinking’ expression onto his face, hoping to buy some time while he regained feeling in each of his limbs. Scarecrow waited patiently for any sign of a concrete response, although he’d somehow produced an aerosol canister out of seemingly nowhere and had begun to play with it; honestly, the man was acting almost like a child with a new toy that they very definitely should not have… if one discounted the unblinking stare being sent his way, that is. “…Why ‘fear’?” he asked at long last, giving in to temptation.

The change that question triggered in the taller redhead was as instantaneous as it was unnerving. His shoulders began to shake in silent mirth, a hungry –almost ravenous– look settled in his eyes, a crooked grin slashed its way across his face, a low hum crept out of his throat… and his fingers clenched tightly around the nozzle of the canister. “Because… it’s truth. Jonny says that researchin’ fear is about as close t’findin’ the ‘real truth’ as anyone could get, but… me? I… just… like… it…”

One second… One second of tense stillness and silence… Then, Scarecrow sprayed Edward in the face.

#Batman #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Edward Nygma #Jonathan Crane #Scarecrow #Headcanons #Pyreverse #Edward Nigma

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